someone who wanted to hold me this tight forever. “This was a mistake, just go. Don’t worry, I’ll never speak of this to anyone.” My words cause him to clench me even tighter.
“Please, Sara, don’t say that. Listen to me; I love being here with you more than anything. I’m just tired of being everybody’s second choice. I wanted you to choose me! I didn’t mean to push you away or make you bloody cry again. Forgive me. Please tell me you understand that I’m not using you to get anybody out of my system. I’m using you because you feel good in my arms.”
He holds my head against his chest as I continue to sob, my tears running down his naked body. This perpetual hell I’ve made for myself needs to be destroyed. He begs me, pleads with me to stop crying but I physically can’t. I allow a perfect stranger see the ugliest, scariest side of me—a side I don’t even think Jeff has seen. Why have I allowed myself to break down like a weak, worthless fool in front of him?
I feel him lift me up once again and a sense of déjà vu comes over me. “Put me down. I need to go wash my face. Your tea must’ve been laced with hormones. I never cry this much, especially in front of a stranger,” I say between hiccups.
He kisses the top of my head and says, “I stopped being a stranger after I sucked your nipples and played with your cunt, so kindly come up with a new term to describe me because I may be many things, but a stranger isn’t one of them.”
I’m nestled into his chest as he leads us into yet another room I’ve never seen before. “Holy shit! How many rooms does this penthouse have? Are we playing musical rooms?”
“I will make sure everything is smashing this time. In the first room you made a bad decision, in the last room I made a bad move. I proper fancy this room for making stellar memories,” he says, smiling down at me.
This new room is beautiful. He hasn’t released me from his arms and I find it weird how normal this feels. He walks us to one of the two queen-sized beds, closest to the window, and lays me down on the blue and white bedspreads that look almost royal and match the wall coverings. “This will be the last time I’m fetching you a cloth to wipe your eyes…understood?” I nod. “You’re beautiful, even when you cry, Sara,” he adds before going to get yet another fucking rag to clean my treacherous eyes.
I accept the towel, thanking him. I have experienced too many sensations about Liam to even start to understand what’s happening between us. I wipe my eyes as he studies me.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him.
“That I need to know everything. Every last inconspicuous detail about you. New rule—no touching, just talking.”
“So, now you make the rules for our fucked-up relationship?” I tease as he breaks his own rule in less than a minute by lifting my legs and placing them on his lap as he sits at the foot of the bed.
“Fine, the no-touching rule blows. I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you, anyway. How about no kissing, or sucking any body parts?” he offers as he starts massaging my feet, first gently and then with some much-needed expert strength.
Yeah, that’s a good rule, I think, melting into his touch. God, I love having my feet touched; Jeff never has time to massage my feet. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy a few rare minutes of bliss.
“Everything about you shouts ballerina,” he says, outlining my high arch.
I smile at his assessment. I hated ballet as a child. I had to pirouette and plié while Emily got to dance hip-hop with all the normal kids. Who needs to stand in a turnout and walk on their toes, wear pink tights and tutus, when you could be learning dance moves that you may actually use one day? Not sure why my mother insisted I practice ballet all those years, when the only person to ever see me dance or come to my performances was Emily. I haven’t danced for twelve years and I have no desire to ever put my pointe shoes back on. Perhaps Liam’s right—a broken ballerina I am.
“If you get me drunk enough, I may show you the mean split I can do.”