by Sloan Parker
I’d forgotten he’d been lying on the beach while I’d been on top of him, and I could only imagine where the sand had gotten. I laughed with him. “Uncomfortable?” I asked.
He ran a hand down my cheek. The stubble made a scratching sound against his palm. His thumb lingered over my lower lip. “Not at all,” he said.
“That’s a damn good lie. Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” I got off the bed and dragged him up with me. He gave me a chaste kiss, then withdrew. He didn’t speak. He held my face in his hands and watched me. Was I supposed to say something?
His stare grew more intense, the squeeze of his palms tighter. Not painful. Intent. Serious. His eyes searched mine. “I love you.”
He’d said it before. A lot over the years, in fact. Then why did those three words move me like never before? Maybe we’d gone too long without saying them. Maybe it was the beach, the skinny-dipping, the sound of the surf, the tropical breeze, my favorite kind of lube. Or maybe it was just that he always had great timing.
“Thank you,” I said.
His grip on my face eased, and he smirked. “For telling you what you should already know?”
“For all this. For the trip. Everything.”
“You’re welcome. But tonight was only the beginning. Let’s go shower, then we’ll get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I booked a few things so we can see the island. Then there’s this bar—”
I nodded. “Sounds good.” I grabbed him by the back of the neck. “I love you.” My lips grazed his as I said the words, then we were kissing again, a deep, long kiss that helped me forget about whatever he had in mind for tomorrow night.
Tonight had been perfect. I could live with however he wanted to spend the rest of our anniversary.
* * *
I heard Mike’s distant laughter, and that did it. I went from jogging to a flat-out run.
He must have done the same. Even the laughing wasn’t slowing him down. We were nearing the stretch of beach in front of our cottage. At this rate I was never going to catch him. He was older than I, but I could already hear the old-timer comments he’d sling my way. I’d never hear the end of it if I couldn’t at least close the gap.
We’d gotten up early despite our late night and had rented a four wheeler to drive to a red rock formation that changed colors under the rising sun, then we’d spent the rest of the day snorkeling and kayaking near Hulopoe Bay. The tropical fish, sea turtles, and two dolphins we caught glimpses of all afternoon fascinated Mike, and I could see he was disappointed when it was time to get out of the water. If the night before alone together had been perfection, then today had been the best damn icing on the cake I’d ever tasted. I hadn’t had a headache all day. I hadn’t thought about court or the case or anything else. Just the two of us and the gorgeous views.
All of it had reminded me of what I loved about Mike. How much damn fun he was to just hang with. His humor, his easy way of going with the flow, his curiosity and the thrill he got out of trying new things.
When we’d made it back to the resort we’d parked the four wheeler at the main building, slipped off our shoes and shirts, and started to walk barefoot along the beach to our cottage. Until Mike had yelled, “Race you,” and taken off.
Who knew he was such a kid at heart.
I guess I did. Once upon a time. I liked him in Hawaii. Away from the bar and the stress of the construction at the restaurant.
He came to a stop and stared out over the ocean. I was out of breath when I reached his side. He turned and without a word he tackled me. We fell to the ground, both of us breathing heavily. He was on top, but I dug my heels into the sand and flipped us.
We wrestled more, rolling in and out of the surf. Neither of us had shaved since we’d left Ohio, and the rasp of his facial hair against my chest as he tried to roll me over teased my nipples. I was getting hard. I hadn’t been turned on from such simple, playful aggression in a long time. I felt free, like I could breathe again, only I hadn’t known I’d been holding my breath for so damn long.
We need a break.
“Hey.” Mike stopped the rolling and sat up beside me. He stared out over the water again. “Check it out.” The sun was setting in the distance, giving off a glow that turned the surface of the ocean blazing shades of orange and red.
I sat up and said, “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“You having fun?” he asked.
“I am.”
He stood. “It’s time to go get ready or we’ll be late.” He reached down and helped me up. When I was standing beside him he slipped his hand into mine and didn’t let go. In fifteen years we’d never held hands. Not outside of the bedroom. I wanted this moment to go on for a while longer. I didn’t want to go to some bar where we didn’t know anyone, where it wouldn’t be just the two of us, where he wouldn’t laugh like he’d been doing all day.
But I had made a promise to myself. This one night I’d give him what he needed.
When we reached the deck I stopped. There was a small round table in the middle that hadn’t been there before. It was set for two. Covered plates at each setting, candles lit in the center, and a bottle of wine off to the side.
I pointed to the table. “Are we eating first? I thought you said we’d be late.”
“Yeah. For this.”
“No bar?”
“No bar. I said that to throw you off the surprise. I thought this year maybe…” He looked at the table, then back to me. “Just us.”
I stood staring at him for a minute, then leaped forward and grabbed him. I’d meant for it to be a hug, a show of appreciation. I hadn’t meant to fling myself at him so hard we’d go flying backward. Good thing the deck was low to the ground. He landed on his back on the sand, and I came down sprawled half on top of him, half beside him.
I pulled myself up and straddled his thighs. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I take it you’re okay with the change of plans?”
“More than okay.”
