A small white bow centered her underwear. The tan line from her bathing suit left a pale shadow around the cotton. Freckles dotted her arms and legs, but not her stomach.
I committed every detail to memory first with my eyes, followed by my fingers, and mouth.
Hovering above her, I breathed warm air over the tops of her thighs.
“Gil,” she whispered like a plea.
I answered her by kissing the bow. My fingers splayed over her hips and pushed her thighs apart. My nose skimmed down the center, inhaling her. I’d wondered and dreamed about her for forever. Every sense memory needed to be recorded.
With a sharp inhale, she tried to close her thighs. I braced my hands, preventing her from hiding herself from me. “Every part of you is beautiful, Maggie. Let me show you.”
Her hands clenched the sheet beside her hips when I dipped my fingers under the edge of her underwear and pulled it down. I had to shift again to slip them off her legs completely. I dropped them to the side of the bed. Part of me hoped she’d leave them behind.
Kneeling again on the floor, I dragged her body closer to me. Her lids flew open.
“It’s okay. Let me show you.”
I waited for her to relax before doing anything more. Her hand swept down my arm and found my fingers, holding on to our point of contact.
Given the approval I’d wanted, I squeezed her hand before returning my focus to her pleasure.
“Tell me what feels good.” I kissed her inner thigh and made eye contact. “I want to make you feel amazing.”
She nodded and squeezed my hand again.
I followed her body’s responses as I explored her with my tongue and fingers. She liked long sweeps and light pressure at first, before building up the intensity with the tip of my tongue and gentle sucking. I slipped a finger inside and matched my rhythm until she told me with the tightening of her legs I found the spot and the right pace.
I could have stayed there forever. I wanted to be nowhere else in the world.
With a soft inhale and a clenching of her fingers around mine, her body fluttered around my fingers. I rode out each wave of pleasure with her, slowing my pace and releasing the pressure.
She went limp on the bed, stretching out her legs, curling and uncurling her toes. I smiled in satisfaction and kissed her hipbone.
To relieve some pressure, I undid the top few buttons of my fly. My erection popped free and I sighed.
I felt her hands on my hips, reaching around my arms to shove at the denim.
“These need to come off.” Her voice sounded determined.
I stood, never breaking eye contact, and undid the final buttons, letting the jeans fall to the floor. Hooking my thumbs into the waist, I lost my boxers next.
Standing naked in front of Maggie could have been awkward, but not tonight. Seeing her satisfied smile and the pink flush of pleasure on her chest from my actions, turned me on like nothing ever had before.
Against the red of her hair, her pale skin glowed. A blush spread on her cheeks, down her neck, ending slightly above the deep rose of her nipples.
Nothing would ever be more beautiful to me than Maggie in this moment.
She crooked her finger at me. “Come back.”
I obliged, and crawled over her as she scooted farther up the bed. When her hair spread across my pillows, she enveloped me in her arms.
Our bodies aligned and for a brief moment, I thought about going without a condom. It would be easy, natural, to slide inside of her without breaking this connection. I stilled and exhaled as I brought myself back from the edge.
Shifting, I reached into the drawer of the table next to my bed and found a condom.
Maggie quirked an eyebrow at me. I shrugged. Too many after school specials about teen pregnancies and news hysteria about AIDS had sunk in over the years. I didn’t think either of us had ever been exposed. We knew we were clean when we’d all gone to get tested after Selah and Maggie’s sexuality class. Never did I want to put Maggie’s future at risk for my own, short-lived pleasure. She was too important.
And she was leaving.
“Are you having second thoughts?” She touched my arm.
I’d paused too long, lost in my own head. “No. Never. Why?”
A thousand emotions swam in the depths of her blue irises. “I feel like we’re crossing a line and things will never be the same between us.”
I ran the back of my hand over her cheek. “The line is already behind us. Somewhere over there with our pants.” I pointed to our heap of clothes on the floor. “Nothing will ever change what’s between us. Not sex. Or not having sex. Or miles. Or time. Promise.”
She sat up and kissed me, throwing her arms over my shoulders. Leaning away, she stared at me. “Promise.”
I kissed her again and tilted her into the pillows.
This time I didn’t stop. I kissed her as I thrust forward. She sighed into my mouth and entwined herself around me.
We shifted positions, rolling to our sides and then I pulled her over me. I wanted to watch her body and face, and it allowed me to touch more of her. My hands set a rhythm on her hips as she glided above me. Her hair tumbled down her back. I took handfuls of it and gently pulled, exposing her neck to my mouth. Sitting up more, I kissed the length of her throat before finding her breasts again.
I needed time to still. Better yet, it should stop all together.
My body warned me this moment would be over long before I could have my fill of her. I shifted us again, prolonging the inevitable climb and tipping point. My movements slowed, delaying my pleasure as I sought to give her more.
The CD stopped and the room fell into quiet, the only sounds from our bodies moving against the sheets. In the silence, our breathing and soft moans echoed louder than any screams of pleasure. My own heartbeat slammed into my ears. I placed my hand over her chest and felt the rapid flutter of her heart beneath my palm.
We existed in the bubble as long as we could.
