Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  I bite my lip. “No, it was me who initiated the fucking.”

  “I don’t regret it.”

  The words offer absolution, and I cling to it desperately. “Even if I fell pregnant?”

  His gaze holds mine steadily. “Even, yes.”

  Something inside me gives, a tightness I’ve been carrying for the past four years. “Thank you.”

  “It takes two to tango, ginger.”

  I stare at my hands. “Yes, but I seduced you.”

  From under my lashes, I watch him straighten and walk to me.

  “You didn’t hold a gun to my head. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve said no.”

  His words are more than an admission that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. They’re a proposal to carry half of the guilt for changing the course of our lives. Thank you seems too inadequate for the gratitude in my heart. For the first time since peeing on a stick, I breathe easier. I breathe like I used to when life was carefree, when finding a spotted bird egg was the most eventful part of the day. A layer of hurt lifts, and hope peaks out from underneath.

  Pushing to my feet, I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. For a moment, the gesture is one-sided and awkward, but then he folds his arms around my waist and hugs me back. It’s more comforting than anything I’ve experienced, very different from my mom’s embraces. The hardness of his chest reminds me he’s a man. The hardness of his erection reminds me I’m a woman. I’ve been a mother for the past four years, but I haven’t been a woman for a very long time.

  My voice is breathless, my legs suddenly shaking. “Jake.”

  He stills with his arms like a vice around me.

  Straining my neck, I stare up at his handsome features. “Sleep with me.”

  His dark eyes search my face. “Why?”

  “It’s been too long.”

  Lust smolders in his eyes, a violent storm that can’t be hidden by the gentle way in which he answers. “I’m not going to sleep with you for the wrong reasons, but I can take off the edge if you like.”

  My body is pulsing with desire. I haven’t felt anything like it since the day at the lake. The need is so great, I’m willing to take anything, even face the humiliation and shame I’ll suffer as a consequence of my weakness.

  When he pushes me back down onto the couch, I don’t stop him. I don’t argue when he grips the elastic of my shorts and pulls them with my underwear over my hips and down my thighs. I lift my feet for him to free me from my clothes. I spread my legs for him when he kneels between my knees, and I lift my arms when he yanks the hem of my T-shirt up. I lean forward so he can unclip my bra and push the straps from my arms. My breasts are heavy. It feels good when they spill from the tight lace into his hands.

  He studies my body unabashedly, tracing the lines of my curves with his eyes. Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on my nipple. His lips fold around the tip, his tongue tracing the hard point. A shudder runs down my spine. My back arches, offering more. I want the darkness we once shared, the forbidden lust, but he doesn’t lose control. He draws me deeper, sucking gently while massaging my breasts.

  My need climbs, a desperate ache growing between my legs. He drags a palm down my abdomen and over my stomach until he reaches my folds. Like yesterday, I’m wet for him, and he makes a sound of approval from deep in his throat. He moves his lips to my other breast, giving it the same, meticulous treatment, while his fingers part me gently to expose my clit. I gasp when he rubs a finger over the nub. When he lifts his head to look at me, I know from the utter concentration on his face that this is all about me. He’s reading my body, tuned to my reactions.

  He’s not unaffected, because his voice is rough. “How long exactly has it been?”

  Telling him I haven’t been with anyone else isn’t something I want to admit. I don’t want to give him that much power. “Long enough.”

  “How long?”

  I moan when he plays with me a little, teasing but not giving. “What does it matter?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Lifting my hips, I try to take him deeper. “You won’t.”

  “Not going to make the same mistake twice. How long, Kristi?”

  I could lie, but not while I’m staring into his eyes. Lies don’t belong in the truth playing out between us. They never have. I recall the beauty of my dirty admission, the way I wanted it rough, and how close being truthful made me feel to Jake, even closer than how deep he’d been inside me.

  The truth slips out on a breathless whisper. “Not since you.”

  His eyes flare. They darken with satisfaction and possession. They soften with reward as he finally gathers my wetness and slips his finger inside. My toes curl from the pleasure of his touch. I give over to the sensations he creates, letting desire carry me to a place where I can forget my hurt and the problems I’ll face going home, even if just for a little while.

  As always, he knows how to get me where I want to be. He knows how to palm and rub and caress until I’m at breaking point. I’m pretty sure I begged, but from the moment he replaces his finger with his wicked tongue, I’m not cognizant of anything but what he makes me feel. I’m also pretty sure I heard him say, “Mine,” but everything else vanishes as my orgasm detonates, ripping through me with both a physical and emotional force that ties me a little more to Jake. I didn’t foresee the emotional part, didn’t want it, but I can’t help it. The bond forms automatically, of its own accord, just like it had during our first time, and for all the barriers I put up around myself, I feel closer to him.

  Jake

  The woman of my dreams lies naked in front of me, disheveled and sweetly undone. Wiping her arousal from my mouth with the back of my hand, I take perverse pleasure in the chaos I created. I take pleasure in knowing that chaos is mine. She hasn’t been with another man. I don’t deserve that kind of gift. I don’t deserve the woman she is, but I still can’t let anyone else have her. If I could, I would’ve still been in Dubai and given her the divorce she wants.

