Everything Between Us (15 page)

“It feels all right,” she whispers. “Please keep going?”

It’s as good as we’re going to get. I go careful but steady, focusing on her eyes, on the slow cadence of her breath. I slide my hand under her ass and tip her hips up, and that seems to do wonders for her. She lets her knees fall open and relaxes, sighing as I thrust in all the way. She’s all around me, squeezing me so tight that I can’t move, but I can’t
not
move, either. Her hands find their way to my back, and she tucks her face against my shoulder. The pressure of her body unwinds me a moment at a time, building in my thighs and balls, this heavy, delicious tingling, the need to bury myself deep. The deadly friction and heat of her curls my toes, makes my fingers clench over the pillows beneath her. Especially because she’s now rocking against me, pushing her hips up, meeting me halfway like she always,
always
does. She’s so soft, so fucking soft and sweet and hot, and the vulnerable noises she’s making against my skin are only adding fuel to my fire. I try to stroke her hair but end up fisting the silky locks, my own breaths blasting from my mouth. And suddenly it’s too much. I can’t—

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, feeling myself starting to come apart way, way,
way
sooner than I intended. “Stella …” I drive into her, harder than I should, unable to slow the jerk of my hips.

She takes my face in her hands. “Daniel.”

I come listening to her say my name. There is such a thing as too much anticipation, as it turns out, and the result is explosive and total. My thoughts go dark; my vision goes white. She’s watching me, I know, but I can’t stop what’s happening, can’t manage it or control it or put on a show. I make some pathetic, helpless noise as I lose it, and she holds me steady, her hands on my cheeks, her lips fluttering against mine.

“I feel you,” she whispers as my cock pulses inside her. “
Oh
.”

She wraps her legs around me and welcomes me as I collapse onto her. My ears are ringing. I shudder unsteadily and turn my head in time to see a tear streak down Stella’s cheek. It knocks me back into reality, and I slide out of her immediately, guilt crushing me in a vice. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” I say, gathering her to me. “I should have paid more attention—”

Her arms are around my neck in an instant. “It was perfect,” she says, her body shaking as she clings to me. “Just hold on to me. Please hold on to me.”

She didn’t really have to ask. I pull her onto my chest and cage her in my arms, my head spinning with gratitude and pleasure and bitter sadness all at once.

Because that was it, everything I wanted, everything I craved, every curiosity satisfied, every itch scratched. And it didn’t last nearly long enough. Goddammit.

I blink at the ceiling and pray for it to arrive, the desire to flee, the desperate urge to sprint for the door. It’s usually as reliable as an atomic clock, but to my devastation,
it doesn’t show up
. Stella lies quiet on my chest, a few tears wetting my skin, not letting me in on what’s going on for her, and I hold her, just wishing. Wishing things were different, that we were different, that she wanted me like I’m afraid I want her.

But she doesn’t. And I’ve given her what she asked. So now I’ll stay as long as she’ll let me, and then I’ll head home and try to figure out what the hell she’s done to me.

Chapter Twelve: Stella

My palm lies flat over Daniel’s chest. He has the most beautiful body, and I wish I had the right to look at him whenever I wanted. I wish this was real and not a one-time business arrangement. Because he’s rocked my world, and now I have to pretend things can go on as they were before. I don’t want to scare him off for good.

And yet, I can’t help but linger. My own body is kind of sore. The pressure of him inside me was incredible, almost unbearable. There were moments when I was scared, but he was so reassuring that I got through it without panicking. I focused on the feel of his muscles beneath my hands, on his breaths, and actually, there at the end, I think I caught a glimpse of what sex might be like if my body had a chance to get used to it. Hidden inside the discomfort was this glimmer of craving, this sense that if I pushed through, something amazing would be waiting for me. I was starting to do exactly that when Daniel got unsteady, when the smooth motion of his hips became erratic, when his hand fisted in my hair and his whole body went rigid.

That was a different feeling entirely, powerful and intense and all-consuming.
I
had made him lose his composure, his control, and his words from earlier flit through my memory:
When it’s good, it’s about losing control.
I held his face in my hands and watched his brow furrow, almost like he was in pain. Deep inside me, I felt him move, and God, I wanted to feel it again and again and again. I made him come. It didn’t feel like an act. It felt like so much more than that, but it didn’t last long, so I didn’t get the chance to figure it out.

