Page 77 of Bloom

“Why should I?” I retort. “You act like it doesn’t matter what happens when I go back to school, so how could it possibly matter now?”

“Do I look like someone who it doesn’t fucking matter to?” he hisses. “You spend 24 hours not speaking to me and then I have to watch that bullshit between you and your ex-boyfriend, and now you won’t even tell me if you’re with him?”

“And you’ve spent weeks treating me like some temporary hook-up. You don’t even want to sleep with me for Christ’s sake so why do you … ”

“Don’t want to?” he exclaims incredulously. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life! Do you have any idea how much restraint it required not to?”

“I don’t want your restraint!” I explode. “I never did. You want some fling you don’t have to feel guilty about? Fine. But don’t for one second act like you held back on my behalf!”

“A fling? Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts. Heads turn but he either doesn’t notice or care. “Is that what you think? Is that the person you think I am?”

“What else am I supposed to think? And it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It just means you’re a person who doesn’t feel the right way about me.”

“You’re right!” he yells. “I don’t feel the right way about you! That’s the problem. I should see you as a 19-year-old who needs to get through the next three years of college without me ruining it. But I don’t. I can’t. I’ve tried so damned hard and you just make it all harder.”

“Make what harder?” I breathe.

“You make it impossible to walk away. And I should, because you deserve to have the whole college experience without me hovering and getting jealous and wanting to keep you from all the shit you’re supposed to do.”

“We’ll only be four hours apart,” I argue. “You won’t be keeping me from anything.”

“Yes, I will. If you’re visiting me, you’re missing stuff at school. And imagine me visiting you — are you really gonna want to bring your 25-year-old boyfriend to a frat party? To an underage club? I’m going to ruin it for you.”

“I don’t care!” I cry. “I don’t care about any of that. I’d give up every single stupid college thing to be with you.”

He cages me in with his arms against the wall, his forehead pressed to mine. “So does this mean you’re not getting back together with Ryan? Because I already knew tonight, when he was singing to you, that I wasn’t going to be able to give you up. So please tell me you’re not back with him.”

“I told him no,” I whisper.

With a groan of relief he finds my mouth, greedy and demanding in a way he’s never been before, as his hands tug at my hair. His weight pins me to the wall, stealing my breath, and I welcome it. I want him to press into me until I’m crushed and consumed, until the two of us are so intermingled we can’t be separated.

“I missed you so much last night,” he says, his mouth against my neck. His teeth tug at my earlobe and I release a small, shuddering sigh. I arch into him, thrill at the low growl in his throat, the way his hands slide inside my dress.

He breaks away suddenly.

“Elle,” he says, his breathing harsh. “I really don’t want our first time to be in an alley, but I’m about 10 seconds away from not caring. So I think you’d probably better get in the car.”

We make the drive in exactly three minutes. It has to be a record. I’m only beginning to open my door when it swings open and he’s there, pulling me from my seat, pressing me to the side of the car, kissing me like we’ve been apart for a year. Before I’ve even caught my breath he’s pulling me toward the house, flinging the door to his room open and slamming it behind him.

He drops to his knees in front of me, shoving my dress around my waist, pushing my thong to the side and then he’s there and though I wanted other things from him it feels so unbelievable that I can’t stop him.

My body tenses as I wait for him to increase the pace and pressure, but instead he pulls away.

“No,” I argue weakly but he ignores me, pushing me on the bed and climbing toward me while he unzips his shorts.

He hooks his hands beneath my knees to get me flat on my back, and with one finger pulls the thong down and sends it flying somewhere behind him. He leans over me, his stubble scraping my jaw, his breath against my ear. I arch against him, where he rests between my legs, seeking contact, needing something more, and hear the air hiss between his teeth.

“James,” I pant. “Please.”

Wordlessly he thrusts inside me, and my body bows off the bed with a moan I can’t begin to call back.

He stays there for just a moment, flinching. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses. “You feel too good. I need a second.”

I shift uncomfortably beneath him, trying to adjust to his size and desperately needing more from him at the same time. And then he begins to move. Slowly at first, capturing my gasps with his mouth.

“I want this off,” he grunts, lifting me only enough to pull my dress over my head, and then his hands slide up, span my waist, move higher. His touch and his mouth grow desperate, less calculated. He no longer moves slowly inside me but with a force that finds me bracing myself against the headboard, and I thank God we’re alone because if we weren’t my noises would be waking the whole house.

His jaw is locked with restraint as he tries to hold back, but his thrusts become fast and irregular and I feel my whole body tightening up, every muscle coiling and ready to spring.