“Fuck, Cassie, wait…”
He drops his head as I stroke him and wind his body so tight, he has no choice but to ease into me to relieve the burn.
The second he enters me, I realize I’m not remotely prepared for how good he feels. How my body sings as it swells around him.
Somewhere between the last time we fucked and our endless text conversations, I lost the ability to compartmentalize my feelings, and now ‘just fucking’ isn’t even an option anymore. He lets out a long moan as his hips finally rest against mine. Then he stops and breathes shallowly for a few seconds.
Is it just as scary for him? Or does he feel that small thrill of possibility?
I try to move against him, but he holds me down.
“Stop. Wait.”
He takes a deep breath and pulls back, then presses in again. Slow and determined. He’s not fucking me. He wants me to feel it. The way his whole body is trying to tell me his intentions.
“Cassie, open your eyes.”
I do. His face is more naked than his body’s ever been. Every tender thrust shows in the way his mouth moves without making noise. He’s not even trying to hide how he’s feeling.
“I want to be with you. Please. Don’t make me beg, because I’m desperate enough to do it, and I swear to God, it won’t be pretty.”
He moves faster. Lifts my leg to his hip. Slides deeper and watches my reaction. Holds my gaze. Silently begs me not to look away.
“Please say something.”
His voice is tight. Low and rumbling. Punctuated by his movements. What he’s doing. Physically. Emotionally. It’s too much.
“Just say yes,” he says, breathy and panting. “I’m so fucking tired of trying to live without you. Aren’t you tired? Of pretending you don’t want it all? I really think I can do it this time. Us. Please, I want to try.”
His movements are becoming erratic, but he still doesn’t look away. I dig my fingernails into his back, tug on his hair, grab his hip as I arch and crest.
“Cassie, please.” He’s barely hanging on. I’m the same. I can’t say no to him. He might be the worst gamble I’ve ever made, but he also might be my one. The one. How can I not take a chance on that?
“Yes.”
I hold on long enough to see the exquisite relief in his smile, then I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, and I’m flying so high and fast, I babble against his shoulder. Repeat the word “yes,” over and over again. Hold my breath as my whole world spasms in perfect unison with my orgasm.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
Even at our hottest and most desperate, it’s never been this incredible. I’m still reeling when he buries his head into my neck and groans.
“Cassie—I … God … I love you. I love you.”
I grip him as he shudders. I stroke his hair and hold him as I wait for us both to stop shaking.
So many emotions twist and rage in my veins, sparking and pounding in a rush that seems like it’s never going to end.
When it finally ebbs away, he’s still wrapped around me. Still inside.
I don’t let him go. I’m incapable.
For so long, I’ve tainted my vision against him. Closed my eyes to his beauty and my ears to his charm. But my heart …
I tried to harden it against the things I didn’t want to feel, and yet, here I am, feeling them anyway.
For all its amazing strength, our hearts are made of eggshells, and sometimes all it takes is someone you’d almost given up on declaring their love for it to crack wide open.
TWENTY
NOW AND THEN
Present Day
New York City, New York
Graumann Theater
I splash warm water on my face to wash off the last of my stage makeup. After I pat myself dry, I look at the stranger in the mirror.
No extra-long lashes, fake-pinked cheeks, or Lolita-red lips. Just me. Pale, splotchy skin. Olive eyes too world-weary to sparkle. Brown hair too coated in hairspray to shine.
I don’t dislike how I look. Everything is in proportion.
And yet, this girl staring back at me? Somewhere along the way, I think I lost track of how much I like her.
My new therapist is helping. In four sessions, we’ve covered a lot of ground.
We’ve talked about a wide range of topics: my childhood, my overly critical mother, my emotionally distant father, my need to please people, my parents’ divorce, and, of course, Ethan.
Always Ethan.
She’s made me describe how we met. Our first kiss. The moment I realized I was in love with him.
Making me remember all the ways he lit me up.
I know we have to talk about the bad times, too. I’m just hesitant to relive it.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.
He stands behind me, and his chest radiates warmth, even though he’s not touching me. I watch him in the mirror as he studies me. The expression on his face makes me wonder what he’s seeing that I don’t.
“You were amazing tonight.”
I shake my head. “No, you were. I just got infected by it.”
“That’s not how I recall it.”