She opens her eyes because she knows I love it when she looks at me as she comes. The intensity in her eyes just about does me in. It’s always like this with her.

She trusts me. I've been keeping her in here, locked up, I've threatened her, I've used her and I've abandoned her. She's suffered more than I care to admit at my hands, and she still trusts me. She knows where this will end, and she trusts me.

I relax my fingers around her throat as she falls apart beneath me. A couple of moments later, I slide one final time deep inside her and then collapse on top of her, burying my head in the crook of her neck. She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling just lightly, then releasing, our chests heaving against each other, our bodies still connected.

“I've never made love to another woman,” I tell her, because I want her to know that. She was never supposed to think she meant nothing, or that anyone could replace her. This fucked up situation is all on me.

“Because you love me.” She says it like it is: a fact. Then she sighs, still trembling underneath me. “And it's not enough.”

I wish it were.

I pull out from her, missing her already as I head to the bathroom to clean up, and then walk around the room picking up my clothes. Thankfully, she drapes the sheet over her body, hiding the temptation from my eyes.

The worst part? She watches me, resigned, as I get dressed and walk to the door. I can actually feel her gaze following me around, but she says nothing. I want her to say something so bad. Just tell me to stay. I pause after I unlock the door, giving her one final chance. Nothing. I get out of the room without looking back, the sound of the lock click piercing my eardrums.

It still rings in my head on the way downstairs. I head into the kitchen, and take out a beer from the fridge and open it. I slump in the chair at the dining room table, and take a swig from the bottle. I can still feel her wrapped around me, begging me to fuck her again, and again, and again.

I sit there, staring at nothing, I don't know for how long. I always hated the look of indifference on her face when I left without a word, making me feel like I was just a pawn, playing by her rules. Tonight, I'd have welcomed it.

Tonight, I feel like I betrayed her.

Betraying my family, betraying myself, and, now, betraying her. I'm a fucking traitor to everything and everyone.

And Hayley? What a fucking mess. Rationally, I know I can't blame her. I used her, she knows that, and she still stood by me. And I know she meant well, but telling Leighton God knows what . . .

I throw the beer bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall.

“Fuck,” I mutter, watching it shatter, the sound piercing the silence. Beer splashes everywhere.

I rub my palm over my face, forehead to chin. It's for the best, I decide. So fucking complicated.

I get up and head to my room. A figure stands at the top landing, watching me climb the stairs. My uncle takes me in from head to toe, my hair disheveled, my shirt unbuttoned, and my feet bare.

“Devon,” he says when I reach him, and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. It pisses me off. I don't know why. It's . . . so fucking manipulative.

I continue climbing the stairs to the third floor.

LEIGHTON

A soft sigh escaping my lips, I roll onto my stomach. The sheets still smell like him, hours after he's been gone. I’ve barely moved from this bed, except to have a shower and dress in an oversized T-shirt.

I keep replaying Devon's words over and over in my head. I had no idea. I’ve had a crush on Devon for as long as I can remember. I don't even recall the first time I saw him, he was just always there. I'd see him around now and again, and he was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. And, I'll admit it; I fell for the enigma.

Devon had a presence about him. He exuded power, confidence and capability. But sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, I caught the brokenness in his eyes. I wanted to wipe away that look, to fix everything that was wrong.

He made me feel things no one else could. I've had boyfriends, but none of them could compare. Every time his eyes found me I felt like I was on fire.

So, when I saw him that night standing across the street, his intent gaze on me, I knew it was my chance, and I took it. I wanted him badly, I always have. I didn't expect him to follow me; he never had before.

One taste had me wanting more. The things that man could do to me . . . I was ruined for every other guy. Our secret continued, and we would have sex any chance we could, in any place we could without getting caught. The whole time I was with Devon I didn’t even look at another man. I just wasn’t interested. What I had with him wasn’t ideal, but I took what I could, and waited for him to give me more. I was that desperate for him.

I was sure he felt the same. And when he stopped showing up, I was confused.

Two weeks later, I was devastated because I realized that this . . . thing we had? He didn't want it anymore. And I didn't even expect I'd miss his silence.

After a month I was just pissed.

I knew we didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could expect an explanation, but I didn’t give a shit. I deserved an explanation; I needed one. After a while, I blamed myself. Essentially, I propositioned him. I was available to him anytime he wanted me. Anytime he came to me, I gave him whatever he wanted. My body, and, unknown to him, my heart.

I love Devon. I’ve always loved him, and I probably always will, for as little time as I have left to live.

And it doesn’t even matter. My love is inconsequential. It doesn’t change a thing.

In fact, it only makes everything worse.

I run my fingers through my hair, and tug on it. Devon’s leaving after what just happened speaks volumes. We might not be able to stay away from each other, but at the end of the day, it’s business as usual. The most fucked up thing about this whole mess? I keep staring at the door, willing him to come back to me, to hold me in his arms. He thinks I’m his weakness? He is more than my weakness.

And he holds my life in his hands, and he's going to just take it. I won't be a fool again to think this changes anything.

I wipe away the tear streaking my cheek, my eyes still fixated on the door. And then he's standing in front of me, an undecipherable look on his face. Wordlessly, Devon slips back into bed with me. He slides his arm under my neck, and pulls me into his body, spooning me from behind.

It hurts so much, melting into his embrace like everything is normal. But it's not real. And I still turn around and nuzzle his cheek, and then I let his warmth lull me to sleep.

eleven

LEIGHTON

“What a way to wake up,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I glance down at Devon who lifts his head up from between my legs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a cocky grin curving his lips. He kisses his way up my body, ending at my lips, and then he slumps into the bed next to me. I lie there lazily, enjoying the sated satisfied feeling you get after having an intense orgasm.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask as I roll over to face him, propping myself on my elbow, my other hand trailing down his naked chest.

“I just had mine,” he says, chuckling.

I bite my lip, feeling a blush spread all over my face. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Are you getting shy on me?” he asks. “Seriously? Now?”

I cover my head with the sheet, and then hear another chuckle. I can't help it; something about this whole thing feels . . . real. It was always real to me, but I feel like he’s finally with me.

“Fucking unbelievable,” he mutters, tugging at the sheet. The second I let him pull it down, he places a quick kiss on my lips. “You.” Another kiss. “Are.” And another. “Fucking.” This one, a little longer. “Unbelievable,” he finishes.