12/19/16

MY HAND LINGERS on the doorknob to the library, to my safe space. My haven in this life that's a complete mess, but somehow I'm beginning to make my way through it.

As soon as the door pushes open my eyes lock on him. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, as my heart begins to pound within the confines of my chest. It's been a week since we were in here together. A week since his lips touched mine and we both felt the power that sizzled between us at a simple touch. At what we could become.

Seven days, and yet it's felt like a year has passed since then. My body mourns the loss of a touch I know I won't ever have again.

"Hi," I breathe out first. Clayton's hazel eyes pull over my old T-shirt and cloth shorts that do little to cover my legs. His face shows no emotion, but his eyes quickly reveal everything that's inside him. Everything he secretly wants as his gaze burns a trail up my body.

"Hey," he responds easily as if my presence doesn't fill the room with a palpable tension that makes it harder to breathe.

I roam the outskirts of the room letting my eyes focus on the mass of books that line the walls. My eyes flit over to Clayton for a few seconds, my gaze always lingering on the way he holds the book. The way it's so random, so awkward looking to most, but to me only reminds me of my father. Tears want to gather in my eyes but with a small sniffle I push them away.

My gaze then falls to his book. "Hmm...." The sound trails from my pursed lips before I can stop myself.

Clayton's head lifts and tilts in questioning. "What?" he asks simply.

"Nothing," I state quickly. "I just didn't think you'd read that book," I tell him truthfully.

"What's wrong with this book?" he questions lifting it up slightly as if he doesn't understand where I'm coming from.

I shake my head. "Nothing," I state once again feeling my face flush, as I know I'm coming off awkward with a touch of rude with my abrupt tone. "It's a great book," I say before refocusing my eyes on the wall of books.

"You've read it?" he asks, his words pulling me back to him. Always pulling me back, so much so it feels as if Clayton really is the sun that I'm meant to orbit.

I turn my head over my shoulder. "I love books with sad endings," I disclose. "Or more open endings," I clarify.

He breaks his warm eyes away from mine to let them skim the pages in front of him. "Do you think you don't deserve a happy ending?" Clayton's words come out quiet as they still me. His tone almost hard, as his question catches me off guard.

"It's not about what I deserve," I tell him. "It's about being realistic, and a lot of people don't get their happy ending in this life," I say as I grab a random Margaret Atwood book off of the shelf.

"But you have Chase," Clayton's deep voice rings out as I lower myself into the empty chair next to the couch he's lounging on. The soft leather of the chair crinkles beneath me, the worn fabric welcoming me home.

I let my body settle, push my hair off my shoulder, and wet my lips before answering. Because being around him makes me want to break free from this lie that's beginning to suffocate me. "I do," I whisper refusing to meet his eyes now.

Time ticks around us as the only sounds that fill the air are our soft breathes, the turning of pages, and the soft crackle of the small fireplace in the corner that fills the room with the perfect amount of heat.

I find my eyes falling to the fireplace more often then not to watch the flames dance within the small frame. I didn't even know the fireplace worked honestly, because it's never been on before. But the subtle crackling and sizzling of heat mixed with Clayton's presence instantly shifts the air around us. A different sensation fills the space between us tonight.

The sound of glass clinking pulls my attention away from the fire, away from the book sitting in my hands, and onto Clayton. Onto his hands to be specific. Because in one is a tumbler of amber liquid, and within the other is a small crystal glass. He's drinking.

"What?" he attempts to ask innocently. His voice coming off slightly gruff like he doesn't want me to comment on the obvious.

"Nothing," I reply under my breath as my eyes narrow back in on the book in my hands.

A sigh flies from his parted lips drawing me back to him as he sets down the tumbler and brings the small glass to his lips. But he doesn't drink. Not yet. He inhales the liquor, letting the scent invade him before he takes a small sip of the burning scotch. "I am trying," he says so quietly I almost don't hear the words.

