Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  She is soaking wet and obviously ready for me. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” she breathes, throwing her head back to rest it on my chest. I kiss her forehead, watching her eyes grow heavy as I work her with my fingers.

  She moans and my dick twitches. My mind is clear for the first time since I last touched her.

  *****

  Windsor

  I love my back being pressed against his front. I feel every hard muscle bulging, controlling me, and owning me. Being in his arms makes me delirious with lust and passion. I say things I wouldn’t normally say; I just asked him to fuck me on bags. I’m pretty sure that never would have come out of my mouth before having sex with Maverick. The uninhibited person I am when I’m with him is freeing. It’s a person I never thought I’d have the courage to be. It’s me. It’s Windsor Forbes unfiltered.

  I spread my legs a little wider to give his hand better access to me, and stifle another moan. The tips of his fingers circle and rub, causing my slick sex to pulse. He dips a finger into me. I can’t even stop my muscles from tightening around him. I do try to calm myself, because I want him inside me when I do come. His hand disappears, and I’m left panting, wondering what comes next. Lifting me by my waist and pushing down my shoulder blades, he bends me over the stack of bags.

  “Keep your legs open for me, baby,” he says, hissing when the tip of his dick presses into my sex. My face is pressed into his bag. It smells like new plastic. I guess it could smell like something worse. “You feel so good, Win. I’m gonna fuck you now,” Maverick growls.

  He pushes all the way into me, hitting the back. It hurts at first, but after a couple thrusts I’m used to his punishing rhythm. This isn’t the sweet sex we usually have, when we’re entwined with each other. This is frantic. He pulls me off the bags a little each time he thrusts, like he’s trying to bury himself inside me further than he’s ever gone. I grab onto one of the handles on the side of the bag to steady myself.

  I know he needs this. I saw the way he looked at me when he asked if I was going to stay. It was the same look he wore when he looked at his packed bags. All I can do is trust him to trust me when I tell him I want him forever.

  His strokes are more harried and out of pace as he reaches a hand around to stroke me. I feel everything, everywhere. How hot is cock is as it fills me, how his muscles strain as he pumps. I feel him shaking a little and know he’s about to come. Maverick coming is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen. Imagining what his face looks like right now is all it takes to send me off. I arch my back, and work myself back onto him as far as I can as I pulsate around him. Tingling shoots throughout my body and I ride it for as long as I can.

  “Shit. Yeah,” he whispers, smacking my ass. With a loud groan he pulls out of me and comes. His hot spurts land on my ass and all the way up my back, reaching my shoulder blades. “Fuck,” Maverick mutters, between clenched teeth. “I got it in your hair,” he says, panting loudly. I turn my head around so I can see him. I don’t dare move though. Come would get everywhere. I’ll have to play the run to the bathroom and not get it everywhere game soon.

  I laugh when I see that he’s actually concerned I’ll be upset he got it in my hair. “It’s good for it,” I explain. “Really, I’m only concerned because this sort of makes me a bag, doesn’t it?” I point at the one he just thoroughly worked me over on. He graces me with both dimples.

  “You’re my forever bag, baby. And I think I hate these dead hookers a little less.” I’m not sure what that means, but he’s looking at me with those black fringed, hazel eyes and I’m so done for. I don’t care that he holds all the power, that he alone has the power to crush me into tiny bits. I’ll fade like a dying star without him anyways.

  “I wrote you another song,” Maverick says, scooping me into his arms. He hums an upbeat melody as he carries me to the shower. Serenading me in the wet room, his sexy, growly voice breaks up the stream of the showerheads. I can only stare at him, in all of his glorious perfection as he looks directly at me and sings a perfectly lyrical love story. Luckily my tears mix with the warm water, hiding just how much I’m going to miss this sight.

  And him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Windsor

  The days passed too quickly. I tell myself I’m ready for Maverick to deploy, but honestly it’s like readying for an execution too soon. No one, I don’t care who you are, can be ready for that. I’ve already said goodbye to him in my head a million times. Maybe a billion? I feel guilty because I just want him to leave so it can finally be real—and so he can come back and it can be over. It’s an odd mindset, but not nearly as odd as some of the other things Morganna tells me about.

