Pulled(42)
Author: A.L. Jackson

It felt as if my body had burst into flames with his sudden touch. Everything about him was overpowering, consuming, dominating. My body sang with joy at the connection. It was rough yet gentle at the same time.

I pressed into him, my chest against his, and I could feel our hearts beating in rhythm. Digging my fingers into his neck, I struggled to get closer. We were desperate as we clung to each other. We needed to feel, to chase away the scars engraved on our hearts, to erase some of the hurt. His hands rushed with need, twisting through my curls. They moved down my back and then up to my hair again. His lips pressed into mine, ice and fire and sweet—

al Daniel. I breathed him in, memorizing the way he smell ed, his scent heady with need.

My fingers traveled to his hair. I curled the ends around my fingers, and a shiver traveled up his spine.

His head tilted, and my lip tingled as he ran his tongue across it. My mouth opened to his, drawing him in.

There was no teasing or testing. His mouth was aggressive against mine, sucking in my bottom lip as he bit at it.

Rough. Hard. Perfect. I felt myself being pushed back into the door, his body flush with mine as he moved against me.

I moaned into his mouth. Oh, how I had missed this body.

I felt every inch of him as he pressed into me. I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his arms, his muscles firm under my touch. His mouth attacked mine, frantic in his kiss. His lips were incessant, his tongue hot and wet.

He fisted one hand in my hair, pulling it tight, exposing my neck to him. His movements slowed as he licked down my sensitive skin, seeking out the spot behind my ear he knew would ruin me. He sucked, tugging with his lips, lingering at the delicate hol ow below my jaw. I drew in a ragged breath, and my emotions caught up with me. He remembered.

He kissed his way back up, finding my mouth again. His hand massaged the back of my neck, the skin afire with his touch. The other trailed down my side, his fingertips digging into my ribs as he went, igniting an ache deep within me.

I gasped when he roughly grabbed the back of my knee, hooking my leg over his hip, grinding into me. His hand traveled up the exposed flesh of my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles; coaxing me, persuading me, demanding a reaction. I pushed back into him, my body deprived of his for far too long.

“Melanie, my love,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my lips.

“Daniel,” I rasped into his mouth.

He pulled back, his eyes hooded and flaming in their intensity as they sought mine. I couldn’t look away as I peered deep into his soul. His love was never ending but shrouded in vast regret, grief imprinted on his heart. He ran his nose along my cheek, murmuring in my ear, this time the words dripping in sadness. “Only you.” Those words resonated in the air, and as much as I knew he wanted to convince himself that they were true, they weren’t.

The weight of what I was doing crushed me.

Thoughts of his wife and child lay heavy on my heart, and I remembered how we had gotten here in the first place. He hadn’t chosen me. He didn’t want me!

My hands trembled, and I shook my head. I tried to keep my thoughts from pouring out, but I couldn’t. The feelings of complete rejection I’d swal owed down and harbored for all these years came bubbling to the surface and spil ed over, mixing with the tears running down my face.

“You didn’t want me.” My words were barely audible, but I knew he heard them. I pulled back, desperate to remove myself from the spel he had me under. He jerked his head back, meeting my gaze, his eyes clouded with confusion.

I pushed against his chest with my hands. “You didn’t want me!” It was hard to speak. The words stuck in my throat and came up between sobs. “You have her!” He had chosen a different life, and he couldn’t take it back.

“What?” His hand released my thigh, and he stepped back. “Melanie, please don’t say that! I’ve always wanted you. Only you.”

I squeezed my eyes, shaking my head, desperate to remove myself. I had to get away. I had promised myself I would never become this person, someone who would steal away the same thing that had been taken from me.

Daniel had a family. As much as I would always love him, that had to come before my need for him. I turned to flee, unable to be in his presence a second longer.

If I stayed, I’d only take more of what wasn’t mine.

I flung the door open. Daniel tried to grab my arm and pul me back. “Please, Melanie! Please, don’t leave,” he begged. I refused to look back. I hit the hallway, pushing myself forward and forcing myself away.

He was right behind me, pleading. “Please, Melanie. Don’t go.” I shook his hand from my arm when he reached for me again. My heels were slick against the tile floor as I raced through the lobby. In my periphery, I was aware of his secretary jumping to her feet, her face stunned as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. The tears came harder when I realized what I’d just put Daniel through here in his office. I couldn’t even remain professional for five minutes! My steps didn’t falter as I flung the glass door wide open, never slowing when I darted across the street.

There was only the sound of car horns blaring and the echo of Daniel’s pleas fading into the distance.

I jumped into my car and slammed the door, chanting over and over, “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me.”

July 2000

“Melanie, hurry up! You’re going to be late again,” Mom called up the stairway, her voice stressed.

“I said I was coming!” I yelled back as I tried to bend over to tie my shoes. My right leg was tight, the constant dull ache now a sharp pang in my thigh as I strained to reach my foot. I wiped the single tear that slid down my cheek. It was impossible to separate the physical pain from the emotional.

Physical therapy again. I hated it. Hadn’t they tortured me enough? I’d spent three days a week, every week, for nearly the last four months in a gym, stretching, pushing, basically learning to walk again, and I was so sick of it. My mood was sour, and I definitely didn’t feel like cooperating as somebody “encouraged” me to push just a little bit further.

“Melanie, now!” I cringed at Mom’s tone of voice.

Things had not been going well here, and each day just got worse.

I had been so angry when my parents had forced me to come to Dallas. I resented them, and I let Mom know it. I’d spent three full weeks in bed, unwilling to speak to her or look at her, and I’d barely eaten. That third week my new doctor demanded that I start physical therapy, telling me I’d never walk again if I didn’t. So I spent my eighteenth birthday at my first appointment, discovering just how grueling my recovery was going to be.