DESPERATION SWIMS THROUGH ME BEFORE nightfall even hits. It’s existed this entire time, since the moment I laid eyes on Amaya, but it has been simmering just beneath the surface. Her words when she left me this morning lit the fuse and sent it exploding through my veins, blackening my blood with ash and soot.
I have to see her one more time.
And then I’ll put in my request to leave Festivalé.
The back alley behind her apartment is so familiar to me now, I could maneuver around it with my eyes closed. My chest aches when I get to the bushes, knowing this is my last visit here. These moments, as wrong as they may be, have become something special. Something important. And soon they’ll fade into nothing more than a memory.
Yes. It’s best if I leave.
I can’t stand the thought of sticking around and watching her with Parker.
Longing for her touch.
Wishing she would choose me even though I’ve never given her the choice.
Non. Impossible.
I peer into her window, my breath stuttering when I see her. She is a vision, sitting in her empty room, nothing but a mattress on the floor.
My knuckles tap against the glass, and she meets my gaze immediately.
Like she was watching and waiting.
Like she knew I would come.
We stare at each other for long, torturous moments, and she walks over slowly, the same way she always does, my heart slamming against my chest even though it’s achy and bruised.
Nothing good can come from this, but I’m so far beyond the point of holding myself back.
And if this is our last moment together, I’m going down in flames.
He is merciful.
She reaches the window, and her hands slip beneath the frame, gripping the edge and slowly lifting until there’s an opening large enough for me to climb through.
My muscles tense with nerves, but I fold my body through the small gap, holding my breath as she closes the window behind me and lowers the blinds.
She spins to face me.
Neither of us speak, but there’s longing, thick and heavy, bleeding through the air. She should have run for the hills. If I were smart, I would do the same.
But neither of us are willing to leave now. Even though we both know what this is.
This is goodbye.
And that’s why when she steps into me, her breasts grazing my body, I shake my head and move out of reach.
I cannot touch her.
If I do, I’ll never recover. I won’t be able to leave her or this town.
“Laisse moi te voir, mon trésor,” I rasp. Let me see you.
I have never known greater torture than staying rooted in my place, knowing I could have her if only I reached out and decided to take.
My gloved finger slips beneath the strap of her tank top and my stomach cramps from wanting to feel her skin so badly. The thin fabric falls off her shoulder, and I follow it with my finger, tracing down her arm, soaking in the way goose bumps sprout in the wake of my touch.
“Tu es magnifique,” I murmur, ripping my hand away.
Her mouth parts, and she stands as still as a statue, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
I grit my teeth and back away. “Strip for me, petite pécheresse.”
Her eyes flare and she lifts her hand, removing the strap from her other shoulder until her top falls down, clinging to the tops of her breasts, teasing me from the way it molds to her cleavage, beckoning me to just give in.
I could cup them in my hands. Slip between them and feel the heat of her skin as I fuck her cleavage and spray cum across her tits. My abs tighten.
“I need you to promise me something,” I say.
Her hand moves over the fabric of her shirt, slipping beneath it and flicking it away until her breasts are revealed, one painstaking inch of skin at a time.
Blood rushes to my groin, my cock throbbing. “Whatever you want,” she replies.
“Do not let me fuck you tonight.”
“Cad— ”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “I can’t, Amaya. I won’t survive you if I do.”
“Then why did you come?” she asks, her voice sounding pained.
“I wanted to see you one more time.” I step forward, testing her, and like the perfect girl she is, she moves, keeping the space between us. “Touch you.” I step closer again, and again she backs away. “See if I could reconcile the perfect image of you in my head with the reality of what we must be.” One more time, until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she falls onto the mattress. “Show me how you wish to be touched,” I plead. “Show me what I’m giving up.”
She frowns but crawls farther up the bed until she’s in the center.
Her hands glide up the insides of her thighs until she’s parting her long legs, allowing me a full view of her glistening, perfect pink cunt.
My mouth waters.
This woman has bewitched me. Hexed me. Stolen my voice from God and made it sing just for her.
I move closer, my knee sinking into the mattress as I lean forward, needing to see her closer, imprint her image on my brain so when I’m feeling lost, I can remind myself that once upon a time, at least I had this.
It would be so easy to grip her thighs tightly and drag her until she’s at the end of the bed. To hold her legs apart while my tongue drinks her in and I baptize myself in her cum. My body vibrates with the need to do it, and I move my hand toward her.
But she jerks her leg back so I hit the air instead.
My nostrils flare as I let out a frustrated breath. “Good girl.”
With as much restraint as I can muster, I stay in place, watching as she touches herself, moving her fingers from her collarbone over the smooth skin of her stomach and around the wide expanse of her hips.
She glides over the top of her pussy, a moan escaping her lips as she pushes her cunt into her hand.
Precum leaks from the tip of me, and I’m desperate for relief, insane with the need to split her apart and show her how perfectly we’d fit.
I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
I grip the scarf from around my neck and unwind it, wrapping it around my fist and moving forward again until she’s forced to lie back even more than she was. She sucks in a breath, arousal playing across her face as I hover over her, holding myself up so we don’t touch.
“Slip your fingers in your cunt and fuck yourself the way I would, petite pécheresse.”
She follows direction beautifully, a gasp escaping her perfect lips when she dips inside her pussy.
Her eyes flutter and roll back.
“Eyes on me, mon trésor.” I demand.
She snaps her gaze back, her pupils blown and her lips a dusky red. I take the scarf that’s wrapped around my hand and hold it above her body, letting the end skim across her skin.
Her back arches and her fingers slip deeper, her palm rubbing circles on her clit. I drag the edges of the fabric along her side, in awe at the way her flesh tightens and pebbles under my ministrations.
My stomach flips when I bring the end to her breasts, slowly circling it over one nipple and then the other, my balls drawing up when she moans out my name. “Cade, I’m…”
She’s close. I can tell.
I move my body back until I’m settled in between her spread legs, so close yet so fucking far, and skim the fabric across her stomach and then lower over her hip bones while she grinds into her hand, chasing her orgasm.
She moves her palm, allowing me to brush the fabric over the swell of her clit.
Once.
Twice.
And then she comes.
My lips are close enough to suck in her moans, my eyes rolling back from tasting her voice on my tongue.
“Tu es la mienne, au cours de toutes nos vies,” I whisper in her ear.
I push myself away from her, forcing the distance I’d do anything to erase.
Then I’m gone, knowing that was goodbye.
