18. Wisteria

When I see Eli's text, my heart leaps in my chest, anticipation flooding me. I want to see him again. I want to say yes, tonight. As soon as possible.

But I can't help but wonder if I shouldn't be so eager. If there's some game I'm supposed to be playing, if I'm supposed to put him off a little longer. I'm not good at this.

All I can think is that I don't know what the point is of playing those types of games–especially when I don't want to.

I give myself a moment, texting Penelope with a screenshot, and asking her what to say. Her response is instantaneous

Girl. What are you waiting for???!!!

So I take her advice, because deep down, it's what I really want to do. The only reason I can think of to put it off is because after tonight–it'll be over.

We said one more night.No more than that.

But I'm too impatient to wait.

And now, Eli is following me into the bathroom, and in a moment, I'll get to do what I've been thinking about since last night.

I remember exactly how good it felt when he put his mouth on me. I want to do the same for him, and find out what his reaction will be.

The minute we step into the bathroom, Eli turns sharply to face me, his mouth crashing down on mine once again. He tastes warm, a hint of some dark beer still on his lips, the scent of the woods in his hair and on his skin. I wonder where he was when he texted me, if he'd gone for a ride on his bike. I have the strange urge to tell him I want to go for a ride with him sometime, and I push it away–both because there's not supposed to be anything after tonight, and because the urge feels strange. I'm not the kind of girl who asks a man if she can ride on the back of his motorcycle–I've never been someone who takes those kinds of risks.

Eli fumbles with one hand for the glass door of the shower as he tugs my shirt up with the other, his mouth still hungrily on mine. Somehow, he manages to get the water turned on while still kissing me, pausing only long enough to strip my shirt off and toss it onto the tile floor before he pulls me in for another kiss. It's as if he can't stop, and I don't want him to.

The room starts to heat as I undo his belt, anxious to get his jeans off, to see him naked again. Steam starts to wreathe around us, and he yanks my jeans over my hips, the two of us in a race to see which one of us can get the other naked first.

I win, but by a slim margin. Eli is breathing hard, one hand cupping my breast, his thumb rolling over the nipple as he nips at my lower lip. He starts to back me towards the counter, his intent utterly clear as his hard cock brushes against my stomach, but I shake my head, urging him back towards the shower.

"I want to taste you," I whisper, looking up at him, and his handsome face tightens with an expression of lust that looks almost pained.

"Fuck," he breathes, and I feel his cock throb between us as he gives in, walking us both back and under the hot spray without his hands ever leaving my body.

Eli shuts the door, and I breathe in. He smells warm and masculine, the heat amplifying his natural scent, and it makes me feel almost ravenous with need for him. I slide my hands over his now-damp chest, curling my fingertips against the hair there, and when I drop to my knees he doesn't stop me this time.

"Wisteria." My name is a ragged sound on his lips as he looks down at me, pained anticipation written across his features. "God, Wisteria–"

"It's been a while since I've done this." I slide my hands down to his hips, tracing the angles of bone with my fingers, stopping at the edge of the deep cuts of muscle that frame his gorgeous cock. "I'm not sure how good I'll be–"

Eli lets out a pained laugh, his head tipping back for a moment before he looks down at me again. His dark hair is wet, clinging to his skull, his handsome features in sharp relief. "You're on your knees with my cock an inch from your lips, darlin'," he groans. "Whatever you do is gonna feel good."

That bolsters my confidence a little. I slide my hand across his hip, curling my fingers around his thick shaft. He watches me with hooded, lust-filled eyes as I bring my lips to the tip of his cock, careful not to brush my fingers against his knot. It's as thick and swollen as it was last night, and I shiver, remembering how much he came. The feeling of it, hot and sticky against my skin, the way he looked when he marked me with it. As if I were his.

"Wisteria." He moans my name, his hands fisting at his sides. "I need–"

He doesn't have to tell me what he needs. I can see it plain as day, written across his face. His eyes glitter with something dark and dangerous. "Don't make me beg," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on my mouth.

I could. I know I could. A wicked, hidden part of me wants to. To make this strong, rough man plead for me to give him what he needs.

But I want it, too. Too much to make either of us wait.

I brush my lips against the tip of his cock, and he moans again, low and rough in the back of his throat. I flick my tongue against him, tasting the pre-cum pearling at the tip. There's the taste of salt on my tongue, something sweet beneath the flavor, and it makes me want to wrap my mouth around him, to see how much of him I can take.

