Ghost in His Eyes

by Carrie Aarons

  The floor creaks under the weight of our bodies as we lie back, and I swing my leg over him, straddling his body. I don’t even notice the cool night air around us, my body is burning up with the need to feel his skin on my own.

  “Sometimes I think this could be a dream. That you’re not really here;” I whisper into his neck before kissing it and tasting the flavor that was so wholly Carson.

  “I’m here with you. Just us.”

  He flips me and places himself between my legs exactly where I need him the most. His rough jeans rub against the core of me, over my clothing. It’s so unsatisfying and gratifying at the same time. I need more, I need him all over me but he’s here. Making love with him is a paradox and I never know which way is up.

  I push his fleece open and over his shoulders, running my hands over the muscles that flexed beneath. It had been such a long time since we’d touched each other, that when we made love now, I was still surprised at the man’s body that Carson displayed just for me. He was all muscle and olive skin, his shoulders broader and his chest smattered with dark curls of hair.

  His fingers bury themselves in my hair, pulsing on my scalp in an erotic massage as he kisses me. They move down, finding my jacket and easing me out of it. When he’s touching me, I can never seem to catch a full breath, like if I inhale too much air, the moment will be gone and I’ll wake up to find him not really there.

  Slowly, we work each other out of our clothes. Like so many years ago, Carson sets up a bed of blankets for us on the floor, the moonlight the only way of seeing. He takes me in his arms, our hands working to touch every inch of skin on the other, the thick blanket over us forming a fort of desire for only us to belong to.

  “I love you more now than I did the first night we made love here.” His dark eyes see straight into my soul.

  “There was never a time on this earth that I didn’t love you. From the very start, it’s always been you.”

  His mouth swallows the last of my sentence, and my roaming hands find his length, stroking the steel there. His growls echo into my mouth, calling to my heart and making my own sex come alive. Love, tingling and deep, courses through me, heating my core up and making it impossible not to squirm as his fingers find me.

  We stroke and touch, kiss and sigh. The air is filled with moments of our past, and those that we are creating in the present. With every passing second, Carson and I are rebuilding the euphoria that once existed here, and are erasing the sadness that is now being shown the door.

  His thick fingers push inside of me, and I tumble over the edge like a wave crashing to the shore. Pleasure and love spread through my veins, rippling like misty white foam on the sand.

  “I love you, I love you, I love you …” Carson chants in my ear, and it keeps my climax going further than I ever thought it could travel.

  “Only you.” They are the only words I can utter before he pulls me on top of him, my legs automatically straddling his waist.

  And then slowly, so slowly that it’s painful in all of the right ways, he brings me down on his throbbing length. Our mangled cries of ecstasy fill the air, and tiny white dots scatter in my vision.

  “You are the perfect drug and the perfect antidote. You are everything I’ve ever wished for.” Carson’s eyes blaze through mine, and every molecule of my being feels like the sun is shining personally on it.

  I ride him as if the sky is falling down onto us, as if we’re the only two people trying to populate the earth. Words are useless, unnecessary in this moment of intensity.

  With every stroke, every pump of my thighs on his waist, I build us up to a momentous dive.

  And before we fall over the edge together, I lock my lips onto his, connecting us in every single way possible. It’s how we’re meant to be.

  Two bodies as one, floating through the waves together.

  29

  Carson

  Being in Boston for so long, I forgot what it was like to live in a secluded, suburban beach town.

  I forgot that almost everyone knew your name. I forgot the familiarity of driving the roads I grew up on, and eating at the same restaurants my grandparents had. I forgot what it was like to walk for two miles and not see a single soul.

  I’d loved Boston, loved the city life for a long time. But at heart, I was a beach town boy. And being back, waking up next to Blake in my little rental home on the shores of the Atlantic with Rhett licking our faces, this was where I belonged.

  They’d come to stay over two nights ago on Friday, and now we were having a lazy Sunday morning.

