I’ve always felt that Jeffery loved me, desired me, and wanted us to end up together one day. I am also, however, old enough to know that what we feel and what we want do not always materialize into what we deserve and what we eventually get in the end.
I feel the connection, the pull I have with this beautiful man. I feel how much he wants me, and it feels wonderful. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this needed by someone. Liam needs me and that knowledge and these emotions brewing inside of me are gradually paralyzing. I still can’t wrap my brain around why someone like him would need someone like me. I find myself doubting everything. Does he need me to help him forget his pain and move on? I am willing and spread out naked before him to do as he pleases. Earlier, I did ask him to do just this—fuck me! But I have this little intuition that I’m more to him than a fuck. He keeps saying sweet things to me I want to believe, but I’ve heard it all before. He has no idea how much he, and this, and us, means to me. He has given me so much strength with just the way he’s looked at me in the last few hours, that if nobody else ever looks at me again for the rest of my life, I’d be okay.
I smile to myself, thinking how Liam won’t let me close my eyes. That has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been asked not to do. I know what it means and it makes me want him even more, if that’s indeed even possible. I’m turning into the Sara I once was; I don’t remember this kind of hope blooming inside me since…since…I did what I did all those years ago. I’m not a bad person. I was young and stupid, but I always feel like a villain.
I’m aware that my pussy actually contracts even though he hasn’t touched it. He holds my face as I finish telling him I have nowhere to go. His stare, the way his eyes flash pity and then delight is tremendous; he’s sad that I feel I’m a loser nobody wants, but he’s happy I’m his loser.
The way his hair falls to one side and almost grazes my chest is picture-perfect. He loosens the harsh hold he has on my chin and moves his finger to caress my neck and lightly graze my breasts. How we react to each other, the things he says to me make what we’re about to do not feel as dirty or wrong as it probably is; it makes this feel like love. People who’ve met only hours ago are not supposed to look at each other this way. He should be crude and blasé with me. Shouldn’t he be treating me like a whore? What’s love got to do with it, I sing in my head. My common sense won’t let me enjoy this; it finally wakes the fuck up and starts demanding answers from my useless heart about how I let the situation get this far.
I feel the panic begin in my stomach. If he won’t stop looking at me the way he is right now, then I’ll need to leave. I’ve been here before; I know what happens when I let someone look at me like this. All I asked is for him to fuck me! Not save me, or pretend to want to keep me! He needs to shove his dick in my mouth and fuck me like someone he will never see again.
I’m a stupid jerk. Why did I climb into his lap earlier? Why am I setting myself up again? We need to stop this pretend bullshit pretense and watch that tape, now! I need to stop this! But, I can’t stop him now. He looks happy and I want him happy. I didn’t like the way he appeared scared when he saw me with my laptop. I climbed into his stupid lap as if I belong because I just wanted him to know that I’ll be right here for him, no matter what’s on that video. Now he’s looking at me and his eyes are making promises I know he won’t be able to keep once he knows the truth. How do I always manage to fuck up everything I touch?