Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

“Oh crap,” she breathed, but the sound was so garbled that he didn’t notice. Then his mouth was right there under her chin... his hand was wrapping around her upper arm. She couldn’t even think. She didn’t even know if she liked it or not. It was like... like being slowly tortured by Christmas. She tilted her head deeper into the pillow to expose more of her neck. It would probably make her collarbone look sexier, too.

Oh yeah, it did. Patrick moved his mouth right down to the curve of her shoulder. He reached over the blanket and flattened his hand against her stomach, pulling her slightly closer to him.

Marianne twisted her shoulders back and turned her head toward him. “I love you, Patrick,” she said. “Did I tell you that yet?”

He pulled her a few inches closer. “Yes, you did.”

Marianne pulled the blanket out from under his arm and then back over the both of them. He moved his hand over her ribs. Then down... down the side of her slinky dress, across her hip and onto her bare upper leg. His exhale said that he hadn’t known about the hooker dress until that exact moment. And the immediate, nearly smothering French kiss she got said that he liked it very much. Some angel she was. Marianne rolled onto her back and twined her feet around his calves. She pulled herself closer to him. As far as she could.

She didn’t feel self-conscious when Patrick moved the flat of his hand along her stomach to her ribs and back again. Her abdomen felt flat and firm to her then. When he kissed under her jaw, it made her neck feel slender and graceful. Whatever part of her that Patrick was interested in felt beautiful.

Marianne ran her mouth along his neck, his collarbone, anywhere she could reach. And, oh man, he had that same dark five o’clock shadow as the last time he came home. She might have to bite him. She put her hands under his t-shirt and yanked it up as far as it would go without help. Patrick leaned up on his arm and pulled it off, his gazillion tattoos looking blurry and mysterious in the dim light. He rolled halfway on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbow, though she was happy to be crushed. He kissed her neck, tickling her face with his hair. And then her shoulder. Her collarbone. Marianne reached up and slipped the strap of her dress off her shoulder. He got the idea.

Marianne sat on the edge of the bed and tugged her dress back in place. She had to pee, but she didn’t want to do it half-naked. She zipped up the back of her dress, and slipped the bobby pins out of her hair, tossing her fuzzy headdress on the floor. They hadn’t actually had sex, but she felt like a whore.

Actually, no she didn’t. She felt like she ought to feel that, though. They’d gone way too far, after all. Where was the shame? She looked back at Patrick and realized what had been bothering her about him for the last few minutes. At first, she’d thought Patrick was just tired, content to just watch the movie and fall asleep. He wasn’t tired, though; he was distant. Pensive. Cold. She could see that he was feeling guilty enough for the both of them. He was staring at the ceiling, absolutely blank-faced. She knew him well enough by now to know that a non-expression was a bad expression. Marianne’s shoulders got tense. If he wanted to talk to her or be anywhere near her, he wasn’t showing it. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She grabbed her bag of clothes and went into the bathroom.

As she went, she tried to talk herself into feeling as guilty as Patrick seemed to. Fair is fair. Every step tonight had been at her initiative. Well, no, not really. But he was a man. It was different for men, as far as she knew. Marianne had chosen to go to third base. But Patrick... what was a man supposed to do with an intensely willing girlfriend in his bed? If she’d known how bad he would feel she’d have protected him better.

No, she wouldn’t have.

She wouldn’t have done anything differently, and she knew that she’d do it again. If self-control were left up to her, she’d be pregnant by March. What a crappy realization. Marianne hadn’t known that she was that girl. She felt gross. Not in the dirty, slutty sense, but still gross. She felt forward, attention-seeking, like she’d used Patrick just so she could feel pretty. And now they were both paying for it. Patrick bore the remorse, and Marianne had to watch. Just watch. Him and his wretched lack of emotion. He’d hardly spoken five words to her in the last twenty minutes. It was like he’d shut a giant door in her face.

She stared at the tile floor, laughing at how effective her self-shame talk had been. The whole room around her now looked sour. That wasn’t exactly possible since her eyes couldn’t taste anything. But still... sour walls. Sour cabinets. Marianne changed into her jeans and sweater and put on her shoes. She walked back to Patrick’s room and dropped the bag just inside the door. “I’m gonna go for a walk.” Unless he asked her to stay.

“What?” He glanced at her, but he didn’t look like he was paying attention.

“I’m going for a walk,” she repeated. “I won’t be gone long.”

He stood up off the bed and pulled his shirt on. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know.” Marianne pulled her sleeves down and gripped them in her palms. “You just seemed like you wanted to be alone.” Say it’s not true.

Patrick nodded at the floor. “Yeah.” He picked up his jacket and shoes. “I’ll go,” he said and walked past her out of the room. He didn’t just want to be alone. He