“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, gliding his finger in and out of me as I writhe beneath him. “You’re the only thing that makes it bearable,” his apology is chalky, filled with remorse as he adds another finger and expertly works them inside me.
“Eli,” I murmur, his words confusing, his touch consuming. He dips, pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking lightly. My thighs shake around his head as a whisper of a smirk graces his lips before he dips again.
Lick, thrust, suck.
Lick, thrust, suck.
Just as my orgasm starts to build, he lowers a finger tracing my back entrance, and brings heated eyes up to mine. “I want this too.”
My eyes widen, and with a devilish twist to his lips, he slowly presses a finger in. I cry out in surprise, the foreign sensation pushing me right to the edge. “Not quite the gentlemen now, am I?”
All words die on my lips as I allow my moans to speak for me.
Lick, thrust, suck.
Filled with him, consumed by his wicked touch, I begin shuddering as he summons the orgasm from me, spreading me wider, his eyes blazing a trail from his working fingers up to mine.
“This pussy is fitted just for me,” he declares before pulling hard on my clit. “Perfectly mine,” he murmurs, twisting his fingers before running the tips of them along my G in beckoning. I detonate as the wave zings through me, and he increases his pace. Fast breaths pump out of me as I twitch with aftershock while he continues to feed, intent on more until I grip his hair in an effort for connection.
“Eli, baby, please look at me.”
When he lifts his tortured clear blue gaze to mine, I see nothing but conflict as fear eats the rest of his expression. Lifting, I capture his lips and protectively wrap my hands around his neck.
“I want you,” I murmur into his mouth, sliding my hand between us, and he stops me, encircling my wrist and shaking his head.
“Not tonight, okay? I’m just…”
“It’s okay,” I concede. “It’s okay.”
“Just a bad week,” he swears.
I run my fingers along his jaw. “I’m sorry you had a bad week.”
“Jesus, Whitney,” he buries his face in my neck. “I’m fucking failing at deserving you.”
“Then be a nicer boyfriend,” I say, partly in jest as he mumbles his response into my neck.
“I’m trying.”
“Please, Eli, come home with me this weekend.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
Wordlessly he lifts me into his arms and carries me to bed. Once there, he circles my waist and pulls me firmly into his chest, his heart beating erratically against my back. Clear unrest emanates from his frame as he holds me tightly to him. Every part of me wants to turn in his arms and demand an explanation and the reasoning behind his behavior, but I don’t. As much as I want to demand it—even more so, I want his admissions given freely, in his own time. That’s where the patience comes in—and therein lies my hope that it will pay off—because, for me, he’s worth it.
Grabbing the box of matches, I mull over how I felt on the drive to Nashville that night, alone and wrapped in a state of confusion that remained a constant in our last months together and long after we broke up. That night was the last night Eli was openly emotional in front of me. For the most part, he was an amazing boyfriend—until Hyde came out. Though Hyde’s appearances were rare, when he reared his ugly head, Eli would distance himself to keep me from dealing with the worst of it. Whatever battles he faced, he insisted on fighting alone, which he knew hurt me.
Showing up with soup when he was sick or anything that displayed any sort of maternal concern—that included me caring for him—seemed to push him away. It was the tiny fractures like that which caused wear and tear on our relationship. It was as if he didn’t want me to see any weakness in him at all. The only time he let me see true vulnerability was in bed.
In those intimate moments, his heart was open, unguarded, and it seemed he couldn’t stop it when we were connected that way. Sex was emotional for Eli, which made him a rare breed and only endeared him further to me. It was the distance he put between us that ripped us apart and his purposeful indifference between those rare, tender moments that kept us from reaching our full potential.
The same indifference he’s displaying now as he retreats inside himself, which is what I’ve been waiting for.
The other fucking shoe.
Proof and confirmation that I didn’t imagine the scenarios where I took a step forward, and he inched away from me.