Chapter 20
If I thought kissing Sloane was a religious experience, I don’t know if there’s enough words in the English language to describe what just happened. Earth shattering? Life changing? Soul searing? Those words don’t even come close.
“That was . . . wow . . . just wow,” Sloane whispers, slumping up against my neck, with me still pulsing inside of her, having come the second I felt her orgasm squeeze around me. I brush her sweaty hair away from her neck, dropping a small kiss in agreement.
It’s not something I saw coming when I saw her standing, watching me go through our old notes.
I was expecting her to be angry that I was going through a box I had no right even knowing existed.
Nothing could have prepared me for how she jumped me, or how she somehow wanted to give me, out of all people, her virginity.
“Are you okay?” I ask, softly rubbing my fingers up and down her back. “With what happened?” My question makes her cheeks redden, putting a smile on my lips. Happy that, after everything we just did, she’s still my shy Rosie.
She pulls back with a shy smile gracing her face before pushing my hair back from my forehead, making sure my eyes meet hers as she says, “Promise, Liam.”
With one last lingering kiss I feel deep into my soul, she moves off of me. But I haven’t gotten my fill of her yet; I don’t know if I ever will. As she gets up and makes her way to the bathroom, all weightless thoughts leave my body.
I should be the one to get up. I should be the one cleaning her up.
I should be able to take care of her after what she just shared with me—the magic we just created.
I should be doting on her, carrying her to the bath, washing her, making sure she isn’t sore, making sure she isn’t freaking out about what just happened.
Instead, pain shoots from my lower back all the way down my left knee, making me clench my jaw in pain.
“You okay?” I hear her ask from the bedroom doorway, concern lacing her voice.
She gets closer, and I notice she’s wearing the T-shirt she helped me peel off just a few moments ago.
Somehow, she’s more gorgeous now than she was three minutes ago when she was sitting on top of me.
Her hair is messy, I spy a mark on her neck, and her cheeks are still full of color.
She’s going to be the death of me, I know it.
Another stab of pain jolts me from my thoughts of Sloane as I lean forward to grab my leg, but sudden movement makes the tight, scarred skin on my back pull, making me sit back up, clenching my jaw so tight I hear my jaw pop.
“You’re not okay,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, placing the glass of water she’s holding on the bedside table.
She turns her body to me to place a caring hand on my arm, but I don’t want her pity.
I want to treat her like she deserves. I want to be the one placing my hand on her arm making sure she’s okay.
We should be rolling in bed giggling, touching, kissing, licking . . . She shouldn’t be worrying about me.
“I’m fine,” I bite out harshly, making her brows scrunch and her hand move from my arm.
“You’re clearly not. What happened?” she asks again.
“Nothing,” I answer, between clenched teeth.
“I just want you to leave.” I don’t; I want her to stay, but I don’t want her to see me like this—weak, in pain, about to take a handful of pills to help with the pain and inflammation, followed by a pill to hopefully make me sleep for the next twelve hours.
She rolls her eyes at me, passing me the glass of water. I should be handing her water while she lies in bed. The thought frustrates me, making me tense, making the pain sharpen. It’s a never ending battle.
“Where are your meds?” she asks, looking around the room.
“None of your goddamn business, Sloane. Now, can you get the fuck out of my room?” I bark at her, my tone tearing her smile from her plump, well-kissed lips. The concern marking her brow turns to anger.
“Fine, if that’s what you want,” she says, turning away from me. “Be a coward,” she says clearly as she walks away from me, taking a piece of my heart and my dreams with her.
But I give them to her freely. It’s the least she deserves after what she just did to me.
I’ve never been one to overdramatize sex, or to think of it as more than a means to an end.
Yes, I’ve had girlfriends in the past, even lived with one for a few months—she left when she found out I was writing notes for another woman but couldn’t buy her flowers once a week.
But still, sex was just for the gratification, for the finish line.
With Sloane, the finish line was the furthest thing from my mind.
I never wanted to hit the finish line; I wanted to stay connected to her forever.
I wanted her full attention on me. I wanted to be consumed by her, and for her to be consumed by me.
I had long ago come to the conclusion that Sloane was part of me—probably when that girlfriend moved out because she found my stash of notes. I just hadn’t realized how embedded she was in my soul until I saw her again. I always assumed that I missed her as a friend, as a younger sister.
Okay, maybe not that last part, because she had done something to me with that kiss. Something that wouldn’t have happened if, let’s say, Hannah, would have kissed me. The feelings she raised in me that night seven years ago had been pushed and buried deep inside me.
They just weren’t as buried as I thought they were, because the more time I spend with her, the closer they’ve gotten to the surface. And after what we just did, those feelings are front and center in my mind, heart, and soul.
There’s actually a bright neon sign pointing at them now.