  Crying Sex is in fact, the act of crying during fornicating because your significant other’s long departure is imminent and you realize how much you’re going to miss them…and having sex with them. I found myself tearing up during sex with Mav the night after she told me about the bat shit crazy occurrence—because really, it makes perfect sense. Doggy style while tears run down my face? Epic moment, let me tell you. I’ve added it to the weird freaking list of things that are unimaginable to average people.

  My emotions are all over the place. I’m not sure what to say to him about my feelings. I want to placate Maverick, to ease some of the hesitancy he feels about leaving me behind, but I can’t tell him I love him now. He’d think it’s because he is leaving. How fair would that be? Oh, by the way I’m in love with you. I think you already know, but I’m just telling you because you’re leaving for a dangerous area and might not come back. Ever.

  That would just make me a bad person. Plus, the last time I uttered the same words I can safely say I didn’t mean them. I didn’t love Nash. I loved the idea of what marrying him and settling down meant. It was comfortable. Nash merely represented what I wanted in life…at that specific time. I was desperate and blinded by what society told me was the next step in my relationship—and in my life. I truly love Maverick, but I want to tell him on my own terms without any outside pressures forcing my hand. It’s a big deal. I told myself I wasn’t going to say “I love you” until I knew it was forever.

  Speaking of desperate and blinded, I’m semi-dodging my Mom’s calls and texts. I know now that he’s leaving I’ll have to face Kathy down and actually visit her or, God forbid, have her come and visit me. I’m drowning in horrible thoughts, swimming—flailing in all directions when I feel strong, heavy arms snake around my waist from behind…an anchor to my seriously insane thoughts.

  I lean my head back against his chest. “Is it always this miserable saying goodbye?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. The airport is buzzing with people, but they could be inanimate objects for how much they mean to me. We’re as good as alone.

  He clears his throat and whispers, “Probably.”

  I keep forgetting, while he’s deployed a half-dozen times, he’s never been in a relationship during one. It’s comforting and scary at the same time. What if we both suck at the deployment game? I’m sure I can handle it. I’d handle anything life deals as long as I get to keep this loving, caring man in my life in some capacity. What if it’s too much for him? How is he supposed to do his job, which is superbly demanding, while worrying about keeping a girlfriend happy?

  “Thanks for bringing me to the airport, Win,” Maverick says, pressing a long kiss on the top of my head inhaling deeply. He has a solitary suitcase and wears normal, civilian clothes. His departure looks like any other person’s. Except it’s not. It is anything but normal. Six months. Half a year will pass before I see him in person next. Four thousand and some odd hours will have to go by before he’ll stand in front of me or wrap his arms around me again.

  I turn in his arms and hug him, burying my face in his hard chest. “Seriously, as if I’d be anywhere else. This is my favorite place to be. It just feels so final. Like maybe I’ll never see you again,” I say, trying to keep my emotions under wraps. “You’ll forget all about me and come back and
be like ‘Windsor who?’” I tease, breaking up the serious with a lie. Maverick chuckles against me, his chest rumbling. Another noise I’ll miss.

  His hands, hot against my lower back, ground me to right now—to this moment. My chest tightens.

  “Even if that was remotely fathomable, it wouldn’t be possible. We’ll see each other on Skype as much as I can. Stone tells me this helps with the loneliness,” he replies. I hear his smile through his words. Both dimples greet me when I look up. We’ve talked about what we should expect from each other. It’s like a fully functioning relationship simultaneously disguised as something else.

  Shaking my head, I say, “Stone would say that. Now I have images of Morganna naked burned into the back of my mind.” She probably has equally disturbing images of me in her memory bank too.

