Vivian fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t bother having her move, so I put a blanket on her and brought out a couple of pillows in case she woke up and wanted them. I turned the volume down on the TV and walked to the kitchen. I stood at the window that was centered between the fridge and the cabinets. I bit at my pointer nail on my left hand.
Everything inside me was stripped away.
Except one thing.
I grabbed my cell phone and looked at the number.
My thumbs flirted across the screen as I typed a message.
You up?
I sent it, sealing my fate.
Some of the biggest moments in life weren’t broadcasted on a big stage. There were often random breaths, a change in plans, or standing in the kitchen of your apartment feeling really alone and confused, texting the only person that could make the feeling go away. Even if it put your heart at risk.
Foster replied right away.
Yeah. What’s wrong?
I swallowed hard. I stepped from the kitchen and looked over to the couch. Vivian was out cold. She needed the sleep. I should have been sleeping, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’d end up tossing and turning all night.
So I bit my lip and typed to Foster.
Nothing. Don’t want to be alone. Can I come over?
I sent the message and read it. My cheeks burned hot.
I waited for what felt like forever… but I was used to that with Foster.
He replied. With one word.
Yes
I climbed the metal stairs and stood outside the apartment. There was a crooked, brown number two on the door. I knocked and waited.
The door opened and there he stood.
My Foster.
In the same clothes as before, minus the flannel shirt. Which meant it was just a black t-shirt hugging his arms and the rest of his well-defined body. He held the door open with one hand and pointed with the other.
“Come on in,” he said.
I stepped into the hardwood floored studio apartment and realized Foster was barefoot. I hadn’t seen him barefoot in years. The last time…
I sucked in a breath, wondering if this was a mistake.
“So this is my castle,” he said. “Nothing too exciting to see.”
“Play me that song,” I blurted out.
“What?” Foster asked. He stopped and turned.
“That song from the coffeehouse. The song you wrote about me. I want to hear it again.”
Foster nodded. “Okay.”
The thing about Foster was that as much as I wanted to hate him, and had hated him, he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. He knew that me asking him to play guitar was more than just a song. It was my way of saying I was hurting. I was confused. That I needed him.
He ran a hand through his forever messy hair and made a detour to the fridge. He opened it and grabbed two beers. Holding the skinny necks with his long fingers, he pointed to the couches in the middle of the open floor and nodded.
The entire apartment smelled of him. It drove my nose crazy, sending tingling pulses through the rest of my body. The couches were an old dark brown leather. Really worn in and really comfortable. I looked over my shoulder and saw the bed in the corner. I guess that was considered to be his bedroom. The sheets were all tangled up, which wasn’t a surprise. I couldn’t see Foster as a guy who woke up and took the time to make his bed. At the same time, I wondered if those sheets were messed up because he slept like crap, or because he had someone in bed the night before.
“You okay?” he asked.
I looked forward and he had put the drinks on the table and had a guitar in his hand. He sat on the arm of a chair, balancing the guitar so naturally on his leg. He held a guitar pick between his fingers like a cigarette, looking cool and smooth.
He moved his hand up and down the neck of the guitar two times, something he always did before playing.
Why do I remember little things like that?
He opened his mouth, but shook his head.
I didn’t get a chance to ask what he wanted to say.
Foster started playing the song.
Hey Rose - you don’t have to miss me. It’s okay to move on. I’ll lie and tell you I did. But when I shut my eyes I see you. I can never not see you. But I can never come back again.
Foster barely made it halfway through the song before I turned my head. Damn me for letting all the emotional stuff build up and pour over. I knew where asking him to play would get me. And that song? I never knew about that song.
There was something about Foster’s voice that destroyed me. He wasn’t the best singer in the world. Not by a long shot. His dream of being that super rock star had passed, but what his voice had was a sense of honesty to it. Rough around the edges, real, and the lyrics that were his mattered so much more.
The song suddenly stopped.
I touched the corners of my eyes.
“Rose…”
“What?” I asked.
He put the guitar down and stepped forward, crouching before me. “Rose…”
“You should sell that song,” I said. “That’s a really good one.”
Foster shook his head. “No. That one will never be sold. That one is mine. Yours. Ours, Rose.”
I looked at him. He was eye level with me. A dangerous position to be in.
But I knew exactly why I came to his apartment.
It wasn’t to hear some sad song written about how fucked up our relationship had been.
It was to get him.
To feel him.
To have him take me.
At the exact same moment, we both jumped at each other.
Foster stood up and took me with him. My fingernails clawed at his shirt, making damn sure that my heart didn’t try and talk me out of what was happening. And what was going to happen.
His hands went right for my ass, pulling me tight to his body.
Our mouths battled fiercely, kissing like the apartment was on fire and there was no escape. I tried to mentally figure out how many years, months, weeks it had been since we last kissed. Whatever the answer was, I couldn’t work it out. My body and mind were only on one thing.
My hands curled, taking handfuls of his shirt, pulling it up as he walked me across the open floor. Foster took me right to his bed. He put his hands on my hips, his thumbs digging in at me, making me gasp with a burning, tickling feeling. My legs unlocked for a split second, long enough to allow him to throw me down to his bed.
