Hating You, Loving You

by Crystal Kaswell

  I slide my arm around Chloe's waist and whisk her onto the sidewalk.

  For a few moments, her posture softens. She relaxes as we cross the street, move into the teal lobby, find the elevator inside the building.

  But the second we hit the button for the fifth floor, her shoulders are back up at her ears.

  The easiness is gone.

  And, this time, I'm pretty sure it's not coming back.

  The second someone calls her name, Chloe jumps to her feet. She presses her hands together and sucks a breath through her teeth.

  I reach up. Take her hand. Squeeze tightly. "You ready?"

  She pulls back, breaking our touch. "It shouldn't be long." She moves forward. To the technician in grey scrubs.

  She follows him past the patients only double doors. Disappears into the testing area.

  I'm not allowed back there. Not that she wants the support.

  If there's something I've figured out sitting next to Chloe for the last twenty minutes, it's that she's determined to do this on her own.

  It must have been exhausting going through treatment like that.

  Feeling like sharing her dread was a burden.

  Hell, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

  No. That's not quite right.

  The thought of Chloe taking on the world alone doesn't make me tired.

  It makes my stomach drop.

  It makes my heart ache.

  With every minute I wait, it gets more and more clear.

  There isn't a chance in hell I can let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chloe

  "Finished." The technician smiles as he walks me back to the changing area. "The office will call with your results."

  If they're good.

  If they're bad, they'll ask me to come in. As if that isn't as good as screaming you're totally fucked.

  "Thanks." I move into the dressing stall. Shed my gown and step into my jeans. Socks. Bra. Tank top. I got to keep my underwear on. Not that it really made me more comfortable.

  It's hard to feel comfortable in a plastic tube.

  Especially when it's screening for cancer.

  I toss my gown in the hamper and sling my backpack over my shoulders.

  It's all waiting now. It will be a few days. It always is.

  A few days of wondering if I'm dying.

  Awesome.

  I try to shake it off as I move through the sterile hallway, but it won't go.

  This is a routine test.

  A precaution.

  The odds are almost nothing.

  But if they aren't…

  If this is it…

  I move through the double doors. A dozen steps and I'm standing next to Dean in the bright lobby. The sun bounces off the white walls and the teal chairs, filling the room with warmth, energy, and a whole lot of irony.

  He looks up at me with those bright blue eyes. "You okay, sunshine?"

  No. But I want to get there. If I'm okay, I want to stop thinking about illness. If I'm sick, I want to stop wasting time.

  He can get me out of my head.

  He did last night.

  And now… Well…

  My fingertips graze his neck. "It's after my test."

  His lips curl into a smile. "So it is."

  "My place is ten minutes away."

  His smile spreads over his cheeks. "I know."

  "Then what are you doing sitting there?"

  This is the slowest drive in the history of the world.

  Every verse flowing from the speakers stretches on to eternity. I know the songs are four minutes each. But, God, do they really have to take forever to get the point?

  Finally, I pull onto our street. Park in front of the empty house. Turn the car off.

  The music ceases.

  Our breath fills the tiny space.

  His hand brushes my thigh as he reaches for his seatbelt.

  It's only the lightest hint of pressure, but I feel it everywhere.

  He was wrong to insist we wait until after the test. I'm no more relaxed than I was two hours ago.

  But he can get me there.

  I know he can.

  I fumble over my seatbelt. My keys. The door handle. All of a sudden, I'm not an artist with expert control of my hands. I'm all thumbs.

  There. My boots pound the pavement. Move closer to the door. My hand finds Dean's. The car beeps. Locked.

  He intertwines my fingers with his.

  It's sweet. But, right now, I don't want sweet. Right now, I want a dirty, messy, hungry fuck.

  I slide my key into the door and turn the lock.

  He brings his hands to my hips to pull me closer. My ass against his crotch. My back against his chest. My cheek against his neck. "You're nervous."

  "It's been two years."

  "Is that it?"

  "I just… I don't want to think anymore." I turn the handle and press the door open.

  He follows me inside. Studies the cozy living room the way he studies my mock-ups.

  "What?" I lock the door. Toss my keys on the dining table. Our place is nice for what it is, but it's nothing compared to the Beverly Hills neighborhood where Dean grew up.

  "I like it."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. It fits."

  "What about it?"

  He motions to the huge TV, the black couch, the framed prints from the Met. "Everything." His fingers skim my sides as he moves closer. "If you're worried about your test, I get that. But I don't give a fuck about how big or fancy your house is. I've dreamed about being in your room since the tenth grade."

  "For that long?"

  "Yeah." He takes my hand and pulls me toward the stairs.

  "Shouldn't I lead the way?"

  "Probably, yeah, but one of us has to get to your bed."

  "It's a twin."

  He flashes me a devilish grin. "I can work with that."

  My room is the first door to the right of the stairs. It looks out on the cozy street.

  Usually, I enjoy the view of the neighborhood.

  But right now?

  Not so much.