So I do. I slide my lips over the head, and I feel Eli shudder, his muscles tensing against the palm of my hand that's still resting against his hip. He feels good in my mouth, and I slide a little further, teasing my tongue around the edge of his cockhead.

"Fuck. Fuck–" He curses under his breath, his fingers threading through my hair, and I can feel him shudder. I have a feeling I know what urge he's fighting–the urge to grip my hair tightly, to fuck my face, to push himself down my throat. I have no idea how I would take that much of him–he's so big, and the thought of him in my throat makes me swallow convulsively, my lips tightening against his shaft. The noise he makes seems to jolt directly between my thighs, a pulsing throb taking up residence there as his hips rock gently forward.

His cock slides over my tongue. I rub it against the underside of his shaft, finding the thick veins, teasing them with the tip of my tongue as I try to take more. He's thick and hot and hard in my mouth, and I want more, a moan slipping from my lips and vibrating against his straining flesh as I look up at him with wide eyes.

Eli groans. His jaw is tight, his muscles tensed. "That feels so good," he breathes. "God, your mouth–fuck, it feels so fucking good–" His hips twitch again, pushing into my mouth a little deeper. "Is this making you wet?" He closes his eyes for a brief second. "Tell me you're wet from sucking my cock, Wisteria."

I slide my lips off of him, licking up another drop of his pre-cum and feeling him shudder with pleasure when I do. "Do you want me to touch myself and find out?"

I don't even recognize my own voice. It's low, husky, the seductive voice of a different woman–the kind of woman I've always wanted to be and have never been able to…or maybe I've just never gotten the chance before. I've never been with someone who made me feel as comfortable as Eli does, as entirely able to be myself–to just feel.

"Yes." He groans the word, his cock visibly throbbing an inch from my lips as I catch my breath. "Put your hand between those pretty thighs. Rub your clit while you suck my cock, sweetheart."

I don't hesitate. I've never touched myself in front of anyone before, but the ache between my thighs has intensified until it's nearly unbearable, and the filthy words dripping from his lips make it impossible not to obey. I suck in a breath as my fingers dip between my folds–I'm wetter than I've ever been in my life. Slick and hot, dripping with arousal, and my clit is swollen against my fingers when I stroke them over it.

A whimper slips out at the sensation, my hips bucking upwards into my hand. "Does that feel good, darlin'?" Eli rasps, his hand reaching down to stroke his own length. "Tell me how it feels."

"Good," I breathe. "So good. Wet and hot–" I whimper again, sliding two fingers down to circle my entrance as I rub the heel of my hand against my clit. I can't quite believe that I'm saying anything so dirty aloud–it reminds me of that night in the bar, when I fled to the ladies' room to make myself come, unable to resist the urge. It was him, I realize dimly, arching my hips up into the friction, suddenly desperate for an orgasm. He makes me feel like this, somehow. It's just him.

I've never wanted anyone so much, and I don't know why I do now. But kneeling in the shower, leaning forward to brush my lips against his cockhead again as the gorgeous man in front of me guides it to my lips, I can't think of why it matters. All that matters is this, him, right now.

"Yes," Eli groans. "Good girl. Fuck yourself with your fingers while you suck me off. Fuck–" He's breathing hard, his jaw tight as this time he pushes the tip of his cock between my lips, guiding it over my tongue as I slide my mouth down his shaft. "God, Wisteria, you look so fuckin' pretty with my cock in your mouth–"

The praise tingles over my skin, warmth blossoming through me as I obey, sliding my two fingers into my pussy as I take more of him into my mouth. I can feel him nearing the back of my throat, inches of his cock still to go, and I rock against my hand, burying my fingers in myself as I try to keep taking more of him.

"I want you to make yourself come with my cock in your mouth. Fuck–" Eli's hips jerk, pushing himself deeper, and I feel him tense with the effort to not go too far.

But I want more of him. His thick, swollen knot is nearing my lips, and I try to relax my throat, letting him slide deeper as I grind my palm against my clit. He tastes good, salty and sweet all at once, the warm, musky scent of his skin filling my senses as I feel more hot arousal flood me, soaking my palm as I fuck myself on my own fingers.

"Fuck–yes–" Eli moans as I take another inch, and I feel myself clench around my fingers, so close to the edge. I look up at him, at his handsome, taut face, every rock-hard muscle in his body flexed with the effort of holding himself carefully in my throat, not wanting to hurt me. The fact that he could, but that he isn't, sends another throb of lust through me.

I can't tell him that I'm about to come without letting his cock out of my mouth, and I don't want to. But I think he sees it on my face, because his own contorts with pleasure, and I feel him throb against my tongue.

