Love Me Not (32 page)
Authors: Villette Snowe
Kneeling beside me, she pressed at my chest to make me lie back down on the grass. Then she straddled my hips. My penis lay against her thigh and in front of her. She wasn’t tall enough to be able to hover over it.
My heart pounded, and my body strained to enter her.
I somehow let her be in control.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”
I smiled a little.
She touched my lips with hers. It was soft and grew deeper.
My hand smoothed down the skin of her back, her hip, her thigh. She felt perfect, familiar. I wanted to touch more of her.
I shifted and moved my lips to her cheek and across her jaw. She arched her back so I could kiss her neck, over her shoulder, down to her breasts. She cradled my head with one hand and held herself up with the other. Her skin was soft against my lips, firm but giving, and her nipples were hard. They fit perfectly within the fold of my tongue.
She sighed.
My arms around her tightened, and I moved back to her lips. She kissed me deeply, touched my face with her fingertips.
She pulled back a few inches and met my eyes. She lifted herself and then lowered slowly. A soft wet sound.
She cried out in pleasure.
I held her hips and lifted myself slightly to press into her as far as I could. She was warm and tight.
My hand trailed down her skin, her neck, breasts, waist, hip…
Slowly, she began grinding against me.
She rested her hands on my chest, and we watched each other.
I was lost in her expression, in the pleasure she gave me. It’d never felt like this for me before. She was in control. She was giving
me
pleasure.
She kept watching me as we panted together. She ground harder, and her knees spread farther. I swore I’d never been so deep inside a woman before.
I felt as I got closer to climax. I didn’t want this to be over yet—it had to last.
With barely a pause in grinding, I rolled her over to her back. The sound of her moisture was louder than the rustling of the trees around us.
I pressed firmly into her, as if I could reach her soul. I wished this could make her love me.
My penis slid in and out, over and over. Her back arched, and she sighed.
I watched.
I wanted this to be my last memory, the one thing I could hold on to while I burned in hell. Kimber was truly good, and she’d let me be with her once.
She pulled me closer, and I lay against her, my face in her hair and neck. The sex was slow and rhythmic, gentle yet intense. She clung to me and moaned in my ear.
Her voice grew louder, and she barely pulled in air.
She called out. “Oh God, Heath.” She held tighter, and then I came. The pulsing of my penis kept going even after I slowed and then stopped.
Gentle fingers in my hair and a thigh rubbing against mine.
And then my mind was suddenly clear. It felt like Kimber’s slap all over again.
I pushed myself up and away from her, on my knees.
Kimber lay in front of me, her legs still spread.
She was real. But how in the hell could she have gotten here? I tried telling myself she was just a hallucination—but my mind was too fucking clear. I didn’t want to be sane.
My expression strained. “I’m sorry.”
She crawled closer and sat on her knees in front of me. “I’m real.”
“Oh God, Kimber, I’m so sorry.”
“You said you would never apologize.”
My expression contorted in confusion, in anger, in pain. Nothing made sense.
Her voice was gentle. “I was at the hospital. I found the journal.” She sat up on her knees and touched my jaw with her fingertips. “I read it, Heath, all of it.”
I only stared. I didn’t understand what was going on.
“You said your head was clear that night when we were together. Is it clear now?”
I wished it wasn’t. I’d rather be insane than hurt Kimber again.
“You wrote you would do whatever you could for me,” she said.
I paused. “Yes.”
Moisture built in her lashes. “Please don’t kill yourself.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”
“I’ve hurt more in the last year than I can explain.”
My gaze lowered. “I’m sorry.” I had nothing else to say.
Dammit, Heath, what are you doing?
Don’t apologize. Let her be angry.
Her gentle hand on my jaw lifted my chin. “I was hurting because I didn’t have you, because I thought it was all an act for you, because you didn’t love me. I was furious at myself for loving you, for not being able to let go. I thought…” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Don’t do that. You have to hate me.”
“You wrote that hating you would be easier for me.”
I nodded.
“But I could never hate you,” she said, “even when I tried.”
Her hands touched my shoulders and around my neck, tentatively, as if she was asking me to hold her, hoping I’d love her.
But I knew I couldn’t allow this. I’d just hurt her again, and how could someone like her be with me? It was like a heron loving a toad—not possible, not right. I needed to walk away from her, save her.
Her voice shook as she whispered, “Please.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you…do you still love me?”
A long pause. I could say no, make her go away, stay away for good. She’d be safe. And then I could die, finally.
But I didn’t want to die, not really, not if she wanted me.
No, I had to do what was right for her. But what was right was becoming a baffling concept. I needed her to tell me what was right—she was the one person I could trust to know it.
“I can’t hurt you anymore,” I said.
She swallowed as if to control the tears. “When’s the only time you’ve seen me happy?”
“When…” I thought back. “When we talked together, when we made love.”
She rested her hands on either side of my face. “I wanted you from the beginning, Heath. If you don’t want to hurt me, stay with me.” Her expression strained, and more tears fell. “Please,” she said. “I’m begging you. Please, Heath.”
“You deserve more.”
“You are more.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
Her voice was hard. “Don’t tell me what I understand. I know my own mind.”
I stared at her.
