Unbearable (the TORQUED trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

I’m not really sure how to wrap my head around the fact that I’m lying here, in the soft bluish lit room, resting my head on the chest of the last person I ever dreamed I would be. Tyler Hemming.

As his lips kiss my bare shoulder, I ask, “Should we talk about what happened last night?”

“We don’t have to.” I find myself watching his lips when he speaks, remembering how they ghosted across my skin last night. It’s morning and the sun’s peeking in through his slate-gray curtains as we lay in his bed.

It’s weird being in Tyler’s room and it’s not lost on me the implications this could cause. He’s one, my brother’s best friend, and two, we’re above the shop that my brother now owns. I hope to hell he doesn’t come up here.

Given the pounding in my head, I’m not sure I want to remember every vivid detail of last night. And then again, I’m certain I do because there’s a spark of emotion in his eyes when I watch him that most would miss. I can’t tell you what it is but I know I put it there.

His gaze drops from mine when he rolls out of bed and pulls on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, motioning to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

Reaching for one of his shirts he has folded on the chair beside his bed, I nod and follow him after putting the shirt on. We sit in silence mostly, the occasional few words uttered as he makes me pancakes.

“Are you regretting it?” he finally asks, setting the pancakes in front of me. Tyler’s known me a long time so it makes sense that he can tell my mood is off.

“No, definitely
not
.” I try to take even breaths. “I just… well, thanks for being there for me last night.”

Leaning back on the couch he’s sitting at now, he pulls up his shirt, revealing his chest. “I think you thanked me pretty well,” he teases, gesturing at the scratch marks from my nails on his chest. My mouth gapes open as I stare at him. “You could thank me again though. I’m all for that.”

My insides do an excited dip, like I’m thrilled with the possibility. “I don’t know….”

“I bet I could convince you,” he goads, his eyes twinkling with a boyish mischief.

He stands up from the couch and walks over to where I’m sitting at the table and takes the chair next to me.

“How so?”

He leans forward and pulls my face to his, smothering my words. This kiss is nothing like the ones I experienced last night. This one is full of intent, passion, and promise. I’m burning, dying, and wanting to spread my legs for him again. Damn, he’s good.

And then, just as I want more, he draws back, smiling. “Convinced?” Keeping his eyes on mine, he draws his bottom lip in slowly, letting it drag through his teeth.

“Maybe.” Maybe, my ass, but I have to recover some of my dignity after that soul scorching kiss!

He makes quick movements and has me back in the bedroom immediately. Within a minute, he’s filling me, his kisses and touches eagerly worshiping me in all the ways I need him to.

“Promise me you won’t regret asking me back here last night.” My fingernails digging into the skin of his back as he buries his face against my neck. I have to know. Normally I’m not much for small talk during sex.

His mouth is fierce and needy, kissing my neck, my shoulders, anywhere he finds bare skin. “Raven, I can guarantee you I have no regrets about bringing you home with me last night. Believe me when I say if I didn’t want you here last night, you wouldn’t have been here. Now shut up. I’m busy.”

My head snaps back against the headboard, his hips bucking forward. His lips mix with his hot breath fanning over me, killing me slowly, sweetly, before he fills me again and again. The force of his powerful hips drive me harder into the headboard.

His left hand clamps down on the headboard, his knuckles turning white with his grip. Seconds later, his head falls forward, resting against my forehead. “Jesus, Raven, you feel amazing.” His sweaty chest slides across my own, and the moan that leaves my lips shakes the both of us.

Both of us make frantic movements, moaning and grunting, and I fist the sheets between my fingers.

Riding out my high, adrenaline flows through my veins. I can already tell just being with him once, or even twice won’t be enough.

His legs tense, his stomach muscles flexing as he pulses into me. Steady, panting breaths capture my own broken breaths. Just as I’m staring at him, a grunt forces its way from his lips, and then a groan. “So good.”

When his body finally collapses on mine, I hear wood splinter from the headboard, and laugh. “Um… I think we broke your headboard.”

Rolling off me, he lays sideways so that he can drape his arm across my body, his eyes hesitantly meet mine, and then he shakes his head. “Fuck the headboard,” he says, panting against my neck, his heavy arm over my stomach. “I think you fucking broke me.”

Less than ten minutes later, I smile when he kisses my neck again and moves me so I’m on top of him. His eyes are hooded, and I know he wants more already. Raising his hands to cup my cheeks, he breathes in deep. “Round two?”

“You mean round three?”

He drops his face so his lips are at my ear. “That too.”

