by A. C. Bextor
We sit in the truck’s back seat, with me still settled inside her, for a few minutes in silence. I’m calm, sated, and comfortable. The sheen of sweat covering her body is creating a chill on her skin so to avoid her being cold, I hand her the shirt she was wearing.
“Thank you,” she says as I help her put it on. Her voice sounds tired and is laced with a hint of worry as my finger catches the raised set of three scars that stain her hip. Greyson did this to her. He may be dead, but the damage he’s caused to her will never be forgotten.
Grabbing her chin and pulling her face toward me so I can study her mood, I greet her as if we hadn’t seen each other for a while. “Hey.”
Smiling briefly, she answers softly. “Hey.”
“You all right?”
Giving me an eye-roll, something I’m getting pretty fuckin’ used to, she answers, “Do you really have to ask that?”
Smiling back at her, I bring her body into my arms as our chests meet, and I hold her. “No. Unless I’ve been out of touch with sex so long and something about it’s changed, I think you’re good.”
She giggles against my chest, her small frame dwarfed in my large one. “Yeah, being friends seems to work well with us.”
I wrap my arm around her tightly. “Ready to go home?”
She nods and nestles her head into my neck. I kiss the crown of her head and drink in her intoxicating scent before she has time to answer. Eventually, after a few quiet moments, she does. “If you are, I am.”
Pushing her away from my body, I feel the loss of her and although I’m not appreciative of the feeling, I need to get her home. What we’ve done and where we’ve done it is far less than I want for her.
Moving her gently, I release myself from being inside her. The emotional sense of this leaves me feeling insecure and detached. I don’t want to lose this feeling I just got in being with her, so I want us to get out of the backseat so I can take her home and into our bed. “Let’s go home, then.”
ONCE WE MAKE it back to the house and we’re standing inside the door, I remember it’s empty. “They’ll be home tomorrow afternoon,” Ace reminds me as he leans against the wall, removing his boots and hanging his keys on the hook near the entrance.
Turning around to face him, suddenly I’m feeling insecure and naked in a sense. I’ve never been afraid to be anything but me in front of Ace, but as of about an hour ago, we aren’t the same to each other. The dynamic of our relationship has changed. The lines of our friendship have been blurred.
Walking to me slowly, he reaches out and runs his finger over my forehead and down my temple. “What are you thinking about? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Not yet, but give it time.
“I’m gonna start the shower. You want to get in with me or you going to bed?”
I fake a joke, hiding what I’m really feeling inside. “Well, friends can clean each other off, I suppose.”
“Cherry, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make light about what happened back there. I care about you. You know this,” he says as he moves the hair from my neck and places it along my back.
“I do.”
“So, shower or bed?”
“I’m gonna lay down if that’s all right?”
Leaning in and kissing my forehead softly, letting his lips linger for a few brief seconds, he answers against my skin, his breath softly caressing me. “Of course it is. I’ll be in soon.”
Once I’ve changed into my well-worn night shirt, I get comfortable. I hear the shower finally turning off and I’m sitting up on Ace’s bed, using pillows for prop, holding the present I bought him last week while out shopping with Travis. It seems trivial now, after all that’s happened tonight, but I’m determined to give it to him regardless of his reaction.
Standing in the doorway watching me, I’m startled when my eyes meet his. He’s staring at me with a look I can’t place. Ace is a large man; he hasn’t always been, but it’s undeniable that he is now. He works out a lot. Judging by the size of Travis, I’m guessing they must work out together. The colors of his chest, the dragon and various array of skulls stir my insides, making me want to reach out and trace each one of them.
“What’s that?” he says, pointing at the box and walking to the bed wearing only a towel at the waist and one bunched over his shoulders, leaving it to hang around his neck. His hair is still damp and excess water is glistening off his skin.
“I… uhh… I got you something.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise as he studies the small box I’m holding. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I thought of you when I saw it and I wanted to get it, so just open it.”
Taking the box from me, he holds it in his hands as he sits at the edge of the bed, feet to the floor. I’m staring at him, nervously twisting my fingers to distract myself from what he’s not doing. He’s not opening it.
“I love it,” he says while examining the black box in his hands.
“You don’t know what it is yet, so you can’t love it already.”
He turns from the gift and, as he does, the muscles in his back bunch along with his abs, and he stares at me before voicing this thought out loud. “I don’t have to know what it is to know I love it because you thought of me when you saw it and brought it home.”
The way he says ‘home’ causes my eyes to sting in response. I need to move this along before the evenings events make me an emotional mess; no one likes a sad weepy afterglow, namely me. “Please, Ace. Can you open the damn thing already? You’re making me nervous with all this small talk.”
He mumbles, “Bossy” while taking off the top half of the box. I watch as he fumbles through the generic square cotton slip that sits on top of the pendant and chain.
While shopping, I had asked Travis what he thought of it. He smiled wide, smothering a laugh, and told me Ace would like it. I didn’t understand the joke and I still don’t. Ace is smiling just as wide and from what I can see, he’s stifling the same laugh.
