Bittersweet by Sareeta Domingo

He looks up at me, running his hands up my thighs.
    “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and sits up to kiss me. I run my hands around to the back of his neck and start to move against him through his boxers. It feels incredible … but I still need more. I lean down over him, start to kiss his chest, ease his boxers down, but then—
    His phone rings.
    We keep kissing. I keep moving.
    It’s still ringing. Loudly.
    Greg tenses up, and I stop moving.
    “Guess someone else really wants you too…” I say, rolling off him and sighing hard.

Chapter Ten
    I collapse on the bed while Greg gets up to switch off his phone—or I hope that’s what he’s doing. He better not answer it. At least I get to watch him trot awkwardly across the room in his boxers, with a substantial protrusion preceding him… I bite my lip, half from desire, and half from being embarrassed about the cheesy line I said just before he got up. Who is so desperate to get a hold of him anyway?
    He frowns at the screen like I saw him do before when “B” called, and he makes sure his cell is off before he throws it on top of his duffle. I’m suddenly very aware that all I have on is Maxine’s skirt, bunched up around my waist as I lie on the bed. As Greg makes his way back over, I pull at the bedclothes, trying to free the tightly tucked corners so I can pull them around me a little.
    “Sorry about that,” he says, then tips his head to one side, looking at me quizzically as I attempt to clamber under the covers with minimum grace. “Need a little help?”
    He smiles and I get up, then together we turn down the bed from either side of it, taking in one another’s state of near-nudity. It feels totally sexy and oddly domestic at the same time. Starting to feel self-conscious, I reach over for his T-shirt as it lies scrunched on the floor, slip it over my head, and then push my skirt down my legs and off. His shirt smells so deliciously of him I feel lightheaded—until I realize the real thing is standing opposite me, his eyes dark, staring at me as I ease myself under the bedclothes and look up at him expectantly.
    “Something wrong?” I ask, worried. The mood has definitely changed.
    Greg shakes his head, but he’s still frowning, with a distracted air about him. He pulls back the sheet on his side and climbs in next to me. There’s an awkward column of empty bed between us, but I’m not sure if I should close the gap or not.
    “Who was it?” I ask, because I feel like I should say something.
    “Hmm?”
    “Calling so late. Another booty call?” Damn it. Why the hell did I say that? God, what if it was ? I feel myself going pale.
    “No. I told you…”
    “Oh yeah, you’re a virgin,” I say, trying a smile. He returns it, but I can tell he’s still preoccupied. I risk scooting a little closer to him, and touch him lightly on his jaw, where it’s starting to turn a deep shade of purple that almost matches my new hair. He winces, but then nestles into my hand and closes his eyes. I sigh, looking at his beautiful face, but suddenly I’m overwhelmed by tiredness too. I shove the last cushions off the bed and move to lay my head down onto the soft, downy pillow. Greg does the same, and we lay close, staring at each other in the low lamplight.
    “Still scared of me?” I whisper.
    Greg huffs out a quiet laugh, but his eyes won’t leave mine. “Even more now.”
    The way he says it, husky and sort of helpless, makes goosebumps break out on my skin, despite the warmth of the bedclothes.
    “Hmm,” I say, pursing my lips. “Feels more like I should be scared of you . I have a feeling you’re a man with a past.” My tone is jokey, but I really mean it. Something in his eyes still holds a wariness, as well as something softer, and something burning hot—
    “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
    We fall quiet, and after a moment his eyes drift shut.
    “Everyone has a past though,” I murmur.
    He opens his eyes again slowly. “You know