Chapter 18 #2
Felix’s body shifted above hers, his weight a grounding force as he aligned himself. His hard length pressed insistently against her. Rose’s breath hitched. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the taut muscles as if to anchor herself against the surge of need building between them.
He paused, eyes locked on hers, and then he pushed forward, sliding into her with a slow, deliberate thrust that filled her completely, stretching her in a way that blurred pain and pleasure into one overwhelming sensation.
Her body arched to meet him, each inch of him claiming her as his hips began to move in a rhythm that echoed the pulse of her own heartbeat.
The friction was exquisite. Felix glided in and out with growing urgency.
The wet sounds of their joining mingled with their ragged breaths and the faint crackle of the dying fire.
Rose wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Her breasts brushed against his chest with every motion, nipples hardening against the coarse hair there. Felix’s thrusts were steady and powerful, each one driving home into the perfect spot inside her.
As the tension coiled tighter, Rose felt the world narrow to the sublime friction of their bodies, his cock hitting that deeply sensitive spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
Felix’s breath grew uneven against her neck, his groans vibrating through her as he whispered words of encouragement, “Let go for me.” She did, her climax crashing over her in waves that clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with her.
He followed with a final, shuddering thrust, spilling into her with a low growl, their bodies trembling in unison.
Rose lay beside him, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, but Felix tensed at her touch. Still, she pressed on, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of his shoulder. The man was always restless, even when the rest of him lay perfectly still.
For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of the fire and the slow, shared breathing.
Her limbs felt loose, her body worn out in a way that was not at all unpleasant.
She let her mind drift, unspooling every good memory she had ever collected: Lizzie’s smile, Eleanor’s letters, the scent of wet grass in the convent garden. She added tonight to the list.
She did not plan the words; they just bubbled up, wild and certain.
“I love you,” she said, barely louder than a prayer.
Felix did not react at first. His hand stopped its circling, and he was still. His breath hitched.
Rose felt the change, sensed the danger, but could not unsay the words.
He pulled away, just a little. Not enough to be out of reach, but enough that she felt the drop in temperature. He stared up at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
“Felix?” she said, the question hanging.
He rolled onto his back. For a minute, she thought he might leave, but he only closed his eyes, as if bracing for a blow.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
Rose reached for his hand, but he did not meet her halfway.
“It’s not—” he began, but the words failed. He tried again. “You shouldn’t. Not me.”
“Why?” she asked. Hurt was already blooming inside her, taking up all the space she’d made for hope.
He did not answer, not at once. He flexed his hands, as if wringing water from them. “It’s not you,” he said. “It’s— I can’t—”
Rose waited, afraid to interrupt. She watched his face, saw the memories working behind his eyes, and realized he was not in this room at all.
“My mother loved my father,” he said. “She loved him until it ruined her. He did not return it, not the way she deserved. She spent her whole life believing it was a test of her virtue. She waited for him to change, and every time he hurt her, she thought she could be good enough to fix it.”
Rose listened, her own heart pounding.
Felix went on, voice tight. “He betrayed her, again and again. In every way that counted. And when she died, she died empty, Rose. Empty and alone. All the love she poured into him just… vanished.”
Rose reached for his shoulder, but he flinched imperceptibly. She let her hand drop.
“You are not him,” she said, though she was not entirely sure.
“I could be,” Felix said, with a bitter little laugh. “I could be exactly him if you let me. I don’t want that for you. Not ever.”
She bit her lip, trying to swallow the pain. “I am not your mother. And you are not your father.”
He looked at her, eyes bleak. “Aren’t I? I thought if I made myself hard enough, cold enough, I would never have to find out.”
He turned on his side, away from her. His body formed a barrier on the bed, as absolute as any wall.
Rose lay there, stunned.
She had done this. She had destroyed the only peace she had ever known, with three foolish words.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but the apology fell between them, untouched.
She stared at his back, at the broad line of his shoulders, and felt a grief so old it had no name. She wanted to shake him, to force him to see her, but she was too afraid that he already did.
The night crawled by. The fire died down to a whisper. She could not sleep, not with the ache in her chest, not with the memory of his withdrawal. At last, when the windows grew silver with pre-dawn, she heard his breathing change, felt the tension ebb.
She rolled to her own edge of the bed, wrapping herself in the blanket, and waited for Felix to say anything. To explain, to apologize, to recant.
He said nothing at all.
Rose lay awake, watching the light crawl up the wall, and wondered what it meant to love someone who could never love her back. She had survived worse, she reminded herself. She would survive again.
But it felt, in that moment, like all the warmth in the world had gone out.