I latch onto that fleeting sensation that I know is his: it’s alien, strange and disconcerting, but also intensely erotic, a feeling of maleness in my mind, the sensation of bulky muscles tensed to hold back, feeling the soft wet press of lips on my neck, but it’s not my neck, it’s his, and I’m him now, completely—
My hands are rough and big, touching her back so gently, cupping her ass and wanting to pull her closer but holding still at the same time. I’m trying to hold back the whirling tidepool of my near-climax, stroking her spine and tangling my fingers in her hair, every muscle in my body flexed in the effort to hold back. I’m so hard, so deep inside her and I’m about to explode, not just come, but literally explode and she’s holding me back, keeping me just this side of the edge, holding perfectly still, barely even breathing and holy lord fuck I’ve never ever experienced anything like this in my life. I want to rock myself into her, drive into her, but she’s not there yet, I want it to be together—
I withdraw, momentarily so disoriented I would fall over except for Carson holding me in place. His eyes are boring into mine, seeking, asking.
“I don’t know…” I breathe, shake my head, as shocked and confused as he is. “I’ve never…never…I don’t know.”
I’ve drawn it out as long as I can, and now it’s his turn. I pull my hips up so he slips out of me, and I see him go rigid all over, his jaw clenching. I lie down on my back, pulling him toward me.
His gaze is hooded with need, every muscle in his body still tense and trembling, and I know he’ll explode the moment he’s back inside me and that’s exactly what I want. I’ve never known desire like this before, never known such primal need. This is pure heaven, here with him, every single second of ecstasy a moment I will remember for as long as I live.
He crawls with predator grace, his knees nudging between mine, pushing them apart, his mouth kissing my thighs, my pubic bone, my belly, my chest. Now his teeth graze my nipple, nipping gently and suddenly so I squeal softly. His hand wraps around my other breast and kneads it, then switches. His hand drops away from my breast and moves downward, between my legs, touching me gently, then he pushes a single finger into me, moving in a circle, then another finger and he’s moving them together and scissoring them, looking for just the right spot, finding it unerringly. I’m already wet with arousal, but when he finds that spot and presses his fingers to it so tenderly, so carefully, and circles it, I gush even more, thrusting my hips into his hand as he moves in slow-fast-slow-fast rhythm, taking me higher and bringing me back down, and then back up, and I realize I’ve forgotten my intention.
I meant to draw him into me and make him explode, but he distracted me, and now he’s doing it again and I can’t think, can’t breathe for the pulsating rocking series of miniature explosions that erupt deep inside me. I need him, all of him, now, now, god now. I reach down and grasp him, pull him to me, brush his hand away.
“Take me,” I whisper in his ear. It’s a plea. “I need you inside me!”
He covers my mouth with his, smothering my words. He’s throbbing in my hands, and he pushes his hips towards mine.
Yes, yes, yes.
I’m not sure if the words are mine or his, whispered or thought, but it doesn’t matter. I release him and put my hands on his ass, pulling him closer, exactly as I’d seen in his thoughts.
It’s a whisper at first, the pressure of him pushing inside, a bare breath against me. A nudge, the tenderest of touches. I pull him again, urging him, whispering his name, murmuring please with a stuttering tongue, but he resists, going at his own pace. He looks down at me, smirking, and I know he’s getting me back for all the teasing I did to him.
He breaches the entrance, slipping slowly inside, and I moan low in my throat, thrust against him, but he mimics my action from earlier, pulling away. I whimper, and he kisses me, moves his torso aside enough to take my nipple in his fingers again, and now I can’t and don’t try to hold in the fully voiced cry as he drives himself in at the same moment he takes my breast in his mouth.
But then he’s back out, nearly all the way, and I rake my nails down his back, biting his shoulder. “Please, please,” I beg him.
