“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” he murmurs back, but there’s an emotion behind his words.
Something that I can’t put my finger on.
Regret? Anger? Is it sadness?
Is this goodbye?
He rises above me on straightened arms, and he spreads his knees on the mattress as he slowly begins to ride me. He closes his eyes, as if to block me out, his body unable to be slow and tender. He needs the release, not the intimacy.
I bring my legs up. Is he thinking about him?
Does he feel guilty for fucking me?
My eyes fill with tears, and when he sees them, something changes in his demeanour.
A feeling runs between us. Animosity.
He slams in hard, and I wince.
He’s angry, and I scrunch up my face as he gives it to me hard.
He’s angry that I’m making him do this… that he has to go through with the betrayal.
I scrunch my eyes shut as he fucks me. There’s no emotion. There’s no love.
He’s shut down—blocked me out. He’s thinking about someone else.
This is a seminal transfusion.
He slams me one, two, three times, and he holds himself deep.
“Come.” He winces, as if in pain.
I clench down hard, but there’s no chance of coming. This is breaking my fucking heart.
How could I possibly be aroused?
He hisses and holds himself deep. I feel the telling jerk of his cock from his orgasm.
He moves slowly as he completely empties himself, and I stare up at him through my tears.
It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.
He rolls off me and puts the back of his forearm over his face as he lies on his back.
That felt wrong to him too. He’s rattled.
What just happened? How could a love that was so beautiful become so cold?
So hurtful.
“I’ve got to go to work.” He gets out of bed in a rush.
I close my eyes, unable to even look at him. This cut gets deeper every day.
I don’t know how to save us.