  “Do you still take your eggs over easy?” she asks, turning at my stove with a spatula in her hand.

  “With Tabasco sauce on toast, you know it.” I wink, looking up from the local paper as Rhett snoozes at my feet.

  “And who said I’m making you toast, mister? You can work a toaster.” She gives me a stink eye.

  Blake looks damn good in her sweatpants and T-shirt, with all of that blond hair tumbling down her back. She’s a man’s wet dream standing over my stove, and while I feel like kind of a caveman for desiring her in my kitchen, I’m only a man. I’m a weak, horny man.

  I rise, with a protest from the dog, and help by putting the toast in the toaster. “Do you want juice or milk?”

  “Tea please.” She doesn’t look up from making the eggs.

  “Honey, do you see what my place looks like? You think I have tea stocked here?”

  Her smile is sarcastic. “Well, I thought you might want a little extra loving after breakfast, but maybe I changed my mind now.”

  Wrapping my hands around her waist, I coax her into forgiving me.

  After breakfast, we retire to the couch, where I put on the sports network and their early pre-game football coverage. Blake cuddles into me with a book, and we exist in separate worlds, together.

  Something tugs at me though, because there is still something holding me back. She’s confessed it all, laid out all of her secrets and vulnerabilities on the table.

  And the truth is, I haven’t.

  “Baby?”

  “Hmm?” I know she isn’t listening, but is in her book world.

  “I haven’t been one hundred percent honest.” I cringe when her body stiffens under my touch. “No, nothing like that … but I’ve held back. You let me hear it all, and I haven’t opened up to you.”

  She turns, sitting so she can face me. “I didn’t want to push you. I knew you’d do it in your own time.”

  Her patience makes me want to tell her more. “There was something I didn’t tell you at the lighthouse, when you told me about what happened after I left. Blake … after he was gone, after our fight … I bottled it all up. I couldn’t deal with it, just like you told me you couldn’t. So I … I started doing the most reckless things I could manage. I’d go out at night, driving through red lights just to test fate and see if that damn vengeful God would take me too. I’d drink until I couldn’t see straight, hoping I’d get into a fight or fall down a flight of steps. I would go searching for trouble, fighting in this ring of betters just to get the shit beaten out of me. To feel like Joel felt. To feel a little closer to you. Anything.”

  Blake’s mouth wobbles, and I know she feels exactly the same pain I’d felt back then.

  “It took a long time for me to be all right again. Not even all right, because I missed you so much it killed me inside. I had to remind myself every day that there was something worth living for. And what always got me through, besides my courses and learning, was you. I knew that someday, I’d come back to you.

  “I was broken too, Blake. And it took a long time to heal that part of me. It was still damaged until I came back to you. And now, I will always wear a scar, just like the one on my arm, but there is no chance of it ever reopening. Because I have you back, and since I left ten years ago, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  I leaned over to kiss her, my hand cupping her smooth, porcelain cheek. Her warmth invades me, suffusing me as th
e fireplace crackles in the background. Our fused mouths stoke the embers inside of me, until I’m struggling to breath underneath the weight of my erection.

  And then, someone throws a big fat bucket of water over us. Or rather, Rhett jumps up and sits on me, while licking the side of my face repeatedly.

  “Ha! Sorry, was I getting too handsy with your mom?” I pet behind her lab’s ear, a motion that has Rhett snuggling into me.

  “Who knew you were such a cock block?” Blake tickles under the dog’s chin.

  He sits on me, looking happy as a clam to have all of the attention on him.

  “Thank you for telling me all of that,” Blake says quietly as we both pet Rhett. “You’re always strong for me, and I want to help you carry some of your pain. Or erase it. Just … whatever you need me to do. We’re in this together now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  It’s not like we haven’t proven that to each other over the past few months, but to hear her say it is a comfort to my heart that she’ll never see. It was rough for me for a few years after Joel died, and getting back to her was a dwindling dream the past two years. It was a miracle we’d made our way back to each other.

