Текст книги "The Destiny of Violet and Luke"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

He sits up and rummages through the bag, taking out a handful of fries. “Yeah, pretty much.”

I grab my burger out of the bag and unwrap it. “But what makes you so weird and dark and out of the ordinary, Luke Price?”

He flips the leather band on his wrist with his finger. “Lots of stuff.”

I take a cup of ranch out of the bag and peel the top off. “Why do you always wear that band around your wrist?”

He raises his arm up in front of him, studying it in the light. “Because my sister gave it to me right before she died.”

I start choking on my fry. My nostrils burn as ranch gets in them. “She died?” I cough with my hands pressed to my chest.

He twists his head in my direction. It’s dark so I can’t see anything but the outline of his face and his eyes look like two black holes, but I can picture the intensity in them. “She threw herself off a roof when I was twelve.”

I have a heartbreaking epiphany. “That’s why you were so worried about me when you saw me jump out the window.”

He bobs his head up and down, nodding. “That and the fact that you look so detached all the time,” he says and I suck in a startled breath as I realize just how much he’s seen of me and how we have one more thing in common. Death of a loved one. He instantly reaches over and his fingers encircle my wrist. “Violet, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt… I don’t even know why I said it.”

“It’s okay.” I exhale, telling myself that I’m not going to go down that road tonight. That I’m going to keep it together, no matter what it takes. “I’m sorry. I’m seriously overacting.” In the snap of a finger, I manage to sound calm.

His fingers dig into my wrist, right above my racing pulse. “No, you’re not.” It’s like he understands me, even though he hardly knows anything about me.

I nod my head. “Okay, but I’m over it. I promise.”

He holds on to me a little longer and then releases me. I eat my burger and he eats his chicken sandwich in silence and it’s the most comfortable silence I’ve ever lived in. After we’re done, we ball up our garbage and pile it in the bag. Then he moves it aside so we can scoot closer, our shoulders touching.

“What was your life like before you met me?” I ask, relaxing back on my palms.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at me. “A lot less complicated,” he admits.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“It’s a complicated thing,” he says and then sighs heavily. “I had this system before you came along and it was working for me, but now that system is gone… With you… you make me feel like I’m falling into this out of control world full of craziness.”

I frown. “You make me sound so insane.”

“No, it’s not like that.” He rakes his hand through his hair, letting out a grunting exhale as he sits up. “God, this is coming out sounding so weird.”

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Weird is okay with me and there’s no one else around.”

I feel him smile through the dark. “See it’s things like that that make me just want to stay here with you. Because whatever I say never fazes you.”

“We could just sit here in the dark,” I say, trying not to think about the many times I sat in the dark by myself. “The dark can be comfortable.”

“Yeah, we could do that…” He trails off and I feel the air temperature rise as he leans into me. “Do you want to do that? Just sit in the dark with me.”

“Maybe…” I trail off as his lips connect with mine. He tastes different than usual, less smoky and tasting of tequila; instead he tastes salty from the French fries. I can taste the passion of the kiss and heat pools in my stomach. I clutch his shoulders as he pushes his weight into me and forces me down on my back. My head brushes the ground below and dirt gets in my hair as our legs tangle together and he barely supports his weight above me.

He kisses me slowly this time, more deliberately than he usually does. It’s like he’s calculating each movement, each taste, each breath as his hands knot through my hair. He gently tips my head back so his tongue can explore my mouth more thoroughly, gradually, slowly. Jesus, he’s driving my body mad. I can’t think straight, my nails jabbing into his shoulder blades, his lower back, his sides, anything that I can get a hold of as my body becomes more and more impatient.

Then he’s pulling away again, stroking my cheek with his finger, his other hand playing with my hair. “This is nice.”

“You’re starting to sound like a softy,” I say, breathless.

“Didn’t you accuse me of being a softy once?” He continues to play with my hair.

“I did, but I didn’t really mean it.”

“Well, maybe you were right all along.”

“Maybe I was.”

He continues to comb his fingers through my hair, his body positioned over me, and I get so comfortable I almost fall asleep in his arms, right there up on a rock. Then he lifts his weight off me and the cold seeps into my body, waking me right back up. He laces his fingers through mine as he pulls me to his feet with him.

