Chapter 17 #2
I fucked harder, chasing Jordan’s noises like they were supposed to replace that memory. My body moved on autopilot, grinding into him, the bed creaking beneath us.
Jordan moaned again. “Fuck, Liam, yes! Don’t stop!”
My jaw clenched.
This was simple. This was what I did. I didn’t date. I didn’t feel. I didn’t let anyone get under my skin.
Except Sam had.
And that fucked me up more than I was willing to admit.
I closed my eyes, but all I saw was Sam’s face under the lights at The Taproom, flushed and dancing, his eyes locked on mine like we were the only two people in the room. Like he wanted me.
Like I maybe wanted him back.
Fuck.
My rhythm faltered.
Jordan bucked beneath me, desperate. “Liam, c’mon. Yeah! Harder!”
I grunted, grinding into him, trying to feel something. Anything. His skin was slick under my hands, flushed and burning. His legs locked around me, heels pressing into the small of my back, urging me deeper. His body was tight, needy, clenching around me like a vice.
But none of it was landing.
It was like I was outside of myself, spying my body go through the motions, monitoring my hips move like they were on some kind of autopilot. I tried to focus. The heat, the sweat, the way Jordan was gasping in my ear like I was everything he needed.
But I wasn’t. Not really.
And then I felt it.
The slight give. The dull drop of sensation. The loss of pressure where there should have been tension.
Shit.
I was slipping out. Not just mentally.
Physically.
Losing it.
Not just the moment.
My hard-on.
Panic sparked low in my gut.
That had never happened to me.
Sex was where I was powerful, where I could take control, anchor myself, shut off everything else. When things got too complicated, too loud, too much. This was where I found quiet. Rhythm. Heat. Focus.
But right now, I was fading. Fast.
Jordan didn’t seem to notice. He was too far gone, clinging to me, breath ragged and uneven. His fingers dug into my shoulders, his body flexing beneath me, chasing the edge.
I clenched my jaw, tightened my hold on him, rocked into him with purpose even though I felt myself softening inside him. I ground down hard, rolling my hips in a way I knew he liked, keeping the friction right where he needed it.
I could fake it. I’d done it before.
This was about Jordan now.
I leaned in close, voice low and rasping against his ear. “Come on,” I whispered. “Let go.”
And he did.
He shattered underneath me, arching with a strangled cry, muscles fluttering, orgasm wracking through him in waves. His body clamped tight around me, dragging the last of my motion from me as ropes of his hot cum splashed across his stomach and chest.
I held him through it, breathing heavy, but all I felt was the hollow where sensation should have been.
Empty.
Numb.
Wrong.
I closed my eyes.
And there he was.
Sam.
His face. That goddamn grin. The way he’d looked at me behind the bar tonight at my car, lips still parted, like he hadn’t breathed since.
And just like that, everything in me pulled tight again. Ache, not arousal.
Longing.
Not for the man I’d just fucked.
But for the one I walked away from.
Hollow.
Fucking vacant.
My eyes fluttered shut again.
And fuck, I wasn’t even close.
I can’t fucking do this.
So I faked it.
I let out a low, rough groan, tightened my muscles, gave a little stutter of my hips, and pulled out quickly before Jordan could register that nothing had happened.
Slid the condom off and tossed it in the trash before he could even think to look.
Jordan collapsed back into the pillows, breathless and glowing. “Fuck, that was—”
“I should go,” I cut in, already reaching for my jeans.
Jordan’s brows furrowed slightly. “You’re leaving? Seriously?”
I forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Long day. Early morning. Shipments and all that.”
He sighed, still sprawled out, chest rising and falling.
I shrugged, pulling on my shirt. “Just needed to take the edge off.”
Jordan let out a laugh, rolling onto his side. “Alright, Carter. See you around.”
I gave a nod, tugged on my boots, and stepped into the hallway.
Because this was supposed to be simple.
But Sam was fucking up everything.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
By the time I hit the street, the cool night air felt better than anything that had just happened.
I walked in the direction of my apartment, passing a small 24-hour convenience store. I went inside, grabbed a candy bar off the rack, then doubled back for a bottle of water, then stopped because I couldn’t remember why I’d turned around.
I shook my head and opened the candy bar before I even paid.
The first bite was way more satisfying than that sex had been.
Fuck.
That wasn’t good.
I paid for the candy bar and water then walked the rest of the way home, my boots echoing against the pavement, my mind spinning way too fast for someone who should be feeling that post-fuck glow.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him.
But the second I sat down on my couch, it hit me.
Cedar Hollow.
The hand-holding. The way he looked at me all week at camp, like he was seeing me differently. The little flirtations over sunscreen, the way his body felt pressed against mine at the pool.
The kiss.
The kiss at The Taproom.
The way he moved with me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his breath hot against my lips. The way it had felt right in a way nothing had in a long fucking time.
The way he kissed me back.
Oh, shit.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
That kiss meant something to Sam.
And worse… it meant something to me, too.