Rocked by Him

by Lucy Lambert

  I let myself slip away from the past, from the future. There was only that present moment with Drake, our naked bodies pressed together, his manhood thrusting with steady rhythm into me even while I tightened my grip around him.

  At some point, he finally kissed me, his mouth molten against mine. Our flesh really did feel as one.

  And when he let go of my wrists, I grabbed onto his heaving shoulders. The heat of his own desire flushed his skin, and he hissed when I dug my nails into him.

  But then I could no longer hold the sensations welling up inside me at bay. His thrusting grew more insistent, faster, harder, when he saw his effect on me. My legs trembled with the effort of keeping locked around him, my head thrashed against the bed even while I begged him for more, to not stop.

  I thought I felt his lips on me again, but then my climax hit me. It got so intense that it felt like I drifted between consciousness and some unknown plane of pure carnal pleasure.

  My walls tightened around him, clamping along his length, trying to keep him inside me. Then they relaxed, only to clench up against a moment later. Each time, I heard Drake gasp a little.

  I felt somehow light and heavy at the same time. A sensation of weightlessness took me so, so that it was as though only Drake kept me from floating away on the waves of pleasure rocking through me.

  He nuzzled my neck, waiting for my climax to release control of my body once more. When it did, my rigid body went limp against the bed. As before, an intense and cool relief ran through me. My muscles trembled from their exertions, and my ankles almost unlocked from around his back.

  I let my leg fall to the side. My hands reached out to stroke Drake’s cheeks. I was so acutely aware of his stubble scraping against my skin. All my senses seemed heightened, and my awareness of the present moment increased.

  I pulled him down for another long kiss, even as I worked my walls to massage him inside me. He groaned and tried to pull his face back, but I didn’t let him.

  He pulled out of me and I felt suddenly incomplete, like we were two halves of one person and we needed to be surrounding each other, embracing constantly, to become whole.

  I reached down between our bodies and took his manhood in my hand. He felt so stiff, so wet from thrusting into me. He’d made me feel so good. Now it was his turn.

  I stroked him hard and fast with both hands.

  “Oh…” Drake said, arching his neck, his eyes scrunching shut in that expression of pleasure bordering on pain once more.

  I could feel him getting close, getting even harder and trembling in my hand. My own body responded. It felt good to make him feel good.

  “Jenn!” he cried out.

  My fingers raced up and down his length, urging him to his own climax. His hot seed spilt out on my stomach, and I didn’t stop stroking him until I’d gotten all I could from him.

  His arms shook from the effort of holding himself over me, and I thought of how drained I’d felt just moments earlier, coming down from my climax. I released him, and he rolled onto his back beside me.

  Neither of us could speak. Instead, we lay beside each other, looking up at my ceiling. His hand found mine, and his fingers trembled. Mine did, too. I’m not sure how long we stayed there, wrapped in the comforting cocoon of post-coital bliss.

  My thoughts remained blessedly simple, revolving around how being with him had been everything I’d expected and more.

  Soon thereafter, I almost fell asleep listening to Drake’s quiet breaths.

  But all good things must come to an end. Although in this case, the ending of one good thing led to another.

  We climbed out of my bed, over the piles of clothes strewn about on the floor, directly to my bathroom and the hot shower awaiting us inside.

  The steaming water hissed and splashed, washing the sweat of our loving off our naked bodies. I thought to my last shower, about fantasizing about having Drake there with me.

  My dreams had become reality, it seemed. His strong arms pulling my wet body against his proved that. He kissed me again, gently at first.

  It wasn’t long before I felt his passion strengthen between us, and he took me again. We finished, sore but satisfied. My mirror had fogged up completely during this last interval.

  Taking the time only to dry ourselves, we went back to my bed and collapsed on it. He lay on his back, and I rested against the side of his body. The steady thud of his heart lulled me to sleep.

  ***

  An incredible thirst woke me sometime later. It took some effort to disentangle myself from Drake’s arm, being as gentle as possible so that I wouldn’t wake him.

  Only the weak light of the streetlamps shone in through the crack in the curtains, and the clock said it was early in the morning, just after 4:00 AM. I found a terrycloth house coat and pulled it on, smiling at its softness against my skin.

  It seemed Drake had managed to work out every muscle in my body. It felt like I’d just come back from a three-hour session at the gym, my muscles and joints crying at me to move slowly while I bumped my way through the darkness into the kitchen.

  The sudden bright light from the fridge when I opened the door left me squinting, but I found the water pitcher and even managed to grab a glass from the cupboard without making too much noise.

  I leaned with one hand against the countertop, taking sips from the glass. The water soothed my throat on its way down, and left a cool feeling in my stomach. I liked how cold the glass felt in my grip.

  Finishing, I put the empty glass on the counter and started on my way back to bed, planning to sleep through the alarm and then go get some breakfast with Drake.

  But then I saw the flashing red light in the darkness. It was the phone, and it only flashed like that when someone left a message.

  Had it been there when we’d come in? Difficult to tell, since Drake had lifted me up and carried me straight to the bedroom. It could have been waiting for me all day and night.