I jumped back up and reached for the front of his jeans as he took his shirt off. He threw the shirt across the apartment as I got his jeans open. He lowered himself down to me as I playfully kicked back on the bed, making him chase me down a little bit.
Foster finally caughtme by the waist and stopped me from moving. My elbows were on the bed as I propped myself up, my hands now curling tightly around the sheets. His mouth collided with mine, but only for a second. He started to kiss down my neck. I put my head back and groaned.
“Oh, fuck, Foster,” I whispered. “Yes…”
His right hand eased up my shirt, fingertips to bare skin, racing up until he crested the swell of my breast. He squeezed once and then kept going. Pulling my shirt up, his hand sliding over my shoulder. When his other hand did the same, I sat up and shut my eyes, feeling my shirt going up over my head. I looked up and saw the way Foster hovered over me. So big and so powerful. I reached with my right hand and eased my fingers along the hard curves of muscle that ran from his stomach up to his chest. I kept going until my fingers touched the roughness of the scruff on his face.
Words lingered on the tip of my tongue, but they were stolen when Foster kissed me again. With just one hand he touched my left side and moved around, right to the back of my bra. The flick of his fingers suddenly left me exposed, gasping and groaning and my breasts pushed forward, all for his taking. That same hand quickly moved back around. He cupped my breast from underneath, holding me, his thumb gently caressing left to right against m
y tender nipple. Again, I serenaded him with groans. They were the only sounds I could make. Foster’s touches and kisses made me feral and made me forget about everything that waited in the so called real world.
With his other hand, he touched the small of my back and pulled, forcing me all the way down to the bed. One of his fingers slid into my pants and came around as he seductively traced a line to the button at the front. Between my thighs, I shuddered with a long standing ache that reminded me that it was only Foster who could unlock the vaulted pleasures that I hid inside my heart and body.
And I hated him for that.
The hand touching my breast inched up and he grabbed the thin, silky strap of my bra and made a swift move as he tore it away and threw it somewhere in the apartment. I quickly put my hands flat to the bed and arched my chest, not to flirt, but doing so by need.
He lowered down, the tip of his nose meeting my right nipple. I sighed with relief as my hips began to gently buck. His fingers open my pants and he slid his strong hand down, easing over the outside of my panties, curling his fingers tight, pressing my panties against myself. There he pressed three times.
I let out a whimper.
What did that mean…
I love you?
I need you?
All… fucking… mine…
“Shit,” I whispered as Foster’s mouth moved over my breast.
The tip of his tongue flicked first, teasing, but that was quickly replaced by his entire mouth tasting my skin. Suckling against me with thirst and hunger, pulling back with enough force that I hissed and tried to go with him, worrying that he was going to hurt me. But he knew right when to open his mouth, a wet sound echoing around us, followed by me making some kind of strange, animalistic sound.
Now Foster had both hands at my hips, feeling for my pants and panties, inching them down at the same time. His mouth continued to taste me, switching between breasts, leaving a trail of wet kisses across my chest, some of them harder than others, maybe wanting to leave little red marks as reminders that in this moment, I was all his.
Believe me, I didn’t need a reminder.
The mess he created between my legs was only matched by the mess he created in my heart. And they were both worth everything…
I lifted my hips and felt my pants and panties slide off.
I released my hold on the sheets and slapped my hands to his back. As hard and as loud as I could. My nails took hold as he kissed up to my neck and around to my mouth again. We kissed harder, faster, so sloppy yet beautiful.
In a matter of seconds I was finally naked for him. I opened my legs, not afraid to offer everything to him. He had been there before. He had been my first.
Foster touched my inner thigh and moved up in a hurry. The tips of his fingers grazed my wetness, but only for a moment before he thrust forward, making himself welcome inside me.
“Foster,” I groaned as his fingers went to familiar depths.
He twisted his fingers and pulled back, my hips bucking, needing more. He slid out and moved up, pressing his fingertips against my clit.
He broke our kiss and put his forehead to mine.
In that moment, everything stopped. Time stood still.
Our eyes locked.
He swallowed hard. He let out a growl. A hungry animal. His need at its fullest and throbbing…
My lips quivered. Somewhere else quivered.
I started to count in my mind - one, two, three, four.
Waiting for Foster to say something. There was plenty lingering between us. Plenty to talk about. His touch between my legs made me ache. With just the slightest of movements, he would have me thrusting again.
I got up to ten seconds before I abandoned the stupid counting and I slipped my hand between his body and mine. My fingertips raced down his rock hard skin and right into his open jeans. I didn’t stop until I felt him. His thickness, waiting for me. My hand shook as I touched him, gently guiding his hardness from his jeans, feeling him sliding against the palm of my hand. The steel shaft giving way to a full tip, my hand moving up and around, going underneath , inching down to his thick root.
Foster sucked in a breath and twisted his fingers against my clit.
I gasped and arched my back.
The seconds of calm and romantic counting were totally done now.
His lips came down to my neck, kissing, groaning as my hand started to move up and down his beautiful thickness. His cock was swollen and so was I, both of us more than ready for each other.