Time didn’t stop for us.
It raced forward, sweeping us along with it.
My primal instincts took over, driving me toward orgasm. I enfolded her in my arms, wanting to consume her, seeking to crawl inside of her. I wanted to exist in this state of oneness. My nerves fired and I no longer knew where she ended and where I began.
All I knew was I felt. I existed as physical pleasure in pure form, speeding toward explosion.
Everything ceased except my blood thrumming in my ears and the euphoria expanding through my body.
I stilled, trying to stay in the moment. Beneath me, Maggie sighed and anchored me to her.
Time slammed into me.
Realization hit as I came down from the high. An unbearable heaviness crashed over me. I gave into its weight, lying on top of Maggie. Panting, I tried to catch my breath. Attempted to center myself before the moment slipped away.
I rolled to my back, bringing her with me and curling her to my side. She rested her thigh on my leg and placed her hand on my chest. Beneath her touch, my heart pounded against my ribcage, begging her to take it with her when she left.
I fought the tears forming, and I swallowed against the truth of our reality.
She would still be leaving in a few hours. I had no right to anchor her to me the first opportunity she had to spread her wings and fly. I wouldn’t hold her back.
I could do the right thing. I could let her fly away, soaring with the joy of a dream come true.
I could hope she’d understand the message of the lyrics on the tape I’d given her.
I could hope.
I could pray she would come home to me.
Our time together could begin.
The future I’d imagined a hundred times would be more than a fantasy.
For her, I could wait.
Because I loved her.
Her breathing deepened into a soft snore beside me. Unable to sleep, I stared at her, committing everything to memory. Filing away the tiniest details of
her and this night, I wouldn’t forget.
I debated waking her and telling her my feelings.
If I were selfish, that’s what I’d do.
Instead, I whispered the words, practicing for our good-bye in the morning. I’d say them to her tomorrow before she left. I’d look into her eyes so she would know I meant every word.
“I love you, Maggie May. From the very beginning. Please come back to me.”
Feeling a huge weight lift off of my heart from saying the words out loud for the first time, I smiled as I spooned behind her
Tomorrow morning wouldn’t be good-bye. It would be a beginning for us.
Hope filled my chest as I drifted off to sleep.
Lizzy Jackson, 21
Art History
Senior
What experience will you remember most about college?
Oh boy.
I want to remember everything.
Only one?
Hmm . . .
Junior year in France.
All of it.
It’s when I realized the world held an infinite number of love stories.
A few with happy endings and ever afters.
Some had limited potential and heartbreaking endings.
Some could take more than a lifetime to be told.
For others, the story ended before it began.
“Right Here Right Now” ~ Jesus Jones
MAGGIE REFUSED TO tell me what was wrong. Not in the car, not on our flight from Seattle to JFK, not during our three-hour layover, or on the overnight flight to Paris. Her eyes were puffy and red when we finally arrived. Then again, mine were, too.
She played the same mixtape over and over on her Walkman until the batteries ran down.
I counted fifty-seven sighs from the time we left Olympia to when we finished immigration and gathered our bags. On the train into Paris from the airport, she stared out the window, but I had the feeling she didn’t really see the beautiful French architecture passing her by.
Replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head, I searched for clues. We’d had a teary, long good-bye with our friends at our going away party. Selah even shuffled out to the living room this morning in a kimono to say a final good-bye with a promise she’d see us over winter break.
Maggie didn’t want to wake up the rest of our housemates with the excuse we were running late and might miss our flight. That had been a little odd. Maybe she’d snuck into Gil’s room earlier to say good-bye. I couldn’t imagine her leaving without doing so. They’d been inseparable at the party. In fact, two different people asked me if they were a couple.
Plus, their fake kiss looked pretty real to me. The last I saw of them, they’d been going into his room.
However, she sat in her room this morning when I went in to wake her. Her suitcase and backpack were neatly stacked by the front door and she’d already taken a shower.
Sigh fifty-eight and counting escaped from Maggie. It would be a very long year in France if she moped about being here the entire time.
Although, sighing did seem like a very French thing to do. I studied the couple across the aisle from our seats. He wore a sour expression like he smelled something terrible or someone had insulted his wife. The woman opposite him, who I assumed to be the maligned wife, frowned as she read her book. Neither smiled the entirety of our short train trip. Nor did they speak to each other. Maybe they were strangers after all.
Arriving in the station, he handed her a small bag from the luggage rack above their heads. She passed him his hat and I noticed a thin gold band.
Exhaustion washed over me as we lugged our suitcases up the stairs to the street. The director of our program had arranged to meet us outside and escort us to orientation.
Maggie tromped along behind me, in even more of a daze than I felt. I didn’t know if it was the moping or jet lag. Probably both.
A guy on a scooter whizzed past us, nearly hitting my large suitcase. I jumped back from the curb, pulling Maggie with me.
Next to us, a woman in a chic pencil skirt and red lipstick scowled and whispered, “Stupid Americans,” under her breath in thickly accented English. I knew the only reason she spoke English was to make sure we understood her insult. Delightful welcome to the city of love.
