Strong Enough

by Melanie Harlow

  I shrugged. “I was busy at work this week.” It was an excuse. The truth was that I’d broached the subject with my father, and he’d told me I was crazy, I’d lose my shirt, and I had no time for side projects, anyway. In fact, he wanted me to take on more responsibility in the next six months, not less.

  “Call now.”

  “I’m driving. And I don’t have the number.”

  “Do it when you get home after dropping me at work.”

  I gave him a look. “That apartment made you bossy.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. But I know you’d do such a great job on it. And I think it’s like your dream.”

  “Maybe. I’ll give it some more thought.” But it was hard to think about anything that might happen after the next nine days. I didn’t want to do it.

  When I pulled up to The Blind Pig, he looked at me. “What will you do tonight?”

  “Nothing much.” Think about you. Feel sorry for myself. Wallow.

  He opened the door but didn’t get out. “Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I refused to look at him. “It’s fine. Go to work.”

  “Okay.” Another pause.

  I gripped the steering wheel hard, staring straight ahead. Get the fuck out, Maxim, before I say something I shouldn’t.

  “Well, thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  He got out, and I took off the moment the door was shut. In the rearview mirror, I could see him linger there on the sidewalk, watching me. I couldn’t get away quick enough, and I wished I could hit the accelerator hard. Fuck this traffic! Why can’t there be an open road when you need to blow off steam?

  I decided to go for a run instead. I went home, changed clothes, grabbed my headphones and took off, my feet pounding the pavement in long, angry strides. I ran fast, too fast, sweat pouring and heart pumping and muscles aching. I ran like something was chasing me, like my life was in peril, like I could escape danger if only I could stay ahead of it.

  But it wouldn’t let me be. It wouldn’t give up. It wouldn’t release me.

  His arms and legs around me like vines. His head on my shoulder. His breath on my chest. His skin against mine.

  After my five mile loop, I ended up in my backyard, hunched over, breathing hard, hands braced on my knees. I wasn’t at all sure I wouldn’t be sick or pass out. After a minute, I collapsed onto the grass and lay on my back, eyes closed.

  Fuck. What was I doing? Trying to outrun a feeling? Trying to punish my body for what it had done? For what it wanted to do? Or was I trying to replace emotional anguish with physical duress? Maybe I thought I could distract myself from unwanted feelings by pushing my body so far it gave out. Then the ache would reside in my muscles, and not in my heart.

  Because fuck my heart. It had no business here. This was about one thing, and one thing only—pleasure.

  And its days were numbered.

  I woke again to footsteps on the stairs. As if my body remembered what followed last time I’d heard the sound, my dick started to get hard, heat rushing my lower body. Would he come to me again? Maybe not, after the way I’d acted this afternoon. Maybe he thought I didn’t want him to. Or maybe he knew I did, and he wouldn’t just to punish me. Fuck that.

  When I heard the shower come on, I decided not to wait. I got out of bed and shoved off my underwear, my erection springing free and twitching with impatience. The hallway was dark, the bathroom door closed.

  I didn’t knock. Because fuck manners too.

  The sight of his naked body, even blurry through the wet glass, ratcheted up the tension inside me. And the hunger—I felt almost predatory as he turned in surprise and saw me there.

  I opened the shower door and stepped in beside him. Without waiting for him to say a word, I grabbed him and crushed my mouth to his, pushing him back against the tiles and pressing myself against his hot, wet body. He didn’t fight me, but I was rough with him, fisting my hands tight in his hair, shoving my tongue inside his mouth, thrusting my cock against his hip. I felt the need to subdue something or someone, to dominate. To take control and impose my will. I wasn’t a fucking idiot, I knew it was myself I wanted to overpower, but I was a failure there. And Maxim, with his unsettling ability to show me who I really was, to make me feel as if I couldn’t extricate myself from him, to reflect back at me everything I desired, was the perfect substitute.

  I tore my mouth from his and shoved down on his shoulders. “Get on your knees.”

  He dropped willingly, and it pleased me. Hot water sprayed my back as the steam rose around us. I braced myself against the wall as he took my cock in his hand and brought the tip to his mouth.

  “Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. The muscles in my legs tightened as he licked and sucked and stroked. He didn’t tease me, wasn’t coy or playful, didn’t try to wrest control away and make my orgasm his toy. It was as if he knew what I needed and wanted to give it to me. His fingers slid between my legs and rubbed with steady, firm pressure as he took me to the back of his throat again and again. My lower body began to tremble, like the earth quaking and shuddering before a volcanic eruption. I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and held his head still, plunging into his sleek, hot mouth with hard, deep thrusts. “Fuck!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the tiles as I exploded inside him without even giving a warning.

  He didn’t care. He kept stroking and sucking and swallowing until I was empty and shaking and tingling all over. Oh God, he’s perfect. He’s perfect and beautiful and brave and so full of life and why can’t this feeling be mine forever? Why can’t he be mine forever?

  I dropped to my knees in front of him. Took his head in my hands. Kissed him passionately, protectively, possessively. Mine. Mine. Mine. His arms came around me and I was melting at his feet. At that moment, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him.