“Where we going now?” I ask, dusting the dirt off the back of my leg.

He bends down and grabs the garbage. “How about home?”

Home. Such a strange word, since nowhere has ever really felt like home to me. “Yeah, home sounds nice.”

* * *

The rest of the drive home we talk about mundane things, like what his favorite food is: tacos, which I already kind of figured out, since it’s his hangover food and he likes to drink. I tell him what mine is: chocolate chip cookies, the kind my mom used to make. It surprises me that I talk to him about my mom, just as much as it surprises him. Our entire conversation is so boring and normal, but the thing is I actually like it and I start to wonder if I could actually live a boring, normal, non-adrenaline-junkie life.

When he parks the truck at our apartment complex, it’s still early, but Luke says we can continue our date in the house. Then he starts kissing me in the truck before we can even get out. Our mouths and hands explore each other’s body until it gets too hot and then we get out and head inside. It’s the perfect date, and I’m seriously reconsidering my whole theory on life, when I spot a guy sitting at the bottom of the steps that lead up to our apartment.

“You have got to be kidding me.” I let go of Luke’s hand as I realize who the guy is. I leave a shocked Luke behind as I storm over to the steps.

Stan Walice looks up from his notebook, looking nervous and tense. “Please just calm down. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

“Do I need to get a restraining order?” I ask as I arrive at the foot of the stairway.

He rises to his feet and tucks his notebook and pen into his front pocket. He’s wearing wrinkled gray pants, old sneakers, and a red polo shirt, along with square-framed glasses. “Calm down. I just want to ask you some questions.” His glasses start to slip down the brim of his nose and he pushes them up with his finger.

“I’m pretty sure I made it clear I’m not going to do that,” I say as Luke steps up beside me.

“Who the fuck is this?” Luke says as his hand touches the small of my back, slightly calming me, but my insides still burn.

Stan’s eyes dart to him, I’m sure comparing his out-of-shape body to Luke’s solid, tattooed body. “I just want to ask her a few questions about her parents.”

“And I already told you to go fuck yourself,” I say, not with anger but with a silent plea in my voice. “Seriously, what is with reporters and being obsessed and determined to harass people?”

“I really need this story,” Stan says, raking his fingers through his hair. “My job’s on the line.”

“She says she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Luke steps forward, positioning himself in front of me, protecting me. “So take the hint and fucking get the hell out of here before I have to beat your ass,” Luke says and then he reaches back and grabs hold of my hand. As much as I would love to see him beat Stan’s ass, I also remember that unlike when he fought with Preston and the guys at the strip club, there will probably be consequences this time, so I squeeze his hand and hold on to him.

Stan shakes his head, panic flooding his eyes as he skitters to the side so I can see him. “Look, I know I’ve probably been going about this wrong, but I really need this story or the paper’s going to let me go. I need something really good.”

“Go find a story that’s easier to get, then,” I tell him, inching forward so I’m standing beside Luke. “Don’t chase me down when I don’t want to talk about my past.”

“The easy ones are the ones no one wants to hear,” he says. “Girl who finds her parents murdered and stays in that house for twenty-four hours.” He moves his hand across the air, like some reporter in an old movie, making a headline. “Now that’s a story. I can only imagine the things in your head… the stuff you saw… And if people knew about it, maybe it’d help finally catch the killers.”

Luke’s body goes rigid as flames flash through my body. He just told Luke my secret, the one that everyone wants to run away from once they know. Out of nowhere, I lunge for Stan. Luke’s hands slips from mine as I raise my fist, preparing to crash it into Stan’s face. I haven’t felt this much fury in a long time and usually I’d find another way to deal with it, but right now all I want to do is hit Stan. Ram my fist into him. Watch his nose bleed. Watch him hurt like I know I’m going to hurt in just a few minutes.

Somehow, Luke manages to get his arms around my waist and he holds me back before I actually make contact.

“Let me go!” I protest, squirming. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

“No, you’re not going to.” He hugs me tighter as I struggle to get air into my lungs. I need to get away from him—need to breathe. I need to run, beat Stan, do anything at all beside feel what’s prickling up inside me. My parents. Luke knows. I’m fucked up. He knows now what lies beneath my skin of steel. He’s not going to want to be with me anymore.

