He pauses. "You want me to stop?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, then nod.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that you want me to leave, and I will."
I draw in a breath, force my eyelids open, then meet his gaze in the mirror. My entire body seems to flush with the intensity of his regard.
"Tell me," he insists, "tell me you don’t want me."
"I do," I whisper.
"Then why are you resisting what’s between us?"
"You told me you loved me. Yet the first time someone tells you about a mistake I committed, you turn your back on me publicly. You believed him over me." I hunch my shoulders. "And to some extent I deserve it, Christian. After all, I never did come clean to you about the details of what my deal with him was." I shake my head. "We are not good together, you and I."
"We are," he says with vehemence, "we bloody well are."
"You chose to believe the worst of me, Christian," I remind him. "As soon as he told you what I had done, you found me guilty without giving me a chance to explain my actions."
"I am sorry about that," he admits. "I went against my instincts. I knew there was a reason for what you did. I knew that I was to blame as much as you, and still…"
"How do you think that makes me feel?"
"I’m sorry," he murmurs.
"Are you?"
"I told you I’d show you how much I regret my actions."
"By fucking me?"
"By making love to you." He curls his fingers inside of me, and my hips push back and into the thick column between his legs.
"That’s … the problem," I gasp, "it’s too easy for you to distract me. You only have to touch me, and I seem to forget everything wrong that you did to me."
"I don’t see the problem with that." His lips kick up.
"You don’t understand what I’m trying to say," I snarl. "I want to be away from you long enough to clear my head, so I know exactly what I want."
"You want me, Flower, you know that."
"I know I want what you do to my body, but what about the rest of me?"
"The rest of you?"
"What about what my heart wants?"
"What does it want?"
"I don’t know, okay?" I cry. "I thought I might have fallen in love with you, but after the stunt you pulled earlier, I … I am not sure."
"Ah," he hesitates, "so, you’re telling me that you don’t love me?"
"No, that’s not what I’m saying." I huff. "I am just saying that I need time to think things through, okay?"
He stares at me a second longer, then he pulls out his fingers. He brings them up to his mouth and sucks my cum off of them. The heat flushes my cheeks. No matter how many times I’ve seen him do that, I’ll never get used to the raw eroticism in his gestures.
He steps back, and cool air rushes between us. Damn it, how can I already miss him? And why did I stop him from taking me one last time? Something to stay with me in the days to follow as I figure out what I really want.