What is wrong with me?

“So wrong.” He repeats my sentiments, and then bites down on the opposite shoulder as he picks up speed.

“Stop biting me,” I complain half-heartedly, too lost in the feeling, too lost in the moment.

“No,” he grunts, pulling my hair back and biting down on the side of my neck, hard. The pain and the sting send me over the edge as he pumps into me harder. The thrill of how he causes me to react this way vibrates through me. My body moves in time with each hard thrust, building with the frantic need to feel more.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, his hands coming to my waist, his fingers digging into my soft flesh. A mixture of pleasure and pain that only Sy can give me erupts inside of me as his release takes over, pushing me into the bliss I crave.

“Don’t move,” he warns as he comes down off his high. Still planted inside of me, his movements slowly start back up. The sensation of gentle strokes while his fingers dig painfully into my skin have me building back up again.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, kissing my shoulder.

“No,” I answer, shaking my head.

“Good,” he says, pulling out of me slowly. He then presses his body weight on top of me. Oh, my God, what is wrong with us?

“What was that?” I can’t look at him, too pissed off with myself to make eye contact.

“That’s what seems to happen when we’re alone,” he answers, rolling off me to the side. “Didn’t come back here to do that. Wasn’t expecting that, but fuck, every time I’m around you and you open your mouth, I can’t help but want to rip your clothes off,” he admits, both of us still lying on the floor.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” I ask, reaching over to the coffee table for a tissue.

“Nothing to do about it. It is what it is, Holly. A fuck.” He sits up, scowling at me.

“Jeez, Sy. Calm down. I’m not some fucking crazy bitch who wants to have your babies now that you’ve given me a couple of orgasms,” I say, reaching for my dress, feeling exposed while he’s fully clothed. “I’m asking because you can’t just walk into my house, strip me naked and fuck me when you decide you have a taste for it.” I stand, stepping into my panties, ready to lay down the law.

“Well, it’s not like I forced myself on you,” he replies, standing to do his pants back up.

“No, but you didn’t make it easy for me, just taking me how you want me.”

“Well, when you throw your fucking anger at me, I can’t help it,” he says, taking a step toward me.

“Is this what you like, Sy? Do you have an appetite for an angry fuck?” I ask, not trying to figure him out; that shit would take a lot more than one question, but I want to know what makes this man think he has any right over me.

“Lived with it for such a long time, I don’t know if the anger is doing anything for me anymore, but you, you’re a different kind of anger.” His voice is low and filled with the same honesty from earlier. He’s also now completely in my space.

“And what type would that be?” I force myself to stand strong, not wavering under his dark stare.

“A type I’ve never known before: dangerous. A type I need to stay away from,” he admits, his stare now softening somewhat.

“Well then, by all means, stay away.” I cross my arms, ready for the brush off. At least this time, he has the balls to say how it is.

“See, right there with your anger again. You’re making it hard for me to stay away,” he whispers.

"You're the one who needs to walk away, Sy.” I hold his stare.

“I’m leaving now.”

“Great,” I reply, giving him my fake smile.

“This can’t happen again,” he reminds me, like I’m going to find it hard to keep my clothes on around him.

“Really?” I ask on an eye roll. “I was thinking about calling my parents, letting them know I was in a committed relationship.”

“Holly...”

“Sy,” I reply, enjoying this more than I should.

“Fuck me,” he curses under his breath.

“Would it be simpler for you if I stripped naked again? That seemed to work for you last time you had to leave,” I remind him, trying to keep the sting out of my voice.

“I think I can manage,” he retorts.

“Great.”

“Great,” he repeats. The air of electricity we seem to create stirs again, building momentum as we stand staring at each other. It’s like a force dragging me in. With no control over my own reflexes, I step forward as he leans into my space, and just as our lips touch, his phone rings from his pocket, the intrusion breaking our connection.

“Yeah?” he asks into his phone after the third ring. I take a moment to move away from the vortex he sucked me into.

“Okay, give me five minutes.”

Turning my back, I walk to the kitchen, wondering if he will follow me. After a moment of silence, I hear the door open. The slow creak of the hinge sounds so harsh in the quietness of the apartment. I don’t call out, or turn from where I stand. The heaviness of rejection hits me strangely, and with the release of the door handle, and the click of the lock, I get my answer. Sy doesn’t follow anyone.

You can’t get shitty, Holly. You knew this going in, I remind myself as I walk to my room and clean myself up.

So why does it hurt a little?