Tears of love

8. Tenderness beneath the passion.

CHAPTER 8: Tenderness beneath the passion.

“Thanks for teaching me, really,” Ryan murmurs, standing at my front door, about to leave.

“No problem,” I say casually. “It was nothing, really.”

He gives me a shy little smile, his cheeks tinting pink.

“See you Thursday in class, Rora.”

“Take care,” I tell him, watching as he gets into his car and finally drives away.

Ryan is adorable—genuine and sweet, with that bashful blush. I like him. I really do. As a friend. And I honestly hope our friendship grows stronger every day. I have a feeling he’ll be a good one.

I spend the afternoon flipping through the rush of photos I’ve taken over the last month. My brother’s in class, Sadie’s working, and I’m not ready to see Jeremy. I even took the bus to class today to avoid him. I don’t want to give in to him. I don’t want to feel that mess of emotions that weakens me, that makes me vulnerable whenever he’s near.

Then someone knocks on the door. I pop the last piece of chocolate into my mouth and walk over to open it. Usually, I hate being interrupted when I’m deep in editing, but when I see it’s Jeremy standing there, my irritation spikes.

Part of me hopes that keeping my distance will quiet this thirst I have for him—but Jer, unbelievably, just won’t let me. Why the hell does he keep showing up, when it’s so obvious that if we’re together, we’ll end up doing something we’ll regret?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, sighing, meeting his gaze and not letting him in.

His eyes find mine, his brow furrowed.

“He’s gone already.”

It’s not a question—it’s a statement. And it’s obvious who he’s talking about: Ryan.

“Jer…”

“What did you two do?”

“Why do you even want to know?”

“Rora, please…”

I sigh and step aside, letting him in.

Seriously, what the f**k are we doing?

I can feel him right behind me until his hand catches my wrist, spinning me around to face him.

It’s funny how, even though I don’t want him close—because I know he breaks my heart—I still crave him. I miss him. He stirs up this chaos of conflicting, irrational feelings that make me feel like I’m losing my mind.

“Rora, I don’t understand any of this, okay?” he murmurs. “You think I’m not confused? You think I’m not scared? But these… these urges for you are driving me insane. I want you and I—”

“You what?”

“It kills me to think someone else could touch you the way I did.” His forehead presses against mine. “It kills me to imagine what you were doing all afternoon with that guy here, alone in your house. It drives me f*****g crazy to think someone else could slip their hand under your jeans, then under your panties, and touch that soft, wet skin…”

“Jeremy,” I whisper his name—taste it, really—as a tremor runs through my body. His hands slide slowly down my arms in a touch so light, so careful it makes me shiver.

“And I can’t stop thinking about that night,” he goes on, “about what your brother’s call stopped me from doing, and… Jesus, Rora, I…”

He makes me step back until my spine hits the wall, his eyes dark when they meet mine.

“I don’t even know what I feel, because it’s you, Rora, my butterfly… but then…”

“Then…” I whisper, closing my eyes as his lips leave a wet kiss on my neck.

“Then your whole f*****g body is driving me insane, and I can’t stop imagining what your face would look like when you come… on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock.”

“God…” My fingers sink into his hair as his mouth trails messy kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin before his tongue soothes the sting.

He has me trembling with lust, a shiver of desire racing down my spine. I wonder if someone could die from this—from anticipation, from need, from wanting so desperately to be consumed.

I’ve never felt anything like this. No one’s ever talked to me like this—so filthy, so raw—and I’ve never gotten this wet so fast. Jeremy makes it seem effortless.

It’s like every experience before this one fades in comparison to the way his touch brands me, leaves his mark on my skin.

I exhale shakily when his thumb brushes over my hardened n****e, then catches it between his fingers, twisting just enough to send a jolt of pleasure shooting through my body—from my feet straight to my brain.

“Jer,” I moan, digging my nails into his forearms, holding onto something—anything—to keep myself grounded.

“If I asked you,” he breathes shakily against my neck, his erection pressing against my stomach, a low growl rumbling against my skin, “if I asked you to let me finish what we started that night… would you let me?”

I lick my lips, fighting for words.

I don’t even know what’s about to come out of my mouth—I’m too far gone, too lost in the liquid desire rushing through my veins—but before I can speak, Jer suddenly pulls back and mutters, “Fuck.”

“My brother’s car. He just got here.”

“s**t,” I echo, quickly letting my hair down to cover my neck in case his kisses left any marks.

Jeremy adjusts himself and rushes to the TV, turning it on. Just as he grabs a cushion to cover his lap, Tyler walks in, looking exhausted.

“Hey,” I say—way too cheerfully.

My brother barely looks at me. His eyes go straight to Jer, who’s pretending to be absorbed in a soccer match.

“Came to watch the game?” Ty asks, joining him on the couch.

“Of course,” Jer says smoothly, and soon they’re talking like nothing’s happened, eyes on the screen.

“Rora, call Sadie,” Tyler yells. “You know she’s missing.”

I relax instantly, remembering their ridiculous superstition about us needing to be there for “good luck.”

“She’s working, i***t,” I remind him.

Tyler grumbles something under his breath.

“We’re gonna lose because of her, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t be superstitious, Ty,” Jer tells him.

“I’m serious, we’re gonna lose.”

“Don’t be an i***t,” I say, walking over to smack the back of his head playfully.

“Stop calling me an i***t. Just call your best friend and make her come over.”

“I won’t. You do it.”

“She blocked me last night, I can’t.”

I roll my eyes, plopping down between them. “I wonder why.”

“I was just sending her funny videos.”

“At three in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you figured she couldn’t either?”

“She’s my rival—we need equal conditions.”

Nothing he says makes sense, but I stop arguing because his eyes are already glued to the TV. When I feel Jeremy’s gaze on me, I turn to look at him, and he smiles softly. His eyes are gentle now—no fire, just warmth—reminding me who we are beneath all this new hunger.

I smile back. He rests his head on my shoulder, like he always does when we watch a game.

And just like that, it’s him and me again—only us, the same as always.