by JD Hawkins
I kiss her and it feels closer than before, closer than with anyone else. Tongues whipping and thrashing, spit and sweat, my grunts and her moans a duet, two heats turning into a fire. My weight on top of her, squeezing everything I can against her, a hand in her hair, another on the thigh she wraps around me. A knot being tied as tight as we can, she squirms and pulls her lips away to gasp for air as her pussy finds my cock, and I press further, making her gasp again. I lick her neck, her chin, her ear, ravenous for every pore of her.
A little more, another gasp, nails in my back now, digging and pulling. A little more, another gasp that ends in a wonderful, curled-toe moan. She lifts her shoulder and I understand what she wants as if I’m in her head as much as her body now. We roll over onto my back, her hands moving to my chest, and she pushes herself up to sit on me, blue light on her torso making me feel like I’m in some other realm, something too stunning to exist in any reality I’ve ever experienced. Her body a place I want to go deeper into, a place I don’t want to leave.
On top of me she dances a slow, primal dance. Hips swinging back and forth, shoulders swaying side to side, back arching like her whole body is nothing but a beating heart now. Her face moves in and out of the light. A hint of the perfect pout on her swollen lips. Eyes half closed in ecstasy. A hand pushing back her hair. Neck extended as she throws her head back.
I put my hands on her waist, grab at her breasts, reach fingers up across her neck until my fingers are in her mouth, before trailing her saliva down her sweaty body. It feels like she’s burying me with her beauty, suffocating me under the flawlessness of her body, her moans, her…
Rolling me and squeezing me and pressing me and pulling me until it’s taking every ounce of self-control I can still muster to hold back, until I’m gripping her ass cheeks like I’m holding on for my life. Until her back starts arching more tightly, more quickly, like she’s snapping into place. Until her moans turn into long squeals of agonizing closeness. Until her nails are almost drawing blood from my chest, my shoulders, my neck.
Until she presses her hips once more into me with the full force of her back, and stretches in front of me, tall and proud, breasts out, head back, and lets out a loud scream so good to hear I have to let myself go.
She leans forward onto me, clutching my shoulders as the heat continues to burn, as her hips still grind and swing to a rhythm she can’t control, a softness emerging where we join as if we’ve finally done it—we’ve finally become one, for a few moments at least. I pull the back of her head to me, the other on her ass, and pull her close, tight, into me, still wanting every bit of her that I can get.
Seconds, minutes, maybe a whole hour later, we emerge dazed, stirring groggily from our position clenching each other tight. Pulling apart only just enough so that we can see each other. Maeve slides off me to lie on her side, head on the pillow, our arms still around each other. Her face is soft again, her eyes catching the light in the dark. We gaze at each other like we’ve got all the time in the world.
“I love you,” I say, the words coming up from somewhere deep.
Maeve smirks, her face demure and dignified despite her nakedness, despite this moment, despite what we’ve just done.
“I still hate you,” she quips, sassily.
“I love the way you hate me,” I say.
She smiles, letting go of the feistiness for a moment, perhaps remembering that she doesn’t need it anymore—not with me.
“Then maybe I’ll hate you forever,” she says, shuffling closer to me so that I can kiss her softly.
I pull away and notice how slowly she opens her eyes, as if now that she’s letting go, she doesn’t want to go back to reality. Then, her haughtiness fades, revealing the gentleness beneath it.
“I love you,” she says.
“Wow…” I whisper with a smile. “So you can say it.”
She looks happy, as if she’s just discovered something wonderful.
“I love you…” she repeats, smiling even more broadly. “I love you… I love you. I love you…”
Over and over she says it, as if making up for all the times she didn’t, as if just learning how to say it, as if enjoying how it sounds on her lips, as if it’s the only thing she wants to say.
“I love you… I love you… I l—”
I shut her up by seizing her lips with mine. A kiss to tell her I feel the same. A kiss to tell her that I know. A kiss to tell her that there’s no rush.
After all—we’ve got the rest of our lives to enjoy saying it.
Epilogue
Maeve
It’s our biggest department store, and yet it’s still not big enough. The entire mall has been converted into a gala hall this evening for the event. My name, in my own flamboyant cursive, is emblazoned on several banners and stands around the mall. I had to argue and work for days to get the lighting just the right amount of dark so that the ice sculptures—an ironic nod to the past—can look fabulous shining in their various colors.
The real dramatic flourish, however, is the velvet curtains draped from the balconies of the mall’s three levels. A different color for each floor, gathered and tapered with gold tassels.
I was doubtful at first, but Harriet went to great lengths to show me an example, and that’s all it took for me to insist upon her idea. Now the mall looks like some fantastical dream of a seventeenth-century castle. And perhaps more importantly, there are corners, places to hide from the crowd—essential for any event to really become something special. I presume I’ll be spending the entire evening giving credit to Harriet—and perhaps the rest of my career worrying that everybody will be seeking to poach my burgeoning protégé from me soon.