He kissed my lips and took his hand away from my aching core. He grabbed my wrist and forced my hand away from his body. He interlocked our fingers tightly and put my hand up over my head. As he positioned himself between my legs, I thrust my hips out of wild need. I felt the hardness of his cock touch me and I groaned.
“Fucking hell, Rose,” he whispered in between kisses.
There was another brief pause, his nose touching mine.
I felt him between my legs, against me. The sudden rush of pressure enough to steal my breath. I shut my eyes for a second as Foster broke my threshold. So perfectly slowly as he buried himself into me, going to a depth that only he had ever explored.
My free hand clamped to his back, scratching as he began to fuck me. There was no romantic and gentleness now. His hand squeezed at mine with a fierceness that was matched by the power of his lower body. Pulling back and thrusting forward, settling back into our old routine like it had only been a few days and not years.
We stole kisses from each other in between thrusts. I dug my heels into the bed and lifted my hips up off it. Trying to match his movements. Feeling every perfect inch of his body as he brought me to climax faster than I could have expected.
I gasped again as I crunched forward and put my face to his neck. I smelled his warm, slightly sweaty skin. That wicked man smell. Then I bit at his neck, groaning as he fucked faster, taking me through the first of several orgasms.
The only time he stopped moving was to scoop me up in his long and muscular arms to turn me so that my head was then on the pillows. I was breathless and wet, everywhere, staring at Foster as he took full control of me. The way he used to do. The way he could forever do. To call him an addiction would be stupid, but it was the only word and way to describe him. Knowing I would get hurt. Knowing the high would only last so long.
But in the middle of the storm, the taste, the feel, him thrusting and grunting, my body accepting and loving him back. His mouth trailing kisses from my lips down to my chest, his teeth playfully tugging at my nipples one at a time. The way he eased himself all the way out and kissed down my belly, flirting with the idea of tasting me everywhere. Running the tip of his nose up my body as he exhaled, his breath spreading across me, making me shiver, even though I was sweaty. Thrusting back inside me, to the hilt, his legs powerful and pumping forward, harder, my body sliding up the bed. My legs wrapping around his body and locking ankles so he would never leave me.
Feeling him kiss back to my lips, where we stayed with our mouths open but not kissing.
Just our bodies working together. His chest sliding against my breasts. Our lower halves in perfect sync. Our breaths entangled. Our eyes commanding each other. My hands shaking as I tried to hold his back.
Never wanting to let him go.
Never… wanting… to let him go… ever.
17
The Silhouette of a Bleeding Heart
Foster
I sat on the edge of the bed as Rose slept. I rubbed my jaw and found my jeans. I skipped my boxers and shirt. I stepped into the jeans and stood up. It had been hours since Rose came over. It was well past midnight. Sleep wasn’t going to be a friend. And, yeah, I could blame Rose for that.
A lot of people looked at me and just assumed that I did what I wanted with any woman I wanted. I’d play gigs around town, collect cash, free beer and whiskey, and take someone home. Play a few chords on guitar, show her my studio apartment, and then we’d mess up the sheets.
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That had been part of my plan when I got the apartment. And believe me, there had been many times when the offer stood in front of me.
I glanced over my shoulder as I stood up.
Nobody else could be like Rose.
Now, I’d be a liar to say that the apartment hadn’t seen any enjoyment at all. But it wasn’t like what just happened with Rose. How could a five-foot-something woman find the power to make time disappear the way she did?
From the second I read her text message, I knew what was going to happen. I knew what she needed. She was feeling alone and confused. Hurt by the reality that one day everyone will be gone. Any hint at death took her to a bad spot because of her mother’s death. As much as I wanted to hate her for dragging her heart back into the fire, it meant a lot that she came to me. She could have gone out to any bar in any town and got any guy.
Just thinking that made me grit my teeth so hard I thought they were going to shatter.
I touched my chest and swore that my heart was still pounding. I walked to the chair and grabbed my guitar. I put it back into the guitar holder in the corner. No, I didn’t have some obsessive cleaning thing going on, I was just looking for a distraction. From the beautiful woman in my bed. From the only woman I ever loved as she slept so deeply, on her belly, her head to the left, my blankets covering just to the small of her back. Leaving the imagination to run wild at the curve of her ass pushing against the sheets. The swell of her breast from the side as it pressed against my bed.
My bed. Rose was in my fucking bed.
I grabbed my beer off the table and took a drink. It was warm in temperature and didn’t taste all that good. Just another reminder of how long we had spent in bed together.
In the soft single light above my kitchen sink, I stood there with my phone. Carl emailed me back wanting to hear some of the songs I had played during my coffeehouse, elevator music set. It made me laugh. One thing about Carl was that he never shied away from any opportunity at making money. There was also an email from Betty. Thanking me for emailing her about Rhett. She called him Everett in the email. He had been found, with Carrie, on the train tracks. They were going to run away, but Carrie got cold feet. So they just sat there and waited for someone to find them. It made me shut my eyes because that wasn’t going to smooth anything over with Carrie’s stepfather. Not that any of it was my business. I was just supposed to teach Rhett some guitar chords and nothing else.
Let You Go Page 11
