Chapter 99 Chapter 99

Chapter 99 Chapter 99
Kimberley

But when I take in the expression on his face, I don’t see mockery anywhere. I don’t see smugness or cruel satisfaction. In fact, he looks… pained.

“No, Kimberley,” he rasps again. “I won’t let it be like last time. I fucked you the first time in a closet. The second time won’t be in a goddamn public bathroom.”

“But I—”

I try to pull my wrist out of his grip again, unsure exactly what I’m planning to do if he releases me—slap him or try to jerk him off again.

It doesn’t matter though, because he doesn’t release me.

He keeps his grip firm but not bruising, and although our bodies are still close enough that I can feel his cock pulsing against my core, he doesn’t grind into me again.

“I want you,” he says, and there’s a raw truth in his words that makes goose bumps scatter across my skin. “I want to feel you wrapped around me. I want you to come on my cock until you go boneless in my arms. But the next time I fuck you, it’ll be because you know how I feel about you—and you believe it.”

A lump rises in my throat, and I try to get my pulse under control as I process his words.
They terrify me. Because I know he means them.

These men and I have been in a vicious cycle of fighting and fucking and fighting and fucking. Hate and love and desire and resentment have all gotten mashed up into one awful morass that keeps pulling us back in no matter how hard we struggle to escape it.

But right now, right here, in this grungy men’s bathroom at a pizza parlor, Ben decided to stop the cycle.

I swallow hard, my arm going limp in his hold as I stare at him. He stares right back, and then he releases his grip on my wrist. I’m still perched on the edge of the sink, our bodies still wedged close together, and he lifts his hands to cup the sides of my face as I tighten my legs around him for balance.

His hands are big, his palms slightly calloused, and his fingers delve into my hair as he tilts my head up.
Then he kisses me.

And this kiss? It’s not like any we’ve ever shared before. Not back in high school, and not in college.
Our lips meet, and it’s not a soft kiss, but it’s not infused with the same sort of desperate violence as usual.

It’s… …a promise.

Ben’s tongue strokes against mine, his lips moving fluidly as he tilts his head to one side and mine to the other, giving him access to take our connection as deep as it can get. It’s full of heartbreak and hope, both existing simultaneously in this one kiss, and I want to keep my lips fused to his forever just so I never have to find out which one of those emotions wins in the end.

But eventually, he pulls back a few inches, his hands still grasping my face.

“Someday, you’ll believe me.”

With those words, he slides his hands down to my waist and gently lifts me off the sink, depositing me on shaky legs. 

He tugs the hem of my shirt down, his fingertips grazing over my skin in a way that makes us both shudder with pent up need, and then he steps back.

His pants are still undone, hanging off his hips, and his cock juts out against the fabric of his boxer briefs. There’s a dark spot on the fabric where more precum has soaked through, and I bite my lip hard as a shockwave of desire shoots through me. I want to latch my mouth onto that patch of fabric and suck.

“Fuck,” Ben mutters, and when I wrench my gaze back up to his face, he looks like he’s about to snap.

Before I can move, he adjusts himself quickly and yanks his zipper up, grimacing as he confines his dick behind his jeans again. It’s still obvious as hell that he’s got a hard-on, and it looks painful and uncomfortable.

I want to help him with that. I want to take away that pain.
I want to suck his dick until he comes.
But I can’t.
He won’t let me.
Not until I believe he cares about me, and I doubt that will ever fucking happen.

He looks like he wants to say more, but as so often happens with Ben, the words all seem to jam up behind his closed lips, and instead of uttering another word, he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of my wild blonde hair behind my ear.
Then he nods once, turns, and leaves.

I glance around, taking in the urinal near the door and the graffiti that covers the walls, the cracked mirror above the sink, and the empty paper towel dispenser.

My gaze settles on the door again, and something I’ve never felt before rises in my chest—an emotion I can’t even quite identify.

What the hell just happened?