I earned this teasing, I love it, but I can’t take it anymore. He moves in again, slowly sliding up my body until our bones knock together, and when he’s there he moves in rhythmic fluttering thrusts. I feel the explosions begin again, deep in my belly, trembling outward to rock my whole body with shuddering pulsations of pure joy. The trembling doesn’t subside, though, and he pulls out just slightly and drives back in, stays there, repeating the same fluttering motion. God, god, god, what is he doing to me? I’m being ripped apart from the inside out now; with every motion the detonations increase their intensity. The maelstrom of ecstasy is tearing through him; I can feel his body quivering as he attempts to keep control.
I don’t want control anymore. I want abandonment.
I wrap my legs around him and clutch him close, deep inside, snake my arms around his neck and pull him down to me.
His eyes meet mine, mere inches away. “I love you, Carson,” I say, and those four words drive him over the edge.
He rocks against me and I match his motions, we sync our rhythms. The tempo is slow at first, then we increase our pace exponentially. We’re frantic, suddenly, wild and panting. I moan in his ear, and he says my name, a breath on the winds that are whirling around us, lifting us up once more off the bed to float in mid-air, held aloft by powers run wild. When he says my name, whispers it to the winds, my soul clenches, draws in all the love he’s pouring forth. I try to match his outpouring, try to push into him with all the pent-up love I have, knowing it can never be enough to truly express everything I feel.
Time stops, stutters, and I can feel the magic all around us, but all I have eyes for is him, for his gleaming cerulean gaze locked on mine, and now all falls away so there is no bedroom, no bed, no past or future, only his eyes on me, only his soul braided around mine.
All this time, a matter of perhaps a minute, my body has been wracked with tremors and convulsions as we near completion together, and now, now I feel him bury his head in the hollow between my shoulder and neck as he moves his body on mine with a desperation that only increases as I feel the tremors grow into explosions, small at first. Oh god, oh god, now he’s going wild and all I can do is whimper his name and match his frenzy with my own, which of course only urges him even more, and my entire body is going nova, going supernova, and I hear him groaning in my ear, growling the wolf-growl, saying my name in a guttural stutter as his body clenches and releases in a hot flood, and I know I’m screaming, ululating—
I disappear, he disappears—she disappears, and I do—there is no distinction between he and she, between I and I. Vision tangles and twines and coruscates so that male and female body and mind are mixed and split and merged until Carson and Leila are not names or identities or anything at all but words snatched away by the furious coriolis wind scouring their souls clean of all but each other, each other that is I, one being knowing her thoughts of how can I give this up and his thoughts of where has she been all my life and each of the united souls know all the secrets and demons and fears and hopes and dreams of the other but it’s all in a flood carrying skeins of images and fear bobbing in the gush of notions and memories until individual ideas are lost in the pointillist whole and this shared river of self is called LOVE—
…and I’m clutching him, curled around him, each limb tangled until there is no knowing where I begin and he ends. The winds still hold us aloft, and I have no control over them and the magic.
I have no idea what just happened, but I know I could never ever make love to another man again for as long as I live, because now Carson is so fully enmeshed with my identity that I am unable to close my eyes without seeing him in my mind. I close my eyes and relax into Carson’s embrace, but with my eyes closed all I see is the nexus of identity that was us in a timeless instant of orgasmic self-coalescing love.
I know only one thing, before sleep claims me: I will never be the same.
Chapter 13: Hunting for Truth
Carson
I’m propped up on an elbow, watching Leila sleep. Her lovely features are relaxed, one hand curled next to her face. She’s still naked, the blanket bunched by her hips, leaving her upper torso bare. I can’t help touching her, letting my fingers trace the line of her ribs as they expand and contract with each breath, her full breasts pulled by gravity to each side, flattening them slightly. Her skin is dusky, tan and taut, her navel a perfect round dip in her flat stomach, her hair splayed in a halo around her head, covering the pillow with a curtain of fine black strands.