I lift a hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. He's trying. That doesn't mean he's suddenly whole. Here I am expecting him to be all brand new when I'm far from that as well. We are both trying, and trying doesn't mean fixed. It's actually so far from that it's scary. We have a long ways to go, so I pull back on the judgmental glaze I know fills my eyes and soften my expression.

"I didn't say you weren't," I tell him intently.

"I saw the look on your face," he says a bit harshly before closing his eyes and taking another sip.

A dry chuckle escapes me. "I gave you that look because I was offended you didn't offer me a drink," I state as a touch of sass coats my words.

Clayton stills for a second. "You want scotch?" His brows stitch together as if he can't tell if I'm serious or not.

"Why not?" I ask with a small smirk pulling at my lips.

"Is this some kind of game?" he questions hesitantly convinced I have some type of ulterior motive. But for the first time in a while I don't, I just want to spend time with the man who makes me feel less alone and more alive.

"Not a game," I state truthfully. "But we could turn it into one," I suggest suddenly itching for a reason, any reason, to get to know this guy who crawls under my skin like no one I ever met before. A guy who makes me feel on fire, and absolutely safe all wrapped into one confusing emotion.

"What kind of game?" he asks slowly still not convinced of my innocent suggestion. And while it truthfully did come from a wholesome place, it's not innocent because if I were being truthful I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't be putting myself, or Clayton, in a position where mistakes could be made.

But here I am.

I shrug not caring honestly what we play. "Twenty questions?" I suggest lamely. "If you don't want to answer you drink," I add thinking of a way to add in the drinking.

Clayton's eyes narrow in on me. "Why?"

I run my fingers through the bottom of my wavy dark hair. "Can't a girl get to know a friend," I say with the hint of a smile coating my lips.

"Friend?" he inquires, as a touch of bewilderment grazes his expression.

"Friend," I confirm, but as his eyes hold mine we both know we're anything but friends. Never could be with what's transpired between us, but here in this room we pretend. We pretend we aren't broken, we pretend that life is fair, and now we pretend that we can be friends.

"Fine," he concedes and proceeds to pour me a drink in an identical crystal glass. He hands the drink to me slowly, as my fingers graze his ever so slightly before pulling the drink fully into my own hands. The small touch burns me more then I know the liquor will when it slides down my throat.

"You start," he offers.

My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my mind races where to begin with this man. "First drink?" I blurt out randomly not knowing where to start with Clayton Hasting, but also know alcohol is a safe bet.

"Age or liquor?" he asks back.

"Both," I respond.

"Fourteen and vodka," he answers calmly. "It was at a friends house and he stole the bottle from his dad's liquor cabinet," he explains. "We both got caught and grounded."

A small breathy giggle breaks through my lips at the last tidbit.

A smile threatens to break into his face at my reaction before he asks his first question. "First kiss?" he questions as he lets his eyes fall to mine immediately making my body heat with the obvious gleam in his eyes.

"Wow, so we're already going there?" I question with a raised eyebrow. He only steadies his glare on me, waiting for me to answer. I roll my eyes in response to his juvenile question. "Age or person?" I ask to clarify.

"Both," he says mimicking my response from earlier.

"Daniel Titus and fifteen," I reply. "It was after school, he gave me a ride home since he was a year older and it was awful," I admit as my nose scrunches at the memory of Daniel's teeth hitting mine, and tongue that tried to crawl down my throat.

At my confession Clayton smiles. It isn't big or goofy or anything a normal smile is. His lips tilt up and his eyes gleam with amusement, and it takes everything in me to steady my pulse. Because if him saying my name is rare, then him smiling is like a finding a four-leaf clover in a meadow filled with three leaf ones.

Clayton's eyes fall to my hand before he asks his next question. "What does your ring mean? You wear is every day."

I raise my right hand to see the old gold band with a small diamond at its center being held by hands. "It's a Claddagh ring," I tell him as my eyes rake over the ring that I wear every single day. "It was my grandmother's," I add.

