by L. B. Dunbar
“I don’t want to sleep without you either.” His mouth finds mine, tender and soft. “Good morning, sugar.”
“Good morning.” I sigh under him. What if I woke to kisses like this each morning?
“Eggs?” he asks, and I nod while he presses upward. He steps off the couch and returns to the kitchen.
After breakfast, we spend the day at the beach. I follow Brut down to surf, and he returns with me to hang out in the sun in the afternoon. It’s another lazy day filled with soft touches and lingering kisses, and my heart breaks with each passing minute.
How will I say goodbye to this?
“Got any plans for tonight?” Brut abruptly asks me, and I laugh. A sheepish look fills his eyes.
“I think my calendar is clear,” I tease.
“Then date three it is.” His brows wiggle, and my heart sinks a little despite the playfulness. I don’t want to keep counting dates like we’re counting down for the inevitable, but when evening comes, I understand what Brut meant.
Date three. The sex date.
After a dinner he prepared, which included grilled steaks but a hearty salad, he leads me upstairs to his room. Each bedroom is a mirror image of one another. Same double bed. Same French doors. Same small balcony with glass railings. And on Brut’s, he’s made a nest of blankets and pillows with votive candles lining the railing.
“What’s this?” I breathe, the setting romantic and sweet.
“Date three. Making love under the moonlight.” My brain races to the things I said to Brut on our first night watching the sunset. Dance in the rain. Plan what-ifs. Make love under the moonlight. He’s doing all the things from my youthful, romantic dreams. Why? My heart aches. Instead of asking questions, I turn to him and kiss him softly. The kisses heat before Brut pulls back and begins the slow tease of undressing me.
He removes my dress, unclasps my bra, and slides down my underwear. His hands explore my body, lingering on the back of my calves, the curve of my hips, and the roundness of my shoulders. I should feel self-conscious, and in some ways, I do. His gaze is so intense as his eyes follow the trail of his fingers over my skin. Then he compliments me.
“You’re the most beautiful woman.” His voice is serious, but for some reason, I reply, “I’m getting old.”
“You’re aging to perfection.” My mouth returns to his, wanting to swallow his sweetness. My fingers deftly undress him as well, removing the short sleeve button-down and khaki shorts he wore to “dress up” for dinner. He wears boxer briefs, and I take in his sexy appearance in the tight undergarment before removing them. He takes my hand and guides me to the cove on the balcony. I feel like a princess as he leads me. A naked princess but also a woman cherished.
As I lie on the bed of blankets, Brut continues to explore my body as the sky darkens over us. It isn’t as if he hasn’t touched me before. We’ve certainly been adventurous this week, but his hands take their time as if he’s memorizing me. He outlines my arms, covers my breasts, and runs a flat palm over my stomach. His fingers trace along my hips before he sits up and massages my legs down to my feet.
“Flip over,” he commands softly, and I do as he says, relishing the brush of soft cotton under my naked body. He massages up my calves, over my thighs, and onto my backside.
“This ass,” he moans, digging into the white globes accentuated by my tan lines. His fingers continue to my lower back, up my spine, and across the base of my neck. It’s a full-body massage, and I’m relaxed more than I can ever recall being. With a gentle press on my side, he rolls me to my back again. His mouth covers the tattoo on my hip, outlining the artwork with sucking kisses on my colored skin. His fingers skate over to my center, and he looks up at me with a devious glint in his eyes.
“Date three is for sex, but we’ve already done that.” A finger slides slowly inside my core. “Tonight, we make love, Lily pad.”
A second finger joins the first, stroking me, priming me, but I’m more than ready for this man. What I’m not prepared for is the slow intensity he uses to fill me. He’s methodical, deliberate, and he’s taking his time to push to the hilt and then pull back to the edge. The rhythm is languid and sweet, and our bodies move in a luscious dance that matches the beat of the tide lapping on the beach. The sound of the waves sets the pace for us, and Brut brushes back my hair as he rocks into me.
