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To Lose You Episode 12

Read episode 12 here:

Exhaling, I ran my hand through my curly, blond hair and turned away from the door. To my left, a kitchen that would never be used awaited, done up in shades of white, silver, and black. To my right, the equally-as-modern dining table. Straight ahead, the hallway leading deeper into the suite and a sitting area with a flat screen right before the entry to that hallway.

A welcoming fire was lit in the chimney, the flames dancing behind the golden grate.

I should head that way, begin settling in . . . fuck that. Where the hell was Demi?

I checked my phone for any messages from her; saw none. Just as I began calling her, a soft tap sounded at the door. I rushed over and opened it.

Demi was on the other side, chewing on her lip nervously, her luggage next to her.

“There you are.” Ignoring the luggage, I brought her to me and dipped my head to take her mouth. I lost myself in her lips immediately, relief and hunger palpating through my veins.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop me from noticing how tense she was.

I pressed my forehead to hers, breaths panting. “What happened out there?”

Demi smoothed her hands along my shoulders and exhaled a slow breath. “I just don’t like this. The anxiety of sneaking up here and hoping I was unseen . . . the fact that I have to do it every night until this is over.”

God damn it. More proof that I’d fucked up by convincing her to come here. “I’m sorry.” I pressed my hands to her lower back and brought her even closer. “I’m torn between two alternatives. Did I come without you? What would that have done? You already don’t trust me, and Monica is going to be here—”

Demitra moved out of my arms. “Yeah.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked around the suite, eyes landing blankly on the stainless steel stove in the kitchenette. “Like I said, I really hate this.”

Everything was so wrong between us, even when I tried to make it right.

I stared at her, at a loss for words, hands itching to have her back within reach.

Sadness leaked from every inch on her body, but she shoved it all down with a sigh. When she faced me again, there was resolve in her gaze.

And the last thing I expected to see: compassion.

“I’m sorry, too,” she mumbled, smiling sadly. “I can see how hard this is for you, and I shouldn’t be bitter about it. I decided to stay with you and try to work things out, right?”

“It’s more than I deserve,” I admitted, reaching for her suitcase. “Come. I’ll show you the rest of the suite.”

“Okay.” Her small tone wasn’t lost on me, but I let things lie for the moment.

Leaving my own suitcase by the entry, I led her past the small sitting area and into the hallway. To the left, there was another door that led to a larger, all-black living room, with an obscenely large flat screen. At the very end, the last doorway opened to the bedroom.

Our steps were muffled by the plush, beige carpet as we stepped inside. I deposited her bags by the wall and turned to face her.

Demi stood by the entry, arms crossed, eyeing the California King that dominated the room. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve already had her flat on that bright white duvet, her clothes halfway across the room, the leather headboard banging against the wall.

I was dying to have her in my mouth now.

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