Page 50 of The Truth About Love

We lose our clothes and tumble together down onto the bedding. When he rolls a condom down his shaft and aligns himself at my entrance, I press a flat palm to his chest, stopping him.

“Can we do it from behind today?” I ask.

We’ve always gravitated towards positions that allow us to look into each other’s eyes, to hold that connection and experience the ecstasy of our lovemaking together. Not that we don’t enjoy it in other ways, but that’s just always been our preferred way of being with each other, rather than the animalistic, rawness of fucking on all fours.

But I don’t want to look at him today.

I don’t want him to see the lie in my eyes when I pretend to be lost in the feel of him like I have been every time before.

He nods silently and I slide out from underneath him to get settled on my knees.

“You might need warming up first if you want it like this,” he says, stroking a hand softly down my back.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It might hurt.”

Good. I hope it does.

I respond by wiggling my ass, wishing he’d hurry up and fuck me so that I can cut a fresh line in my skin and go to sleep.

Finally, he pushes into me. His hands stroke over my skin, his hips thrusting against me as he leans down to press tender kisses to the base of my neck. Even in the midst of all my bullshit, he still wants to make love to me. This isn’t fucking for him, despite how easier it would be if it was. With every press of his lips to my body and slide of his cock inside me, he’s telling me how much he loves me.

And it makes me want to die.

Because this isn’t what I deserve right now. I can’t give him the same affection and intimacy that he’s so intent on giving me. All I have to offer is coldness and detachment.

Fuck,if only I could feel something.

He’s been pumping into me for minutes now and though I know my body is responding in the way it’s biologically programmed to, whatever pleasure I should be feeling is lost in the fog of my depression.

“Harder,” I whisper, thinking maybe it will help.

His hips piston more forcefully against me, his fingers gripping my waist.

Nothing changes.

“Harder,” I say again.

His thrusts grow stronger still, his hold on my body tighter, and yet, I still feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s as if I’ve been put under anaesthetic, my whole body desensitized, though my mind is still very much awake.

“Harder, Auden,” I yell this time.

“Fuck, Summer-Raine, I can’t.”

His hips are snapping against me with such incredible power, every drive of his cock into me sends my body shunting up the bed. We’ve never had sex like this before. I’m not even sure he’s enjoying it. My brain isn’t registering whether he’s making his usual noises or not. But he’s doing it because I asked him too. Because he’d doanythingI ask him to.

“Then bite me, hit me, anything.Hurt me, Auden.”

He freezes.

Turns out, I was wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t do anything I asked of him.

Because I feel the change in him the moment the words are free of my mouth. The coldness that settles over him, the sickened shock he feels at my request.

He pulls out of me, looking at me like I’m a stranger. “I can’t do this.”

And then he’s gone.

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