This is how Tyler and I began. Secretive, undecided, and unbearable for me to end.

TYLER AND I
began just before school let out for me during my freshman year of college. Something that was easily dismissed as two people having fun. We continued to hook up on occasions but summer was where it really took off for us. I was in his bed nearly every night and damn it, I broke the rules.

Now here I am, leaving for college tomorrow and it’s killing me not knowing what’s going to happen when I’m not here with him. Will he find someone else to fill the void?

That can’t happen. It won’t happen. It’s not that I’m going back to school and need clarification on our relationship, it’s that I want it. I was with him for months, in his bed, his D in my V and I deserved some kind of definition, right?

The morning before I leave, I’m waking up in Tyler’s bed and it isn’t something I experience often. Usually I’m gone by morning. Today though, I lie here and watch him sleep, knowing things are changing. He’s asleep on his back, one arm slung over his face, the other on his stomach.

My gaze drifts to his hands. I’m addicted to them in every way. I love hands in general. They can provide so much for you, strength, security, and affection… safety. Looking at Tyler’s hands, you can tell a lot about him. Hard working, rough, grease under his nails that will never come out, cuts and scrapes from knocking his knuckles against engine parts. They’re the hands of a mechanic, a real man.

Staring at them, running my fingers gently over the scar on his left hand where he cut it open on an engine two weeks ago, I think about how many times over the last six months these hands have pulled me in, cupped my cheek, ran his thumb over my lip and caressed my curves.

I definitely don’t want this to end.

We made rules. We did. Did we follow them? I can honestly say looking at him, Tyler did.

We had a few of them. Most friends with benefits did.

One. Red couldn’t find out. The last thing either of us wanted was for him to know his best friend was pile driving his sister at 3:00 a.m. most mornings.

Two. And this had a lot to do with number one. No flirting in public.

Three. Don’t get attached. Tyler specifically said, no falling in love with me. I laughed in his face at that one but it’s proven to be the hardest one yet.

And there you have it. Simple right?

Nope. Not even close. I’m a fucking girl. Telling us not to fall in love is like provoking us to fall in love.

“If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?” I ask when he’s awake an hour later.

His body tenses and he nods, probably wondering where the fuck I’m going with this.

“Do you think we should stop?” My voice is plagued with fear as I await his words, his potential rejection.

His eyes cut to mine, a sideways glance. He’s silent, but I can feel his resistance like a prick on my chest. My question throws him for a loop. He just sits there blinking, considering me for several silent moments. Does he think I want to go away this fall and not know where we stand?

He sighs heavily and sits up against the headboard.

Am I an idiot to think it’ll work out?

Probably.

And then I am left with where I am now. Staring at Tyler wondering how the hell I let myself get caught up in something a big part of me knew could only lead to heartache.

I mean, as much as I never want to admit this next part, you can never truly start out as fuck buddies. I’ve seen enough romantic comedies to know it never works out in the end for the girl. It’s because our girly hormones get involved from the start and we think we can make them feel something more than sex.

“How does this end, Tyler?”

His brow raises, as if he doesn’t understand what I’m asking, or maybe why. “What do you mean?” There’s emptiness in his voice, the hesitation so obviously written on his face, answers the question for me.

“How did you see this ending? Because it’s pretty obvious I’m going to get hurt.”

“Don’t say that.” He scrubs his hands down his face, blowing out a long breath. “We both knew what this was.”

It’s not like what he is saying isn’t true. I mean, it wasn’t like we didn’t discuss what we were getting into. Hell, he even told me not to fall in love with him, but still. “Yeah, I did.” I sit with my legs folded under me to look at him. “But I’m also a girl and our emotions and feelings sometimes take on a life of their own. In the end, every girl hopes for more.”

“Well, fuck.” He throws his arms up in frustration, moving to stand beside the bed. “How the hell am I supposed to know that? I’m not a damn mind reader. Just tell me what you want from me!”

I draw in a breath, one that comes from deep within and offers no relief. “You know, for six months I’ve been playing by the rules, putting on a show in front of my brother, your friends, work, all that, but I’m tired of pretending. Tell me where we stand.”

I feel bad pushing him. I don’t want what we have to end and I don’t think Ty does either, but I still need an answer. Hurting me is the last thing he wants but the reality is when sex gets involved, someone always gets hurt.

Honestly, I really don’t know what’s holding him back. Maybe it’s the six-year age difference.

Maybe Holden is right and I’m too controlling and I’m coming across as needy. Or maybe it’s Tyler just being too stubborn to see the possibilities.