601 Twilight Ln. by Kat Baxter

Chapter 9

Selina

Holy wow, I was not prepared for that.

I thought I was. Based on what I’d read in books and on Reddit, I expected discomfort, maybe even pain.

I did not expect to come, but, let’s face it, Austin is clearly a sex god, so maybe I should have.

More than that, what I really didn’t expect was to feel so … much. So many emotions. So much intensity.

But I cannot let Austin know. He’s already all hero-man “I’ll save you!” up in my life. I do not need him thinking that me giving him my virginity means anything. I mean, of course it does mean something. It means everything.

It means I trust him in a way I’ve never trusted another man. But if he knows that… if he sees my weakness…

I close my eyes as he rolls off of me and I’m already scrambling trying to figure out what I do next. Do I go back my bedroom?

He walks into his bathroom and I can’t help but stare at his ass. I mean that thing is ridiculous in its perfection. I hear the water in the sink turn on, then he comes back and I get the front view. Equally perfect.

Fucker.

No one should be that attractive. Wordlessly, he shifts my body so he can pull the bedding down so I’m lying on the sheet.

“Why are you scowling at me?” he asks.

“Your body is too perfect.” And the rest of him too, especially that giant heart of his, but I don’t mention that. Because I’m a tough bitch and I don’t notice such things.

He sits next to me on the bed and opens my legs and if I wasn’t already humiliated by this entire ordeal, this moment would be the one to seal it.

“What are you doing?” I try to close my legs, but he won’t let me. Then the warm, wet cloth rubs over my tender skin.

“Shit, baby, you bled a little. I’m sorry.” He finishes his clean-up of me and I can’t even look at him.

I cannot even with all his tenderness and his terms of endearments; sweet girl and baby. He has no right to make me want things I know that I can’t have. This—what we have here—is temporary. I cannot get attached.

“We need to talk about this,” he says.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“The fuck there isn’t.”

I try to pull away from him so he climbs his giant body on top of me. He doesn’t put all his weight on me, but he makes it clear he’s not going to let me run. I don’t really know what to do with that.

Because the truth is, that’s what I do. I run.

When life is too much—when my emotions are too much—I run.

But the other truth is that no one has ever bothered to chase me.

“Sweet girl,” he says, his tone all soft and full of affection. “You should have told me. I could have made it better for you.”

I roll my eyes. “I came twice, I think your ego is safe.”

I expect him to preen a bit. Or maybe laugh at my joke.

Instead, he just keeps looking at me with that soulful gaze that sees all the way to the very heart of me. And it makes me feel twitchy. Like my skin doesn’t fit anymore.

“This isn’t about my ego. This is about the fact that I lost control, you didn’t tell me and I could have seriously hurt you.”

“But you didn’t. Okay? Can we just drop this?”

“It means something to me.”

My heart is pounding so hard that there’s no way he can’t feel it with our chests pressed together. “What does?”

“The fact that I’m your first.” His clear blue eyes search my face. “It means a lot.”

The urge to shove at him is making my entire body itch. But I know any efforts will be futile. He might get off of me because he won’t hold me against my will, but he’ll force me to talk and I have nothing to say. Nothing good anyways.

I can’t tell him that he made the experience perfect. That the way that he wanted me was everything I ever needed. I can’t tell him that he makes me want more. Makes me want this marriage to be real and not a six month agreement to salvage my reputation. Who gives a shit about my reputation anyways? I’m a nobody.

“It had to have meant something to you. You don’t just give your virginity to some random dude,” he says.

“This isn’t the nineteen century, Austin. Most women ‘pop their cherries’ with tampons and dildos.”

“I know you felt it. I saw it in your face, in your eyes. This thing between us isn’t just happening on my side.”

“Can you just get off me? I can’t breathe with your hulking weight on my lungs.” Totally a lie. I love his weight pressing me into the mattress. I’ve never felt more safe.

He rolls off me.

“Selina, I don’t want to argue with you. I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.” He pulls my body close to his so that he’s spooning me from behind. The covers come up to our waists. His lips trail tender kisses along the sensitive skin at my shoulder and neck.

“For the record, I think your body is perfect, too.”

I make some sort of choking noise, but don’t say anything. The smartass in me has a catalog of responses for this type of thing.

Oh yes, my stretchmarks are like decorative glitter.

Cellulite is braile for super sexy.

Fat-bottomed girls make the rocking world go ‘round.

Freddie Mercury might have sang it, but he preferred dicks, so I’m thinking his opinion didn’t actually count.

But for the first time, maybe in my entire laugh, no snarky, witty comeback makes it past my lips.

The intimacy of what just happened has stripped me bare of all my sass. I feel completely disarmed and unprepared. It’s left me raw and vulnerable and terrified that I won’t make it out of this whole when he walks away.

“I like you in my bed,” he murmurs against my neck.

“Well, don’t get to use to,” I snap. I’m not sure if I’m telling him that or myself.

