Chapter Sixteen #2
I shrug and honestly consider stopping the conversation here, but then his eyes soften.
“Distance,” I admit. “I felt like we were miles apart. Like we weren’t on the same team anymore.”
His hand leaves me, but he stays close, leaning his large body forward to rest both elbows on his knees. He stares at the floor again instead of me, and I wish I was inside his head, able to confirm whether he’s feeling upset, guilty, confused?
“I regretted the way that came out the second those words left my mouth,” he admits, and I soften toward him a little more.
“I only meant that we have a lot—more than most people—and if anyone outside the two of us is going to benefit from that, it should be our family. I never intended to make you feel like anything we have isn’t both of ours.
Hell, if it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve blown every dime that’s come to me a long time ago,” he adds with a soft laugh.
“But that’s why we work. We balance each other out, and we’re so much better together than we are apart. Which is my way of saying… I need you.”
I don’t say anything for fear of saying too much.
“And you should know that I support your decision about your mom. You were right. You know her best, and you know what’s best when it comes to her. I’m sorry I interfered.”
I nod, swiping a tear from my cheek. “That means a lot. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just tell me you know that the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”
His stare burns a hole through me, but I don’t answer.
I can’t answer.
Because if hurting me was truly a concern, last night would’ve gone very differently. Starting with him not coming home drunk.
“Talk to me,” he beckons, but I’m still hesitant. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted, and I don’t want to fight.
And what I want to say will definitely take us there.
“Blue…”
I take another breath, and this feels unavoidable. Like a tsunami surging toward the shore.
“I…”
His hand leaves my knee, and he laces his fingers with mine. “Just say it. Please.”
My chest tightens as I exhale and just… spit it out. “The drinking. You know that’s—”
My words cut off when West sighs. His grip loosens just a little. Just enough that I can sense his frustration.
“Why would you word it like that? The drinking. Like I drag my ass home wasted every weekend. It was one slipup, Blue. One night that followed a really shitty day and, yeah, I can admit that I needed to take the edge off.”
I hold my tongue, because to most people that might seem reasonable, but I see it differently. There were so many other ways he could’ve blown off steam. Yet, he chose to do the one thing he knew was a dealbreaker from day one, and after our argument, it felt like it may have been to spite me.
“We’ll never see eye-to-eye on this,” I sigh, now matching his frustration.
His hand leaves mine, and I don’t make eye contact as he leans away, his weight settling against the back of the sofa.
“I swear, I can’t catch a fucking break.”
West’s mumbled words send a wave of instant regret rushing through me. He pushed, wanted to hear my thoughts, but the moment I open up, he’s on the defensive.
Air puffs from his nostrils as he pushes a hand through his hair, staring out the window.
“It’s like we weren’t in the same exam room yesterday. Like we didn’t hear the same news from the doctor. I mean, shit, football could be over for me. Do you get that?”
“Do I get that? West, I—”
I can’t do this.
I won’t argue with him again.
“This was a bad idea,” I say instead, confused how we keep ending up here.
“Me coming to talk to you was a bad idea?”
“I can’t speak for you, but letting you in sure as hell feels like one,” I snap at him. “We can’t even say ten words to each other without it going to shit.”
“And that’s on me?”
“No, West! It’s on both of us! But does that make it any better?” I pause, thinking about everything all at once, and I shake my head when a realization hits me. “And you wonder why I took out that loan. The last thing we need is something else to argue about.”
He glares when I stand to my feet.
“You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“And you can’t see past your own shit to recognize that you’re not the only one in pain.”
He stands as soon as I finish speaking. He’s close, towering over me, and that heat is still there. Even when we’re at each other’s throats, at odds. It’s enough that I move toward the door just to put distance between us. But he closes in on me almost as soon as I think I’m in the clear.
“What do you want me to say?” he practically growls, standing so close that the warmth of his breath moves strands of hair across my face. “You want me to say that I fucked up? Fine, I fucked up. I shouldn’t have been drinking with the guys. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the bar at all.”
“You being there wasn’t the problem,” I say with a shaky voice. “Your lack of self-control was the problem.”
I stop speaking and he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves in closer, bracing his hand on the wall beside my head, making a fist out of the one in his sling. It’s not aggressive, just oozing with more frustration than before.
Only, I’m not even sure it’s the same kind of frustration anymore.
He further proves my point when his gaze moves to my lips, then to my throat where I feel my pulse racing like crazy.
I’m focused on his mouth, the softness of his lips as I recall how they feel against mine and everywhere else they’ve touched on my body.
I want to push him away, want to tell him he should go, but the anger and hurt I felt last night, and all day today have melted down, becoming something else entirely.
Something… primal.
“I… You should go.”
Our eyes lock as his darken.
“No.”
My brow tenses. “West—”
“No. Fuck that,” he adds, doubling down.
I’m suddenly more aware of the wall behind me, aware of just how solid it is, holding me in place, keeping me from escaping whatever this is.
Keeping me from escaping him.
“We—”
Before I can even finish my thought, heat from his mouth covers mine. His tongue pushes between my lips and my hands ball into fists at my sides. It’s like high school all over again, flames blazing between us, yet we can’t fight this damn inescapable pull.
“I fucking love you,” he breathes into me. “You know that don’t you?”
I know it.
Feel it.
Revel in it.
My goal of staying to myself shatters, and before I can stop myself, my hands are pushing under his shirt, feeling how his stomach quivers beneath my palms. Solid ridges covered in hot skin.
I push higher, clutching his chest, letting my nails sink into his flesh, partly to punish him for being such an ass lately, but mostly, I just can’t help myself.