"What does it mean?" he asks once again as I technically didn't answer his question to begin with.

"It represents love, loyalty, and friendship," I continue as I finally lower my hand and bring my gaze back up to Clayton's. "It's Irish, and wearing the ring different directions show if you're single, in a relationship, engaged, or married," I say explaining the way the ring works, even showing him the different ways the ring can be worn.

"You're Irish?" he asks out of nowhere.

I tilt my head. "Isn't it my turn?" I question with a raised eyebrow playfully, but Clayton doesn't give in as he awaits my response. "Fine," I relent. "Yes, I'm half Irish my father's side, and half Filipino my mother's side," I say educating him on why my skin is tan, but I hold my father's freckles and lighter eyes.

I can see the questions forming one after the other in his eyes. His lips part like he's about to ask another question, so I cut him off not giving him the chance.

"Nuh uh," I shake my head with a small smile. "It's my turn," I tell him as I pause to think of the next question I want to ask him.

"Tattoo?" is the question that falls from my lips without warning. I inwardly roll my eyes hating how stupid my questions are, but the way Clayton holds my gaze and watches me makes me nervous. I have his full attention and to some extreme it is nerve-wracking having a man like him focus on me and nothing else.

"No," he replies easily, and quickly moves on as if he already knew his question. "Favorite place you've ever traveled to?"

I shift on the chair to tuck my legs so I can wrap my arms around them. It's something I use to do when I was trying to protect myself, protect my heart. I don't know why I'm so self-conscious of my next answer, but I am. I've never cared before so why do I care now? Why with him? "I don't know," I mutter out almost incoherently. "Here," I say quickly trying to move on from the subject.

Clayton's eyes narrow in on me. "You've never traveled outside the country?" he questions, his words coming out with a tinge of disbelief.

"No," I state my tone coming off hard. "I don't come from a wealthy family like yours," I add, and I instantly regret how snotty I come off. It's not Clayton's fault he's traveled, and it's not my fault I haven't seen the world yet. Though it's all I want, to be able to explore this world and to see the places I have taped up on my walls.

"Where would you want to go?" he asks choosing to ignore the stilted moment.

I tongue the inside of my cheek. "Again cutting into my question time," I sing lightly. "But, Galway," I answer honestly.

"Ireland?" he asks to clarify as if a part of him isn't sure where Galway is.

I nod, bobbing my head up and down absentmindedly. "Yeah, it's where my father's family was from," I divulge to him, letting him see more sides of me than even my best friends. These are simple facts about my life, and yet it seems more intimate than anything I've ever done. I'm so use to hiding myself from the world, not giving away the parts of me that make me who I am.

My hands rotate the glass in my hands. I have yet to take a drink of the golden liquor that sloshes in it's confines. I want to ask something, a part of me wanting to ruffle his feathers and a part because I want to know. But it will take some liquid courage, so I lift the glass to my lips and let the alcohol slide down my throat. Just a smidge. Just enough to warm my body and loosen my lips.

I pull the glass away before I ask my next question. "Tell me about Scarlett." Though I realize as the words leave my lips it isn't a question, it's a request for something more. Something deeper for Clayton to share with me, and I can see the way my words hurt him as his jaw locks.

"Tell me about who hurt you," he spits back, his tone angry as his eyes refuse to meet mine. I can see he's at war with himself all of the sudden as his hands shake lightly and he stares at the glass in his hand. But then it's as if he's made his decision and he tips the glass and downs everything in one burning gulp.

"I asked you first," I push. I don't know why I'm pushing on a subject that I know hurts him, but I crave this mans secrets like no other. I want to know everything he hides in his head.

"You started this stupid game," he calls me out as he pours himself another glass.

I pause before answering. Because I could change the subject right now and go back to lighthearted questions. I could go back to my book. I could even leave the room, and this night behind. But I don't choose any of those options; instead I decide to bare myself. "My father," I mutter. The words piercing my heart in a familiar way, but at the same time I feel lighter. Like another piece has been lifted from my chest at telling another soul about my pain.

