But no sooner had I hit send, than Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus. “You need to leave, gorgeous.”
“No.” Forget it. I was going to stand my ground. “This new cocktail, the last couple of times it hasn’t hit you really badly until the second day.”
“I can feel it coming on, Libby. Please, sweetheart.”
“No.”
“Libby, goddammit, you need to go.” His eyes were still clear and lucid, not that terrifying, opaque blue that made them look like marbles for all the emotion they’d reflect. “Please, don’t make me have to call the nurses.”
My breathing, my heart, everything stopped in that moment. “You’d do that?”
“The only thing I’ve got left to give you is me, when I’m good. After all this time, don’t you understand I have to spare you me at my worst as much as possible? So please, Libby, do this. For me.”
“After this time, don’t you understand, there’s nothing you can do, no way that you can be, that I won’t love you? That I won’t see the real you—the good you?” Despite the fact that I felt helpless and furious and ready to scream, I was still able to reach for his hand, bring it to my chest, and hold it gently against my heart.
“I know, gorgeous, I swear I know. But it kills me that this…” he glanced down at his emaciated frame, scrubbed a hand across sunken cheeks, “is what you’re left with.”
Goddamn him.
Of course I left. Because he asked. And it was for him. No matter how much I wanted to stay, I knew, both intellectually and emotionally, that I’d only be making things worse if I insisted on hanging around, upping his anxiety to unbearable levels. How could I do that to him and insist I loved him as much as I did?
I couldn’t. But I didn’t have to feel like some fucking altruistic saint either.
“Libby.”
I ignored the knocking. For now it was still soft and relatively polite—easy to ignore. Same way I’d ignored the multiple text messages on my phone, too, as well as the calls and ensuing voice mails. Because, for God’s sake, I was going to hold my ground with someone. If not Ethan, than I could damn well hold it with Nick. The only way I could do that, unfortunately, was to not talk to him at all. And forget seeing him. The minute I looked into those dark brown eyes, I’d be gone—and that wasn’t any more fair to him than clinging to Ethan was.
“Libby, te lo juro, if you don’t open this goddamn door, I’m going to go get Carlos to open it or at least give me a key, and don’t think I won’t be able to do it.” I was on the floor, my back to the door and my arms crossed over my head, as if I could somehow physically block his words. “Look, I know you’re in there and I know something’s gone down. Come on, por favor, help me out here.”
His impatience was this increasingly palpable thing, reaching through the crevices and urging me to unlock the door and let him in.
Really, I might’ve caved if it hadn’t gone silent—if the sense that he was right there hadn’t receded—allowing me to breathe again. At least until I heard the warning click and only managed to scramble out of the way an instant before the door swung inward and hit the wall with a dull thud. The bright lights from the hallway flooded the barely lit interior of my room, backlighting him into a dark, ominous shadow.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing shutting me out like this?”
Still sprawled on the floor, I watched the door slowly swing closed, the brief glare from the lights disappearing, and as it did, revealing Nick’s expression—anger, as I might have expected, for the repeated blowing off. Fear, which I maybe should have also expected. But I just couldn’t…I stared up at him, my chest getting tighter with each harsh breath I tried to suck in. “Nick, not now.”
He recoiled as if I’d slapped him, his face tightening into dark, hard lines. “No, dammit. No ‘Nick, not now.’ I may have to take it from her, but I can’t take it from you, too, Libby.” Grabbing my arm, he hauled me to my feet, his breath hot on my skin. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?”
Pressing my lips together, I shook my head.
“What is it?”
I just kept shaking my head, strands of hair flying loose from my braid and whipping across both our faces, as he grabbed both my arms, his fingers digging in almost to the point of pain. “Is it Ethan? Talk to me, Libby, please.”
“No.”
“Fuck.”
God, so much frustration and anguish in that one short word. Echoing everything I was feeling.
