by Sierra Cole
There’s a pause, and I finally hear her crying stop and then the faucet turning on. A moment later, the door mechanism clicks as she pushes open the door, her face streaked with tears.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the moment I can see her. “Please believe me.”
“It’s okay,” she replies with a sad smile, stepping back into the bedroom. “It’s not just you. It’s me, too. I guess there’s a few things I haven’t told you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, puzzled, taking her hand and leading her back towards the bed.
Luckily she doesn’t push me away, even though I fucking deserve it, and before long we’ve climbed back under the covers, holding each other in a tender embrace.
I don’t push things; I just wait for her to speak – to tell me whatever it is that seems so damn hard for her to say out loud. I watch her sigh, as she struggles for the right words, and I wait, remaining patiently silent. And then, all of a sudden, she starts to speak.
“I’m sorry I ran away like that,” she begins. “I guess I just got scared. But I need you to know that it’s not you I’m scared of. It’s more about things from my past. I’ve been enjoying these things, these new experiences, Marcus, but I guess they’ve triggered a few uncomfortable memories too ...”
And as she begins to tell me all about her Mom’s abusive boyfriend, and how he sometimes took it out on her too, even though she was just an innocent little kid, I feel a rising mixture of rage and sadness – rage at this asshole who spoiled the life of a young girl, and sadness that it’s obviously affected her so deeply, and that up until now it seems like she’s had nobody to turn to, nobody to talk to about these things.
And I guess it makes me think about my dad too – those irrational rages he could fly into at the drop of a hat, always taking it out on whoever was nearest. Yes, I know just what she’s feeling – that horrible pain and anger and sadness and fear.
“I’m sorry too, Alisha,” I say once she’s finished speaking. “I really should have asked if what I was doing was okay. I know I went too far. I can see that now. But you need to believe me, the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you. In fact, I don’t think you have any idea just how much I’ve come to feel for you in just this short time we’ve been together. So much more than I ever expected I could feel for anybody. You’ve become very dear to me, Alisha. You do something to me – I can’t explain it. But I’ve found myself having the strangest thoughts, thoughts I’ve never had before ...”
I tail off, again wondering if I’ve gone too far – bared too much of myself to her.
I mean, I have no idea if she even feels the same way, and I don’t want to scare her off – especially when I’ve just got her back again.
I wait for her to reply, but instead she just snuggles into me, resting her head on my chest, and like that, holding each other tenderly in the darkness of my bedroom, we slowly fall asleep.
Alisha
Strange thoughts?
What did he mean by that?
I curse myself for not being able to flat-out ask him. I couldn’t last night, and I can’t ask him now, even thought tonight is our very last night together, and here we are, enjoying one final delicious meal.
Today we just spent a lazy Sunday in the grounds of the house, strolling around, enjoying the sunshine and talking – just sharing stories from our lives. Marcus told me all about how he grew up, always being the new kid at a school, never making many friends, but seeing all those different countries as his family travelled the world for his father’s business. And I told him all about my hopes and dreams for the future – how I really do want to make something of myself, and how he’s taught me that perhaps I should be more ambitious in the future, that maybe I do have what it takes to be a fashion designer ...
But I had so many other things I wanted to say, too – so many questions still left unanswered.
What happens after this week?
What exactly is happening between us?
Is this all still just part of the contract?
And am I ever going to see him again once this week is over?
But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it – to ask those difficult questions. And he didn’t bring them up, either.
I know, I know. I should be stronger than this. But there’s still something so disarming about him, so confident, so devastating.
As always, he’s the one in control, and as we finish our deserts, as if to prove this point, he suddenly stands and takes me by the hand and leads me to his bedroom, which is lit just by a single candle, casting flickering shadows over us as we slowly undress each other — silently and lovingly.
I feel my skin flashing in anticipation as we peel away the layers of each others’ clothes, our eyes locked and burning with desire, that now-familiar heat building so damn intensely between us, as the shadows flicker all around us, the whole scene breathtaking in its beauty, it’s simplicity.
It’s him who finally closed the distance between us with a single confident step, and it feels so right, this moment: our shared nakedness, our beating hearts, our shivering silence ...
