so ashamed to admit that he had feelings? Why couldn’t he just open up?
I sat there staring at the floor for a moment. He patted the bed next to him, but I shook my head. He sighed and rolled over onto his back. “What?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t know if I want to do this,” I told him.
“You were into it enough before Nat came home….”
“No—”
He rolled to face me again. “You were damn near climbing that wall when I had the vibe on you—”
“Shut up—”
“And when I was spanking you, you were just about ready to—”
I could feel my face getting hot. “I didn’t mean that! I meant this whole thing. This relationship. I’m not sure I can just—I’m not sure it can just be about sex.”
I saw something cross his face. Frustration, which I expected. But something else, too. Pain. “I told you,” he said, his voice strained, “that’s all I got.”
I knelt up, moving closer to the bed. “I don’t believe that.”
“Girl, you’re seein’ somethin’ that ain’t there.”
I could feel his anger rising, and this wasn’t the same sort of anger I’d felt in the kitchen that time, the sort that led to kissing. This was the other sort, dark and jagged and raw, dredged up from deep inside him. The sort of anger he fought to control. I knew it was dangerous…but maybe it was the only way to get a glimpse of what was going on inside him.
“Why won’t you explain it to me?” I moved even closer, looking up at him, our faces inches apart, now. “Just talk to me! I know that there’s more to you than this!”
He swung his legs around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed facing me and gave a low growl of frustration. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with pain. “Why? Why do you think that? There isn’t, okay? What you see is what you damn well get.”
My eyes felt hot. Oh shit. I never cried.
He stared up at the ceiling for a second and took a couple of deep breaths. When he looked back down at me, his eyes were softer, his voice gentler. His huge hand came down to brush my cheek, and I could feel wetness under his fingertips. “Clarissa…I’m not that guy. You want someone to wake you up by droppin’ rose petals on you? Walk you up the aisle one day? I’m not him.” He looked at me steadily. “You’re just confused, ‘cause you’re findin’ out what you are.”
I looked down at the floor. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was that simple—he was just offering sex, and that was all I really wanted, but I was feeling so guilty about it that I was trying to pretend there was something more there. “I just want to know you,” I said forlornly.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
“I don’t even know where you live! Can’t we go to your place, one time?”
“I live in Boston.”
It was both an explanation and a no at the same time. My jaw dropped open. Boston?! It made sense, now that I knew he was still at MIT, but I’d just assumed he was traveling there a few days a week and living here in NY. In a way, it didn’t make all that much difference—Boston wasn’t that far away. But in another, it made all the difference in the world. Now I knew why he showed up so infrequently, even when he wasn’t “out of town on business.” He was just visiting me in New York—hell, he’d only been visiting Darrell that day we met. He was a stranger here, and we’d met through pure chance. It shouldn’t have been a big deal but, somehow, it made what we had seem even more fragile.
And what did we have? Every time I looked at him on the bed, a dark, pulsing energy snaked through me. I couldn’t deny how he made me feel—no one had ever made me feel that way before and it was so strong it was frightening. And there was something else, too. Something deeper that I couldn’t give a name to, the first tiny shoots of what might grow into something great.
Then the common-sense part of my brain—the one that had carried me through my
I sat there staring at the floor for a moment. He patted the bed next to him, but I shook my head. He sighed and rolled over onto his back. “What?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t know if I want to do this,” I told him.
“You were into it enough before Nat came home….”
“No—”
He rolled to face me again. “You were damn near climbing that wall when I had the vibe on you—”
“Shut up—”
“And when I was spanking you, you were just about ready to—”
I could feel my face getting hot. “I didn’t mean that! I meant this whole thing. This relationship. I’m not sure I can just—I’m not sure it can just be about sex.”
I saw something cross his face. Frustration, which I expected. But something else, too. Pain. “I told you,” he said, his voice strained, “that’s all I got.”
I knelt up, moving closer to the bed. “I don’t believe that.”
“Girl, you’re seein’ somethin’ that ain’t there.”
I could feel his anger rising, and this wasn’t the same sort of anger I’d felt in the kitchen that time, the sort that led to kissing. This was the other sort, dark and jagged and raw, dredged up from deep inside him. The sort of anger he fought to control. I knew it was dangerous…but maybe it was the only way to get a glimpse of what was going on inside him.
“Why won’t you explain it to me?” I moved even closer, looking up at him, our faces inches apart, now. “Just talk to me! I know that there’s more to you than this!”
He swung his legs around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed facing me and gave a low growl of frustration. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with pain. “Why? Why do you think that? There isn’t, okay? What you see is what you damn well get.”
My eyes felt hot. Oh shit. I never cried.
He stared up at the ceiling for a second and took a couple of deep breaths. When he looked back down at me, his eyes were softer, his voice gentler. His huge hand came down to brush my cheek, and I could feel wetness under his fingertips. “Clarissa…I’m not that guy. You want someone to wake you up by droppin’ rose petals on you? Walk you up the aisle one day? I’m not him.” He looked at me steadily. “You’re just confused, ‘cause you’re findin’ out what you are.”
I looked down at the floor. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was that simple—he was just offering sex, and that was all I really wanted, but I was feeling so guilty about it that I was trying to pretend there was something more there. “I just want to know you,” I said forlornly.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
“I don’t even know where you live! Can’t we go to your place, one time?”
“I live in Boston.”
It was both an explanation and a no at the same time. My jaw dropped open. Boston?! It made sense, now that I knew he was still at MIT, but I’d just assumed he was traveling there a few days a week and living here in NY. In a way, it didn’t make all that much difference—Boston wasn’t that far away. But in another, it made all the difference in the world. Now I knew why he showed up so infrequently, even when he wasn’t “out of town on business.” He was just visiting me in New York—hell, he’d only been visiting Darrell that day we met. He was a stranger here, and we’d met through pure chance. It shouldn’t have been a big deal but, somehow, it made what we had seem even more fragile.
And what did we have? Every time I looked at him on the bed, a dark, pulsing energy snaked through me. I couldn’t deny how he made me feel—no one had ever made me feel that way before and it was so strong it was frightening. And there was something else, too. Something deeper that I couldn’t give a name to, the first tiny shoots of what might grow into something great.
Then the common-sense part of my brain—the one that had carried me through my
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