I’m in love with someone who’ll break me.
Four and a half years—that’s how long it had been since she was last intimate. After Callum, she hadn’t been interested in being that close to someone again. Being close scared her. But here she lay. Callum Reid inside her. She wished that he’d screwed her hard and painfully. But he hadn’t.
Her heart was split on whether or not she loved what they did. It wasn’t like last time. There were too many things unsaid, things that hadn’t been expressed. Each time he looked her in the eyes as he entered her, there was a flash of an apology.
But then she came. And he came. Almost together, a fraction off from a perfect unison. It was like he needed to see more than just her eyes when he shouted her name one last time before he collapsed on top of her. It didn’t help that she softly begged him not to stop as she dug her nails into his wrists. She wanted to touch him more. More than just his wrists and arms. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow herself more. She needed the tattooed cherry blossoms under her fingertips as he filled her. Cherry blossoms gave her hope for the truth. He’d said it himself. They were a symbol of her for him.
Peyton continued to stroke the tattoo of her name on him. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She wasn’t sure how to feel. Wasn’t sure who she was in this moment. So she let her eyelids fall, trying to rekindle the hate she had for him. It was still there. It lingered. Not quite touching her heart’s surface.
“Please say something, Peyton.”
His soft plea had her opening her eyes to stare into the grey ones that had undone her all over again.
“Why didn’t you just—”
“I couldn’t,” he said, interrupting her.
The way his lips formed a frown had Peyton wanting to touch hers to his. She wanted to take away the pain, the guilt, and the secrets. But she knew it herself. She couldn’t set him completely free. That was all him. She could only get him so far.
I love you, Peyton.
She tensed at the thought. He’d said it. Twice. Never in the space of their relationship had he ever said those words to her. She didn’t trust the words he’d breathed against her ear as he’d found a slow rhythm that connected them in the most intimate of ways. She felt and heard her heart die inside her chest. The denial that she didn’t love him was ultimately crushed. They were right. They all were. She was still in love with him.
“We should go,” he said, shifting under her and attempting to pull out.
But Peyton gripped his wrist tighter. Her mind had finally succumbed to her heart’s persuasion. Her brain had betrayed the rest of her.
I need him to stay. Right here. Enough to let me have this before he takes it away. I need these sometimes moments.
He turned his head and stared at the way her hands wrapped around his wrist before he met her glance.
Peyton blinked and she breathed out. “Okay,” she replied, not really sure how these after-sex chats go.
“It’s been a while for me, Peyton, but I swear I’m clean.”
She nodded and relaxed her grip on his arms. Slowly, her thumb followed the branches of his tattoo. Once she circled the petals of a cherry blossom, he flinched, slightly thrusting inside her. A soft gasp escaped her lips at the surprise movement.
Don’t turn this into anything more, Peyton. You know what happens. He leaves. You stay. Don’t make this more. Make it a now.
“Peyton, I can’t be inside you like this. It shouldn’t have been this way. I don’t want to end up fucking you when you don’t deserve that,” Callum said as he slowly pulled out and removed himself from on top of Peyton’s body.
Peyton sat up then reached for her clothes. Without a word, they both dressed themselves. Callum’s back was towards her, and she noticed the flames of the fire dance against his skin. Peyton reached for her boots, unsure of exactly when he’d taken them off her. The moment their lips had met, her traitor brain hadn’t responded. Next she slipped them on and then her coat.
She crossed her legs and stared at the fire, not really sure what to say. The last time they’d made love, she’d lain in his arms until almost sunrise. Before they had packed up their things, he had dressed her and made her feel cherished. But this time, Peyton felt cheap and not of standard. She hung her head in shame and crossed her arms over her chest.
“How long has it been for you, Peyton?” he asked.
She turned to face him. His body was tense as he waited. “Don’t worry. I’m clean, too, Callum.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said. “I could tell.”
He could?
Peyton uncrossed her arms and let her hands fall to her lap. “How long has it been for you?” she asked, stalling.
“Months,” he answered.
Her heart burned and then plunged. He had been with other women since her. She had known that, but it hurt to hear. Somewhere inside her, the old Peyton sobbed. The same Peyton who believed they would be forever.