I want to do this with him again, but that’s not part of the deal.

“I need to clean myself up,” he says softly.

“Of course,” I reply, moving away from him. I want to cover his skin with kisses. I want to whisper how much I adore him. I want to feel his flesh between my teeth and the taste of him on my tongue. I want to clean him up myself. I want I want I want … but I can’t have. “Whatever you need to do.”

He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be back.”

He pivots away from me and steps out of the nest, and I stare at his naked body retreating from my sight. I should probably get up, too, but I feel pretty relaxed and boneless. Even the pain is kind of dull right now, a distant memory.

Daniel returns quickly, but before he climbs back in the nest, he puts on his boxer briefs, and I can’t help the twinge of sadness I feel as he does. I guess I should be happy that he’s not getting dressed and leaving right now, though. But maybe he wants to and he’s just feeling sorry for me?

“You can go, if you want,” I say. “You don’t have to stay.”

He pauses, standing over me, looking down at my still naked body. I pull a blanket over myself. “Do you want me to go?” he asks.

No no no never
. “Um. It’s really up to you.”

He lowers himself to the cushions. “If you really mean that, then I’d like to stay for a little while,” he says. “I mean, after what we just did …” His eyes meet mine.

“I’m okay, Daniel.” I’m wondering if he’s only staying because he’s worried I’m going to have some kind of emotional breakdown once he leaves. “This was what I wanted.”

His fingers push my hair off my forehead. “Are you hurting?”

I put my hand on my stomach. “Not really. A bit sore, but that’s normal, right?”

He nods. “It won’t be so bad from now on, I think.”

“It wasn’t that bad
this
time,” I blurt.
And there is no “from now on,” not for me.

His smile is so tender it makes me ache. “Good. I don’t want you to regret this.”

“I couldn’t regret it if I tried.” The only thing I regret is that I can’t ask him to do it again.

He lies down next to me, and we stare at each other. My gaze traces every inch of his face, and I realize there’s nothing and no one else in the whole world I’d rather look at, just Daniel, his blue eyes and scruffy hair and slightly crooked nose, all beautiful because they’re him. Gratitude wells up inside of me, and it’s all I can do not to cry again. I don’t want this to end. I want to press myself against his warm, solid body, but I don’t. When he reaches for my hand, though, my fingers tangle tightly with his. I’ll take whatever he’ll give.

We stay like that until the fire dies, until Daniel drifts off with his hand in mine, until I finally drift off, too, and dream of walking with him along a street, past shops and cafes, like a normal couple. But the road gets narrower and narrower the farther we walk, the buildings crowding the street, until it’s just a sidewalk with looming brick walls on either side. The walls creep closer, and finally Daniel says, “I’ll go first,” and steps in front of me. There’s a light ahead of us. He keeps hold of my hand, and I follow him toward the brightness, but his shoulders wedge tight as the walls press in, and we have to turn sideways. “We’re close,” he says, but as reassuring as that is, he sounds more distant, and then I feel the crush of the walls against my back and chest, and my arm rises from my side as Daniel tries to pull me. “Come
on
, Stella,” he says, sounding annoyed.

“I can’t,” I choke out. “I’m stuck.”

He tugs on my hand, but I’m really and truly trapped, my cheeks and knees and stomach melding to the rough brick, becoming part of it. And then Daniel lets go. My hand outstretched and pleading, I watch as he slides away toward the light and disappears.

I wake up gasping, tears burning in my eyes. Daniel’s asleep beside me, and if he saw me now, he’d be horrified. As quickly as I can, I climb out of the nest and run down the hall to my room, where I throw myself on my bed and begin to sob. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve it? I was normal until last fall. Maybe a little high strung, maybe a little introverted, maybe a little anxious—but nothing like the fucking mess of panic I’ve become. I’m going insane. My mind is completely betraying me.
I want to die.
I curl in on myself as my body shudders, hugging my knees to my chest and clenching my teeth to keep silent. He can’t see me like this. I’d die of humiliation.

