Written in the Scars(26)
“That all you got?” she asks.
“Oh,” I say, dragging my cock out and then pushing it roughly back in, making her yelp. “You want more?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
Readjusting her weight on my arms, feeling her nails tug at my skin and her legs cinch around me, I slam into her once more.
And again.
And again.
The pictures on the walls rattle, one next to the light switch falling to the floor. The sound of the glass breaking echoes down the hall, adding to the sound of our damp skin slapping against each other.
“Ty!” Her breasts bounce against my chest, her legs starting to shake. It’s sensory overload.
A full-body tremble rolls through me and I have a strong need to close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of her getting off on my cock, but I’m not about to miss a moment of this. Watching her come is the most spectacular event of my life.
Her lashes lie on her cheeks, her delicate lips falling open. Her chin tilts to the sky as she intakes a quick breath and moans the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
She tightens around me in every way, and I push into her as far as I can go and let myself fall over the edge with her. It’s an execution we’ve perfected.
“E,” I growl, feeling myself explode into her body.
“Ah,” she moans, letting her head fall forward on my shoulder.
Moving slowly inside of her, I milk her orgasm, drawing out the most pleasure for my girl. Her heartbeat thumps against me, eventually slowing and evening out right alongside mine.
I want to hold her in my arms forever, feel our naked bodies touch in every way. Damn, I’ve missed this. More than I even realized.
“I hate to do this,” I say, my voice shaking, “but I have to put you down.”
My arms feel like they’re full of lactic acid as I ease Elin to the floor. She doesn’t say anything, and when she’s on her feet, she doesn’t look at me.
Instead, she scurries to the end of the hallway and finds her t-shirt, my t-shirt, and slips it over her head.
“I thought you hated that shirt,” I joke, attempting to put some levity into the air that’s suddenly full of awkwardness. Pulling my jeans up and searching for my shirt, I can’t pry my eyes away from her.
“I do.”
“So why are you sleeping in it?”
She runs a hand through her tangled hair and looks at me. “I’m not sure. It was just the first one in the dresser.”
I know that’s a lie. She hides that shirt from me all the time because it’s so ratty. But I let her go with it.
Nodding, I get myself back together and feel the strange build between us. I hate it and scramble to find a way to fill the hallway with something else.
“What have you been up to?”
As soon as the question is out of my mouth, her brows shoot to the ceiling. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” I say, confused. “Why do you act like it’s an odd question?”
She huffs and leans against the wall. “I was thinking you’d go now.”
“Elin, I—”
“Please. Go.”
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Not really.”
“Yes, we do. Let me explain . . .” My heart kicks up in my chest because I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I have to. And I will. I’m ready. I’m ready to get my life back. Our life back.
She pulls at the hem of her shirt. “Not tonight.”
“Will you be okay?” I ask, not wanting to leave. My hands itch to pick her up and carry her down the hallway to our bedroom. I want to pull her on top of me and show her how sorry I am, how much I love her, over and over again until she understands.
“I’m always okay.”
The bite to her words hits me full-on, and I must flinch because she reacts to it, seconds from offering her apology.
“If you need anything, you’ll call me, right?”
“I’ll call Jiggs,” she whispers.
Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, I let it linger for a few seconds longer than necessary. Hoping it tells her all the things I can’t say, I pull back. “Call me,” I insist and leave, making sure to lock the squeaky door behind me.
ELIN
“Your regular?”
My eyes adjust to the light in The Fountain as the door closes behind me. I search for Ruby, the owner for the last fifty years, and find her at the sink.
“Please,” I smile, standing at the counter next to Lindsay. Fishing out two dollars from the bottom of my purse, I lay them beside the napkin dispenser for a large Bump.
“What are you doing here?” Lindsay asks, sipping on a strawberry milkshake.
“It’s sixty-degrees outside,” I say, pointing at her glass. “Why are you drinking a milkshake?”
“I told her I won’t tell a soul,” Ruby says, sitting my Styrofoam cup in front of me. She leans on the counter with a knowing look.
“Tell who what?” I ask.
She leans closer, her eyes sparkling. “That’s she’s pregnant.”
“Hush,” Lindsay giggles, looking around the deserted building. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not until I’m out of the first trimester.” She looks at me and then away just as quickly.