Where Do We Go From Here?

Jessica Morse

Smashwords Edition

Copyright© 2011 Jessica Morse

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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Credits

Written by Jessica Morse
Edited by Valerie Cavendish

For other stories by this author, please visit www.JessicaMorseStories.com

Where Do We Go From Here?

It was just before midnight, and I was sitting in my kitchen wondering how hard it would be to dispose of a body without a car. Obviously I couldn’t carry it very far. John was pretty skinny, but he still outweighed me by at least thirty pounds. Ideally the body would be in pieces, but dismemberment seemed really messy. On television they can always find blood no matter how well it seems cleaned up.

My musing was interrupted by his angry voice. “Dani, are you even listening to me?”

“Yes John.” But I wasn’t. “We’ve been having the same argument for two weeks.”

“I’m aware of that. And I’m tired of it.”

“So am I, but we just keep having it.” In truth, I wasn’t even mad at John anymore. He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong. We were both just stuck. I felt bad for briefly plotting his death. I loved him, I just desperately wanted to stop being so miserable.

John looked as exhausted as I felt. His usually clear blue eyes were hooded and dull. He raked a hand through his sandy hair and looked at me. Not so long ago I loved running my fingers through it myself.

“Dani, I don’t understand why you’re being like this. You say you love me, but you can barely stand to be in the same room with me. What is the problem? What am I doing wrong?”

The pain in his voice broke my heart, but I had no easy answers for him. “It’s not you. You’re not doing anything.”

“Then why the hell am I sleeping on the couch? If you’re the problem, why don’t you fucking fix it?”

“I’m not a car, John. You can’t just tighten a bolt or replace a valve.” Damn it. He was right, why was I yelling at him? “I can’t do this right now. I need to get out of here.”

“Danielle, don’t.” He walked towards me hesitantly; like he was afraid I would run. “Don’t run away from me. I want to understand.”

“You don’t get it. How can I make you understand when I don’t?” Then I did what felt natural. I fled. I didn’t want him to see the anguish in my face, or the tears that were beginning to fall.

*****

I closed myself in the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. I wanted to scream and throw things, but I just curled into a ball and wept. What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t the love I felt for John enough?

We’d been dating for almost a year. Things had been going pretty well until three months earlier. The lease on my apartment was up, and I had to move. He offered to let me move in with him. I wasn’t sure we were ready to take that step, but he was insistent. Plus, it saved us both a lot of money.

Our first big fight happened two days after I finished unpacking. Things spiraled downward from there. Petty sniping turned into loud arguments. Then those turned into shouting matches and silent treatments. For a while it seemed like we were fighting about everything. Recently it’s become clear we’re really only fighting about one thing, my fear of commitment.

John was pretty much the perfect guy: tall, handsome, kind, sexy, and wanted to get married. ASAP. When we first met I thought that’s what I wanted, too. My twenties were coming to a close. Everyone around me was pairing up and settling down. Falling in love with a guy who wanted the same thing made it a no-brainer. We’d date, move in, get engaged, get married, have kids. But somehow it didn’t come together that way.

The guys I dated before John were all cheaters or withholding jerks. I’d had my heart stomped on too many times to count. I always swore that one day I’d find the perfect guy and would never let him go. Now I’d found him, and I was pushing him away. Something inside me was terrified to just take the leap.

When he asked me to marry him two weeks ago I couldn’t speak. I looked between his hopeful smile and the lovely ring in his hand and felt paralyzed. A ring is a promise of forever that seemed impossible to me. What if he wasn’t the right guy for me? What if I wasn’t the right girl for him? If we were meant to be together, why were we fighting so much?

I didn’t say no to John, but I didn’t say yes either. I told him to keep the ring while I thought about it. He was understanding at the time, but that day was when things really started to fall apart. He started leaving for the gym before I got up in the morning. I switched to the late shift at work so he’d be asleep when I got home.

Any time we did spend together became a fight. He wanted to know why. Why I was angry, why I didn’t want to marry him. I just wasn’t sure. Every perfect boyfriend thing he did made me angry at my self for being unsure and at him for just being there. I just wanted him to go away and leave me to my misery. But then I felt like a selfish bitch for not caring about his feelings. I didn’t want to hurt John, but I kept doing it.

*****

There was a knock on the door.

“Dani, can I come in, please?”

“Okay.” I wiped my eyes and sat up. Something had to give.

John opened the door and stood in the doorway. “I fucking hate this.” His eyes were sad and brimming with tears.

“So do I. I don’t know why I’m such a mess.” I reached out to him and he came to me. We fell back on the bed, arms wrapped around each other.