My heart seems to swell as I look at her. I’ve come to accept that I’m in love with her, especially now that I know she loves me back. What I haven’t been able to come to grips with entirely is how potent that feeling is. It seems to fill every molecule of my being, setting my blood on fire with a fierce, protective urge to wrap her up in my arms and never let go, not for anything. It struck so suddenly, growing somehow from attraction to affection to desire to overpowering love, and the emotions and the need to protect are still unfurling, unspooling further and further with each breath, with each time I look at her.
I’ve faced a lot of frightening situations in the line of duty. Detroit is a dangerous place, though not quite the war-zone the media makes it out to be. As a officer of the law serving my city I’ve been shot, stabbed, punched, kicked, and was nearly run over by a car once. I was afraid, of course. Only the suicidal or crazy don’t feel fear. I just don’t let myself freeze up when the fear hits. I’ve learned to rely on my training, learned how to swallow the fear and push it down, cram it into the smallest corner of myself and refuse to let it out until the danger is past. And then, when I’m alone and it’s safe to do so, only then do I let it out, let it run through me.
Now, with Leila sleeping next to me, so vulnerable and so beautiful, and mine…now I feel fear. Paralyzing, soul-shaking fear. The kind of terror that makes the blood sluggish, and the muscles unresponsive. I’m not afraid of her, or of her power or her family or the fact that she’s not exactly human; no, I’m afraid of losing her. I’m afraid of letting her down, of not being man enough to take care of her, to be what she needs. I caught glimpses while we made love of what she’s facing—although making love doesn’t seem to be a strong enough phrase for what we experienced. It was joining, merging, truly becoming one in a way I still don’t quite comprehend.
She needs me. I know it, sense it, smell it, but I also know she’s not quite ready to admit that she needs me or why any more than I’m ready to admit that I need her.
It’s all so crazy, so sudden, so unlikely and impossible. Is this all real? Can I really feel this for her, so much and so soon? Or is it just a bizarre form of lust, an obsession, an infatuation? God knows I want her body badly enough, but I can’t deny that it goes way beyond that. Since I’ve stopped drinking I’ve forced myself to ask the hard questions and to answer them without flinching.
It’s not just lust; I knew I was falling in love with her before we made love; what we just experienced only made it all that much more potent. No, my emotions are involved in this, not just my dick. I’ve spent long enough thinking with that particular part of my anatomy to know, but I need to be sure. I can’t go any further with her until I’m sure this is a real thing, a true relationship rather than mere sex.
I try to imagine a relationship with her without sex: the fact that I can visualize spending day after day with her both in bed and out of it tells me I’m probably on the right track. I like talking to her, I like sitting with her and telling her about my job; I trust her, even though I probably shouldn’t since she’s clearly keeping a whole slew of things from me. Something tells me she has a good reason for withholding whatever it is she’s hiding, though, and she did promise to tell me everything. I in turn have to listen with an open mind and not pass any judgment before I have the facts.
One thing still bothers me, though: I feel as if she’s planning something, like this has all been part of her goodbye to me, like she doesn’t plan to come back. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let that happen. My finely-tuned instincts tell me she’s getting ready to do something she doesn’t want to, something altruistic and stupid.
“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth,” I whisper to her, “and I’ll save you from whatever it is you’re planning to do. I just found you and I’m not going to let you go.”
She hears me, stirs, and rolls over to face me. “Hmmm? D’you say something?” she mumbles, a muzzy, contented smile on her face.
I lie down next to her, put a hand on the swell of her ass, caress the length of her body from calf to breast and back down, kiss her lips with all the tenderness I can summon, trying to impart all the love I feel into that gentle meeting of lips. Her eyes are still half-closed but she kisses me back, stretching languorously, cat-like, a slight moan escaping from the back of her throat as she arches her back and curls her toes, every muscle tensed and quivering. As the stretch ends she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me closer to her. There’s something at once cute and erotic in the way she stretches, the motion languid and lazy, sexy and sweet, stirring both my heart and my dick at once.
