The Arrangement Anthology 2(98)

Trystan watches my eyes as he slides his mouth over my body. I trail my fingers along his back, pulling him closer, wishing for things that cannot be. Trystan holds my knee tightly to my chest and rocks against me promising me things to come, of what it'll be like to have him inside of me.

I'm lost. This feels like a dream and although my fingers and my mind know this isn't Sean, I want him to be, so he is. My head feels heavy, and it's too difficult to think, but I refuse to surrender to the sleep that's pulling at me. I will not feel the water around my neck again. I want to feel flesh on flesh, the slick warmth of his body as we lie together. I can no longer tell what's real. Course fingers run over my body and passion flames within my soul. It's a dream. The way he moves is different and I can't understand why.

"Sean," I whisper. This is the way things were supposed to be, soft and sensual. Pure and perfect. His lips find that place on my neck and I gasp, digging my nails into his skin.

You're dreaming, I tell myself and get lost in the bliss. I forget that Sean and I are done. I refuse to remember what his mother said or the trade he made that ensured we were through. Even though it was my decision, I can't bear it. It feels like I'm made of glass, and brick upon brick was pressed upon me until I shattered.

There's nothing left except this heat and my nails on his hot skin. I hold onto the dream for as long as I can following it as far as it will allow me until a heart beats steadily beneath my ear, and we still. The two of us stay like that, holding each other like the world is dying around us and we're the only two people left to face the remains, alone.





CHAPTER 9

The sunlight shines in my face, rousing me. Pulling up my arm, I drop it over my eyes and moan. God, my head hurts. That's when I open my eyes. Last night comes flooding back and I feel Trystan's arm draped across my naked hips. He sleeps next to me, holding me in a way I've always craved, but Sean would never tolerate.

I don't know how I feel, I'm caught between horror and denial. This didn't happen. It's not what it looks like, is it? We just embraced each other—I needed comfort and he gave it. But where did we stop? Did we stop? Clutching at my face, I sit up.

I can't remember.

The necklace with the ring is still on the floor next to Trystan, glinting in the sunlight. How many years has he worn it? Who was she and what happened to them? They're questions that I can't ask, and the answers won't make any difference. He's going to hate me for this. He's been holding a torch for this girl for God-knows-how-long and then I come along. Oh, God. I can't face him. What's he going to think? It was supposed to be a hug, an embrace, a small kiss. How did we end up like this?

Trystan's eyes open slowly when I sit up, and he tenses when his gaze drifts to my bare skin. I have the blankets pulled up to my chest, concealing the front of me. Last night comes back to him, at least in part. I see the rush of memory flood his eyes. I touch his hand, lacing our fingers together, and hold onto him tightly. "It's all right, Trystan." But my voice shakes and he can tell that I'm not all right.

"Oh God. I took advantage—" he gasps, before his jaw locks, nearly having said the wrong name, and pulls his hand back. Those sapphire eyes look away, guilt-ridden. He finishes speaking. "Avery, I shouldn't have."

Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I ask, "Shouldn't have what, exactly?" I don't want to look up at him, but he's too silent for too long. The only sound I can hear is the way he breathes when he's upset, or excited. My skin is instantly covered in shivers, reacting to something that is out of reach—a memory that was never made. It slipped through my fingers like rain, but my body remembers and reacts to him.

Trystan has his head tipped down with that long dark hair covering his face. He pushes it back, and flicks his gaze up to meet mine for half a second. "I was kind of hoping you could tell me."

We stare at each other. Nothing. No one speaks. I can't remember and neither can he. I start to mutter things I shouldn't say. "If we did everything, I'd feel it, right? I've always felt it the next day with Sean, but he doesn't hold back."

His lips form a tight line, before he spits out, "Just because I didn't hurt you doesn't mean I held back, assuming things went that far." Trystan looks around, but there are only empty bottles on the floor. "Damn, my head hurts."

"I didn't mean it like that." I try to clarify, but I can't. His touch was nice, gentle. It was the difference between being fucked and making love. I haven't had much experience with the latter. I'm playing with my fingers, weaving them together and turning them, twisting them as I explain. "I meant that after I've been with Sean, I can feel it. But, I don't feel any pain and nothing's sore. So how do you normally tell?"