I push against him wriggling in his arms as he nearly crushes me against his chest. “Just breathe,” he whispers in my ear, smoothing his hand on the back of my head.

I swear to God it’s like he knows what’s going on inside my body, like he’s in tune with it. “I can’t,” I choke. “I hate him.”

“Just try.”

I shut my eyes and block out everything else besides getting air into my lungs. I can hear his heart beating steadily, and I listen to it as I try to get my own to match it.

“Get the hell out of here,” Luke growls at Stan, his chest rumbling.

“I’ve been trying really hard to talk to her,” Stan says. “If she just would, then we could get this over with.”

“If you don’t walk away, I’m going to let her go and beat your ass myself,” Luke says calmly. “So take the opportunity to walk away now.”

“You can’t threaten me,” Stan says. “I’ll call the cops.”

“Does it look like I give a shit about the cops?” Luke replies. “Now get the hell away from her.” He enunciates each word to get his point across. Stan mutters something about taking his card and Luke adds, “If you try to contact her again, you won’t be walking away.”

Moments go by, it feels like days, before either of us move or speak again. I’m the first one to pull away, and he releases me, giving me space. Luke watches me as I search around the yard for something that will make it easier to deal with what just happened, but ultimately my gaze travels back to Luke.

“So now you know,” I say and blow out a loud, defeated breath. I search for the disgust in Luke’s eyes, the look everyone has when they find out, but his eyes look black against the night, the porch lights glaring behind him.

The longer the silence goes on the more I feel like I’m going to cry. Tears sting at my eyes as I battle not to let them out, wanting to be that tough girl again, the one that doesn’t give a shit. I need her. She makes everything okay, even when it’s not.

“I didn’t know reporters were like that,” Luke finally says quietly as he wraps his fingers around my arm. “He seems crazy and intense.”

“Unfortunately a lot of them are intense,” I reply, biting on my fingernails, desperately wishing I could read what he was thinking. “But I’ve never met one so obsessed like that… he’s been calling me for weeks and he showed up at my work.”

His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks and I don’t even bother to answer. “You should have said something.”

“Why? So I could tell you my sad story and you could look at me like you are right now.”

“You can’t even see my face so you can’t see how I look.”

“I know the look, though. It’s the one everyone has when they hear about me. The girl who found her parents dead and then sat in the house with their bodies for a day. The fucked-up girl that scares the shit out of people.” If he wasn’t planning on ditching me before, I’m sure he is now.

His fingers spasm against my arm as he turns us slightly so I can see his face and there’s nothing there but sympathy and maybe even understanding. “Everyone has their dark past. I have mine and, trust me, I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I judged you for anything you did. I’ve done plenty of messed-up shit that most people wouldn’t understand.”

I slip my hand out of his and hug my arms around my waist, wishing I could fold myself into myself, hide behind the steel walls that have been shrinking over the last few weeks. “Like what?” I honestly don’t expect him to answer me so when he takes a deep breath, preparing to speak, my pulses stills.

“How about shooting your mom up with heroin when you were eight because she hated needles and so she made you do it for her?” he utters softly and I can tell he doesn’t want to say it, but it’s like his lips forced him to do it.

I don’t know how to react. If I should react. If I should hug him. Run from him. What I should do. Thankfully, he reacts for me, his fingers leaving my arm and circling around my waist.

“Do I scare the shit out of you now?” he asks and I shake my head. “And your past doesn’t scare the shit out of me,” he says. “Now you do, but for entirely different reasons. Ones that have more to do with me and how you make me feel.”

I nod, the tears drying as he leans down to gently kiss me. And it’s strange, but in a good way, because for a moment all the bad that just happened doesn’t exist. I don’t feel it crushing against my chest. Luke’s the first person that’s ever been able to lift some of the weight off me and it makes me want to cling to him as long as I can. So when he picks me up and carries me into the house, I let him. Just like I let him undress me. Allow him to pull my shirt off and slip it over my head, so I’m surrounded in the scent of him. I let him lay me back on the pillow and climb into bed with me. Then we fall asleep. Together.