  Some things never change, my feelings for Kristi being on the top of that list. I’ve always wanted her to have better than me, but I’ve always wanted to rip out the throat of anyone better than me for just looking her way. Noah added a whole new dimension to the equation. He’s ours, and I want to be a better man for both of them. I don’t want to be my father’s prediction. I want to be me, even if I’m still not sure who that is. It’s wrong to wring a relationship out of Kristi when I don’t know myself, but we’ll figure it out if she gives me the chance.

  A small piece of the rottenness I feel about myself evaporates as I look into her eyes. They’re hazy with post-orgasmic bliss. It’s good to know I put that flush on her cheeks. The way her lips are still slightly parted reminds me of all the sexy noises she made. I’m on my knees in more than just a literal way. I’m aching to take her so much I’m shivering with restraint. Pushing down the need, I get to my feet and gather her in my arms. Her hands lock automatically around my neck, a gesture I find both sweet and painful. It stirs a longing for something she’s not ready to give and may never be. I force the never down and carry her to the kitchen. Lowering her gently onto a stool, I take the T-shirt I’d removed earlier from the island counter and pull it over her head. Naked, she’s a vision, and I’m just a man.

  When I move toward the stove, she takes my hand. “Wait.”

  Her body is all the beauty I’ve imagined as a horny adolescent, down to the freckles that dust the top of her breasts. I don’t want to look at her too much. My control is too thin around her. She wets her lips, the innocent act only making me harder.

  “Don’t you want me to return the favor?”

  Holy goddamn. A vision of her on her knees taunts me. It twists my guts inside-out. I swallow. Hard. “No.”

  She blinks. “Why not? It seems…” She blushes a little. “It seems unfair.”

  Brushing my thumb over the scar on her cheek, I try to give her a smile. “Unfair isn’t a w
ord I’d use to describe going down on you.”

  Her blush intensifies. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t trust myself, not with that hot little mouth of yours around my cock.”

  “What can happen?”

  “It’s not what can happen. It’s what will happen. With your mouth on me? Sex.”

  “We could just let it be, you know. No strings attached.”

  The words hit a nerve. They don’t just frighten me. They terrify me, especially now that I’ve tasted her again. “Told you, ginger, no strings isn’t what I want.”

  Sighing softly, she lets go of my hand. “I’ll respect that.”

  She will. I’m not giving her a choice. I’m not demeaning her to a fuck buddy. She’s my wife, for God’s sake. Maybe not in her mind, but I still want her to be.

  I pour her a glass of wine and start cooking dinner. I chose simple dishes when I did the grocery shopping, like chicken and baked potatoes, but even that turns out more than challenging. Padding over to me where I’m trying to skin the chicken, she takes the knife from my hand and wiggles the point under the fatty part on the side.

  “Like this.” She makes a small cut, and when she pulls, the whole skin comes off.

  Patiently, she guides me, teaching me how to spice the chicken pieces and halve the potatoes before drizzling them with olive oil. It’s nice. I like it when we do things together. Even cooking takes on a new flavor with her at my side, especially with her wearing my T-shirt and nothing else. My mind wanders a couple of times, my thoughts definitely not leaning toward food. They’re about her smell, her taste, the softness of her skin, and all the wonders of her body that gave me an heir and make me a mindless fool. I’ll be her fool if that’s what she wants. I’ll go down on my knees if she asks me to. I’ll satisfy her every whim. She only has to flick her fingers.

  After dinner, which isn’t burned thanks to Kristi, we go to bed with her still wearing my T-shirt and me fully clothed. Like the night before, she falls asleep in my arms, and for another night, it’s almost everything I’ve ever wanted.

  When daylight breaks, she’s still sleeping soundly. Reluctant to disturb her rest, I slip from the bed, shower, change, and leave her a note. I have to pick up fresh supplies at the gas station store.

  I wind down the window during the drive, enjoying the hot wind in my hair. I haven’t felt this free, this salvaged, since the day Kristi told me she’d wait for me. Everything that happened in between are layers of dirt, but I’m scrubbing them away one by one. Every day with her, I learn something new. I learned that I like to take care of her, and that cooking isn’t so bad. I learned that hurting her hurts me more. I learned that putting a smile on her face makes me delirious with happiness. I learned that being away from Noah stings. I’m learning that being away from her, even for an hour, leaves me restless and unsettled. I push down on the gas, needing to get this chore done so I can get back to her.

  At the store, I grab fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat. Colorful bunches of flowers are stacked in a bucket at the checkout. The red and orange bouquet is made up of zinnias and daisies. There are purple bunches with carnations and baby’s breath wrapped in cellophane. The one that catches my eye is the simplest. Ten pink roses. The color is soft, the pink at the stem lighter than the tips of the petals. The flowers look feminine and delicate, yet strong with their long stems and sturdy thorns. That’s the one I choose.

  Out of habit, I ask for a packet of Marlboro at the counter. I pack the parcels in the trunk and tear the plastic off the packet of cigarettes. Flipping back the lid, I pause. On second thought, I chuck the packet in the trashcan. I haven’t smoked since Dubai. I don’t need to now. I definitely don’t want to smoke in the air Noah has to breathe.

