by LL Meyer
“Dane?” she gasps.
I slowly lay her back down to my chest. “Okay?” I whisper, my voice shaky.
“I want to come. Make me come.” My cock jumps in her.
I flip us over, pull out a bit, and then give it back to her hard, making contact with her clit. She cries out. I give her another one and this time she uses her legs to arch up into me. Sooo good. We find our rhythm and I’m lost in a sea of sensation until she starts making the same noises from last night – a mix of panic and abandon. I reach down between us to touch her. It doesn’t take long to send her over the edge and then I lengthen the strokes and increase the tempo, loving how her pussy clenches around me as her orgasm continues. I’m drowning. So close now. One. Two. Three more and I’m spilling myself with dizzying intensity. This time I can’t stop the strangled cry from escaping. Four. Ever so slowly, five.
We’re both panting, completely spent. I have just enough sense left to roll us over, so I don’t squash her. As the euphoria starts to fade away, I’m filled with a sense of complete languid contentment. Her weight on top of me is one of the best things I’ve ever felt; I never want to move.
She begins to stir, but then freezes, whimpering a bit because I’m still inside of her.
I reach around her, feeling both of us up, trying to find the edge of the condom. To my relief, she giggles a bit. “Slide up.”
At first, the condom doesn’t want to let her go, but then I spill out of her in a rush, making her flinch. She flops herself down beside me with a groan, and I get up to dispose of the condom. When I come back from the bathroom, she’s curled up on her side with her back to me. I go around the other side of the bed to sit by her, moving her hair gently back from her face.
“You okay?”
“Is that what you meant by uncomfortable in a good way?”
I laugh. God, she’s so innocent. “Don’t worry,” I say, completely avoiding her question. “It’ll get better soon. Once you get used to . . . the traffic,” I say with more laughing. “It won’t hurt at all.”
She’s trying her best not to smile. “Traffic, Dane. Really?”
“Really. Soon you’ll be asking for it three times in a row.”
She presses her legs together. “That’s not even funny.”
And now I feel a little bad. “What would make you feel better? Maybe the hot tub?”
He looks so contrite, like it’s all his fault. Hilarious. And so sweet.
“You have a hot tub?”
He scoffs. “Of course I have a hot tub.”
“That did not come up on the official tour.” I narrow my eyes at him. “What else are you hiding from me? You don’t have a secret pony ride or a go-cart track, do you?”
I swear I see a glimmer of something on his face, but it immediately melts into his grin. “A pony ride?”
Laughter bubbles from my lips. “I guess a pony ride wouldn’t help my current situation anyway.”
The contrition is back. “Is it really so horrible?”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I deadpan, but then I perk up. “Will you carry me to the hot tub? I think my walking skills may have been compromised.”
His expression brightens. “Of course,” he says, handing me my bikini top.
The hot tub turns out to be hidden in a corner of the back porch under a cover. And he actually does carry me, even though I tell him several times I was kidding. I’d relaxed when he didn’t seem to be straining himself, despite the fact that I am tall-ish and weigh more than say someone like Charmaine.
While he’s taking the cover off, I take the opportunity to gawk at him properly without his shirt on. Sigh. I wonder if he goes to the gym, or if he just works hard. They have treadmills upstairs, but I didn’t see anything else. All I know for sure is that he’s beautiful to look at.
He picks me up again and places me in carefully, feet first. The water feels heavenly. Telling myself not to be a coward, I step down into the tub and sit all in one motion. The sting is as bad as I thought it would be, but I know it’ll pass. To tell the truth, my whole abdomen feels a bit battered and the heat feels wonderful. I close my eyes and lean back.
“You want the jets on?” he asks softly from beside me.
I roll my head along the edge to look at him with a rueful smile as I shake my head. “Nothing with any force to it, thank you very much.”
He returns my grin and then kisses my forehead. He’s full of these little gestures of affection and they, more than anything, make me hopeful for the future – our future. Is it too much to wish for? Am I in complete fantasyland? I think the sex is just as good for him as it is for me, but I’m worried that that will lose its luster for him after a while. Too bad I don’t have someone to talk to. Charmaine would just gush and say: Who cares if he wants to dump you tomorrow, enjoy the now! This coming from a woman who’s been with Josh since the second week of freshman year. And while I guess my mom and I get along okay, I can’t imagine her giving me advice about my love life. Maybe I could ask Bryant. But we’re only friends when the opportunity presents itself; we don’t talk outside of the occasional social event I go to. I guess I’ll have to puzzle Dane Wilson out for myself, but the more time I spend with him, the more worried I get. It was that stupid L word that popped up today. And then, my mind jumps from there to what Jason’s dad said earlier this afternoon. That is definitely a point of concern. I decide to be brave.
“Dane?”
“Hmmm?” His head is resting next to mine on the edge of the tub and his eyes are closed.
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
Other than a twitch in his jaw, he has no reaction at all; he doesn’t even bother to look at me.
“Why, Pretty Girl?”
I know he added the last part to soften the first. I also know that, after his attitude this morning, if I press forward, I might ruin what’s been a really good day. I keep it light.
