There are strong arms and low moans, and how can he feel this amazing after all of this time? He fits perfectly to my body. Plays its rhythms. Hits every beat until everything is wire-tight and singing.
The couch, the floor, the hallway, the wall, the bed. Time and again he fills and refills me. Guides me through every type of ecstasy there is. Shows me all of its gasping forms. Just when I think we’re done, he touches me again and the fire roars back to life.
In the end, we collapse, exhausted. I fall asleep, smiling. Refusing to think about what morning will bring.
I open my eyes and stare down at Ethan.
Already, my chest is tightening.
What we did … what we shared last night doesn’t fix anything. Not one of his issues.
If anything, it complicates things even more.
We tried to suppress our passion, but in the end, she ended up making us her bitch. She waited until we were vulnerable. Stalked us on ninja feet. Pried us open with longing and loneliness. Stripped away our anger and common sense and doused us in lust.
Then she lit a match and danced as we burned.
Even now, everywhere he touches me blazes to life. I should climb out of bed and wash every trace of him away. Try to forget how incredible he felt.
But I can’t move. Can’t bear to drag myself away.
Then he opens his eyes and looks at me. Panic fires in his expression. He looks down at himself, naked and hard, then takes in the catastrophe of clothing littering the floor and bed, and frowns when he sees the slew of condom wrappers strewn across the nightstand. He stares for a long time before comprehension and disbelief dawn behind his bloodshot eyes.
“Fuck, Cassie.”
“Yeah, well, seems like you’ve been there, done that. Now what?”
FIFTEEN
JUST SEX
Sex.
It’s a primal, ancient instinct stamped into every corner of our DNA. We must screw to survive.
But sex is greedy. Addictive.
It’s an infinite, aching appetite that reduces us to base impulses capable of clouding all reason and logic.
It’s instinctual.
Simple.
Except when it’s not.
After the initial shock of waking up in bed together wears off, Ethan and I talk. Agree that it was a mistake. That we couldn’t and shouldn’t do it again.
Ever.
Then we screw two more times and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Yep.
Simple, this is not.
“So…”
“Yeah. So…”
We’ve made it as far as the front door. After several failed attempts, he’s wearing clothes, and I’m wearing a robe. His hair is ridiculous. Mine is even more so. I look like Hagrid if he’d been electrocuted in a wind tunnel. Ethan’s looking at me as if he’d like to do very bad things to Hagrid.
The urge to touch him again is swelling like the tide under a full moon. It’s vaguely ridiculous.
“I’d better go.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t move. Neither do I. We know we have to. We can’t do it again. I hurt everywhere. He’s given me scruff rash on every inch of exposed skin, as well as some that isn’t so exposed.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Fifteen minutes ago we were fitting together in the very definition of rightness, gripping each other through countless layers of pleasure. But now? Here comes the awkward. The separation.
Walls and masks and tectonic plates of emotion slide back into safe formations. Stand us on our feet. Tilt us away from each other once more.
Whisper to us that it was just sex.
Just sex.
He opens the door then pauses. “So … is it going to be weird between us now?”
“You mean more weird No.”
He nods. “No. Exactly. I mean, it was just breakup sex, right? Everyone does it.”
“Right.” Just sex. “We might have waited a little longer than most, but it’s totally normal.”
“It’s out of our systems now, so, we can … you know … move on.”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Move on.”
He inhales and stares at the exposed flesh my robe reveals.
He talks to my boobs. “See you Monday?” At last he makes it up to my face.
I want to tell him to stop it. The longing that’s peeking out. It’s too much. This was just sex.
“Yep. See you then.”
He hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he hugs me and buries his head in my neck. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but it feels like thank you and I’m sorry all wrapped up in one.
It makes me feel things. Buried and bound things.
I push him away. I don’t want him to go, but I need him to.
He seems to understand. Shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a disbelieving sigh.
“You smell like me. Like me and … sex.”
He fingers the tie of my robe. “I mean, you’ve always smelled like sex to me, but today … you smell like the very definition of incredible, earth-moving, seeing-the-face-of-God sex.”
This man. Forever stealing my breath.
We have a moment of maybe once more before we both realize there’s no way. Our bodies are done.
I push him out the door. “Get out while you can. Thanks for all the sex.”
All the just sex.
“Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”