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“What do you mean?”
He breathes in again, another sigh. “What I mean is, why him?”
For a brief moment, I think about how to answer that because I ask myself this constantly. The overwhelming touch of his hand, there’s so much electricity behind it. My throat clogs with emotion as I push out the words I know I need to say. “He’s romantic, sincere, loyal. He treats me good, Roan.” Cautiously, I lift my eyes to his. And though it’s too dark to see their blue, I know they’re ice-cold and tense when I admit, “He’s everything you’re not….”
“And he’s completely fucking wrong for you.” The way the words leave his mouth, it’s forced, as if he’s admitting something he didn’t initially want to say.
I twist toward him, my hand on his cheek wanting to reassure him that regardless if Agustin’s perfect, he will never be him. “He’s not you, Roan.” I don’t have to expand on it. He knows what I’m talking about. And it doesn’t matter if Agustin is the most obvious choice. He’s not the one my heart wants. “Sure, he can give me the life most women would only dream of, but it’s nowhere near the one I envisioned.”
“So again, why him?”
“I’m… not sure I can give you an answer that makes any sense.”
He closes his eyes and exhales. “Ophelia,” he says in a pained whisper. “Damn it, what do I do?” he begs, his voice breaking. “What the fuck do I do?”
I want to tell him, but I don’t know what I’d say. The confusion, the pain in his voice, it’s unbearable. I should be able to give him an answer, but I don’t.
His jaw tightens. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”
“I… don’t want you to.”
Drawing back, he leads me toward a cabana with an overly large lounger. There’s a cream-colored blanket, pillows, and silk drapes gently blowing in the warm breeze. Standing in front of me, he reaches out to caress my hair, my cheek, that tender place at the apex of my neck and collarbone. The look in his eyes one of awe as he remembers the way we were. At first I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead he pulls me toward him, hard against the solid lines of his chest. He cups my cheeks with his hands and secures his mouth to mine.
No questions, no hesitation.
Our lips are frantic as always. Each movement asking an unspoken question of the past and present. There’s history here and I knew the moment he touched me, it’d all come back.
Roan groans, driving his tongue into my mouth, and I know he wants this just as much. Guiding me backward, he lays me on the lounger and before he breaks the kiss, he’s on top of me. The warmth of him competes with the heat coursing through me. I can feel his hardness right where I so desperately need it.
Grabbing the back of my thigh, he curls it against his waist and sucks my tongue into his mouth. Grinding against me, he fucks me with our clothes on. Trapped in his arms, I forget everything else around me.
“You know he’ll never make you feel like this,” he whispers as his hips shift, his cheek sliding against mine, the stubble scratching me. His hips lurch forward, and he growls, desperately rocking against me. The thin fabric of my shorts allows the friction to consume us both. His erection aligns with my center and it’s the most delicious sensation there is.
Oh my God, you have to stop him.
But… it feels so good.
Knowing it’s wrong, I can’t stop myself. I’m losing a fight against my will. With shaking breaths and my heart in my throat, my mouth finds the exposed salty skin of his neck. His hands, they’re insistent, but attentive in every movement. He knows exactly how and where to touch me.
He growls when I slide my hands through his hair, his grip on my waist tightening. Threading his hair through my fists, I open my legs wider and he’s just as breathless as me. His hips jerk forward, hard, and then he stops moving altogether, his breath ragged on my cheek. “My fuckin’ dick is going to explode.” His stomach muscles tense, his hold tightening. “I want to come so bad.”
I want to go as far as to say, do it, but I know I can’t. A giggle slips past my parted lips. I try to draw in a breath, but I can’t. I end up laughing again. Taking my hand that’s on his shoulder, he squeezes my wrist and then pins it above my head. His eyes are heavy on mine when his other hand slips between us to the junction between my thighs. Moving the fabric aside, his finger dips inside my wet center. “I bet he doesn’t make you wet like I do, does he?” I shake my head, unable to give him words. Removing his hand, he sucks his fingers into his mouth. “Fuck,” he groans around his fingers. “Tastes just as sweet as I remember.”
His head falls forward against my shoulder, his needy hips moving again, this time with a little more intention. He sets a slow rhythm, one I find myself rocking against, desperate for more. It’s delicious and dirty, and everything we shouldn’t be doing.
“Do you want me to make you come?” he asks, his lips fluttering against mine.
I nod, unknowingly giving myself to him, regardless of the consequences of my actions. “I do,” I tell him with no amount of regret. And then it hits me. In less than forty-eight hours I should be saying those words to someone else and here I am, in the arms of a man I can’t seem to break free of.
He stops, suddenly and pulls back to his knees, his hand pressing down on the front of his shorts. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck….”
I sit up and stare at him, his entire body rigid, on the edge, and the realization hits me. Slams into my chest like a load of bricks.
I’ve cheated on Agustin.
We didn’t have sex, but we came close. He kissed me, I kissed him, his hand down my…. That’s cheating. I’m an awful person. “Oh my God,” I cry into my hands. “What am I doing?”
Roan shifts his position and lies beside me, his breathing heavy and strained. “Are you going to tell him?”