“On which date can I say I love you?”
“Brut,” I hiss, tears prickling at my eyes. This one, I want to whisper, but I don’t. The statement can’t be numbered on a calendar. It isn’t measured in time. In fact, I’ve been holding those three words for him for twenty-two years. I’d like to think I’m ready to share them, but I’m too afraid.
Brut lowers his mouth to mine, and he kisses me with the same lazy rhythm of his lower body. My skin tingles. My body at peace with this man over me, filling me. A hum ripples up my center.
“Getting there, sugar?” he asks as he curls to the side a little, slipping his hand between us and touching the nub just outside me as he slips inside. The build-up is drizzled caramel; the release even sweeter. I’m coming in soft waves, light ripples, and dragging pulls. My hands clasp Brut’s backside, holding him inside me as I clench around him. I don’t want him to leave my body.
“That’s it, baby.” He exhales into my neck once I start to come down from the high. His pace quickens enough to take him over the edge next, and he stills inside me. I ride the pulse within, knowing his seed fills me. We haven’t been safe this week—not even a little bit—but I couldn’t be with him in any other way. If one week is all I get, I want everything and beyond with him as he said the other night. Everything and beyond.
22
The morning-after effect
[Lily]
The next morning, I wake to dawning sunlight, the squawk of seagulls, and Brut’s arms around me. After making love, we stayed on the balcony, talking halfway through the night as if we could fill the remainder of our stay with the years missed between us. I’d like to say I felt fulfilled, but instead, a sickeningly hollow sensation burrows through my midsection. The inevitable seems just around the corner, and I can’t shake the feeling.
A light kiss to my shoulder tells me Brut is awake.
“You stayed in bed,” he teases against my neck. “It only took all week, woman.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I say as I twist to face him. Morning breath isn’t pretty, but Brut does not seem to mind. He kisses me, lingering similar to the caresses from the night before.
“What are those two doing over there?” The shrill voice of an older woman stops us mid-kiss. Brut lifts his head, narrowing his eyes.
“Shit.” He chuckles as I tip my head back to see what he does.
“Oh my God,” I hiss, pressing Brut off me and wrapping a sheet around me as best I can. I crawl through the open screen door, not wanting to stand and expose us any more to the nosy neighbor peering over her balcony at ours. Brut crawls after me, completely naked, and tackles me to the floor of his room. Falling to my stomach in a fit of embarrassed giggles, he rolls me to my back and quickly covers me, struggling to unwrap me from the sheet between us. Hands tug and pull at the material, eager to be reckless just as we were outside. But suddenly, Brut’s phone rings the annoying rap music with his son’s name in it.
“Shit,” he swears again, holding still over me as if he expects the ringing to stop.
“You should answer that.” I don’t want him to ignore his son.
“I’ll be home in a few hours. Can’t whatever it is wait?” Brut mumbles into my neck, collapsing over me. The words pull forward reality. We only have a couple of hours left. We need to be out by noon.
“Would he call you if it could wait?”
Brut’s head pops up, and he stares down at me. “Probably not.” He stands quickly, reaching for his shorts on the floor from our disrobing the night before. I roll to my stomach, watching him tug on his shorts as I hold the sheet to my chest. I prop up on
one elbow as Brut calls his son’s number.
“Hey,” he snaps too sharply for a greeting, and I understand his frustration, but his son must need him. “Hank?”
I draw up to my knees, observing the concern on Brut’s face. His eyes meet mine and hold as he listens a minute. His free hand wipes down his face and then combs back through his hair. His hand pauses on the back of his neck.
“Why the fuck did he do that?”
Brut nods as if understanding the explanation for whatever happened.
“He was arrested?” Panic fills his face. I stumble up to my feet, struggling with the long sheet before holding it around me like a dress.
“But you bailed him out? Thank fuck.”
Brut listens again.