“Jason’s dad told me he’s never seen you with a girl before.”
Just the one muscle in his very clenched jaw gives anything away as his silence seems to stretch on forever. My stomach flips because, obviously, I’ve made a mistake. I worry how ‘annoyed’ he’s going to be. A bit of silent-treatment annoyed? Or take-me-home annoyed?
I slide off the edge of the seat and let the water wash over my head. The muffled silence is peaceful and gives me a few seconds to pull myself together. He’ll let it go, I assure myself. Especially after making love again. Plus, I have faith in the little gestures.
Surfacing, I feel his hand grip my arm, turning me to him. Thank goodness I have the extra second it takes to wipe away the water running down my face. I am calm, I am together. My eyes open and I give him what I hope is a questioning smile, pretending like I didn’t let those stupidly intrusive words out of my mouth ten seconds ago.
His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are fearful. Fearful?
“If I answer your question, will you answer mine?”
I can’t imagine what question he has for me; he already knows my sordid past. “I . . . you don’t . . .” It occurs to me that he hasn’t made a joke. Maybe he wants to talk about it. My voice finds firmer ground. “Yes, of course I will.”
Pulling me back beside him, he sighs. When he speaks, he’s looking straight ahead at the gray-blue shingles on the wall. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”
I’d gathered that much. What I wanted to know was my next question. “Can I ask why?”
He shrugs and manages to cast his gaze my way for a second. “I just never found anyone worth the bother.”
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come. I set my jaw as I consider the stony countenance of his profile. When he finally looks at me, his expression is less harsh. “Why were you crying yesterday?”
That’s it? That’s all he’s willing to give me? Well, two can play at that game. “Because I was sad,” I say, completely serious.
I watch the understanding seep into his expression. He looks
away, but not before I see that tinge of fear again. I have no idea what could be causing it.
“Dane? If I give you a real answer, will you give me one?”
He turns his dark eyes on me and I see a flicker of interest. “Okay.”
Okay? Awesome. But my happiness almost immediately falls away to become trepidation. A real answer as to why I was crying last night? Great.
“Do you want the long version or the shortish version?” I ask him with a grin, trying to keep the mood upbeat.
He tilts his head at the question. “The long version.”
I sigh. “Then you’ll owe me the long version, too.” He has to understand this before I start baring my soul.
The warring emotions on his face speak volumes about how hard it will be on him if he agrees. What could he possibly have to tell me?
“Fine,” he whispers.
I gather my thoughts to start the long version. “When Charmaine and I moved here from Portland at the beginning of freshman year, we lived in the dorms. We were always surrounded by people. My first two months were wonderful. I was away from home and I was able to drown all the heartache of high school in Jell-O shots and dates with frat guys. But close to Thanksgiving, I made the stupidest decision of my life. Charmaine had made other plans with Josh and I didn’t want to stay home, so I went to that frat party by myself.”
I look at him. He’s sitting sideways with his elbow on the side of the tub, holding his head up, studying me.
“Anyway, after I woke up in that hallway outside my dorm room, I was . . .” I can’t think of a word to describe it. Devastated? Destroyed? “I was . . . scared, but I slowly got myself together. I really thought I could move past it. I mean, I didn’t have any memory of it or nightmares. My only enemy was my own imagination, and I was learning to keep that under control. But then that first guy came up to me right before winter break, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe getting away from campus would help. It took some serious talking to convince Charmaine to move out with me.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead again, and suddenly my emotions jump to the surface. He’s trying to be nice, but he’s not really helping. I swallow hard.
“I did try one more time to get back to the old me, but the next guy happened, and I was sure I had done something to attract his attention. So after that, I cut myself off from everything related to school except the studying. I didn’t talk to anyone in class or between. I just kept to myself. I’d already stopped going to social events and parties anyway. But everyone and everything I knew was there, so I kind of got left with . . . I don’t know . . . nothing. And my job only involves chatting once in a while about unimportant things with people I see for two minutes.” I can’t bring myself to use the word lonely, just like I can’t bring myself to look at him. What if I’m too pathetic for him to stomach?
“I always thought I’d be able to wait school out and then get on with my life. I did it senior year, and I thought I could do it again. But then I met this guy.” This part’s lighter, and I chance a glance at him. He’s grinning a bit at my use of the third person. “And he came along and screwed up my entire system. Now, I was looking forward to the end of the day, even if I’d only see him for a few minutes.”
A fleeting frown crosses his features. Shit, it’s because my voice is getting a bit shaky. I take a deep breath.
“But those few minutes were awesome,” I manage to say, and the word awesome makes me giggle, but when I look at him, he doesn’t find it funny. Okay, I need to wrap this up.
“And I guess that when I saw the house was dark last night, I got a bit depressed. That’s all.”
“You just left,” he accuses.
Anger flares in me. “I was scared, okay!”
“Of what?!”
“The truth?”
He huffs in exasperation. “No, Lily. I want you to lie to me.”
I flinch. He’s using my actual name now. I need to get us back to where we were, but I have no idea how to get there. And even worse, I can feel tears starting, which makes me more anxious. Guys hate tears.
