But Too Well

XXX : Forward

WE'VE BEEN DATING for a couple months when he finally says it.

I think it's a Friday night, and my bare chest lays softly on top of his, his hands at my waist, my fingers near his hips.

Kissing my hair, he mumbles against the top of my head. "So, I haven't done this in a while, so I don't actually know if this is really bad timing or...."

He pauses, and I tilt upwards a little, curious. "What?" I wait for him to say it, bringing my lips closer to his, teasing.

His little smile is hot, sheepish, and it makes every part of me warm. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Rosalyn."

Oh. My stomach pitches, and I feel my face flush. Suddenly modest, I lower my eyes, focusing on the dip of his collarbone, my lashes fluttering against his neck. Oh, Caleb. And before I can even think about it, I know. I just know. I know because of the little ache in my chest, because of how my skin ignites when he looks at me.

And I let my eyes wander up, I let my gaze catch his. I let our breaths grow heavy, I watch the angle of his golden brow, the crooked little smile tugging at his lips. "I think I'm falling in love with you too."

And then our mouths meet, soft, gentle. Loving. And my hands tangle into the waves of his hair, his fingers grip me against him, and before long he's pressed himself into me, and I whimper his name. And it's slow, tender, and I'm sure that in these moments, it's real. I'm not a liar. Not now, not about this.

And I can honestly tell you that in these fleeting minutes the only two people who exist are me and him, and the proof is in the way I gasp at his touch, the way I whisper a single word, a single name. His. And I wish every moment could be as true as this, because this is pure affection. Untainted, for the briefest portions of time.

The way our hips press together, the way we move, already knowing. He touches me everywhere I need him to, and I do the same. His hands at my back, through my hair, brushing across my cheek, softly at my breasts. My fingers raking through blonde waves, across his chest, down his sides, clutching his lips to me. Perfect.

And when we finish, we do it together, and my body holds him hostage, tight inside me, and he gives himself to me, and we both stumble, blindly, over the edge. Panting each other's names and not wanting to be anywhere else.

I wish everything, every time, could be like this.

"Caleb."

"Rosalyn."

Maybe this could've been the happy ending to our story. Except it isn't, not really. Too bad, right?

Because I do love him. I do.

But I know this is not enough.

•§•

THE NEXT WHILE, my life settles into a simple pattern. Almost normal. If I ignore (and oh, I do) the guilt that comes from the trial, or the shame in knowing what there was between Nero and I, I can almost be happy.

Caleb makes it so easy. Easy to forget, easy to move on. We spend time together and have dinner, I meet his parents and his younger sister, I hang out with Izzy and Shauna and Natalia, and it is how life is supposed to be.

Weeks pass. Months.

And before I know it, we've been dating for almost five months, and I barely ever see Nero, I've mostly stopped leaving treats by his door.

If I do, I just put them there in the hallway and knock and leave before he answers. Before I have to look into those eyes and remind myself that I have a boyfriend, before I feel the urge to throw myself into his arms.