Chapter 16

Luke

Violet and I fall into this weird rhythm over the next few weeks. We organize our room and I let her put most of the stuff where she wants it. She has this teddy bear that she insisted had to go on the dresser, right out in the open, even though it was purple and girly. But then she told me that her dad gave it to her and I gave her a hug because it’s all I could think to do. I’ve been hugging her a lot, partly because I like the feel of her, but partly because I’m afraid she’s going to disappear.

I’m afraid she’ll finally realize that I wasn’t kidding about shooting up my mom and then she won’t be so willing to accept it. She’s subtly asked me a few times about my mom and what she’s like and I give her as few details as possible, because everything’s working for Violet and me at the moment.

We kiss a lot, she lets me touch her wherever and whenever I want, yet I still hold back, afraid of crossing that line and fully accepting that I’ve changed inside. That I’m going to actually consider a real relationship with Violet, even knowing that at any moment she could take everything away from me. It’s harder than hell, though, not just to take control and slip inside her. It feels like every moment of every day I want to be inside her, over and over again. I want to see that look in her eyes again when she comes, only this time I want to be inside her when it happens.

“You’ve been drinking a lot of beers lately,” she notes as she piles the dishes into the sink. Seth and Greyson have gone out to dinner to celebrate their three-month anniversary. They’ve been together longer than three months so I’m not really sure what anniversary they are celebrating, and I didn’t ask. “Is it because you’re trying to take better care of yourself?”

I cringe at the fact that she’s subtly mentioning my diabetes—my weakness—but because it’s her, it makes it a little bit easier to relax. I plop down on the leather couch and tip my head back to take a swig. “Yeah, I decided to try sticking to just beer for a while and see how that goes… get a little healthier. Plus, I think I need a little break from the other stuff.”

She glances up from the sink. Her hair is pulled up, leaving her shoulders and neck exposed for me to fully appreciate. She’s wearing a thin tank top with no bra and boxer shorts. I’m doing my best to keep my hands to myself, but it’s hard when she’s dressed like that. “A break from what?” she asks

I shrug and set the beer down on the coffee table, reaching for the remote. “My obsession from… what did you call it… burning the shit out of my throat.” I flash a grin at her, not telling her the real reason I’ve cut back on the hard liquor. That I’m trying something different, aiming for a somewhat clearer head, so I can fully be aware of everything going on between us. It’s hard sometimes, though, and kind of painful, now that my nerves are heightened to everything.

“Did I say that once?” She angles her head to the side, tapping her finger on her lip, pretending she can’t remember. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“That sounds exactly like something you say,” I tell her, changing the channel.

“You sound like you know me or something,” she teases with a grin as she shuts off the faucet.

“Are you saying that I don’t?” I retort, picking up my beer again as I kick my bare feet up on the table.

She pauses, wiping her hands off on a paper towel. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“So you’re saying I know you.”

“As much as I know you.”

“I don’t think I know you completely,” I say, peeling off the label of the beer. “Not yet anyway.”

She stacks some plates in the dishwasher. “You know a lot of the important parts.”

I toss the damp label onto the coffee table. “I know I do.”

“And you’re still here.” She looks down as she says it, like she could care less about my reaction, but the nervousness of her tone suggests otherwise.

“Of course I’m still here,” I joke in a light tone because I know it’ll make her feel better. “I don’t want to go back to being homeless again. Beside, where else do I get to sleep with a girl who purposely pushes her ass against my cock every night.”

She looks up at me with feigned annoyance in her eyes. “I did that once and it was because I was having a weird dream.”

“A weird dream about me fucking you?”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue as she collects some dirty glasses out of the sink. “I’m surprised that you still want to sleep with me at all,” she says. “I thought you’d be sick of my crazy gasping ritual.”

I tip my head back and gulp my beer. Every morning Violet wakes up the same way she woke up in my dorm room, gasping for air. It scared the living daylights out of me for the first week, but now I just want to know what’s causing it. All she’ll tell me is that it’s a nightmare, I’m guessing about her parents, but she won’t talk about it. “What can I say, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“I guess so,” she muses, setting the glasses upside down inside the dishwasher. “You know, I feel like the maid around here. It always seems like I’m the only one who does the dishes.”

“Hey, I clean a lot,” I protest, putting the empty beer bottle onto the table. “It’s Seth and Greyson who don’t do anything.”

