Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
A dream.
It had to be a dream.
Yet these weren’t phantom images that I conjured in the darkest recesses of my imagination late at night. His warm lips were moving over mine, and I had never felt more in a kiss than at that moment. It was raw, surprising, and so very real.
With each meeting of our mouths, he was branding himself on me. This was how our wedding night was supposed to be. Even if our marriage wasn’t legitimate, it belonged to us.
I couldn’t steady myself at first, shaking and trembling. But soon, our lips found a rhythm, and the anxiety melted away into something fulfilling.
I had the most attractive person I’d ever encountered making out with me—again.
Though Bram was so much more to me than a pretty face, I couldn’t deny it felt good to be wanted at that moment by someone so unattainable.
I let the sensations of desire carry away my defenses. I was weaponless when he was being so bold. His tongue swept over my own, and I let out a small, involuntary moan.
That seemed to invigorate him further, and his weight pressed against me. He was careful, but he devoured me until I was fully on my back. He was patient and skilled with his movements. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitancy on his part, and I tried to match his confidence.
He was heavy, grounding, and solid. I wound my arms around his shoulders, my hands moving up behind his back and through his close-cropped hair.
He used his elbows for balance and seemed to be fighting to keep his body weight from pressing on me fully, but I wanted him to let me feel his weight. Pain be damned.
It took me tugging on his shirt collar before he acquiesced.
“I’ll hurt you,” he protested huskily through our kissing.
I shook my head vehemently, not wanting to part with the sensations I was feeling. I would die before asking him to move.
His lips roamed my cheeks, my temple, back down to my neck, and licked my skin reverently. Sometimes he’d simply breathe me in.
“Bram,” I exhaled his name, slipping my hands down to rest on his sides, then sliding along his clothed back, feeling every delicious muscle and dip. “We don’t have to do this. It’s okay.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he felt bad for me.
He pitied that my body betrayed me, for losing my job, and being alone.
He was only kissing me because I’d cried again, like a jealous and petty wife, when I was nothing.
I was simply a business arrangement so he could get his inheritance. Or his best friend’s sad sister.
His pelvis ground into me, and I gasped .
He smoothly dipped his body against mine, then looked straight into my eyes. “Does it feel like I don’t want to, sweets?” His voice dripped with lust.
I felt so singular to him when he called me that. Did he give nicknames to other women? I almost asked, but I was interrupted by his hands making their way under my shirt. My breath caught as his coarse fingertips slid up my sides, caressing the soft padding that was me.
I was realistic about how I was shaped and how most men perceived me.
I wasn’t insecure in my reality, but I was insecure about what he might think.
He’d probably never touched any other woman like me, one with a thicker stomach and thighs.
In high school, he only dated girls who were skinny.
Did men ever stray from those preferences of their youth?
What if I had sex with him and then he decided he wasn’t truly attracted to me physically?
I wanted so badly to give in to what he was offering, but I had to keep my wits about me.
He wasn’t just some man. He was Bram Winchester.
He touched my stomach softly, kneading my skin under his skilled fingers before I could voice my wary thoughts. It was the part of my body I thought he would ignore, like every other man who’d gotten that far.
I flinched.
He stilled. “Are you okay?” He leaned back, the look of lusty intoxication still heavy in his eyes.
“Sorry, I was surprised. I’ve never…and I-I…listen, Bram, I…”
I’d said enough with my word vomit, which was an ailment I could not seem to shake.
What did I think I was going to say to him?
‘ Oh, by the way, I’m a virgin.’
His brows furrowed. He must have seen the hesitancy in my gaze. He eased off me and got on his knees, staring over me as I lay still in the light of the television. He let out a long, heavy breath as he ran his hand over his head.
“Okay.” He seemed to have decided something.
I wanted to reach for him, but I was paralyzed. He swung his legs over and stood quickly. He held out a hand to help me sit up, which I took, my eyes never leaving his face.
“I’m going to go to bed.” His voice was quiet. “I’ll see you in the morning. We can talk then, if that’s okay? I don’t want to go another day not speaking.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say, think, or feel. “Oh…okay. Sure.”
I wrapped my arms around my midsection defensively. He watched the movement, and I saw his jaw tic. I was so stupid. Confused, horny, and foolish.
