Ugly Love

The muscles in his legs become tight, and he begins to shake. “Fuck,” he groans. His lips press to mine, hard, and he holds himself still, despite the tremors moving throughout his legs and his back. He pulls his lips from mine and exhales a huge breath, dropping his forehead to the side of my head. “Jesus f**king Christ,” he says, still tense. Still shaking. Still pressed deep inside me.

The second he pulls out of me, his lips are on my neck, moving down until they meet my breasts. He kisses them but only briefly before he’s back at my mouth again. “I want to taste you,” he says. “Is that okay?”

I nod.

I nod vigorously.

He pulls away from the bed, disposes of the condom, and returns to his spot next to me. I watch him the entire time, because—as much as he didn’t want to know how long it’s been since I’ve been with a guy—it’s been almost a year. That’s not anywhere near the six years he’s waited, but it’s been long enough that I don’t want to miss this by keeping my eyes closed. Especially now that I get to stare freely at that V and not have to be embarrassed by the fact that I can’t take my eyes off of him.

He’s watching my body now with the same fascination as his hand glides across my stomach, then moves down until he reaches my thighs. He pushes my legs apart as he watches what he’s doing to me with so much enthrallment I have to keep my eyes open so I can watch him watch me. Seeing what I do to him is enough of a turn-on without him even touching me.

Two of his fingers slide into me, and I suddenly find it a lot more difficult to continue watching him. His thumb remains outside me, teasing every spot it can touch. I moan and let my hands fall to the bed above my head as my eyes close.

I pray he doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to stop.

His mouth meets mine, and he kisses me softly, his lips a stark contrast to the pressure of his hand. His mouth slowly begins to explore its way down my chin until it’s on my neck, the dip in my throat, trailing down my chest, covering my nipple, down my stomach, down, down, holy shit, down.

He settles himself between my legs, leaving his fingers inside me as his tongue meets my skin, separating me, causing my back to arch and my mind to let go.

I just let go.

I don’t care that I’m moaning so loudly I probably just woke up the entire floor.

I don’t care that I’m digging my heels into the mattress, trying to pull away from him because it’s too much.

I don’t care that his fingers leave me in order to grip my h*ps and hold me against his mouth, refusing to let me climb away from him, thank God.

I don’t care that I’m more than likely hurting him, pulling his hair, pushing him into me, doing whatever I can to reach a point so high I’m almost positive I’ve never been there before.

My legs begin to shake, and his fingers find their way back inside me, and I’m pretty sure I’m trying to smother myself with his pillow, because I don’t want to get him kicked out of this apartment building by screaming as loudly as I need to scream right now.

All of a sudden, I feel as if I’m up in the air, flying. I feel like I could look down and there would be a sunrise below me. I feel like I’m soaring.

I’m …

Oh, God.

I’m …

Jesus Christ.

I’m … this … him.

I’m falling.

I’m floating.

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow.

I never want to touch the ground again.

When I’ve completely melted to the bed, he hungrily works his mouth back up my body. He takes the pillow off my face and tosses it aside, then kisses me briefly.

“One more time,” he says. He’s off the bed and back on it in a matter of seconds, and then he’s inside me again, but I don’t even try to open my eyes this time. My arms are splayed out above my head, and his fingers are entwined with mine, and he’s pushing, thrusting, living inside me. Our cheeks are pressed together, and his forehead is against my pillow, and neither of us has the energy left to even make a sound this time.

He tilts his head until his lips meet my ear, and then he slows down to a gentle rhythm, pushing into me, then pulling completely out. He holds himself still, then pushes into me again, then pulls all the way out. He does this several more times, and all I can do is lie here and feel him.

“Tate,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear. He pulls out of me and stills himself again. “I can already say this with one hundred percent certainty.”

He thrusts back inside me.

“The.”

He pulls out, then repeats his movement again.

“Best.”

Again.

“Thing.”

Again.

“I’ve.”

Again.

