Before & After You

by Michelle Chamberland

  We hadn’t gone this far before, and the way he looked at me then, silently asking for my permission, almost broke me.

  Because I couldn’t help but be conscious of the fact that it was the first time I’d ever wanted more, even though I’d had plenty of pushy offers before. From men two, three times my age.

  The first time I’d ever been kissed, was by one of Mom’s boyfriends. The first time a boy had ever asked to see me naked, was forever replaced by the memory of a grown man asking the question.

  But it felt like Greyson was wiping away all of that. Because with him, it was the first time everything felt right, easy. The first time I’d wanted everything I saw in someone else’s eyes. The first time I ached for someone to strip me bare, and see me, and touch me, in all the ways he was making me crave.

  And he was still sitting there, patiently waiting. I fell even harder then, all the way to the bottom.

  “Take them off,” I whispered.

  He swallowed thickly, eyes glued to mine, before sliding my underwear down my legs and tossing them to the floor.

  And I had a thought, that maybe I should be nervous, or scared, but in those moments with Greyson, I felt nothing but comfortable.

  Eager. Filled with desire.

  And then he pulled off his shirt, and my mouth went completely dry. I’d seen him shirtless before, but there was something about knowing where this train was headed that made the sight of him that much better.

  I ran my hands up his stomach, and he visibly shivered before lowering back onto me and unhooking my bra, slipping it off my shoulders and down my arms.

  And then went his boxers, and we were skin on skin, and I don’t think anything had ever felt better. Except for maybe the way he looked at me then. Like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  Because that was the thing. He’d seen all these beautiful, broken pieces of me. Had brought some of them to light when I had never cared to see them before. And now it felt like he owned some of those pieces, like he’d left his mark on them before putting them back inside of me.

  “I love you,” he whispered shakily, and I breathed it back into his neck as I kissed my way up his throat.

  And with a sharp intake of air, I handed him the very last piece of me. The most important one. The one he would own forever.

  Sixty-five After

  GREYSON HUMS A half-sigh, half-groan into my mouth before deepening our kiss, his tongue stroking mine.

  Beautifully. Blissfully.

  Washing away everything but my need for him.

  I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, feeling the soft scratch of his hair against my fingertips, and I love it. The way the tingle of it spreads up my arms and through my chest, heading straight down into the core of my stomach. A warm flurry of desire quickly building.

  Building, and building, and building.

  He picks me up and presses me back against the wall, his body flush with mine, and my breath hitches. I’m sandwiched between him and the wall of his dark studio in the most delicious way, the pressure of him hitting me exactly where I need it most.

  My chest heaves against his with heavy breaths; I can’t seem to find enough air. But his tongue swirls around mine, and I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost.

  In his hands. And his mouth. And his chest crushed against mine. In the way it sparks a fire inside me that lights up my soul.

  I cross my ankles behind his back and pull him even closer with his shirt in my fists as his mouth continues to move over mine—slow, exploring, reacquainting. Matching the weight of his hands sliding over the curves of my body.

  It feels like our lips somehow remember each other’s. Two old friends falling into a wordless conversation of breaths and tongues and the tug of my bottom lip sliding between his teeth.

  I moan against his mouth, and he swallows the sound.

  And my heart, it feels like it remembers his, too. Pounding against his. A steady and wistful hello. Tugging itself another inch closer.

  It was that first day in English class all those years ago that I felt that string weave its way around my heart. Over and under, and through and around. Around, and around, and around, it wove itself into me—the invisible string that connected my heart to his.

  And over the course of days, and weeks, and months of time spent together, it drew them closer together and pulled them further apart. Together and apart, and together and apart, with all of our ups and downs.

  But it always remained. Strong and sturdy. Strengthening over time, until it couldn’t be severed.

  When I saw Greyson again, after all these years, in my coffee shop, it was the first time I felt that string tugging against my heart again, too. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. That connection.

  But here, with Greyson, his heart firmly beating against my own, that connection feels more like a lifeline, calling me back home.

  His lips trail over my mouth, across my jaw, and down my neck, effectively reeling my mind away from these thoughts and back into the present moment.

  He carries me out of his studio and straight into his bedroom. I let out a sigh of relief as he lands us both on his bed, the large frame of his body settling in between my thighs.

  I can feel him everywhere. Literally, figuratively.

  From the pressure of his lips at my neck, to his hardness pressing against my core, to the tips of my toes now trailing up his legs, my heart still racing against his.

  The weight of this moment, the intensity of it—of Greyson and me, here, in his bed, our eyes locked together—burrows itself deep down into my bones, leaving me breathless.

  And then his mouth crashes against mine once more, and there’s no air left to breathe but his. We share every single one of his breaths as his tongue glides over mine, his hand making its way up my leg, wrapping it around his hip while his other hand keeps his chest hovering just above mine, and I’m lost in him all over again.

  I let my hands roam over him. Over every inch of him. His arms, his neck, his chest, his back. Lower.

  Firm, solid muscle that I ache to dig my fingertips into.