“I can be there in a few hours. I’ll leave now.” His eyes leap to mine, and I nod, knowing whatever it is, he has to go.
“Hank, I owe you so big, man. Thank you.”
He pauses a second, chuckling without humor at something his brother said.
“Yeah, yeah. See you in a few.”
As he clicks off his phone, I rush to Brut. “What happened?”
“Chopper got in a bar fight. Fucking punk,” Brut hisses, swiping down his face again and tossing his phone on the bed.
“He was in jail?”
“Hank got him out.” He pauses a second, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Look, Lil, I hate to do this—”
“Go. Of course, you have to go.”
His hands come to my upper arms, stroking without thinking. “You know I don’t want to leave too soon.”
“It’s only a few hours earlier than it would have happened.”
Brut stiffens, his fingers stop rubbing and dig into my arms. “What does that mean?”
“I just mean, we’d be separating soon anyway, right? You need to go, Brut. We aren’t important right now. Chopper is.”
“You’re important to me,” Brut stresses, but I can’t have this discussion with him. The week has been wonderful. A dream come true. A second chance with the one who got away, but I need to call it what it is. Brut and I can never be together.
“You’re special to me, too.”
“Special,” Brut snaps. “Special? Why the fuck do I feel like you’re about to tell me we can be friends?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been? Friends with benefits. One week only.”
“Lily, you know it’s more than that.” He sighs, clutching at my arms and dragging me closer to him.
“I don’t think we should discuss this now. Chopper needs you.” Brut’s eyes drift back and forth between mine as if he’s looking for something.
“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s him. He’s always going to be between us.” Brut shakes his head, pursing his lips as he releases me. I grasp the sheet at my chest.
“It’s never been him, Brut, and you know that. I don’t fault that child for being born. It wasn’t his mistake.”
“No,” Brut heaves. “It was mine. I did it. I fucked up.”
My breath hitches. Twenty-two years come crashing back at me. We can’t do this again.
“You weren’t alone, and it wasn’t just anyone, Brut. You know that.” I shake my head, my lips quivering. Lauren’s name lingers between us as Brut stares daggers at me, and my heart breaks all over again.
“You said you forgave me.” His shoulders fall, his expression defeated as he shakes his head.
“I do,” I say, my voice lowering as it trembles.
“Just not enough.” He looks over me to the balcony. “I should help you clean up.” He’s gone monotone—empty—like I suddenly feel inside.
“Just leave it,” I say, refusing to look back at the love nest. “Just leave.”
His eyes snap back to mine, and he points between us. “We aren’t fucking over, Lily. Not this time.”
“Brut,” I hiss, giving him the side of my face. “You need to go.”
I don’t watch him leave, but I feel his absence. And I don’t move. Only when I hear the side door slam do I fold to the floor and dissolve into sobs.
23
Wilting at nineteen
[Lily]
Suddenly, I’m nineteen again…
Tears pour down my face, ugly and scalding.
“Is it true?” My voice chokes over the question. The man, not a boy, but a man of twenty-three, has ripped out my heart like none other.
He hangs his head in shame, aware of what I’m asking without my further clarifying. Is it shame? Am I correct that he feels embarrassed, remorseful, and apologetic, or am I projecting onto him?
“How could you?” The question is so filled with anguish, so anchored in pain, as I stare at the man I thought I loved. The man who touched me like no other, kissed me like no other, made me feel wanted, desired, and respected. Respect. A terrible word yet I understood what he meant when he denied having sex with me, telling me he didn’t want to ruin me. He’d already ruined me with his penetrating blue eyes and his soft sighs as he told me things, taught me things about touching, accepting, and feeling. But respect must mean something other than what I thought because of this, because of what he did to me…
“Say something.” I don’t even recognize my own voice. Medusa or Maleficent or something evil has possessed me suddenly as I demand he explain why, what, where, how.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he says, his voice cracking as his fingers squeeze at his eyes before pinching his nose. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Try to explain,” I demand, finding a voice in me I didn’t know I had. I need to understand how…how he could refuse to sleep with me, but he fucked her.
