My pussy quivers around his fingers, my muscles tightening, trying to push him out as my release gushes out of me and onto his hand.
“Such a pretty little pussy. I never would’ve expected you to be so responsive to my hate, I guess we’re both full of surprises.”
I bite my bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, and cringe at the copper tang of blood against my tongue. When Remmy withdraws his fingers, I’m left reeling, my body missing his touch, the fire he sparks inside me.
He remains on top of me, just lying on my body, breathing heavy, as if he is the one needing a minute of rest after what just happened. Once his breathing is under control, he finally lifts his body off mine, the absence of his touch leaves me feeling cold. I crave his touch, his words even though cruel. All over again, I’m that little girl falling for her brother’s best friend.
Before I can say or do anything, he pulls my pants all the way off, throwing them on the floor beside the bed. He flips me over onto my back and then he’s back on me, his whole body pushing me into the mattress. In this position, I can see him, see what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Peering up into his hardened face, I wonder what he’s going to do next, and even worse, if I’m going to let him do it.
My heart is racing, and my breathing is shallow now that we’re face to face. He’s still angry, nothing but hate and sadness reflecting in his eyes. It’s then looking at him, seeing those emotions swirl that I realize I’m not mad at him. I don’t hate him for doing this.
I couldn’t, not even if I wanted to. Instead, I feel something entirely different…I feel remorse. I feel sorry that this is what he has turned into, sorry that there is no love in his life, that he’s lost the light, the kindness he once had.
Feeling a need to bring back that man, I grasp onto his shirt, grabbing a handful of the fabric, pulling him even closer while lifting up my head from the mattress. I don’t think. I simply press my lips to his and kiss him. His lips are warm, and I inhale his scent, diving headfirst into the emotions he’s pulling deep from inside me.
My mouth fuses to his, a hunger clawing at my belly. The sweet innocent kisses we shared before when we were kids is nothing compared to this kiss. This kiss holds a need, a possessiveness I want to grab onto.
Remington deepens the kiss and for a moment, I forget about how hurt we are, how angry we’ve been over losing each other. For a moment, we’re the same people we used to be using the strength of our kiss to say things neither of us ever could.
But the moment passes just as quickly as it started and within seconds, he’s pulling away, his lips swollen, his chest heaving. I catch a flicker of confusion that mirrors my own in his eyes before he jumps off the bed, immediately turning his back to me. I can hear him fastening his pants back up. I’m shocked, my thoughts disheveled, but one thing sticks out in my mind. I don’t want what we just shared to end already.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice weak. I don’t want him to go, I don’t want him to run away from me, not after I’ve caught a glimpse of the boy I once knew. I stare at his broad shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt, his body full of tension.
He wasn’t expecting the kiss, or my reaction to him and maybe that’s what he needs, to be shocked. I don’t really know, but I can’t let go of what happened. I’m waiting for an answer, but it never comes, and though I’m not surprised, I am hurt.
“Don’t go!” I order, but he’s already out the door, slamming it closed shut behind him, leaving me sitting on the bed naked from the waist down with nothing but the memory of his lips on mine. What did we just do? When I feel like my legs are steady enough to hold my weight, I slide off the bed and pick up my discarded clothes. Just as I’m pulling my panties up, the door flies open again.
Cally stands in the doorway her mouth gaping open, betrayal and hurt in her now cold gaze. “You knew I liked him! How could you do this to me? I thought you were my friend.”
“It’s not like that, Cally.” And it’s not. She wouldn’t understand that though. No one would. No one knows of the past we share.
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I reach for my yoga pants, feeling slightly exposed and a bit humiliated. I start to pull them on when she starts to talk again.