Page 71 of The Catch

I cage her. It's not a conscious decision, but a needy, needy one. Her body is warm and lush against me. The stone is cold under my hands, and it's a poor respite for the fire burning in me.

"You said you were easy." One of her hands travels up my torso.

I lick my lips. I did say that. Followed by,you tell me I'm a good boy and I'll kneel at your feet.

I could end on my knees any moment now.

Several buttons are undone already. She finds the first closed one, and plays with it like she might undo it.

Dead. I'll be dead any minute now.

He died from an unrelenting erection, an all-encompasing fever, and high blood pressure resulting from holding back when his friend's sister tried to seduce him.

"I meant—" I stutter. "What I meant was—"

But I've forgotten. She stares at my mouth, and the one hand leaves my chest so she can run a fingertip over the bottom lip. I shiver. A strangled sound makes it out of my throat.

"The other day, when you got hard…" Her voice is breathy. "Was that just…"

"Nothing… just… about it."

She frowns. Licks her lips. My chest works like I'm sprinting. I'm harder than I've been in my entire life.

It takes inhumane effort not to push my erection against her. Not to take her mouth and do what I so desperately need to do.

She pulls at me from my shirt. "Maybe… since we're living together… you could show me your room…"

I resist. She lifts herself to her toes. Her lips come close and I feel her breath on my skin— it's an invitation to kiss her.

I'm overtaken by my need for her.

Through the haze, a high-pitched screech breaks through my mind. It's a message. It's sharp. Nails down a blackboard. Relentless.

All the things I felt the other night when I gave in and used my hand are still true.

Truest of all is that she's half-drunk.

"Ames," I whimper. "You've been drinking."

"I'm not drunk."

"You're not sober, either."

The words sever through the moment. A machete, the cold metal of its blade cleaving the moment, because I can't take what she offers when I don't know if she means it.

I take a step back. She lets me go. Pain fills her face, but she masks it and aims for a brave front.

"No. Fuck." I put my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you—"

My heart still mirrors that hummingbird, even if the rest of me has frosted over.

A small bird, meant to skip from bright flower to bright flower, trying to survive the frozen tundra.

She shakes her head, eyes closed. "No. Of course. You're right. We shouldn't. This is no way—"

"I won't do this. I can't. With alcohol involved, and knowing what I know— you deserve better than this."

"That's really the right way. I just… I wish I didn't…"