Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(99)
Author: Leisa Rayven

His thrusts become more confident.

“You’re inside me,” I say.

He kisses my shoulder and presses his forehead against it. His voice is strained when he says, “Only fair. You’ve been inside me for months. Are you okay?”

“Hmmm. You feel amazing.”

He pushes in deeply and groans. “I feel amazing? Are you kidding me? You feel…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Cassie, there aren’t enough words to describe how incredible you feel.”

He keeps rocking, and although neither of us can talk anymore, the noises in the room speak volumes. Groaning breaths. Raspy sighs. All manner of murmurs as we kiss and grip each other.

He pushes onto his hands, and I can’t tell whether he’s trying to hold on or let go. His face is beautiful. Every nuance of what he’s feeling is playing out in intricate detail. He’s showing me all the parts of him I knew were buried inside. Sure, the fear is still there, but so is the strength, the courage, the raw vulnerability and profound emotion. I want to tell him how breathtaking he is, but I don’t have the words. I’m too mesmerized to even attempt to find them. Too hesitant to look away in case he disappears.

Soon, I can’t keep my eyes open, so I close them and just feel. Fingers grip. Hips connect. Muscles tremble and skin heats. Tension coils inside me, and I open my eyes to find him looking down at me, open-mouthed and heavy-lidded.

“Cassie…”

He whispers my name in the moments when his mouth isn’t on me. It sounds likes he’s begging. For what, I don’t know. Whatever he wants, it’s his for the taking. Having him like this has ruined me. How could I ever want anyone else after experiencing him?

He’s so deep in me, he’s tattooed himself on every nerve ending. Pleasure and pain and gasping perfection.

“Cassie, I can’t. I’m going to … Oh, God. Oh, God.”

His face crumbles. His thrusts become erratic, and all of his exhales sound more like moans. He wraps around me and holds me so close it feels like we share the same thundering heartbeat. The pleasure burn inside me has blossomed into a full-blown fire. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open and watch him.

A guttural sound vibrates in his chest, before the thrusting stops. He falls forward and mumbles incoherent whispers into my chest.

I sigh under the weight of him, feeling heavy and sated. I can’t move and don’t want to. We breathe against each other, and I can still feel him inside. For some reason, tears spill onto my cheeks.

I think part of me believed we’d never get to this point. That he’d never agree to be a part of this most intimate act. And yet, here we are, naked and breathless, having given each other a part of ourselves no one else has.

I try to swallow down my emotions, but I can’t, so I just let the tears fall.

Is this what being in love feels like? Overwhelming gratitude that the other person is with you as you share something astonishing? Knowing that the most astonishing thing they can share is themselves?

“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He squeezes me, and I’m surprised to feel moisture on my shoulder. I try to see his face, but he keeps it buried in my neck.

“Ethan?”

He stays silent and holds me. His breathing is shallow. I can feel his heart pounding through his ribcage, and I stroke his back to give him a moment.

Eventually, he exhales. It’s deep and shaky. He lifts his hips to withdraw slowly, and when he’s completely out, a strange emptiness expands inside me. Without meaning to, I tighten my arms around him. He kisses me before he pushes back onto his heels and removes the condom.

“Come on,” he says. He gets out of bed and holds his hand out to me. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

In the bathroom, he fills the tub and makes me soak for a while. I close my eyes as he washes my back. I ache but not more so than when I exercise muscles that aren’t used to being worked.

Ethan’s quiet, but he keeps one hand on me at all times. Makes sure I’m okay.

When we climb back into bed, I snuggle into his chest. His heartbeat sounds weird. Kind of like there’s an extra echo in his ribs. But he strokes my arm and soon, it’s just a rumble beneath my ear.

When I drift off, I dream about him.

Dream Ethan stands in front of me and gets dressed. He pulls on layer after layer, and covers all the parts that just made love to me. The brave parts. The loving parts.

I try to stop him, but he’s determined. Eventually, everything is hidden again. Covered and protected.

No. We’re beyond this now.

He mouths something. I study his lips as they meet then pull apart.

What is he saying?

For a moment, I think he’s telling me he loves me. Saying it so softly I can barely hear. But then I hear …

“I’m sorry.”

He says it time and again. Quiet and regretful.

When I wake up, a crawling sickness overcomes me as I realize it wasn’t a dream.

TWENTY-TWO

EPIPHANY

Present Day
New York City
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor

Dear Diary,

Good news! Ethan wants us to get back together, so I’m now magically healed and we’re off to live happily ever after!

In case you missed it, I typed that sarcastically.

The truth is, as much as I believe Ethan’s changed, it’s not enough.

If only I could go back in time and beg myself not to fall for him so hard. Not that young me would have listened. I knew he was damaged, but I figured what we had was strong enough to smooth over all the cracks and fissures.

For a while, it was, but it was just an illusion, like when snow covers over giant holes, making it look like the ground is perfect and solid.

Holt and I have never been solid. Just varying degrees of screwed up. Always teetering on the edge of our vast insecurities.

And now, he’s asking me to walk that slippery slope again, and he’s taking such care with me, I’m tempted to believe it’s safe.

The problem is, no matter how careful he is, I’ll always remember the other falls, and no matter how much he tells me he’s different, I’ll always know it was at my expense.

It took breaking my heart twice to grant him an epiphany strong enough to make him change. Fucking good for him.

What’s going to grant me mine?

I stand at the bar and sip my vodka cocktail. It’s my third, and I’m finally starting to feel less. Or maybe I’m feeling more. It’s hard to tell.

I can hear my castmates in the far corner of the restaurant, laughing and talking. They’re celebrating our move into the theater next week. Tech rehearsals. Previews. Getting the play as perfect as it can be before the world judges us on opening night.