Page 122 of My Sweetest Agony
My head starts to spin, that slow smolder igniting into a raging inferno where we’re connected that spreads out through every limb and fiber of my being until I finally burst.
Tears stream down my face as the orgasm rips through me.
My body convulses against his as he holds me tightly and pumps into me harshly, driving me through the orgasm and keeping it going.
Only just as it starts to ebb, his hand slips between us and finds my clit. I gasp at the contact on my overly sensitive spot, but he rolls his thumb across it rapidly, keeping the orgasm going impossibly long until he finally stills deep inside me and releases on a strangled groan.
“Fucking hell, Ivy…”
He buries his face in my neck, both of us panting, our sweat-slick bodies pressed to each other as we labor to calm our racing hearts and find our normal breaths.
Each minute that passes, I fall further into him, allowing him to hold me even closer, absorbing all his strength and passion and anything else he’s willing to give me, because without it, I’d be lost again.
And I’m terrified this was a goodbye as much as I thought that kiss outside might have been.
My skin starts to cool and pebble with goosebumps in the chilly air, and he finally lifts his head and meets my gaze again, emotions wrestling with each other to take control.
He didn’t want to come in here, didn’t want to be in this house with me like this, but this is my home, where I belong, where I’m going to stay, and I need to have this man in it.
So much so that it terrifies me.
“Please don’t leave.” My impassioned plea makes his brow furrow, and he squeezes his eyes closed, dropping his forehead to mine as he takes a long, deep breath.
“I can’t…” He shakes his head, still keeping it pressed to mine. “I can’t stay, Ivy. Not here. I’m sorry.”
The plea in his voice for me to drop it, for me to let him go, makes my eyes burn with a different type of tears than before, and I bite my lip to try to hide how badly it trembles right now, to bite back the words I want to say.
That this is my house, and though I may have shared it with Drew and made memories and plans with him here, he’s gone. Something the man still buried inside me forced me to admit to myself, forced me to see. He’s the one who made me let go of the unhealthy death grip I had on Drew’s memory, and yet he can’t.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make him.
30
IVY
Just like the first time I showed up at the studio uninvited, unease crawls up my spine and tightens around it, making my hand shake where it grasps the massive metal door.
It grinds along the old track as I tug it open.
The piercing sound makes me wince.
Tonight, there isn’t any music playing to absorb the noise.
Absolute deathly silence clings to the studio, making it feel lifeless, like stepping into a tomb instead of the vibrant life that pulsated in it two nights ago.
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
The familiar scent of fresh paint fills the air, and a blank canvas lies on a tarp on the floor in his work area. Brushes and trays of black and white acrylic sit beside it, ready to be used—all completely untouched.
Almost like he got interrupted before he could even begin…
Considering he promised to stop by after his meeting tonight, I wouldn’t have expected him to come to the studio at all, but given how shaken he seems after his meetings sometimes, maybe he needed to blow off some steam this way.
But I can’t deny I’m worried about him.
Last night, he seemed so tormented by his guilt. As if being in my house, even with my assurances, was weighing far too heavily on him.
Which is why I made the drive across town again to check on him tonight, even when I probably should have given him some space to sort through his conflicting emotions.
