Soooooo this took me a little longer to update than I'd originally planned. Go figure. My apologies! I just wanted it to be as perfect as possible. This the second and last of the two parts. HUGE thanks to all those who reviewed! Lots of love.

More stories to come. Keep in touch. Read and review. And enjoy :)

"Then you lead the way," I'd said. He slipped a hand behind him, somehow finding the perfect surface of my open palm and guiding me slowly into the darkness of the hallway.

I shut the door behind me slowly, a single window swollen with moonlight the only means of lighting up our existance in that unfamiliar room. I slipped off my shirt as I watched him stumble towards the window, pulling back the sheer curtain as more darkness flooded into the room. Perhaps we were on the same page then... guilt no longer had a face, distinct features of who we were remained hidden in the dark.

I felt uneasy at first, the predetermination of this sex throwing me off guard completely. The alcohol sent a harsh blow to my system, and I finally realized that perhaps my desperate nerves caused me to drink far too much. I crawled upon the bed, kicked back a blanket, and waited for him nervously to join me. My eyes fluttered to a close as I took a slight second to take in the moment that crashed into me like an angry tide. It was then I felt a hand brush through my hair, lingering at my temple. My eyes barley opened as I lifted my head slightly, finally feeling the soft press of his lips against my own.

Oh how long I had waited for a moment I couldn't seem to capture. He pulled back only slightly, and I remember so distinctly now the shape of his head, the strong line of his jaw, outlined in the darkness. The features of his face remained lost. I pulled him back to me, wanting now only to feel for and find the person he was with my body alone. I forced my mind to go elsewhere.

His strong hand moved to the white shorts I had been wearing, tugging at the fabric that remained only a barrier between us. I pulled him tightly against me, my body fitting so perfectly against his much larger, matured form. My manicured nails dug softly into the skin of his neck as my mind lost itself, dispersing into the lust captured within the room. At first, all I could taste was beer. The very substance that filled us with this excuse, this means of abandonment, was what filled my senses now. After this passed, his tongue pressing against mine in a desperate tangle, I could felt the actual dull, gamey taste of a boy.

I could feel my heart as it pounded against my chest, and hear it in my own ears. I wondered for a moment if he could tell I was nervous, or if anything trembling within me was as apparent on the outside as it was in. His chest began to heave against mine as our air supply dwindled, the kisses intensified. The heat of this moment began to gather.

I bent before him to take off my bra and shorts, tossing them carelessly to the side. Taking my time crawling back to his lips, I looked into his peaceful face.. the mischievous grin, the half-lidded eyes, the haphazard scruff... unable to believe this encasing stranger would soon be such a part of me. I met his lips with mine again.

It was at that moment I began to regret the amount of alcohol my nerves made me consume. Each time I tried to wrap myself around his kiss, a wave of this drug would wash it from my mind. But I remember it being beautiful, rare, and everything I had wanted.

Only moments later did I raise once again to remove his baggy red shirt, but I felt his body rise up to me when I reached for the waistband of his shorts. His free arm moved up to my shoulders, his fingers slowly floating over my skin and leaving goosebumps in their shallow wake. He pulled me in for a slow, encasing kiss.

I felt the bubble of passion begin to gather in my abdomen, my body finally reaching through the alcohol to take in this heated moment. I loved feeling of his skin against mine, so simple yet so intensely intimate, and the soft fuzz of his chest brushing against my collarbone. He rolled me over to his side, my back against the cold, scratchy paint on the wall. His hand slipped into the crook of my leg, hooking it around his slim waist, before traveling down to my panties; one of the few barriers that remained between us.

I loved his hands, loved the way they felt pressed into me and upon the soft layers of my skin. They were large and strong, with course palms that traveled all around me. I felt so tiny in his embrace, so vulnerable, and pulled him closer at the nape of his neck..needing him to reassure what my mind was telling me wasn't real.

My mind began to drift, so tired and drained from this evening. It was then I felt him tug at the hem of the cloth, and I half-assisted him in their removal. I shifted lazily into him as he pulled away, his strong hand balancing me at my waist as his eyes sunk into me, on each and every inch of me.

Quickly removing his shorts, he kicked them off of the side of the bed and crawled back to me.. waiting so simply to be within me now. As our lips met again, I felt his weight settle down on top of me, crushing the breath from my chest. My hands found their place on his shoulders as he settled between my legs.

