Hate (26 page)

I’d never felt anything as good as the euphoria his so obvious pleasure brought me. His pleasure was even better than my own.

He felt that way for me. Connected to
me
. I moved my forehead from his, tucking it into his throat.

I didn’t want to cry again. I was so tired of tears. And I knew he was too. I wanted this moment to be good, like it deserved to be. So I held it all inside and channelled all of that emotional energy into the power with which I squeezed my arms.

His answered in kind, stealing the breath right out of my body as he slid out. It was such a paradox, the feeling of him holding me closer at the same time breaking the closest of our connections. I had to admit it felt good. Like at least I had something to hold onto as I was robbed of the joining of our bodies.

Rolling away slightly, he pulled off the condom and tossed it into the trash can closest to the bed. Warm skin sizzled against mine when he rolled back, wrapping me in his arms and pulling me up until my body covered his. I tucked my head under his chin and breathed deep, letting him intertwine our legs with both each other and the sheets.

His skin smelled like him, like musk and man and sex, but it had a freshness that I’d never smelled on anyone else. Acting as aromatherapy, it soothed my nerves and settled me into one of the deepest sleeps of my entire adult life.

MY BRAIN WAS STILL SLUGGISH with sleep, the feel of all of Blane’s sexy muscles messing with my mind. He’d been so good at the love making last night, and I didn’t doubt he’d had practice. Unfortunately, the happy afterglow made me stupid.

“It’s easy to see how you got Franny pregnant.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I fucking froze, sharp needles of shame piercing the surface of my skin. And then systematically shut down.

Not only was what I said completely insensitive, it was a hell of a reason for why I shouldn’t be there that very moment doing what I was doing. I knew intellectually why I’d said it. He had the kind of virility that breathed as if it’s own living being. A sensual experience so complete, it was no wonder his swimmers didn’t fight through every last vestige of protection.

And that had been my sleepy mind’s thinking. But that didn’t make it okay to say.

In fact, it probably made it worse.

“Whit,” he started, but I didn’t let him talk.

God, I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Lord knew it wouldn’t be good.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here last night. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea. Why I thought I could do this.”

I scrambled out of the bed before he could grab me, searching for my clothes and snatching them off of the floor as I found them.

Jesus. How did they get so all over the place?

I found most of my wardrobe on opposite ends of the room, almost as if it had exploded right off of my body.

Coming up behind me, he grabbed onto my hips as I bent down to pick my panties up off of the floor. “Look, Whit. This wasn’t—”

Righting my body and turning quickly, I stopped him, a shaky hand to his mouth.

I knew what he was going to say. This wasn’t that big of deal. Just two people having sex after a frightening, life-threatening ordeal. Hormones were high and so were long suppressed emotions. I’d spoken as though this encounter and their actual relationship were related. But they weren’t. Franny had been the love of his life. Not some girl he’d thrown a bang in high school.

They had years of love and intimacy that I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

No doubt their sex had been different, sensual. Really, really beautiful.

And I’d totally belittled it by comparing the two. Like they were even in the same universe.

He’d told me himself that they had sex for the right reasons. A deep and meaningful love being celebrated physically. And that wasn’t the case with us. Because while I might have still been in love with him, he wasn’t in love with me.

Just thinking those words burned. Like an aged whisky, slipping and sliding down my throat with a sting and settling my gut into a consistent churn.

How cliché.

I was the girl who pretended she could sleep with the guy she was in love with and it not mean anything.

Next thing I knew, I was going to be alone in my house and going to investigate the suspicious noise I heard.

In the dark.

With no weapon.

“Whitney, look at me,” he called as I moved feverishly around the room, hopping to try to get back into my panties one uncooperative foot at a time.

“How can you even stand to be in the same room with me after I said that?” I asked, completely aghast.

“I don’t know,” he replied sarcastically, a little chuckle completely throwing my already twisted emotions further into a tailspin. “Maybe because I know you, and I know you didn’t say that in some kind of malicious, shit for brains, anti-baby kind of way. Maybe because I know you’re a good human being who loved Franny and me, and undoubtedly the baby we never got to meet.”

I looked up at him, unable to hide my surprise.

“Jesus, Whit. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were sleepy, and probably all mixed up. I know I am. All of the emotions of seeing you again and the way last night felt. I know you’ve gotta have Franny on your mind, and that was just how it manifested.” As I stared at him in unconcealed horror, he shrugged. “We all stay stupid shit every now and then.”

“I don’t understand how you can be okay with this. I’m definitely not okay with this.”

“Maybe that’s part of why I am. You obviously hate that you said it. That’s enough.”