I’m becoming slightly annoyed. “What’s wrong with it?”
Taking out the guitar pick pendant and chain, he holds it in his palm and studies it. “I told you I loved it already, so what do you want me to say?”
“I want to know why you look like you’re about to lose it. I can see you’re holding something back.” I raise his pillow to my face, taking in his scent that covers it. “Oh, God, you hate it.”
He turns back to me again, grinning like a small boy, and in his face I see two things, one being orneriness. Something’s up in the joke and I’m not in on it.
Fine. Whatever.
Two is honesty. His eyes are glowing with a pride I’m not sure of. Maybe he’s proud of me for finding something so personal and laced with meaning? I don’t know. Either way, the smile on his face is not one I’ve seen in a very long time, if ever, from him. I’m happy to put it there, even if it’s a joke at my expense.
I take a mental note to interrogate the ever-lovin’ shit out of Travis tomorrow, though. I have more musical oldies to torture him with if that’s what it’ll take to get him to talk. Elton John, Willie Nelson, and if he pushes me into further irritation I won’t hesitate to throw some Barbra Streisand in the mix, as well. He’ll talk.
Shutting off the light next to his bed, Ace climbs in without clothes, the towels being abandoned on the bedroom floor. The gift is left sitting on the table next to the lamp. It’s just him and me in the apartment, and it feels as though we’ve done this a thousand nights before.
The dark doesn’t grant me an opportunity to check his mood so as I’m being yanked roughly by my legs into a position on my back, I’m startled and let out a quick yelp before I’m able to form coherent words. “Hey! What are you doing?”
Ace slams his body on top of mine and, without invitation, runs his hands up my sides, taking my shirt with him and quickly lifting my hands. He removes it completely, throwing it next to the towels on
the floor.
Sucking my neck as he lifts my thighs over his hips he answers what I realize now is a ridiculous question. “Gettin’ comfortable. You mind?”
As he massages my thigh and grinds his hips into me, I answer. “I do, actually. I’m not showered. I thought we were going to sleep.”
Looking up at me, he laughs quietly while tracing small kisses down my chest and ending at my waist. “You tired?”
No. I’m most definitely not, but I had looked forward to watching him sleep. “Yes.”
Using his hands to draw my thighs further apart, he continues to inch his body down mine while kissing my hips, then my inner thighs, then I stop him. “I’m not…”
Looking up, the moonlight captures his face. He looks happy, and I don’t want to ruin his mood, but… “I still have… some of you… inside.” I’m too embarrassed to just say it. I’m being ridiculous. People have sex multiple times in one night all the time. I’m not sure if I should remind him of this or not.
Apparently, he understands my dilemma and finds it necessary to embarrass me. “Cherry, you’re a freak, you know that?”
“I am not! I’m being polite.”
“Polite is shutting up and not making shit get fuckin’ weird.”
I squeeze my thighs around his ears, using whatever strength I have to force him to stop making fun of me. “I was being courteous, asshole.”
Climbing back up my body, bracing his arms on either side of my head for support, he bends down and kisses me long and slow. It’s a passionate kiss, a far cry from the humor he felt after opening the present and the awkward conversation I was leading us into.
Lifting his head, he looks down at me, and at the same time, he licks his lips. “Shut up, all right?”
“Shut up?” I repeat in question, seeking immediate clarification. I hate being told to shut up. It’s rude.
“If you want me to say it, I will.”
“Say what?” I’m lost and already miss his mouth on me.
“I like you dirty, Cherry.”
“What? Why? That’s ridiculous…” And a little gross.
Interrupting me, his answer is definite. “You’re dirty because you were with me.”
I don’t know how to take this. He must sense my reaction because he continues. “You’re dirty because I made you mine.”
My stomach drops, my head gets light, and my mouth waters. I take a second and frame his face to this moment. I love him so much that my chest actually starts to ache.
Bringing me out of my own head, he leans down and kisses me softly again and again on my mouth. “Did you hear me?”
After waiting for him to stop kissing me, I answer. “Yes.”
“And you understand what I said?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe me?”
“I don’t know.”
His body tenses. Looking down at me again, I see his confusion and from what I can tell, he’s a little hurt. “You don’t know if you’re mine?”
Without hesitation, I blurt what’s been weighing on my mind for over a week; the entire time he’s known. Running my hands absent-mindedly down his cheek and to his chin, I answer. “You don’t even call me by my name.”
He freezes at my observation. Pulling away, leaving my body completely exposed in the moonlight, he shifts to his knees and sits between my legs in contemplation.
“Raegan,” he says with certainty.
“Yes, Ace. That’s my name.”
Coming back to me, finding my arms and bracing them to the side of my head, he laces my fingers in his as he holds me in place. He whispers, “Raegan.”
My eyes close hearing his voice use my name again. Trailing kisses down my neck, he repeats, “Raegan.”
Entering slowly, pulling out and thrusting back into me, he says again, “Raegan.”
The damning emotional tears that I didn’t realize I was holding in just moments ago are falling at my temples while I look to the ceiling. Happiness. I haven’t felt truly happy like this in so long. Although being with Ace over the last year or so has made me happy, this is different. My heart feels this moment. It’s bursting inside, warming every piece of me.
