Losing You (Stars On Fire #4)

by Ryleigh Andrews

  Fuck, he loved those noises.

  After lifting the shirt over her chest, he pushed the bra cups out of the way and attacked those perfect globes, using his mouth and teeth to keep those noises flowing out of her. When her hips started rocking into him, he lifted her and she hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock was right where it wanted to be.

  Well . . . almost.

  Hurrying up the stairs with Mia in his arms, she attacked his neck with her lips. He almost set her down on the stairs and fucked her right there, but he wanted to do this right. Once in her bedroom, he set her on the bed and tore off her clothes, letting them fly as he exposed more and more skin for his mouth to explore.

  He wanted to devour her, but he also wanted to love her . . . worship her . . . slowly. Thoroughly.

  With a deep calming breath, Tom ran his hands up the outside of her legs, skimming the lines made where her hips met her thighs, making her entire body shiver. When he pushed her long limbs apart, he wasted no time in tasting her, running the flat of his tongue over her opening. On the swipe back, his tongue darted inside, her arousal enveloping every tastebud he had. Nothing fucking like it.

  While his mouth worked her, one of his hands traveled up the flat expanse of her stomach to the most perfect tits he’d ever seen. She groaned and threw her head back so he couldn’t see her beautiful face. Tom needed that face.

  He stood up and discarded his clothes, then leaned down to hover over her, his dick waiting patiently to get inside. Grabbing on to her pouty lower lip with his teeth, he pushed inside of her. Their moans mingled together as he slowly thrust into her, that pussy of hers knowing just how to hug his cock.

  A smile tugged his mouth when her eyes opened and stayed on his as he made love to her. They really hadn’t done this. Their lovemaking was often rough, always frantic, not this sweet and slow pace they had now, her hips answering each of his thrusts.

  Sliding his hand between them, Tom found the hard flesh above her opening and set about making his girl come. And when she did, he captured her sweet noises with his mouth. As she came down from her orgasm, he concentrated on his own. Her name fell from his lips as he filled her—the first word spoken between them that night.

  Mia’s lips fell from his, her head falling to the side. He felt her body shrink into itself as she tensed up.

  “Oh God!” she cried, her hands to his chest pushing him away. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

  Tom fell back and stared at her, at the tears running down her face, then watched her as she scrambled away from him. His shock held him in place and when he finally stood up, he found her on the other side of the bed, the throw from the chair covering her nudity. He had no idea what was going on, what was causing her to act like this, so Tom proceeded cautiously. “What’s wrong, Mia?”

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she repeated, as her eyes closed and she shook her head from side to side.

  “Do what, baby girl?” he asked, moving towards her.

  “You’re not Ethan,” she exclaimed.

  “I know.”

  Her face crumpled into fresh tears as she spoke. “I tried so hard to forget him, but I can’t. He’s always here,” she cried, tapping her chest.

  His heart dropped out of his chest in realization. She still loved Ethan. “You told me you loved me,” he accused, his eyes tightening in anger.

  “I do, Tom,” she exclaimed, reaching for his hand. “I do . . . but not in the way I love Ethan.”

  Goddammit! He yanked his hand back and pulled away from her then went about searching for his clothes. Where the fuck were his pants?

  “Not enough,” he murmured, his hands clenching the shirt he just picked up. Never fucking enough.

  “I’m so sorry, Tom,” she carried on. “I hoped he would go away, that I could forget him, but I can’t, and that isn’t fair to you. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

  “Mia, that isn’t something you get to decide,” Tom said, moving in on her. He needed to fight for her—he couldn’t just give her up. Dropping his shirt, he grabbed her arms with enough force to lift her, the blanket covering her falling to the floor. When he got in her face, Mia turned her head away.

  No—she would see him.

  “Fuck,” he growled and wrapped his hands around her biceps before lifting her up and stalking over to the bed. After tossing her on the bed, he quickly followed, his weight holding her in place, his hand gripping her face, forcing her to see him. “You don’t get to decide that.”

  Stubbornly jutting out her chin, she locked her defiant eyes on him. “You know the times you haven’t been here, I’ve been either high or drunk. You deserve more than my baggage, Tom. There’s a lot of baggage.”

  He loosened his hold and kissed her forehead. The baggage he knew about, though it had been hidden in the closet. He hadn’t seen it. And if it wasn’t staring him in the face, it was easy to ignore. “Mia, I know,” he said, trailing his lips down the edge of her face, repeating his words, hoping she would hear him. “I know. Let me help you. That’s all you have to do.”

  She closed her eyes and repeatedly shook her head. “This entire time I’ve used you to forget Ethan. I drowned him out by fucking you.”

  At the beginning, Tom had sensed that, but again he’d ignored it. He finally had Mia. And he didn’t want to lose her right now. He continued kissing her face, soft, reassuring pecks until he reached her lips.

  “Final nail in the coffin,” she spoke. “I know where Marc is,” she quietly admitted.

  His mouth froze near hers.

  She what?

  He stared at her in disbelief, his anger quickly rising. “What?” Tom roared and jumped off of her. Pacing back and forth in front of the bed, he tried to take a moment to collect his thoughts, not believing what he just heard. “You knew I was looking for him. You knew the pain Lizzie was going through.”

