Tear You Apart Read online

  “Stop it.”

  “I look at women every day,” he says. “I think about what it would be like to be inside them, think about what their pussies must taste like. Sometimes I think about getting off between their tits. That would be so fucking hot.”

  I’m shaking, but I can’t move. “Shut. Up.”

  “I went to the bookstore the other day and thought about bending the salesgirl over one of those couches, fucking her right there in the store. She was this tiny little thing, couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds, and I wanted to eat her pussy until she screamed—”

  I have never slapped anyone, ever. My hand cracks his cheek hard enough to turn his head and make him stumble a step or two. Will doesn’t even put his hand up to cover the perfect imprint of my fingers on his skin. I am horrified at the single, sliding drop of crimson at the corner of his mouth. He licks it away. We both say nothing.

  And then slowly, slowly, Will goes to his knees in front of me. He buries his face between my legs, the heat of his breath scalding me through the gauzy fabric of my skirt. His fingers skate up the backs of my bare calves, then beneath my skirt to my thighs.

  I touch his hair, lightly at first, barely skimming it. A moment later, when he nuzzles my cunt, finding my clit with his nose and the point of his chin, my fingers sink deep in his hair. I can’t keep the cry locked in my throat, and it’s rough and raw and would be embarrassing if I gave a single tiny fuck about anything but how good his mouth feels on me.

  Will pushes up my skirt inch by inch and pulls my panties to the side to find my cunt with his mouth. My knees are weak, but I anchor myself with my hand in his hair, his palms on my ass holding me close while he licks me. He shifts one hand behind my knee, urging me to hook my leg over his shoulder.

  Oh, God. I want to come, I’m so close, but he eases off, teasing me. I can’t stay this way forever. I’m going to fall. I’m going to melt.

  Orgasm hits me like a truck, and pleasure becomes the only thing I see. Feel. Smell. Taste. His mouth on me is magic; there is nothing else but the flick of his tongue on my clit and the pressure of his fingers on my ass, keeping me standing. And somehow, before I’ve quite finished, pleasure still coursing through me, Will hooks the chair toward me. We move together, in sync, him not pushing and me not fumbling. I turn and put my hands flat on the chair seat, then my forearms. Ass in the air, legs spread, open to him as he undoes his jeans in the time it takes me to catch my breath.

  He doesn’t even take my panties off, just keeps them pulled to the side when he pushes his cock inside me, taking his time for this first thrust, but after that slamming into me from behind, hard and deep. He fucks me so hard the chair moves, though I grip the sides so tightly my fingers ache. My head hits the wooden slats of the chair’s back as he pounds me. It hurts. Everything hurts, and I’m coming again, and the pain and pleasure have tangled so tightly there’s no more telling the difference between them.

  When it’s over, I’m on my knees, my cheek on the seat of the chair. I’m boneless and aching all over. Will’s on his knees behind me, his face pressed to my back, his arms around my waist. This isn’t comfortable, not at all, but I don’t want to move. I’m not, in fact, sure I can.

  He draws in a shuddering breath finally, and shifts. We end up in a tangle of limbs, me between his legs, curled against him, while he strokes his hand down my hair. We breathe together, and I soothe myself with the beat of his heart. It’s not much more comfortable than the other position, but I don’t want to move now, either.

  I do, though. I push away to gently touch the mark I left on his face. I think it will bruise. He’ll carry it for a while, anyway. I kiss the corner of his mouth where the blood was, and he pulls me close again.

  “I didn’t think you’d show up tonight,” Will says.

  Outside, the traffic beeps and blares, even this late. In here, I press my face to his chest and listen to the thump of his heart. I tip my head to get my lips on his throat, to feel the pulse just below his ear.

  “I thought we were finished with all of this,” Will tells me.

  I say nothing.

  “I was unfaithful,” he says next, and I don’t know what that means. Unfaithful how? Can it be cheating between two people who aren’t committed, who’ve never made that agreement, who can’t even be together because one is married? My confusion lasts another few seconds until he continues. “A lot. I cheated on my ex. More than once. All the time, as a matter of fact. Not even because I wanted to, or because I was unhappy. Just...sometimes, because I could.”

  This is the sort of confession that should push me away, but I cling tighter to him instead. I shut my eyes, curling close as if I can be absorbed into him. Disappear inside him.

  “She left me, and it was my own fault. She hates me, and that’s my fault, too. Married people shouldn’t fuck around,” Will says. “Someone always gets hurt.”

  This time, I move. I touch his face again. “I’m sorry, Will.”

  He turns his head to kiss my hand before he takes it away and holds it tightly, our fingers linked. “I hated when you told me to find someone else.”

  “I thought I meant it,” I say. “But I don’t. I’m selfish and greedy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Our kisses are feverish and sloppy, bitter tasting.

  “I want you to be happy,” I say into his mouth. “I know you’re going to find someone else. I don’t want you to be alone forever. Just...just for a little while longer...”

  It’s the worst thing I could ask of him, the most awful, selfish and greedy thing, and I hate myself for saying it as soon as the words leave my lips. And still I cling to him, and still I kiss him. I take his face in my hands and I kiss and kiss and kiss.

  “We’re together and then you go away. I’m here alone,” Will says. “And I think about how much...I want...and can’t have. Slapping my face hurt way less than that.”

  But you can have, I think. You can have everything.

  Sometimes you say things because they make you feel better. Sometimes you say them because they make someone else feel better. “I love you” stays locked behind my teeth because there is no way saying it aloud will make either of us feel anything but worse. I don’t say it, because when you love someone, really love them, you don’t want anything you do to ever hurt them.

  “I know why you told me to find someone else,” Will says, and I understand exactly how he could want a slap to the face rather than something like this. “But I hated it.”

  “I don’t want you to hate me, not ever.”

  “I could never hate you,” Will says. “But I don’t want someone else.”

  “You should. You will. Someday.” Before I’m ready for you.

  He says nothing. I kiss him again, doing my best to memorize the shape and taste of him—as if I could ever forget. I unfold myself from his embrace and stretch my creaking muscles, every part of me stiff and sore and bruised. Will stands, too.

  “I shouldn’t have come tonight,” I tell him. “I said we needed to end this, and I didn’t hold up my end of it. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

  And then the words rush out of me. I can’t hold them back. I don’t want to lie, and not saying anything feels like a betrayal.

  “I want you to be happy, Will. Because I love you.”

  He looks startled. Then pleased. But before he can say anything, I shake my head to keep him quiet.

  “But this is wrong. It’s not a question of if this will end badly,” I say, “but of how badly it will end. I don’t want to be bad for you. I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve better than this, Will.”

  “You’re breaking up with me. Again.” He tries to sound light, but neither of us is even close to laughter.

  If I speak, I’ll burst into braying, ugly sobs, so all I can manage is to nod. I want