Only Him
Page 16
Holding back as much as I could, I went slow until I felt her body relax and she began to issue breathless commands against my lips that had me driving into her with deep, rhythmic strokes. Fuck me. Yes. Right there. Don’t stop.
It was unbelievable—I was with Maren again, I was inside her, nothing between us. It couldn’t be real. It was too good to be true. For a moment, I was terrified my head was messing with me. Was I hallucinating? Was I conscious? Was this some kind of altered state? Was she only a ghost? A memory?
I opened my eyes. No, no—she was here. I could see her, I was holding her. She was gorgeous flesh and blood in my arms. I was kissing her and touching her and moving inside her. I heard my name on her lips.
Dallas…oh God…Dallas…it’s happening again…yes, yes, yes…
I began to let go, bracing her against the wall and pounding into her so viciously I was sure her back would bruise. And I liked it—I was such a fucking dick that I liked the idea she’d leave here tomorrow with black and blue marks on her unblemished skin, something more than an insubstantial memory. I wished it were permanent, a tattoo.
She came a second time, her cries even louder, her hands fisted in my hair, her body clenching tight as my cock surged inside her. I thought my legs would give. I thought my heart would explode. I thought my life would flash before my eyes.
When it eventually became clear that I wasn’t going to die right here in the shower at the Westin, I started to breathe again. Our foreheads rested together. Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me, and I didn’t want her to let go.
Ever.
She picked up her head. “My God. It’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“A woman can have two. In a row.”
“Two orgasms, you mean?”
“Yes! That’s never happened to me before.”
I felt like a hero. “Good.”
“And you know what else I just realized?”
“What?”
“We never did this before. Took a shower together.”
“Probably because we lived with our parents, Maren.”
“True.” She looked down at our bodies, still joined. “I like it. I like being able to see you. We were always in the dark, half-dressed or something. Nervous about being too loud or getting caught. We never really got to take our time.”
“I don’t think I was capable of taking my time back then.” I kissed her lips, her cheek, her throat. “But tonight is a different story.”
“Or at least another chapter in the same story.” She brushed the hair off my face. “We never really felt finished to me.”
“Me neither.”
We were both silent then, even though there were a hundred things I wished I could say.
I still love you. I never stopped. Run away with me. Let’s go, just the two of us. We’ll rewrite history, give ourselves a different ending this time.
But deep down, I knew that was impossible.
When our fingertips started to shrivel, we got out of the shower and dried off. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, as if I was afraid she was going to disappear.
She looked around at the clothing scattered on the bathroom floor. “I should probably hang my stuff up. I’m going to have to walk out of here in it eventually.”
I didn’t like thinking about her walking out. “I’ll hang it up for you.” Tossing my towel onto the vanity, I leaned down and picked up her blouse and skirt.
“Thank you.” She grabbed my towel, hung it on the back of the bathroom door along with her own, and scooped up her undergarments. “I’m just going to rinse these out real quick.”
I left the bathroom and hung her clothing in the closet next to a couple shirts of mine. Then I stood there for a moment. I’d never lived with anyone, so I’d never shared a closet before. It sounds stupid, but there was something I liked about seeing our things hanging side-by-side like that. I shut the closet door and caught Maren’s reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of it. She stood naked at the sink, rinsing out her things. My chest felt tight. This is what it would be like. We’d do little things for each other, we’d observe one another doing insignificant, routine tasks, we’d walk around naked with no shame. For a moment I let myself imagine it, a life together without the tick of the clock in my head, counting down the hours we had left.
But that was pointless. Time was not on my side.
She caught me looking at her in the mirror and smiled over her shoulder. “Hey.”
I went into the bathroom and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pressing my lips to her shoulder. I needed to make the most of every moment we had. “Hey.”
She wrung out her things and spread them on a hand towel to dry. “There. That’s a little better. Want me to rinse yours?”
“No. I don’t give a fuck about them.” I kissed the back of her head. “Your hair smells good.”
“Thanks.” She rested her arms on top of mine, leaning back into my chest. “You feel good.” Then she turned to face me, ran her hands up my chest and down my shoulders. “Tell me about your tattoos now.”
“That could take all night, and I have better ideas.” Already my dick was showing interest in how close her hips were to mine.