Reaching for him, I pulled his face down, sealed my mouth against his, hoping that would quiet him—stop the questions. In the next heartbeat, I recognized it for the complete lie it was as I pushed myself harder against him, wound my fingers tighter in his hair, holding him close when he might have pulled away. But outside of one startled jerk, he didn’t pull, but pushed, turning me until I felt the wall against my back and his body against mine, hard and demanding, against my front.
“Libby.”
“Nick.”
We knew who we were with. That was the last coherent thought I had before he tore my shirt open, buttons scattering as he pushed it down my arms. As soon as my arms were free, I yanked his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor while I pulled his head down for another desperate, open-mouthed kiss. His hands moved lower, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the zipper down while I did the same, both of us shoving material only just as far out of the way as necessary.
“Oh—oh, God.” Tears flooded behind my closed lids, half at the welcome feel of Nick’s body driving into mine, half at the sudden, unexpected pain. Don’t stop. I mouthed the words silently against his neck, as I clutched at his hips, hoping he’d somehow understand.
Thank God, the pain didn’t seem to register or maybe it was my silent begging, urging him to go on, that did. Another shove and he was in me completely, pulling at one of my thighs, freeing it from denim and cotton so he could hike it high around his waist, his grip tight.
“Libby.” It’s the only thing he seemed capable of saying as his hips began moving, fast and hard, slamming my entire body against the wall while I groped for purchase on the armoire, on the wall behind me, his shoulder…anywhere that seemed to have something I could grab on to so I could fuck him back just as hard as he was fucking me.
“Yes, Nick, please—” Please what? I didn’t even know what I was asking, but Nick did. He grabbed both my arms and pulled them around his neck while he wrapped one arm around my waist and braced the other against the wall. His hand cushioned the back of my head as he lowered his to take possession of my mouth again, his tongue surprisingly soft and slow in its explorations. A stark, erotic contrast to the ragged, brutal thrusts and jabs of our lower bodies, each of us fighting for more depth, more contact, more…everything.
One last, hard thrust and his body shuddered in mine, hot and alive, sending me into a tailspin even as I fought to hold on—to Nick, to consciousness.
To the reality we’d just created.
Nick
January 7
She was on the floor, slumped against the wall, one hand resting against her bare stomach. Her bra was still on, but her shirt was a torn mess on the floor, jeans and underwear tangled around one leg, the other bare—and all because of me. My brain was like this compartmentalized thing, registering all these details as I sat on the floor just a few feet away, breathing hard and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
“Libby.”
My God, what have I done? Why did she try to shut me out? Why couldn’t I control myself? Why?
Her eyes opened, and my breathing steadied almost immediately. I realized I’d been terrified she was unconscious, but was even more terrified to get close enough to check. The odd centers of her eyes were pale and fierce as her gaze found mine.
“I’m not sorry.”
And all I could do was stare.
“God knows I probably should be, but for right now, right this second, Nick, I’m not sorry; and
if that makes me a heartless bitch, well then, I’ll have to find a way to live with that.”
“You’re not a bitch.” My voice was hoarse, what I was feeling near impossible to define. “And you’re definitely not heartless.”
She blinked, but her gaze remained steady, never leaving my face. “There are those who would disagree.”
“Yeah and they have dick to do with this.” I finally moved, sliding forward the few feet that put me within touching range, even though I still kept hands off. “What happened is between you and me, Libby. No one else.”
“Yes and no,” she said, her gaze shifting to stare past me. I knew what she was thinking—that it also involved Kath and Ethan, however tangentially, because without them we would never have found ourselves in this surreal bitch of a situation. We wouldn’t even know each other, for God’s sake.
Right now, wasn’t sure whether to feel unbelievably pissed, unbelievably sad, or unbelievably grateful.
Libby groaned, snapping me out of my head, and now, I felt my first real pangs of guilt.
“Stay still.” Leaning forward, I put my hand on her shoulder, keeping her down even as she struggled to bring her legs under her. “Dammit, Libby, stop.”
“I’m fine, Nick.”
