Time (Laws of Physics #3)(53)

“You feel so good. Like heaven.” His mouth was at my neck, biting and sucking, sending ticklish shivers down my spine just as he hit the right spot, the tight, aching center of my body, and I cried out.

I cried out, chanting yes and please, panting, splitting apart.

I cried out and the world disappeared except for where he moved, hitting the tender, twisting, secret place, my walls clenching, pulsing, until I completely shattered apart.

I can’t breathe and it’s so perfect and beautiful and wrong. You like this? What’s wrong with you?

“Mona.”

I barely heard him. He sounded far away, but I knew he was still there even as the stars continued to burst behind my eyes, even as the little whisper of fear became a louder voice of doubt, guilt.

You can’t like this. You have no control, you can’t like this.

Waves of pain and pleasure rolled through me as he moved faster, pushed harder, his body heavy, pressing me down.

“I’m losing my mind. I can’t—I can’t—” He groaned, tensing as his hips broke their elegant rhythm to pound deep, hard, covetous and mindless, and the force of his thrusts pushed me up the bench.

Abram’s body curled, bowing forward, forming a cocoon of bronzed skin and sinewy muscle, and I breathed him in, raptly watching his face as he came, desperate to see his loss of control, tears pricking behind my eyes as I asked myself, if he can lose control, why can’t I? Why is it wrong for me?

He’s not afraid.

His eyebrows stitched together, he exhaled roughly.

Like it hurt.

Like it cost him.

“God. Fuck.” His arms shook as he lowered himself to touch my forehead with his. “You’re perfect. So perfect. I love you, I love you so much.” His mouth crashed to mine and he released my hands, cradling my face, stroking my hair. Still inside me, he slid his hand lower, fondling my body, petting me.

“I love you,” he said.

Or maybe I did.

I couldn’t be certain.

“It’s never going to be enough,” I said.

Or maybe he did.

I couldn’t be sure.

But I was certain that I sucked in a hitching breath as he gathered me to him and cradled me lovingly. And I was sure that the air I held within my lungs was to halt the beginning of a sob.





14





Time and Space in Special Relativity





Abram





Something is very wrong.

I’d held her, leisurely kissing the silky skin of her face and neck, fondling her luscious breast, enjoying the decadent softness and weight and the feel of her in my hand. The earlier desperation had morphed into elation, I was wholly and completely enamored. I’m talking fucking stars-for-eyes, cartoon-heart-beating-out-of-my-chest euphoric, convinced that this, being with her like this, so close, just us, exposed and vulnerable to and with each other was my heaven on earth.

In the moments after, thoughts of her happiness consumed me. I wanted and hoped I’d made her feel what I was feeling. I wanted her happiness, her laughter and joy, her contented sighs and smiles. But, almost immediately, it became abundantly clear that she did not feel what I was feeling.

She didn’t push me away. She said nothing as I touched and tasted. In fact, she lay perfectly still. Even her chest didn’t move. Slowly, much slower than I’d like to admit, I became aware that she was holding her breath, the beats of my heart ticking off the seconds.

I stopped kissing her, a prickle of unease between my shoulder blades. I waited, listening, certain I was being ridiculous. She’d been right there with me. She’d said yes and please, and when she’d come—God—she’d been so fierce, so beautiful.

Something is very, very wrong.

Abruptly, she breathed. Exhaling slowly, carefully, and then drawing in another breath to hold it. What the hell?

Lifting myself up, I searched her face. She wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were glassy, dazed, focused internally, her expression completely impassive. The warmth of euphoria was replaced with icy dread.

“Mona.”

She seemed to give herself a little shake, her attention shifting outward, and she pressed her lips together. She was still holding her breath.

“Are you—what—what’s wrong?” I wasn’t going to panic. I wasn’t. I won’t.

“Nothing.” She shook her head, her lips curving into an unconvincing smile, but her eyes betrayed her. They looked frantic. Sad, angry, confused, scared.

She was freaking out.

“You’re lying,” I thought and said at the same time.

The corners of her mouth turned down, her eyes shuttering, growing cold. “Can you give me a little space?” she said, her voice quiet and firm, laced with impatience, like I’d irritated her.

Space.

She wanted space.

She wants space.

I stared at her stupidly, feeling as though I’d just been slapped. The last time she’d asked for space, it hadn’t been her. It had been Lisa. But since I hadn’t been aware of that fact, I’d experienced the very peculiar sensation of feeling my heart fracture in real time.

This is all so familiar.

I remembered this. I remembered what this felt like, like being her garbage.

Except, this, now, this was her, and we’d just . . . I’d just . . . shit.