"What happened?" His question rings out in the quiet air that hangs between us, the fire the only other sound that fills the lingering space.

I wet my suddenly dry lips. "He went out on a quick errand one night and ended up being mugged and stabbed with a pocket knife," I say as my eyes fall to my lap. "He wasn't found in time, he died outside, cold and alone," I say my words packed with the anger that still haunts me from that night. Even more so that they never found the person who committed the crime that tore my family apart.

"Oh," he exhales.

"Yeah, oh," I say hating the bitterness that touches my tongue.

"I'm sorry Hayley," Clayton apologizes seriously.

"Thanks," I murmur hating the hot tears that are threatening to break lose and fall down my cheeks. I take a deep breath to center myself and attempt to keep my emotions in check. I lift the glass to my lips once more to let the liquor simmer down the foreboding emotions.

"It was a car crash," Clayton divulges finally causing my eyes to lift and meet his. "Scarlett," he adds to the end as if I didn't know whom he was referring to.

"I know," I declare softly. He gives me a nod in response understanding that his brother told me the basics of what happened that fateful night.

"I could've stopped it," he adds heatedly. His knuckles turning white from how tightly he was holding the crystal glass in his clenched hand.

"You couldn't have," I tell him truthfully. He didn't drive drunk, his girlfriend didn't drive drunk, someone else decided to make that awful decision and took a life because of it.

"How do you know Hayley?" he questions angrily setting his glass down onto the table with a slam that echoes throughout the room. "Again you don't know shit thinking you can compare our situations," he tells me as he lowers his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs. I can see him tugging at his hair in efforts to hide his emotions from me.

I bite my tongue and decide not to focus on his words. He's hurting. He didn't mean what he said, I try and reason with myself. "Clayton—" I start.

"No, you know death and I'm sorry about that, I really am," he tells me cutting off my words. "But I lost the love of my life, I won't ever be the same," he finishes, his words loud and filled with an untapped rage.

I fist my hands at my side trying to keep everything inside me, to keep everything at bay, but I know I'm close to bursting at the seams and it makes me livid. "And you think I will be?" I shout at him as I stand from the leather chair.

"It's different," he rumbles out ignoring me as his eyes focus on the glass in front of him. His eyes at war with every other part of him, and his body obviously winning as his hand reaches out to grip the glass filled with amber liquid.

"No it isn't Clayton!" I yell at him standing, my whole body alive with anger that I've only let myself feel once in my life. It was after my father's death and I directed that hate towards my mother, but then after a while I didn't even give her that. I gave her nothing in a struggle to not feel anymore. "You aren't the only person who feels pain, who tries to hide behind a vice to pretend everything is okay when they aren't," I almost sob out. I know my cheeks are red, I know my eyes bloodshot from trying to keep the tears inside instead of setting them free.

"Hayley—" he tries as he stands from the couch. I can see he regrets his words as his eyes take in my current state. I'm falling apart, I'm feeling too much and I'm slowly unraveling and it scares me.

"No!" I shout interrupting him. "I hate this! I hate trying, I hate feeling, I hate all of this," I say letting the words fall out all at once as my feet begin to pace. I haven't felt this way in so long, and it scares me the rawness of all it. I feel like all my nerve endings are exposed and I can feel every little word and emotion just cut through me with such gripping intensity.

"Why?" he asks as his hand shoots out to grip my elbow. His body forcing his way into my space.

Our eyes lock and it's as if we are feeling the exact same emotions. Anger. Fear. Sadness. The uncontrollable urge to fall back to our old vices in hopes it goes away. "Because it's too much and I want it all to go away," I say candidly as tears wet my eyes and lashes.

"You want it to go away," his deep voice rumbles out stepping even closer to me as his hand remains on my elbow. Sturdy, hard, an anchor as the waves come crashing over me threatening to drown me.