"Come for me, Wisteria. Come while you suck my cock–" He moans, his hips twitching slightly forward, and when I feel the pressure of his cock sliding deeper into my throat, it sends me over the edge.

I cry out, a muffled sound around his thick length, my hand pressed hard against my clit as I ride my hand, the orgasm shattering through me. My vision darkens at the edges, my entire body wracked with sudden spasms of pleasure, and I hear Eli groan above me, his hand against the back of my head tightening as my lips suddenly slide forward and brush against his straining knot.

The sound he makes is like nothing I've ever heard, a moan of such intense pleasure that it seems to come from his very soul, sending my own orgasm spiraling through me again as I feel his cock harden and a sudden thick heat filling my throat, my mouth, until I'm almost choking on it.

I don't care. I can't. Pleasure overwhelms me, his orgasm triggering mine again, the taste of his cum sending me spiraling into another endless blur of pleasure as his cock pulses in my mouth, filling it with his hot cum. Unthinking, I reach up, my fingers wrapping around his knot, pressing against it as I keep the fingers of my other hand buried inside of me.

He lets out a startled, breathless moan. I open my eyes just long enough to see the look of shocked pleasure on his face before his cock jerks in my mouth, swollen and stretching the corners of my lips, more hot cum jetting down my throat as I stroke and squeeze his knot.

I want to hear him moan for me again like he did last night when I touched it, and he does–but more. It sounds as if he's caught in the grip of the most intense pleasure anyone could feel, his body shuddering as he fills my mouth with his cum, seemingly endlessly. I can feel some of it slipping past my lips, coating them as I try to keep sucking, licking, swallowing, caught up in the desire to give him all the pleasure that I possibly can.

One last, long shudder ripples through him, and then he slides free of his mouth, his hand still resting against my hair as my eyes flicker open and I look up at him.

He's looking down at me as if he's never seen me before. "That was–fuck, Wisteria–" He sounds breathless, his eyes dark with lust, his cock still nearly at full hardness, even though he just came more than I've ever known any man to be able to. "Shit." He takes a step back, his hand dropping away from my hair. "I should have warned you I was gonna come–I'm sorry. I shouldn't have–without asking."

I stand up, slowly, my knees feeling shaky. "I liked it," I whisper. "I wanted you to." I swallow hard, still tasting him on my tongue, and I see his gaze drop to my mouth.

He raises a shaky hand, his thumb brushing against the corner of my mouth where his cum is still clinging. Slowly, he moves the pad of his thumb over, pushing it between my lips.

Reflexively, my mouth tightens, sucking at the tip, and something dark and hungry passes over his face.

He makes a sound that's nearly a growl, deep within his throat. Before I can even breathe, his hand is on the back of my head, his mouth on mine as he shuts the water off, shoving the glass door open as he guides me out of the shower. We're both dripping wet, but he backs me up to the counter, lifting me with his broad, callused hands on my hips so that I'm sitting on the edge of it.

"I need to be inside you," he pants. "Need–"

His cock is at my entrance before he's even done speaking. His mouth is still on mine as I feel him thrust into me, and I cry out against his lips as his cock stretches me, filling me completely in one hard, hot slide that leaves Eli buried in me to the hilt. His hand tangles in my wet hair, his teeth grazing my lower lip as he devours my mouth, his other hand bringing my leg up to wrap around his hips "You're so wet," he growls, hips snapping forward as he thrusts again, dragging another moan from my lips. "So tight, so hot–fuck, you feel so good–"

Hefeels just as good, but I can't breathe enough to speak. The pleasure floods me with every thrust, every nerve raw and alight with it, my legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts into me hard. I feel the swollen stretch of his knot against my folds, rubbing against my clit every time his hips roll against mine. I arch up, seeking the sensation, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at me.

"Somethin' feels good," he murmurs. "Somethin' is makin' you feel good. Tell me what it is, darlin'. What do you like?"

"Your–knot," I breathe out, arching up again. "Rubbing against me, I'm–it–" I can't form a full sentence, every brush of his tight flesh against mine making sparks burst across my vision. I've come once already, and I'm on the cusp of a second.

A look of such pure lust tightens Eli's face that it takes my breath away. "God, yes," he groans. "Come on my knot, sweetheart. Come for me again–"

He starts to grind his hips against me, and I see stars. He's buried inside of me, so deeply, filling me up, each movement of his hips shifting his cock inside of me in a way that's exquisitely pleasurable all on its own. And with every movement, his swollen knot rubs against my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge–

"Eli!" I shriek his name, my fingers curling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh. Dimly, I remember seeing scratches on his back after last night, but he didn't say anything about it. This time, he does.

