In the Dark

It hit me in the dark, in that funny space between consciousness and the blissful nothingness before the dreams start; that place where you try to silence the cacophony in your head, your eyes flickering under closed lids as the images flash by. Just as the voices started to become muffled, and the pictures darkened and stopped flickering, the image was there, as vivid as the moment it happened: his voice, quiet, with a smile behind it; his eyes dark with desire but still crinkled at the corners; his body lean and tense, poised over me.

With that small fissure opened, related images tumbled around, fighting for my attention, their clarity and intensity sucking the air out of my lungs and causing an involuntary rush in my groin. I could remember the small details of each incremental moment of satisfaction we’d had; I could also remember the mounting frustration that each brought, knowing that the next step could be so much better, if we’d just take it.

And then the image was back; him, poised over me, my heart still hammering in my chest from the last hit, the memory of his mouth against my flesh and his tongue flickering over concentrated nerve endings. I wanted more; he moved between my legs, leaning over me. His one hand came under my hip, tilting me closer to him, and I could feel him hard against my wetness, heat radiating from him. His face was close enough to see his lashes and the smile lines near his mouth; I could smell the faint traces of his soap. I wrapped one leg up over his hips; he was lean and his skin smooth, the curve of his lower back irresistible.

“I hope you’re not claustrophobic,” he murmured, almost rhetorically, as he wrapped his other arm over my head, not giving me a choice to protest, as if he knew I wouldn’t. He shifted his hips, and in one swift movement, buried himself inside of me completely, the base of his shaft thick. All the desperation and frustration of the previous day faded; there was a moment of instant satisfaction in feeling this full. The day before I’d found myself wanting to be inside of his skin, unable to get enough; now he was inside of me, literally, and I realized I’d underestimated how good this could feel.

I wrapped my legs tighter, running my hand across his smooth, warm skin curving perfectly over his ass, letting his hardness penetrate as deep as it could while my hand urged him on, the rush not far away. He hit a rhythm, keeping me tight against his body, and I shifted my hips, trying to take as much of him as I could, feeling the pressure mounting. And then it hit me in huge, perfect waves that made me twist and arch and cry out, the blood rushing in my head and muffling all the sounds in the room, except my own laugh: a deep, comfortable, satisfied laugh that I could feel in my stomach, which burst out without plan or forethought as the waves subsided. It was perfectly unexpected, much like the whole experience.

And now, here in the dark, without him covering me and filling me, I shut out the other images and sounds, letting this one brief moment replay over and over on the screen in my head, my fingers a poor substitute, but a substitute nonetheless. And after the ensuing wave hit then receded, sleep crept in, pushing the images back into the dark recesses where they would nestle comfortably until I wanted them again. The smile, however, I couldn’t hold back, even in the dark by myself.

Measured

She is casual, her pace measured, anticipating, but not frantic. He, on the other hand, is impatient, and she feels his hand slip around her waist as she unclasps the watch and sets it on the dresser. She turns to him slowly and smiles. "I wore the high ones," she says, lifting a foot and showing him her heels. "So I'd be taller."

He makes time for a slight smile, before he bends and kisses her, fiercely. He moans into her mouth, his breathing fast and shallow, small whimpers in the back of his throat as his lips press into hers hard and his tongue battles hers. He is passionate, and she responds automatically, ignoring his stubble scratching her skin. His hands roam, pressing her flesh, and his mouth consumes hers, teeth scraping against the flesh now and then. She can tell he battles for control, and she considers giving in, knowing he's waited for this for too long.

But she needs the control, knowing that soon, her body will be his and she will bend and flex to his every want. Knowing she'll let him hold her hands taut and pull her body against his and immobilize her while he ravages her with his mouth and his hands and his erection, already straining the confines of his slacks. She can taste the faint traces of blood from the inside of her lips already as he sucks on her bottom lip, drawing his teeth across the tender skin.

She brings her hands up to his cheeks and holds his face, which makes him pause, waiting for her next move. She takes the opportunity to pull back slightly from his mouth, breaking the connection, letting the cool air from the room swirl between their moist lips. She lets her lips brush against his ever so lightly, and she feels his mouth part; she pulls back, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue. She feels his reach out tentatively, brushing against hers, and she pulls back again, still holding his cheeks in her hands. His breath is still shallow and fast, and she can feel it tickling against her face. She leans in again, this time fitting her mouth gently against his, and he lets her control the pace, mimicking her movements. She dances around the edges of a kiss, letting the heat and the air and an occasional flick of the tongue create the sensations. Each time she gets closer, he moans into her mouth, and she pulls back, making him wait. He learns quickly, waiting for her to set the movement, responding in kind, but she can feel him quiver, waiting.