After plenty of urging I also indulged Brent’s idea of balloons in shiny silver, gold, and black; he’s done so much good work these past three months to get us here, to the launch. His other grand idea was to have the waitresses wear pieces of my jewelry as they walked the event with drinks and hors d’oeuvres—that one he didn’t need to convince me so much on.
It’ll be a simple affair. The mall’s closed for the evening so that industry people, a few celebrities, and everyone involved with my jewelry line can attend and drink and peruse the displays of the final product. Indeed, it feels more like the culmination of something than the beginning. The real launch is tomorrow, when the collection will finally be up for sale, and when we’ll see if Brent and Harriet’s prediction that it’ll sell out within a week is prudence or hubris.
“I can’t believe you managed to make something this good in just three months,” somebody tells me as we stand by a table display sipping our drinks.
“What can I say?” I shrug happily. “It’s ironic there’s just one name on the brand, because the whole thing only made me aware of how much help I needed.”
Saying it, I immediately think of Toby, and glance around the crowd for the fiftieth time tonight looking for him. For the past couple of months we’ve worked closely, intensely—as close and as intense as everything else between us—on the jewelry. At one point I was certain the collection would be no more than five pieces, and even two of those doubtful. Me agonizing over every detail, Toby creating dozens of designs for me to look over. Me asking for the impossible, Toby pulling out all the stops to make it happen.
In the end it’s twelve pieces total, each one more than perfect, as if they’re imbued with the passion and desire between us. It turns out we make a good team. Turbulent, but in the most productive way.
And now that the time has come to reap the rewards, I can’t even find him. He was supposed to be here early, but it’s past nine and he’s somehow still missing in action. I curse him a little under my breath, and promise myself to scold him when I finally get my hands on him again. Instead, I notice another welcome face close to the entrance.
“Speaking of which… I’ll speak to you later,” I tell my companion as I pat her on the shoulder and move past her.
“Maeve!”
“Mi
a!” I call, as we embrace tightly before I push her away to appreciate her dress. “My God, where did you find that skirt? It’s perfect on you.”
I see Colin emerge from the crowd behind her, carrying Alison in his arms. The baby is wearing the star-spangled velour onesie I bought for her recently, and she looks like the perfect little angel. I immediately rush over to Colin.
“And a husband almost as perfect,” I say, giving him a hug before nuzzling my nose against Alison’s until she gurgles a little laugh. “How are you, sweetie?”
“I hope it’s all right bringing Alison,” Mia asks. “We couldn’t find anyone to babysit and—”
“It’s fine, honey,” I say, waving her concern away. “It’s all very ‘family friendly’ tonight.”
“Is Toby around?” Colin asks.
“No,” I say, a little taken aback. “I thought he might be arriving with you.”
I look at both of them, and they look at each other, all of us mildly confused. Mia shrugs and turns to me.
“We haven’t heard from him in a few days, actually.”
I frown, only now realizing that I haven’t heard from him in a few days either. Preparations for the launch keeping me so busy I’d not even noticed.
“Well,” I sigh, “it was a fun affair while it lasted, but I suppose me killing him when I see him is as appropriate a way to end it as any.”
Colin laughs and says, “I’m sure he has a good reason.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll write a whole book of excuses. Anyway, come with me, I want to introduce you to a few people…”
I lead them on a brief circuit of the growing party, getting them drinks and eventually stopping to form a little group with Harriet and Brent—who are both smitten with Alison more than anything else.
For a few moments, the conversation isn’t centered on me, and I allow myself to settle into a comfortable silence, watching people I’m close to, people I love, interact and enjoy each other’s company. The simple pleasure of real friends, of trust and comfort, of a child’s smile. My jewelry, the event, my ego, all slipping away and being replaced by a warm softness in my soul. An openness to love. Still new enough to feel strange to me, still a little frightening, but it’s a feeling that makes all others pale in comparison.
And yet the man who introduced me to it still hasn’t shown up…
“Would you excuse me a second? I’m going to go look for Toby one more time before I have him assassinated.”
I peel away from the group and make the rounds, careful not to miss a greeting, allowing myself to be slowed by the numerous congratulations and questions.
As I’m slipping past a curtain, I hear a strangely familiar, yet not quite placeable, man’s voice call me.
“Hey there.”
I turn to it and immediately smile.
“Asher…” I reply, surprised but pleasantly so. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since—”
“The party?” He smiles.
“Yes.” I smile. “Last thing I remember is you being dredged out of the pool.”
He laughs and raises his glass. “Bruises heal, but a good story lasts forever.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Toby invited me.”
“Toby? You’ve spoken to him since—”
“Sure,” Asher says with a broad smile. “I see him almost every week at soccer. We’ve formed a pretty good understanding on the field—when he isn’t being greedy with the ball, of course.”
“He never told me…”
“I imagine you’ve got better things to talk about,” Asher says.
