Fifty-seven

 

Conner

 

I’m breathing underwater. Killing myself, themoment I asked her to do it.

I want you to kiss me.

My only solace is that she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Doesn’t understand what I’ve asked her to do. What it means to me.

What any of this means to me.

Because I’m a big fat, fucking liar.

I cannot do this.

I can’t.

I can’t fuck Henley without it meaning something. I can’t give her what she wants without hurting myself.

Without allowing her to hurt me.

I told her I could.

I told her I was over her.

Didn’t love her.

Fucked her out of my system a long time ago.

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

So, naturally, I ask her to do the one thing that will cut me deeper and kill me quicker than anything else she can possibly do to me.

I ask her to kiss me.

But she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Doesn’t understand.

Knowing that makes it easier to pretend a little while longer that I’m not a dead man walking.

As soon as her mouth closes over mine, it all goes away and I sigh, part relief, part death-rattle. She moans softly in response, her hands closing around my forearms, anchoring me to her, holding me steady while she slants her mouth over mine, her tongue skimming the seam of my lips, asking for entry and I let her in, groan deep in my throat. Feel her tongue lick and tangle with mine, the lingering taste of her pussy mingling with the taste of her mouth lancing through me so quick and sharp I barely feel the pain.

My hands fall from her hair to grip desperately at her hips, flexing mine to give her slow, shallow thrusts while I rock her against me.

She keeps kissing me, her fingers wrapped around the back of the chair using her grip as leverage while she fucks my mouth with her tongue, working herself with my cock until she’s shaking and moaning against me.

I push a hand between us, skimming my thumb against her clit, pressing and circling it while my other hand tilts her hips against mine, faster and deeper, until she’s shuddering and coming all over me, her core contracting and grabbing onto my cock so tight I can’t breathe.

I follow her over the edge, the force of my orgasm knocking the wind out of me, rocketing up the length of my spine, hitting my cock so fast and hard I shout, the gruff sound of it lost in the swirling rhythm of Henley’s mouth on mine.

The weight and press of her against me.

The taste of her mouth.

The warmth of her around me.

The gentle give of her hips beneath my hands.

I want it to go on forever. I don’t want it to end. But when she finally lifts her head and looks at me, I can feel it. The distance she puts between us. The way her gaze slides right through me, like I’m a ghost.

Like I don’t matter.

Same as always.

I say it, so I can get it over with. Get out of here. Away from her, because if I have to spend one more second inside her while she looks through me, I’m going to scream.

“I want to spend the night.” I look her in the face when I say it because I have to see it. It won’t hurt as much if I don’t, and right now I need her to hurt me. I need her to kill me so I can remember what this is and what it isn’t. I need to remember what it really feels like to love her. I need to remember what it’s like to be the thing she hides.

The thing she never chooses.

To want something I can never have.

I see her answer before I hear it. The way it snaps her spine, straight and tight. The way her face pales and her mouth moves, panic opening and closing it without a sound.

“Yes or no, Henley.”

She shakes her head, mouth open again to let some sort of excuse fall out. “I don’t think—”

My fingers dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise. “Yes. Or. No.”

Finally, she says it. Gives me the word I need to hear. The answer I knew she’d give me the moment I asked.

“No.”

I let go of her, my fingers going so soft they drop away completely.

“Conner, I can’t—” She shakes her head, brow furrowed. Face pale. “This is my stepfather’s apartment. People know him. Me. I shouldn’t have even let you—” She must’ve realized how that sounds because her mouth snaps shut before she can finish.

“I know,” I say. “It was a stupid thing to say.” I fit my hands around her waist and lift, gritting my teeth against the friction of her around my cock. My fingers dig into her hips, half tempted to start fucking her again. I could. I could fuck her for hours. Days. I’m already hard again just thinking about it.

If I keep fucking her, she’ll forget that she doesn’t love me.

If I keep giving her what she wants, she’ll let me stay.

But I can’t do that.

As much as I want to, I can’t.

Setting her away from me, I stand, jerking my pants up. Snatching up my shirt, I leave her standing there, naked in her dining room while I make my way back to the guest bathroom. There I take care of the condom and wash my hands, counting to fifty in my head before I can finally force myself to shut the water off. Risking a look in the mirror, I see myself in its reflection, and I want to put my head through it.

Pathetic shitsack.

I pull my shirt back on before snapping my backpack up off the floor and slinging it over my shoulder.

Exiting, I find her dressed and standing in the kitchen, hands dug into the bulk of her sweater, eyes wide, face pale like she doesn’t understand what just happened.

Like she has no idea she might as well slit my throat and toss me in a ditch.

“Please,” she says as soon as she sees me. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s cool, I’ve got shit to do, anyway,” I say, keeping my tone light. Casual. “Oh, I asked around, and your dad likes to hang at a dive on 9th that offers off-track betting on Monday nights,” I say, jamming my bare feet back into my boots. They’re muddy and wet, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I just need to get away from her. “How ‘bout I pick you up from work tomorrow so we can get this over with?”

“Yes.” She swallows hard and nods. “Okay.”

I reach for the door, about to pull it open when she lunges at me, her hands grazing my arm and I pull away from her because I’m barely hanging on here. I’m barely holding myself together, and if she touches me, I’m done.

It must show on my face because she jerks her hands back like she’s suddenly afraid of me. Of what I’ll do to her if she touches me again. “Conner,” she whispers my name, her hands clenched into fists. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I force a smart-asses grin onto my face, readjusting the backpack on my shoulder before reaching for the door again. This time, she doesn’t try to stop me. I open it and angle myself into the doorway. “Thanks for the pancakes, Daisy.” I throw her a wink over my shoulder before letting the door close between us.