XAVIER’S POV
The fleeting moment of passion got me reeling; I found myself drowned in the kiss. My body shivered with wants I just couldn’t pull myself out of her desperate desire. Every trail left by her body spoke volumes of the hunger that ravaged her-the soft whispers of her skin, the gentle caress of her fingers, and the tender touch of her lips all screamed of a longing that had been suppressed for far too long.
It spoke the story of a desire that could no longer be denied.
Although I didn’t initiate the kiss, I triggered her by suggesting we have it, despite my being against her proposed relationship. I didn’t know what came over me; all of a sudden, I was just too exasperated by her constant nagging, her seduction, and her mischievous behavior. She had me spinning in my own resolve to never condone such an awkward relationship.
Yet again, I felt the same stimulation that had been buried for far too long-one I thought I would never feel again. But surprisingly, I didn’t resist. I embraced it, pushing outside all my rationality, driven by a strange excitement.
Still, I couldn’t let it last for long, nor did I allow myself to relish the moment. I shut my desires out, propelling back to my adamant notion of “we can never be together.”
I dashed out in escape, not wanting to give her a tinge of hope only to break her heart at the last moment.
Sarah, being who she was, wouldn’t give up; it was palpable. Her behavior, her defiance, it was all too obvious she wasn’t ready to back down, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
“Please love… me…” Her voice was pleading, her eyes flickering with hope even when I continuously shut her out.
“Tell me why we can’t be together; I need to know why… Make me understand,” she demanded fiercely. I could see her eyes welling up.
God, this girl is killing me. I don’t want to be the cause of her tears.
Inwardly, I was almost convicted, torn on whether to make it clear to her; but thinking back on her question, I realized she already knew the reason.
For one, I still love Nicole, and guilt from our divorce wouldn’t allow me to move on. Second, her father was my good friend-one who had helped me along the way-and lastly, our age difference… I am too old for her, and she deserves someone better. I am not certain I can give her the love she desires even though she trusts that I can.
Helplessly, I tried reasoning with her. “Your father wouldn’t like this, and I don’t like it either,” I said in frustration.
“He is my father, and I don’t care if he likes it or not. He has no right over my life anymore. I can make my own decisions, so you should stop holding yourself back,” she said cheekily, slowly shortening the distance between us.
Again, with her wit and charms, I simply can’t take it. “Sarah, let’s end this conversation,” I said sternly, but she abruptly shot back.
“We can’t keep ending this kind of conversation. Sooner or later, we’re gonna face it,” she said, standing her ground, unwilling to yield.
I had had it.
“Sarah, leave my room… now,” I said in an authoritative tone, yet she stood with defiance without a word. Her obstinacy was increasing by the second, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Then I’ll make you leave.” Forcefully, I pulled her arms, throwing her out of the room.
I slammed the door in her face to stop her from her continuous nagging.
I let out a silent sigh, awaiting a sense of respite, but it never came. Every time we argued, my mind became a whirlwind, swirling with her voice, her words-everything about her screamed at my face.
I heard the sound of footsteps plunking on the staircase. She seemed to have been defeated, probably coming to terms with my rejection. Deep down, I knew that was just an assumption.
Suddenly, a shrill voice echoed from the living room-a mournful sound of pain.
Recognizing the voice to be Sarah’s, I shot out of my room, my heart racing and skipping a beat as I hastened downstairs. I found Sarah sitting on the ground, her face contorted in a grimace as she clutched her foot, her eyes scrunched in agony. I quickly reached out to her, my eyes widening in alarm as the metallic smell of blood wafted into my nostrils. A small pool of blood had formed at the bottom of her foot, her skin pale and tinted with a faint blue undertone, while a few droplets trickled down her heel like crimson tears.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice laced with concern as I crouched beside her.
“I stepped on broken glass…” she groaned, gritting her teeth, her face twisted in a mixture of pain and frustration. I attempted to touch her foot, but she flung her hand out, pushing me away, her eyes flashing with a warning. “Don’t touch it!” she hissed, her voice trembling with agony. I froze, my hands hovering above her foot, as I took in the extent of the damage. The broken glass had shredded her skin, leaving behind a trail of bloody gashes and jagged edges. I could see the pain radiating from her, like waves crashing against the shore.
“Let me go get the first aid box.” I stood up and strode to my room, quickly dashing back downstairs with the box.
She continued wincing in pain, her foot oozing with blood, staining the marble tile.
Looking closer, I noticed her injury was on both feet; it seemed to be a slightly deep cut. The pain must be unbearable for her to handle, and she was still suffering from her sprained knee. Seeing the shards of glass strewn all over the place and the damage on her feet, I had no choice but to carry her.
I encircled my arms around her, attempting to lift her off her foot, but she stopped my advances, a frown etching her face.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t carry me; only if my legs are broken. Obviously, my legs aren’t broken, so why are you carrying me?” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.
I tilted my head, stunned by her unreasonable response. How could she say that when she was clearly in pain?
Ignoring her, I lifted her off the ground, carrying her to the sofa.
She stared at me intently, yet grimacing in pain.
I pretended not to notice her enamored stare, focusing instead on assessing her injury. But I couldn’t help sneaking glances at her, my heart racing with a mix of concern and… something more.
As I gently set her down on the sofa, her eyes never left mine. I tried to maintain a safe distance, but my hands lingered on her foot, feeling the warmth of her skin. She winced, and I quickly released her, pretending it was just concern for her injury. But the truth was, I couldn’t bear to break the connection.
“Stay still,” I instructed, trying to sound detached. “I’ll get you some ice.”
She nodded, her gaze still fixed on me. I felt like I was drowning in those eyes, unable to look away. I hurried out of the room, grabbing a pack of ice.
When I returned, she was still watching me. I quickly applied the ice to her injured foot, trying to get away from her as soon as possible.
When I was done dressing her, I attempted to carry her to her room, but she held my hand to stop me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“No, thanks. You can leave me here; I can help myself,” she said, shifting on the sofa. With her arms crossed, she looked away, feigning independence.
I shook my head, ignoring her request. I made another advance to lift her up, but she stopped me again, her expression serious. “Why are you so concerned about me all of a sudden? You said you can’t love me. Fine then, don’t care for me; you will only make me mistake your kindness for something more,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes flashed with a mix of vulnerability and defiance, as if daring me to contradict her.
I paused, taken aback by her words. I had never intended to give her false hope or lead her on. My concern was genuine, but I understood her skepticism.
“Because,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, “regardless of your annoying attitude, you’re still a person who deserves help and care. And I’m not just going to leave you here, injured and alone. After all, your father put you in my care.”
She looked away, her jaw setting in a stubborn line. I could see the tension in her body, the struggle to maintain her independence.
I chuckled at her gruff behavior and swung her off the sofa, carrying her to her room.