  This time, when I take the road, the feeling of freedom is replaced with urgency, an almost maddening rush to get home.

  Kristi

  The first sensation that grips me when I wake up to Jake’s empty side of the bed and a quiet house is panic. Wait. I did not just think of the space next to me as Jake’s side. Jumping out of bed, I rush to the window. The car is gone. He wouldn’t abandon me here. I know it, but it doesn’t ease the worry. It’s only when I find his note in the kitchen next to a freshly brewed pot of coffee and a muffin neatly laid out on a napkin that I relax.

  After a bath, I pull on a pair of shorts and another one of his T-shirts. I tell myself they’re loose and comfortable, but I like wearing his clothes. I like that it’s big on me, reminding me of his maleness and strength. In a warped way, it makes me feel safe, just like his arms around me.

  Jake has been doing all the cooking. Since I agreed to give him two weeks, I’m no longer his captive. It’s about time I contribute to the household chores. I find all the ingredients I need to mix pancake batter. I peel and steam a few apples. While flipping the pancakes, I caramelize the apples and whip cream. I’m almost done when I hear the noise of a car. The engine shuts down, and a door slams. My palms turn sweaty. My hands start to shake. I haven’t been this nervous and excited since Jake fed me vodka in the bar.

  The backdoor opens and Jake walks in, carrying two shopping bags in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. He stops when he sees me. His gaze pauses on the T-shirt before slipping down to my bare legs. Heat simmers in his eyes as a slow smile curves his lips. It makes him look simultaneously sexy and dangerous. He turns his head toward the stove and inhales.

  “Smells good.”

  I wipe my clammy hands on the T-shirt. “Pancakes and caramelized apples.”

  “You made pancakes,” he says as he advances, holding my gaze while he drops the parcels on the table.

  Suddenly uncertain about my choice of menu, I ask, “You like pancakes, don’t you?”

  He stops so close I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “I like that you made them.”

  He likes that I’m playing house. It wasn’t my intention. I only wanted to pull my weight, but before I can say so, he puts the flowers in my hand.

  “For you.”

  I stare at the pretty roses. “For me?” I inhale their sweet scent. “What for?”

  “Just because.”

  I’m too touched to find words. No one has ever given me flowers.

  Cupping my face, he lets his thumb play over the scar on my cheek. “I hope you like roses. Maybe you prefer carnations?”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Not as much as you.”

  Shying away from the compliment, I hastily turn to look for a vase. “I’ll put them in water.”

  He catches my arm and turns me back to him. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know, inside and out.”

  I pull on his hold, but he won’t let up. “Jake, please.”

  “Say it.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Say it and I will.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I’ll say it again. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. Hot as hell.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He considers my answer for a moment before asking, “Why not?”

  “There must be a lot of beautiful in fifty women.”

  He takes the roses from my hand and puts them aside. Gripping my arms, he forces me to meet his eyes. “It doesn’t compare. Not even close.”

  That open wound, the one that refuses to close, flowers to full bloom. “I wondered if you were seeing someone else, if that was why you ignored me, every night while I waited faithfully alone in my bed.”

  His grip tightens. “I’d give my life to take it back.”

  “When you told me, you killed me fifty times over.”

  The line of his jaw is tense, his expression remorseful. “I know what I did to you.”

  “If I told you I wanted to know how it is with someone else, would you let me? Would you still want to be with me if I do it?”

  His eyes flare. “What are we talking about here?”

  “What do you think, Jake?”

  His
breaths come quicker. “You mean sex?”

  “What else?”

  Letting go of me, he drags a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Kristi.”

  “You did it. Several times. Fifty, to be exact.”

  He raises his palms. “Enough. I get it. You’re right. I can’t bear the thought of you with someone else. It makes me want to commit murder.”

  “It’s not the jealousy,” I whisper. “It’s the betrayal. It’s knowing you’re not enough.”

  He turns away. Silence creeps between us. It grows until the air is thick, and the lump in my throat makes it difficult to swallow. I stare at his broad back, at the shaking of his shoulders, unable to reach out or bridge the distance.

  When he finally faces me again, his eyes shimmer with wetness. My silence is more born from shock than not knowing where to move from here. I never imagined Jake capable of crying. I want to soothe him, but what I suffered won’t let me. We’re like chess pieces moved into a chess mate position. Only, nothing about our situation is black and white.

  “Yes,” he finally says, and from the way he forces out the word while trying to hold back his tears, this is hard for him. “Yes, I’d let you, and I’d still want to be with you.”

  “How can you make peace with something like that?”

  He watches me levelly, pain burning with the tears in his eyes. “Because I love you enough.”

  His words are like lightning. They crash through the room in a deafening lash. We stare at each other in silence as the enormity of his confession sinks in. Jake loves me. Enough to take me back should I ever stray. He’s asking me to love him the same, to strip every single part of my defenses and lay my heart and soul at his feet.

  “What will it take for you to forgive me?” His deep voice trembles. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t know,” I cry on a whisper.