Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Her body was jolting, her hips swinging up and down. Her hands had grabbed onto the comforter, and her voice was flying out, struggling to express the chaos, the striking rhythm—an internal light show, driving her back, so much so that she thought she was going to sink into the mattress, further—faster, now that he was increasing the tempo, slapping his balls and driving his tongue through.

  She reached out, grabbed onto his hips and pushed him in. he let it rest, long enough for her to think that she was going to gain her bearings. Then her eyes slammed shut, and his full length—an animal force=--swung out and in, and she really was being driven into the mattress.

  She’d lost her grip on the sheets, and she was focused on the storm, spinning and shrieking, gaining energy, creating tidal waves—behemoth demons that were trying to break past their confines and spread their power—down her thighs, through her stomach.

  She had gone through life fearing the inevitable, and now it was coming, and she couldn’t have been more excited. Hairs were rising. Nets of energy were coursing across her arms and stomach, like lace woven by angels for the sole purpose of teasing her nerves.

  Cade lifted his head, his lip upturned on the side of his mouth, beads of sweat on his brow, his nose wrinkled. She didn’t know anyone could move so fast, with such determination. But she could see the effect she was having on him. He was in heaven, feasting with angels, and he was carrying her with him.

  There was a lightness, deep in the middle of the hurricane that her body had become, a disconnected quality. It didn’t dull the sensation. It was because of him. What he was doing couldn’t be dulled.

  It was worship. He was telling her that he loved her, not by saying it. He had said it countless times, but words couldn’t do what he was doing. They couldn’t get inside her and really make her feel his love. His tongue could. His body could.

  Now his will, the motion, the smell—the rhythm of two bodies, those things were screaming it to her, and she was helpless, mouth wide, breath stopped—receiving that sound.

  It was as though they had broken through the clouds, and they were experiencing what it meant to be in a place where only bliss was possible, and sunlight could come, fill the body and enchant the mind.

  That force took the storm, spinning just below her stomach and abolished the confines of physical law, giving it endless power and potential. It had domain over everything, her muscles, her bones, her skin, her arms, legs, chest, neck—her mind, even. And it was still spinning, tapping more energy, sending it crashing through her, like waves battering the shore.

  When the storm ended, the two lovers assumed their place, cuddling together under the blanket, naked and satisfied. They didn’t speak. They just stayed where they undeniably belonged.

  27

  It must’ve been at least one when Lori noticed the light coming through her porthole. She was bunched up in a coil of sheets and blankets, her hair stiff and raised on one side, wearing the same clothes she wore the day before. There was a sound, like air rushing past all around her and something was hitting the hull, like carpenters’ nails throwing themselves at a piece of wood or gravel slamming into a of sheet metal.

  She wouldn’t have believed that it was rain, if it weren’t for the fact that the glass was too blurry for her to see out, and she was having trouble maintaining her balance. She went to go open the door to the living area and was thrown forward slightly.

  Time seemed to stop. She had one foot raised behind her, her mouth agape, and she was watching the floor tilt slightly with the waves. It was as if somebody had pressed a hidden button. She was running to the bathroom, fighting off the bile and acid forcing its way through her throat.

  She sat on the edge of the tub for more than an hour, waiting for her body to become acclimated to the ship’s movements. When that didn’t work, she dug through her bag until she found the one package of antihistamines, buried underneath a pile of old socks.

  She popped them out of the foil wrap, swallowed them dry and let herself fall back against the bed. She felt bombarded. Every drop was another nail, another threat, propelled sideways from the force of the wind.

  She couldn’t forget that they were swaying because waves were crashing against the ship. She’d move in one direction until she was convinced that they were going to capsize, and she thought she was going to have to jump up and run into the bathroom. A rush would set in, her throat would squeeze tight, and she’d reach the brink. Then she’d stop and start moving the other way.

  A sound came from the side of the bed—something buzzing. She turned herself over, careful not to apply too much pressure to her stomach and grabbed her phone off the ground. She answered quick before the choppy signal could fade. “Hello?”

  “Ah...you...ok?” Reina’s voice came gargling out.

  “Yeah, I just slept...”

  She stopped herself when Reina blurted out, “I...wa—”

  “You what?”

  “I...wa—

  There was a beeping sound, and Lori pulled the phone away from her ear. The call was lost, but it didn’t matter. Reina was knocking. She came rushing in when Lori answered, shivering and dripping globs of water onto the carpet. She was holding the ridiculously expensive black case that Harris stored his game pieces in.

  Lori took it and set it on the coffee table. “Here,” she rushed into Tim’s empty room to get her a towel. There was a packet of coffee and a machine on a side table next to the bed. She poured a few cups of water inside, opened the coffee packet and dumped it in.

  Reina came in, breathless and declared, “Harris is confined to his room, and he doesn’t have anything because I cleaned it out before they freed him. I even got George to take his TV.”