  I knew that I should have just gone back to bed and listened to it later, but the mysterious content of the voicemail grabbed hold of the curious part of me and wouldn’t let go.

  So I went and closed the bedroom door, then went into the kitchen and turned on the light.

  1 New Message the little screen on the phone read. A little thread of anxiety tightened around my heart when I reached up and pushed the Play button.

  A robotic male voice read out the time and date the message was left. It was from yesterday, when I’d been in Bud’s office.

  “Hey Jennifer… It’s your mom…”

  Right away, that thread of anxiety turned into a full-blown rope, choking off my circulation. Mom never called! She hated the phone.

  “I know I already explained about your father in that last letter… But there’s more news. And it’s not good. The doctors say that he’s not responding very well to the treatments…”

  Mom’s voiced sounded a little tinny over the phone. When she began talking about the doctors, her voice broke up. I could practically feel her trying to hold back the tears. A sympathetic pressure built behind my eyes, and I had to hold myself up against the counter.

  “There’s a new drug that just came out. I can’t think of the name. Some weird medical word. You know what I mean. Anyway, they said it’s probably his best chance… But Jennifer, it’s nearly $90 for each pill! And they said he’d need to take four throughout the day, and he’ll need them for the rest of his life…” mom’s voice broke up completely here.

  My hand crept up over my mouth, and my eyes opened so wide it hurt. Mom sobbed and sniffled for a few moments more. There was a sharp clack as though she put the receiver down for a moment. Then another series of clicking, plasticky noises when she picked it back up.

  “Sorry about that. I really don’t mean to put all this on you, dear. Not with you starting that great job of yours over there. I just thought I should let you know. Please call me back when you can, okay? I love you, Jennifer. So does your dad.”

&nbs
p; I reached out to pick up the phone, to interrupt her before she could hang up, when I remembered that it was just a message. A message hours old. Mom and dad would still be in bed right now, and for at least two hours more.

  That robot voice came back on, asking whether I wanted to save the message or not. Numbly, I reached out and hit the button to store it. Though I don’t think the fear and despair I heard in my mom’s voice could ever leave my waking memory. I’d never heard her sound like that.

  $90 dollars per dose, four doses a day? That was thousands of dollars a month! There was no way they could afford that. Not even with insurance, and especially not with also needing a full-time caregiver.

  I stayed in the kitchen for a while, my mother’s message running through my head over and over. I had to keep fighting the urge to call her back right then.

  As it was, I leaned against the counter, its edge digging into my hip, for a good hour at least.

  Even the thought of going back to bed, back to Drake’s waiting arms, couldn’t reduce the awful ball of anxiety inside me by any substantial amount.

  I realized then that the amount I’d written the check for was a real pittance, the proverbial drop in the bucket. It would only pay for a few weeks of my dad’s medicine.

  They needed more money. It all came down to that.

  My thoughts went to that balled-up Post-It note in my jacket pocket. Bud had written something there. Something to entice me to stay.

  My feet beat my mind to action, walking me to the bedroom before I’d even really thought about it. The note was about money. It had to be. A sort of hush money, I guessed. Reward for doing as Bud wished.

  Was it a substantial raise? A bonus? I didn’t know.

  I opened the door, a widening section of light slicing across the bed. It took me a few moments of scrounging around on the floor to find my jacket tangled up with my skirt. I tried to free it for a few moments, before giving up and just delving into the pocket.

  A spark of relief shot up through my chest when my fingers closed around the balled-up piece of paper. A creeping terror had been needling at me, telling me I’d thrown it away already.

  “Jenn? Come back to bed,” Drake said, stirring.

  “In a few minutes. Go back to sleep,” I replied.

  My fingers worked the note open, but I couldn’t make out Bud’s writing in the poor light. I rushed back to the kitchen, eager to examine my prize.

  My eyes quickly scanned the single line scrawled across the piece of yellow paper. I covered my dropping mouth with my hand.

  It read only: “25% plus bonus.” A bit of chicken scratch beside it appeared to be Bud’s signature.

  During our little argument, I’d scoffed at the idea of accepting Bud’s offer. I had integrity. I wouldn’t sell out for money, and I certainly wouldn’t have him buy me out of a boyfriend.

  What it would buy (or at the very least greatly assist with buying) was that new drug for my dad.

  That money could go a very long way.

  My stomach twisted into knots. If I told mom and dad about it, the whole situation, mom would refuse the money. She wouldn’t mortgage her daughter’s future and happiness, not even for the health of her husband. On the other hand, I didn’t need to tell them the whole situation, just that I got a nice raise at work.

  But it would mean pushing Drake out of my life. Could I live every single day from now seeing him in the elevator, our eyes meeting for a moment, then dropping to the floor? I’d have to move out of this building at the very least.

  And I didn’t want to leave him. This was the start of something good. Something incredible.

  I grabbed the yellow note with both hands, my fingers trembling. Should I tear it up? Should I keep it in some safe place so that Bud couldn’t go back on his word?

  “I don’t know… Damn it, I just don’t know…” I said.

  I got so wrapped up in it that I didn’t hear Drake come up behind me.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  All the worry stewing inside me headed off any impulse to get startled.