"That's right, darlin'," he moans, his hand on my hip as he grinds against me. "Claw me up while you come all over my knot. Get it nice and slick. Come all over me, fuck, I want to–"

"What?" I gasp, the pleasure coiling tightly within me. "What do you want?"

His eyes lock onto mine, black with lust, his cock throbbing inside of me. He rocks against me once more, pressing himself tightly against me, and I tighten around him, the first spasms of my climax unraveling me as his mouth crushes against mine, the words nearly lost in the ferocity of the kiss.

I want to fucking knot you.

I can feel it, pressing against me as I come. Everything in me screams that I want it, that my body craves something it shouldn't be able to have. He's already stretching me, filling me, too much for my body to take–and I'm taking him anyway. Something in me whispers that I could take more, I could–

"I want it," I breathe. "I want it–"

My voice is a dim echo, the words whispered against his lips, but he hears me. I feel his body straining, his hips grinding, dragging waves of pleasure through me even as my orgasm starts to ebb, and his entire body shudders.

"Fuck!" Eli snarls against my mouth, his hips snapping against me, and I feel his muscles swell and ripple under his skin. His entire body is rock-hard as he goes suddenly still against me, and when I open my eyes for a moment, I see him looking down at me, his gaze gleaming silver. Not blue, or grey, or even that metallic sheen I saw last night when he was at the height of his lust. A bright, glowing silver.

His fingers curl against my arms, and I feel the prick of something sharp. If I look down, I feel certain that I'll see claws.

He's still a man. But I feel him swell inside of me, hard and long and thick, his body shuddering as if he's fighting some deeply buried urge. Something that he wants.

"Wisteria–"

His voice is lower, deeper, a growl running through every syllable. He thrusts again, grinding against me, and when I feel him pressed as closely to me as he can get, I know Penelope was right.

There's no possible way he could go deeper. That he could knot me, and not hurt me in the process.

And I can feel how much he wants it. It feels like a primal need, rippling through him, so palpable that I know it's what he's fighting right now. The urge to rip me apart while chasing his own pleasure.

I should be terrified. But deep down, I trust him–this man who I hardly know, but who I feel on a deep, instinctual level would never do anything that would harm me.

He moans my name again, his hand curling around the back of my head as he leans in to kiss me once more, hard and deep. I feel his teeth scrape against my lip, sharper than before. And then, with a snarl, he pulls out of me.

I gasp as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking furiously as hot spurts of cum arc across my belly, up to my breasts, as I grip the edge of the counter, my own body still throbbing with the aftershocks of my climax. Eli groans, his hand stuttering along his length as his hips rock forward, his eyes finally opening as he looks at me.

His eyes shift back to that stormy grey-blue. His expression is hard, predatory, and I see the muscle in his jaw leap as he stands there between my thighs, his hand slowly coming unclenched from around his cock.

"You should run."

His voice is a hoarse, growling whisper. He looks at me, something in his gaze almost pleading, as if he both wants me to run and wants me to stay at the same time. I feel like I'm falling as I lean forward, my legs still locked around his hips, my lips close to his.

"I want to stay."

Eli lets out a shuddering moan, his hand tightening around the back of my head as his arm goes around my waist, lifting me and carrying me out of the bathroom and to the bed. We're both still dripping water, soaked from the shower, but he doesn't seem to notice as he spills me back onto the mattress, his hard, muscled body stretched along the length of mine. He pins me there, the rough pad of his thumb stroking over my cheekbone as he reaches down and angles his cock into me, already hard again.

When his hips meet mine, I cry out. I arch into him, my fingertips tracing the path of the scratches I just left, and this time he goes more slowly. His gaze darkens, holding mine, and I feel the throb of his pulse as I lean up and drag my lips down his throat.

Partway through it, as he thrusts into me with long, slow strokes that leave me moaning and shuddering beneath him, I realize what this is. Why, when I open my eyes and look up into his face, he looks tormented.

He went too far, a moment ago. We almost crossed a line. And this–this moment where he's buried inside of me as deeply as he can go, every muscled line of his body touching mine–this is it.

When we're finished, he's going to say we're done. I didn't realize, until that moment, how much I've held out a small hope in the last twenty-four hours that it might keep on being one more night. That I was going to come here tonight, and once again, he wouldn't be able to let it be the last time.