An older woman with dark hair streaked with white waddled up to us. She reminded me of a little penguin with her small pointed nose. Her round belly stood in stark contrast to the ultra slim Parisienne woman who insulted us.
Maybe the snooty woman only felt hungry. I could get very cranky when I was hungry, too.
The benevolent penguin greeted us in a mix of French and English. “Bonjour! You must be Maggie and Lizzy!”
Maggie snapped out of her walking coma and said, “Bonjour, Madame Picou.”
Madame’s bobbed hair bounced with her excitement. “Welcome to France! Bienvenue a Paris!”
I wondered if she would repeat everything in both languages.
Maggie gathered herself together and introduced us. Jet lag had erased my language skills. I smiled mutely and made awkward hand gestures.
Madame Picou smiled at us, then gave us double kisses, one on each of our cheeks. She smelled of old roses and hairspray, with a lingering layer of strong body odor.
I immediately nicknamed her Madame Pee-ew in my head and giggled. I’d have to tell Maggie later.
We were among the final students to arrive for our program’s orientation. The rest had departed by private bus earlier in the day. Madame Picou stuffed as much of our luggage as she could into her small Renault’s trunk. Our backpacks sat on the seat next to me.
All of our possessions fit into this tiny French car. We each shipped over a couple of boxes of winter clothes a few weeks ago. We were basically gypsies for the next nine months.
Madame Picou drove like a Formula One driver. She cut across lanes and barely slowed down unless she encountered a red light. Out the window, Paris blurred past us as we headed to orientation at a château outside of the city.
“We need to pick up one more student.” She swerved around a bicycle close enough I could’ve reached out and stolen the baguette in the basket on the back.
I thought about where we would put more luggage and wondered if I’d missed a roof rack.
The car came to sharp halt in front of a café on the corner of two quaint streets. Everything appeared charming to my American sensibility.
A tall blond man warily approached the car with a rucksack type bag on his back.
Madame Picou prattled something in French at him and unlocked the door behind her. Unless he planned to sit on our backpacks, I had to shift them closer to me. One I put on the floor between us and the other I held on my lap, barely able to peer around it.
“Hello.” He shoved his pack into the car and squeezed in behind it. His own bag filled the middle of the seat, creating a wall between us.
“Introduce yourselves while I drive.” Picou put the car into gear and we lurched away from the curb.
Maggie rotated in her seat and stuck out her hand. “I’m Margaret. The tiny woman smothered under the bags is Elizabeth.”
I peeked around the tower of backpacks. “Hello.”
It was all I could do. My hands were trapped, and even if they weren’t, I wasn’t sure I could stretch around his bag to shake hands.
“Christopher. Christopher Liddell. Delighted to meet you both.” His accent wasn’t American. Who said delighted? Besides Quinn?
“You sound like James. James Bond.” Maggie emphasized the pauses in between his first and last name. “No double-o-seven?”
“Sadly, no. A simple university student.”
“En français,” Madame Picou commanded.
Jet lag overtook me and I rested my head on the window. The sun poured in through the glass and something smelled of fresh laundry and spices. I sniffed myself. Nope, it definitely wasn’t me. My clothes held the faint aroma of stale airline air and public transportation.
I would
only close my lids for a minute while I listened to the conversation en français around me. I didn’t want to be rude, but my brain was too tired to translate and conjugate.
A gentle touch shook my shoulder. “Elizabeth? We’ve arrived.”
I jolted awake at the sound of a male voice close to me. Completely confused, it took me a minute to realize I sat inside a car.
While I attempted to shake off my impromptu nap, concerned gray-blue eyes came into focus. They belonged to the handsome face of a stranger with a British accent who leaned into the back seat of this tiny sedan. He rested his elbow near my head.
“How did I end up in England?” I attempted to blink away my confusion. “How long was I asleep?”
He chuckled. “You’re in France. Outside Paris.”
“Why are you calling me Elizabeth?”
His left eyebrow dipped while his right arched, making him appear almost comical. “You were introduced as Elizabeth. By Margaret?”
“Who’s Margaret?”
“Did you hit your head?” Maggie peeked around him. She disappeared, and then my door opened. Her head reappeared in front of me. “You fell asleep on the drive to the château. You were out completely, even snoring.”
I hung my head. Great first impression. Confused, snoring American girl charms no one. Despite my recent snooze, I wanted to close my lids again. I could have slept like the dead for days.
Maggie tapped my nose. “Don’t fall back asleep. We’re in France!”
At least I thought it was her. My lashes fluttered as I lifted my lids.
With a tug, she pulled me out of the backseat. I managed to get my feet under myself before I splayed out face first in the gravel of the drive.
“I’m up. I’m awake.” Planting my feet, I spread out my arms.
Applause came from behind me. I spun at the sound.
Prince Charming and two other guys clapped. After a bow followed by a curtsy, I stuck out my tongue. “In the fairytales, the prince awakens the sleeping princess with a kiss.”
Christopher arched his eyebrow again. I wondered if he practiced in the mirror. Honestly, he seemed the type. Now that we were out of the car and no longer squished by luggage, I could examine him more.
We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) Page 19
