Conscience

She’d expected that things would still be the same, but as she lightly scraped his back with her well-manicured nails, as she pulled him further into her, she was forced to acknowledge that it had changed. He avoided looking at her. Oh, he’d devoured the sight of her bare legs, of her breasts, his pupils even visibly dilating when she’d removed her bra, but he wouldn’t look into her eyes.

She grabbed his face none too gently, tried to make it so he wasn’t focusing on a spot just left of her shoulder. “Lindsey,” she commanded.

He ignored her, making love to her enthusiastically but with no real connection. And, even at the worst of times, when there’d been no time and even less finesse, there’d been a connection, a meeting of the eyes and usually even souls. At least, it had felt that way to her. Maybe she’d been deluding herself; it was a lowering thought.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, the stubborn words punctuated with his familiar groans of pleasure.

“You won’t,” she corrected firmly, almost resigned to it. After all, what choice did she have but to take what he offered? Even if it was less than what she wanted. She’d never been able to break away from wanting him with a desperation that sometimes scared her. Stroking a finger down his cheek, she watched the play of light of his handsome, angular features. “I wish you would.”

He laughed bitterly, thrusting into her like this was the last time. She clenched around him; she wouldn’t let them end this way. No fucking way. “Apparently I have a conscience after all.” He raised an eyebrow, looking down to where their bodies were joined, a fierce light in his eyes. “It just malfunctions around you.”

CNicole BarkerCComment