“I was drunk.” The gasp falling from my lips could have been heard in Texas. I can’t believe this is his excuse. “Look, you don’t understand. A lot has happened, sort of all at once, and I just…I had too much to drink.”
I want to understand, I scream inside, my brain hurting from the vibration. I want him to tell me all that happened. Instead, I only know surface things about him. He’s going to night school and wants to be more than a mechanic.
He clearly doesn’t want me.
“When?” I’m still flabbergasted at his explanation, but I need to know. Lauren already told me, the gleam in her eyes as she revealed what they did and where…
“Two weeks ago.” My heart. Just claw it from my chest and take it. Throw it on the ground and stomp on it. Watch the blood splatter as the pieces of the organ pumping life through my veins explodes, shrapnel over the floor of this garage. We haven’t entered the office, our usual place of indiscretion. Our hiding spot for the dirty little secret of our affair. That’s what Lauren called me. His dirty little secret.
“You think he wants you?” she hissed. “A kid. One where a train already barreled through the station and didn’t stop.” She knows I was never with her precious Rick, but she’s never believed me.
“Like you’re a virgin,” I argued childishly. I was, but I was ready to give myself to this man until she took him from me.
“Two weeks,” I repeat, astonished that he’d kept the secret, the lie, for fourteen days. Fourteen days when guilt never crossed his features, his beautiful features. Tan skin, blue as sky eyes, clean jaw, edgy and hard. Those lips, those lush lips that kissed mine, sucked my breast, and tasted me for the first time. I shiver, needing a shower, needing the hottest hot to remove my skin, knowing we shared him—my sister and me.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how.” He answers my next question before I ask, and suddenly, I’m bone tired, knowing all the answers in the world won’t erase what happened.
“Say it now,” I demand, wanting to hear it directly from him even though my sister gladly told me.
His eyes pinch. “Lily pad—”
“Don’t call me that. Just admit what happened!” I’m screaming.
“I slept with someone else.”
Someone else? I scoff inside. Someone else!
My boy
friend slept with my sister while we were dating.
But we aren’t dating, are we? We were each other’s dirty little secret. We’d only been one place—his brother’s concert at a bar—and he had to sneak me in. My sister saw us there.
“What was all this?” I ask, waving my arm around the waiting space of this father’s garage. The question is rhetorical. I know what I wanted us to be. Each time he fingered me, each time his tongue split me open, each time his mouth met mine. I loved you.
“We were having fun.”
Slap. Punch. Kick. The words have taken the air out of me.
I’ve never hated a word so much in my life.
I loved you, I scream again inside my head.
But evidently, he doesn’t love me. He considers me a plaything.
I can never forgive you, I want to say, but I don’t. It would have no effect on him. He won’t care if I held that weight over him. He obviously didn’t care about me.
“I see,” I say instead, and Brut’s eyes narrow.
“That’s it?” His expression puzzles me with the anger in his tone, the hard lines to his face.
What else could I say? I understood? Because I didn’t, other than that I meant so little to him he could fuck my sister in some random bar because he had too much to drink.
“You aren’t going to yell, scream, hit me?”
“Would those things make a difference?” I ask, finding an eerie calm overcoming me. “Would they change what happened?”
Brut swipes a hand down his face and then brushes it back through his hair. “I don’t know how to make this right.”
Is there any way? “Never sleeping with her in the first place might have helped.” Sarcasm drips through my veins. Then something else creeps in. A cold rush. He never slept with me. Was Lauren correct? Did he think I was still a kid? Was he not attracted to me? I refuse to believe he wasn’t. He touched me. He kissed me. He told me he craved me. But he never gave in, and the evidence stands before me. He didn’t fully want me, as in love me, or he never would have cheated.