She smiled as she traced the Arabic lettering on my left deltoid. “Indulge me a little. What’s that say?”
“It says, ‘I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.’”
“That’s beautiful. But also sort of sad. What is it from?”
“The Madman, by Khalil Gibran. He actually wrote it in English, but I liked the look of the Arabic better.” I also liked that most people couldn’t read it. My connection to the sentiment wasn’t something I enjoyed explaining to anyone.
“Did you design it?”
“I draw all my tattoos. But someone else does them.”
“What about this?” Her hand moved over the tiger on my left forearm. “Why a tiger?”
“I like the way they move.”
She nodded, running her palm over the ink covering my right shoulder and upper arm. “And this one?”
“A Maori tribal design.”
She drew a line with her finger down the center of my chest and over to the side of my rib cage, where I had decided to put the one tattoo I thought of as hers. It was an abstract drawing of a mermaid, done in sweeping minimalist curves. She’d once told me her name meant sea and she thought of mermaids as her spirit animal. “Ooooh, I love this. Did I ever tell you how much I love mermaids?”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
“Does it mean anything?”
It means part of you is always with me. “No. I actually drew it for someone else, but he decided on a different design, something more traditional. So I kept it for myself.”
She bit her lip, nodding slowly as she studied it. “It’s beautiful.” Then she looked up at me wistfully. “Maybe you’ll design a mermaid tattoo for me someday. Maybe you’ll even do it.”
I swallowed hard. Heard my neurologist’s voice.
You should be prepared to lose some fine motor control on your right side.
She focused on her fingers moving across my chest again. “I could come visit you in Portland or something.”
I didn’t say anything, and she looked up again.
“Would that be okay? To come visit you sometime?”
Words refused to form. I knew my silence was worse than a lie, but I couldn’t speak.
Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry. That’s probably too forward of me.”
“I just—can’t make any promises,” I managed, hating myself.
She put on a face so brave it nearly broke my heart. “I get it. Really. And if all we have is tonight, so be it. I’ll think of it as an unexpected gift. A second chance for the goodbye I wanted back then.”
Because I didn’t trust myself with words, I kissed her, and felt desire stir inside me again. Heat spread from the center of my body. My heart began to pump harder. My cock began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh.
It was unbelievable—I was with Maren again, I was inside her, nothing between us. It couldn’t be real. It was too good to be true. For a moment, I was terrified my head was messing with me. Was I hallucinating? Was I conscious? Was this some kind of altered state? Was she only a ghost? A memory?
I opened my eyes. No, no—she was here. I could see her, I was holding her. She was gorgeous flesh and blood in my arms. I was kissing her and touching her and moving inside her. I heard my name on her lips.
Dallas…oh God…Dallas…it’s happening again…yes, yes, yes…
I began to let go, bracing her against the wall and pounding into her so viciously I was sure her back would bruise. And I liked it—I was such a fucking dick that I liked the idea she’d leave here tomorrow with black and blue marks on her unblemished skin, something more than an insubstantial memory. I wished it were permanent, a tattoo.
She came a second time, her cries even louder, her hands fisted in my hair, her body clenching tight as my cock surged inside her. I thought my legs would give. I thought my heart would explode. I thought my life would flash before my eyes.
When it eventually became clear that I wasn’t going to die right here in the shower at the Westin, I started to breathe again. Our foreheads rested together. Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me, and I didn’t want her to let go.
Ever.
She picked up her head. “My God. It’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“A woman can have two. In a row.”
“Two orgasms, you mean?”
“Yes! That’s never happened to me before.”
I felt like a hero. “Good.”
“And you know what else I just realized?”
“What?”
“We never did this before. Took a shower together.”
“Probably because we lived with our parents, Maren.”
“True.” She looked down at our bodies, still joined. “I like it. I like being able to see you. We were always in the dark, half-dressed or something. Nervous about being too loud or getting caught. We never really got to take our time.”
“I don’t think I was capable of taking my time back then.” I kissed her lips, her cheek, her throat. “But tonight is a different story.”
“Or at least another chapter in the same story.” She brushed the hair off my face. “We never really felt finished to me.”
“Me neither.”
We were both silent then, even though there were a hundred things I wished I could say.