"I do," I whisper taking in his body, this moment. How close he is. The warmth that not only radiates off him but the fire, the heat, and the electricity that unexpectedly fills the air around us. It's almost suffocating the way it fulfills my lungs.

"So do I," he replies his golden eyes flashing a shade darker. "Maybe we can make it go away together," he says before he tosses back the liquor that resides in the glass he's still holding with the hand that isn't anchoring me to this moment. To him.

"How?" I ask as my tongue darts out to wet lips. Clayton takes one more step until his body is practically pressed up against my own. Our chests moving wildly, our breaths mixing with a want and need that is almost potent.

He sets the glass he's still holding on the small table behind me, and reaches out towards me. I flinch. Not because I'm scared, or in a way I am. I'm scared of the way he makes me feel. The way he makes me feel out of control with just a simple look and touch is dangerous. But here I am letting his hand tangle through my dark hair and tilting my head back slightly with a rough tug. A tug that I felt as it traveled throughout my whole body and landed between the apex of my thighs.

"Like this," Clayton's voice finally rasps out before his lips land on mine. Before he burns me with a passion only he can bring out of me. Before he takes my breath away and what almost feels like a piece of my heart as well.

We both know our time is limited. That this, whatever this is, won't last forever. That at some point Clayton will come to his senses about messing around with his little brother's girlfriend, and I'll come to my senses that Clayton is too good for me. Too good of a man to be with a complete mess like me, a mess who wants to be healed but know that won't happen for a long time.

So our kissing becomes frantic in a way that's driven by pure need and desire. His mouth is moving against mine like a storm brewing in the sky above us. It's harsh, it's wild, and it's needy and wanton in a way that's new and exciting and absolutely terrifying. Terrifying because I can feel everything. I can feel every slight touch and movement and breath as it flutters over me and fills my veins like slow burning lava.

His taste explodes against my tongue, before his teeth pull at my bottom lip. So hard the slightest bit of metallic hits my tongue next and it only spurs me to want more. To feel this out of control with a man who's always in control. To let go, to completely combust, and let the fireworks explode across our skin until we feel what we're looking for in this messed up world.

Clayton's hands are everywhere as they wrap around the nape of my neck. Pulling at my hair sharply. Tugging at the hem of my shirt until it's free of my body and I do the exact same to free him of his so I can feel his hot skin against mine. It's the first time we've been skin to skin, and the feeling is more then I can almost handle. What will everything else feel like if this feels so damn good?

His heated skin is pressed up against me in a way that feels as if we are kindling a fire between us right now. His skin grazes my sensitive flesh in a way that pulls a low moan to the back of my throat.

"Clayton," I murmur his name against his swollen lips as I wrap my arms around his neck deepening the kiss because I want more. Need more. So on fire for more I can't understand up from down. Wrong from right.

We both know the power of saying each other's names. But saying Clayton's name right now, in this moment, it's as if I kicked him into a whole other gear. Suddenly nothing is enough and we both feel the baser instinct for more. And as much as we can have, and right now.

Suddenly his lips are pulling away from mine and I feel the heat of his tongue sliding up the side of my neck before his teeth sink into the delicate skin of my neck forcing me to crawl even further into him.

His hands make quick work of my shorts and underwear just as his fingers graze my sensitive flesh. My back arches as a moan flies from my parted lips, my neck tipping back as a dizzying cloud of untamed energy and lust fill my bones. I'm hot, too hot. I feel the embers burn my flesh and the fire slowly building in my stomach. I've never felt this before and it only makes me chase after more of this feeling.

"I shouldn't want you Hayley," his voice rasps in my ear deeply as he dips his fingers inside of me. The small movement makes me freeze as my mouth parts in a silent moan at the intrusion. Clayton freezes as well as he feels me for the first time. Everything stops for a single moment because we both know there is truly no going back from this now. We've felt more, and now nothing will be enough until he's buried deep within me.

