Pieces of Me (14 page)

I'm
startled by the revelation. I want the feel of his skin against mine. I pull
back, meeting his gaze, and I roll my hips again, loving the feel of him
settling even deeper against the very core of me.

He
makes that sound again, that rumble deep in his chest that sends shock waves of
desire straight through me.

His
hands slip down my back, across my sides and over my stomach. He pushes up my
tank top, fingers trailing along my skin.

I
know the instant he feels my scar. His hands stop, drifting back down again as
if wanting to confirm what he had felt. I stiffen in response as his fingers
run over the thick jagged line of skin that will always serve as an unwelcome
reminder.

His
eyes find mine again. He doesn't question, but lets his hands trail up my body
again, pushing the material out of the way. When it's off and I sit there in
nothing but a lace nude colored bra and jeans I feel his gaze skim down, over
the puckered skin before coming back up again.

Without
a word he leans forward and places his lips on the valley between my breasts.
My body coils tight in response, and I whimper again before sucking my lower
lip into my mouth to try and still the noise.

“Holy
fuck,” his words are whisper soft, barely discernible as I cannot help but
shift and rotate on his lap. My legs are locked around his waist, and his head
is tilted down, his lips brushing the swell of my breasts with each move of my
body against his.

I
feel the pressure start to build, rising like a tidal wave inside of me, and
it's like nothing I've ever felt before as it breaks free. Shattering me into a
thousand tiny pieces. My entire body quakes from the force of the orgasm. His
fingers run down my back and the pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.

“Cole,”
I whimper again as I say his name. He is still hard beneath me, his eyes
dilated to the point that all I see are the black pupils staring back at me,
but when I go to shift off of him, to make some clumsy attempt to give him even
a tenth of what he just gave me, he holds me in place.

“Cole.”

“Just
give me a second.” His voice is strained, eyes closed.

“But,”

He
shakes his head. “If you touch me I’m going to explode.”

“Isn't
that the point?”

His
smile is tight, but his eyes open, meeting mine. I lean forward, pressing a
kiss against his temple, his cheek, brushing my lips across his mouth.

I
shift us, sliding us up the bed so that we lay facing each other. Then, forcing
every bit of fear and self-doubt away, I unsnap his jeans, slowly pulling the
zipper down before letting my fingers slide down and into his boxers.

The
heat of him sears into my palm as I slip my fingers around him. I hesitate for
just a moment.

“I've
never done this before,” I whisper.

“I
know,” he whispers back, a strained smile on his face. “Trust me, there aren't
very many ways you can screw it up.”

I
rub my thumb across the tip of him hesitantly, before moving my hand back down
the length. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing closed again as I find a
rhythm against him. My movements are small and irregular, but he's right, it
doesn't take him long before I feel his body tighten, tense, and then the
shudder of his release.

My
hand slips away from him and he grabs it in his, pulling it against his chest.
He tilts himself towards me, brushing another kiss across my lips.

“You're
so beautiful, Delaney.”

And
in that moment, for the first time in a very long time, I feel beautiful and
whole.

“And
you're still wearing the glasses,” he says with a smile. “Which is so
unbelievably fucking sexy.”

Chapter Seventeen

The
first day of Thanksgiving break I spend in my dorm room thinking about the
previous night with Cole. When everyone else had left immediately after their
final class on Friday afternoon, Cole had stayed behind. He had gotten up early
Saturday morning to make the trip home.

He'd
spent a good portion of our time together trying once again to convince me to
go home with him. He'd even gotten his mother on the phone, making her tell me
that I was more than welcome, and how disappointed she was that I wouldn't be
coming.

“That
was a dirty move,” I grumble, reaching up and tucking a chunk of hair behind my
ear.

“You
still managed to say no,” he says. “And it was Graces idea so be pissed at
her.”

We've
just come back from dinner and I follow him into the quiet house, happy in the
knowledge that we will be alone again. I've been thinking about it ever since
he had told me that morning in history that he was going to hang back for an
extra night.

I'm
pretty sure it's all he's thought about too.

The
moment the door closes behind me he has me pinned up against it, his hands on
either side of my head, boxing me in. I force myself to breathe through the
initial panic, reminding myself that this is Cole, and the flash in his eyes
has nothing to do with wanting to hurt me.

He
doesn't hesitate at all, but drops his head and captures my mouth. All the
lingering panic slides away and I bring my hands up to hold him against me. He
skims one hand down my side, sliding fingers, still cold from being outside, up
and under my sweater to brush against the skin of my stomach. Those cold
fingers skim over my scar and he pulls back.

“How'd
you get this?” he asks, fingers running over it one more time. I swallow,
feeling my eyes widen as I scramble to come up with something to say. “You
really want to discuss this now?” I finally say. “Like right this minute?”

He
studies me for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “No, I guess not.”

“Good.”

His
hands drop from my stomach, moving down to grasp my hips, lifting me up so my
legs can wrap around his waist. I fuse my lips against his, letting myself
drown in the feelings his touch invokes.

He
carries me over to the couch and drops down, settling me down in his lap. He
brushes my hair back away from my face, studying me.

“You're
going to tell me your secrets one day.”

My
brow wrinkles. This was not how I had imagined the evening going. I tilt
forward, leaning in for a kiss, but he tilts away from me. “Cole.”

“I
can see them.” He brushes his fingers over my face, across the bridge on my nose.
“Your nose wrinkles when I ask a question that gets too close.”