And I think I need to get out of the water. It’s too hot and I’m starting to feel dizzy.
I stand up, weaving on my feet a bit. “I don’t feel so good.”
He steadies me, helping me out right away. The cool decking under my feet is soothing as is the towel he wraps around me. He puts me on one of the wicker sofas, and we sit shoulder to shoulder for a moment before he changes his mind and wraps an arm around me.
I concentrate on my breathing for a few moments until I feel the panic subside, all the while trying to organize my thoughts into something that can be verbalized.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Will you tell me how I scared you?”
“You didn’t scare me. I just don’t want to go back to . . . to living with nothing to look forward to.” Silence. “Really,” I blurt before I can lose my nerve, “I’m scared that you’re going to decide this is all a mistake.”
And then I wait.
He stays quiet, not denying my words, giving me absolutely nothing to hold onto, not even a small gesture. The seconds become minutes. And even though I know the more nuisance I make of myself the less chance he’ll put up with me, I want to say something. No, I want him to say something. Because this silence is killing me. But I suppose it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it means.
I slip out from under his arm and stand up.
“Where are you going?” he asks, but I’m already through the doors and into the kitchen. By the time I hit the stairs, I know he’s not going to come after me in some grand romantic gesture. I’ll be lucky if he drives me home. God, a cab from here would cost a fortune.
In the bathroom, I dig out my tie-die sundress and throw it over my new bathing suit. I almost laugh at the irony of it. What am I doing here? My sundress that I got at the thrift store for $3 doesn’t belong in a place like this and neither do I. The extent of my delusion hits me like a landslide.
I start shoving whatever I can get my hands on into my backpack. In the back of my mind, I think that the shampoo will probably spill, but I just need to get out of here. I realize that I don’t even know the address to give to the cab company. Oh my God, my vigilance has slipped so far in just a week. I’m in a place where I can’t depend on myself. How have I let this happen? I brush that aside for now though. I don’t even have enough cash to pay a cab from here, so the driver would have to stop at an ATM for me. Images of the cab driver taking me away somewhere start bombarding me; no, no, no. But the tell-tale vise begins to crush my chest, stealing my breath away. No, no, no. I’m shaking my head to stop my mind from slipping away from me, but the images get progressively worse. I sink to the floor unable to keep myself together, panic stripping my rational mind away piece by piece until all that’s left is the reality of what will happen to me when I step foot in that cab.
How have I gone from the best feeling in the world to sitting here by myself with what feels like a jagged hole in my chest? Obviously, I screwed up, but I’m not sure how. The first time something stupid came out of her mouth, I’d snapped at her, but this last time, I’d kept my mouth shut.
Decide this is a mistake? Irritation claws at me. Why is she saying that? But then I feel guilty. Am I going to cut her loose? Is she right to be scared? Fuck me, I’m scared. God, being with her is like drinking vodka; easy on the way down, helping out with the good times, making you feel on top of the world – until it doesn’t. Then, you wake up with a massive hangover and wish you hadn’t taken that last shot. And with Lily, that last shot had been sleeping with her last night. Now I have to pay for it; and this awful feeling running through my veins is a pretty steep price. I’m not even sure what it’s about? Keeping her around or cutting her loose? Does she think I’m cutting her loose right now? The thought is physically painful, and the intensity of it finally has me getting my ass off
the couch.
How much time has passed? Why didn’t I tell her that she’s wrong, that she has nothing to worry about?
I find her upstairs, sitting on the bathroom floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms over her head. Alarm shoots through me. Did I do that to her?
“Lil?” I sound like I’m ten years old. I try again. “Lil?”
She doesn’t respond. When I move closer, I can see that she’s trembling. I crouch down in front of her and touch her arm. The way she jumps rattles me, and her eyes are glazed over, but not in any good way I’ve seen before.
“Lil?”
A bit of sanity trickles into her expression. “Dane?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
“Dane, he’s going to hurt me.”
What? I don’t know what’s worse, the desperation in her voice or her words.
“Who, Lil?”
“The cab driver.” Her voice cracks. “He’s going to take me away.”
My stomach clenches. What the hell? I watch as her eyes become a bit more lucid, but her breathing speeds up.
“Please, I won’t bother you after this, I promise. Just please take me home.”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.
“I don’t want him to hurt me.”
“Oh, Lily,” I say as gently as possible. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
She sags in relief, like she really believed it was going to happen.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice so filled with emotion as the words spill out of her. She looks around blindly, reaching with trembling hands for her stuff. I take them in mine.
“I want you to stay here with me, Lily. I don’t want you to go.”
“What?” She looks completely out of it, like her brain is wading through quicksand to try to understand what I’m saying.
“Let’s go rest for a little while.” I hold out my arms to her in invitation, and for a moment, I think she’ll refuse, but then she leans into me and lets me help her up. I carry her to my room and lay her down on the bed. I reach under her dress and pull off the wet bikini bottoms and then do the same with the top. I’m expecting some resistance, but she doesn’t even blink. The bed dwarfs her, and she looks so vulnerable by herself, curled up on her side. On autopilot, I change my swimsuit for underwear and crawl in behind her and pull the covers over us.