Whatever this is between us, it's too much for him. And I know it should be too much for me. This is uncharted territory, terrifying and strange–and I don't want it to end.

Eli shudders, thrusting into me again, his hips pressed against mine as he looks down at me. "Wisteria–" he groans, rocking inside of me, and I can feel how aroused he still his. How we could keep going all night, if he wanted to.

If he'd let us.

"I'm going to come," he breathes, his gaze locked on mine. "Come with me."

I hear, beneath those words, what he's not saying out loud. When I come, this is over. When we're done, you have to go. Come with me, because I want to feel it one more time.

I don't know how this happened so fast. How in twenty-four hours, I've gone from barely knowing this man to feeling like I don't want to let him go. But I close my eyes, fighting to stay in the moment and not lose this before it's gone yet.

To at least enjoy this last little bit.

Eli's mouth presses against mine, hard, his tongue sliding into my mouth. He tastes sweet and sharp, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my legs tangled with his, pulling him closer. I want him to come inside of me, even though I know it's a bad idea. Even though it's asking for trouble that neither of us wants or needs.

"Come for me," he whispers again, against my lips. And this time, when I feel him thrust, when he grinds against me, pleasure bursts through me, over every overstimulated nerve, and I cry out his name as I do exactly that.

I hear him moan as I clench around him, arching upwards, his body shuddering as he clings to the last of his self-control so that he can feel my orgasm around him. And then he slides out, and I feel that warmth over my skin as he bucks and groans above me, breathing hard with his lips pressed against my shoulder.

Eli stays like that for a long moment, braced on his elbows, his cock laying heavily against my belly. And then, without a word, he stands up and walks to the bathroom.

I swallow hard, trying not to let the rising lump in my throat turn into something else. I will not cry, I tell myself fiercely, sitting up partway as I try to remember how to breathe. I'm a pro at having men tell me they don't want to keep seeing me after the first night or two. At least the few times I've tried.

They didn't want me once they found out what I was. The irony hits me hard–that I kept what I am from Eli because I didn't want the rejection, and it's going to happen anyway. Not because he doesn't want me, but because I think he wants me too much.

He comes back after a moment, his face carefully blank, a washcloth in one hand and a towel in the other. He comes back to sit on the bed next to me, reaching over with the wet cloth to clean up the mess he's left streaked over my stomach and breasts.

"I can do that," I manage quietly. I hope he thinks the shaking in my voice is because of the pleasure, and not because I'm about to cry.

"I know." He keeps gently running the cloth over my skin. "It seemed like a nice thing to do."

"It is." I swallow hard. "Thank you." It is nice. Gentle, and sweet. The two sides of this man, who is still so much a mystery to me, and who I somehow feel closer to than anyone I've ever slept with before. As if there's a connection between us that I don't understand.

Eli hands me the towel when he's done. "You're still soakin' wet," he points out, and I laugh weakly.

"In more ways than one." I wait for him to laugh, to crack a smile at least at the bad joke, but he just stands up, tossing the cloth in the laundry hamper.

"Wisteria–" He runs his hand through his wet hair, turning back to me. He's still naked, gloriously so–every inch of his muscled body on display. His broad chest and taut forearms, sculpted ass and hard thighs, all dusted with dark hair that I want to run my fingers over again and again.

"I know." I rub the towel over my hair, trying to get dry enough to put my clothes on. A bubble of panic expands in my chest, and I have the feeling that I need to leave. Now. Before I embarrass myself, when I knew this was always very, very short term. When I agreed to the rules before we even started.

"I'm not tryin' to kick you out, I just–" Eli swallows visibly, and he turns, looking for his jeans. "We should have this conversation clothed."

Now I do feel panic. "There's no conversation. We said what this was from the start. I get it–we said one more night. That was this night. I'll go, I just–" I can hear myself babbling, my cheeks heating as I desperately look to see where my clothes ended up. In a tangle with Eli's, probably.

"Wisteria." He says my name again, and I wish he wouldn't. I like how it sounds on his lips too much–the way he says it, the way he moans it, the way it sounds when he says it when he's on the cusp of release. "I don't wanna hurt your feelings."

"It's fine." The last word comes out a little too choked. I find my panties, my jeans, grabbing my bra and trying desperately to hook it. I hoped this wouldn't be how it ended–an awkward conversation as I struggle into my clothes–that the way we started would mean there would be a more graceful finish. But I guess maybe this is always how it goes when a person who isn't good at hookups tries to convince herself that she is.