“Greyson at least cooks,” she remarks. “All Seth does is leave Kit Kat wrappers and energy cans all over the place.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to argue with that,” I say as I watch her ass stick out of the bottom of her shorts as she bends over to load plates into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “You know,” I continue, “I think if you’re the one who’s going to do the cleaning, we should get you a naughty maid costume.”

She stands back up, straightening her shoulders. “Why bother with the maid costume, when I could just do it naked?”

I shake my head, biting on my lip so hard I nearly draw blood. “One of these days when you say something like that to me, I’m going to take the situation and make you follow through with what you said.”

She relaxes back against the counter, folding her arms. “Oh, I wish you would.”

My body burns with a controlling urge to touch her. I’ve felt it a lot of the last few weeks and Jesus she knows how to push my buttons and make it worse.

“You think I’m kidding.” She moves forward to scrub the dishes in the sink, facing my direction. “But I’m not.”

I watch her as she turns the water on and begins rising off a pan. She’s smiling to herself and I start to get to my feet, ready to finally give in to my needs or hers—it’s becoming hard to tell anymore. I’ll take her back to the room and give her what she keeps teasing me about. But then my phone starts to ring.

“Saved by the bell,” she singsongs with a grin on her face.

“Oh, this isn’t over,” I assure her, retrieving my phone from the pocket of my jeans. “I’m starting this right back…” I frown as my dad’s name appears on the glowing screen. He’s been trying to reach me a lot recently, probably because the wedding’s getting nearer.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Violet asks, putting the pan in the dishwasher and then bumping the door shut with her hip.

“I guess,” I mutter, hating that getting a simple call can ruin the entire vibe of the night. I hit talk, putting the receiver up to my ear. “Yeah.”

“Hey,” my father says, sounding desperately cheerful. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“That’s because I’ve been ignoring them,” I say with honesty as the rumble of the dishwasher fills the apartment. Violet leaves the kitchen and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door, taking her cute ass with her, along with the good and lightness in me.

He pauses, struggling for words. “Look, Luke, I’m so sorry about my reaction when you asked if you could move in with us,” he says. “Sometimes I don’t know how to be a father and I just say stuff, not really thinking beforehand. But I should have said you could move in with us. I’ll even give you my bed.”

“I’m good.” I pick up the beer, needing the taste of it. I take a large guzzle, but it’s not enough. Too mellow and weak. Too sober and unstable. Switching to beer was such a bad idea.

“Luke, I’m really trying here,” he says. “I know I wasn’t part of your life for a while, but I want to be now.”

“You’re really trying.” I laugh harshly in the phone as something snaps inside me, the last fourteen years shoving me down farther and farther and I’m too sober and can feel it all. “Trying would have been calling me up more than ten times over the last fourteen years. Trying would have been not leaving me and Amy with Mom and her craziness.”

“You’re mother’s not crazy.” He sighs. “She just struggles with stuff.”

“No, she’s fucking crazy and you’re fucking crazy for thinking she’s not.” I snap. Literally snap. All the stuff I’ve been holding inside me spills out as rage flares through me until all I see is white.

“Luke you will not talk about your mother that way,” he says. “Yes, she has problems but we all do.”

“You’re seriously defending her and you don’t even get it.”

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

“Do you have any idea things that she did—made me do? Do you have any idea at all the stuff that I went through… she made me shoot her up, you know. Inject heroin into her veins,” I hiss, balling my hands into fist, wanting—needing the silencing burn of Jack or tequila, but instead I settle for ramming my fist against the coffee table. A few of my knuckles pop and the wood scrapes a layer of skin off. It hurts, but not as much as thinking about the past. “When I was eight, she made me crush up her cocaine, made me let her hold me while she passed out. She made me do everything with her like I was a pet. She never let me breathe. She ignored Amy.” I breathe furiously, fighting to get oxygen as I throw the empty beer bottle across the room and it shatters against the wall. “She didn’t give a shit when Amy died. She fucking screwed up my life so God damn badly that I have to control everything just so I won’t remember how much she controlled me…” I trail off as Violet walks in front of me, standing between the television and the coffee table. Everything gets silent as she takes in the glass around her feet.

“Luke, oh my God, I didn’t—” my dad starts to say.

I press end, hanging up on him. He calls right back and I shut off my phone, tossing it onto the table, my eyes never leaving Violet. As usual, I can’t tell what she’s thinking which means I’m going to have to ask.

