I take a few steps backward and stand in front of her in only jeans. I let her eyes roam my torso. She’s watching me like she’s never seen me naked. I like her hungry eyes on me, and the way she licks her lips as if she can’t wait to taste me. My nipples ache for her touch—she found the perfect way to pull on the rings to make them hurt just enough. I like how her hands land onher thighs, and she starts kneading her skin as if imagining my hands instead of hers.
I’ve never felt more desired than I do right now. It’s total bullshit that men just want to fuck anything that moves. Well, not exactly. We do love sex; that part is true. But we also want to feel needed. We want to be desired like the very last breath. And she makes me feel like that—like I’m the last breath she is willing to take. Not with her touch, but with her eyes. They don’t lie.
“Are you done?” I ask coarsely as my dick presses against my zipper, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Not even close.” Her voice is low. Her eyes keep roaming my body. “Did I tell you how much I love your tattoos?” She finds my eyes. “They’re so fucking sexy. I love how they move on your skin. Like they’re alive.” She bites her lower lip. “Like they’re a journal of the events that made you who you are.”
She got it. She got what I wanted to do. I ink myself to remember certain moments of my life, and she understands it.
Then she looks at the skin above my left nipple. The space is empty, and it looks ridiculous on my fully inked torso.
“What are you saving this for?” She points at the spot.
I look down. “I don’t know. I just haven’t found the right one for here yet,” I say honestly, pressing my palm against the spot, feeling my heart start beating faster. An idea forms in my head, and my heart responds to it, liking what I’m planning.
She nods and stretches toward me, inviting me to come closer. I take her hand, and she pulls me in.
“I lied,” she whispers.
“About what?”
“I’m actually wet.” Her lips stretch in an unholy smile, and I laugh in return.
I stand between her legs and take her face in my hands. “I want to fuck you so bad, Leila. So fuckin’ bad,” I rasp.
She puts her hands on top of mine. “What are you waiting for?”
I sigh. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
“That this is something more?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“It’s a goodbye fuck, right?”
I nod.
“Okay.” Her voice is barely audible. “I understand.”
“Do you, Leila?” I hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes, praying she’ll understand me. “If I could ever be with a woman forever, it would be you. You’re not just a fuck to me. Do you understand?”
She nods.
“But I can’t be with anyone. I’m not built that way, and I respect you too much to drag you down with me.”
She watches me, unblinking.
“And I don’t need saving. I don’t deserve it. Nor do I seek it. Do you understand?”
She nods again.
“I won’t make the first move, Lei. I can’t. I can’t live with that, knowing I dragged you down with me.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I get it.”
And I know she really does. She doesn’t say it just to say it, but she does. And it breaks my heart that I’m losing the only woman I’m capable of loving. I’m losing her before I even had her. I don’t give a fuck about what Alex thinks. Or anyone else, for that matter. She’s more than them. She is more than anything. Sheiseverything.
And that is precisely why I can’t be with her.