  “He’s safe,” she claimed. “He’s in rehab and doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Does his brother know?” he asked because wouldn’t that just suck if Clark knew and hadn’t told Lizzie?

  Mia pushed herself up, leaning back on her elbows, before shaking her head at him.

  “Why you?” he demanded, needing to understand why Marc chose to tell her and not his own girlfriend or him. “Why wouldn’t he tell Lizzie? Or Clark?”

  “This is bigger than Lizzie.”

  “Goddammit, Mia. She’s a fucking mess. She doesn’t know a thing, doesn’t understand why he left like this.”

  “Tell her what I’ve said, that he loves her. But for now that’s all I can say until Marc says otherwise. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Locating his shirt again, he picked it up and pulled it down over his head. Then he leveled his gaze on her, wanting her to see the hurt, not caring one bit if she did. “I can’t fucking believe this. This night was supposed to end so differently.”

  She rose from the bed and even in his anger, he still found that naked body so fucking beautiful. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she said, her voice full of regret.

  “Stop! Stop fucking saying that!” he screamed. It was fucking over. God fucking dammit! He dragged his hand over his head and took a deep breath to calm himself down before he did something he knew he’d regret. “Don’t be sorry. Make this fucking worth it, Mia. I want you happy. I always have. So get him back.”

  When she reached him, she simply stood in front of him, her hands hanging by her side, her head down, still submissive to him, waiting for him, even after she ended things.

  “Tom . . .”

  He put an arm around her, pulling her to him. With the other, he secured her to him, feeling her body against his. Her arms snaked around his neck, holding him just as tight, maybe even tighter.

  And his damn dick had a mind of its fucking own. His hard-on felt so good nestled between the two of them. He needed some distance between them otherwise he’d break and fuck her.

  Tom put his arms on her biceps and spun he
r around, his cock now resting between her ass cheeks. Not any better, but at least he wasn’t looking into her sorrowful eyes. He yanked her towards him so her back was against his chest, and his cock fell between her thighs.

  Her hands gripped his hips and she turned her head so they were eye to eye, the conflict in her dark-as-night eyes easy to see. Easy to fall back into and he did. He kissed her hard, groaning when her lips opened for him. He assaulted her mouth, her fingers digging into his hips as he did so. With a simple lift of his hips, he could easily slide his dick in her. He teased them both with that knowledge, rubbing the head against her wet opening.

  Too much . . .

  He ripped his mouth from hers, moving his lips to her ear, his hands going to her breasts and squeezing them. His cock was so close to the heat of her pussy that he could feel it flutter with his actions.

  Enough.

  He had to stop.

  He had to say goodbye.

  He had to walk out of there with his dignity intact.

  Nipping on her ear, he began his goodbye. “I should have felt you up the day I met you. I should have claimed you then. I should have screamed, ‘She’s mine.’ But I didn’t. What a fool I was. I love you, Mia. God . . . I fucking love you,” he said, using his hands on her breasts to pull her to him in an embrace. Then he released her breasts, his hands sliding down her torso and over her hips until they were by his side again. With a strengthening breath, he stepped away from his heart. “Goodbye, baby girl.”

  Tom

  He had no idea how he got on the highway. The numbness clouded his mind. He was on auto-pilot and found it hard to even care. Before he went home, Tom stopped at the liquor store and picked up a few cases of beer. He had a feeling he’d be getting trashed tonight.

  After he finally pulled into his driveway and went inside, he grabbed a beer and put the rest in the fridge. Then he stood there, looking at his empty house. All those fucking dreams of spending the rest of his life with Mia, of filling this house with their children . . . gone.

  A guttural scream tore through him, full of pain and dis-fucking-belief.

  The bottle in his hand flew at the wall, shattering all over the place, and he didn’t fucking care.

  The fridge rattled when he yanked the door open to get another beer. Setting the cap on the counter, he hit it and watched as it sputtered to the floor and the hoppy foam trickled out of the bottle. He put it to his mouth and took a healthy drink. With his beer in hand, Tom crossed the open space to the living area and stared at the couch . . . the same one he fucked Mia on. If he sat down on it, he was sure he’d smell her on it. The same with his bed.

  Tom changed course and went to his office. First thing he did was to head to the mantel and slam the picture of him and Mia over, then he went to his desk and turned on the TV, hoping that the Cubs were on late. He didn’t even know what fucking day it was. Normally he could recite the schedule if asked, but he had no clue now.

  At least one damn thing was going right tonight, he thought as the Cubs game came on the television screen. Up four to nothing in the bottom of the second.

  He let the game numb his mind as he drank beer after beer so that when his phone rang, it took him a moment to register it. When he picked it up and saw Lizzie’s name, he answered.

  “Tom? You there?”

  “Yeah . . . I guess,” he answered, turning down the volume of the game.

  “You guess?” she laughed. “You sound drunk.”

  “’Cause I am.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes,” he said tersely.

  “Well, I’m headed over.”

  “I’m not good company,” Tom protested.