“No you’re not. Jesus Christ, what have I done?” My hand shook as I touched the insides of her thighs where pink-tinged streaks were already drying.
“Really, it’s okay.”
She’d only ever been with Ethan. He’d been gentle and caring their first time—a man with honor. I knew this. And God only knows when they were last able to make love. She’d told me it had been a long time. And now I’d come in like some goddamn battering ram.
“I hurt you.”
“Yeah.” Again, she fixed her gaze on my face and again those unique eyes practically swallowed me whole. “And don’t you dare go feeling bad about it, Nick. I feel…I don’t know.” Her hands framed my face, her thumbs brushing across my mouth. “Alive. The pain’s not a big deal.”
Yes, dammit, it was. I stood, yanking my jeans up. Bending down, I took her in my arms and lifted her to the bed. “Do not move.”
In the bathroom, I grabbed a washcloth and while waiting for the water to heat up, held onto the edges of the vanity with a white-knuckled grip and tried like hell not to catch sight of myself in the mirror, because if I did, I might be tempted to ram my fist through the son of a bitch staring back at me.
Returning to the bedroom, I sat on the bed and spread a bath towel beneath her.
“Nick, I can do this.” She tried to take the cloth, but I grabbed her wrist, pushing her arm down until her hand rested on her stomach again. At least she didn’t try to stop me again or insist she could take care of it herself. She got that I needed to do this for her.
I parted her thighs, keeping my gaze focused only on the stains as I ran the washcloth along one leg, then the other, carefully wiping away the streaky residue. My stomach clenched as I wondered again, how much had it hurt? But she hadn’t stopped, hadn’t cried out, hadn’t pushed me away. Rather, she’d pulled me closer, held me even tighter.
And cue the clenching stomach once more, this time because I could feel her again—her skin damp with sweat, arms holding me close, her tongue stroking mine. I could feel myself, buried deep inside her—could feel the drag of skin against skin that had been just this side of pain but also felt so fucking good I'd been compelled to drive into her over and over. Could feel her body open to me—grow wet so that each thrust went that much easier, felt that much more welcoming. Folding the washcloth, I pressed gently between her legs, drawing a long sigh from her at the feel of the warm compress. As much like shit as I felt, her reaction still managed to draw a smile. It also prompted my gaze to finally move, following the curves of her body, nude except for the bra—white, practical. Not something designed for seduction. I felt my smile fade.
“How long?”
“Little over a year.” Another sigh, a subtle shift of her body that had mine shifting in response. “We’ve played some, but actually making love just sapped so much of his energy.” She glanced away, toward the windows. “I couldn’t do that to him.”
Slowly, I drew the washcloth away and dropped it over the side of the bed. Then the bath towel.
God, but I was some kind of idiot. It was inevitable. Should have known there was no way we could leave it at that one, frantic, desperate fuck. No way I could leave it there. For a lot of reasons. And it was between us—only us.
Her sharp indrawn breath made me look up. “Nick.”
I dropped another kiss low on the curve of her stomach, that soft spot that for me had always been one of the most feminine, attractive features on a woman. “Shh…I want to.” I ran my tongue along the crease of her thigh. “I want to make it good for you, Libby. You deserve that—yow.” I found myself staring into Libby’s enraged face, held immobile by her tight grip in my hair.
Her fingers tightened, forcibly jerking my head toward the door. “Get out.”
I grabbed her wrists, pulling them free and damn if she didn’t take some hair with it. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What happened before is one thing. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be a pity fuck.”
“What?” I shook my head like I was trying to shake out what she’d just said. “Oye, you’re out of your head, woman, if you think this is a pity fuck.”
“That’s what you just said.”
Rising to my knees, I moved forward between her outstretched legs and leaned over, pinning her wrists to the pillow on either side of her head, my face so close to hers, she had no choice but to look at me. “What I said was that I wanted to make it good for you. What’s so wrong with that?”
