He grabs my hips and pulls my bottom to the end of the couch. He hooks my knee over his shoulder, and I fight the onslaught of emotion that bombards me with the desire in his stare. I forever wish my life were different, but I’ve never wanted to be normal more than I do in this moment under Talent’s affection.
Love is not for me.
But the devotion staring back at me nearly convinces me it’s possible.
His fingers slide up the outside of my thigh, and he kisses the inside of my knee. My chest rises and falls as I inhale heavily, pushing open my shirt. Talent flattens his palm against my lower stomach, and he presses a kiss to my pelvic bone, and lower, and lower.
When his lips touch mine, I gasp and let the tears fall from my eyes all at once. If I were given the chance to change one thing about my life, it wouldn’t be my childhood or the choice I made to run away after my mom died. My wish would be that Talent be the only man who’s touched me this way.
He breathes against my center before licking between my folds and sliding his fingers into me, and how have I not allowed this to happen before now?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know how treasured it could be.
How gentle.
How smooth.
And now I do, and it’s too late.
Covering my mouth with my hand, I’m both devastated and enraptured. This is the best and worst I’ve ever felt, and I can’t decide if the universe is finally taking pity on my tortured soul or if it’s throwing misfortune in my face.
Because this feeling isn’t mine to keep, but now I know what bliss is.
Am I supposed to be grateful I was given the opportunity to experience real sensuality, or should I be devastated that I’ll never have it again?
Unable to tolerate the burden any longer, I cry out and cover my face with both my hands. Talent immediately scoops me off the couch and carries me back to the bedroom in his arms. I soak his skin in agony, holding on as close and as tight as I can—hoping it’s enough when fate returns to collect me.
“Lydia,” he whispers in a tone lined thick in concern.
Talent lays me down on the bed, looking back at the door as if he might leave me to close it.
“No,” I say like he said to me when he started this. I grab at his wrists, his shoulders, and around his neck. “Stay with me. Don’t go. Don’t go.”
Not yet.
The sun isn’t up.
He shakes his head and lowers his weight onto me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Seizing his mouth with mine, he tastes like my sex and my tears, both of which are still hot and wet for him. I welcome him back into my body, not with an agreement that this is solely contractual like everyone else who touches me, but because I might be losing my mind and I want to draw out every second of this madness while I can.
It’s a sweet torture.
Let it haunt me.
Talent laces his fingers between mine and rests our hands beside my head. He strokes deeply into me and says, “I won’t let you go, Lydia.”
He’s so sure, I almost believe him.
Almost.
Talent owns two cars. A black two-door BMW he drives around town, and the most obnoxious white Lamborghini Huracẚn I’ve ever laid eyes on. The car is so contagiously sleek and sexy, even I feel beautiful in yesterday’s Sunday leggings and olive-green shirt. It’s a thrill to stand beside it, and my heartbeat accelerates as I admire the sharp lines and crisp luxury design.
“Which one should we take?” Talent asks. He stands behind me and circles his arms around my chest, holding me against his body.
“The white one.”
After clicking a button on the key fob, the Lamborghini growls and rumbles to life, vibrating the ground we stand on. An electric swell of excitement enters my body through the bottom of my feet and ripples through me like a wave. I can’t help but smile.
The headlights illuminate the shadowy parking garage in clean white light. Talent opens the vertical passenger door, and he holds my hand until I fall into a seat that feels like it was custom made to suit the form of my body. The evocative earthy aroma of pure leather mixed with the slightest hint