Only when his control is evident, when it matches her pace and her movements, does she give him more. She opens her mouth, sealing it against his, feeling the moist inside of his lip against hers. She sweeps her tongue against his and over his teeth, and he responds tentatively, not wanting her to pull away. She does it again, this time, slipping her fingers up the back of his neck, through his short hair. She gently sucks his bottom lip into hers, and he returns the favor. As he does, she threads her fingers through the longer hair on top and pulls his mouth to hers, crushing his lips against his teeth.

His moan is gutteral, and his hand slides down her back to cup her ass, pulling her up and towards him. She grinds her hips into his, opening her mouth completely to him, and his tongue forces its way into her mouth, possessing her, sucking the air from her lungs. Now she moans, and he acts quickly, unhooking her skirt and pushing it down, not even giving her a chance to step out of her shoes. He pulls her sweater up over her body and backwards over her head, trapping her arms behind her, not bothering to pull it all the way off. With her arms behind her and her shoulders back, her breasts jut forward, the bra barely containing them. He leans down to kiss the tops, his fingers tugging at the strap and she whispers "Yes . . . "

He pauses, his mouth hovering abover her flesh, feeling the heat radiate against his lips. She arches a little more, thrusting her breast forward, anticipating his mouth. Now, his pace is casual, measured, and not frantic, his lips barely brushing her skin while his fingers contemplate exposing her nipple to the cool air in the room, to his tongue. She closes her eyes, her breathing shallow and quick; she waits for his next move.

Fissure

She wants it to be more, but they’d just be revisiting places they’ve already determined they can’t go. She turns off her heart for this time, because she has to; tomorrow it will break. Tonight, she just needs to take from him, before he’s not there for her to take anymore.

He approaches her from behind, kissing her on the neck, wrapping his arm around her waist. She can feel he’s hard already. Not like she’s surprised; she’s already wet, and has been since dinner, staring across the table at him. Even in the silence, when they were afraid to say what tomorrow would bring - or wouldn’t bring, as was the case. It doesn’t matter; her body betrays her.

She stays like this for a moment, afraid to see his face. She lets his hands wander up under her sweater, inside of her bra, then down under the waistband of her jeans and inside her panties. She memorizes him pressed up against her, his breath, warm on her neck.

He spins her around; his eyes are nearly black, in the dim light. He lifts her sweater in one quick motion. He unbuttons her jeans and slips them over her legs, leaving her in just her bra and panties. He moves his hand over her, like her body is a Braille text he’s reading, memorizing. She feels the lump start in her throat; she pushes it down, turns her emotions on low.

She moves to unbuckle his belt and lets her hands trail across his erection as she slides the jeans down. She pulls his shirt over his head with business-like efficiency, then steps close to him, her body matched to his. He kisses her hard on the mouth, and she responds instantly - no soft exploration, no gentle kisses. It’s teeth pressing into flesh, tongues battling, no room for air. They fall on the bed and his body covers hers. His hips are pressed into her hard, his mouth nearly suffocating her, taking her breath. She can taste blood on her lip, but it only makes her kiss him back, harder. Tomorrow it will heal.

He tears at his briefs, then rips her panties from her, the lace seam giving way. He doesn’t have the patience for the hooks on her bra; he pushes it down, exposing her breast. His mouth clamps down on a nipple, then the whole breast; he’s sucking it into his mouth, almost painfully, leaving red marks on the creamy skin. He comes back up to cover her mouth with his, as he pushes her legs apart.

He buries himself inside of her, but not gradually - in one forceful thrust. She’s wet, but the force still takes her by surprise, and she cries out under his mouth. He forces himself into her again, frenzied, and she still cries out. He pulls back from her mouth, shifts his body and pushes her legs up toward her body, kneeling between her; he pounds her body, watching her face. He lets go of her legs, and she braces her feet against his shoulders. He puts one hand under her hips, touches her face with the other. She bites the palm of his hand as he slides it across her mouth. He makes a move like he’s going to slap her, but stops centimeters from her skin, caressing her cheek. She can feel the tears well in her eyes, knowing he can see them too. She closes her eyes and leans against his hand. He slides it down her neck, pressing into her flesh, and rests his hand on her breast, kneading it, squeezing it, watching the tremors in the other one as he pounds her body repeatedly.

He stops, saying nothing, but she reads his look, and knows the unspoken command. She brings one foot down from his shoulder, crossing it over her own body, turning. He shifts with her, unwilling to lose contact, as she twists her body beneath him, until she is kneeling, with him still inside of her. She lays her chest on the bed, arching her hips to meet him. He pushes himself deep inside of her, pulling her hips back to meet him. She pauses in this familiar position, then raises herself up on all fours. He holds her hips, caressing her ass, waiting. Then he thrusts, shaking her body. He thrusts again, as hard as he can, and she cries out, trying to pull away. He holds her hips and thrusts into her, over and over.