  I pull the sheer curtains to block out the world.

  They cast diffuse light over the room.

  Dean presses his ass against the door to close it. He looks around the space with a mix of reverence and curiosity.

  His eyes pass over every piece of art—mine, others, magazine cut-outs, movie posters.

  Over the full-length mirror across from the bed. "Fuck, sunshine. I knew you had it in you."

  "Huh?" My brow screws with confusion.

  He wraps his arms around my waist and whisks me to the spot in front of the bed.

  The one across from the mirror.

  He stares at our reflection as he drags my tank top up my stomach.

  Oh. "I've never."

  "You should."

  "Now?"

  "Unless it's too much all at once."

  "No." Too much is just right.

  I raise my arms so he can pull my top over my head.

  He drops it on the ground in front of me.

  His lips brush my neck as he unhooks my bra and slides it off my shoulders.

  Usually, I don't like staring at my reflection.

  Especially my unclothed reflection.

  But there's something about his body behind mine.

  His lips on my shoulder.

  His hands on my skin.

  Fuck, it's hot.

  His fingertips brush my stomach.

  My chest.

  He cups my breasts with his hands.

  Through the mirror, I watch him toy with my nipples. He runs his thumbs along my tender flesh. Softly at first.

  Then harder.

  Harder.

  There.

  A groan falls off my lips. My eyelids get heavy. Press together.

  "Open your eyes." He nips at my neck. "I want you watching this."

  I try to keep my eyes open, but it's a struggle.
>
  This is too intense.

  Too intimate.

  His thumbs brush my nipples…

  Fuck.

  My sex clenches.

  I reach for something to steady myself. Find him. My first two fingers slip through his belt loop.

  I pull him closer.

  Until his hard-on brushes my ass.

  Mmm. "Fuck me. Please."

  He drags his lips up my neck with the lightest hint of pressure. "This first."

  His teeth scrape my ear lobe. It's soft. Enough I feel it, but not enough to hurt.

  And, God, how I feel it.

  Anticipation courses through my veins. Heat pools in my sex. My body whines more now.

  I force myself to savor every ounce of need.

  It feels so fucking good, Dean toying with me.

  I watch him work. He sucks on my earlobe as he rolls my nipples between his fingers. Softer. Then harder. Then softer again.

  Every brush of his digits sends a pang right to my sex.

  My nipples tighten.

  My sex clenches.

  My fingers curl into his jeans.

  I tug at the fabric. Pull him closer. Arch my back to rub my ass against him.

  Our jeans are in the way, but I can still feel his hardness.

  It steals my breath.

  Sends another wave of desire racing through me.

  God, I've never been so full and empty at once.

  "Dean." I tilt my head to the other side, offering my neck to him. Offering everything to him.

  He drags his lips up my neck with that same featherlight touch. "Watch."

  I do.

  He keeps one hand on my chest. Drags the other down my stomach.

  He toys with my nipple as he unbuttons my jeans.

  I release my hold on him. Bring my hands to my hips. Slide my jeans to my knees.

  That's as far as I can get them without taking off my boots, but it's enough.

  He presses his palm against me, over my panties.

  The soft cotton fabric makes for perfect friction.

  I'm already on fire.

  I stare at our reflection as Dean teases me. He rubs me over my panties. He toys with my nipple. He rocks his hips, grinding his hard-on against my ass.

  Anticipation and need overtake every last thought. I forget that it's been two years. That I have new tits. That the test results are waiting for me.

  I forget everything but how badly I need him.

  I rock my hips to grind against him. "Fuck me. Please."

  "Here?" He motions to the mirror. His pupils dilate as he stares at our reflection. His breath hitches. His fingers curl into my skin.

  He looks as needy as I feel.

  And I want that more than I want to come. More than I want to forget. More than anything.

  I want to drive him out of his mind.

  Only…

  How the hell do I do that?

  I'm not a blushing virgin anymore, but I'm not some kind of sex goddess either.

  I'm out of my element.

  I make eye contact through the mirror. "Tell me what you want."

  "I want you groaning my name like it's your favorite thing in the world."

  My sex clenches. He's good at this.

  He runs his fingertips over the waistband of my panties. "I want you coming on my cock."

  Yes. My nod is heavy. Needy. Achy. Or maybe that's my everything.

  "Turn around."

  I try, but my jeans are at my calves. It's hard to move.

  Dean wraps his arms around me. In one swift motion, he lifts me and carries me to the bed.

  He lays me down flat on my back then drops between my knees.

  Slowly, he undoes the laces of my boot and peels it off my foot.

  Then the sock.

  The other foot.

  He rolls my jeans off my ankles and drops them on the ground in front of him.

  Then he does the same with my underwear.

  I stare down at him as he plants a kiss on my ankle.

  He drags his lips up my calf with that same featherlight touch.

  They brush the inside of my knee.

  My thigh.

  They go higher and higher and higher.

  Until his fingers are curling into my thighs.

  And he's so, so close to where he needs to be.

