“Yes, topolina.” He collapses partly on top of me, his body heavy and sweat-slicked, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “Yes, my Siân.” I can only smile to show him I’m okay, still too weak and worn out to do much else.
But no matter how he’s worn me out, I can’t leave the world outside. Once I’ve caught my breath and gotten my wits about me, I look toward the phone on the nightstand. “Shit. I’m going to be late for class.”
Christian is stretched out on his stomach. “I can’t say I’m sorry,” he replies, his voice muffled.
I place a kiss against the side of his neck, giggling as I scramble out of bed and hurry for the shower, feeling like a million bucks. Worshipped and adored and craved.
I shouldn’t smile at the sight of his fingerprints on my hips while I’m washing up, should I? Why can’t I help doing it then? He marked me. He made me his the way he said he wanted to.
And I like it. I liked it at the time, too. Liked the razor-thin edge between pain and pleasure he brought me to. The ferocity of him taking me, using me for his pleasure while giving me more than I thought I could handle. It’s like having a sexy secret under my clothes, something only the two of us know about. I won’t be able to stop smiling all day, I just know it. Will people wonder why? Let them. I have nothing to be ashamed of.
Though I’m going to be late as hell for class if I don’t hurry. Morning sex is phenomenal, but it can put a crimp in a girl’s schedule. Especially when she almost passes out from the intensity of her orgasm. Is it always going to be like this? I can’t help but hope it is as I grab my jacket and run for the elevator.
Even if it means being moved to confess I love him before I probably should have.
I chew my lip once I’m in the elevator car, watching the numbers count down as I descend. I said it, loud and clear. He heard me. I know he did. Just because he was kind enough not to mention it afterward doesn’t mean he’s going to forget it, either.
It’s not the fact that he didn’t say it back that has me feeling nervous. It’s the hope that I won’t end up driving him away. Granted, his performance this morning wasn’t what I’d expect from a guy who’s scared to death now that the girl he’s screwing is in love with him. Far from it.
But still. Once he has time to think it over today, is he going to feel the same?
I won’t apologize. That much I decide while jogging to the car, checking the time on my phone as I do. I should have enough time to grab a coffee before heading in for class—and if I want to stay awake, I’d better. I’m not used to having sex late into the night. Taj was more of a wham-bam type of lover.
Could they be any more different? God, when I think back on how great I believed he was. No wonder he was so impressed with me being a virgin. He knew I wouldn’t have anybody to compare him to. The man hit the lottery when he met me. I wish I could take back the time I wasted on him, but that’s not how it works. I can only make smarter choices going forward, keeping in mind the pain I welcomed into my heart by overlooking one red flag after another.
Maybe that pain was all meant to prepare me for this new stage in my life. Taj had to happen in order for me to fully appreciate Christian and everything he wants to give me. His protectiveness, his strength, his respectfulness. He doesn’t leave me hanging or keep me guessing. I always know where I stand with him.
Heat blooms on my cheeks when another thought hits me. Taj would never spend all the time Christian did to make sure I was satisfied. Please. I was lucky if he got me off at all, much less more than once. Christian pleasured me like he took pride in it. Like his only goal was to make me feel good.
The memory makes me bite my lip to stifle a smile while I’m waiting in line for an iced coffee. I might be a few minutes late at this point, but I can sneak in through the back door and take a seat without disturbing anybody. I’ve seen people do it all the time—and now I wonder if any of them were late for the same reason I am. Another smile teases its way across my lips.
Until I hear my name called, and not by the girl making the drinks. “Siân. So, you’re still alive.”