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**AUTHORS NOTE: Warning! This chapter does NOT contain sex. I know, weird right? It’s necessary to move the story from NonConsent, however, so that Claire and Rowan can continue their exploration. SO, if you’re reading along for the saucy bits, you might want to hold out for the next installment. If you’re following/enjoying the story for the writing or characters (and if so, god love you for that!) then you might want to read this brief chapter anyways.
Also, if you are finding this story for the first time in Romantic Encounters, please know that it is branching out from NonConsent/Reluctance. I understand that category is not for everyone, so just a heads up if intrigue guides you back to the start.
Enjoy!
Yours for now,
Kat**
I shut my apartment door behind me, dropping my purse to the floor. Shedding my coat a pace after, leaving it in a heap. I needed to take off my boots but I knew that if I sat down I might not get back up. I was tired of fighting gravity.
Maybe the ground was where I belonged.
You’d tossed me aside so easily, Rowan. No, not tossed. Shoved, violently. You made me feel so worthless and small, calling me pathetic. Stripping and sodomizing me so that I could feel how much you meant it. How could you hate me that deeply?
How could I ever get back up?
I braced against the counter as I unzipped the heel of my shoes, faltering slightly as I pulled them off my feet and tossed them aside. I almost felt drugged as I stumbled to my bedroom. My legs were weak and I was unimaginably sore between them, my dress soiled from the parts you’d dripped down. I knew I needed to take it off, I felt filthy. But the act of undressing, of cleaning my defiled body. It felt so distant and remote, so completely outside the realm of possibilities. I had nothing left in me but tears, so I collapsed onto my mattress, falling with them.
It was over.
I tried not to think about it but it was impossible to think about anything else. When you’re drowning, it’s hard to wonder about the clouds.
Was what I did to you really that bad? Would you have forgiven me if I hadn’t brought the photo?
All those brief moments- the ones of genuine connection- were they only in my head? I honestly didn’t know anymore, maybe my brain was as unreliable as your moods. Maybe the truth was only in what left residue. Everything else up for grabs.
I tossed and turned, exhausted but unable to rest. To forget, if even for a minute. I checked my phone.
Just after 3 a.m.
A sudden knock at the door.
More knocking.
There’s no fucking way. I am not getting up.
I can’t.
The tapping continues, louder. I don’t want the couple upstairs to get angry. God dammit.
I pull myself off of the bed, pacing towards the door, kicking my abandoned clothing and shoes out of my path. I swing it open.
For the first time in our brief overlap of existence, you look like absolute shit. Your eyes are puffy, dark circles beneath them. Your clothing disheveled. Are you drunk? You might be drunk. I can’t tell.
I want to slam the door in your face but for a small, inexplicable moment, I almost feel sorry for you. I’ve never seen you so undone. I hesitate, then hold the door open, silently inviting you into my apartment. Closing it gently behind you.
You look around nervously, eyes scanning the plants and art, books and clothing. You run your hand along my easel.
I hope you get a splinter.
You’re waiting for me to ask what you’re doing here but I won’t speak first. I’m not saying a word. If you came here to talk, talk.
Say it.
“Do you have anything to drink?” You mutter.
“Do you seriously need more?” I retort, annoyed.
“Yes,” Ankara escort you respond without hesitation.
Fine. I go to the kitchen, briefly surveying the selection. There’s a bottle of wine opened sometime over a week ago. Vodka. Whiskey. Nothing expensive but definitely better than well.
I pour you a whiskey. Screw it. I pour two.
You walk into the kitchen to accept your glass, then suddenly sink to the floor with it, leaning your back against my cabinets. Sitting against them.
“Rowan?” I feel a pang of concern, of genuine sympathy at watching you collapse this way. You’re not the one who falls.
You don’t respond, so I sit beside you silently. Leaning back as well, taking a sip of my drink.
“Claire,” you start, your hand shaking slightly. You take a gulp of your drink, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice.
“I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
“No,” I agree. “That was really fucked up. I thought we were past that.”
“We were,” you sigh. “I just…”
I wait for you to finish, but instead you start again.
“Look, that photo you found. I’m assuming you found the rest. I was with that woman for a very long time. Josie. We met in college.”
You take another small sip, staring ahead. At nothing. I let you continue.