  So, I do it. And he groans. Thrusting his hips into mine as he kisses me deep into oblivion, and I nearly lose my mind.

  I have this muted, faraway thought, that maybe I should attempt to slow things down and savor them a little longer, but I’m far too impatient. My body is too impatient, screaming out for more of his. And thankfully, that impatience seems to match his impeccably.

  He pulls away, breaking our kiss to slip off my jacket, and I practically rip his shirt from his chest.

  My shirt goes just as quickly. He pulls it over my head, and then his lips are on mine again, and…

  “Oh, god,” I breathe against his mouth, skin brushing over skin.

  His lips trail away, following a path down my neck, across my chest, and over the swell of my breasts.

  I slide my fingers through his hair, through the longer part at the top, my heart steadily pounding out of my ribcage.

  Pounding, and pounding, and pounding away. Matching the rhythm of the deep ache between my legs.

  “I really want—” Greyson pulls away, breathing heavily. “—but should we—” he swallows, and I lose myself in his eyes, “—should we hold off? Do you want to wait?”

  I shake my head. “No. No fucking way,” I say, breathless, and he smiles, lip caught between his teeth.

  “Thank God,” he says, between one breath and the next, and I quickly reach for his pants at the same exact moment that he reaches for mine. We both start quietly laughing. The breath of our laughter collides between us; the vibration of it hums against my chest. And I can’t tear my eyes away from his, from the lust and need and adoration shining in them. It seizes my breaths.

  Because holy shit, but I love him. I definitely still love him. Absolutely insane or not, entirely out of my mind or perhaps the sanest I’ve ever felt in my life—the feelings are there. Climbing up my throat and desperate
ly wanting to spill from my lips.

  They’re right here. On the tip of my tongue. But Greyson kisses them away, his mouth sliding over mine achingly slow. So I swallow them back and push them forward through the touch of my lips instead, searing the eight letters into his skin.

  Up his throat, and against his mouth. I will him to feel them through our kiss. Can he feel them? Does he feel this too?

  Or am I just crazy?

  “Fuck, I…I—I need you to stand up.” He breathes heavily, and I don’t need him to say the words; I can see them dancing behind his eyes. Steady, sure.

  I press a soft kiss to his mouth and slide out from beneath him, standing up against the edge of his mattress. My heart still races as he steps off the bed and slowly turns me around with his hands at my waist, nipping the space between my neck and shoulder with his teeth as I watch his fingers deftly unbutton my jeans. And then he kneels down—on the wooden floor of his bedroom—to slip off my shoes and slide my pants down my legs, and it’s, hands down, one of the hottest sights I’ve ever seen.

  And my god, but it’s been way too long since I’ve felt this way—wholly and utterly consumed. There isn’t a single thought in my mind that doesn’t entirely exist for the way Greyson is making me feel.

  The way he slowly kisses his way up my spine, his fingertips trailing behind, making a line of goosebumps break out along my skin. Along what feels like the surface of my soul.

  I reach forward and help him out of his pants, out of his black boxer briefs, and lead him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. I lower my mouth to his. And if he didn’t feel how much of myself, and my heart, I put into that last kiss, I know he feels it now, his hands gripping my hips tight as he pants a, “Shit, Jess,” against my lips.

  “This is…” He shakes his head beneath me. “This isn’t only me, right? You feel this too?” he rumbles, breathless.

  “I do,” I nod, breathing the words into his chest, and I feel our hearts winding themselves even closer.

  I kiss him. Harder—deeper—than before.

  He rolls over me and finishes undressing me, until I’m completely bare beneath him, and it’s just him, and me, and the sound of our heavy breaths crashing between us.

  His gaze sinks further into mine, and…

  I love you, I wordlessly tell him, with my heart and my eyes and my hands raking over the taut muscles in his back.

  He reciprocates it in the way he holds me against him, the way he smooths my hair away from my face and curves his hand over my cheek. In the way he slowly swallows with too many emotions to name as he eases himself inside of me.

  I clench down around him, fingers biting into his skin as pleasure immediately sings through me, and—

  “Fuuuckk,” he groans. It’s easily the sexiest spoken word I’ve ever heard in my life, but then his mouth crashes against mine, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips, and he moans it again into my mouth, and I think I like it even better that time.

  Tension coils itself inside me, too fast, pulling every cell, every nerve ending, to the center of my being. Dragging my heart all the way back to his, all the way back home.

  I feel them beating together, thundering against one another.

  And then he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth. Slides his fingers up my throat and grasps my jaw, my chin. And proceeds to kiss me deeper than I’ve ever been kissed before, thrusting and groaning into me. And I’m gone.

  Completely, and entirely, gone.

  We come together—a hot, heated, tangled mess of sweat and limbs and teeth digging into flesh.

  And I could stay inside of this high forever.

  But eventually, after some time, the outside world slowly trickles its way back in, and my body settles back into itself. I sink into his mattress with a deep and contented sigh. A sigh mirrored by his own, and we both quietly laugh into the calm that surrounds us.

