Starting Over {COMPLETE but currently being edited}

{3}

"Fuck that feels..." he staggers as his hips begin to roll. 

My eyes close as my arms wrap around his back, my fingers splaying against his taut and tanned skin while his hips continue to roll. With greedy hands, he grabs ahold of my hip, making sure to pull my leg up and around as my heel nestles into the crease between his ass and his thigh.

Bringing my other leg around him, I use both heels of my feet, clenching my thighs as I push, silently pleading with him to fill me up, giving me all of him. His hips continue to roll against my own, pounding mercilessly into me, murmuring in my ear about how sorry he is. But, my mind is so consumed at how he feels as he fucks me, that I don't listen to what he's saying not until I hear him say, "I love you."

"I love you," I say, forgetting for the moment how I felt when I found him the last time.

"I've missed you so fucking much Emma. I won't do anything to hurt you, not again," he promises, "Please, please believe me."

I nod, biting on my bottom lip as I lift my head, my teeth sinking into his shoulder. Max groans, his head pushing back, and with a growl, he smirks before nuzzling his face into my neck and biting me. 

I'd always been the type of woman to know when something hurt and when something felt so good, too good, that it could make me come again, and as his teeth sink into my neck I feel the same pleasurable ache deep within me edge closer and closer until my muscles clamp around his length and I come again, milking him.

Max thrusts into me, his body shuddering as he feels the warmth seeping from around him and onto my folds, slickening my body so that he can continue to pound inside me. But, as his hips quicken, so does the surge of his orgasm, and his hips stagger against me, stilling and pressing hard against my body coming loudly, his voice breaking while his own pleasure consumes him completely.

His head buries itself into my neck, breathing heavily and hot against my skin. When I open my eyes watching as he gently slides himself from inside me, Max rests his back against the leather of the couch. His chest heaves slowly, and he looks at me, watching in anguish with worry clear on his face, and just as he had feared I sit up, and with a look of guilt, I stand and scramble to gather my clothes.

"You're leaving?" he asks, his voice trembling.

"I... this... I should go, this was a huge mistake," I panic, pulling my underwear back on, and dragging my jeans back up my legs. Searching for my bra, I bend down to retrieve it, and Max jumps from the sofa, hastily pulling on his underwear and rushing towards me, cupping my face in his hands.

"No... no Emma, please don't do this. Please don't leave. This wasn't a mistake. You wanted this, remember? You wanted this," he pleads. His eyes bore into mine, silently begging me to stay as I lean my head into his palm.

With a deep and trembling breath, I concede and walk back to the couch, dropping down and slumping back against the leather. "I don't know what to do."

"But you wanted to.  You told me you did, Emma. You told me you loved me."

"Because I do Max, I do love you, but..."

"So then what's the problem? Why do you want to leave?" he snaps, regretting it instantly.

I don't know how to say it. I don't know how to tell him how I feel. But the answer is simple. 

"Because I can't trust you."

"Yes you can, you can trust me, Emma. I meant what I said, I don't want anyone else, and I know, I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, and I don't expect that we'll be like we were before, but I love you. I know I always will. I want all those things you said before. I want to marry you, I want to have a family with you, please, you have to believe me, you have to... trust me."

Sagging down beside me in nothing but his underwear, he pulls me into his arms, his eyes closing as he breathes in deep through his nose.

"I mean it Em, I don't want anyone else. She meant nothing to me, she means nothing to me."

It's only when I hear those five words, I stand up abruptly, hurrying as I dress myself and ignore Max as he watches me in silence.

"Can I come over tomorrow?" he asks, his fingers curling around the door, walking out behind me as we leave his office.

"Ok," I murmur, his fingers cautiously lacing through mine. With a small smile, he nods and walks with me to the elevator. When we finally leave, Max pulls me in, his arm wrapping mine around my back and his lips hovering just over mine while he whispers, "I promise, I won't fuck this up again. I mean it, Emma. I want you, and no one else."

"Let's just take this slow, Max. We need to talk about this, about us," I say with a small smile. He nods, gently leaning in and kissing me softly.

"Whatever you want Emma, I meant what I said," he whispers against my lips. With his forehead resting against my own, he breathes in deeply and with one final kiss, guides me to his car and drives me home. Max's hand rests against my thigh, his thumb rubbing in small circles slowly, with his eyes flickering between me and the road ahead.

Pulling up outside my apartment after half an hour, he turns in his seat, his eyes dropping for just a second to his lap before looking back to me, "So, tomorrow?"

I nod, my head turning away. I can see him smile a small but sweet smile and he leans in, kissing me quickly before I open the door and climb out, looking over my shoulder for the last time tonight, waving as he watches me when I walk into the building.

****

As my eyes open the next morning, hazy and tired, and on very little sleep, I run through the events of last night like some silent movie. When I remember what we did, I groan, covering my face and rolling my eyes, dragging my hands down my face. What the hell did I do? Why did I agree to try again? 

Once a cheater, always a cheater? Right?

I love Max more than anything, and we've been together since high school, but since he began working at Wyatt & Co. Architecture, he's been different. I have a feeling the brunette had been the reason. 

We'd not argued, we'd not fought, we'd just drifted apart, and as much as I tried to fight for our relationship, the moment I'd walked into his office that night, I just couldn't get the image of the two of them out of my mind. The echoes of his voice groaning with lust, and each thrust a grunt, as he pushed himself deep inside her.

I shake my head, trying to erase the image from my mind and for a second it works. It returns just as quickly, and with an exasperated huff, I throw the covers back and roll out of bed, padding slowly toward the bathroom. My sweet, yet inexpensive apartment has seen me through Berkeley, but soon, I'll need to find somewhere else to live when I graduate.

I twist the cool, stainless steel lever on the grey-tiled wall, and watch mesmerized as the water tumbles from the showerhead and bounces, swirling around the floor of the shower, and disappearing down the plughole. I wash my hair, the scent of summer berries relaxing me, but images of last night flash behind my eyes, and I sob hot and salty that trickle down my cheeks along with the soapy water from my hair. How could I be so stupid? My mind is more confused than ever, and as I try to win the internal battle I'm beginning to fight with myself, I try my best to decide if I should forgive him.

Do I forgive him? I mean, it was only once. 

I'll need to talk to him tonight. Discuss where we go from here. I will not sleep with him again. Last night had been a mixture of an aching heart and low self-esteem. At least, that's what I'm trying to tell myself, but even I know it's a lie, and I really am pathetic. 

I climb out of the shower ten minutes later, wrap my body in a cocoon of white fluffy cotton, brush my teeth, swipe my hand over the misted mirror, and stare at the girl standing in front of me. When did I become this weak?