He made soothing sounds and rubbed my back. “I love you so much Dani, but we can’t keep going on like this. If you want me to go I will, I just need to know. Tell me what you want.”

“I just want to feel happy again. I want...” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

He pulled back and looked into my eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is you, Danielle.”

John licked a tear from my face and kissed me. His lips were soft and gentle. It just made me cry harder. I couldn’t stand the tenderness. I shoved him away and retreated to the side of the bed.

“Damn it, Danielle. Stop running from me.” He jumped up and held my face between his hands. “Let me love you. Let me help you.” We’d barely even touched each other for weeks. His hands lit a flame inside me that burned away the anger and left only heat behind. Maybe I couldn’t give him forever, but I could give him this.

I grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled his mouth down to mine. The kiss was bruising. I put all of the frustration and pain into devouring him. I bit down on his lip and tasted blood. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. My pulse was racing and I felt his body tensing next to me.

John yanked himself back and held me at arm’s length. “You can’t hide behind sex either.”

“I’m not trying to. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know I want you. Can that be enough for now? There’s been enough fighting ad crying. Let’s try something different.”

John flashed a weak smile and nodded. I ran my hands down his chest, lightly scratching through his shirt with my nails. He growled and we both pulled our shirts off. I straddled him and rode him down to the bed. I could feel him growing hard beneath me.

God, I had missed his touch. His hands kneaded my breasts through my bra. My hips ground into his, trying to get as close as possible to the hardness in his pants. All of the tension in my body eased and I lay down on top of him. I kissed down the side of his neck, licking at the spot I knew made him squirm.

He slid his hands inside the back of my shorts and squeezed the globes of my ass. I reached between us to rub his erection. He cursed under his breath and arched into my hand.

“Dani, I want you so bad.”

“Then take me, John. Now.”

For once, there was no argument. We scrambled out of the rest of our clothes and rushed back towards each other. John rolled a condom down over his throbbing erection. I straddled him again, balancing with my hands on his shoulders, and slid down until the tip of his cock was nestled inside me.

I wasn’t as wet as I wanted, so it was a tight, almost painful fit. That rawness felt right, and I worked my hips to get him all the way inside. I looked down at John. His eyes were full of passion and love. I stayed just like that, staring at him, completely still.

He finally looked away, down to where our bodies were joined together. I felt him pulse inside me and moaned. I began a gentle rocking motion. He raised his hands and cupped my breasts, tentatively. I smiled and covered his hands with mine, holding tight to my chest as I moved. We fit together so well.

In that last lucid moment before I surrendered to our sex, I realized John always gave me what I needed, even if I didn’t know it. He was letting me set the pace, making sure I loved every move he made. In bed I did what I’d been unable to in life; I gave in and let him take me where I needed to go.

I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “Your turn.”

John grabbed my hips and flipped us over. He spread my legs and slid back deep inside me. His finger flicked my clit as he nuzzled at my breast. Pleasure spread from the center of my body to the top of my head and tip of my toes. I let myself fall, sinking into a thoughtless glowing place. I hunched my hips trying to get more.

John bit down lightly on my nipple, sending me over the edge. I came, screaming his name. His pace slowed as I rode the waves of climax. When I could breathe again our eyes met. He was crying.

I reached behind him and pressed his ass into me. John’s eyes closed and he began thrusting hard. I was still spasming from my orgasm; the pounding brought me into another, quick and sharp. He groaned and thrust deep into me once more. He collapsed on top of me, the full lengths of our bodies fused together.

John raised his head to look at me. “You’re crying, Dani.”

“So are you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I do know I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then stop pushing me away.”

I wiggled my hips. “I think I have.”

He laughed. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in a long time. “So where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure. I’m still not sure of anything. But maybe I don’t need to be sure. I just need to try.”

We stayed in bed, huddled together for the rest of the night. Some of it spent talking, but mostly just holding each other. I realized that when I fought my instinct to run away from John, when I held on tight, I felt stronger than ever.

The End

About the Author

Jessica Morse has been writing since she was a child. Her first work was a one act play about the dangers of letting dogs off their leashes, written when she was seven. Since then she’s worked as a waitress, fundraiser, and freelance writer. Jessica wrote her first piece of erotic romance in 2008, and never looked back.

Jessica has lived in Philadelphia, PA for her entire life, but travels as often as she can (her current tally is three continents and twelve countries). When she’s not writing or reading one of the eight hundred books in her home, she spends time with her husband and their fifteen pound cat.

Jessica is currently working on two full length novels, and many, many, sexy short stories.

Connect Online

Website: www.JessicaMorseStories.com
Twitter: @jmstories
Email: jessica@jessicamorsestories.com

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