I gasp for air as my lungs expand and I urgently reach for my eyes to wipe away the tears that are streaming down my cheeks. Alex leans back, giving me room. My body aches in objection as I sit up, blinking my burning eyes.
I don’t look at him, but I can feel him watching me. “I think I should go home,” I say, smearing away the last of my tears onto the sleeve of my shirt.
“You’re crying.” He leans forward and tips his head, moving into my line of vision. His eyes scan my face. “You’re really crying.”
I swing my legs off the bed, attempting to stand, but my muscles are taut and I fall right back down. “People cry all the time. It’s part of life.”
“Yeah, but usually people cry when they’re upset or when something horrible happens to them.” His eyes roam to the window and he stares at the silhouettes of the trees. “Did something horrible or sad happen to you?”
I shake my head, but it feels like I’m lying as vague memories press at my mind. Even though I’ve never been able to feel it until now, my life hasn’t been a walk in the park. I basically raised myself since I could walk, cooking dinner for myself by the age of six when I could read the instructions to the microwave dinners. I walked myself to the bus stop in the below zero weather. I sat in my room countless times, staring at the wall and wondering what I was supposed to do with myself because everything felt pointless. There isn’t a single picture of me because no one has ever wanted one enough to take it. I’m told all the time that I’m not wanted. Is all this considered horrible?
He smoothes my hair out of my eyes, tensing as our skin comes into contact. “You blacked out. It took me forever to wake you up.”
“I’m fine,” I lie and try to get to my feet again, but my legs give out again and I collapse back onto the bed, giving up.
His tense expression alleviates and his voice is soft, begging. “Gemma, there’s obviously something bothering you, so just tell me what it is.”
“It’s called life.” I meet his eyes. “Now, would you please take me home? I feel sick.”
He shakes his head. “You were fine when I left the room. What the hell happened?”
I was fine when he left, and then I wasn’t. Just like when I was working at the library. Then he showed up and then left, leaving me numb. A realization clicks inside my head: what if it is him that is making me feel this way, or the absence of him anyway? “Who are you?”
His expression shifts as he looks at me like I’m crazy, making me feel small and insignificant. “I’m Alex.” He speaks to me like I’m a moron.
I kneel up on the bed, trying to gain some confidence against his overbearing gaze. “I know what your name is, but what I’m wondering is, who you are as a person?”
His eyes never leave me. “Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“But, why?”
It’s like a game to him. A fucking mind game. “Because ever since I met you, things in my life have gotten a little… weird.”
He chews on his lip, unflustered. “Weird how?”
“You know what, let’s just go.” I start to get up, but his fingers snag my elbow and he yanks me back down on the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you were crying.” He rolls on his hip, forces me on my back, and traps me beneath him.
Longing swells through my body and I bite my lip hard to suppress a moan. “Get off me.”
He shakes his head as he transfers his weight so that my legs are confined underneath him and our bodies touch strategically, chest-to-chest, leg-to-leg. “Fight all you want, you can’t do anything about it. I’m the one in control here.” He pauses as I scowl and our chests brush as we breathe in sync. “Now, please, will you just calm down and tell me why you’re flipping out? I thought I was doing well with the whole douche bag thing.”
“You were.” I swallow hard from the feel of his breath stroking against my cheeks and the way my nipples brush against his chest every time I take a breath. I’ve never been this physically close to anyone and my mind is racing with anxiety, anger and a craving to touch him everywhere. It’s too much. I’m going into an emotional overload and it feels like I’m going to combust. I try to wiggle my arms between us, but he seizes my arms and lures them above my head.
“Get off me!” I need help, but I’m shit-out-of-luck. The music is so loud and it even muffles the noise in the room. “Please!”
He forces my arms together and holds them in one of his very large hands. “Not until you tell me why you’re flipping out.”
“Because physical contact freaks me out,” I lie, arching my body into his in a lame attempt to force him off me.
He moves his body upward out of my reach, but still keeps a hand on my arms. “I can tell when you’re lying by the way you’re biting your lip.” He lets his weight descend back toward me. “Just like I can tell when you’re pissed off by the way your jaw tenses.” His body is back on me and I lay immobile beneath him as he continues with his voice softer. “Just like I can tell when I’m embarrassing you because your cheeks turn pink.” His face lowers towards mine and I notice for the first time that he has a faint scar just below his eye. His breath is hot against my ear and neck; my eyes uncontrollably shut as he whispers, “Or how I can tell when you’re getting turned on by the way you get distracted and how your body shudders.”