My mind spun rampant, my nerves rolling along the static moving within my skin. I felt him then, the full and fleshy expanse of him, touching timidly around my thigh. My body shook unto my fingertips as I reached down to help him find me. There was always something about this part that held me, a moment so full of promise, encased by pressure, and in some cases, like this, discovery. I gasped, my hand quickly finding its way to his defined bicep for support.

He was gentle, yet urgent.. the sweat already beginning to gather along his neck and chest. He lowered himself down to me, hovering above my form, as our lips met again. He moved slowly, allowing the gentle waves in my mind to roll around the sensations now within me. In a moment, he glided off to the end of the mattress, hooking his hands beneath my legs and dragging me back to him. I felt light, like a newly formed mold, willing and defenseless towards anything he cared to do to me.

My eyes slid to his, unable to connect fully as they blurred and disappeared into the darkness, but my heart fluttered relentless. I reached up to him, towards the sheen that began to gather at his collarbone, and tangled my fingers within the golden chain around his neck. It was one of the few things aside from his ink that never left him, and I felt that much closer to his heart.

I could sense him becoming lost within the pleasure; less attentive towards me now that instinct and alcohol were raging within him. My fingers released his chain, traveling down his arm to his palm, pressed hard against the bed for support. I curled my fingers within his, and, after a short moment, he curled his instinctively back.

He repositioned me slightly soon after, and whimpers and gasps soon began to roll off my lips. My mind spun, lost within his passion, his heart. I opened my eyes once more to him, although they felt heavy, and I, weak. He was concentrating elsewhere, his hand roaming along my skin. I realized, then, how much I admired him so. His humility, his ever-romantic demeanor, his flawless form.

But it saddened me, too, as I searched for any subtle hint of light in his eyes, to know of the desperate battle inside of him. The usually masked pain that slid out from time to time in his words, his glances. The quiet and charming man hidden within an obnoxious, fearless decoy that threw off all who dared to take a second look. I wanted to believe, for my own burning passion, that he was more wounded and in need of nurturing than what appeared. That maybe I would be the one allowed to slide within his arms and into the spaces of his shattered heart. Its a hard pill to swallow knowing that all signs pointed elsewhere.

My eyes remained locked on the ceiling, my senses tearing away as I felt him inside me completely. I was in pain. I tried my best to ignore my emotions. If I thought to hard about anything within the suddenly tangled strands of whatever type of relationship we had, I knew I would lose this moment. And as his hands moved to my chest, strands of his hair clinging to his bulging neck, I knew I wanted him to love me. But I did not know if any sort of prayer or circumstance would allow us to be together, nor if he would ever let me truly love him as well as I knew I could.

This was the closest possible way.

We stood upon the grassy land of the apartments' backyard...our cars parked only a few spots away in the lot. I stood almost completely still, playing nervously with my keys, not wanting to leave..not knowing how. He stood before me, his height more apparent now that we weren't laying down, and took my face in his hands. Was there anything that could be said?

He mumbled something about a 'next time' in between the kisses, I smiled back upon his lips. We shared a small laugh, and I noticed he had brushed his teeth sometime after everything had ended. I pulled back slightly, trying my hardest to capture his arms lingering around me, before barley speaking a quiet goodnight.

And so, flip flops in hand, the dew already sticking to my feet, I crawled into my truck and watched in my rear view mirror as he drove away. That was the last of him I saw or heard of until the next show taping.

And as I laid in bed that night, my mind was still unable to wrap itself around the silently disintegrating moment, already having forgotten many details of the night I'd want nothing more than to remember. But life, as it always does, went on as it should. The lamp cast the same old shadows on the walls of my bedroom, and the late night breeze swept across my marked and naked back as I fell asleep.

But as my eyes fluttered shut on that summer night, I knew nothing of the passion that would continue to linger in Jeff's broken chest. I did not sense his passion, masked by the calm text messages he would send to me late into nights on the road. We would meet secretly, quickly, blindly. I did not know of the sharp jealously he would carry when he found out my relationship with Carlito grew into something more.

I did not know of the pain I would feel that day at a Houston stadium, the night his first child was born. A beautiful baby girl who would one day grow up to be a woman, a woman who loved him more than I ever could.

But as each of us crawled into bed that night, our mouths and skin tainted with the marks of the other, there remained no space for the collision of regret. We both remained silent, and in the foggy haze of the next morning, I felt somehow branded anew. It took months for anyone within our close circle of friends to find out about our affair. To most, it went by unnoticed. But to Carlito, sitting across from me with anger clenched within his fists and a harsh pain in his heart, there wasn't enough I could say to save us.

I am sorry, I am sorry... it was nothing.


And if all your love was wasted..

then who the hell was I?