“Ever.”

Again

“Felt.”

He holds himself still, breathing heavily against my ear, gripping my hands so hard they hurt; but he doesn’t make a single sound while he releases for the second time.

We don’t move.

We don’t move for a long time.

I can’t wipe the exhausted smile off my face. I’m pretty sure it’s there permanently now.

Miles pulls back and looks down on me. He smiles when he sees my face, and looking at him brings it to my attention that he never once made eye contact either time he was inside me. It makes me wonder if this was intentional or if it was just a coincidence.

“Comments?” he asks teasingly. “Suggestions?”

I laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m just … I can’t … words …” I shake my head, letting him know I still need a little time before I can speak.

“Speechless,” he says. “Even better.”

He kisses me on the cheek, then stands up and walks to his bathroom. I close my eyes and wonder how in the hell this whole thing between us will ever end well.

It can’t.

I can already tell because I never want to do this with anyone else ever again.

Only Miles.

He walks back into the bedroom and bends down to pick up his boxer shorts. He picks up my underwear and jeans in the process and lays them on the bed beside me.

I’m guessing that’s his hint that he wants me to get dressed?

I sit up and watch as he picks up my bra and shirt and hands them to me. Every time his eyes meet mine, he smiles, but I’m finding it hard to smile back.

Once I’m dressed, he pulls me up and kisses me, then wraps his arms around me. “I changed my mind,” he says. “After this, I’m pretty sure the next nine days are going to be pure torture.”

I bite my smile, but he doesn’t notice, because I’m still wrapped in his arms. “Yep.”

He kisses me on the forehead. “Can you lock the door on your way out?”

I swallow my disappointment and somehow find the strength to smile at him when he releases me. “Sure.” I walk toward his bedroom door and hear him fall onto his bed.

I leave, not knowing what to feel. He didn’t promise me anything more than what just happened between us. We did what I willingly agreed to, which was have sex.

I just wasn’t expecting this overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. Not because of the way he dismissed me immediately after we had sex but rather for the way that dismissal made me feel. I thought I would want this to be strictly sex between us just as much as he does, but based on the beating my heart took in the last two minutes, I’m not so sure I’m capable of anything simple with him.

There’s a small voice in the back of my head, warning me to pull away from this situation before things become too complicated with him. Unfortunately, there’s a much louder voice urging me to just go for it—telling me I deserve a little fun in my life with all the work I’ve got going on.

Just thinking about how much I enjoyed tonight is enough to make me accept and even embrace his casualness afterward. Maybe with a little more practice, I can even learn how to enforce it myself.

I walk to my apartment door but pause when I hear someone speaking. I press my ear to the door and listen. Corbin is having a one-sided conversation in the living room, presumably with someone on the other end of his cell phone.

I can’t walk in now. He thinks I’m in bed.

I look back at Miles’s apartment door, but I’m not about to knock on it. Not only would that be awkward, but it would also mean he’d get even less sleep than he’s already about to get.

I walk to the elevator and decide to sit out the next half hour in the lobby, hoping Corbin will go back to his bedroom soon.

It’s ridiculous that I even feel I have to hide this from Corbin, but the last thing I want is for him to be upset with Miles. And that’s exactly what would happen.

I make it to the lobby and step off the elevator, not quite sure what I’m even doing. I guess I could go wait it out in my car.

“You lost?”

I glance over to Cap, and he’s seated in his usual spot, despite the fact that it’s almost midnight. He pats the empty chair next to him. “Have a seat.”

I walk past him to the empty chair. “I didn’t bring any food this time,” I say. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t like you for your food, Tate. You’re not that good of a cook.”

I laugh, and it feels good to laugh. Things have just felt so intense for the past two days.

“How was Thanksgiving?” he asks. “Did the boy have a good time?”

I look at him and tilt my head in confusion. “The boy?”

He nods. “Mr. Archer. Didn’t he spend the holiday with you and your brother?”