“How much did you hear?” My hand is shaking but my voice comes out even. I know she already knew some of the stuff, but she pretty much heard a replay of my entire sad, stupid, worthless life. Now she knows just how pathetic I really am.

“Everything.” There’s an unreadable look in her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She contemplates something and I can’t take her silence. I feel like I’m about to explode.

“Violet, just say something,” I say, sounding panicked and pathetic. “Please.”

“We should probably clean up the glass before Seth and Greyson come back,” she tells me. “Although, we could just leave the mess for them to clean up.”

“Violet I…” I drift off as she tiptoes over the glass and climbs over the table beside me. Then she laces her fingers through mine and kisses my scraped knuckles softly. After she kisses each one, she looks up at me with her round green eyes, then stands on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my lips. I relish in the taste of her as my hands slip around my waist. I’m confused why she’s okay with this, about what she heard, about the fact that she walked into a living room covered with glass, but then I remember everything she already knows about me; how she stopped the fight at the strip club, how I told her about my mom making me shoot her up. She knows more about me than most and she’s still here, kissing me and letting me be close to her.

So I kiss her back with force and passion, because I need to be with her, need to get the rage inside my chest out. I kiss her with hunger as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her back to the bedroom, bumping into walls and the door before I finally lie us down on the bed. She groans as I cover her with my body and start sucking on her neck, kissing her jawline. I only pull back to peel her shirt off, her nipples perking as soon as the air hits them. I take her in as she helps me take off my shirt and the she traces her fingers along the tattoos on my ribs and chest as she just stares at me with an almost mesmerized look in her eyes.

“Do they mean anything?” she asks, her finger sketching over the lines of a tattoo on my side.

I shrug, my fingers knotted in her hair. “I went through this phase where every time I was feeling shitty, I’d get a tattoo.”

“You have a lot.”

“I felt shitty a lot.” I pause, running my finger down the back of her neck while my other hand travels up her rib cage, across the dark lines of the tattoo. “What about yours? Do they mean anything?”

She peers up at me through her lashes. “The stars do.”

My fingers land on the spot where I know the stars are inked. “What do they mean?”

“I got them to remember my parents.” She shrugs. “I read somewhere once that stars represent our dead ancestors or something weird like that.”

I start to say something, but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Just kiss me.”

Even though it feels like I should say more, I kiss her instead, leaning my weight into her and pulling her back onto the mattress with me. I kiss her neckline, her collarbone, the spot on her chest where her heart beats. Then I suck her nipple into my mouth, allowing all the sexual tension I’ve been holding in to flow out of me. She moans, her knees coming up to my hips as she grips tightly onto my shoulder blades, muttering something about doing it harder. Good God, just kill me now.

I do what she asks and move to her other nipple, sucking harder until I can’t take it anymore. Then I pull away and slip her shorts off, chucking them to the side, along with her panties. Violet may love to be tough but as she lies naked underneath me I can tell that she’s nervous and trying to hide it. It makes me hesitate and I’ve never, ever hesitated.

Before I can say anything, though, she reaches forward and undoes the button of my jeans. Then her hands slide down beneath my boxers and her lips part as her fingers brush my very eager, swollen cock.

“I think we…” I trail off, loosing focus as she begins to rub me. My muscles unravel like knotted ropes as I groan. Before I know it I reach the point where I’m either going to have to stop her or settle for a hand job. With a lot of effort, I reach down and tug her hand away, and then I kick off my jeans and boxers. I grab a condom from my back pocket then throw my jeans on the floor, returning my body over hers. She has this excited look in her eyes, that I’m not sure how to interpret or if I should even try to interpret.

I start to open my mouth to ask her if she’s okay with this, but she leans up and smashes her lips against mine before I can utter the words. I lose focus of everything else and before I know it I’m sliding into her. She’s tighter than I’m used to which means I have to go slower than I’m used to. I grab a fistful of the sheet, fighting to take my time, inching into her gradually, but she opens her legs and arches her back, taking over, meeting me halfway. Suddenly I’m inside her all the way and I still, trying to stifle the urge to pin her down and take over. Time slips by as the connection between us builds, along with the overwhelming emotions that are consuming me.