  The sound mingles with our breaths and teases the silence away, and there’s nowhere—nowhere—on this beautiful green earth, or any place beyond it, that I’d rather be.

  Sixty-six Before

  THOSE TWO WEEKS flew by. Funny how time did that. How when we prayed for it to speed up, to zoom past us so we could pull ourselves together, or heal, or grow, or finally find ourselves in a better place in life, it crawled by instead, oozing past us in slow motion. But when we wanted to ram a fist into it and stop it altogether, it passed by so fast it gave us whiplash.

  So, no. Not funny at all. Not really.

  —two days—

  Two days were all we had left, and then I was going to have to face reality. Face all the thoughts I’d been ignoring and keeping buried deep where I couldn’t see them.

  So many truths I was going to have to acknowledge, even though I didn’t want to. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but…

  It didn’t mean this was the end, end, right?

  It didn’t have to be. Greyson had said as much himself.

  This could continue.

  I could believe that, couldn’t I?

  I thought I could.

  But all I really heard was, liar, liar—

  Liar.

  Sixty-seven Before

  “WELL, ISN’T THIS fucking precious,” Jaymes seethed from behind us, and my back stiffened.

  I guess we’d gotten away with not having this confrontation for long enough; it was bound to happen. But I didn’t want to do this today. Not today.

  Greyson’s arm slipped from my shoulders as he turned around, leveling his stare on Jaymes. “What?” he snapped.

  “You heard me.”

  Greyson stepped forward, and I wrapped my hand around his arm to keep him from going any farther.

  Jaymes laughed, a slow clap, clap, clap of his hands as he cocked his head to the side. “Fuck me, but I never pegged either of you as backstabbers. Makes sense, though.”

  Was he for real?

  “You’re clearly delusional,” I spoke up. He was the one who’d finally gotten what he wanted, only to completely piss on it by sleeping with Sara behind my back. “You cheated on me, remember?” I ignored the tiny little detail that, technically, I did cheat on him, too.

  And he laughed again. “You know, I actually liked you, and that’s saying a lot for me. But you know me, Jess. You know me.” Know that you’re an epic dick and an asshole? Yeah, I do… “I might’ve called you my girlfriend, but we weren’t going to be official until you were willing to make it official,” he said.

  And yeah, I wanted to punch him. I’d never gotten the chance to the last time, thanks to Greyson. But it wasn’t worth it. The truth was, I still didn’t care that much. Especially not now. Not when I had the one thing I’d wanted, standing right here in front of me, defending me, straining not to punch Jaymes in the face himself.

  Jaymes pointed his finger between me and Greyson. “Can’t say this surprises me, though.” He laughed. “You’ve got a type, don’t you? Sad, little depressed bitches…just like your mom.”

  My next breath got stuck in my throat, frozen in my windpipe. What the fuck?

  I didn’t know if it was the stress of him leaving tomorrow, or the purely fucking shitty things Jaymes had just said about his mom and me, but Greyson…

  He just fucking lost it.

  He pulled out of my grasp and had his fingers around Jaymes’ throat faster than I could blink. His fist reared back and swung across Jaymes’ jaw. Once, twice, nailing him hard in the face.

  But Jaymes just laughed the entire time. Dude clearly had some serious fucking issues.

  I grabbed at Greyson’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go. He’s not worth it. I don’t want to spend our last day like this,” I said, and that immediately snapped him out of it.

  He stood quickly, chest heaving, anger still simmering in his eyes. If he could’ve killed Jaymes with a look, he would’ve right then. There would be a pretty little outline of Jaymes’ body on the ground where he laid.

  Greyson gave him one last shove. “
Back the fuck off,” he spat, and turned back towards me, grabbing my hand and leading me away.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Not your fault.”

  We walked through the campus and down the front steps of our school in silence.

  Greyson stopped us in the parking lot, in front of his car, and pulled me into his arms, letting the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders with one breath. “I don’t want to leave you tomorrow,” he said.

  I hugged him tighter, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I know. I don’t want you to leave, either.” I pushed my face into his chest, breathing him in. “I don’t want you to go.”

  We stood there, for a long time, holding onto each other tighter than we ever had. Maybe if we refused to let go, the Universe would obey, would freeze time and hold us in that moment forever.

  I would’ve given anything to have that one prayer answered.

  Sixty-eight After

  THE WORLD SLIPS into my consciousness piece by piece. Breath by breath. One sliver at a time.

  The soft, clean smell of Greyson’s comforter.

  The daylight streaming through his tall windows, beams of light streaking across his wooden floors.

  Warm, muscled arms wrapped around my naked torso.

  His heartbeat calmly thudding against my back.

  The soothing sound of his steady breaths blowing across my neck.

  I twist around in his hold and press a kiss to his bare chest, and another to the base of his throat.

  He stirs and pulls me closer, still asleep.

  I take in a deep breath. Soak in the silence.

  I let it slither in between one breath and the next. Let it snake around my bones, and coat my thoughts, and hug my skin.

  It’s blissfully quiet.

  A kind of peace I’m not sure I’ve felt before.

  It settles over me fully.