I smile and shrug. He’s right. Three months with Toby and it still feels like a spontaneous, chaotic, hedonistic first date. We still live in the moment with each other, still fuck and fight like we’re as much enemies as lovers—and I still love him more than anything.
“Have you seen him at all, sweetie?” I ask. “I’ve been looking for him all evening and he was supposed to arrive early…”
“I did actually,” Asher says, looking upwards and gesturing with his glass to the third-floor balcony. “You know that outdoor terrace they have here? Up on the roof where the cafés are? I saw him going out there.”
I frown at Asher, then up at where he’s pointing, wondering why the hell Toby would be out there—but half the things Toby does make me wonder why the hell he’s doing them.
“Thanks. I guess I’ll go look for him then.”
Asher nods and I flash him a warm smile before turning and making for the elevator. There are only a few party stragglers on the top floor, people who carried their drinks all the way up there for the view, or a little privacy. There’s hardly anyone in the corner that leads outside to the terrace Asher mentioned. I almost wonder if he made a mistake somehow, if he meant somewhere different, but curiosity drives me on to the glass doors that lead outside.
Through the glass it’s hard to see anything outside, but I catch a glimpse of something that looks like a figure, and when I push the door open, I immediately recognize him, even though his back is to me. He’s wearing a suit I picked out for him, leaning over the railings that look out across the city lights. The cool night air feels still and stark compared to the warmth and bodies of the party inside. I step through and let the door close behind me, the sound of the event now nothing but a low, muffled hum.
“Toby,” I say as I step toward him. “What are you doing out here?”
He turns to face me, the man I love, and when I’m close enough he puts his arms around my waist and pulls me into him like a storm. Kissing me like his life depends on it. Only letting me go once he’s satisfied himself on my lips, though he continues to hold me close.
“I’ve been looking for you all night,” I whisper, my hands fingering the buttons on his shirt.
“I’ve been waiting for you to find me all night.”
“You’ve been… Why would you stay up here? What are you doing?”
He smiles, sighs, looks out at the city as if to refresh himself before looking back at me, something knowing and important in his eyes.
“What am I doing?” he repeats. “Exactly. I’ve got the most drop-dead gorgeous, talented, charismatic tiger of a woman… And she keeps throwing parties where hundreds of guys fawn and fight over her… And she’s about to become a worldwide icon… And I’m here acting like she’s all mine.”
“I don’t think they’re quite courageous—or perhaps crazy—enough, to try like you did.”
“Crazy…” he repeats again. “I’m definitely crazy for you, Maeve.”
“Toby…” I say, simply for the joy of saying his name, pressing my face against his chest. Enjoying how I can be like this with him. Purely affectionate. Nothing but loving. He strokes my hair and I purr into him.
“How do you like your jewelry?” he asks.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “You worked a miracle for me.”
“You haven’t seen the best part yet.”
I’m so confused by what he means I pull away to look into his eyes, but there’s still a mystery in them, a secret he hasn’t told yet.
“This,” he says, reaching into his pocket, “was the last piece I made. Except it’s not for sale. It’s one of a kind. Like you.”
I’m complete ice, frozen still as he brings the ring box up before me, in the close space between us, and opens it to reveal a ring set with a deep pink-orange gem so fiery and bold it seems more like a soul than a stone.
He says, “I know you might think this is too—”
“Yes,” I interrupt him quickly. I look from the stone up to his eyes. “Toby. Yes.” I reach up and place a hand against his face, as if just looking at him isn’t enough. “You don’t need to give me the pitch, warn me of the dangers, or tell me how you feel. I know what I want.”
He presses his cheek back into my palm, turning slightly to kiss it. I peel it away and hold it out for him. Carefully, he takes the ring from the box and places it on me. I can’t help holdin
g out my hand to admire it, and the sherry pink glow of the gem against my skin is so perfect, it’s hard not to believe it’s always been there on my finger.
“It’s an Imperial topaz,” he says. “The stone of confidence…nobility…purpose. I’ve had this stone since I first started my shop. It’s always been there, just waiting in the safe, and I never found the right project for it. Almost as if I knew it would be important, that something would happen eventually, where it would make sense…”
“‘Every stone has a story,’ right, darling? Isn’t that what you say?”
He looks at my hand as he studies the ring on it, turning it gently.
“Funny thing…” he says. “The person I bought it from told me it was cursed.”
I drop my smile and glare at him suddenly.
“Cursed?”
Toby laughs and puts his own hand on my face now.
“That’s the thing, Maeve. That’s what you made me realize…”
“What?”
He takes his time before answering, looking at me with so much of his soul in his eyes that I feel almost overwhelmed.
“That if you love someone enough, no matter what’s ‘meant’ to happen, or who you are, or what’s in your way… You’ve always got the power to change the story.”
For once in my life, I can’t think of anything to say. No witty retort, no sassy comeback.
The only response that makes sense, the only way to express this new kind of love, is to move my lips to his as he brings his to mine in a kiss that feels like it just might last forever.