I still love you. I never stopped. Run away with me. Let’s go, just the two of us. We’ll rewrite history, give ourselves a different ending this time.
But deep down, I knew that was impossible.
When our fingertips started to shrivel, we got out of the shower and dried off. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, as if I was afraid she was going to disappear.
She looked around at the clothing scattered on the bathroom floor. “I should probably hang my stuff up. I’m going to have to walk out of here in it eventually.”
I didn’t like thinking about her walking out. “I’ll hang it up for you.” Tossing my towel onto the vanity, I leaned down and picked up her blouse and skirt.
“Thank you.” She grabbed my towel, hung it on the back of the bathroom door along with her own, and scooped up her undergarments. “I’m just going to rinse these out real quick.”
I left the bathroom and hung her clothing in the closet next to a couple shirts of mine. Then I stood there for a moment. I’d never lived with anyone, so I’d never shared a closet before. It sounds stupid, but there was something I liked about seeing our things hanging side-by-side like that. I shut the closet door and caught Maren’s reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of it. She stood naked at the sink, rinsing out her things. My chest felt tight. This is what it would be like. We’d do little things for each other, we’d observe one another doing insignificant, routine tasks, we’d walk around naked with no shame. For a moment I let myself imagine it, a life together without the tick of the clock in my head, counting down the hours we had left.
But that was pointless. Time was not on my side.
She caught me looking at her in the mirror and smiled over her shoulder. “Hey.”
I went into the bathroom and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pressing my lips to her shoulder. I needed to make the most of every moment we had. “Hey.”
She wrung out her things and spread them on a hand towel to dry. “There. That’s a little better. Want me to rinse yours?”
“No. I don’t give a fuck about them.” I kissed the back of her head. “Your hair smells good.”
“Thanks.” She rested her arms on top of mine, leaning back into my chest. “You feel good.” Then she turned to face me, ran her hands up my chest and down my shoulders. “Tell me about your tattoos now.”
“That could take all night, and I have better ideas.” Already my dick was showing interest in how close her hips were to mine.
She smiled as she traced the Arabic lettering on my left deltoid. “Indulge me a little. What’s that say?”
“It says, ‘I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.’”
“That’s beautiful. But also sort of sad. What is it from?”
“The Madman, by Khalil Gibran. He actually wrote it in English, but I liked the look of the Arabic better.” I also liked that most people couldn’t read it. My connection to the sentiment wasn’t something I enjoyed explaining to anyone.
“Did you design it?”
“I draw all my tattoos. But someone else does them.”
“What about this?” Her hand moved over the tiger on my left forearm. “Why a tiger?”
“I like the way they move.”
She nodded, running her palm over the ink covering my right shoulder and upper arm. “And this one?”
“A Maori tribal design.”
She drew a line with her finger down the center of my chest and over to the side of my rib cage, where I had decided to put the one tattoo I thought of as hers. It was an abstract drawing of a mermaid, done in sweeping minimalist curves. She’d once told me her name meant sea and she thought of mermaids as her spirit animal. “Ooooh, I love this. Did I ever tell you how much I love mermaids?”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
“Does it mean anything?”
It means part of you is always with me. “No. I actually drew it for someone else, but he decided on a different design, something more traditional. So I kept it for myself.”
She bit her lip, nodding slowly as she studied it. “It’s beautiful.” Then she looked up at me wistfully. “Maybe you’ll design a mermaid tattoo for me someday. Maybe you’ll even do it.”
I swallowed hard. Heard my neurologist’s voice.
You should be prepared to lose some fine motor control on your right side.
She focused on her fingers moving across my chest again. “I could come visit you in Portland or something.”
I didn’t say anything, and she looked up again.
“Would that be okay? To come visit you sometime?”
Words refused to form. I knew my silence was worse than a lie, but I couldn’t speak.
Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry. That’s probably too forward of me.”
“I just—can’t make any promises,” I managed, hating myself.
She put on a face so brave it nearly broke my heart. “I get it. Really. And if all we have is tonight, so be it. I’ll think of it as an unexpected gift. A second chance for the goodbye I wanted back then.”
Because I didn’t trust myself with words, I kissed her, and felt desire stir inside me again. Heat spread from the center of my body. My heart began to pump harder. My cock began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh.