"I know," I groan in response to his moving hand that's making my whole body buzz and shake under his touch. I've always enjoyed sex, loved the way it made me feel. But I used it as a way to assert power and make me feel in charge of a life I was completely lost in.

But this is the complete opposite of that. Clayton's the one in charge, calling all the shots, as I'm weak to all his whims. This is beyond sex, beyond anything I've ever felt in this whole world. It's scary and exciting all at once and mixed into a bolt of electricity that's flying through my veins.

"Then why are you all I can think about?" he asks his voice laced with a tinge of pain, as if he knows what we do will kill him, but he isn't strong enough to step away. "All I want," he continues as his hands bring me to a new level I've never even felt with sex. "I thought that one kiss in the bar would be enough, then just one touch, just one more kiss but...." he trails like he's unable to finish.

"But what?" I push for him to finish the words that are mixing with his movements to bring me to a whole new high. Almost like I need for him to finish as a feeling winds deep and right within me making my hips move against his hand seeking a feeling I never thought I could feel. Never thought existed.

"I don't know," he mutters against the skin of my neck, but I have a feeling he does know. He's just too scared to admit what he too is feeling in this wild and intense moment.

"Don't stop," I cry out when he hits a certain spot that makes my body bow and my fingers dig into the tan skin of his shoulders.

"Never," he growls as his head dips to nip at the skin of my needy chest letting that one motion take me over the edge until I'm flying so high I feel weightless.

I wish I had the will to tell Clayton to stop at this point. But I don't. All I can think of and want is him so far inside me I can't comprehend anything else. I need the connection more than I need my next breath.

All I crave is him and it scares me to a level nothing else ever has. Because I know I can never have him in a way that truly matters, so what happens after this? But I know the answer. We avoid each other awkwardly until I leave and then we never see each other again. A sharp pain strikes my heart at the thought and I can feel the sting of tears shove to follow but I push them away and focus on the man in front of me. The man who's making me see stars.

My fingers lace through the belt loops of Clayton's jeans pulling his hips into mine. A combined moan leaves both our lips at the feeling of his need pressed up against mine. The roughness of his jeans against my bare skin causes gooseflesh to pebble across me as a new bolt of want whips through me.

"I need you," I whimper into his lips as they come crashing back onto mine in a messy and desperate way that mimics the frenzied pace of our hands to get him completely undressed.

Before I know what's happening my back is pressed into the wall near the fireplace, my legs wrapped around his bare waist feeling his hot skin everywhere making me shake with a deep clenching need balling within my stomach. Clayton's poised at my entrance in a flash, his dark liquor eyes holding mine, emotions rolling through them like a ocean crashing against the shore.

He pauses ever so slightly I think in a way to give me an out. But I don't want an out. I want everything from him. Even if it kills me, even if it breaks my heart. And it will, I know it will break my heart and everything within me. But I'm not stopping now.

So with a small bob of my head in a silent surrender, that's exactly what he gives me. Everything.

He gives me rough hands pulling at my hips to meet him at a pace that makes my head fly into the wall as pure pleasure tears through me. His hands digging into my hips, his hands clenching my breasts with a deep need, his hands tugging at my hair to give him more access to assault my neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

Clayton gives me hard with his toned heated body against mine. Hard with his pace that makes my toes curl, and hard with the way he presses me into the wall that supports me as if he's trying to pound me into it.

He gives me fast and unrelenting with his lips being everywhere all at once. Fast with the way he steals my breath and never gives it back. Fast with the way this kind of sex could become utterly addictive.

Because in every single way this is far from any kind of sex I know or have ever experienced.

Because as we both fly over the edge in a mess of a loud cries from my lips, a deep groan from his, and the frantic pace of our kissing and hips meeting I know that this isn't just sex.

It's making love at its purest form. It's raw, and harsh, and at times almost painful, but all of that brings us to a level I know not even Clayton has felt before.

And as we both come down from the high, as his fingers graze my check and move a piece of hair from my sweaty face.

I know.

I've fallen for Clayton Hasting.