He sat up and shifted us around until we were kneeling side by side watching the sunset again.
“Why did you do all this?” I asked.
“Fifteen years deserves a little something special, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He slowly looked my way, his expression serious, and then he glanced out over the water again. “We needed this. It’s too easy to get swept away by life. Away from what matters most. I wanted us to be swept away together, if just for a little while.” He paused, then added, “We need to do this every year. Get away. Recharge. Just us.”
“Just us,” I said. I looped my arm around his and placed my head on his shoulder.
He rested his temple against mine and whispered in my ear. “Happy Anniversary.” I could hear it in his voice…he was smiling again.
That made two of us.
The Break-In
My foot slipped on the windowsill, and I flung through the opening feet first. I landed with my ass on the hardwood floor, my feet stuck under a dresser, and my hands twisted in the curtains.
How many times had I snuck through that window? It should’ve been second nature to me. I shouldn’t have been slumped on the floor like the world’s worst prowler.
And yet, there I was, gripping the long curtains in both fists, adrenaline rushing through me as though they were going to walk in and find me stuck in that ridiculous position. Which was stupid. I wasn’t about to get caught. They had dinner out every Friday night. Not at the same restaurant, but it didn’t matter where they were. It only mattered that they wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. I had time.
I untangled my hands, pushed myself off the floor, and listened for a moment. Despite my need for silence, the lack of any life inside the apartment disturbed me. I missed the sound of his laughter as he viewed the countless YouTube videos he pretended he didn’t watch, the tapping on the keyboard of his laptop, his humming in the shower.<
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I stood still in the silent bedroom for another few breaths. The music first. It made the couple of hours I spent in the apartment seem like I was supposed to be there, like I still lived there and was doing the laundry or jogging on the treadmill. Anything but the real reason.
Down the long hall, the hardwood floor squeaked in the same places it always had. I strode past the couch we’d made love on so many times, past his recliner where he’d do his work, letting my hand linger on the worn blue fabric of the headrest. How many times had he set aside his laptop and called me to him? How many times had I curled up in his arms there?
I crossed the living room to the stereo. I didn’t even check, just hit the play button and waited for the soulful jazz to break the silence.
The quiet disrupted, I crept back down the hall to the bedroom where I ignored the large bed, the visible red sheets, the comforter crumpled at the foot of the mattress. Ignoring those details would be better, wouldn’t let me think things like, nine months and he still needed me for something.
I opened the top dresser drawer and rifled through the contents until my fingers met the soft fabric of his black briefs, the ones I had clasped between my teeth as I undressed him so many times. I laid the underwear across the top of the dresser and wrenched off my pants and T-shirt. I shivered and tried to tell myself it was the chill in the room meeting my naked body. Right.
My underwear on the floor, I slipped into his pair, trying to ignore the erection forming, the way my body warmed with the slide of the fabric. When I first started breaking in, it would take me until the end of my routine before I’d get hard. The sadness used to be too heavy; it overpowered the desire. Now, the feel of his underwear against my skin worked like a dream.
Inside the next drawer were the jeans. They were too wide, too long, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere dressed like that. The clothes were for me. He’d never see me in them. The idea of him finding me dressed like that turned me on more. I pulled on his jeans and went for the closet.
I ran my hand over every shirt, every suit, every pair of slacks, loving the mental images of him in the courtroom, the command of that strong voice. The shirt I wanted to wear in my hand, I reached for the tie rack. The dark blue one. It went best with his eyes, like the last time I’d seen him in it. He’d just landed a major client and promotion, and we were celebrating at Romano’s. By the end of the night, I was begging him to tie me up using only that tie. He paid the bill, and we were out the door before the waiter had a chance to bring the dessert cart. We never made it to using the tie, though. After, when he was holding me in the dark, our bodies sweat-soaked, the cum still drying on my skin, he had whispered, “Next weekend, we’ll use the tie.”
Too bad I’d never know what it felt like when he wound the tie around my wrists.
Too bad I had fucked up before the next weekend and had lost it all.
I glided my hand across my chest and plucked a nipple. With my other hand, I stroked myself through his jeans and bucked my hips. If I wasn’t careful, I wouldn’t last as long as I wanted.
Time for the rest.
His shirt on and the tie draped around my neck, I moved my private party to the bathroom. The cologne was sitting on the vanity top as if I were expected, as if he knew I visited every Friday night. When I had lived there, he kept the cologne tucked inside the medicine cabinet. I trembled as I lifted the bottle. Out of fear? Or hope?
In either case, I didn’t let it linger. He didn’t know about my visits. If he had, he would’ve called the cops. Or my parole officer. No, he would’ve confronted me.
I opened the bottle and splashed cologne on my neck. My skin tingled with the memory of his hands on me. I buried my nose in my palm. Never did smell the same on me. I’d give anything to smell it on him. One more time.
No. I’d give anything to have it all back—the sex, the long talks in bed, the laughter, the love. But it would never be like that.
I’d never live in that apartment again. Never make love in that bed. Never be held in those strong arms. I had to accept that. And someday, I would. I’d stop the breaking and entering every Friday night. But not yet.