“Why the fuck not?” He playfully bites into my shoulder and my nipples tighten.

“Because all my stuff is in the other room. And this is temporary, remember?”

He silent for several long heart beats, while I hold my breath, praying that he’ll deny the briefness of our union.

My stupid, fragile heart wants him to say that he doesn't just want me in his bed. That he wants me in his life. Not just for now. But for longer.

But that’s not what he says.

“However long it lasts, right now you’re my wife.”

Right.

For now, I’m his wife.

For now.

Those are officially the worst fucking words in history.

“Besides, you heard my mom,” he continues. “She used her key to come into my house, which she does. Frequently and without warning. If she came over and found you in a different room, she would know something wasn’t right. Please trust me when I say that you don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of my mom’s inquisitions. That woman could break a Russian spy.”

I just snort, because I can tell he’s expecting a response I honestly can’t speak without revealing how I’m feeling.

All of his reasons why I should stay in his room are so logical and reasonable. He’s being so rational. As if our lives haven’t irreparably changed today.

But the pathetic truth is, right now, I can’t be logical or reasonable. I can’t not feel like I’m on the precipice of something huge and overwhelming. I can’t not feel.

That is straight up terrifying, because normally I’m a damn expert at not feeling.

“I’m serious,” he murmurs in a sleepy, sexy voice. “You’re going to just have to stay in my bed.”

I want to. I want to stay forever because nothing has felt more right than laying here in his arms. Except for maybe when he was balls deep inside of me and that perfect mouth was uttering filthy words to me about how good I felt.

I want to run. I need to run. But I can’t make myself move. I don’t know how to pull away from him, not without revealing the way he’s skewered my stupid, fragile heart.

* * *

I wake and it must be a few hours later, but I’m not sure of the time. As best I can tell, it’s still dark outside. But none of that matters. I need some fucking space. Some air to breath and time to think.

I cannot love this man who’s so passionate and protective and tender at the same time. This man who is all those things, but also perfectly content with “for now.” He will smash my heart into tiny irreparable pieces.

He’s breathing deep and even so I roll out of the bed and walk naked to the room where I have my clothes. I don’t even bother to shower, I just throw some clothes on and sneak out the front door. I still don’t have my car, though it has been towed to a place in Cherry Falls to have the tire replaced. Turns out someone actually slashed through one of my tires.

I’m pretty sure I know who it was, but there’s no point in reporting him because I have no damn proof. Just a gut feeling that my ex-boyfriend from hell just won’t go away. Stupid Kyle. I can’t believe I saw him the other night. Him and his dumbass friend, Ian.

Both football stars from my high school. But when I met Kyle in Biology he seemed different. We were paired up as lab partners and he was so funny and self-deprecating and I thought he was different than the rest of the arrogant, asshole jocks.

My walk to Rosie’s house is quiet as dawn slowly breaks at the horizon. I grew up in the bigger, busier Syn City, but I love this farmland. I love the quiet and the people, the early morning chatter of birds and the smell of wet earth.

I inhale deeply and slowly, feeling my lungs expand. This feels like home. Austin feels like home. But that’s ridiculous because I barely know him. My history with men, as limited as it is, means that I don’t have a great judgement when it comes to finding the good guys.

I think Austin is a good guy, but that, in and of itself, is a problem.

He’s made it clear that he only wants me…us, whatever “for now.”

I’m starting to believe that temporary won’t be enough for me. Even worse, I’m not sure I know how to hide that from him. What will happen if he realizes I’m starting to fall in love with him?

Nothing good, that’s for sure. Because I don’t want him to want me or stay with me because he feels responsible or out of any sense of obligation.

I know Austin well enough already to know that he would totally do that. Hell, this all started because he felt indebted to my brother for saving his life. He is absolutely the kind of guy who would stay married out of a sense of obligation.

So, basically, I’m falling in love with the greatest guy ever, but I can’t let him know that without ruining both our lives.

Great. Just fucking great.

What I need to do is focus on my art and my work to help pay for dad’s medical bills. That’s the only thing I need right now. Instead I went and got myself drunk and married Sexy Cop.

I make my way into the barn, flipping on the lights as I enter. Even though Rosie calls it a barn, it’s really the perfect workshop, at least for my needs. It’s fully plumbed and wired, with enough 220 outlets for all my equipment.

I keep the big doors open so that the sunlight will filter in., then I get to work. I’ve got two lamps to make, before the Chevelle is delivered. So I fire up my TIG welder and get started.

I don’t know how long I’ve worked. Sweat drips down my back and sunshine lights up the entire space. I’ve already bundled my hair up in my space buns, as my brother always called them, and I’m glad I didn’t bother with make-up because I would have already sweated it off.

Vaguely I recognize that I hear a car door slam and then feet on the gravel drive. I exhale preparing myself to go another round with my “husband” about how important my deflowering was. But that’s not who steps into the barn.

“Hey, babe.”

There he stands. Kyle, my ex. Which is just fucking great and exactly what I need right now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”