He rocks his hips toward me, smashing my ass to the wall. His cock is rock-solid where it presses against my stomach as he cranes his neck to kiss me deeper. I had a point to prove when he showed up tonight, but the fact that my panties are now soaked means that’s all gone out the window.
His breath quickens when he pulls away. With hooded eyes, his hand moves from the wall to my hair as he draws me toward him again, this time turning a complete one-eighty with me locked against his massive body.
I’m spun again, until my back’s to him, and I’m facing the back of the armchair.
I suck in a breath when West bends me over it, roughly yanking my shorts down my ass and hips.
I’m breathless for the few seconds it takes him to undo his jeans, cursing to himself the whole time as he tries to manage with the one hand, but he finally gets it.
The tip of his cock is hot against my ass as he slides it down my skin, teasing it between the drenched lips of my pussy before finally slipping inside.
A deep, guttural sound rumbles up from his chest, leaving his lips as a husky groan.
He’s still, locked tight inside me as I throb around him, unable to remember how long it’s been since he fucked me.
As soon as the thought flutters into my head, West draws his hips back, then slams into me rough.
Over and over again as my stomach grazes the soft fabric of the chair.
My breasts bounce to his pace, my nipples hardening from the friction against my t-shirt.
His fingers curl around my hip with a tight grip. Solid thighs slam against the backs of my own as he powers deeper, and his girth is harder to take than usual because I’m so tight, resisting the stretch. I bite down on my lip, determined to take the pain with the pleasure.
I draw in a surge of cologne-infused air, and my senses are unusually heightened. The sounds filling the room have me ready to come for him—our heavy breathing, him pushing in and out of me as I get wetter by the second.
The sex has always been incredible, but he’s just… so fucking good. He’s not just a big dick on legs. He’s skilled and intuitive, knowing when to give me more, when to slow down, when to speed up.
He picks up his pace as if he’s just heard that thought, and it’s like I said.
Fucking intuitive.
His grip eases off my hip, then he rubs my back, the touch of his palm feeling comfortingly familiar—warm, broad, a little rough. A chill races down my spine as he brings his hand down again, until he’s gently holding my waist, pumping into me again as that tension I’ve craved builds deep inside.
“Harder.”
He does as he’s told, and before I can think another word, I’m falling apart, fighting for air as I clench around him.
A breath hisses between his teeth from behind me. “Holy shit. You feel so fucking good. I feel you gripping me,” he grunts out, thrusting harder, deeper. “So. Fucking. Tight.”
My eyes slam shut, and I’m seeing stars behind my lids as a surge of liquid heat fills me.
Another throaty moan leaves West’s throat, and the pleasure rippling between us is unmatched as he empties into me.
And even when he’s done, he stays buried deep inside me, locked together, connected in a way we haven’t been in far too long.
The room grows quiet and still, and as he finally pulls out, I’m sure he feels it too.
The awkwardness.
The way I’m questioning everything.
I keep my back to him as I pull my shorts back over my hips and he does the same behind me. When we face one another again, there’s no regret for having given in to what we both so clearly wanted.
There’s just this sense of… our problems still lingering in the room.
I hug myself, only able to hold his gaze for a few seconds before choosing to stare at the floor instead.
“I should um… I should go shower,” I stammer, pointing toward the bathroom, but West is quiet, not giving a response when I pause.
I peer up at him again, and the look I find on his face can only be summed up with one word.
Confused.
His gaze narrows, darkening his green stare. “Can’t you do that when we get home?”
My mouth feels dry at the realization that he thought this changed things between us. All of a sudden, I’m feeling more vulnerable than before, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“West, we… We haven’t resolved anything. Sex won’t fix what’s wrong in our marriage.”
He takes a step back, clearly caught off guard. “And you think staying away from me will?”
“I’m not—”
I stop short of finishing. This is pointless, futile, because he doesn’t get it.
“I just… I need space.”
He breathes deep, stepping back until he’s leaning against the wall. “Space,” he grumbles.
“Yes. To clear my head.”
“This is bullshit,” he scoffs, and the room fills with fresh tension.
“Really? Things getting so bad that I need to step back and evaluate is bullshit to you?”
“Yes!” he shouts. “Because you’re acting like we won’t work through this and be back to normal once things settle down.”
“Because I don’t know that, West! I don’t know that we’ll just bounce back from this, and neither do you.”
The room falls quiet, and it’s like my words hang heavy in the air for the next few seconds, rendering us both completely silent.
Shit, I told myself I wasn’t going to cry again, but here I am, fighting a flood as one tear cascades down my cheek.
I want to say something to smooth over the harsh reality that just flowed out of me, but I don’t have it in me. I’m all out of flowery optimism and hope. All I have left is a prayer that we’re not already too far gone to get back to being us again.
West moves, and my gaze is drawn to him, watching as he runs a hand down his face in frustration, maybe feeling fresh out of answers like I do. He lets out a breath and steps away from the wall, and I’m frozen in place anticipating what he’ll say, but to my surprise, he says nothing.
Instead, he turns his back toward me without a single word, then he just… leaves.
My gaze is fixed on that closed door long after he’s gone, and I’m not sure what hurts worse.
That I’m even more convinced now that we may be broken beyond repair, or that… I’m now pretty sure West is finally starting to see it, too.
*
@QweenPandora:
Our wounded king was spotted outside our beloved queen’s new digs, #PrisonBae’s bachelor pad. I think we’re all assuming these living arrangements are temporary while the not-so-happy couple work things out, but… is it really?
We’re all aware of the ups and downs between these two, so is it possible their latest drama marks the end of an era?
Guess we’ll all have to stay tuned and find out.
Later, peeps :)
—P