It was a small change that caught my eye, but it was enough to startle me. The bottle of lube kept inside the shower was now in the soap dish, not the shower caddy. Had they purposely decided to store it somewhere new, or had they accidentally left it there? Had they been in the shower together that morning? Fucking each other?
Had it been Roger inside Doug?
Or the other way around?
I couldn’t stop the memories: my forehead pressed against the glass door as he took me from behind; those large hands on my hips, on my chest, on my cock; me on my knees and his dick in my mouth—just the way he liked after a long day at work. He called my mouth the best stress relief he’d ever had. I’d never been anyone’s best anything before.
Never would again. All because of one mistake. The worst of my life.
Since I was twelve, my mom had said I’d end up in prison. Who knew she’d be right? I had thought finding the love of my life had meant the end of the bad shit, the beginning of a new life.
If only I hadn’t gone out that night.
If only I had done what he wanted—stayed in, decorated the tree, listened to Christmas carols, made love to “Moon Dreams” by Miles Davis.
If only I hadn’t believed my best friend when he said we wouldn’t get caught.
But I knew what an empty belly felt like. I knew what it was like to live on the streets, turning tricks for a meal.
I scrubbed a hand over my face before the tears could form and reached for the lube they had moved since my last visit. I placed it on the top shelf of the shower caddy. I’d move it back before I left, but something inside me couldn’t leave it alone. I needed it to be where we had kept it.
Not where they did.
Back in the bedroom, I didn’t want to look at the bed, didn’t want to see the mussed covers, the sheets twisted in a way that only meant one thing had last happened there. I kept my eyes squeezed shut as I crawled to the center of the bed. My erection had subsided with the memories of how I’d lost it all, but the sound of the smooth jazz and the scent of him on the pillows aroused me again. I shifted my hips and reached for the top button of the too-big jeans.
I froze with the sound of the front door opening. Their laughter poured into the apartment, blending with the cool, passionate jazz. It sounded like laughter at a wake. It mocked me. The sound track of my life.
Hyperventilation set in. Why were they home early?
Their laughter grew louder. I needed to get up and out the window. Why couldn’t I move?
“You leave the music on?” That was Doug. His soothing voice always got to me. I missed hearing it mix with his laugh, hearing him whisper all the sexy, delicious things he wanted to do to me.
“Don’t know. Maybe,” Roger said. His voice grew louder. “Must have.”
Why did he have to sound sexy too?
I scrambled for the edge of the bed and scooped up the clothes I’d worn to break in. Their footsteps approached the bedroom door. No time to change.
The doorknob turned.
No time for anything.
I dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed, the big-ass jeans getting all tangled up, making it hard to move. The blue tie must have slipped off me. It lay on the floor beside the bed. I grabbed it, and the door swung in. I jerked my hand back and clutched the tie to my chest.
Doug stepped in first. The dark cowboy boots were the same ones he wore every day, even under the suits. His feet turned as Roger came in close. The sound of their kisses filled the room.
Oh God. They were going to make love with me underneath the goddamn bed.
A tie fell to the floor three feet from my face. Doug’s tie. His dress shirt followed, a crumbled pool of fabric around their ankles.
Yep. I was going to be stuck under the bed listening to them go at each other
. The thought should’ve unnerved me. And it did, in a way, but it also turned me on. I would get to hear him moan and beg. Hear him cry out as he came.
Another shirt fell to the floor, and both men toed off their boots and socks. They kissed again, the sloppy sounds mixing with Doug’s little hums. God, how I missed that.
“Love you.” That was Roger. Those whispered words brought tears to my eyes. I wiped them away. I would not cry. I would enjoy the moment for what it was—me listening to two hot guys having sex. It couldn’t be anything more.
“Tell me.” Roger again.
“No,” Doug said. He took a step back from Roger, his bare feet coming even closer to the edge of the bed—to me. “You promised me we wouldn’t talk about it again.”
Roger stepped forward. Their limbs mingled together. “I think we need to talk about it,” Roger said. “Talk about him.”
Him? Someone new?
They kissed again, the sound more enticing than before. My heart thundered in my chest. I wanted to crawl out from under the bed, fly out the window, and race along the city streets until I collapsed from exhaustion.
“Tell me,” Roger said.
Doug sighed. “I miss him.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to keep my breathing even, to keep still. Was Doug talking about me?
“Of course you do,” Roger said.
“But we can’t.”
“Why not? He’s sorry.”
“How do you know that?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what he’s been doing.”
Fuck.
Roger stepped around Doug until his feet and lower legs framed Doug’s from behind. Together they moved as one toward the dresser. With the change in their location, I could see all of them. Both were shirtless. Roger in jeans, the fabric clinging to the muscles of his thick thighs. Doug in dress slacks, his taut, slimmer frame nestled back against Roger. I clutched my clothes tighter to my chest.
Roger reached around Doug and pulled open the top drawer. “He likes to put on your underwear. The black ones. He always puts them back before he goes, but they still smell like him hours later. They smell like his need, your soap, and my cologne. They smell like the three of us.”