He’s hard and big, and each thrust jars her, making her ache. But the dull pain is being masked by the building rush and she can feel herself getting wetter. She moans and cries out, but they speak no words. He leans down, reaching for her face, turning her face over her shoulder. He kisses her hard, again, teeth pressing hard into her lips, forcing air from her with each thrust, moaning into her mouth. She can feel her own release coming, and his mouth stifles her whimpers as it peaks. She bucks back into him, crying out into his mouth, which seems to only feed his desire. He pounds her harder, and she can tell he is close as well. He breaks contact with her mouth as the last wave hits her and she screams his name. His pounding is furious now, his fingers digging into her flesh on her hips, bruising the skin. She can hear his breath hissing between his clenched teeth, and when he lifts his hand from her hip, she’s ready for the stinging slap that follows. Another one follows, punishing the fair skin on her flank like he’s punishing the inside of her body, and pain and pleasure become indistinguishable.

His desire is animal, his groan is guttural and his last thrusts are sharp. She can feel the pulse inside of her with his release, and then he breaks the silence. It comes in a rush of air. “I love you.” Her name. And then he collapses on top of her, whispering her name again, in her ear. He wraps his arms around hers above her head on the pillows, and she can feel his heart pound frantically against her back.

Face buried in the pillow, she whispers “I love you” where he can’t hear, and silently speaks his name, knowing it may be the last chance she has to say it in his presence, but still not able to say it. Her tears wet the pillow, like they will other nights in the future.

He whispers “I love you” again, letting it hang there, like a question. In that moment, a small fissure starts in her heart.

Alternatives

It was an intoxicating feeling, wedged in the small booth between them.

Evan was on her right, his bare calf against hers in the small booth, not bothering to give her space. Their connection, that familiarity, didn’t require him to heed her personal space, even in public. It was cramped and noisy; when he talked to her, he had to lean in close to her, letting his arm rest against hers, his lips graze her cheeks or her ears when he spoke. She would rest her hand on his arm as she talked, feeling the soft blonde hairs under her skin, and his voice would send chills down her spine, regardless of the topic. The dim bar lights caught the flash in his crystal blue eyes, and she found herself staring at his mouth when he smiled, imagining running her tongue over his perfect teeth. Not something she’d actually done, except in every third dream for the past two years or something like that. Sometimes, she was certain he had the same dreams, too. Not that they were completely unfounded. She still remembered the night they almost kissed. It still made her groin ache to think of it, and sometimes, when they’d dance around the subject, she was certain he was uncomfortably aroused too. They’d held themselves in check, but not for the wanting. She couldn’t count the nights she’d drive home from work after some innuendo-filled conversation, her heart racing and nerves tingling, and shut herself in her room trying to find release.

Daniel was on her left, with his hazel eyes and a lazy smile. He sat with a casual indifference, his arm draped on the outside edge of the C-shaped booth for three, running his hand occasionally through the flop of auburn hair across his forehead. But his thigh pressed tight against hers spoke of want and need and possession. In a previous night, much like this night, after a late night in some hotel conference room prepping for the next day’s sales presentation, they’d shared a beer, or three, a few stories, and on her way out of the elevator to her room, he’d pulled her back, kissing her hard. She’d kissed back, and over the next few months, regardless of all her reservations about having any kind of relationship like this with someone she worked with, all resolve had weakened, and they had given in on more than one occasion. She felt a flutter just thinking about it, knowing that at some point, he too had imagined a stolen moment sometime on this sales jaunt. Her back pressed up against the wall in the hotel room, his hand sliding up her skirt, his teeth catching her lips. But for now, it was only the heat from his thigh.

Now, sitting between them, working her way through a second margarita, she started to feel dizzy, though less from the alcohol than from the sheer emotional rush. She loved them both dearly, as friends, almost like brothers. She respected them both as colleagues. But it was like she’d been thrown into some Jerry Springer episode where by the end of the show she was supposed to have chosen between them and it was starting to make her head spin. Funny thing is, right now, she couldn’t make a choice.

She needed to clear her head. She put down her drink. “Upstairs,” she said, looking from one of them to the next. “We’re dancing.” She knew neither of them was crazy about dancing, but she knew that they’d go with her. They stood, and she slid out too, pointing the way to the back stairs. Evan started to lead the way, and she followed, Daniel close behind.

It was a crowded place and they wound their way through people carefully. When they got to the stairs, Evan blocked some space and Daniel went ahead, leading. She followed close behind, one hand stretched out in front of her to thread her way through the crowd, and one hand stretched back. When Daniel had gotten a few steps ahead of her, she felt Evan’s fingers grab hers. She tried to tell herself that he was just making it easier for them to thread through the crowd and stay together, but she felt his fingers intertwine with hers and tighten. She wished they had more stairs to climb. He held on to her through the crowd, but when the crowd thinned and Daniel was in sight again, he dropped her hand carefully. Her fingers still burned with the heat.