  “At least you won’t be alone.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Do you really want to be alone?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered. He wanted to be in Mia’s bed, wrapped up in her. And even though he loved his best friend, his broken heart wanted Mia.

  “I’m on my way. Can I get in?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. From the garage.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” she said then hung up.

  True to her word, Lizzie arrived, cursing when she stepped on the glass in the kitchen. He heard her clean it up but couldn’t make himself get up to go help.

  “Tom?” she called out.

  With a sigh, he pushed himself up from his desk and shuffled out of the room. When he saw Lizzie, it looked like she had a frown on her face, but she was blurry, so he moved closer. His feet didn’t want to cooperate with him and he stumbled right into her.

  “Sorry,” he said, gripping her arms.

  “You’re plastered.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Too much talking,” he said, trying to walk away, but tripping up on his own feet. Without another word, Lizzie linked her arm with his and led him to the living room where she deposited him on the sofa. While she searched for the TV remote, he wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t smell Mia.

  “Movie or SportsCenter?” she asked, sitting down beside him.

  “SportsCenter,” he answered. She switched to the program and he caught up on the scores from the day’s games. Then the show shifted focus to football and when Ethan’s picture flashed on the screen, he asked Lizzie to change it to a movie.

  When his head fell to her lap, she ran her fingers through his hair. It felt good and he focused on it.

  “Tom, what’s wrong?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

  He didn’t know what to tell her. Every fucking thing was wrong. Everything.

  “Tom . . .”

  “He’s in rehab, Bits,” he blurted out. “So for twenty-eight days or however long people stay in rehab, he’ll be safe.”

  Her hand stopped in his hair, and he cursed himself. Not smooth, Tom.

  “How did you find out?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does too!” she protested.

  “No, Lizzie. It doesn’t. None of it matters. Marc’s in rehab. You know where he is. Does it matter where you got the information?”

  “What happened to you tonight?” she asked, switching gears on him. He got up and went to the kitchen.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed another beer.

  “It does too,” Lizzie countered. It fucking felt like this conversation kept repeating itself.

  “None of it fucking matters,” he yelled. “The outcome is still the same. Nothing we can do to change that. Nothing. They have minds of their fucking own. They don’t care that their choices hurt others.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Lizzie asked.

  Her question had him look over in her direction. She gripped the island’s counter, her knuckles white, as she regarded him, her eyes wide and glassy. He knew his words were hurting her, but he couldn’t stop them. She needed to stop asking him questions, then maybe he could shut the hell up.

  “I’m heading to bed,” he announced instead of answering her question. He placed the full beer on the island and headed towards the stairs.

  “Tom!” Lizzie shouted, her voice full of frustration stopping him at the foot of the steps.

  “Bits, I want this night to end so I’m going to bed. You want to be with me, that’s where you’re going too,” he answered and continued up to his bedroom.

  After a few moments, he heard her stomping footsteps, but didn’t know whether it was to the back door to leave or to the stairs to be with him. He entered his room just as he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  Methodically, Tom took off his shirt and placed it on the chair, then sat down on the bed to take off his jeans. When he looked up, his pint-sized best friend stood angrily in front of him.

  “You’re a rude drunk,” she accused, swiping his T-shirt from the chair.

  Tom tossed his jeans where his shirt once was and watched as Lizzie spun around and went to the other side of the bed. Craning his n
eck, he stared at her while she ripped off her jeans and her blouse with angry movements and stood there in only her underwear. He wasn’t so drunk as to not notice her, and he did.

  “Stop staring at me,” she said, pulling his shirt over her head, blocking his show.

  He didn’t know how it happened but she was pulling her bra through one of the sleeves and tossed it on the rest of her clothes. Magic.

  She got into bed, her legs stretched out in front of her. Tom fell back, his head landing in her lap. He situated himself so he was further away from her knees and closer to her hands that rested on her stomach. His eyes didn’t leave hers, not when he reached out and placed his hand on hers. Nor when he took her hand and put it on his head. She smiled sadly at him.

  He pushed his head at her hand, like a dog wanting to be petted. When her fingers began to comb his hair, he sighed contently, but turned around because her green eyes were trying to find a way to get him to crack. His eyelids got heavier with each caress of her hand. He focused all his energy on that magic, the way she absently drew shapes on his scalp, the way she seemed to touch each and every hair on his head.

  She stopped when his lips found her inner thigh. He pressed them to her soft skin and with his mouth still moistening the skin, he spoke. “I love her, Bits, but she loves another more,” he admitted, the words like daggers to his heart. His face fell into the thigh he’d just kissed as his tears fell. “I love her so fuckin’ much.”

  Lizzie

  Rehab.

  Her boyfriend was in rehab.

  Or was it ex-boyfriend?

  She didn’t know the answer to that and wouldn’t until she spoke with Marc.

  But there was a part of her that knew. Lizzie repeatedly beat that part down with a bat.

  She wanted her boyfriend. She wanted him right here in front of her. She wanted to see him, touch him, and know that he was okay.

  Knowing he was in rehab did nothing for her. It didn’t answer her questions. Actually, she only had more. Who told Tom? Was it his girlfriend? If that was the case, how the hell did she know about Marc?

  Too many damn questions.

  She needed answers.