She was right. I trusted her to know the truth, to tell me what the right thing to do was.
I sat up on my knees and pulled her to me, pressed her body to mine. I took a breath. I could smell her, feel her, taste her scent in the air.
Her body shook as she cried. Warm tears fell on to my shoulder. They felt…real. And I realized I hadn’t fully comprehended my surroundings since Cassie died. That was part of why I clung to so many women—I hoped they could help me feel again. But only one person could do that.
The thoughts of what was next almost scared me. It was new, and I didn’t know what to do, how to be what she needed, what she deserved.
I held her tighter, supported her as she cried. She made me feel good, strong, sane.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
I looked over at the knife on the ground. The blade reflected back at me, and I knew this, right now, holding her, was the best thing I could do for her.
“I’ll always take care of you.” This time, the words were not a lie. “I promise.”
Epilogue
I hesitated at the door.
“What’s wrong?” Kimber said.
I wasn’t sure how to phrase it, kind of like excitement mixed with trepidation, like maybe I was stupid for being excited. The store probably only had one copy, mixed with all the other fiction, buried. My agent said she anticipated good numbers, but maybe she was just trying to boost my confidence, or maybe she didn’t know what she was talking about.
Kimber tugged at my hand and pulled me along. She seemed to have learned quickly that she could get me to do anything. And she also seemed to have realized I thought she was cute when she argued with me—which meant she always won the argument.
“Which section do you think it’ll be in?” she said as we walked into Barnes and Noble.
“General fiction.”
She stopped walking. “Nope.”
“What?”
Her smile sparkled as she looked at me and pointed to a display, the first of several tables that lined the center aisle.
I looked over and had no words.
She wrapped her arms around me, as best she could. “
Henry’s Reality
by Heath Kalman. And you thought it would be buried in the stacks.”
I stared at the display, the spot reserved for the big names. I realized I was smiling, no, more like grinning. Only the moment I put the ring on Kimber’s finger was better than this.
She picked up one of the books and flipped through, as if she hadn’t read the thing a hundred times. She was my best critic and favorite cheerleader. She’d inspired all the changes. Henry did wake up in a mental hospital, confused as hell and thinking everything that had happened was all in his head. Then the girl he loves comes to see him. He fights her at first. As she continues to come back to see him, he decides he doesn’t care what’s real. He likes this reality better. It’s not until the very end that his mind starts to clear, and he realizes the girl is real, that she cares like he does, even after what he’s put her through. She’s willing to stand by him no matter.
“Kimber?”
We both looked over at a thin man who was just about to walk past us out of the store.
“Daniel,” she said. Then her shocked expression morphed into a smile.
I moved closer to her and squeezed her hand. Daniel, as in her ex? I controlled my breathing to make sure I didn’t attack the fucker. He was with a woman, maybe younger than Kimber, but not nearly as beautiful. She stayed a step behind him and kept her gaze down.
“How have you been?” Kimber said, still smiling.
He was slower to slap a smile on his face. “Married.” He nodded toward the young woman.
“Hi,” Kimber said to her.
The woman only nodded.
Then Kimber turned slightly, showing her rounded stomach—the doctors had finally succeeded with insemination. I was still shocked and kind of giddy about the whole thing. She rested her hand on my chest—her left hand that wore her sparkling engagement ring and wedding band. “Me too. This is my husband, Heath.”
My left arm still around Kimber, the wife he lost, I reached to shake his hand.
He hesitated, as if still stuck on the Kimber-being-married thing, or maybe it was the size of the stone in her ring. Then he gripped my hand. His hand was just as skinny as the rest of him.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. Then I smiled at his wife. She finally looked up, and her cheeks tinged pink. I wasn’t even trying to charm her, I swear.
“Oh,” Kimber said to Daniel’s wife—apparently, he wasn’t going to introduce her, “you have to read this.” She picked up one of my books from the table and handed it to her.
The woman just looked at it, and I remembered Kimber telling me how limited her reading choices were before she left the church. The woman probably wasn’t
allowed
to read it, and yet Daniel was holding a bag, having obviously just purchased a book for himself.
Kimber kept smiling. “Heath wrote it. It’s so good.”
I held her tighter to me. “I had a great editor.” Let’s let the asshole know how free she was now, how she’d gotten everything he wouldn’t give her.
Daniel looked at me, then the table filled with my books, and then at Kimber. “It was nice to see you. We have to go.” He walked away, and his wife trotted after him. She stopped at the door, looked around, and then turned back and handed Kimber the book in her hand. Then she followed Daniel outside.
“I wonder if she knows how to talk,” I said.
Kimber laughed, the most beautiful sound, like wind chimes and nightingale song mixed with the swirls of the breeze. The only sound that made me happier was when she moaned my name every night.
“Come on,” she said. “Penny and Rachel are waiting at the restaurant.”
The End
Publisher’s Note
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About Villette Snowe
Villette Snowe is the girl you sat behind in advanced English class, the one whom you thought was an angel. She makes the best dirty jokes that so few people hear, the girl who rarely looks you in the eye but makes you nervous when she does. She’s the one writing the intense romances you won’t admit you read.
Visit her at www.Twitter.com/VilletteSnowe.
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