  He closes his eyes. “Great. Now I do too,” Maverick sighs. I laugh.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to combat our loneliness, though,” I admit. One side of his mouth quirks up and he nods, slowly, watching me. His hand cradles my head as his thumb strokes the side of my face. The softness of his caress is opposing the fierce rigidity in his gaze. If I didn’t feel the same way I’d probably be confused.

  “I’ll call you when I can,” he finally says. I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I’ll keep my shit pulled together for as long as possible and break down in the privacy of my own bedroom, surrounded by all the comfort items from my former life. Everything that I loved before I loved Maverick. Before he loved me, changing everything.

  I lean up on my tippy toes and he automatically leans down. I make the last move and press my lips to his. He clutches me to his chest like he needs me as much as he needs the air he breathes, but the kiss stays simple, pure. I shut my eyes and let myself feel everything I’ve pushed away. I hurt, I love, I want, I’m alive, I’m dead. I’m everything I once was when Nash ruined me, and at the same time I’m beyond that because Nash never loved me like Maverick does. My pulse skitters and my unsettled stomach flutters when I take a breath and smell Maverick—his cologne, his scent. The kiss slows, and I know it’s almost time. His thick lips don’t own me like they usually do.

  They say goodbye.

  I’m crying when he pulls away way too soon. It’s not the ugly, jagged Kim K cry; it’s more subdued. It’s the type of tears that promise a freaking flood later. I’m heartbroken and completely in love at the same time if that is even possible.

  I nod and sniffle. “Safe travels,” I whisper. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He can’t even pretend enough to convince me right now. The artful actor is nowhere in sight. Maverick is stripped of his defenses.

  He grabs the handle of his sleek, black suitcase. The tiny movement causes my heart to pound out a crazy rhythm. Catching my breath will be impossible.

  My gaze darts up to meet his. “Please be safe. Please. Good luck. You’re everything. You mean everything to me, Mav,” I murmur.

  “Always,” Maverick says, voice light. “It’s not about luck, baby. That’s one thing I don’t need.” He presses his lips together in a firm line. “You’re everything to me too. I love you, Win.” He swallows and looks down at the ground, his black lashes fanning across his cheekbones. He turns and walks away. He doesn’t even wait for me to respond. He knows I won’t or can’t. He turns his head, his black t-shirt bunching in perfection across his back. A small one dimpled smile crosses his face as he says, “You have a surprise waiting for you at home.”

  I cry and laugh at the same time. It comes out as an unattractive snort. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I smile as a response. It’s the last thing he sees. He turns again to walk toward the security line and I watch him for as long as I can.

  He doesn’t turn around again.

  *****

  I give ugly crying a new definition. Every single, freaking song that comes on the radio causes my vision to blur. They’re all miserable songs about love lost. Even the rap songs for God’s sake—even though the beat is a little happier than some of the other morbid choices.

  I hit another pothole on the horrible highway. Between my tears, Virginia Beach potholes, and the sadness swelling in my chest, I’m not sure I’ll make it home in one piece. My phone chimes with text messages from Kathy and Gretchen—both of them wanting something from me. I can’t give any of them anything in my current state, so I don’t plan on responding until I can sleep off my heartbreak hangover. Until I can work out an equation to compute just how much one person can miss another without dying.

  I figure Kathy’s dealt with her fair share of what I’m feeling, but turning to her for any kind of sound advice won’t be my best bet. My Dad, God rest his soul, would know exactly what to say to me right now. He died in a car accident that was both utterly tragic and ironic. It killed him on impact, which I always looked at as a blessing. No suffering. He was driving one second and dead the next. If you have to go early, that’s the way. A drunk driver hit him. I don’t think Kathy’s been sober a day since it happened. That’s the ironic part.

  Dad would have told me a story about a strong heroine who conquered the world, and then spouted off several relevant quotes about love and perseverance. Sometimes I think if I had him around when Nash and I broke up, I wouldn’t have landed in a shrink chair laden with self-hatred. That’s all psych’s really are anyway—someone who listens and gives sound advice without judging.

