She’s growing more impatient, struggling to contain herself, reaching for me. I can’t bring myself to deny her. I’m done for, a slave to her demand, a fool in love. I take her mouth, and she kisses me to the clouds where I float for a while, consumed by our inexplicable connection, but the inferno inside is roaring loudly. I moan, she writhes. I can’t hold back anymore.

I pull her up, never leaving her mouth, her hands moving frantically through my hair, and tear my lips away, moving up her cheek to her ear, biting down when she forces her hips forward into my gyrating groin.

“Jesse.” It’s a plea, her body bowing.

“I know.” Fuck, I know. “You want me to take care of it?” Take care of you? Because, baby, need sounds good on you, and it feels pretty fucking amazing on me.

“Yes!”

She doesn’t know you, Ward.

I close my eyes tightly, pushing away my bullying, hounding conscience. Listen to her. Hear her. She loves you. Wants you. Needs you. She won’t leave you. I grit my teeth and place a tender kiss below her ear, bracing myself to face her. To tell her. I lower her to her back again, and she looks up at me with so much reverence, it physically hurts. Tell her. But tell her what? Which part? What horror do I begin with? I push a lock of hair away from her face, my gaze rooted on her adoring expression. Her face now, looking at me, waiting, watching me tear myself up inside. She has no idea.

I can’t do it.

I can’t take that look away. I can’t be the reason for her hurt. I’ve hurt too many people, and I’ll be dead before I add Ava to that list. She’s redemption for me and, selfishly, I can’t take that away from myself either. “Everything is so much more bearable with you around, Ava,” I whisper. That much she can know. I’ll be lost without her. I know it to be true, because during the times we’re apart, I feel like I’m slowly dying again. Counting down the minutes until she takes me to the clouds. Talking myself in circles if she so much as misses a call. Beating myself up, constantly worrying about what the future holds. I don’t know what it holds, and it’s fucking scary. So, no matter what, to preserve this crazy kind of wonderful, I must do what I need to do. And she has to find it in herself to accept that.

I gaze down her body. Look into her eyes. My mind yells. But my heart screams.

I can see her intention to speak, to push for more. I hate myself for it, but I can’t give it to her, and I question in this moment whether I ever will.

Distract her.