I feel his hands on my hips and stiffen. Slowly, I turn around, and find that he's far too close. I can smell the warmth of his skin, that woodsy scent that always seems to cling to him, and the salty musk beneath it. I want to lean forward and bury my face in his chest, breathe him in–and that's exactly the opposite of what I need to be doing right now.

"I almost hurt you." He has that tormented look on his face again, like he's tearing himself apart for something, and it makes me pause. "Wisteria, I–what I wanted with you, to do that–I've never wanted so badly to do…that, before."

"The knot." I murmur it numbly, not a question, but a statement. I remember all too clearly how I begged for it in the heat of the moment, and a flush creeps up my neck.

Eli nods. "I would've hurt you. It would've hurt you. And I wanted to do it so fuckin' badly. I've never done that with a woman before. Never wanted to stay–locked up like that together."

That does take me aback. I blink, looking up at him. "Wait, never? Not even with another shifter?"

He lets go of me with one hand, rubbing it over the back of his neck as he shakes his head. "With another shifter is the only way it's possible. But no, never. I've wanted to sometimes–it's a hell of a drive, when it takes hold. Especially around the moon. But I've never done it. I came so damn close, Wisteria. So close to losing control. I don't know what this is, why you make me feel like this, but–"

In that moment, I'm glad I didn't tell him. He might find out eventually, and maybe he'll blame me then, even though it's not true. But I know the one thing that I'm not having to face right now is him believing I've put a spell on him. That whatever this connection is between us, he doesn't think it's some magic trick. And if I'd told him what I was, he would think exactly that.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. "Not in any way. You deserve better than that. Better than me–"

"Don't do that." I pull away from him, grabbing for my shirt. "Don't do the ‘it's not me, it's you.' I know that might work on others, but–"

"I'm not feedin' you a line, Wisteria. I just–" Eli steps back, running a hand through his hair, a frustrated expression on his face. "I thought when you showed up tonight–one of the first thoughts in my head, when you started kissin' me back–that we'd do this again. That it'd be another one more night. Probably the first woman in recent memory I'd spend three nights with. But what happened in there–" His stormy gaze slides towards the bathroom, and his face tightens.

I swallow hard. "I felt your claws." I bite my lip, repressing the shiver at the memory–and not a bad one. It had felt good. I hadn't been scared. But I don't think that's what he's afraid of. It's that I wasn't scared. That we'll egg each other on, until he does something he regrets.

"I don't want to be a regret." I blurt it out before I can stop myself. "So you're right. We'll end it here, like we said we would. I get it. It was supposed to be just last night, anyway. It's fine. It was fun, and–" I start to head towards the door, my pulse leaping in my throat and my eyes stinging. I have to go. "It was fun."

He says my name again, as my hand touches the doorknob. I turn slightly, and see that tortured look on his face, confusion and want and hurt all mixed up together, a look that would be hard to see on any man's face. On his, it's devastating.

"Bye, Eli," I whisper. And then I slip out into the hall.

I make it down the stairs before the tears start to spill over. I clap my hand over my mouth as I step outside, stifling a sob, wondering how on earth I'm supposed to ride in that kid's silver sedan after this, and see him looking curiously in the rear-view mirror. I need to get my own car, I think numbly, feeling the fall chill sting my cheeks. A part of me hopes I'll hear the door open behind me, Eli's heavy footfalls, coming to tell me he's changed his mind. That he wants to try a little longer.

But what would be the point, when it would all end anyway, as soon as I told him the truth?

I start walking, because I can't face anyone right now. The only person I want to talk to is Penelope, but it's too late to call her. It's cold, and I didn't dress warmly enough to walk all the way home, but the slap of the cold air in my face feels better than answering questions from a near-stranger, or seeing a pitying look.

I feel like I've been dumped by someone I wasn't even dating. My heart feels like it's cracking open in my chest, like someone's reached in and dug sharp nails into the tender flesh. It makes no fucking sense.

He's gorgeous, yes. He's incredible in bed, yes. Probably so good that he's ruined me permanently for anyone else. But he's not the love of my life. I barely know him.

And yet, I've never felt this hurt at the ending of something so brief before. I don't think I've ever felt this hurt, at all.

Somehow, I make it back home. My feet are hurting and every part of me aches, and I want a hot bath. But all I have the energy for is to go straight to my bedroom, falling down atop the mattress and reaching for the throw blanket at the end of it. I don't even have the energy to take off my clothes and change into pajamas.

I curl up under the blanket, pressing my face into the pillow. And there, in the quiet of my own house, I finally let myself cry.