  I miss my Dad. I’ll always miss him. I haven’t died from missing him yet, so maybe missing Maverick will be easier. A college professor once told me that missing someone meant that you are fortunate to love someone in the first place. If you don’t miss them, you don’t love them. Some don’t get that chance. Somehow, fortunate isn’t any of the things I’m feeling.

  My phone rings through the speakers of my car, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me. I slam the answer button to shut off the noise as quickly as possible.

  Gretchen’s screeching voice blares out of the speakers, “Where the hell are you? I thought you’d be home by now. Was it horrible?”

  I sigh. I won’t hit the green button next time. “Of course it was horrible!” I yell. Gretchen speaks to someone else, her mouth away from her phone. “Who are you talking to?” I ask.

  “No one! I have to meet Benji…will you be home soon?” More whispered words and then I hear her say, “Shhhh!”

  “I’m pulling on to our street now. Why do I have to be home before you leave? I don’t really want company right now. Or today. Probably not for a week or so,” I admit because, honestly, I don’t want Gretchen to organize anything in my sad, sorry honor. It’s totally something she’d do. Then I’d have to kill her in her sleep.

  “Hurry up!” Gretchen snaps. She hangs up the phone. I sigh, leaning my head back on the headrest. As soon as I park, I flip down the mirror and wipe beneath my eyes in vain. I’m sure they’ll be black and smudged for a few days—especially if the freaking radio doesn’t stop scoring for the other team. I need to turn on Pandora on the get-freaking-happy station. Six months will go by in a snap if I can find things to entertain me in my spare time.

  I obviously have plans to work like demon. Luckily tax season is coming up and I’ll be working crazy hours anyways. Distraction is key. Morganna told me so. I have a brief urge to call her, then decide against it. She feels like I do. She doesn’t want to talk.

  I glance down to grab my phone and see a white envelope sticking out of the side of the passenger seat. My name is printed on the front in tiny capital letters. Maverick’s handwriting. Definitely not reading this until my cry fest later.

  I slam my car door and hit the lock button on my key fob. My feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds each as I trudge up the stairs and push open my front door.

  Gretchen squeals and a plaintive little bark echoes the living room. “Finally!” She says rushing toward me with a tiny, and I do mean tiny, tan hairball under one arm.

  My eyes are as big as marbl
es when she thrusts the cutest thing in the world into my arms. “What the hell is this? I mean I know it’s a Pomeranian, but why is it in our condo?” I ask. The dog wriggles in my arms and licks the salty tears off my face. Puppy breath. I melt. The dog is wearing a tiny black t-shirt.

  “Maverick didn’t want you to be lonely,” Gretchen explains, looking at the dog with as much fondness as a mother would her newborn baby. “He got him from the shelter you always go to. Someone dumped a litter of Poms a few weeks ago. I’ve been hiding him at Benji’s.” Gretchen smiles wide. “I would never let you be lonely, but this way you at least have a guy sleeping in your bed every night.” She scratches the top of his head, cooing in a high voice. “What are you going to name him? I’ve been calling him Bear because he looks like a fucking teddy bear, but I’m sure you’ll be more creative,” she says. I look down, still in shock at the warm little fuzzy mess, and see that the doggy t-shirt has the words TOP GUN printed on the back of it. I laugh a little and shake my head. “The shirt was at Mav’s request. Obviously,” Gretch explains.

  “Goose,” I say. “I’ll name him Goose.” I cuddle him up to my face and, amazingly, this little creature makes me feel better. Looking at him I won’t be able to forget what I mean to Maverick. “Thank you, Gretch.” I hug her, the puppy squirming between us. She pulls me in a little tighter.

  “It will be okay. You’ll see. I’ve never seen a man more in love or care about a woman more than he does for you. Six months really isn’t that long to wait for the rest of your life.”

  “I hate it when you’re right,” I whisper into her hair. She squeezes my ass in both of her hands.

  “I’m always right, bitch. Go snuggle with that puppy. He’s like a mood enhancing drug. I swear it. He went outside to pee just before you got here, but that doesn’t mean much because I think his brain is the size of a pea.”