They refilled their drinks at the upstairs bar, the guys ordering another bottle of beer, and she refilling the margarita. She sipped at it, licking the salt from the rim, feeling the heat from their arms on either side of her. Making a decision, she set her glass down and announced “I need to dance,” glancing at each of them in turn, then turning her back toward them as she moved toward the dance floor. It was a fast song, one that she could lose herself in the crowd if neither one of them joined her. She closed her eyes and began to sway, raising her arms and spinning.

When she opened her eyes, they had both followed her. Daniel still held his bottle of beer and swigged from it occasionally as he swayed in time to the music. She smiled, and moved closer to him, and he draped his free arm around her waist and moved in time with her. She turned her back to him, and swayed against his hip, his hand still on her hip. She looked across the dance space at Evan, and his eyes flickered, his finger beckoning. She moved forward, placing one foot between his two feet, and one on the outside of his left leg, and he put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer. She straddled his leg as they moved, and she could feel his cheek against hers. The room was dark but she could feel a flush rise in her face; she knew his fair skin had to be burning at this point. She lowered her head slightly, just enough so that her lips brushed against his neck at the edge of his t-shirt; then she turned around with her back to him.

The bass pounded harder as the song changed, and she ground her hips, occasionally brushing against him. She thought about moving closer to Daniel, but felt Evan’s fingers catch the back of her jean skirt, his fingers grazing the skin of her lower back and he held onto her. Daniel moved closer, unaware that Evan had made contact, and he moved his hips with hers, staring into her eyes, raising his eyebrow. She closed her eyes and turned with her back to Daniel, letting her head drop back and her hair brush against him, his hand reaching up to touch the middle of her back. She felt Evan’s fingers slide around her waistband as she turned, brushing past her navel and making her shiver, finally releasing his hold. When she opened her eyes, Evan held a hand out and she took it, letting him pull her closer for a turn, spinning her around before he caught her and moved with her.

The crowd had gotten bigger, so that when the song ended, she found herself wedged between Evan and Daniel on the dance floor, the three of them breathing hard. She fanned her face, declaring “I need a drink,” and headed toward the bar, unsure of who to look at. They followed her in turn, and stood on the outskirts of the crowd, alternately watching the other dancers and her. She excused herself to the ladies room, and stood at the sink, holding the edges and staring at her own face, then splashing some water on it, trying to think straight. The crowd in the small bathroom was getting bigger and she walked back to the bar at the edge of the dance floor where they waited. The lights for last call flashed, and she could see the flush of pink in Evan’s cheeks, and the dark glow in Daniel’s eyes.

“We’re going to head back to the hotel,” Evan said, and Daniel nodded. Her heart raced, not wanting this to end, unsure of what was next. She climbed in the backseat of the car as Evan slipped into the driver’s seat, and Daniel stretched out his legs in the front passenger seat. She leaned forward onto the console as they drove, her hands resting on both seat backs, acutely aware of their shoulders resting against her fingers.

In the elevator, Daniel pushed the 3rd floor. He looked over his shoulder at Evan, and said “Room?” Evan said “405” and Daniel pushed the 4th floor button. Daniel looked back at her and said “Room?” and she blurted out “515,” noticing that they both looked up, then looked quickly down. Daniel got off first, and addressed them both, but looked at her “Breakfast tomorrow?” and they both nodded. Evan moved closer as the doors closed, and she could smell his cologne, and she rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. He lingered some as the door opened, looking back at her. “Need anything? Tylenol or something?” he asked, knowing full well she carried a complete arsenal for her frequent headaches. She wanted to say yes, but shook her head, holding his gaze as the door closed and the elevator lurched upward to the 5th floor.

Her fingers shook as she slid the key card into the room door. Closing the door behind her she kicked off her heels, and the phone started to ring. She picked it up to find Daniel on the other line. “Want to meet downstairs for breakfast, or should I come by and get you?” he asked, even though they’d been meeting downstairs each day for the last two days. She wanted to say “come by” but agreed to meet him downstairs, then hung up the phone. It rang in her hand. Evan. Reminding her to drink water and take Tylenol before bed, w anting to know if she had enough. She thanked him, sensed hesitation as he looked for more conversation, and mumbled a goodnight to him.

She threw herself on the bed, groaning. Replaying the events of the night; reliving the torture of sitting between the two of them, wanting them both. She pulled a pillow over her face and groaned into it, biting it, then rolled over on top of it. Her mind was racing and her body followed; sleep was not going to come easy. She lay on the bed in her clothes, but turned out the light, staring into the dark of the room, lit only by the clock radio.