  He digs the heels of his hands into my thighs, pinning me to the bed.

  I look up for long enough to watch Dean plant his face between my legs.

  He breathes warm air against my clit.

  Then cold.

  He does it again and again.

  Until I'm dizzy.

  He keeps a steady hold on my legs. Just enough pressure to keep me pinned. That I feel how in control he is.

  I fall back on the bed as he brings his mouth to me.

  His lips close around my labia. He sucks softly. Then harder. Then it's the soft scrape of his teeth.

  He moves to the other side and does it again.

  Again.

  One hand finds his hair. The other goes to my sheets. Curls into the soft cotton fabric.

  But that isn't enough to contain the anticipation coursing through my veins.

  Nothing is enough to contain the anticipation coursing through my veins.

  He licks me up and down. Slowly. Then faster.

  Softly. Then harder.

  His tongue plunges inside me.

  I tug at his hair, pulling him closer. "Make me come." My hips shift of their own accord. "Please."

  He pins me harder.

  But he's merciful. He makes his way to my clit and licks me with steady stokes.

  My eyelids press together.

  My toes curl.

  My nails dig into the sheets.

  Every flick of his tongue winds me up.

  He pushes me right to the edge. Until the pressure inside me is so tight I can barely take it. Until all I can feel is this deep, desperate, impossible need to come.

  With the next flick of his tongue, I unravel.

  "Fuck. Dean." I tug at his hair, holding him against me.

  My sex pulses with my orgasm. Tension unwinds in a big, beautiful wave of pleasure. It crests and rolls through my torso, my limbs, my fingers and toes.

  "Fuck." He nips at my inner thigh. "I love watching you come." He plants a soft kiss on my pelvis as he pushes himself to his feet.

  He's quick about pulling his t-shirt over his head. It's not like when we were at the beach. It's not a show for my attention.

  He needs to be naked now.

  I need him naked now.

  God, how I need him naked.

  I push myself up. Reach for his jeans. The button is a struggle, but I manage to undo it. To unzip him.

  He pushes the denim off his hips and shimmies out of it.

  Then it's the black boxers.

  Fuck.

  He's bigger than I remembered.

  And that piercing.

  It's…

  I'm…

  Fuck.

  I stare up at him as I wrap my hand around his cock.

  He shudders as I grip him tighter.

  I pump him with a steady stroke.

  Then another.

  Another.

  He's warm and hard under my hand. And it feels so fucking good, watching bliss spill over his expression.

  I wind him up with steady strokes, then I bring my hand to his tip and brush his piercing. The silver barbell is curved. It goes from the center to the bottom of his tip.

  I tease one end with my thumb.

  Tease the other with my index finger.

  Dean's hand knots in my hair.

  He blinks his eyes open. Stares down at me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen.

  My anxieties vanish.

  The way he's looking at me…

  I don't have a doubt in the world.

  I tease him until his eyelids flutter closed.

  A groan falls off his lips. "Fuck, Chloe."

&nb
sp; God, the way he says my name. I need more of it. I need all of it.

  I scoot up the bed.

  Then off it.

  I lower myself onto my knees in front of him.

  He presses his palm against the back of my head, urging me forward, begging for more.

  Fuck, I want to give him more.

  I want to give him everything.

  I brush my lips against his tip as softly as I can.

  His fingers dig into the back of my head.

  His toes curl into the hardwood.

  I tease him the way he teased me.

  I flick my tongue against his tip. The warm, sweet flesh. The smooth, silver metal.

  He shudders as I play with his piercing.

  I do it again and again.

  I do it until he's groaning.

  Slowly, I take him into my mouth.

  His hand knots in my hair.

  The other goes to my shoulder. Then my chest. He toys with my nipple as I take him deeper.

  Deeper.

  Fuck, he tastes good.

  It's been a long, long time since I've done this.

  But he makes me feel right at home.

  His hips shift ever so slightly. His groans bounce around the room. His fingers brush my nipple again and again.

  He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger as I flick my tongue against the bottom of his tip.

  I tap it against his piercing again and again.

  Until his groan is agony as much as it's pleasure.

  I wrap one hand around his cock. Pump him as I take him deeper.

  Deeper.

  As deep as I can manage.

  Then I pull back and do it again.

  His eyes blink open.

  He looks down at me with heavy lids.

  Desire fills his baby blues. It pours over his expression.

  His brow knits. His lips part. His head falls forward.

  I do it again.

  "Fuck, Chloe." His fingers dig into the back of my head.

  My sex clenches. My nipples tighten. My body begs for more, but this is exactly where I need to be.

  His need is intoxicating.

  It's everything.

  I move faster.

  Suck harder.

  Get lost in the feeling of his firm flesh in my mouth.

  His breath hitches in his throat.

  His nails dig into my skin.

  There.

  I flick my tongue against his piercing.

  Push him over the edge.

  He pulls back as he comes.

  He groans my name as he spills onto my chest.

  Like it's his favorite word in the entire world.