“Raegan,” he says again while letting go of my hands and running his along my neck, my chest, my ribs, and to my back. He tilts me from behind, pushes into me further, and starts to pick up his momentum.
I feel myself start to give in and let go as my fingernails dig into his back. He finishes with me as I do.
Finally, lifting his head from my neck, his breath panting in uneven measures, he looks down at me from above, giving me one word I’m certain with everything in me that he means. “Mine.”
My only response to his declaration is to nod.
I’ve always been his, but hearing him say it, whether it’s offered in only friendship or not, validates then discards any lingering uncertainty I had.
Lifting his head and looking down on me, he asks, “Now you want a shower?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
He smiles wide, being playful and amusing. “You expect me to take you on another date now, don’t you?”
I don’t hesitate to school him on the dating ritual that women find appealing. “And I expect flowers… and chocolate.” He bites my bottom lip to silence me, but I continue without delay. “And wine. Lots of chilled, white wine.”
Still playful but doing all he can to avoid another date, he compromises. “How about another ride on the back of my bike?”
“That’ll do.”
Getting off me, fixing the covers and moving us to a comfortable position, his sarcasm makes another appearance. Quietly he whispers around the room, as if he’s calling for invisible back up, “‘That’ll do,’ she says. Never enough… women.”
THE NEXT MORNING, I’m lying in my bed staring over at her through the dawning sunlight as it makes its way through the blinds. The house is still, and her soft breathing is all I hear throughout the room. She looks quiet and at peace. For the first time since she started sleeping in my bed, I can see she’s being left to rest without any interrupting nightmares.
I didn’t sleep much last night, though. I held her until she fell asleep and then thought about what I had done. I was so caught up in the feel of her, the emotions she had triggered in me in wanting to make her mine, and ensuring she felt safe and comfortable that I skipped right over the fuckin’ obvious. I didn’t use protection. For this and so many other obvious reasons, I’m an asshole.
Inside, I know my feelings for Cherry are changing, evolving into something they weren’t before. I love her, there hasn’t been that question for a long time, but I’m unsure if I love her because she’s with me here and now or if I love her for being who she is.
Using my fingertip, I trace the line of her small nose then gently touch her lips and follow down to her chin. Once I start running my finger down her neck, I see her eyes start to flutter open. The blue in them is penetrating, as she looks up at me half-asleep, half-awake, and most-definitely sated.
Bending down toward her, I kiss her nose and she smiles softly. “Good morning, Raegan.”
I watch a shiver run through her as her smile widens in surprise after hearing me say her name. “Good morning. You’re up early.”
“Didn’t sleep.”
Pushing me aside, she sits up on her elbows and looks at me while asking, “Why not?”
“I fucked up.”
Puzzled. “What?”
“I took you last night, twice as a matter of fact, without thinking.”
Sadness quickly blankets her emotion, and she starts to get up. “You… regret…”
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her back down on the bed and after trapping her next to me, I explain. “No. That’s not it. Not at all, but I didn’t use anything, Rae.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh.’ Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“I can’t have any more kids, Ace. When Greyson did what he did, the doctor told m
e I’d never be able to carry…”
Interrupting her to avoid the asshole’s name being mentioned in our bed, I stop her from talking. “Fuck, again, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
“I’m clean. All the results came back clear, and I haven’t had anyone touch me since, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No. It’s not, and I’m sorry about the other. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“I’m okay. I’ve come to terms with it. What about you, though? You’re no angel, and I’m sure you’ve been with…”
Cutting her off, I reluctantly bring another ghost in our bed. “I haven’t been with a woman since Sylvie, and after she was killed I got checked. I’m clean.”
Now that both Greyson the monster and Sylvie the bitch have been brought up, I feel my good mood waning.
She must feel it, too, as past memories coming to the surface cause her eyes to water. She shocks me with her thought. “I want Decklan back.”
She’s thinking about her son who was left in Las Vegas with her parents. This being the real reason she’s here, not really for me. I don’t have the answers for her. She’s stronger, yes, and from what I can see, she hasn’t been using. “You’ll get him back.”
“Then what?” Her voice is terse, annoyed.
“What do you mean?”
“When I get him back, what do I do with him? He doesn’t even know who I am. I haven’t talked to my parents in years. He’s not a baby anymore. He turns five in a little over eight weeks.”
“We’ll figure something out, but we’re not gonna figure it out today.”
She doesn’t respond as she closes her eyes in frustration. I’m left feeling like more of an asshole, if that were possible, for bringing any of this shit up this morning. I wanted us to enjoy the day together. I had envisioned it as she slept.
Just as her anxiety starts to spike and her emotions start to take hold, I hear voices in the front room. It’s only seven o’clock in the fuckin’ morning, and the yammering women in my life weren’t supposed to be back until later this afternoon.
Thanks a fuck of a lot, Bean. I have a beautiful, naked woman in my bed and you wanna make an appearance seven hours early.