The knock at the door startled her and sent her heart racing. Knowing it would be one of them. Not knowing who, or for what purpose. A second knock sounded softly, and she got out of bed. Mechanically, she walked to the door, about to peer out the peephole; instead, she turned, leaning back against the door, her hand on the handle. She counted to five, wanting to look out and know before she opened the door. But then, she thought, did it matter?

She closed her eyes, her heart hammering in her throat, turned the handle, and swung the door open slowly.

Call

She wasn’t surprised by the call so much; it was the tenor of his voice.

“Hello there.” Same greeting, but there was a breathlessness behind it; the words caught in his throat, came out in a rush of forced air. It gave her a chill, then turned her stomach liquid. She was alone, but still found herself walking into the bedroom and closing the door. She sat on the small window seat, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs tightly. She wasn't sure where he was going with this.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she began cautiously, her heart racing. “How are you?” Casual, she thought. She swallowed hard.

“I miss you, babe. I need you. Here. Now.” He paused, and she readied a response. But it wasn’t necessary. “I want to be there, holding you. Touching you. Making love to you.” His intentions were clear. She swallowed again. “Where are you, babe?”

She told him her location, told him she was alone.

“I want to kiss you. Touch you. Be inside of you.” Her breathing was starting to be erratic, and she could feel the muscles in her groin clench and release, involuntarily. She didn’t speak.

“Take off your jeans.” The command was a low snarl almost. Although he couldn’t see, she did as he instructed. “Take off your sweater.” The room was warm when she pulled it over her head, but his voice made her flesh tingle and the goosebumps rise. She slid to the floor, leaned back against the window seat, and stretched out her legs. “Tell me what you’re wearing now.”

She described the lacy panties and the matching bra. He stopped her mid-description in a hoarse, rushed whisper and said “Touch yourself. Reach into your panties and touch yourself.”

Her fingers moved on their own accord. “Are you touching yourself?” She whispered a “yes.”

“Are you wet? Tell me how wet you are.” She didn’t have words for this. She whispered, “Silky.”

“I like silky. I want to taste silky. Slide a finger inside of yourself.” She didn’t tell him she already had. His voice was an aphrodisiac; his urgency and desperation magnified it beyond her comprehension. She was already trembling, close to that edge. “Now touch your breast. Squeeze it for me.”

His words came frantic now, describing their love-making in detail while her mind ran the images. She began to rub herself frantically, alternating her fingers inside of herself, trying to reach some core she couldn’t touch. “I’m so close, sweetheart . . .” she managed to choke out.

“What do you want me to do? Hmmm? Say it . . . Say what you want me to do . . . Tell me what I can do to make you come.” This was part of the routine, be she’d never said it on the phone. But there was his voice in her ear . . . And the words tumbled out. “I want . . . I want . . . Fuck me. I want you to fuck me . . . . I want you to bury yourself deep inside of me and fuck me until I come.” She could feel the blood rush as she said the words, and his whispered response told her he was close too.

“I am babe. I’m fucking you. Pounding you. Fucking you so hard your ass is shaking . . . Can you feel me? Can you feel how hard I am?”

Her response was lost in the explosion. Only her fingers were coherent now; the sounds that came out of her throat were animal and primal. He was still whispering, but she could hear the strain. She managed to choke out “Come with me, baby . . . Now.” His groan over the phone was telling, and he repeated “I am coming” over and over. She could picture his face, tense with the effort, then slack with the release. And in a final moan, the words rushed out, echoing in her ears . . . “I love you.”

She sat shaking, alone, in her room, her panties pushed aside, her fingers still damp. Her heart said it too, but her mouth said “I know.”

Cashing In

They pulled up in front of the apartment. She invited him in. After three hours at The Spike, she hadn’t seen any better prospects. The university students all seemed preoccupied with their groups; the med students had finals this week. Although, truthfully, Brent was a better choice this week. Maybe his name was Bret. Hard to hear in there.

* * * * *

She’d done a lap or two in the bar, found him with a colleague - an older man. They looked like they were traveling on business. She caught both of them looking at her ass in the denim miniskirt. She’d walked up and started conversation with the two of them, leaning down on their table, letting the Wonderbra work its magic. She was certain Brent had been wearing a wedding band, but now his left hand was bare: telltale dent and suntan line obvious to her trained eye. Even better; he wanted the ass, didn’t want a relationship. She could cash in on that.

