Chapter 32 #2
Tired of the numbness that’s hollowed me out, of the silence where joy used to live, I just want to feel something again. Anything. Something that isn’t rage, sadness, grief, or fucking regret.
I don’t have the strength to fight against what I think is wrong, but what feels so fucking right. I’m tired of dragging myself through days that don’t feel like mine.
Of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
I need to escape. To feel like myself again.
I meet his gaze, unflinching now. Reckless. Desperate. “Make me feel better.”
He looks at me, stunned. I don’t know if he remembers I said those words in the car after his mom’s event, when I was hurt and needed to use him.
I hike up my skirt and climb over to his side.
“Cora…” he rasps.
“No talking, no analyzing… just make me feel better.”
“I don’t—”
“Fuck, Xander, you betrayed me, you lied to me, you manipulated me; don’t you grow a conscience now when I need you to be reckless with me.”
The war behind his eyes should frustrate me—especially now, when need pulses through me like a second heartbeat. But it doesn’t.
It calms me.
It’s like with our break up, he lost a piece of his recklessness.
And somehow, I gained that part of him that never hesitated.
Somehow, that shift evens the scales.
He doesn’t move, but he is barely hanging onto his control. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his breath comes rough and uneven. He’s trying to hold back.
I rake my fingers through his hair, slow, deliberate. He shudders under the touch, eyes flickering closed for a beat too long.
His hands are fists at his sides, like touching me might undo him completely. And God, part of me wants that—wants to see him fall apart.
But more than that, I want to feel anything but the way I’ve been feeling since our marriage collapsed.
His breath hitches as I lean in, my lips a breath from his.
The kiss comes slowly. Like a memory. Like a warning. His mouth brushes mine—tentative, hesitant. Not like him. Not like us.
It should feel foreign.
It doesn’t.
I breathe him in, and the taste of him cracks something open in me. My fingers fist the hair above his collar. I need to anchor myself in this moment, or I’ll drown.
Because I am unraveling. Fast.
Every heartbeat feels like a breaking point.
But he’s still holding back. His hands hover at my waist, the restraint coiled in his body like a drawn bow.
He’s trying to stay in control—trying to be careful. Or to do the right thing. Finally.
I don’t want careful.
I definitely don’t want right.
I kiss him harder, pulling him closer. A sound escapes his throat—half growl, half surrender—and then he breaks.
His hands are on me.
Not hesitant anymore. Not controlled.
Desperate.
He deepens the kiss. The kiss that has teeth and history. The kind that says, “I tried to let you go, but I never did.”
And when he finally drags his mouth from mine, breath ragged, eyes wild, I know we’ve crossed a line neither of us can uncross.
This is a mistake that will cause more hurt right after.
But fuck if I care.
Not today.
Xander reaches down, and the seat jerks backward, the backrest reclining. I yank at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt.
He hikes up my skirt, his hands squeezing my thighs in a hungry grip, marking me with his anguish.
“What do you need, Coraline?” He grits out.
“Your cock. Now.” I don’t even recognize my own voice.
I finally part his shirt and rake my nails down his chest and abs. Fuck, I missed his body. I missed his touch. I missed his warmth.
Miss. Miss. Miss. The longing barrels through me, unexpected, and I claw at him, drawing blood. But he doesn’t seem to care.
He unzips his pants, pushes my panties to the side, and impales me in one swift move.
I cry out, the invasion unexpected. Brutal, yet welcome. He stills, his gaze glued to mine. We stare at each other in a limbo of indecision.
In the small space of his car, we’re both fighting the common sense that screams for us to stop.
Not only because we’re in a public fucking parking lot. But because we’re chasing a resolution that will only bring us pain.
Because we’re replacing words with actions that don’t match the state of our relationship.
“It’s a mistake.” I circle my hips, and Xander hisses.
“Certainly.”
I make another circle. “We will regret it.” I don’t even know why I voice all these objections.
“Perhaps.” He groans when I lift my hips and sink down again, squeezing.
“I don’t want to stop.”
“Unfortunately.”
The regret in his voice registers, but it’s immediately replaced with pleasure when he grips my hips and starts bouncing me in a punishing tempo.
One that wipes my thoughts clear, replaces the agony, and finally opens the emergency exit. Exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.
This is not lovemaking.
This is not making up.
This is not even fucking, I think.
It’s more like an exorcism. Banishing our pain. Discarding grief. Expelling the regret.
When we both cry out, falling over the precipice together in a raw, unscripted mess of sweat, bodies, and pent-up need, I know that the effect will be tragically short-lived.
Xander gathers me closer, holding me in his arms, his cock still pulsing inside me. And then the high comes crushing down, and I start crying.
Because I will never get to open another Zinfandel with my dad.
Because there won’t be birthdays we celebrate together.
Because he will never see what became of his bistro.
Because I will never go to visit him again.
Because my dad is gone, and even though I’m not a child anymore, I feel like an orphan.
So lonely.
So fucking lonely.
Xander strokes my hair gently for I don’t know how long, but when my weary mind registers the feather-like, comforting touch, I realize I’ve just used this man.
I push to sit up, raising my hips, disconnecting our bodies, hoping we can dislodge our hearts as easily.
“Coraline,” he rasps, but I don’t look at him.
I climb over to my side, and he lets me. The loss of him is visceral, but I can’t let my grief and hormones dictate the situation.
I shimmy my skirt down. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t—” His broken voice is a direct hit to my chest.
“This was a mistake… We shouldn’t have done this.” I chance a look at him, and the agony spreads from my chest to my entire body.
What have I done?
Xander’s jaw is tight. He doesn’t move to tuck himself in. He is still leaning back on his tilted seat, watching me. His eyes hooded, his expression wounded, there is softness to him.
Adoration.
Devotion.
Love.
Jesus, I made things worse. I gave him hope.
I wish things were different. I wish I could trust that he would not manipulate me. I wish I could trust him.
“Xander, I don’t know what I feel right now. I’m grieving. I’m so sorry.”
He reaches to stroke my cheek. “It’s okay, Coraline.”
“I shouldn’t have used you.”
“You can use me anytime, love. I’m here for you for the rest of our lives. Anytime you need this or anything else, I’m here for you. And maybe one day, you will allow me to be more. I’m not going anywhere.”