This scene actually won’t appear in the new and improved Love Poetry Novella. After writing my outline, I realized it was too much, and as I’ve said before, I want to make Whitmore a little likable. This scene will make you hate him. But it does introduce some ideas that I want use in other parts of the story. You’ll see how soon enough. This post was originally published April 6, 2015 for the A to Z Challenge
Jessica awoke to Whitmore’s erection pressed against her. She tried to scoot to the edge of the bed, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. Whitmore nudged his knee between her legs, opening them. He dipped his hips underneath her, lifting his knee to spread her leg in the air. Then he pushed his hips upward, making Jessica winced at him suddenly being inside of her.
“What are you doing?” Jessica asked, clearing phlegm from her throat. She reached behind her for his hips and tried to push him back, but he lifted her thighs and flipped her onto her stomach, positioning himself on top of her.
“Stop it!” Jessica’s voice sounded muffled against the pillow.
Whitmore didn’t listen. He kissed her down her spine, digging his nose between her shoulder blades as he continued until he let out a loud moan and collapsed onto the bed next to her. Jessica didn’t move.
Whitmore lifted himself on his elbows. He brushed Jessica’s hair behind her ear and took her by the chin. “Look at me.” He leaned down and kissed her lips. “Wasn’t that nice?”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” She scurried out of the bed and snatched up the sheets to wrap herself.
Whitmore’s jaw dropped. “I wanted to do something different. Last time, you said I was too soft.”
“So you freaking rape me!” Jessica squealed.
“No! No!” Whitmore sat up, and grabbing the corner of the sheets, he tried to pull her back down to the bed.
Jessica yanked the covers away. “Don’t touch me!”
Whitmore stood to his feet, and Jessica backed into the dresser, knocking the mirror against the wall. “I would never hurt you, Jessica,” Whitmore said. He raised his hands in surrender.
“So when a woman says, ‘Stop it,’ what does that mean to you? Go harder?”
“I didn’t hear you.” Whitmore dropped to his knees. He took her hand and kissed up her wrist and back down. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make our relationship more exciting. I feel like you’ve been pulling away from me. I can’t lose you, Jessica. Please don’t leave me. I just wanted to surprise you. I remember how you said you liked it rough. That I’m too focused on making love to you, that it gets boring sometimes. You said to let my animal out. That’s all I was doing. I wanted to show you that I had an animal side.” He wiped his tears into her palm and continued kissing her hand, apologizing repeatedly and begging her not to leave.
“Get up.” Jessica said. “Don’t turn this around on me.” Whitmore often tried to present himself as innocent. His only goal was to please her, he defended, he couldn’t help that her requests were ambiguous and, as a result, misinterpreted.
Jessica had complained about his lovemaking months ago. He always did the same thing—humped her until his back hunched into a tortoise shell, then lowered his face between her thighs and finished her off with his tongue. She had gotten bored with it. She had wanted him to try new positions. He was always so gentle, focused on appeasing her and making sure she felt his compassion in his movements. She was sick of making love. She was sick of the endless romance. She just wanted to have fun.
Waking up to her boyfriend taking advantage of her, however, was not fun.
“Just go,” Jessica said, refusing to meet his gaze.
“What does this mean?”
“It means get out. I need some space.”
Whitmore bent over to retrieve his clothes from the floor. “Does this mean we’re over?”
Jessica didn’t answer.
“Can I call you later?”
“I’ll call you.”
“No you won’t.” Whitmore stepped into his jeans and slipped his t-shirt over his head. “You can go days without calling me. I don’t understand how you can be in a relationship with me and not talk to me for days. If you love someone, you talk to them every day.”
“Not when I’m pissed at you!”
“I guess this is a bad time to say that I might have come . . . inside you.” He waited for Jessica to respond. “Last night . . . and this morning.”
Without thinking, Jessica slapped him. He didn’t react, but she thought she saw a smirk creep across his lips. She slapped him again. “Get out!” she said.
Whitmore lowered his head, and like a dog with its tail between its legs, he waddled to the door. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Jessica ignored him. She stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, making sure to lock it. She opened the medicine cabinet and picked up the Plan B One-Step box.
“That boyfriend of yours is sneaky,” Alex had said when she’d convinced Jessica to buy it one day while they were in the drug store. “Don’t let him do the same thing to you that he did to his ex.”
Jessica thought Alex was just overreacting to a story she’d told her about Whitmore’s previous relationship. She tried to defend his actions. “People don’t think clearly when their heart is broken,” she’d said.
Now, as she tore into the package and skimmed through the directions, she was relieved that she’d listened to her friend, and had bought an emergency back-up plan.