The insinuation of his words encloses around me and my body shudders, just like he’s accused. Something snaps inside me. I break. Splinter apart. Pieces are now missing. I raise my head and surprise him as I touch my lips against his. I push past the forceful amount of electricity slashing through me and instead of kissing him, I suck his bottom lip into my mouth.
Then I bite down hard.
I’m not even sure what the point is. Whether I’m pissed off or so turned on that I’ve lost the capability to rationalize my actions. I rest my head back on the mattress and wait for him to hop off and call me a freak.
Instead, he stares at me as his tongue slips out from his mouth and wets his lips. “Fuck, you drew blood.”
Before I can even begin to be embarrassed, he lets out a deep growl and seconds later his lips come down on mine. Holy fucking hell. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s all gone; the worry, the sadness, the emptiness. I can barely breathe as his tongue slips inside my mouth and entangles with mine. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I go with it and allow his tongue to search my mouth. My skin feels like it’s melting, but in a good way. As I lift my hips up, pressing our bodies together, the heat spirals out of control. I want to be closer—need to be closer—but it doesn’t seem possible, since he’s lying on top of me.
His hand is still holding my arms and he tightens his grip as his other hand slides down my body to my hip. He digs his fingers into my skin as he moves his legs so that mine are free. Seconds later, I have them fastened in a vice-grip around his waist. His body tenses and his breath catches in his throat. Drawing away, he looks into my eyes and I think he’s going to say something insulting, but then he lets out another low growl that sends vibrations all over my skin and he crushes his lips into mine again. The innocent kiss suddenly turns reckless as his hand slips underneath my shirt and he cups my breast. I’ve never felt this kind of ecstasy before. It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming. Complete. I finally understand what the big deal is.
“I’ve wanted this for forever,” he murmurs, which doesn’t make much sense.
But I don’t really care at the moment
I writhe my hips up against him, feeling his hardness between my legs. My head becomes foggier as he kisses and feels me all over. I want to rip his shirt off, feel his skin and feel the passion, the spark, the connection. As every ounce of my self-control withers, I wiggle my hands out of his. Maneuvering them between us, I begin to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. When I reach the last one, he catches my hand and stops me.
He removes his lips from mine, props up on his arm and peers down at me. His lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over like he barely understands what is going on. “We should slow down,” he pants, looking conflicted.
I instantly frown. “Why?”
Looking torn, he glances down at my hand trapped in his and then back at me. “Because we should.” He loosens his grip and frees my hand. Like a magnet, my fingers move for the last button and I flick it undone.
As my fingers graze his stomach, his lips seal against mine. His tongue urges my mouth apart and when it enters mine, the warmth nearly swallows me. Pressing my hands flat onto his stomach, I feel the rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin.
I begin writhing my hips against his again, letting go as he moves his lips away from my mouth and start trailing kissing down my neck. Each one is soft, but full of desire. I want more—need more. I’m confused by my thoughts and what my body wants. It’s like I’ve been starving for years, nearly dying of hunger, and his kisses are finally satisfying the ever-growing starvation.
As he approaches my collarbone and takes a nip at my skin, I delve my fingers into his shoulder blades. With one last buck of my hips, something explodes inside me and, for a second, I’m free from the world I’ve never felt I belonged in. There is no pain, no loneliness, no fear. Everything I’m feeling at the moment is real.
Apparently, the light bulb above our heads has the same idea. It flickers and then glass shatters everywhere. I wince as sharp, hot fragments of glass land on my skin.
I freeze. Alex freezes. Time seems to freeze. Alex shifts his weight and the next thing I know he’s climbing off me, leaving me in the dark surrounded by hot glass that is sharper than the mortification I feel at the moment.
He flips a lamp on, but I don’t dare look at him as I sit up, plucking the pieces of glass off me. He walks around in front of me and begins picking glass out of my hair without saying a word. The silence says more than words ever could.
“So that was…” He drops a piece of glass onto the floor and then runs his hand down his arm, brushing some off his sleeve. “Interesting.”
I angle my neck back to look up at him. His hair is a mess, his lips puffy, and he looks perplexed. And lost. And, well, a little horrified. I feel suddenly ashamed. I’ve never felt like this before and I don’t quite understand it.
“We should probably go.” His eyes travel above my head to the ceiling.
I tip my head back, tracking his gaze to the broken light fixture that is making a low buzzing noise. “How do you think it happened?”
He shrugs, flicking a piece of glass off his sleeve. “Faulty wiring.”
“Does that stuff cause light bulbs to explode?”
He avoids looking at me and his tone is clipped. “I don’t know. I’m not an electrician.”
I suck in a breath as I stand up. Running my hand down the front of my jeans, I clear the remaining glass off and then depart for the door. “Alright, let’s go then.”
