Sadie (18+)

Chapter 32

In my dimly lit bedroom, his mesmerizing pools of hazel and gold darted down to the pink, forbidden flesh nestled in between my thighs, then back up to my face. In a second too fast his composure replenished, and so quickly that I almost missed the fierce hunger that sparked behind the iris.

Vincent shook his head dismissively, a look of disappointment now sweeping over his features. "You throw yourself at my friend, and now this?"

I dipped my hand down to the swell of my breasts, stating boldly, "Bryan wanted to fuck me and so did you." I moved my hand downward, past my abdomen and onto my right thigh, fingers splayed over the skin.

But Vincent only sighed as he walked over to the bed and sat down, the mattress sinking with his weight. He pried his gaze off of me, aiming it at the wall above my head, my body a temptation he tried to not indulge. "You're drunk, Sadie."

"Look at me, Vincent," I mumbled. "Please." I yearned for his validation, his lust, that familiar flick of a switch which turns him from human to animal.

He complied, eyes flickering back down again, his gaze darkening when they landed on the space in between my thighs. He cleared his throat, shifting tensely against the bed.

I watched his hands reach out, cautiously, slowly to each knee, pulling them toward each other and squeezing shut the core which longed for fulfillment. He yanked my throw blanket toward him, then draped it over my chest.

I held back a sob. He seemed to notice, for his eyes softened when they flitted over to me.

The woozy, giddy drunkenness continued its steady leak from my system, leaving a hollowness in its wake, as it often did. Contrary to what Vincent believed, I was no longer drunk, but rather in the peculiar stage between that and being sober, where I am mostly rational yet deeply emotional.

"I thought about everything you said," he mumbled, his fingers tenderly caressing the tops of my knees, "weeks ago when we fought. You were right, and it's not fair to confuse you. You're too young for this kind of pressure."

My body went still, afraid I'd scare off his touch, my heart pulsing rapidly beneath my chest. I spoke with diffidence, "I shouldn't have said any of it. I threw it all in your face, and I'm sorry for that. I couldn't accept it."

"None of this is your fault," he countered, his long fingers continuing their massage against my kneecaps, wedding ring gleaming. "I should have never engaged with a teenager. You have far too much going on in your life to handle something like this, and it was cruel of me to burden you with something that weighs so heavily."

I was speechless, and so frazzled that I was unable to come up with a response that could defend my position. I had felt the same exact way with him—the guilt of burdening with a concept so difficult to grasp, but I lacked the confidence to express it. I tangled my fingers within the blanket on my chest, turning to stare solemnly out the window.

"You are searching for love in the wrong places," he continued, his eyebrows knitting together, hands pulling away from my knees to disappear into his pockets, "and I get it. I understand it. You're young, you're vulnerable, you think this will save you. Give it time—your life—give it a chance to take shape and grow before you settle for someone beyond your years."

I paused, a blush creeping up to settle on my cheeks when I realized he may in fact be aware of my feelings toward him, and that alone was terrifying. Expected, given my behavior, but terrifying to be put on display.

"So let me keep searching for it," I begged, leaning up, the blanket sliding off and exposing my breasts again. "Let me learn about what I need, what I don't need, with you, from you."