Pocketful of Sand

She’s as sweet here as she is inside her mouth. Sweet and soft and silky. For a few seconds, I forget everything except how she tastes. She’s like a mind-altering drug. An aphrodisiac. Intoxicating. Addictive. Suddenly driven to taste more, to taste all that she has to give, I find myself sliding my hands under her, gripping her plump ass and holding her to my mouth, like I’m drinking from a cup of sugar water.

I slip one thumb inside her, the wetness of her coating it and making my cock jump against my zipper. I pump it into her, anxious to feel more, taste more, take more. I push her legs wide and eat, like a starving man might eat.

I set her hips down and run two fingers up inside her, feeling the tight clench of her body. I growl against her as I reach for my own zipper, knowing that if I don’t get into her now, something embarrassing might happen.

With my cock out, I stretch out full length on Eden, taking her lips in a kiss that sets my blood on fire. I wedge my hips between her spread legs and cage her upper body with my forearms to take some of my weight off her. I hear her sharp breathing and I tremble with the effort it takes not to slam my body into hers.

The head of my dick finds her entrance with an unerring precision, like I’ve been here before. Or maybe that I’m meant to be here. Like I know her body already.

I slip in a couple of inches and meet resistance as her body stretches to accommodate me. “Oh God, Eden. You’re so tight. So tight…”

At this point, I don’t know how I’m holding out. I must be stronger than I thought. And it’s a good thing, or else I might not have felt her hands grabbing at my shoulders. Because they aren’t holding me to her. They’re pushing me away.

That’s when I realize that the little sounds she’s making aren’t sounds of pleasure anymore. They’re sounds of fear.

I jerk away from her like she burned me, memories of her reaction last night rushing back, all too clear.

I lift my head to look down at Eden. Her eyes are wide and afraid, full of tears. She’s staring at me like I’m a stranger and she’s stiff as a board beneath me.

“Eden, did I hurt you? God, I’m so sorry.”

Her breathing is erratic and her voice trembles when she answers. “Y-you didn’t. I-I’m sorry, Cole. I just… I can’t do this. Not yet. I…I don’t…” She starts to cry, soft sobs that rip through my heart. What did I do?

“I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I…I…God, I’m such an asshole!”

When I lever myself completely off her, she scoots away, drawing her legs up to her chest protectively. “Can you go? Cole, please. We can talk tomorrow, but right now…just please. Please go.”

“Of course,” I tell her. What else would I say? I feel like shit and I don’t even know what I did. That’s arguably the worst part. “Eden, I–”

“It’s not you, it’s me, Cole.”

I straighten my clothes and roll to my feet, reaching to take my jacket form the chair. I can’t take my eyes off her. Something about the fear in her, the vulnerability that I feel blowing off her like cold air, slices through me. Through skin and muscle and bone. And goes right into my heart.

More than anything, I want to pull her into my arms and hold her, to tell her that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. But she doesn’t want that. I can see it in the white of her knuckles, in the stiffness of her back. In the tightness of her face. She’s freaked out and she just wants me out of here.

As I start past her, I pause. I want to bend down and kiss her so that this can end on a good note, but I don’t. I get the feeling nothing can salvage this night. I just don’t know why.

She doesn’t say another word to me as I go to leave, not even as I close the door behind me.

EIGHTEEN

Eden

MY HEART IS slamming around in my chest like an eight-ounce pinball. I can hardly breathe and memories assail me like demons in the air, running at me from every direction. I tell myself over and over that it’s in the past, that he can’t hurt me anymore. I tell myself that Cole is different. But his words…they resonated within me. Like a scream reverberating through an empty cave. Through the hallway of time.

I don’t bother dressing. I simply roll onto my side and curl up into the tightest ball that my body will make. I close my eyes and concentrate on the heat of the flames. I picture it like comforting hands, reaching out to gently touch my face. I picture them warming me, chasing away the cold, soothing away my fears. And the darkness. And the demons.

I don’t know how long I stay this way before I finally doze off. An hour. Three. A week. A lifetime.

When I wake, it’s with a start. I’m flat on my stomach, face turned toward the dwindling fire, and my pulse is pounding. As though someone spoke the future right into my ear to rouse me, I have the crystal clear realization that I just let something amazing slip through my fingers. All because of something awful in my past. How long can I let Ryan haunt me? How long can I let him decide my future? How long can I be a prisoner of yesterday? And how many tomorrows will suffer because of it?

I think of my daughter, sleeping soundly in her bed. I think of her concerns of late, her fear that my happiness is her burden to bear. No child should feel that responsibility. And certainly not a child who already has the weight of bad memories pressing on her thin shoulders.

Cole could be good. Good for me, good for us. I feel it. All the way down to my bones. He’s broken, yes, but not twisted-broken. Not like Ryan was. Not even broken like I am. He’s the good kind of broken, the honorable kind of broken.