“I was with her for a few years back then and I loved her. I really fucking loved her. But you know how kids are at that age. It doesn’t matter how good something is, how strongly you feel, you start to wonder what else might be out there. Not just women, but life. Could there be something better? I didn’t want to miss it. I was terrified of missing it. So I screwed up and we ended things. Well, she ended things, but I didn’t give her much choice.
“For a while it didn’t matter, because I knew I was right. There was so much to experience. Sex, parties, work, travel. Anything I wanted. I don’t think I was sober for an entire year once, and I didn’t even care. Honestly, it felt great at the time. But at some point, like everything else, it gets old. Eventually you realize some of that beautiful green grass might just be astroturf. Most of it is.”
You swallow. This is the most I’ve ever heard you speak about your life. I’m shocked you’re telling me anything at all.
“I ran into her again in our thirties, at a wedding for a mutual friend. Whatever had been there before, it wasn’t gone. At least, not totally. We reconnected slowly at first. I don’t think she trusted me and I can’t really blame her, but eventually she came around and we started dating again.”
I feel a twinge of unexpected jealousy when you describe the way you felt about her, how happy you were this second time. That you had a combined bucket list of places you wanted to see and you were working your way through them, exploring each other and the world, pausing only when you discovered she was pregnant.
You’d planned to propose, bought her a simple band until you could pick out one out together. But you never gave it to her.
“Why not?” I ask quietly, afraid I already know the answer. It’s been steadily filling the room around us this whole time, rolling in like a fog. The air now thick with it.
You shoot back the rest of your drink and set the glass on the floor.
“She had an aneurysm. It was so sudden, we didn’t even know what it was at first. And then she was just gone, they both were.”
Jesus.
“Rowan,” I whisper. I want to reach for you, to touch your hand or to hug you but I don’t know how. We’ve never done comfort before, and right now it’s all I want to offer.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, staring at the floor. Too scared to give you anything more than words.
“It was horrific,” Ankara escort bayan you admit. “I was gutted. Fucking destroyed. It was still so early but it wasn’t just like I lost them, I lost our entire future. Everything we could have had. And then…”
You run your hand through your hair, tilting your head back against the drawers.
“…I don’t even know if it was mine. I had no idea there was anyone else until her phone. Her goddamn phone…”
I remember the phone in your desk drawer.
“…it just kept buzzing. Ringing. He wouldn’t fucking stop. I didn’t know she was having an affair. Maybe he wasn’t even the first. Maybe she’d been sleeping with other guys the whole time. Maybe in college too. I don’t have a fucking clue when, or why, or how many, and I never will.”
You exhale, your face burning. Jaw tensed. This expression I know.
“He came to the funeral,” you say. Your voice clear and low. “He came to the funeral and I didn’t say a single thing. I wanted to fucking kill him.
…I wanted to kill them both.”
I don’t know what to say to you, how to respond. I’m afraid you’ll flinch if I touch you, that you might hurt me.
I risk it anyway.
I reach for your hand and lean in closer, pressing my forehead against your shoulder. I turn your face towards mine, you aren’t crying, but your eyes are red. I touch your jaw tenderly, and you finally meet my gaze.
I kiss you softly. Once.
And then again.
“Claire,” you whisper, trying to turn your head away. I don’t let you.
I kiss you harder, my tongue searching for yours as you part your lips, inviting me in. I want to nourish you, to give you all that I can right now.
I want to give you what we’ve never shared.
You kiss me back, opening yourself to me. Transferring some of the hurt from your body into mine. Like you’d been doing this whole time. Only now it’s different.
Now I understand, and I can take some from you.
I can handle it.
I’m tougher than you think.
“Claire,” you sigh as I run my fingers lightly down the back of your neck. Letting you kiss mine. Our hands searching each other’s bodies like they never did before.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry for how I’ve hurt you.”
I lift your head so you can see me, my eyes wide and dark.
“Did you pretend I was her?” It’s sinking in now, how much we look alike.
You close your eyes, ashamed of the answer.
“Yes. At first.”
My stomach drops.
“But it got harder to do,” you admit. “You are your own person, completely. And every time I’d try to forget you’d remind me. Everything you did reminded me, and I started to feel differently, I started…”
You’re struggling to explain. To continue.