Deliberately lowering my voice as I relaxed my grip on her wrists and stroked the length of her arms, I asked again, “What’s so wrong with my wanting to make it good for you?”
“You said it’s what I deserved.” She turned her head on the pillow, but even so, I could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “Like it’s some sort of consolation prize you feel compelled to hand out.”
Lowering my head, I dropped a kiss on her shoulder, moving the strap of her bra aside. “Not consolation prize, Libby.” I trailed a line of kisses across her collarbone, between her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs.
“More…reward. Or solace. And not just for you, but for both of us. Making you feel good…God, I can’t imagine much that would be better.” My hands resting lightly on her hips, I paused and looked up, finding her staring at me, the expression on her face unreadable.
Then her hands moved in my hair again, her touch far more gentle. Accepting. I closed my eyes and rubbed my cheek against her with a silent prayer of thanks.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” She pushed at my jeans and briefs, cool fingers grabbing my hips and trying to bring me closer.
“So are you.” I grinned as I kicked my jeans off while I watched her reach behind herself with one hand. Less than two seconds later, the bra was off and landing on top of my clothes on the floor.
“Better?”
“Almost.” I urged her up, just far enough so I could reach behind her and slip the elastic off the end of her braid. Quickly, I unwound the thick mass of it, then eased her back against the pillows. “There.”
So beautiful.
Not in any conventional sense, but then again, conventional had never really turned my crank. Libby was simply the complete epitome of soft—soft curves, soft skin, soft hair. A soft expression in her eyes, a soft smile as she pulled me down over her body, her arms holding me close. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in all that softness and by some miracle, she was inviting me to do just that.
As much as I wanted her though—wanted to make this time good for her, I still hesitated. Reaching back for one of her hands, my mouth a breath away from hers, I quietly asked, “Libby, please, are you sure?”
“Nick, really…” My mouth curved
against hers in a smile as she kissed me. That was my Libby—cutting straight through my bullshit. It would take nothing less than an act of God or a simple “no” from her to get me to stop, and we both knew it. But she gave me what I needed at the same time.
“Yeah, I am.” She arched up, bringing me with her as she settled back against the mattress. Her free hand trailed up my back to my neck, the tips of her fingers tracing a line around my ear and along my jaw. “Very sure.”
Slow and careful, I continued easing in, watching her face, making sure that there wasn’t any hint of pain. She’d had enough.
It seemed to take forever. Seemed to take no time at all. Finally cradled as far inside her as I could go, I let my head drop to the pillow beside hers. I stayed as still as I possibly could, breathing deep.
“Oh my God, Libby—you feel so good. Do you know that?”
Turning her head, her tongue teased the rim of my ear, her breath warm as she whispered, “What I know is that I’m going to die if you don’t stop with this slow crap and fuck me, Nick. I’m not going to break, I swear.”
I jerked with a shocked laugh, the vibrations making her shiver beneath me in a way that turned laughter to a groan in a hurry.
Pat me on the back though, because even so, I still tried to go slow. Build up to it. I was the more experienced one, right? Should’ve given me some measure of control. Right. Nice fantasy. Whimpering, Libby arched up hard against me, over and over, her hands grabbing my hips and urging me to go faster and then, when I still didn’t quite fall into the rhythm she wanted, she took matters into her own hands, rolling us over in one quick move.
“I won’t break,” she gasped. At the same time, though, she went completely still, the two of us plastered together shoulders to hips, so close a breath of air couldn’t get between us. Lifting her head slightly, she looked down at me, eyes wide, lips parted. I couldn’t tell—didn’t know—
“Am I hurting you?” Please, God…don’t let me be hurting her,
“No.” Propping her hands on my shoulders, she leveraged her torso up, shifting her legs until her knees pressed against my sides. Reaching back, she grasped my hands and drew them up until they rested on the pillows beside my head. Just as slowly as she’d raised her body, she lowered herself again, not quite as far as before, remaining suspended just above my chest.
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