My family will be here helping me pack up that evening, and then they’ll be arriving early the next morning with Sara’s furniture to unload before Dad and I head westward in the moving truck with my Jeep in tow. I couldn’t quite come to terms with buying a house in Denver given my current hatred for anything more than a mile from Rowan, but I did find a great house for rent in the LowDow neighborhood. It’s an easy commute to downtown Denver, and I’ve always loved the area—eclectic, old homes, mature trees.
Mom will be staying behind with the girls to help them move and organize. I’d suggest Rowan stay with Sara the night before, but Sara will be busy here helping me. She needs to just disappear for a night, hopefully somewhere safe and quiet where I can join her after my family leaves for the evening. I can’t bear the idea of not spending time with her on my last night in Michigan. And though I know I’ll be treading on thin ice with her, I have to see her one more time. There is so much to be said, and I need at least the chance to undo some of the hurt I’ve caused her.
So when I finally catch up with her at the beautiful old hotel that sits on Grand Haven’s bay late on the evening before my departure, I’m disheartened to see her state.
“Why did you ask me to meet you here? I mean, here of all places…” She can barely look me in the eye, and the look of bitter agony is evident in her face.
“One of my most favorite memories was being in Grand Haven with you. I just wanted us to be here together again.” She’s right. Of course I understand why it’s hard to be back here, and I suddenly feel like a complete asshole for dragging her back here once more for an encore. This will be no encore of our previous night spent here. Instead, it will be one more reminder of our time together and the fact it is now over. Why did I bring her back here of all places? What was I thinking? I haven’t seen her smile in over a month, and when I thought of this place, all I could think of was how much we smiled. The memory of that evening—the farmers’ market, the pier, the beach, it reminded me of us. But that time is over, and this place is now just an unbearable reminder. God, she’s right.
My eyes drop in guilt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I just wanted someplace quiet and out of the way that we both enjoy, but I should have realized this wasn’t a good idea.” And that same sad face is all I get in return. Sad isn’t even the right word. Her face is simply slack and emotionless—her eyes dead of their usual spirit. I haven’t seen that spirit and twinkle for so long, and the loss of it has destroyed my ability to feel joy anymore. I’m just a dead carcass of a person, and I should have known this place would just torture us both. But I do my best to salvage the evening.
It’s late, but I’ve not eaten all day and suggest dinner down on the bay. She reluctantly agrees, and the trip down is uncomfortable and devoid of any conversation. She spends the entire meal picking at her food and not eating anything. She stares off at the water, unwilling to look at me. When we return to the hotel, she closes the bedroom door in the suite, making it clear she doesn’t want anything more to do with me. But I can’t let it end like this. As I knock on the door, I half expect her to tell me to fuck off, but she answers, and with a weary sigh she lets me come in. But she stands impatiently, refusing to look at me, waiting for me to speak, and quite obviously wanting to get rid of me.
So I take a stab at softening her heart. “I’ve missed you. I wish it didn’t have to end like this. I can’t bear that you hate me so much.”
She says nothing for a moment, letting her emotions wash over her face, twisting it in agony at my words and what they mean to her. When she speaks, her voice is a mere whisper, softened in defeat. “I’m not mad at you. I can’t stand this.” Her voice falters, and her composure disintegrates.
Her tears well over and flow; she doesn’t even attempt to restrain or compose herself, and at the sight of her pain my breath and emotion hitch in my throat as I feel every awful stab of it, too. She continues. “It hurts so much.” And that’s when she comes apart altogether… And I do, too.
As she sobs, I grab her up in my arms and hold her tightly and desperately to me. I hold her, afraid to release her even slightly, terrified I won’t get the chance to hold her so close again. Her arms are around me, and I lift her gently to the bed and lie down next to her. For the moment, the constant anxiety that has plagued me for the past six weeks is completely abated. And while I know it won’t stay gone long, I revel in this short reprieve. Her body is in my arms where it belongs, and I soak up this momentary relief.
Her mouth finds mine, gentle at first and then insistent and demanding. And I’m desperate to take away the pain of the last many weeks apart. I know I have to give her up tomorrow morning, but I’m powerless to think about tomorrow right now. I’ve been so starved of her that I’ve lost all sense of reason. I want to claim every part of her that has been withheld from me for so long. And I start pulling her clothes from her body vigorously. She matches my insistence as she strips me of my clothes as well, and soon we are naked and alone together once again.
I mount her body and spread her legs wide with my own. I nestle between her legs, feeling her warmth and moisture licking seductively at every spot where I make contact with her pussy. I want to taste her wet folds and take over her pussy with my fingers, but I need her eyes more. I’ve been so harshly punished of her eyes for so long. The windows to her soul she has so openly shared with me in the past have been so devastatingly withheld from me, and I need to see her again. She looks back at me, panting as I take in her eyes. They are desperate and finally alive to me again. I drink in her gaze, finally ending the month-long deprivation. It doesn’t escape my attention that my cock is nestled between the slick wet folds of her sex. Her breath is hitching, and mine is as well. She needs all of me. And God, I need all of her, too. Her eyes are on mine, and without speaking a word she is asking me to submit to her wishes one last time. She’s asking me to give her the one thing I’ve denied her for so long; she’s asking me to love her fully. And I need her to love me just as much. There is no way I can let her go without sharing this with her. It has to be me. It is supposed to be me. And in one instant, my long-held resolve crumbles in defeat.
I take in her eyes one last time and thrust hard to my hilt inside of her virgin entry before even consciously being aware I’ve made the decision to, but I was powerless to deny her the instant she opened up to me again. And as shock and recognition of what I’ve just done sink in, I look to her eyes for reassurance. What I see instead is pain. Oh God, what have I done to her?
Pain sears through my core, tearing away at my body as his body invades mine. The fullness is overwhelming—the agony so unexpectedly sharp and intense. He’s searching my eyes with horror etched all over his beautiful face. He starts to leave my body, and I panic. I clutch at his hips trying desperately to keep him—wanting to savor the experience. He stills within me, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room. He clutches my cheeks so tenderly in worry and wonder. He remains buried in me as still as a statue … waiting—ready to pull away at any moment and leave my body forever. He has to belong to me. I could bear this hurt from no other man. He owns it, and I desperately fear the loss of it.
And in fear of his loss, I encourage him further. “Please, don’t stop.” He looks at me in shock as though I’ve struck him across the face. And I plead again. “Please.” I need him, pain and all. And slowly, heat from the permission I’ve just granted him touches his face. His eyes relax and his shoulders release their tension. He starts to move.