  “Stand up,” I said, sliding my lips down the warm, wet arc of his neck. “Let me.”

  “Let you what?” His voice was low, a little playful.

  Let me make your heart beat faster. Let me make you come. Let me make you feel so good you never want to leave me. Because I don’t want you to go, but I can’t ask you to stay. “Let me do what I want.”

  He rose to his feet and tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “I’m all yours.”

  Thirty

  MAXIM

  Whatever had been bothering Derek the afternoon he co-signed the lease at my new apartment appeared to have worked itself out. We spent the next five nights together in his bed, and every morning, he kissed me goodbye before leaving for work. Twice he came to eat dinner at the bar, and Thursday night he even stayed until closing so he’d be able to drive me home, even though he had to get up early the next morning. We didn’t have sex that night because he was so tired, but I didn’t care. Falling asleep with his body curled around mine felt as good as an orgasm in a way—a softer, more tender intimacy that made me feel closer to him than ever before.

  My notebook, which had turned into more of a journal than a place for ideas, was full of page after page of my feelings for him, which were growing deeper by the day. We didn’t talk about them, but I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I was falling for him. I wanted to hear him say the same to me. I wanted to know if he saw anything more than hiding at home in our future. We’d sort of left things open-ended when we’d agreed to see where things went, but on Monday, I was moving into my apartment, and we wouldn’t be able to see each other in the middle of the night anymore. What would happen to us? What did he want? I was dying to know all the answers, but I was too nervous to ask the questions. Derek wasn’t someone who liked being pushed. And maybe he didn’t even know what he wanted yet.

  I knew what I wanted—more. I’d gotten to the point where I wanted to be with Derek, not only at home, but out in the open. I wanted to make him happy, make him proud of me, make him see we had nothing to be ashamed
of. I wanted him to include me in his life. Openly gay relationships were possible here—I saw them all the time. I knew how hard it would be for him, and I didn’t for one second think I deserved it enough to ask for it, but some part of me had begun to hope he might offer.

  Another part of me said don’t be ridiculous, he told you flat out he wants a family, not a boyfriend. Even if he accepted me, I couldn’t give him that. I couldn’t work here legally, and if I overstayed my visa and got caught, I could be deported. Who in his right mind would look at a guy like me and see solid parenting material? Certainly not Derek. Half the time, I had no idea what he was doing with me.

  But it was the best time I’d ever had, an unexpected gift. I didn’t want it to end.

  On Friday morning, I woke to find a series of texts from Derek on my phone.

  You work too hard. You deserve a break.

  I’m taking you away this weekend. Pack a bag with your swimsuit, a nice outfit for a dinner, and something cool for today and tomorrow. We’ll get you sunglasses on the way. (I don’t know how you’re living without them in L.A.) Be ready by 3:00.

  And yes, I talked to Ellen and she gave you the weekend off. Consider it a paid vacation.

  Yes, a paid vacation. Welcome to America.

  I sat down on the guest room bed in a daze, my thoughts jumbled, my heart racing. Was this for real? He was taking me on a trip this weekend? Out in public? Where people would see us together? Where were we going?

  And he’d told Ellen about it! What was she thinking? How had he described it? Did she suspect anything?

  And what was this about a paid vacation? Was there really such a thing?

  Confusion swirled, but more than anything, I was happy. Going away together seemed like a big step. He wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want things to continue, would he?

  Maybe this weekend would be a turning point for us.

  Packing a bag didn’t take long, and I was ready long before three. Not that I didn’t trust Derek, but I sent a quick message to Ellen making sure it was okay to take three days off. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize my job.

  Her reply put my mind at ease. Yes, of course!! I’m so happy Derek is doing this. Don’t let him work while you’re gone. He needs a break too!

  He does, I wrote back. He’s too hard on himself.

  She replied with a bunch of emojis—the sun, a pair of sunglasses, a bathing suit, a tropical drink, a beach umbrella, a big wave—and told me to have fun.

  I grinned. The beach. It had to be the beach. He remembered what I’d said about the ocean, and he was taking me to see it. My chest tightened as my heart drummed with excitement. God, he was perfect. He was everything.

  “Know where we’re going?” he asked once our bags were loaded and we’d hit the road.

  “Not for sure.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “No guessing,” he ordered. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  “How long does it take to get there?”

  “You sound like my niece and nephew. Not that long,” he promised, placing a hand on my leg. “One or two hours, maybe.”

  A couple hours later, we were still on the road, stuck in traffic. But I didn’t care—we’d rolled down the windows, and I could smell the ocean. I kept inhaling deeply, unable to get enough of the warm, salty air.

  “Sorry we’re not there yet. I wish we could have come during the week. Everybody wants to be at the beach on the weekend. Oh, fuck!” He realized he’d given away the surprise and clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “It’s okay,” I told him, patting his leg. “I had a feeling it was the beach when you said to pack a swimsuit, and then Ellen sent me a bunch of emojis that sort of gave it away.”

  He groaned. “See? Fucking Ellen and her big mouth. I don’t know why I told her the truth. I should have told her I was taking you camping or something.”

