I feel this tightening in my chest and that fucking dizziness again.
What the fuck is going on?
Maybe I’m having a heart attack.
Well, what a way to go.
West Oakley, player for the Ravens, dies from heart attack while fucking his girl.
There I go again with this my girl shit.
Dillon isn’t mine. I don’t have a girl. And I don’t want one.
I move my hips again, but I don’t go hard this time. My movements are slower. I bring my mouth to hers and kiss her. Her fingers slide into my hair, pulling the tie from it. My hair falls around my face.
“Come for me,” she whispers.
I increase my tempo a bit but not much.
If someone were looking in from the outside, they might say I was making love to her right now. But I’m not. Because I don’t love her.
Fuck, my head is messed up tonight. It’s the fight with my dad. Seeing him always messes with me.
Shutting my eyes, I bury my head into her neck and start to fuck her again. Hard. And harder.
Her arms come around me, holding on.
The sound of my skin slapping hers and the feel of her tight, wet pussy gripping my cock drive me exactly where I need to be.
When I’m done emptying myself inside of her, I lift my head, needing her mouth.
Our eyes meet before our lips do, and something happens in this moment. I don’t know what. But there’s something.
Shutting down whatever it is, I kiss her, and I keep kissing her until we can’t stay there any longer and we’re forced to clean up and rejoin the party.
But I’m off-kilter all night. Like something isn’t right.
And it isn’t until I’m lying in my bed later that night with Dillon’s body curled around mine that I realize what’s wrong with me.
I have feelings for her.
I’m starting to feel things for her. Real things. And I can’t because I can’t be the man she needs. That she deserves.
I know that I need to end this thing between us. For both our sakes. But selfishly, I’m not ready to do it yet.
I just need a little more time with her.
Then, I’ll end things with her.
twenty-nine
Dillon
I type, The end. And sit back in my chair.
Holy shitting noodles. It’s finished. The Two-Week Stand is officially done.
Well, not officially done. There will be edits and rewrites. But the first rough draft is complete.
Halle-bloody-lujah.
I can’t believe I finished a book in four frigging weeks. Who knew I could write one so quickly? Not me! I guess when you have tons of free time and the story is already there in your head because you’ve lived almost all of it, then it’s easier to do. The only changes I had to make were names and sex scenes, but who doesn’t love coming up with a good sex scene, right? And also, I had to write the ending from scratch because, obviously, West and I haven’t had our ending. Yet.
And maybe we won’t. It’s not something either of us has discussed. Currently, we’re acting like we’re in a relationship but under the guise of still having a fling.
Things are amazing between us. We had one weird day. It was the day after the party at the White House. He was a little cold toward me. I did worry that he was going to say that things had come to an end for us. But the next day, he was back to being his normal self, so I put it down to him feeling off after spending time with his dad.
I’ve really fallen hard for the guy. I can’t remember ever feeling like this for anyone else.
I know. Stupid. But also inevitable. It’d be hard not to fall for him.
Sometimes, he looks at me, and I think he feels the same. Especially when he’s inside me. But it could just be wishful thinking on my part. And I’m too afraid to ask in case the answer I get isn’t the one I want to hear.
It’s kind of like, you know, in the movies when someone’s tied to a guillotine and their head is under the blade and the rope that’s holding it up, stopping it from falling, is slowly fraying. And the person who’s there to save you is caught up, fighting the bad guy, and you’re just lying there, praying the rope doesn’t reach the last strand and the blade doesn’t drop.
Well, I’m the person on the guillotine. The fraying