We pull apart at the same moment, my body not quite on top of hers.
Leila brushes errant locks of hair away from her eyes. “So what were you saying?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, not quite ready to tell her what I’d really said. “I was just talking to myself.”
She wrinkles her nose, irritated. “Uh-huh. Fine, be that way. Don’t tell me.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “You really want to know?” She nods, and I take a deep breath. “What I said was, ‘I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, and I’ll save you from whatever it is you’re planning to do. I just found you and I’m not letting you go.’ That’s what I said.”
My heart is thudding in my chest and I’m suddenly nervous, although I can’t pinpoint exactly why. Leila is frozen, her dark eyes wide and frightened. A tear trickles slowly down one cheek, and I brush it away with the edge of my thumb.
“Why does that make you cry?” I ask.
“Because you can’t,” she says in a hoarse whisper.
She turns away, pulling the thin fleece blanket up to her shoulder. I follow her so my chest is to her back and put my chin on her arm.
“Why not? What is it you’re hiding from me? What is it that has you so scared? Is it me? Is it us?” I tug at her gently, but she resists.
“No, it’s not you, and it’s not us.” Her eyes go to mine. “You promised you weren’t going to ask.”
“You made me a promise too.” It’s quiet, a reminder.
I push my forehead against her arm, frustrated that I’ve trapped myself with my own promise. “Yeah, you’re right. I did promise that, but I just—I wish you’d tell me. You won’t scare me away. I can help you. Whatever it is, I can help you. We can do it together.”
Leila laughs, but there’s no humor or amusement in the sound. “Not this, you can’t. No one can.”
Silence hangs still and heavy between us.
Leila rolls into me, her dark gaze intense and sad. “I know I did, Carson. It’s just…it’s impossible to explain. And if I tell you everything, you’ll want to be all manly and try to fix it, but there’s no way to do that. There just isn’t.”
“You don’t know that. I’m a cop, I have resources you may not have considered.”
“This isn’t a situation any amount of resources can fix, Carson.” Leila scooches up, pulling the blanket up with her, tucking it under her arms.
“Okay, maybe…maybe I can’t fix anything, and you’re right, I will want to do something about it—that’s just how I’m built. But even if I can’t do anything, I still want to know. And…” I blink slowly, hesitating to say what I’m thinking.
“And what?�
�� Leila asks.
I let out a breath. “Whether or not I can do anything to fix your problem or not, I’m falling in love with you, Leila, and I think I deserve to know the truth.”
Leila’s eyes slide closed, pain on her beautiful features. She just breathes for a moment, and her expression hardens, tenses. “God, Carson. You’re right. You do deserve the truth. You deserved the truth a long time ago.” She reaches out and touches my cheek with shaky fingers. “I haven’t kept it from you because I don’t think you deserve it, or because I don’t care for you, or—I mean, I…I kept it from you to protect you. But you deserve the truth, so here it is: I’m betrothed.”
The word hangs in the air between us, almost visible. “Betrothed?” I can’t quite manage a full breath. “Like…engaged to be married?”
“Sort of, but not quite. It means I’m supposed to be getting married, yes, but…engaged is—it’s something you agree to, voluntarily. Like, if you asked me to marry you, and I said yes, we’d be engaged.” Leila won’t look at me when she says that last part. “Betrothed is different. My family is old-fashioned, I guess you could say. Djinn and ifrits, since we’re not really human, we don’t age the same way. We still age, as in we’re not completely immortal, we just live a lot longer. So my father…when I say he’s old-fashioned, I mean it’s because he’s lived in the human world for several centuries, and he just doesn’t care to change with the rest of the world. He’s stuck in the thirteenth century, and I mean that very literally. He believes in betrothal, as in arranged marriages, and he believes in marriage for political alliance rather than love.”
Djinn and Tonic Page 14
