Page 32 of Fault Lines
“I’ll be back in thirty,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.
For the next half hour, I sat there, staring at nothing, asking myself why it had taken so long to notice the small, selfish habits he’d always had. Pattern after pattern, I could trace them now, and I felt stupid for missing them before.
When he came back in, sweat glistened on his arms, his breath heavy. He tore the top off a water bottle and drained it ina few long gulps, Adam’s apple moving up and down. I had an almost physical urge to trail my tongue along his throat.
Maybe I just needed sex. Or maybe I missed him—the way I used to have him, before Thursdays and lies.
But then I remembered. He was getting satisfied somewhere else. The ache came back, worse than before.
He stepped in close, kissing my lips softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Smile for me?” he murmured.
I tried, forcing my mouth into the shape he wanted, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt.
∞∞∞
That night after dinner, we curled up to watch a romance movie. He fed me bits of popcorn, and for a little while, the closeness felt enough. Romance movies never were Cam’s thing, but tonight we watched one anyway.
Halfway through, I felt my mood darken. The couple on the screen were so happy, so right for each other. I bet they’d never stray. No desperate Thursday nights for them, just the two of them, enough forever. What was wrong with us that we couldn’t just be whole? Was it me? If I could have had children, would that have changed everything? Would Cam be out there searching, trying to fill a hole I couldn’t?
My mind drifted.
“You disappeared for a second,” Cam said suddenly, pulling my attention back.
“Hmmm?” I turned to him.
“You do it all the time lately. Like you’re far away.”
“Oh,” I said, grasping at the easiest excuse. “My mind just wanders.”
He tilted his head, not quite satisfied, but let it go. “How about you wander up here and kiss me instead?” he said, tapping his lips.
I smiled and leaned in. He deepened the kiss, refusing to break away, tongue pushing into my mouth, heat flaring instantly. His hands were in my hair, and all I wanted was more. Desperate for it.
I let my leg slide over his lap, straddling him, fist tangled in his hair. He groaned, and the sound of it made me ache. For a moment, I forgot everything else.
A tear slid down my cheek. I felt unworthy but wanted him anyway. Needed him. Terrified he’d pull away, that he’d think of someone else.
He caught my tear with his mouth, lips warm on my skin, and drifted to my neck, where he sucked and nipped until I was gasping, hips grinding down against him. There was no hiding how hard he was beneath his pajama pants.
He flipped us effortlessly. Now my back was on the couch, and he was above me, covering me completely. My t-shirt and panties suddenly felt like armor I didn’t want. I fumbled for his waistband, tugging it down, needing to feel his skin against mine, needing him inside before he changed his mind.
He was rough, almost frantic, and when he entered me it hurt—a sharp, stretching pain I wasn’t used to anymore—but I didn’t care. I wanted him to keep going, wanted him to lose control. I wanted to believe I could still make him feel something he couldn’t get anywhere else.
He bit my breast through the thin cotton and I cried out, the sound echoing under his heavier breaths. I shifted my hips, chasing the pleasure, and it arrived all at once, fast and overwhelming. I screamed for him; he followed, releasing inside me, shuddering as he slowed and finally went still.
I locked my arms around him, holding him there, desperate for the moment not to end.
He drew back, his breath warm on my cheek.
“I love you, Livi,” he whispered. “Only you. Always. Nothing will ever be as good as this.”
I wanted to believe him.
Chapter Eleven
I woke the next morning still buzzing with joy—the kind that makes you want to roll over and grin into your pillow, just remembering the night before. Cam had carried me to bed after we made love, and then he took me again, and again, until I was thoroughly spent and sweetly exhausted. For once, he’d skipped his sunrise jog. He didn’t so much as hint at leaving the warmth of the sheets, anchoring me against his broad chest for those extra few minutes, stealing kisses until the clock was entirely unforgiving. I can’t say I minded.
When he finally dragged himself off to work, he left me with a kiss that still tingled on my mouth the whole day. I barely noticed the hours pass at work—the time just floated by in a gentle hum. People noticed, too.
