‘Good God,’ he says quietly, dropping to his forearms, his head remaining low. His face is so close to mine, but I don’t get his eyes. Becker chooses to bury himself in my neck as he starts to pump his hips, gasping each and every time that he enters me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him to me. He’s strong and still so powerful with his drives, albeit more calm and controlled, but I sense he needs the comfort. We moan collectively, slip together perfectly, the feel of him crowding me almost too much. But he still refuses to look at me, so I stroke my way up and take the side of his head, trying to pull him from his hiding place. He won’t budge. I give up for a moment, and he continues to plunge deeply, continues to spike all of the sounds of pleasure from both of us. God, I need to see him. So I try again . . . and fail, except this time he doesn’t just hold firm, not allowing me to pull him back. He actually shakes his head, like he’s shaking me off.
‘Becker?’ I question, but he ignores me, working up farther still, increasing his pleasure and mine. ‘Becker, look at me.’
Nothing. Just more drives and more incredible friction, but the gratification is slipping away with every second he refuses to give me his eyes. Yes, I can feel him, but I want to really feel him, see him, read his thoughts.
‘Becker.’ My frustration is growing with his persistent, stubborn refusals. ‘Becker, please,’ I yell.
He stops thrusting, freezing above me, panting into my neck. He’s still buried balls deep, throbbing within me. But he says nothing.
‘Why won’t you look at me?’ I ask, trying to wrestle him from my body. It’s impossible. He’s too heavy. ‘Damn it, Becker.’ My wriggling becomes chaotic and before I know it, I’m jacking my body violently, starting to lose my mind. He has me pinned in place. I’m going nowhere unless he lets me. ‘Let me go.’
‘Stop.’ His soft order breaks through the bedlam of my thoughts. ‘Please, stop.’
I do, immediately, his quiet plea assisting in settling my building frustration. My internal walls are hugging his cock, my muscles contracting without instruction, inviting a counter-pulse, but there’s no pleasure now. Just confusion. ‘Why won’t you look at me?’ I repeat, slipping my hands around his back. I can distinguish the tips of ink over his shoulder, outlining the compass of his giant tattoo. I feel compelled to trace the edges softly, ghosting my finger over the ink, still so fascinated by the mammoth piece of art.
‘Because.’ He breathes heavily, deeply and uncontrolled. Then he growls and lifts, pulling out of me so fast I wince and pull my legs together. ‘Because . . .’ He gets off the bed and starts pacing, irritable and stressed. I watch with concern.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Am I not easy enough on the eye for you?’
He scoffs, sounding disgusted by my suggestion. ‘Don’t be stupid, Eleanor. You’re beautiful. Everywhere.’
‘Then what?’ I shout, feeling my control slipping again.
He stops and drags a frustrated hand through his hair, looking up to the heavens for help. ‘Fucking hell.’ He lands big round eyes on me. It makes me recoil, wary. ‘Because,’ he begins again, pointing an accusing finger at me. ‘If I look you in the eye while I’m inside you,’ he heaves, swallowing and sweating. He’s getting more and more agitated by the second. Then he roars and flips right into the realms of madness, his fists clenched and coming up to his head, bashing violently on his temples. My eyes widen as he levels a face full of stress on me. ‘Because if I look you in the eyes when I’m inside you,’ he yells. ‘I’m going to fall in fucking love with you!’
If I was standing up, I’d fall over.
‘And neither of us need that,’ he finishes as he starts to pace again, his anger turning into laughter, his hysterics crazy-like. He’s amused at the absurdity of such a thought.
I bubble with resentment, with anger, with pain. What the fuck does he think all this is, then? Why the fuck did he drag me back to London? All those words and the gestures? They meant nothing? He’s in fucking denial, and I’m fucking livid.
‘It’s too late!’ I scream, all of my emotions bursting out of me before I can stop it, spelling it out for him, sending myself dizzy with the decibel level of my own voice.
He snaps out of his moment and looks at me vibrating on the bed. He’s shaking pretty badly himself. Then he bashes the side of his fist on his chest, making me jump. ‘I fucking know!’ His arms go up in the air manically before dropping limply to his sides, his whole body going lax. ‘I know,’ he says more calmly. ‘I fucking know, Eleanor.’