They were pharmaceutical reps. Meaning personable, but not quite smart enough to be in med school. Also meant nice car and money - at least more than med students. She squeezed in next to Brent, letting her bare leg rest against his in the booth. She pretended to be interested in his colleague’s story. She got them to buy her some drinks, even letting Brent (Bret?) do a body shot off her chest. When he slid his hand between her thighs, just below the hem of the skirt, she knew that he was malleable, like her own personal Play-Doh. She asked for a ride home; they could negotiate the rest when they got to the apartment.

* * * * *

“Have a seat,” she commented casually, pointing to the small couch. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got beer or vodka.”

He took a vodka tonic; she made it a little stronger than it needed to be. She brought it to him, leaning down to kiss him. He was a terrible kisser, which meant he was probably even more malleable than she thought. She stopped kissing him; grabbing his free hand, she placed it on her chest, letting his fingers brush her breasts. She straddled his lap, lifting the fingers off her chest, sucking his fingers into her mouth, like she was giving him head. His breathing was labored, and she could tell from the bulge in his pants that he was desperate.

She stood up; he looked disappointed. She touched his face, spoke softly to him.

“I should probably get to bed. I’ve got to call work tomorrow, see if I can get extra hours. I need to get my car into the shop, but don’t have the extra cash. I was supposed to have the next few days off, but I guess I’ll need to work. Too bad, seeing that you’ll be in town for a few days. Would have loved to have spent time with you.”

He shifted on the couch, his hard-on obvious, and stammered. “Well, . . . Uh . . . Maybe I can help you out.”

She held her smile, and put on her serious face. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” She leaned down and kissed him, hard, deep. “But that’s really sweet, B.” She was going to call him "B". It made it more personal, and she didn’t risk screwing up his name.

“No, its no problem . . . Really . . . Come on, sit here with me.” He patted the couch. The one she got from her last conquest. He owned a furniture chain.

She smiled at him. “You’re so sweet, B. Mind if I get more comfortable?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. She turned to walk down the hall, pulling off her tank top as she went. She looked back at him before going into the bathroom, and he was watching every move. She slipped into the bathroom, shut the door, and stripped down to nothing but her heels. Staring at her naked body: firm, tight, suntanned, flawless. Free gym membership from Stan, the owner of the local fitness club, and she only had to bang him once a month for that.

She spritzed on some more body spray - even a tiny spritz on her bare mound. Brushed her teeth. Gave her hair one more flip before she walked out. His eyes were wide, as she strode down the hallway, naked, back into the living room. She stood before him, feet, shoulder width apart. Knowing the lamp behind her illuminated everything just perfectly. But there was business to attend to. “Are you sure you don’t mind helping out with the car?” she purred. “It would sure be nice to not have to work a few overtime shifts. Especially if you’re going to be in town.” He was nodding, not even speaking. She moved closer, lay across his lap, her bare, tanned ass arched up toward him, her legs crossed and her heels in the air. She could feel his erection under her stomach. Looked him in the face as he stared at her, stretched out across his lap.

“Wanna spank me?” she asked. She felt his cock twitch in response, wondering if before the sun came up she could convince him to replace the two rear tires that were going bald.

Ghost

. . . i start to feel a fever from the warm air through the screen you come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams . . .

She lies in bed, tossing and turning. It’s the heat, she thinks; unbearable and stagnant. Not like the fresh mountain breeze in the evening, tinged with the faint traces of wood smoke. She flops onto her belly, hoping to find a cool breeze somewhere to soothe her skin. She can feel the dark pieces of the dream tugging her back down into sleep. It was a dream, right?

A lightning flash illuminates the room, followed by a series of sharp claps of thunder that she feels low in her belly, making her heart race. In that instance, she remembers what woke her. It was a dream. But not just a dream: the dream. The one that makes her feverish, leaving her pulse thundering, the memories of scent fresh in her nostrils: fire, citrus and alcohol, trees and river water, sweat overlaying the clean smell of soap. The moon is still almost full and the rain on the windows creates a haze. Making her think of car windows fogged over in the chill of the night.

She’s haunted by the images again. Can’t sleep as they flicker through her brain. She finds herself holding her breath again. Though in the dark of this night, he’s not there to whisper “breathe” - she has to remind herself, over and over again. While her mind plays out the scenes in the shadows of her memory . . .

. . . and i guess that's how you started like a pinprick to my heart but at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown . . .

She’d been caught off guard before, but never when her mind was clear, like it had been that night. Laying there in the heat of this night, retracing her steps, rethinking every moment, she could see it laid out in small increments before her, leading to the eventual. In the moment, though, she had been oblivious. She remembered pausing a couple times back then, waiting for him to do something obvious, but he was never like anyone else. And so she became comfortable in his space. He was complex in a way, but uncomplicated. Calming and easy-going, finding pleasure in sharing small but important things with her; music, the mountains, work, life, dreams. Like old friends did.