“Too
close to what?”

He
smiles softly, almost sadly. “To whatever it is you won't tell me.”

I
don't know what to say to him, because he's right, but I won't be sharing any
secrets with him tonight. I pull myself up and off his lap.

He
lets me go.

“Why
would you say that now, tonight, right before you're going to be gone for
days?”

“Because
I know it's those secrets that are keeping you from coming with me.”

“Cole,”
I start, but I don't know what else to say to him, so I just shake my head.

“I
didn't say it to upset you.”

I
turn to look at him. “Really? Then why?”

“I
want you to trust me enough to tell me.”

“I
do trust you.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I wouldn't be here with you now
if I didn't trust you.”

“But
you only trust me to a certain point, Delaney, and then you shut me out. Just
tell me why you won't come home with me.”

I
hear the exasperation in his voice, and running just under that is a little layer
of anger. There isn't much heat in it, but the potential is there for this to
build into something more.

“Please
don't do this, Cole,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I know I need to tell him, I
know we can't be more than what we are right now, right this moment, unless I
tell him everything.

But
tonight isn't the night for me to share, not so close to the anniversary, not
when I want nothing more than to shove every bit of it from my mind for as long
as I can before I am overwhelmed with the unwanted memories.

“I
just want to understand, Del.”

I
can't make myself look at him when I shake my head. I can't make the words come
out, not the ones he wants to hear, even though I want to tell him. Instead I
say, “Can you take me back please?”

There's
a breadth of moment, a heavy pause that hangs between us. I feel everything
shift between us. “Del, please.”

I
shake my head again, forcing myself to turn and meet his eyes. I know I flinch
at the pain I see in his, I can't help myself. “Please, Cole, take me back.”

************************

I
spend the second day of Thanksgiving break out of my dorm room as much as
possible. Mostly at the library, but some in the courtyard behind Howard Hall,
enjoying the relatively warm day. I desperately try to lose myself in
The
History of Women in America
, a book I'd read no less than five times
before.

All
I can think about is that he didn't call me yesterday. He didn't text me
either. After the silent ride back to the dorms Friday night, I shouldn't be
surprised, but it stings nonetheless.

I
keep my phone next to me all day on Sunday, but he doesn't call or text me then
either. I hear from Grace, just a quick text making sure I'm surviving all
alone. She hopes I'm bored, she tells me, it serves me right for being so
stubborn.

By
ten Sunday night I'm huddled in the corner of my bed, arms wrapped around my up
drawn knees, leaning back against the concrete wall as I stare at nothing.

I
have the heat turned up in the room, and I'm drowning in an oversized
sweatshirt and sweatpants, and still my entire body shakes with cold.

I
know I'll be cold for the next three days.

********************

I
don't know what time it is, but I know its Wednesday. Early Wednesday morning,
when the pounding starts to break through my sleep. At first I think it's in my
head, and I throw a hand out, searching on the small crate I'm using as a side
table to try and find my sleeping pills.

Before
I can open them to shake one into my hand I hear the rattle of the doorknob and
the muffled sound of Cole’s voice calling my name on the other side of the
door.

“Damn
it, Delaney, open this fucking door.” He doesn't sound angry. He sounds like
he's worried. The unexpected sound of his voice causes me to drop the bottle of
pills, and I listen to them spill onto the floor as I move to open the door.

Before
I can say anything, before I can even really get a good look at him, I'm
wrapped up in his arms, my head buried against his chest. The smell of peppermint
overwhelms me, and I nearly start to cry.

“Jesus.
Jesus, Delaney.”

His
hands are running up and down my back and then he's pulling me away from his
body, letting those hands run down my hair as his eyes meet mine.

“Why
are you here?” My voice cracks with the words, weakened from hours of crying
over the last few days.

“You
haven't answered your fucking phone in two days. Not even for Grace. Shit, I
had Robby and Ally both try as well. Are you sick? You look sick.”

And
suddenly I am. The nausea rolls into my stomach like a tidal wave, unstoppable.
I pull away from him, running into the bathroom just in time to throw up in the
toilet.

Oh,
God, Oh, God, he's here. He's here and he can't be. Not yet, not today. I can't
see anybody today. I throw up again when I hear him move into the tiny bathroom
behind me.

“Oh,
baby, you are sick.” His voice has softened, but all I can think about is how
small the bathroom is. But that changes when he reaches over to pull my hair
out of my face. My muscles stiffen and then kick into gear as I scramble away
from him.

“Don't
touch me.” I gasp the words out, standing in the shower, staring at him with
wide eyes. “You can't touch me.”

His
eyes are clouded with confusion. “I'm not worried about getting sick, Del, let
me take care of you.” He reaches out for me, but I squeeze back against the
wall to avoid his hands.

“Don't
touch me!”

He
freezes, hands hanging in midair for a moment as he realizes I'm not worried
about him getting sick. I'm shaking again, my entire body shivering, and I wrap
my arms around myself while I stare at him.

He
stares at me for a long moment, and I'm terribly afraid I'm going to get sick
again, because the look in his eyes breaks my heart.

Finally
he says, “Are you going to get sick again?”

I
shake my head, but don't move. He's standing in front of the door, and I would
have to touch him to get by him.

“Ok.”
He puts his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, watching me the entire
time. “Ok. I'm going to wait out here for you.”