I tremble as he kissed me, his lips so soft against my own, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and his hands moving through my hair, my own fingertips grazing his body, stroking his broad back, my nails raking against his skin, my body shuddering as his fingers slip between my legs, discovering the heat and wetness of my pussy.
God, I feel as if I’m melting beneath his touch; my body’s yearning for him so completely.
And tonight, it seems as if all that exists in our hearts is tenderness – for tonight there will be no punishment, just romance -- romance and respect.
He lifts me so easily in his arms and lays me gently upon the bed as if I’m the most precious thing in the world, his body covering mine so completely, his lips dancing lightly against my collarbone, his hands cupping my breasts, his hot hardness brushing the inside of my thigh as I part my legs wide for him.
We’ve still not spoken a single word — our bodies speaking to each other in a much more primal language now — and it takes only a few more seconds before they’ve joined together as one, his hot thick cock pushing deep inside me, as my hands cup his muscular ass, urging him even deeper inside me.
His mouth moves to my breasts, his tongue gently circling my stiffening nipples, and I feel his pace quicken as he drives us both closer to the very edge of pleasure with each new thrust of his hips.
As my orgasm builds inside me, so too does the urge to speak, to utter the words I’ve had been holding back for so long.
I hold his head tightly between my hands, searching out his eyes with my own as I speak the words that finally break our silence: “Marcus, I don’t want this week to end ...”
A moment later, I cry out as the pleasure overwhelms my body completely, strong enough to shatter me into a thousand tiny pieces, and it seems as if my moans and cries send him tumbling over the edge too, and with a final urgent thrust of his hips, he gasps then throws back his head as he floods me with his warmth.
Afterwards, as we lay on the sheets together, our bodies still joined, he turns and pulls me close in a tender hug, brushing a lock of hair softly from my face as his eyes seek out mine.
“I don’t want it to end either,” he whispers. “You know it doesn’t have to, Alisha?”
“How do you mean?” I ask, unable to quite believe what he’s saying – needing to hear him spell it out.
“A week with you nowhere near enough,” he replies. “I can’t live without you. I want to extend the contract.”
But at the mention of that damn contract again I quickly shake my head.
“No, Marcus,” I say, feeling my confidence building, figuring I just need to say it, and to hell with the consequences, even if it ruins things completely between us. “I’ve learnt so much from you in this week. And I’ve learnt so much more about myself than I ever thought I could. I’ve learnt who I can be and what I’m worth,
and I think I’m finally learning that I can ask for what I want and that I deserve to get it, too. And so I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t want a contract. If I could change one thing about us? One thing about this week? I would change it so there was never a damn contract in the first place ...”
There’s a long pause, his face flickering with confusion, even sadness.
“Very well,” he says quietly.
“You don’t understand,” I say, grabbing his face, turning it to mine, holding him with my eyes as I speak.
“I want you the way a woman has always wanted a man: to be hers. No contract. Just like any regular relationship.”
“Alisha,” he says, his face breaking out in a sudden smile. “That’s more than I could have ever hoped for.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” I reply with a smile.
“And I’ve been thinking,” he continues quietly. “I meant it when I said a week with you was nowhere near enough. The way I feel about you, I don’t even think a lifetime would be quite enough ...”
He’s looking at me, as if waiting for me to respond, but this time I really don’t know quite what he’s getting at.
“What exactly do you mean?” I say, puzzled.
He takes my hand, and then he says the words, word I never expected him to say ...
Alisha
The gleaming black Bentley looks so out of place: parked by the curb in this run-down neighborhood, no doubt attracting all kinds of unwanted attention. I give Trent a sheepish smile, before turning to take Marcus’s hand in mine as we both cross the street to approach the tumbledown house my mom currently calls home.
“You know don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” I murmur.
“What the hell are you talking about!” Marcus grins back. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting your mom for ages. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Well, just don’t expect too much,” I say, hoping to God she’s on her best behavior with him. I mean, I can’t imagine what she’s gonna say.
I knock the door and then wait, my heart hammering in my chest before eventually the door opens, just a crack, my mom’s face peeking out, before it breaks into a big smile when she sees me.
She throws open the door and steps onto the porch, giving me such a hug that it knocks the air out of me.
“How’s my baby girl?” she asks.
“I’m good, Mom,” I say, stepping back to take a good look at her.