  “You did?” Lori flipped the switch on the coffee machine and handed her the towel. “I thought?”

  “George says that Cade was just trying to scare him.”

  “That makes a lot more sense,” she said. Harris’s case was three tiered: one tier for the figurines, another for the game board, and another for the game book, dice and score cards. It was the figurines that interested Lori the most.

  There were fairies and unicorns, along with the standard bestiary, witches, wizards and mythological creatures. She was inspecting the fairy’s wings, the tiny brush strokes, the mother of pearl paint. He even went so far as to perfect their makeup. “Look at this,” she lifted a pixie in a pale pink ballgown for her friend to see.

  Reina wrapped the towel around her head and went to inspect it with squinted eyes. She smiled and nodded before sitting down across from Lori. “He’s really into that stuff, always has been.”

  “Oh, I know,” Lori said. “But are you sure he’s not...?”

  “He doesn’t have any problem performing.”

  “Maybe he’s ambidextrous,” Lori said.

  “Why would you say that?” Reina unrolled the cloth game board and looked through the various compartments filled with miniature foliage.

  “There are signs.” Lori chose a white witch and looked through the rows miniature pine trees.

  “Like what?”

  “His style, for one. It’s too perfect. He makes what—ten-thousand a year?”

  “Less, sometimes.” Reina took out a rubber river and placed it in the middle of the board.

  “He wears designer clothes, doesn’t he?”

  “He does, but honestly, there is nothing gay about him. I think he’s just stunted. That’s what happens when you smoke as much weed as he does.”

  Lori nodded and surveyed the board. She didn’t want to have to worry about crossing a mountaintop with a character that only had two movement points. It would take forever. “You need a real man,” she said, “somebody strong and sexy, not a sarcastic child.”

  “I’m done for at least a year.”

  She laughed. “That’ll last all of a month.”

  Reina hovered a finger above the rows of figurines, trying to decide which one to pick. “What about you? Are yo
u still rebuffing prince charming?”

  “He’s not prince charming,” Lori said.

  “King charming,” Reina corrected herself.

  “I don’t know what he is. I didn’t expect this.”

  “You can’t plan your life.” She chose a granite golem and handed a Lori a pencil and scorepad.

  Lori took them and sat back. “That’s what you’ve been trying to do though, isn’t it? You planned out work and school, and you’re really making things happen.”

  “I was lucky,” Reina told her, “and I knew that I had to adapt.”

  “Adaptation’s a funny word for it—more like hustle.”

  “Yeah, hustle, but when you’re confident, you learn everything that you have to do, and you do it, you’ll have a lot less trouble.”

  Lori shook her head. “That’s hard to believe sometimes. It’s been very, very hard to believe.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re smart. You’re capable. What’s kept you down?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like I’ve been cursed. I—maybe it has something to do with what happened after. I feel like there’s something missing.”

  “Because you left him?” Reina asked her.

  “No, it’s—there’s some things in life that don’t ever leave you. They’ll change your mind, your body. They dig themselves right into the deepest parts of your brain—literally, in fact.” She took the dice and rolled it. It landed with a yellow eight on top.

  Reina took note and rolled it herself. She got a nine, which meant that Lori could go first. Lori focused on the path she was taking, through a thick forest of snow-covered pine and desert palm. She could feel Reina staring at her. “You’re talking about trauma.”

  “Which is stronger against earth—fire or lightning?”

  “He didn’t do anything to hurt you. I know he didn’t. You would have said by now.”

  “Or maybe water,” Lori went on. “Do you think steel would work? I think this one has a knife throwing technique.” She grabbed the instruction book out, opened it, and covered her face with it.

  “You don’t blame him, do you?”

  “Knifery nine. Thought so—oh, there’s a relic on here. I’ll find it before you do.”

  “Put that thing away and talk to me,” Reina commanded.

  With a sigh, Lori set the book in her lap. “I don’t know if that’s what put me in a rut. I just know that I haven’t found success since.”

  “Sometimes you don’t know what your mental state is. You could be depressed and think that everything is fine.”

  “I lost a child,” she said, ignoring Reina’s look of shock. “Depressed doesn’t...it doesn’t do it justice, and it’s not something that I like to think about.”

  “Maybe that’s why this is so hard for you. You associate him with all of that hormonal crap. I know you don’t blame him for the miscarriage.”

  “When I left, it was because we were fighting. That stress, they said, led to the miscarriage.”

  “You don’t fault him for that. Say it.”

  “No, I don’t now,” Lori said. “I did for a long time.”

  “But you were wrong about him—all of it, so there’s no reason for you to feel that way.” Reina protested. “You know it. He’s a good man.”

  Lori sat back and closed her eyes. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

  “Because this is a tragedy. You’re making a monumental mistake. I can’t believe it. Think of the life you could have.”

  “Money? Really?” Lori sat up to look at her. “I need more than that.”

  “And you have it. That’s why this is getting to you.”