She remembered the instant she became aware that they’d fallen into something that was more than just comfortable. She asked where the bathroom was; he gave her directions, his hand resting on the small of her back. She walked away, the heat signature from his fingers still burning the skin and causing gooseflesh on her neck. She made herself breathe. He was smiling when she returned, and they sat on the barstools facing each other, their knees touching occasionally. Despite the electricity of his touch, she was immediately comfortable again. Until in the middle of conversation, he reached up to stroke a finger down her cheek. She caught her breath again. But smiled, the heat rising in her face. And then he asked a question, smiling tentatively, like a nervous teenager. A simple request – a gentleman’s request: just a kiss on the forehead. She found it hard to breathe, but said yes. He touched her arm, and leaned in to touch his lips to her skin, and she inhaled his scent as he came close, feeling slightly dizzy, a flush spreading across her body. So simple, yet so intimate.

They left soon after, she, still feeling warm, even as the night chill set in more. And for a moment, she thought that was all it might be. Until he kissed her at the gas station, lightly and quickly. But his mouth pressed against hers, for that brief moment, was the next question. She was unsure if she answered it correctly, as they exchanged no words. But when he told the next stranger they saw that this was their first “date”, there was no mistaking how he’d interpreted the answer.

. . . dark and dangerous like a secret that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul) when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush (don't tell a soul) . . .

Sitting in the truck, the silence soft around them, moonlight outlining trees and bushes and rocks, she felt calm. The moonlight did nothing to dim the stars, and she sat in the front seat, twisting and turning to see them around her. The darkness, illuminated by the moon, made her remember summer nights in childhood staring out at the night skies, a blanket spread on the lawn as she spotted constellations. The music continued to play in the background, and she occasionally would hum or sing, like she’d been doing all evening. She was turned with her back the front window, looking up at the sky above her, marveling at how prominent the stars were when they weren’t competing with the city lights. When she looked down again, he leaned closer to her, and she knew it was coming. His lips touched hers, then parted, their tongues carefully searching each other out, testing. He paused for a second, and she held her breath. She didn’t release it until he spoke. “Breathe.” She let out her breath in a rush, kissing him again. Starting the same cycle over again. “Breathe,” he commanded, gently, but her breathing was erratic. “Breathe into me,” he whispered, and it sounded so easy. She fitted her mouth against his, but found her chest heaving anyway, trying to catch her breath while his kisses lit fires low in her groin, making her squirm in the seat.

She reached a hand up to run through his hair. It was soft and fine at the back of his neck, slipping easily through her hands. Silky against her touch, she slid her hands up to the top of his head, where his hair was longer. His kisses were electric, and the intensity mounted. Without thinking, she slid his hair between her fingers and pulled his mouth tight against hers. He responded immediately, threading his fingers in her long hair and tugging her head back, kissing her forcefully, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush. She felt her body respond, liquefy, and her heart raced faster. He tugged the strap of her tank top down, followed by her bra; his mouth covered a nipple, sucking on it firmly, and she ran her fingers through his hair again, moaning softly.

Gentle turned frantic at one point, and he struggled with her jeans. The movements made her stop; think. She shouldn’t be here, doing this. He paused. “Don’t you want me?” His voice was plaintive. “It’s not a matter of want,” she said. “It’s a matter of ‘should’ . . .” He kissed her more, tugging at her clothes. She hesitated. “Wait, . . .” Panting, torn, wanting this, but feeling disingenuous.

“Your breathing tells me you want me,” he queried, his eyes feverish with desire. His face was raw and honest; it wasn’t a line.

“It’s just that . . .” She had trouble finding the words, her breath coming in shallow gasps “. . . I’m not just going back tomorrow . . . I’m going back . . . to someone.” She emphasized the “someone”. He stared at her, unfazed, stating the obvious. “You don’t wear a ring.” She rubbed her hand against her head, trying to think of how to explain that it wasn’t about precious metal and stones. He leaned in to kiss her. “Then tell me you don’t want me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but melted into his kiss, her resolve evaporating.

. . . i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close . . .

He kissed her harder, and she whimpered into his mouth. His fingers slid inside of her, and she felt another rush of wetness, as he took her closer to that edge. She fought the sensations, trying to collect her thoughts. He tugged at her jeans again, his breathing ragged. “No . . .” she whispered, half-heartedly, wondering if she said it more to herself than to him. He paused, tugging again and she spoke. “I don’t know . . . I . . . if they come off . . . I won’t stop.” He stared at her, his eyes liquid in the moonlight, his lips full, his body tense. He kissed her again, his hand still on her waistband, waiting. She kissed him back, harder, and this time, when he tugged at her jeans, she reached down to help him.

