Second Chance

I hate what he does to me. I hate how much I crave it too. He’s silent and that’s what makes me shove him again.

It destroys his last bit of restraint.

“Is this what you wanted, Harlow?” he says as he lowers his head and closes the space between us, grabbing my hips and pushing me backward. If I wanted to, I could let him do it. I could let him push me onto the bed. But I don’t. I smack his hands away, my heart racing wildly. Yes, it’s what I want. But he’ll never know that. I won’t let him know what he does to me.

“Why are you such a dick?” I sneer at him. “I didn’t do shit to you,” I tell him as tears prick my eyes. I won’t cry though, I never do. I just bury things deep down, right where the memories of us belong.

His brows raise in feigned shock. Me?” he asks, pointing to his chest. “What the hell did I do to deserve that, Harlow?”

It shouldn’t get to me like it does. I pictured this happening in so many ways. I didn’t think he’d still hate me though. I thought maybe time would ease some of the tension, but it’s so raw and right in front of us. It won’t be ignored.

“You told me to stay away and I did,” I tell him.

“But now you’re back.”

“Some would say you’re back.”

“So, now I need to stay away from the entire East Coast?” he says sarcastically, decreasing the space between us by taking another large step. It’s not lost on me that I’m nearly backed into a corner. And that’s exactly how I feel.

All because of one night that I so desperately wish I could take back.

“It’s been ten years, Nathan.” There’s a softness in my voice I didn’t intend to have. “I wish I could change the past. Even if you hate me, could you just …”

I can’t finish, although I want to. I want to plead with him and try to get on some neutral ground. But he beats me to it and silences me in a way I can’t refuse.

He crashes his lips against mine and it’s more than I can bear. My body goes weak, each nerve ending on fire and acutely aware of the heat of his body. His hands travel down to my waist, his blunt fingernails scraping against my skin and making my back arch.

I’m breathless when he pulls away, a flurry of emotions consuming me and taking me back to when I was his and he could make everything better.

“Hally,” he whispers in the space between our lips, his hot breath overwhelming me, leaving my head spinning with nothing but want and gratitude. My fingernails run up his shirt along his back, up to his broad shoulders. It’s like I’m home. His warmth, his touch, the reverence when he says my name.

I hold onto him with everything I have, holding him close to me like I wanted to do that night. And he does the same. Soothing me and cradling my body against his.

This is crazy. We’re crazy. I guess some things don’t change.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers as he lowers his lips to the crook of my neck and nips me in admonishment. The action is directly linked to my clit, making it throb with need.

He pulls back slowly, both of us catching our breath, and he stares into my eyes. I lean into his touch as he brushes the hair away from my face to cup my cheek. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

My heart stutters in my chest. Skipping its rhythm as it tries to figure out how it’s supposed to beat. I search his eyes for something. For the anger that pushed me away. For forgiveness, which I’m so desperate to have. But all I see is desire. And that’s something I can hold onto. I can be consumed by it. I was before. Blindingly so.

“It was an accident,” I tell him. He licks his lower lip and my eyes are drawn there before I meet his eyes again. “But I think it happened for a reason.”

“We should talk,” I say as though it’s a suggestion, but really, it’s a question. One I desperately need him to answer. So many unspoken things still remain between us. They eat away at me, drowning me in an abyss of unknown. And fear. I had to live with it all on my own. I don’t want to anymore; I never wanted to.

“Not right now. Not yet,” he answers me and looks back with pleading eyes. He’s the one with all the power and both of us know he doesn’t need my permission, but he craves it. And like a moth to a flame, I’m addicted to giving it to him.