15. Eric #2
She didn’t have to ask twice. I grabbed her hips, digging my fingers into her and pulling her into me.
Her warm tongue tasted of bourbon and sin.
She pulled my hair, angling my mouth however she wanted, while I walked us forward until she was against the wall.
I nudged my thigh between her legs and lifted her, hips pressed against hers, my hardness against her stomach.
It was maddening—nothing sweet or gentle like our last kiss right before she left for Italy almost two years before.
It was the memory of that other kiss that sobered me like a stab to the stomach.
When I tried to pull away, she caught my lip with her teeth, keeping me in place. It hurt enough that I bit her back to make her stop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be between us.
“Amanda.” I panted, my voice a whisper just loud enough for her to hear. “This isn’t us.”
“Why can’t it be?” Her hands had traveled down my back and into my shirt, tugging at my waistband.
I groaned when she pulled me tighter. Her lips over mine, a temptation too raw for sobriety and daylight. I grabbed her wrists, pulled her fingers from under my shirt, biting the inside of my cheeks because it was as hard as refusing a meal when you were starving.
“Not like this.” There was need and anger and so much pain in her eyes. “Slow down. Come home with me. Let’s talk.”
“I’ll go home with you,” She cut me off abruptly, freeing her hand. “But not to talk. Or we could stay here. There’s a closet right there.”
Her lips landed on mine again, and her hands shot to unbuckle my belt. The feel of her skin, her tongue, her hands, was electrifying and everything I’d thought about for so long.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I’d come with her, and it would heal us both.
Believing my lie, I kissed her, sliding my hands under her blouse.
Then, doubt crept in. If I didn’t, I’d be asking her to carry my failures—more than what I’d already put on her.
My cock throbbed against my jeans as I thought of making her come with my tongue so she didn’t have to deal with my…
“Stay with me, Eric,” she murmured against my lips, tracing the dusting of hair around my navel with her thumb.
She led us inside the closet and pushed me against the door, rough enough that I was able to register something other than her bra against my hands, and froze. Sensing the change, she pulled away to find my eyes.
“I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing.”
With nothing but clarity and want in her gaze, she pulled my fly down. For the second time, I stopped her, pulled my hands out of her shirt, and held her wrists again.
“Amanda,” I said, our noses touching. Calling on the tenderness I’d always imagined between us. “We deserve better than this.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. The music outside felt distant and muffled. The lightbulb above us made her expression clear, even if we were both hazy with lust. “But if this is all we can have… isn’t this better than nothing?”
I shook my head and kissed her softly. The rabid exploration morphed into a sweet embrace, but that only made the wreckage louder.
“Please, fuck me, Eric.”
That’s what it would be. Just another fuck. She didn’t believe we could have more, and I knew we wouldn’t even have that—not really. It wouldn’t work for me, and she’d live in the aftermath of another one of my inadequacies.
“I can’t,” I said, my forehead resting against hers.
She shook her head. Our lips met again and there was the same amount of desire but also sadness.
I opened my mouth for her and her tongue came in.
It was the slowest dance, her begging me to give in.
And when she realized I wouldn’t, her taste changed to goodbye, leaving an imprint on my soul. If only she knew she was already there.
I felt it; the spell breaking. Looking at her when she pulled away, her blouse was disheveled and her lipstick smudged, her eyes burned with desire, anger, frustration, and now, humiliation. It was too close to how she’d looked two years earlier, and it wrecked me all over again.
She stepped fully out of my reach and straightened her clothes.
“Amanda—”
“Don’t,” she said, her tone harsh. “Please, let me go.”
I stood there, hands in pockets, my fly still down. She carried shame on her face, but I carried mine in my soul because I couldn’t give her what she wanted—again. When I stepped aside, she left the space, the door resonating behind her.
By the time I returned to Diego, Amanda had left, he told me. With someone else. His words didn’t tell me but his eyes did.
So, today, I don’t trail my hand down her hair or cup her cheek. Hoping I’ve gotten this right, I drop my hand.
“You’re officially banned from folding duties until further notice,” I say.
She tilts her head, playful green eyes shining with mischief. “Oh, is that right?”
“Yep. New plan. Tomorrow. You and me, fresh air and a little hiking. Deal?”
Amanda gives me a look, suspicious without malice. “A hike?” There’s amusement in her expression now. “Sounds more like you just want an excuse to climb things while I read nearby. You know I’m horrible at it.”
“I can’t lie to you. I fully intend to show off.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. But it’s not a date.”
“Of course not.” I smile, hoping she can’t read me like a book. “It’s just time together, Amanda. I-I’m liking seeing this much of you.”
She doesn’t answer right away, just looking at me for a long second that stretches out and thrums between us.
“Actually, Eric… I am too.”
Her voice comes through breathy, as if she’s figuring out the right amount of almost for herself, and her words might tip something over. For once, maybe she’s trying to move with me, instead of around me. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with hope this sharp.