He moved quickly, laying down the passenger seat, and positioned himself over her, kissing her, whispering, words that made no sense to her. Then reality hit her again, and she was acutely aware of his frame above her, stronger than hers, his breathing anxious, his voice strained by passion. He was poised to enter her, and she had a brief moment of logic and remembering, of guilt and obligation. “Wait . . .”

He was aroused, impatient, but he struggled for control. His voice was raw as he whispered. “Please. It’s been so long since I’ve been attracted to someone like this . . . I want to feel you . . . I want to be inside of you . . . Please . . . Just for a bit . . . Please . . . I want to be close.”

She could hardly breathe and her position was awkward, but the combination of the voice in her heart and the tug in her groin was stronger than logic. She found herself sliding her hips down in the seat, tilting them up to meet his, feeling him solid and warm against her. He pushed against her, his thickness parting her wetness. She opened her mind and her heart for a moment, and then opened herself to him. He pushed into her, exhaling, and she welcomed him. And then, like a weakened dam that’s weathered the last ravages of the flood, she could feel the pressure surge, then break, and she groaned into him, writhing, trying to meld to his body. Once it started, she couldn’t stop it, and she moaned, cursed, cried, as wave after wave took her, this time, and each time after.

. . . as i burn up in your presence and i know now how it feels to be weakened like Achilles with you always at my heels . . .

She gave herself to him, again and again. Sometimes in passion shrouded in harsh words. Sometimes, at his gentle urging . . . “I want to make love to you . . .” His mouth found her mouth, then moved lower, eventually catching the soft, wet flesh between his lips and rolling it in his mouth, causing spasm after spasm. The CD playing cycled over and over, like their personal soundtrack, burning itself into her brain. In a moment of passion, as she rode him to yet another climax, staring down at him, he reached up and held her face. “Listen,” he commanded. She heard the words “. . . when you kiss me like a lover . . .” Found herself singing them under her breath with him, as he pushed up inside of her, watching his face, intense. Deeper inside of her, inside her head, inside her heart. The words tattooed on the memory of this moment.

And finally, her body flushed and aching, her heart exhausted and beating hard against her ribs, she lay against him, listening to his heart, his breathing. Tracing his face, memorizing every line and angle. “Sleep,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Laying his hand on her bare hip, one arm around her body curled in his lap. She smiled, mostly to herself. Not sure if it was the ecstasy, or the simple pleasure of his genuineness. She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart giving into visions of stretching out next to him every night, naked, waking with the room chilled by the morning mountain air, her skin warm where it touched his. Thinking about tracing patterns on his fair skin, the hairs soft on his arms and chest, his hair tousled, his eyes crinkling in a sleepy smile.

When she opened her eyes, she realized the sun was casting its first light in the morning sky. The realization that she was leaving later that day hit, and she roused him. He stretched, kissing her. He fumbled with his clothes; she did the same, quietly, reluctant to talk. His words finally came in a rush. “Please tell me you won’t forget this, forget me, regret this. You can change your mind.” Her heart started breaking, making her quiet, making her pull away, some. “Never say never,” she managed to say, without crying. He kissed her; she kissed him back. “Never say never.” But she couldn’t find more words, couldn’t make promises. It was better this way, she thought.

He looked stunned, innocent. “You’re saying goodbye,” he said, with a mix of incredulity and defeat. She could only smile, gently. If she spoke, she’d sob.

. . . now i see your face before me i would launch a thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips . . .

Hundreds of miles away, the morning air is cool, like she remembers, but heavier, with a hint of moisture and evergreens, the smell of the city not far behind. Designer heels click on the concrete, her skirt wrapping around her curves and hugging her knees, strands of her necklace clinking together softly in rhythm with her step. She opens the door of the sedan, throws her briefcase in the back seat, pulls her long legs in behind her and slips on sunglasses. The leather is cool against her legs and she turns on the heat. She opens the sunroof for some fresh air, turns on the sound system, and puts the car in gear. She’s concentrating on getting onto the road when the CD sound kicks on, and she’s hit by a wave of memory. Remembering this CD cycling. As if he’d made sure she wouldn’t forget, even here. She’d taken all the CD’s out prior to the trip when she’d taken the car to get it serviced . . . All but this one. She drove in a haze, replaying the sounds, over and over, seeing his face, hearing his voice, tasting his mouth, feeling his body. And when she stepped into the blond wood and glass of her office, overlooking the city, the mountains far away on the horizon, her heart ached for the memory, ached for him, ached for another time. She put her face in her hands and tried to breathe. Remembered him whispering “Breathe . . .,” realizing she was still holding her breath. The words played in her head again. His words. Their words.

… unknowing captor you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit . . .

. . . i am no worse at most in love with your ghost . . .


* Excerpted lyrics to "Ghost" copyright of the Indigo Girls, 1992