Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“No, I can’t,” I shake my head, spent.
“Oh, but you can,” his voice hypnotic. “All I have to do is this… right… here.” The way his tongue brushes against mine in between each word, coupled with his skillful touch, has me loosing it for a third time. He lets out a moan that matches mine.
“Luci, I’m coming again,” he grunts. “Yes!”
His eyes cut into mine as he holds me down, shoving his dick up hard. Once, twice, three times, drowning along with me.
Our eyes remain locked, his hands now massaging my back in a soothing pattern. It’s joy and perfection all tied up with unspoken fears and hopes. He lays his forehead against mine, the heat of his breath, the smoothness of his lips teasing me as he speaks.
“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
“Anna Karenina,” I whisper.
He kisses me again and we hold on to each other, with him in me, for God knows how long.
We start to hear noise in the hallway, and I look at the clock above the door. The show must have ended. I exhale loudly, as he helps me off of him; an overwhelming hollowness as he pulls out.
I think tonight is the first time I actually admitted to myself exactly how much he means to me.
How the hold he has on my heart has forever changed who I am.
How I will never be the same again.
How he’ll always be both my strength and weakness.
I hold back the unwelcomed tears as we say goodbye - from the pain, from the pleasure, because in this moment, I finally accept that I love him.
PROM
I lock myself in my room the moment I get home, crying until the wee hours of the morning.
How could I let this happen? How could he?
Then I remember he didn’t. It was me! This is my mistake. Like when I asked for a date over Valentine’s Day weekend. He’s always known we were nothing. This is solely my illusion.
I spend break going back and forth, debating what to do. The year’s almost over, but what difference does that make for him, since from the very beginning he’s basically made it clear that we have no future?
Future.
I have no future.
There’s a note on the fridge from Mom, saying she heard from Chloe’s Mom that she already got accepted into three schools. Mom’s excited for the mail today, to see if there’s anything for me, because it’s strange that I haven’t gotten anything yet. She says I should call her as soon as I get home, after I check the mail of course.
Only, I know there won’t be anything in there for me, because I lied to her. I won’t get accepted anywhere, because I didn’t apply anywhere. Not to a single school. I’ve been so absorbed in him that I’ve neglected everything else, including myself.
It’s not his fault, the way I’m unnaturally drawn to him, possessed. Like I was put on this earth just for him. That’s how I know we have to stop. But that’s not what makes it so hard. What makes it so difficult is that I know, without a single doubt, what I want my future to hold. The problem is, my future doesn’t want me.
I’m anxious and tense as I walk into school post break. We enter at exactly the same time - ridiculously early.
“I don’t know if I want to sit you down and simply talk, or push you against the wall and rip your close off,” he speaks lowly, happily.
Need engulfs me, searing in my bones as it travels through my veins. I will myself to stay strong, compelling myself to think about how we’ll never go out on a real date, or have sex in an actual bed. How, aside from running into him on another date in the beginning of the year, I’ve never even seen him on a Saturday, or outside of these school walls.
To him, we are fucking. To me, we’re so much more.
He’s still going on and on, and I close my eyes, not meeting his.
“I’m going to go with the later first, then the former second,” he has it all planned out. “And then the later again.”
He unlocks his office door and ushers me inside. His hands cradle my face almost immediately, but I pull back before anything happens, before my strength waivers, because once his lips meet mine, there’s no way I can stop it.
“What’s wrong?” The brush of his fingers on my cheek is my undoing. Tears begin to stream down my face as I watch his expression transform into the most heartbreaking and anguished look I’ve ever seen.
Torture.
“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” I whisper, looking every way but his.