“I don’t see her in you anymore. I only see you, just you. And I want that. I really fucking want that, to try. You just scared me the night you tied me up. I saw how much I’d been underestimating you, and I felt as humiliated as I did with her. I know that wasn’t your intention, you had no idea. It was messed up. I’ve just been so fucking angry for so long, I’m not used to being anything else.”
I’m quiet, I need a moment to think. It’s a shocking amount of information in an incredibly short period of time.
“You know,” I start. My voice low, nervous. “I could still be her sometimes, if you needed it. When you’re mad.”
You release a sincere laugh of surprise from deep in your chest. I’ve apparently caught you off guard again.
“Jesus, can you imagine what a psychologist would have to say about that?”
I shrug, fully aware of how unhealthy and deranged our current situation is, “What would they say about Escort Ankara any of this?”
And who even cares.
You lift your eyebrows and tilt your head to the side, grinning despite yourself, a physical “touché”.
“I don’t know about that yet. But right now,” you turn to me, kissing my forehead, “we’ve got to get you out of this dress.”
You tug at the fabric curiously. “Why the hell are you still wearing this anyways?” You ask, chuckling.
“I couldn’t take it off.” I don’t know how to explain the way I sank before. That I could barely move.
“It’s ok,” you whisper. Understanding without needing the words. “I’m here now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
*
You walk me over to the bathroom, closing the toilet lid and seating me on top of it. You turn on the faucet and wait for the water to climb in temperature.
You undress yourself while it runs. Peeling off your sweater, the t-shirt underneath. You unbuckle your belt and remove your pants, following with your socks and underwear. In all of the times I’ve watched you get naked, this is the first time your penis isn’t hard. It’s soft, gentle. Unassuming. It’s asking nothing of me right now and that makes me want to kiss it too, to hold it sweetly in my palm.
You keep checking the water, making sure it doesn’t get too hot or cold. When you’re convinced that it’s perfect, you help me stand, unwrapping my dress, carefully slipping it from my naked body.
“Come on, I’ll help you in,” you tell me, steadying my exhausted body as we climb into the shower.
God, the water feels good.
I lean against you, my head pressed against your wet chest, soothed by the rise and fall of your breaths. You wash my hair for me as I hold on to you, taking care to keep the shampoo from my eyes. I forgot how comforting it smells. My things, in my home.
You hold me against you as you delicately soap and rinse my skin, circling lather along my lower back, down my curved cheeks. I flinch when your fingers cautiously probe between them.
“I’m sorry, god. It was cruel to hurt you there. I should have been more careful.”
I sigh, closing my eyes as you hold me.
“Yes, you should have been. I liked feeling you in me though,” I confess. “I thought I’d hate it and at first I did, but then, I don’t know. We can try again sometime but you have to use lube, alright? You could have hurt me a lot worse.”
You hug me, water running down us both, my breasts pressed hard against your ribs. You apologize again. You promise to take better care of me next time. I know that you will.
You dry my body first, standing there, dripping water down your stomach and legs. I don’t want you to be cold but you don’t seem to care. You wrap the towel around my shoulders afterwards and grab one for yourself, tying it around your waist. I show you where my bedroom is and you tell me to sit on the bed, that you’ll help me get dressed.
“I can just sleep naked,” I insist.
You’re afraid I’ll wake up shivering so I let you pick out some pajamas and socks to keep on my nightstand, just in case I do. I get under the blankets and you start to tuck me in when I stop you, reaching for your hand, “Can you stay here tonight?”
You smile, “I can stay for a little bit. Until you fall asleep. I have to get home at some point though, I was thinking we could go on a little overnight trip tomorrow. It’s only a few hours away, you can sleep in and I’d pick you up around eleven. Would you like that?”
“I’d love it,” I sigh. Dreaming of a car ride with you, a hotel bed for the both of us.
You climb into the bed beside me, curling your warm body around mine, the heat of your skin and the sound of your breath lulling me to sleep. I feel you stir, trying to disguise your erection but I don’t mind. You can’t help it. I nestle back against it, letting you know it’s ok. You kiss the back of my shoulder and whisper goodnight, holding onto me as I drift off to visions of us in your car, the sun in our eyes. Chasing after the horizon.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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