Page 58 of Between Now and Always

I lay hand on his arm and he yanks away from me.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, and shifts away from me.

I bite back a whimper and pull my hands back.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask a question whose answer seems obvious, but I want to be sure that I’m not misreading him.

“I thought I could do this, I can’t.” His voice is flat, his expression bleak and cold starts to seep into my chest.

“What can’t you do?”

His head is bowed, the dark waves of hair that crown are a siren song for my fingers - they love that slide of the feathery silk between them. I reach for him, longing, yearning, foolishly forgetting that I shouldn’t touch him like that.

But he remembers. The sharp, swift shake of his head stays my hand.

“Okay, I’ll leave.” Tears cloud my vision but they’re not sad tears. I’m angry.

I stand, but before I can walk away, his hand clutches the hem of my dress.

“Carter…what are you doing?"I ask, my patience close to snapping.

His eyes remain locked on the fabric caught in his white knuckled grip. I’m starting to think he didn’t hear me, when he finally gives voice to his torment.

“You don’t understand. I need you too much. I want you too much. This is killing me, Beth."

Forbidden Fruit

CARTER

Once I’ve said the words, I exhale in relief. I can see that they hurt her, but I’ve been dying under the weight of them.

I’ve known since the night of our helicopter ride, since she told me she’d been pregnant…withmybaby. I can’t handle whatever this relationship we’re attempting to cobble together is. It could never be enough.

I thought about canceling today, but my mother would have killed me if I’d disinvited her.

Now, I think that death would have been preferable to the torture of today.

She sits down again, slowly as if she’s approaching a wild, wounded animal. If only she knew just wounded I was…she’d wouldn’t come near me. I need her to know. So she’ll stay away.

“Carter, this is hard for me, too,” she says.

Anger at the gross understatement in that phrase robs me of my good sense.

“It’s not hard, Beth. It’s fucking impossible.Thisis hard.” I cup my cock through my jeans intending to shock and upset her.

The surprise or fear I expected is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a flagrant flare of hunger as they fix on my hand.

Too late, I remember the sorcery those paradise blues are capable of. They ensnare, ensorcel, and enchant me.

My hand, as if doing their bidding, moves up my erection in a long, languid stroke.

Her eyes widen and come to mine.

“Do you want my cock?” I ask in low whisper.

Her breaths come in shallow pants and her eyes glisten with tears. Her nod is as sorrowful as it is desperate.

I understand.

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