Page 82 of Bad Habit
For the first time, I felt frightened.
Was Mac right? Was I simply naive? Had I misinterpreted everything he’d done to this point? Had I been wrong to trust him?
Living up to his promise, he pounded into me unrelentingly, forcefully stealing my breath and my freedom.
It seemed he wanted to punish my body, using his as a weapon.
Punish me for what? For loving him? Tears stung my eyes and tightened my throat.
It wasn’t working. I still loved him. I knew my feelings were true. But I had started to doubt his feelings for me.
How could I judge, with my limited experience, what a man was feeling in his heart?
“Mac… Please…” My voice was weak, barely audible. “You’re hurting—”
He pulled out quickly.
My legs crumpled, and I slid down the window into a crouch, trying to catch my breath as it fogged the window beside me.
My insides ached like he was still inside even though I knew he wasn’t. When I caught my breath, I turned to the side.
Mac was slumped over the arm of the sofa, his chest heaving, sweat trailing down his back and his buttocks. His back muscles flexed, creating undulating shapes as he stood nearly still, as if his back was a being unto its own, alive, aware of me standing behind it, even if Mac himself wasn’t.
I softly slid my hand onto his back, running up the side where it angled outward like a triangle to join his shoulder. His breath hitched at my touch, but he didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge my touch or my presence.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
“Me?” He turned, and the look on his face jabbed into my heart. He was in anguish. Not in tears, but clearly fighting dark emotions twisting inside him.
His hand lifted to cup my cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I shook my head.
He pulled me into his arms, enveloping my body with his and encasing me in his heat and sweat. I inhaled his scent, reveling in the comfort of being in his arms, feeling his body next to mine, hearing his heart thud as I pressed my ear against his chest.
We dropped to the sofa, me on his lap, and he stroked my back, my hair, and I clung to him, never wanting to let him go.
“I’ve never done that before. Hurt someone… I’m such a shit.”
“You’re not a shit.” The word felt strange on my tongue.
“I didn’t even use a fucking condom.”
“Oh.” I tensed, trying to remember all the reasons that wasn’t smart.
“I’m clean,” he said. “I’m sure you are, but what if you get pregnant?”
“That could happen?” Wonder at that concept flowed through me. What if Mac and I made a baby? I looked up into his eyes.
“I didn’t come, but it could still happen.” He shook his head. “When was your last period?”
“I’m expecting it soon.” In fact, when he’d invited me on this trip, I worried I might start bleeding while we were here.
He nodded, his eyes showing a hint of relief. Clearly Mac did not want to make a baby with me, not yet anyway, and I guess the timing would not be ideal.
He rested his head on top of mine. “I tried,” he said softly.
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but instead of asking, I reached up to stroke the side of his neck, run my fingers into the damp hair at the back of his head.
