Drowning on Dry Land: an erotic short story by Megan Hart

Author:Megan Hart [Hart, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chaos Publishing
Published: 2016-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The fourth time he kissed her was in the back seat of his car, when she thought he meant to finally let her leave him, but instead he kept her even closer. When she told him that she loved him, and he said he loved her, too.

Chapter 8

They didn’t meet in a coffee shop.

Bette reserved a room at a hotel off the highway exit ramp an hour or so from her house. Two hours from his, but she thought, if he really wanted to see her, he’d make the drive. The last time she’d asked him to meet her, so they could talk, he couldn’t be bothered. Too far to drive, he’d said. She would’ve have met him anywhere, driven any distance, for the chance to see him one last time, but instead she’d hung up the phone and hadn’t heard a word from him. Nearly two years had passed since then.

She had waited for him many times. Waited for him to call. To text. Waited for him in parking lots and darkened clubs and in rooms like this. She’d waited for him to love her the way she loved him, but he never had.

Bette had left a key at the front desk for him. Though he knocked first, he came through the door without waiting for her to open it. Eager, she thought. Hoped. Too excited to see her that he couldn’t wait.

She’d always thought, every time they met, that she was ready to see him. Yet every time that first sight of his face, his smile, set her heart to thumping. Pulse racing. She was not the timid sort, but he had always made her blush and falter. Time hadn’t changed any of that, because yes now, that first sight of him made everything inside her shake.

“Hi,” he said.

One word, so simple but weighted with so much meaning. It pleased her to see that he looked hesitant. Eager, but uncertain. Bette had brought a bottle of champagne, chilling on ice, and had opened it before he got there. She lifted the flute toward him without taking a step.

“Drink?” she asked him, already pouring.

“Sure. Is this…a celebration?” He took the champagne flute from her.

Their fingers touched.

This man had once been able to get her nipples hard with no more than a look and a few murmured words. The brush of his skin on hers, even after all this time, sent an electric ripple through her. Bette didn’t bother to hide it. There was no point in pretending, not for his sake. If he believed anything had changed between them, it was only because he’d been lying to himself. Of course, he’d always been good at that.

Bette smiled. “I just like champagne.”

He looked around the room as he sipped, then at her. He set the glass down on the desk. “So. Here we are.”

“Yes,” she said. “Here we are.”

“I was surprised you asked me to meet you here. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“I didn’t,” Bette told him and took another sip.

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