I nod, understanding his question now. “Yes,” I say. I want to add that I’m pretty sure Mr. Archer just had the best Thanksgiving he’s had in more than six years, but I don’t. “Mr. Archer had a great time, I think.”

“And what’s the smile for?”

I immediately wipe away the grin I didn’t realize was plastered on my face. I scrunch up my nose. “What smile?”

Cap laughs. “Oh, hell,” he says. “You and the boy? Are you fallin’ in love, Tate?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say immediately. “It’s not like that.”

“How so, then?”

I quickly look away as soon as I feel the blush creep up my neck. Cap laughs when he sees my cheeks turn as red as the chairs we’re seated on.

“I may be old, but that don’t mean I can’t read body language,” he says. “Does this mean you and the boy are … what’s the term they use now? Hookin’ up? Bumpin’ uglies?”

I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with an eighty-year-old man.

I quickly shake my head. “I’m not answering that.”

“I see,” Cap says with a nod. We’re both quiet for a moment while we process what I more or less just told him. “Well, good,” he says. “Maybe that boy will actually smile every now and then.”

I nod in complete agreement. I could definitely use more of his smile. “Can we change the subject now?”

Cap slowly turns his head toward me and arches his bushy gray eyebrow. “I ever tell you about the time I found a dead body on the third floor?”

I shake my head, relieved that he changed the subject but confused that the subject of a dead body has somehow helped me find relief.

I’m just as morbid as Cap.

Chapter fourteen

MILES

Six years earlier

“Do you think the fact that we shouldn’t be doing this is why

we like doing it so much?” Rachel asks.

She’s referring to kissing me.

We kiss a lot.

Every chance we get and even chances we don’t get.

“When you say shouldn’t, do you mean because our parents are

together?”

She says yes. Her voice is breathless, because I’m currently

kissing my way up her neck.

I like that I take her breath away.

“Remember the first time I saw you, Rachel?”

She moans a sound that means yes.

“And do you remember me walking you to Mr. Clayton’s

class?”

She gives me another wordless yes.

“I wanted to kiss you that day.” I work my way back up

to her mouth and look her in the eyes. “Did you want to

kiss me?”

She says yes, and I can see in her eyes that she’s thinking

back to that day.

To the day she

Became

My

Everything.

“We didn’t know about our parents that day,” I explain. “Yet we

still wanted to be doing this. So no, I don’t think that’s why we

like it now.”

She smiles.

“See?” I whisper, brushing my lips softly across hers to show

her how good it feels.

She lifts off her pillow and holds herself up on her elbow.

“What if we just like kissing in general?” she asks. “What if it

has nothing to do with me or you in particular?”

She always does this. I tell her she should be a lawyer, because

she likes playing devil’s advocate so much. But I love it when

she does it, so I always go along with it.

“Good point,” I tell her. “I do like kissing. I don’t know of

anyone who doesn’t like it. But there’s a difference between this

and simply liking to kiss.”

She looks at me curiously. “What’s the difference?”

I lower my mouth to hers once more. “You,” I whisper. “I like

kissing you.”

That answers her question, because she shuts up and brings

her mouth back to mine.

I like that Rachel questions everything.

It makes me look at things in a different way.

I have always enjoyed kissing the girls I’ve kissed in the past

but only because I was attracted to them. It didn’t really have

anything to do with them in particular.

When I kissed all the other girls, I felt pleasure. That’s why

people enjoy kissing, because it feels good.

But when you like to kiss someone because of who she is, the

difference isn’t found in the pleasure.

The difference is found in the pain you feel when you’re not

kissing her.

It doesn’t hurt when I’m not kissing any of the other girls I’ve

kissed.

It only hurts when I’m not kissing Rachel.

Maybe this explains why falling in love is so damn painful.

I like kissing you, Rachel.

Chapter fifteen

TATE

Miles: Are you busy?

Me: Always busy. What’s up?

Miles: I need your help. Won’t take long.

Me: Be there in five.