  “So now that you’re a Boston boy, do you like those assholes from New England?” She perks up, and I know she’s trying to make me feel better.

  “I may have shipped up north, but don’t call me a traitor, baby. I bleed Carolina blue all day. Don’t test me, woman.” I kiss her cheeks until she giggles.

  “Well, good, because I couldn’t date someone who didn’t like the home team.”

  Sometimes I forgot that Blake grew up in a world of men, and knew sports like the back of her hand.

  “My girlfriend is sexy. Maybe we can get some pre-game action of our own.” I couldn’t resist taking a little nibble of her neck.

  “If you make some corny sex joke about scoring a touchdown or driving it into the end zone, I might slap you.”

  Her words make me belt out a humongous laugh. And after I catch my breath … it’s possible I do just drive into the end zone.

  30

  Blake

  At one point in time, I had been close enough to Jaclyn Cole to call her Mom.

  From a young age, she’d taken the role of a mother figure to me, and we’d only grown closer when her son and I became high school sweethearts. She was the one who took me to first get tampons, and the person who sat me down to talk about the birds and the bees when my father had been too freaked out to. I knew she was always a little wary about how hard Carson and I had loved one and other, but she had always been an ally.

  Until Joel died, and I all but banished her son from North Carolina. They came to the funeral, and I didn’t speak one word to her or Carson’s father, Mickey. At the time, I was an angry spitfire, a walking ball of raw emotion that could lash out at anytime. After that, I think they got the message. They’d stayed away due to my feelings, but I also felt that they blamed me for Carson being so scarce over the years. Now that I think about it, I was surprised Jaclyn hadn’t outright said something to me the couple of times we’d seen each other in town over the past ten years. But then again, she’d always been a very classy woman, it didn’t suit her to do something like that.

  “I haven’t seen your parents in a long time.” I fiddle with my hands in my lap as Carson sets the grill.

  He nods, but I don’t think he’s listening to me. I don’t know who is more nervous, him or me. I’m a little nervous he’s about to start a propane tank fire.

  “Carson?” I need him to acknowledge me, to talk me out of the rising anxiety bubbling up my throat.

  Not only have I not seen his parents, but I haven’t had an intimate dinner with weighted implications since … hell, eons ago. I’m still not accustomed to being social, to making small talk or having to answer questions.

  He turns to me, his dark eyes roaming my body in its white jeans and red crewneck sweater. I heat beneath my autumn clothing, my nipples tightening. It was inexplicable the way that we reacted to each other, like someone turned a light switch and we crackled with electricity. His dark hair blew in the slight breeze, and his strong jaw ticked. I wanted to know what fantasy he was playing over in his mind, but stress was still pushing down on my shoulders.

  “Do you think they hate me?” I voice my biggest fear about tonight.

  Carson’s eyes warm and his full lips spread into a small smile. Moving towards me, he takes a seat straddling the picnic bench I sit on and pulls me towards him.

  “No one could ever hate you. We definitely all have some things to sort out, but they’re just as nervous, if not more, as you. I promise. They want this to go well. My mom was enjoying talking about you the other day to me, she wants to know what you’ve been up to.”

  I leaned into his chest, staring straight ahead and not wanting to look at him with insecurity in my eyes. “I shut them out of my life. Just like I did to you. Do you know how stupid I feel now? All of this wasted time …”

  I could have had a mother and a father when mine had left. I could have had a family. I could have had Carson had I not retreated and used Joel’s death like my martyr flag to bear.

  “It works both ways, baby. I could have come to my senses, I could have fought harder. I could have said to hell with your space and forced you to see me. Slept on your porch for a month until you let me in like the dog I am.”

  He tickles me a little, and I can’t help but smile at those last few words.

  “Ah see, there’s my girl. You know, I could be persuaded to call the whole thing off.” A wet tongue finds my earlobe, and then teeth begin to nibble sensual love bites along the rim of my ear.