I have no idea how long I’m like that, naked and shaking, but finally my heart slows and the tight, strangling feeling in my throat and chest eases, enough for me to get up and shower. I will not be weak and pathetic, because Daniel will run if I am. He’ll probably feel guilty, too, and regret what we did tonight, and that might kill me. I take a long, hot shower and get dressed, and when I do look at a clock, it’s five in the morning. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I grab the stack of hundreds from my bedside table and leave them on top of his toolbox in the enclosed porch, then go to the kitchen.

I’m going to make breakfast and stay busy until Daniel wakes up, and then he’ll see that I’m fine, and I’m not a crazy, sad little girl, and maybe we can move on from this. Maybe he’ll come back and give me lessons. Maybe we can be friends.

I go to the fridge and pull out the eggs Daniel bought, as well as the milk. The fact that he thought of me and what I might need only makes my yearning for him stronger, unfortunately. I make coffee and notice he got cream—how he knew that I normally have cream in my coffee is beyond me. He also got this huge bag of apples, so I peel and core them, then cut them into slices. I pull out a cast-iron skillet and make a cinnamon-sugar apple skillet cake. Once I’ve got it in the oven, I begin to clean out the fridge. Staying busy is the key to keeping myself together until he leaves.

The skillet cake is cooling on the stovetop when I hear a door close down the hall. The shower switches on a minute later, so I know he’s awake. I whip some of the cream and a bit of sugar, running the mixer until stiff peaks form in the bowl. I set the table in the dining room, forcing myself not to fantasize about what it would be like if it was just him and me, safe in a world of our own.

“Whoa,” says Daniel as he enters the kitchen, his blond hair tousled and damp. “That smells amazing.”

I put on a bright smile as I walk in from the dining room. “Do you want coffee?”

“Sure. You didn’t have to do this.”

I shrug, my chest aching. I
did
have to do it, and I wish he had hoped for it, that he wanted something from me. “I was hungry and I thought you might be, too.” There. That sounded normal, didn’t it?

His gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I hold still, trying to keep my expression casual and nonchalant. “Thanks,” he says quietly, and gets himself a mug.

He eats in silence, and I watch his hands as he cuts his food, his mouth as he chews. So beautiful, so far out of my reach. But I’m grateful for the parts of him I’ll remember, for the hours we shared that are only for us and no one else. When we’re finished, we do the dishes, and I find myself moving slowly. It’s almost like I can see the countdown clock right in front of me, telling me I have only two minutes before this comes to an end. He goes to the enclosed porch to pick up his toolbox, and when he returns, I walk him to the side entrance.

“Will you be all right?” he asks, setting his box down and turning to me.

“Sure,” I say. “The housekeeper will be here early tomorrow, and then I’ll see you at ten?” I try not to sound too excited, but really, it’s what’s keeping me going.

His face falls. “Oh, no, Stella, I wasn’t thinking. I can’t be here for the next few days.”

“Oh,” I say hollowly, but then I notice how upset he looks. “What’s going on?”

We lock eyes. “My mom is sick,” he says in a strained voice.
It hits me—this must be what he was worried about a week ago. This is what’s been weighing on him. “And it’s serious,” I say, moving toward him automatically. I forget to be distant and cool, because he looks so lost right now. I take his face in my hands and run my thumbs over his cheeks. “You’re worried.”

He closes his eyes and nods. “It’s lung cancer. She has pre-op stuff tomorrow and surgery on Tuesday. I have to be there for my dad. He’s—I don’t think he’s doing well.” He winces. “I’m scared for both of them.”

“I wish I could be there with you,” I say before I think better of it, putting my arms around him. But as soon as I do, I realize how crazy I sound, as if I believe I’m his girlfriend or something. Cold prickles race across my skin, humiliation freezing me up.

Before I can pull back, Daniel’s arm winds around my waist, and he bows his head onto my shoulder. “I wish you could be there, too,” he whispers, so soft I barely hear it.

His hands fist in the back of my shirt, and he holds me like I could really save him from all of it. His need melts my stupid embarrassment, and suddenly I feel strong. I weave my fingers into his hair and kiss the side of his head. “I’m … I’m here if you wanted to talk or something.” I smile. “I know you’re super manly and probably don’t do that kind of thing, but—”