Loving Ean (The Fae Guard Book 2) (8 page)

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry, Ean. Just keep your trap shut for five minutes!” His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just leans back into the couch and gestures for me to continue. “Thank you. As I was saying, it was great. Incredible. But, I know where you stand. I’m not sure exactly where we go from here. I do know that I don’t want to lose your friendship. So, let’s just chalk it up to a moment of insanity. I don’t want to pretend it never happened, I just want to move on.”

Ean doesn’t say anything, just continues to sit there, and study me. After a while, the silence becomes oppressive and I stand to shake it off. I grab the wine and glass, taking them to the kitchen. When I turn back around, Ean is standing on the other side of the island.

“I miss you,” he admits softly. There is sadness darkening the blue of his eyes and I ache to comfort him, but there is a chasm between us, one I’m not sure how to cross.

I offer him a tremulous smile and whisper, “Ditto.” He chuckles softly at my
Ghost
reference and it warms me all over to hear his laughter.

Ean face falls as he runs a hand through his hair, looking off over my shoulder, lost in thought. As I observe him, I notice the strain around his eyes and mouth, something is weighing him down and I wish he would talk to me about it. “Are you ok, Ean? Has something happened?” I want to walk over and wrap him up in my arms to comfort him. It used to be that we would cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie with his head resting on my shoulder until he was ready to talk through his troubles. But, I’m realizing that our relationship will never completely go back to the way it was. I’ll always be questioning my actions, wondering if they will come off the wrong way, and he’ll go running from me again. There will always be distance between us.

The walls in his eyes come down again and what emotion I glimpsed is now gone.
He’s gotten really good at that.
“No, I’m just tired.” He considers me and the moment turns awkward, neither of us knowing what comes next. Eventually, he cocks his head and gives me a warm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll see you later?” he asks. He’s clearly changed his mind about talking, so I nod because my throat is choked with tears. I want to tell him not to go, that I love him, that I need him. I don’t.

He treads to the door, but before he opens it, I decide to make one final effort to restore our friendship. “Ean, wait.” He stops and looks questioningly back at me. I walk swiftly to the door and take his hand, towing him behind me to the living area. Amazingly, he follows along without protest. When I reach the couch I push him so that he will sit. Considering I’m half his size, it’s really his choice whether or not he capitulates to my direction. I breathe an inward sigh of relief when he drops down on the cushions. I sit down beside him, lift his arm onto my shoulder, and pull my feet up, snuggling into his side. Sliding my arms around his torso, I squeeze him, and rest my head on his chest. “We used to rely on each other.” I look up at his face and gasp at how close our lips are. His head is tilted toward me and it would only take a fraction of an inch to close the gap. His gaze drops to my mouth, and then back to my eyes, the blue now brightened with heat. My stomach twists with need as fire sparks between us, burning down to my very toes. I give my head a little shake, the goal was to show him that we could be close again, as friends. I need to shut my hormones down. “I’m here for you, as a friend. Let me be here for you. Talk to me,” I implore him.

Ean studies me for a while, contemplating my words. The silence stretches out and I fear that he will reject my attempt to rebuild our friendship. I lower my head back to his chest, not wanting him to see the desperation in my eyes and the wetness of tears clinging to my lashes.

He inhales deeply and begins to talk.

Ugh, it’s November for Pete’s sake. Why the hell am I so hot? I try to stretch and realize that the source of the heat is weighing me down. I pry my eyes open and look right into Ean’s peaceful, sleeping face.

What the fuck?

An appropriate phrase considering you’re naked.

I glance down and sure enough, neither of us is wearing a stitch and the oppressive heat is from Ean’s body draped halfway over mine.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
The events of the evening come flooding back and I groan as I remember what happened.

Ean finally opened up to me a little. He’d had a rough trip checking on his charges. The Fallen were lurking around them more than usual and he’d had to call a couple of Ohtar, trying to hunt a few of them down and find out what the hell is going on. A couple of his kids had even been out rightly approached by a Fallen (which isn’t normally their way), and he’d had to deal with giving them plausible explanations while dancing around the truth, but never lying. Let me tell you, it can be exhausting. He was frustrated and worried, and it was festering inside, looking for an outlet.

Then we just sat there for a bit, finding solace in each other’s presence. After who knows how long, he . . . he kissed me. Let me be very clear about this.
He
kissed
me.
Which led to all of our clothes in a heap on the floor, a couple of mind-blowing orgasms, and then a second round on the floor of my bedroom. And, let’s not forget the third time in my bed before we passed out.

