Page 51 of Somewhere Along The Line
“Why’d you stop?” she asks desperately, her mouth moving furiously on mine. The tension in her voice makes me want to continue this for years.
“I stopped because you were getting too close.” My quiet laugh tickles her lips as I slow down the kiss until it’s deep but tender.
“That’s when you’re supposed toNOTstop!” Piper gives a firm tug to my hair like it’s a punishment and not a turn-on.
“Only if I want you to finish,” I whisper, finding the spot where her neck meets her collarbone and sucking gently. “I am not eager for this to be finished.”
She shudders and I steady her, licking kisses to her ear. “Though ifyouare, you can ask me for it.” The trail of my lips continues across her jaw to her mouth.
She stops me there, meeting my gaze with no inhibition as she grabs my hand and brings it back between her legs.
“James,” she says as she arches into me, “please make me come.”
We dive back into the kiss, zero to sixty, the heel of my hand rubbing back and forth over her as I bring my other hand to the strap of her dress and slide it down to expose her breast. I twist at her nipple slowly until it’s hard, a sharp inhale in her chest when I pull roughly.
“Shit, James,” she whimpers into my neck. The words burn like sparks on my skin as she writhes beneath me.
“That’s it, just like that,” I encourage, increasing my tempo to match her small thrusts. If I move an inch, the friction of my pants would cause an explosion I’d regret. I focus on Piper’s breathing as it becomes erratic, nipping my teeth at her ear. “You feel so fucking good I could come just from touching you.”
She collapses into me as her pleasure spills over, her muscles tensing and squeezing, her arms tight around my back. We stay this way until our breathing slows and she brings a hand to my zipper. I intercept it with my own.
“Not tonight,” I whisper, cradling her head against my chest. As much as I’m desperate for release, this night is about her. I don’t want her to think the price of her orgasm is my own.
I keep Piper wrapped up, feeling her heart rate fall and her shoulders relax after a few minutes. She’s melted into me, her body filling every gap in mine.
“Hey,” she says quietly, looking up at me with a soft smile. I tuck a loose wave behind her ear.
“Hey,” I reply, planting a kiss on her forehead.
“Thanks for giving me space. We had such a great night earlier this week and then the morning happened which made me spiral. I shut you out. I’m sorry about that.”
My palms move from her waist to hold the sides of her face gently, locking my eyes to hers. “You don’t have to apologize for taking care of yourself, you know that?” She nods. “You should do whatever you need to do. You don’t owe me anything.”
James’s phrase rattles aroundmy head as his car maneuvers the pothole-lined street leading to my house.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Those five words pierce the bubble I’ve been living in, quickly deflating the protective cover I wrapped around my heart to guard against my thoughts this week. Thoughts about how reckless I am around James.
About what happened with Mr. Cargill.
About how stupid it is to let myself be distracted.
I’ve been pushing those thoughts aside, wrapping them up along with my common sense and tucking them away. I’ve been leaning into positive self-talk. I’ve been trying not to catastrophize. Trying not to let my fears ruin a night like tonight.
But hearing those five words slip out of James’s mouth?
The bubble is gone. With one startling pop it disappears, a flashing neon DANGER sign materializing in its place. His casual reminder that we aren’t responsible for or accountable to each other is a puncture wound to my heart.
We aren’t a “we” at all.
James Newhouse could disappear tomorrow, and I wouldn’t have any right to be hurt.
Here I am bringing this man into my life, introducing him to my roommate, showing him off at my work event, fumbling an important meeting, and for what?
He doesn’t owe me anything either.
Shit.
