How To Say Im Sorry

He slid into her as he exhaled, breath catching in his throat, hearing her gasp under him, her back arching towards him, her eyes closed in pleasure. He turned his head away; he didn't want to look at her, couldn't... wouldn't. He didn't want to face her like this.

He set a pace that was sickeningly slow, feeling the tension coiled in his stomach, his shoulders, his back. He set the pace that he couldn't with words, trying to tell her all the things he was sorry for.

Her hands pulled at him, pleading him for more but he refused. In all the things he'd done wrong, he wouldn't this time. He picked up the pace minimally but still felt the guilt.

Trusting his judgment, she touched his arms, the left covered in tattoos of dragons that he brought back from Japan and on his right, scars on his shoulders from Afghanistan.

At first, when he returned, he could only stand to be touched by her when he was numbed with liquor. Then the liquor wasn't even enough so he drank more. And more. And more.

He kissed her neck gently, once for each of the months he'd abandoned her at home and while went to the bar to drink to forget.

He kissed her shoulder for all the times she'd had to come to pick him up from the bar when the bartender called her to say he was too drunk to drive home.

He kissed along her collarbone for all the nights she'd helped him into the house and into bed, always putting a bottle of water and an aspirin on the nightstand for him.

She gasped into his ear like she understood what he was doing but he continued anyways, continuing his slow, apologetic rhythm.

He touched her body slowly, breath catching hearing her gasp. The guilt consumed him. She was so appreciative, so thankful for him.

After months of his sickening cycle and months of her taking care of him without complaint, he'd realized he didn't deserve her and he'd left her, moving into a motel room with bad lighting.

There he'd stayed for six weeks until he took home a woman from the bar. As she kissed him in his motel room, he was stricken with guilt. Of all the things he'd done, he couldn't do this.

And when he knocked on her door and she answered, he saw the pain on her face just of seeing him again- seeing him completely fallen apart. All he could get out was "I don't know what to say."

She let him in anyways.

And now she shuddered under him, desperately wanting the pace faster, but let him do what he pleased. She knew he needed this.

He pushed into her deep, lips sliding along her neck. He wished he could tell her everything he was sorry for: sorry for not explaining to her what happened in that desert, how he wasn't able to save his friends, how he felt guilty for being the one to make it home, how he felt guilty for feeling anything close to happiness...

And now he felt guilty for putting her through it all... for walking away when all she did was try to help him. He didn't deserve her love but it wouldn't stop him from trying to apologize.

His hands trailed down her side, remembering the curve of her, bringing her closer to him, trying to surround himself with her body. She reached up to touch him, to reciprocate, but he took her hand and pushed it down, lacing his fingers with hers. He felt her wedding band against his fingers and he gripped her hand- she'd never taken it off... he wasn't quite sure where his was.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and kissed her shoulder, sliding inside her, her hips pushing up against his, her thighs against his.

His lips grazed her ear, his forehead resting against hers.

His voice came out hoarse as his hips met hers. "I'm so sorry."

She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her by kissing her gently.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again, picking up his pace.

She held back all the things she wanted to say and chose to keep this moment. Her arms slid across his back, grazing over his scars but not lingering, pulling him closer to her.

She groaned in his ear as he slid into her harder, feeling himself quicken and shudder. He needed this.

She gasped and he kissed her hard, tongue against hers, hot and fast. His fingers curled in her hair and his breath quickened. Her leg slid up his body and he fell even more deeply against her, groaning into her neck, nipping her skin.

Her back arched her against him and he gripped her tightly, tighter than he ever had before. He nibbled her ear and as he slid into her once more, she felt her control slip away.

She gasped and he pushed harder, he knew what that sound meant. He became faster, harder, giving her more until he could feel her tell-tale shudder and he paused, letting her feel it, letting her tension explode and subside. As she began to still, he slid out of her and in once more. She groaned, still sensitive. It would only take him three more times until he shuddered just like her, so thankful she'd opened her door to him earlier.

He laid his head on her still heaving chest, her fingers in his hair, her other hand tracing circles on his back. He closed his eyes. This is where he should have turned instead of the alcohol. The one thing that had torn them apart was the one thing he'd never touch again.