Running through our sextivities in my mind, I have to squeeze my thighs together to try and relieve some of the pressure. The beautiful wings just above his heart are now sporting a bright red mark that I’m pretty sure won’t be going away for several days. Probably matching the one over the wings on my hip. (Yes, they are hickies. Go ahead, laugh all you want) I don’t think there is a spot on my skin that he didn’t lick, suck, or bite. I can feel myself getting wet remembering what he can do with that talented tongue of his between my legs.

Seriously? You’re a grown woman, not a teenager. Have you no control?

Being plastered up against him isn’t helping the situation. The temptation to snuggle up to him and go back to sleep is overwhelming, but the memory of what happened last time has me sliding out from under him. I don’t want to face the morning after rejection, to listen to his excuses and assurances that it won’t happen again. My heart just can’t take it. At the edge of the bed, I check to see if I woke him up, but he’s still asleep. Gingerly, so as not to cause too much movement, I get up and pad over to the bathroom. With a last lingering glance, I whisper “No regrets.” Then I close the door behind me and take a shower, wishing I could wash away the memories of last night and clinging to them, at the same time.

NO REGRETS.
I HEAR
her quiet words before Laila steps into the bathroom, and the door clicks softly shut. It takes everything I have in me not to pull her back into bed and make a repeat of last night’s events. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Laila. Being fated doesn’t mean that a couple is automatically attracted, or guarantee they will fall in love, so I know that everything I feel for her is real. And, every time I lose myself in her, it becomes harder, and harder to walk away.

What the hell was I thinking? I miss her so much; I wanted to confide in my friend, for it to be like it was. I know better, but still, I let her break down my wall and I couldn’t resist those pink lips, her raspberry taste, and her body. That body. So fucking perfect. I groan and roll onto my back, trying to push away these thoughts before my morning wood turns into a fucking baseball bat.

My eyes stray to the door again. When I woke up to her shifting on the bed, I immediately began putting together a speech. I was going to tell her it had been amazing, that we couldn’t do it again, I’m sorry I lost control and a bunch of other pointless platitudes that would crush me little by little. So, when she snuck off to the bathroom, effectively giving me an out from the awkward confrontation that was sure to happen, you’d think I’d be grateful. Instead, I’m irritated. Didn’t last night mean anything to her? Is this how she handles one night—
don’t even go there, man.
The thought of Laila with another man is enough to have me planning a slow, painful death for him—whoever the motherfucker is.

At least that thought took my cock down to half-mast. Small victories and all that shit. Laying here is only prolonging the inevitable. I should go, take her up on the opportunity she’s given me to get out. With movements like molasses, I get out of bed, trudge out to the living room, grabbing my clothes from the floor. As I dress, my ears perk at every little sound, wondering if she is out of the shower yet, if she’s coming down the hall, if—
stop moping and get the hell out of here, jackass.

Laila’s lacy, light blue thong drops to the ground when I pick up my shirt. I stare at it for a moment, then take a quick look around (as if someone would see me?) and shove them in my pocket. I want something with her scent to keep with me. I studiously ignore the voice in my head telling me what a stalkerish thing this is. I don’t care. With my keepsake safely in hand, I make my way to the door and shut it quietly behind me before going into my own apartment.

In my bedroom, I flop down onto my bed and immediately feel bereft at the lack of her fragrance. I never feel more alone than right after I’ve left her presence. And yet, being with her like that took some of the sting out of my shitty trip and I feel lighter today. The two sides of me are warring against each other, so I focus on the remnants of my night with Laila, shoving the darker emotions away. What I wouldn’t give to be able to use this same method to rid me of my stress every time I come off an assignment. But, I can’t use Laila that way, and I haven’t felt desire for another woman for longer than I’d care to admit. I’ll just have to find another way.

Turns out, I’m a monumental prick and complete fuck up. For the last several weeks I haven’t been able to get any kind of control over myself. Anytime Laila and I are in close proximity—and don’t even get me started on when we are alone—we go up in flames. I’m pretty sure we’ve fucked in every closet, bathroom, training room, anywhere with a modicum of privacy. On the nights I come off an assignment, I find myself at her door, keeping her up all night, running an orgasmic marathon. So far, the record is eight but, with a little more practice, I’m confident that I can blow through that statistic.
Pun not intended, but hey, if the shoe fits.