  I can’t help the moan that escapes as my hand goes to the crook of his pants. I find him over his cargo pants, hard and pulsing. God, how good it would feel to just erase my mind for an hour, to let him take me inside and wipe away all of the thoughts and insecurities.

  “You’re too good at distracting me …” His hand is making slow circles over my stomach and I’m panting to see if he pulls at the hem of my sweater.

  “I have ten years of exploring your body to make up for, what else do you think I think about?” He turns my chin so that my lips fuse with his, our tongues tangling, slowly heating our bloodstreams to a furious boil.

  I pull away, my breath coming in labored puffs. “Not right now. The last thing I need is for your parents to arrive and I’m half undressed.”

  Carson sighs. “You’re right. And I need to figure out how to make these steaks before I leave us all hungry and chewing at each other’s throats.”

  His joke sets me a little bit more on edge, and I think he feels my shoulders get tight.

  “Hey, hey, I’m just kidding. Everything is going to be great.” He kisses me hastily before moving back to the grill.

  I go inside to prepare the warm potato and zucchini medley, and a bowl of garlic mashed cauliflower. It’s soothing work, all the cutting and slicing. I don’t really have to think about it, it’s just rhythmic as the songs of Maren Morris play in the background. After I place all of the sliced vegetables into a chafing dish and pop them in the oven, I take the steamed cauliflower and add it to the mixing bowl.

  It’s nearly forty minutes later when the doorbell chimes, and I’m broken from my reverie. Panic hits me square in the gut, and I can’t help but shuffle my feet back and forth as I look at the door. Carson is outside, and he hasn’t heard the arrival of his parents. Should I go out and get him so he can grab the door?

  No. I need to face this, to be a grown-up. I’m nearly there, facing all of my fears and slaying every last one of them.

  Wiping my hands, I move to open the front door. “Hi there, come on in.”

  My voice is cheery, and I can tell that Jaclyn and Mickey are trying to be as polite and jovial as possible. “Hi, Blake, so nice to see you.”

  Our greeting feels forced and uncomfortable, and I can tell that no one wants to step on anyone’s toes.

  �
�We brought a bottle of wine.” Mickey holds out the bottle like it’s going to solve all of our problems.

  Thank God that Carson walks in at the moment. “Mom! Dad! Thanks for coming. Welcome to my humble abode.

  He hugs them and then decides to take them on a tour of his newly furnished house. I helped pick out some tasteful pieces last week, and had arranged them with some simple decor. It still looked like a bachelor pad, but maybe one with good taste.

  I decide not to go on the tour, but instead busy myself preparing the rest of dinner. I hear their voices talking through the rooms, exclaiming and asking questions. The bond between them is sweet, he’s always been close with his parents as an only child. It makes me smile, but there is a pang in my heart from the loss of my own family.

  “Dinner smells delicious.” Jaclyn’s voice comes into the kitchen, followed by her husband and son.

  “It was mostly Carson, I just helped.” I still don’t know how not to be extremely awkward.

  He goes to grab the steaks from the grill, and we all sit down to dinner.

  “Shall we say grace?” Jaclyn looks around expectantly, and I forgot that their family always did this.

  Grace in my household had been made up of baseball talk and which album my father had been quizzing us on lately.

  Carson reached for my hand and took his father’s in his other. His father took his mother’s hand. And then she looked to mine, waiting for me to hold her hand.

  Slowly, I placed my fingers in hers, and feel … warm. It’s been a long time since I had a parent-figure care for me. And I never had a mother care for me in the way that Jaclyn had.

  They all bow their heads and close their eyes, and I mimic their actions. After they recite a prayer that I know none of the words to, they smile at each other and start to eat.

  I feel so left out, I shouldn’t even be here. I have no family anymore, and although I have Carson, do his parents want me? Do they think I’m good enough for their son? After everything that happened, how could they?