  Drake had pulled on his briefs, but was otherwise still naked. Rather than doing anything bad to his hair, sleep seemed to have tousled it in just the right way. Why did he have to look so damn handsome? It made everything even harder.

  The impulse to lie about everything sped through me. Just smooth things over and try to deal with everything myself.

  The problem was that I didn’t believe I could handle everything by myself anymore.

  So I told Drake. I told him about my dad’s Alzheimer’s. I told him about the enormous cost of his medical bills.

  And I told him about Bud telling me that we had to split up if I wanted to keep my job. I kept back the bit about Bud’s buyout offer. Why, I’m not really sure. I guess it was because I was actually considering it, and I didn’t want Drake to see that part of me.

  Drake stood in front of me, one hand on the countertop, one hand on his hip. For all this, he looked like an underwear model.

  He stayed quiet for a bit, making me acutely aware of the fridge’s hum, and of the trickle of water through their pipes in the walls.

  “You should have told me right away,” he said finally.

  “I know, I’m sorry…”

  “No, really. You should have. I would have went right back into his office with you, and he really would’ve learned his lesson then.”

  As they say, hindsight is 20/20. But who knows what would have really happened in this hypothetical.

  I could feel that pressure building behind my eyes again, and I fought the urge to sniffle.

  Seeing this, Drake took me in his arms and held me close. I rested the side of my head against his chest, and again the steady rhythm of his heart calmed me down. But it was only on the surface. I was a placid-looking lake with a treacherous undertow.

  “What should I do?” I said, my voice muffled slightly by his body.

  He ran his fingers through my hair. It was amazing, the calming effect so simple an action could have.

  “What’s that?” Drake said.

  My body went rigid, my eyes shooting open. Play dumb, the voice in my head told me.

  “What?” I replied, studiously examining my fridge magnet in the shape of the Empire State Building.

  “This,” Drake said, picking up the rumpled Post-It.

  I made a snatch for it, but Drake simply lifted it out of my reach. This was all going so wrong. He brought it down to eye level so he could read it. I took another chance for grabbing it, but he turned around, butting my arm out of the way.

  “Is this a raise? And a bonus… That’s Bud’s signature, isn’t it?” Drake said, scrutinizing the scrawl.

  I told him the final bit I’d kept back. Drake looked off into the distance right over my head. Then he sighed, his shoulders sinking.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. A single hot tear rolled down my cheek. Again, Drake made my body tremble. Except this time it was an awful feeling.

  Drake put the note back on the counter. When he saw my tear, he wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. My skin came alive at his touch, and for a moment I dared to hope.

  Then that undertow I referred to earlier pulled me back in.

  “Don’t be. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Take the deal,” he said, his eyes looking down at the last part. He shook a little, his fingers flexing into fists.

  “No! I won’t. I can’t! I’ll find another job…”

  Drake silenced me by holding up one finger. “I don’t bet, but if I did, I’d put my money on you not finding anything that paid you as much as Bud’s offering. At least not soon enough to do you any good…” he put his hands on my shoulders, his fingers digging in like he didn’t ever want to let go, “Just… take it. Take care of your dad.”

  Then he pulled me close enough to kiss my forehead. His stubble tickled at me, but I didn’t want it to end. But I couldn’t say anything; I was too shocked. I’d have guessed he’d be
mad at me for not telling, and I maybe even would have preferred that.

  This, I never would have guessed. I’d have won the lottery before then.

  His hands left my shoulders reluctantly, and my skin felt unpleasantly cool without them there. That feeling spread throughout my whole body.

  Then it felt as though I watched myself, like this was all some movie. I kept wanting to yell out to do something, that I couldn’t let him go through with this.

  But I didn’t.

  “I’m… not good at this sort of thing. Saying goodbye, that is. I’m gonna head out. And Jenn? Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let Bud get to you anymore. I… I…” he said, my heart picking up at the thought of what words he might choose.

  But he didn’t say any more. I stayed in the kitchen, listening to him rustle around in my bedroom, dressing and getting ready to step out of my life for good.

  Again, I watched myself watch Drake. He didn’t look at me when he marched stiffly past the kitchen doorway.

  He threw the deadbolt back, the crack of steel like a gunshot in the relative silence of the early morning.

  Call out to him, I thought, call out to him now, before he goes!

  But I didn���t

  The door didn’t open right away. Was he waiting for me to come and take him back? I could have. The me watching all this screamed out for it to happen, screamed for to run over there and slam the lock back into place and tell him that we would just figure out another way to make all this work.

  But I didn’t.

  ***

  I stood in front of Bud’s big desk, looking down at my distorted reflection in the high polish of its surface. I could see Bud’s reflection, too, moving as he shifted in his chair.

  He said something, but I didn’t catch it.

  I want to say that I felt something. Anger, sadness, loss. Anything at all, really. However, I felt nothing at all. Instead, an all-consuming emptiness filled me in the place where my feelings used to live.

  I watched Bud’s fat, wet lips wag but didn’t hear what he said. There was a small, brown stain on the grey tie he wore, and I focused on that instead. It was about the size of a quarter, and it shifted shape a little each time Bud tugged the tie back down his prominent stomach.