Okay. It seems like that money I wired her hasn’t all gone on booze. I mean, she’s had a haircut, which is something of a first, and her clothes don’t look too shabby either. But I can still smell it, that familiar cloud of alcohol that seems to follow her around wherever she goes ...
“Mom, this is Marcus,” I say, unable to hide the nerves in my voice. “And Marcus, this is my mom, Wanda.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs Adams,” he says, as polite and gracious as if he were talking to some high class society woman.
It takes my mom aback a little, and she obviously doesn’t know quite what to say, as he leans in and kisses her warmly on the cheek.
“Well?” I say. “Aren’t you gonna invite us inside?”
As she turns to lead us in to the gloomy old house – as always, none of the curtains are drawn even though it’s a lovely bright day outside – I hear her muttering under her breath, repeating what he said to herself incredulously, Pleased to meet you, Mrs Adams.
“Mom,” I chide under my breath, which shuts her up.
My heart sinks when I see the state of the living room, and obviously she did spend a lot of the money I wired her on booze after all, which was what I was fearing. I can see empty vodka and scotch bottles all over the place, and a blue cloud of cigarette smoke hangs in the dim dusty air around our heads, making my eyes water.
The first thing I do is throw open the curtains and crack the windows, and then we sit down on the beat up old couch, and she takes the single chair near the window.
“I’d offer you some coffee or something,” she mumbles, “but I don’t have any ...”
“That’s okay, Mom,” I say.
There’s an awkward pause, and I can tell that Marcus is looking around the room – he’s probably never set foot in somewhere so rundown as this before, and although he’s doing his best to stay calm and relaxed, he must be feeling kind of awkward, too ...
“So Mom,” I say, feeling my heart pound as I decide to just blurt it out – the thing I’ve been rehearsing in my head for so long now, practicing and practicing, “I think we need to talk about something.”
“Oh, do we now?” she shoots back, immediately on the defensive.
“Yeah, we do,” I reply, holding my nerve. “Just hear me out. I’m worried about you. I’ve been worried about you for a long time. And I think it’s finally time you did something to get yourself straight. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She turns her face away from me, obviously struck dumb by how direct and confident I’m being. I mean, this is not how we normally interact.
“You talkin’ ‘bout rehab?” she mumbles, still avoiding my gaze.
“Something like that,” I reply. “I’ve found a place, a really nice private clinic, not far from here. They could help you there ...”
“And who’s gonna pay for something like that, some fancy clinic?” she spits back.
“I would ... We would,” I say gently.
“You and your fancy new boyfriend?” she hisses.
“Well, that’s another thing, Mom,” I say quietly. “He’s not just my boyfriend anymore. He’s my fiancé.”
The word has the desired effect. Her eyes flash wide and lock onto mine. She looks across at Marcus, who smiles and nods at her, as if to prove I’m not lying, and I feel his hand give mine a comforting little squeeze.
“That’s right, Mom,” I smile. “We’re getting married. And I want you to be there when we do ... Clean.”
“Oh sweetie,” she murmurs, getting to her feet. “Oh baby ...”
I stand up too, and she gives me another big hug. And it takes me a few moments before I realize that she’s started crying, the sobs juddering up, shaking her thin, almost skeletal frame.
“I’m sorry, babygirl,” she murmurs. “I’ve not been a good momma to you, have I?”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I reply, fighting back tears of my own now. “You did your best. I never doubted that.”
“You did a great job, Mrs Adams,” Marcus cuts in. “Alisha is a wonderful woman. You should be proud to have such a fantastic daughter.”
Mom breaks the hug and steps back, again looking from me to Marcus, then back again.
“My little girl’s really getting married?” she says, wiping away the tears, a big grin spreading across her face now. “I can’t believe it!”
“Well, that’s not all,” I say, taking her frail bony hands in both of mine. “I also need you to get well, Momma, so that you’ll be good and healthy to meet your grandchild, too.”
“You don’t mean?” she gasps.
I nod.
“Oh baby!” she cries, utterly overcome with happiness now.
And as I give her a huge hug, I feel Marcus’s strong arms wrap around us both, so that the three of us standing there in her living room.
And you know what?
For once in my life, I really do feel like things might turn out okay, after all.
THE END
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