  “No, this is perfect! It will still be a surprise to see it and swim in it and hear the waves. I can’t wait.”

  In a move that shocked me, he took my hand from his leg and kissed my fingers. “Good. I love seeing you so excited.”

  As we turned from the freeway onto a beautiful road shaded with palm trees on either side, I thought my heart might burst right out of my chest. We drove past a gate that said Ritz Carlton, and I stared at Derek. “Is this… Are we…staying here?” There was a Ritz in Moscow, but it was so expensive and luxurious, I’d never even crossed its doorstep.

  “Yes. I’ve driven by this place and always wanted to come here. You gave me a reason. So thank you.”

  I couldn’t even speak.

  We checked in, and the ocean beckoned to me through big glass windows in the lobby. “It’s so beautiful,” I said, my voice full of awe.

  Derek smiled. “I asked for a room with an ocean view, so you can see it any time you want.”

  As soon as we got into our room, I dropped my bag to race out onto the balcony, which overlooked the ocean, as promised. I drew in deep breaths as I drank in the sight of so much blue. “I can’t get enough,” I said when Derek joined me. “It’s even more incredible than I thought.”

  Pressed close behind me, he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. “Want to take a walk on the beach?”

  “Yes. Although this is nice, too. Being alone here with you.” I covered his arms with mine.

  “I promise you’ll have plenty of both the beach and being alone with me.”

  I sighed, closing my eyes. “Is this real? Don’t tell me if it isn’t.”

  “It’s real.” He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. Rested his forehead against my temple. “It’s real.”

  Later, after we’d walked on the beach and swum in the ocean and drunk colorful cocktails as we watched the sun go down, we went back to the room to clean up. As thrilling as it had been to get in the ocean for the first time, I was even happier watching Derek get dressed for dinner. It seemed ridiculous that something mundane like watching him iron a shirt or shave, or style his hair or button his shirt could have such an effect on me, but it did. I could still hear his voice in my head. It’s real. It’s real.

  I felt like it was. The more time we spent together, the more willing I was to do whatever it took to keep it. I hadn’t moved here expecting to meet someone, but life was strange and wonderful, and I had to believe that this feeling had a purpose. It was too strong, too good, too unlikely for it to be random. Everything inside me, every instinct I had, was telling me to fight for him.

  But what weapons did I have? What could I give him in return for changing his life for me? Sex didn’t seem like enough. What else did he want?

  “So tell me more about what you would do with that house. And did you make the appointment to see it yet?” We were at dinner, sitting on the hotel restaurant patio overlooking the ocean.

  He turned his head to look at the water. “Not yet. I don’t know that I want to see it.”

  “What? Why not?”

  The waiter appeared with our drinks, and asked if we were ready to order. Once he’d left us alone, I asked again. “Why don’t you want to see the house?”

  “Because what’s the use? I can’t buy it. My dad was right—I don’t have the time for a project like that. I probably never will.” He picked up his wine and drank.

  “You asked your dad about it?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t go well. He wants me to take on more work, not less. I’ll get more money too.”

  “But what about all the things you told me about creativity and risk and passion?”

  He shrugged. “It was just an idea, and not a very practical one. There are other things I want more. And you know what?” He drank again and set down his glass before leaning toward me. “Let’s not talk about that stuff. We’re here to have fun, and I don’t want to think about anything beyond that. All that matters is now.”

  But I don’t want to be just fun to you. I want to matter. I want to mean something. I want to talk about where we c
an go, what we can be.

  I want you to let me in.

  I was beginning to worry it wasn’t going to happen.

  Thirty-One

  DEREK

  Denial was a game I played well.

  The field was familiar, I had all the strategies memorized, and the uniform fit like a glove. I’d worn it practically my entire life. Don’t want to feel something? Refuse to feel it. Don’t like the thoughts in your head? Reject them. Don’t like the person you really are? Pretend he doesn’t exist. You’re only lying to yourself—and what does that matter? Thanks to years of practice, I was an expert at keeping the outside neat and tidy, even if the inside was a fucking wreck. Especially if the inside was a fucking wreck.

  And it was.

  I kept waiting to be sated, to feel as if I’d had my fill of him, so I could walk away from this experiment and get on with my real life. But it didn’t happen.

  Every day my feelings for Maxim grew stronger. Every night we spent together brought us closer. Every moment we were apart was spent thinking about the next time we could be together. What was supposed to be a quick, indulgent fuck fling was trying to be something else entirely.

  I refused to let it. My limit had been reached. After that night in the shower, I’d folded up my feelings like a sweater and packed them away. Told myself it wasn’t love; it was infatuation. Novelty. The kick of eating forbidden fruit. The rush of being bad. It was just his presence in my house that was making it seem so intense. Once he was gone, I’d be fine.

  I’d be fine.

  But for our last weekend together, I would be greedy. I wanted him all to myself, no distractions. I wanted more than just a few stolen hours in the dark—I wanted his days and his nights, his full attention, a taste of what it would be like to belong to him, to call him mine. I would gorge on him and on us until I was fully and utterly gratified.

  Then I’d be able to let him go.