I shook my head, completely unwilling to accept it.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to go anyway. I have to get to the airport and get on another fucking plane.”

“Whitney—”

“It’s okay,” I said, stopping to look him in the eyes. I wished I hadn’t.

“Last night was great. Really, you’re even more talented than I thought.”

His face twisted.

“You were right. You’re wife’s going to want to sleep with you all the time.”

I grabbed my shirt, pulling it over my head sans bra again, since I had no choice, and hopped into my shorts as I headed for the door.

He reached out and grabbed my upper arm to stop me.

“Wait. Please, at least let me talk.”

“I can’t,” I said on a shake of my head, just barely keeping the tears from escaping.

I wasn’t ready to hear the truth, no matter what it was.

He studied my face for several seconds, and against all my instincts, I let him.

All the years of hurt and mistreatment deserved at least some kind of reconciliation. I could wait to leave until he was ready to let me. I didn’t need to storm out while he was still holding on.

At least, that’s what I told myself as the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed me, the tremors literally racking my body.

My eyes fell closed when his lips covered mine, the surprise of it taking me off guard long enough to participate. Well, maybe I didn’t fully participate, but I certainly didn’t fight it.

He pulled my body against him, the resulting gasp from my realization that he was still very much naked giving him the perfect opening to stick his tongue in my mouth and caress.

It rolled slow, moving with reverence and care, and I let it.

When he pulled back, rather than having a hand on the knob ready to leave, I had my back to the door and his hips nestled between my legs.

“Don’t go,” he begged on a ragged whisper.

Unable to speak, I shook my head.

Hair flew randomly from side to side, and my movements were jerky, spastic, and just barely under my control.

Long fingers tugged at my skin as he grabbed my jaw with both hands, slowing my shaking to a crawl and touching the apex of his lips back to mine.

He licked his way in, forcing my lips to part, and taught me a lesson with his caress again. He moved strategically, his soft tongue climbing mine as though it was a column.

The door felt cool against my palms as I forced them flat against the painted surface, afraid to let my fingers get lost in the long locks of his hair for fear that I’d never get them free again.

He kept at me, licking a path around the edge of my lips and then replacing his tongue with the soft surrounding flesh.

I knew I would never free myself from the vortex, the swelling of my breasts pushing our bodies even closer together, the evidence of his arousal seating itself between my warm thighs, if I didn’t get out now.

Gathering all of my resistance, I bit the center of his bottom lip, harder than a nip but not hard enough to draw blood, and capitalized as he pulled back in surprise.

Twisting from his arms, I ducked under and to the side, swiping the front of his body and freeing the superficial connection.

“I have to go.” I meant to speak up, but I failed, the desperate plea no louder than a whisper.

His jaw tightened, but he stepped back, assuming a position of ultimate confidence regardless of his nudity.

I turned to the door and opened it, looking back over my shoulder just in time to see his lips move.

There was no sound, but I could have sworn he mouthed, “This is not the end.”

August 2014

MAYBE
WHAT IF
COULD BE
what is
with a whole lot of perspective.

You’ve only seen the way he looks at her, but how does he look at you?

MY NERVOUSNESS WAS POTENT, SO much so, that I thought I could smell it.

It was by Chanel. Eau de Nervous. Or something.

Of course, the last flight I’d been on between Tampa and Philadelphia had been hijacked. So I figured I was justified.

Still, Gram acted as though nothing was new or different or even remotely scary. Perhaps she’d already forgotten my tale of woe. The human mind aged just about as well as the body, rarely holding up without developing a few hairline fractures along the way. Gram had been lucky to hold on to all of her mental faculties for as long as she had.

According to my mom (who had begged me to stay in Florida forever at the news of my run in with Tommy Terrorist), it had really only gone downhill in the last couple of months or so. She was remembering less, instigating more, and generally choosing not to give a shit about pretty much anything.

The rules of society no longer existed, the conformity instilled in the mindsets of millions of sheeple, gone from her world.

And today was absolutely no different.

Of course, we’d been pulled into a different line at security, her breaching the older than seventy-five distinction by a solid fifteen years.

This meant she was allowed to keep her shoes on—thank God—since that was something she would have done anyway, and bound by the limitations of her wheelchair, was subjected to specifically tailored screening using a pat down and explosives screening technique.

Unfortunately, even though I was her companion, I had to go through the regular scanner, checking me for any anomalies and forcing me to leave her unattended for a number of minutes.

I kept an eye peeled, looking at her surreptitiously and praying that she would keep her big, fat mouth shut. She loved to stir up trouble, but I was in no mood. I’d spent enough time getting questioned in the back, dimly lit rooms of the airport to last a lifetime, thank you very much.