Then he was gone, his steps hard and quick up the stairs, Lakey on his heels with her little paw taps on the wood. He clung to me like cigarette smoke in the winter, lingering and unmistakable. I could still feel and smell his presence all over me.
I was desperate for a resolution, but I was too much of a coward and a cautious soul to chase it. Like always, I’d made assumptions about people’s feelings and intentions.
I picked up my phone and clicked on Kallie’s name.
Me: I can’t call because he might hear, but I royally screwed up. Bram kissed me. We started making out on the couch, but I got inside my head. I froze, and he ran off. Do you think he did it because of what happened yesterday?
Me: I am not his type. I am confused. I’m supposed to be cautious. I’m supposed to not care about him. I need perspective.
Me: Help.
Kallie, ever the best friend, was quick to respond.
Kallie: I disapprove of this. But let’s pretend for a minute I did approve…
Kallie: Damn straight, he was trying to make you feel good! That’s what real men do! What do you mean by “not his type”? Is he so shallow that he only sticks to one idea of a woman, and that’s it? Didn’t he make out with you a million years ago?
I was letting her words sink in when another message came through from her.
Kallie: I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re doing that thing again where you’re assigning people feelings they might not be having. I have a hard time believing he’d give you a pity kiss. But he owes you a conversation about his intentions. Ask him why he did that.
I bit my lip.
Me: What if I can’t handle his honesty?
Kallie: What would you be losing? You never had him to begin with, right? Which I hope you understand is laughable.
Me: Then what do I do?
Kallie: This isn’t Victorian England. Go up there and make him talk to you. And if he tries to play tonsil hockey again, don’t treat him like he’s poison. Use. Him.
Me: I can’t just use him. I’m trying here. I really am.
Kallie: Try harder. I know what he means to you, even if you won’t say it. Whatever happens, you deserve nothing less than perfection.
Kallie: And you should have touched his penis.
I chuckled softly.
Me: He ground it into me on the couch.
Kallie: OMFG! Are you kidding me? Why are you still texting me? Get up there!
I took a deep breath.
Me: I love you.
Kallie: Quit stalling.
The walk up the stairway felt like I was going to my death. Not because Bram was a sentence that couldn’t be undone, but because I knew we’d never be the same once I learned the truth about how he felt about me. Either way, this would change us.
He was in his bedroom, where I’d been staying. The door at the top of the stairs was slightly ajar. I heard him shuffling around inside the room, but I didn’t pull a first-night mishap again. Instead, I knocked on the door .
My heart was beating so hard I thought it might fly out of my chest. I couldn’t wait one more second, and even though it wasn’t proper, I slowly pushed open the door.
Bram was standing by the bed, gloriously shirtless and still wearing his belted jeans. His hands rested low on his hips, and his face was blank as he looked straight at me. I read nothing there—no regret, sadness, delight, or relief.
It reminded me of a colder, less adjusted Bram from fifteen years ago, and I hated it.
“I’m getting a few things and then I’ll be gone,” he said, voice clipped.
My heart sank. He had put up a wall because I wouldn’t let mine fall.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my hand still on the door. “I might have given off some wrong vibes down there.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.” He looked away. “You don’t have to let me down easy. You’ve always had more control, more poise about you, while I was a bullshitter. And now it seems all I do is wear my heart on my fucking sleeve.” He ran his head over his head and down his neck.
“Let you down easy?” I took a couple of steps into the room.
“Yeah, and I bolted. I’m sorry. I should have had a little bit more understanding.”
My heart sank.
“It wasn’t like that,” I insisted. I looked away as I said the next words, “I just can’t let you have sex with me out of pity.”
He scoffed, then glanced toward the ceiling before he looked back into my eyes.
“You can’t seriously think that. First, I don’t pity fuck. Ever. I’m a man with a healthy appetite, but I damn sure want everyone I’ve ever had sex with.”
He took two steps toward me, and I took two steps back.
“Second,” he continued, “I told you; you are different than any other woman. You’ve always been different. ”
I scoffed. “You called me your sister. You said kissing me was a mistake. I even said that you thought I wasn’t good enough for you, and you didn’t refute it. Did you think I’d ever forget that day in the hospital?”
“I was lying, Jules. I blamed myself for how hurt you were. I still do. But how I feel about you…” He shook his head. “How I want you? It’s not from guilt or pity. It never was.”