Please, Remember Me

Chapter Eleven - Come Again?

The next six days were a lot less hectic and a lot more relaxed.

I spent every waking moment with Kieran, talking, laughing, kissing... We got to know each other again, in person, and learned so much more about each other than anything we could have had before this.

I rummaged through his clothes and got an answer to my questions about his style, I learned which foods he hated and loved, I learned that he took his coffee black and that he enjoyed sitting out on his porch overlooking the lake in the mornings. We watched movies, we went to a supermarket and stocked up on delicious foods, wines for me and beer for him. He showed me pictures of his friends and family, got out his old yearbooks and laughed along with me at all the silly pictures and the things people had written inside the covers. We went for a picnic in the neighbouring town. We went for walks. We swam in the lake. I sucked every moment out of him that I could.

I talked to Adam or Lizzie mostly every day, either by text or on Skype. They seemed good without me, missing me but happy for me all the same. At least Lizzie, Adam was Adam.

We went on walks around the block and he pointed out who lived in each and every house. Kieran and I held hands and kissed. We slept in the same bed, waking up every morning tangled in each other and all my hair. He wouldn't let me tie it up no matter how much I argued that it was a hazard to us both.

But we didn't have sex.

Nothing, nada, zilch.

A week had passed since I landed on American soil and the one and only orgasm-slash-sexual experience I'd had with him had happened on the side of a road an hour after I put my foot on the tarmac.

Sure, he kissed me, held me, told me I looked sexy in this, amazing in that.

But nothing else.

Every night I lay waiting, the tension inside me building and building, my mind chanting that this was going to be it.

Tonight it would happen.

And nothing.

Every time he just barely looked at me, slid into bed, quickly kissed me and said goodnight.

I was going bonkers.

Had I imagined the whole spiel about him wanting to rip my clothes off? Had I imagined the fire burning in his eyes every time he kissed me, the hardness of him often pressing up against me? Was I completely delusional or... was something very wrong?

I wracked my brain, trying to come up with some explanation as to why he didn't take it there. I'd thought I'd made my wants and intentions clear with him those first days.

But nothing happened.

We didn't talk about it. Neither that nor what our 'status' was, if we were more than friends, if we were anything at all.

I was frustrated and, frankly, horny.

Yet I couldn't ask for it or beg for it like I wanted to. I was a ball of sexual tension after seven days with all that was him torturing me and no release. That plus the three previous years I'd waited. The man I desperately loved and was insanely attracted to was within touching distance, and touching me, almost every minute of every day.

It was absolute torture and I was growing sick of it.

On my seventh day in Cherry Creek I decided enough was enough.

I was either going to confront him or make him break.

Or both.

**