  “That doesn’t mean that I can run straight back down the aisle. I want certainty.”

  “You just told me that you can’t plan life. There is no certainty, only love.”

  Lori pushed her figurine eight spaces forward. “Knifery 9.”

  Reina handed her another dice, which she would use to determine how much damage her attack did, if any. They went on, moving through their miniature battlefield; Reina, casting wary glances, while Lori ignored it. She was supposed to have a nice afternoon, a distraction. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with wanting to escape things.

  28

  “Where is he?”

  “He drove us into a hurricane. You can’t protect him.”

  “You wouldn’t.” The three women that threw a fit during cooking class, rapped down her door, shrieking that they needed her help. According to George, Priscilla and Cora were warning the passengers that they were going to die if they didn’t find a way off the ship, while Madge hunted down crewmembers to bully into turning the ship around. When they were told to stop, they went into a frenzy. Lori could not believe they found her.

  “You need to think of our safety,” Priscilla said. A crooked finger jabbed at Lori’s chest, and she grabbed it, smiling at the sight of the old woman, clenching her face tight in frustration, her eyes bulging. “You get yo—

  “How in the hell did you three find my room, huh? Did you take your teeth out and blow one of the crewmen? You’re not supposed to see the manifest. Now, I want your octogenarian asses out of here, this fucking second, or I’ll throw you into the storm myself.”

  “He’ll kill us!” Cora shrieked and slapped Lori’s hand away.

  “Don’t you care?” Madge asked.

  “You three are insane. First, you’re afraid of a fire, like they don’t cook on a ship. Now you’re convinced that we’re in the middle of a hurricane. It’s not the forties. We do track those things, and we are nowhere near the storm. If we were, we’d be dead.”

  “You don’t know that,” Priscilla said. “Look outside and tell me that that is not a problem.”

  Cora nodded in stark agreement. “We’re not just worried about our own safety here. He’s putting all of our lives at risk.”

  “Alright, I’ve had it with this shit.” Lori stepped aside and held her door open. “Please, go have a seat.”

  “Of course she gets the best room,” Madge whispered to Cora, loud enough that Lori could hear her when she tramped back into her room, where her phone was sitting on the bed. She took a second, listening to them complain about all of her undeserved amenities, while she searched online. It took her less than a minute to find what she was looking for. It was infuriating, seeing the fuss they were putting up, when all they had to do was ask a question.

  “Please, take your seats.” She found them inspecting one of the dresses on the rack in the corner.

  “Those aren’t real,” Cora said.

  “Excuse me,” Lori wave her hand back and forth. “Could you please have some respect? Have a seat.”

  With a click of her tongue Cora found her way to the couch, and the others followed. “What is that?” she asked.

  “It’s a magic box that can answer any question you have. Now look,” she turned the screen around, darted up and shoved the phone in her face, so she could see their position and the trajectory of the storm. “Nowhere near.”

  “You can’t trust the internet,” Priscilla told her. “You can put anything on there.” The others nodded.

  “This is the website International Meteorological Society. That’s the same place they get the weather from on the news.”

  “I have seen a hurricane with my own eyes. I know what it looks like. You cannot tell me this is safe.”

  “We’ll reach calm waters in the morning.”

  “You’re right,” Cora stood, speaking to the others. “She won’t do a single thing for us. She’s protecting him.” She gave Lori a hateful look and the others stood to leave. “I hope you drown first.”

  They left, promising to save us all and get justice. Lori couldn’t help but notice that their husbands were absent. They were probably drunk and complaining about the shrews they should’ve divorced decades ago.

  There was a message on her phone screen when she went to put it back on the nightstand, eager to get back to her ho
rror film. She’d finally found something capable of providing a distraction, and it was just starting to get suspenseful.

  Now she had Cade, texting her and asking her to go to dinner. He must’ve seen the request she put in for pizza, which she didn’t really want, but she didn’t want to give George a reason to come by with a feast and a million questions.

  She still hadn’t given Cade the answer he wanted, not officially, and he knew just how close he was. If she avoided him, there would be more attempts, more questions. But she didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t want him to think that she was avoiding him, either.

  She messaged him back, saying that she would be ready soon. Thankfully, the path to his quarters was completely covered, and there wasn’t much of anyone walking around. She didn’t want to be seen going to talk to him, not with the ladies screaming about tidal waves and hurricanes. Fear was addictive. They would no doubt have a small army of concerned passengers on their side.

  With a confrontation already on its way, Lori was eager to avoid another. While applying a layer of makeup, after deciding on a simple r ed gown, she went through what she wanted to say to him.

  This had to stop. She felt things that scared her, things that she didn’t want to address. It was like an addict who’d relapsed and didn’t know how to quit—face him, stare that drug down, no matter how sweet, no matter how loving and beautiful. And it had to be done.

  There would be time for love later. Right now, she had to think about her career, where she was going to live, how she was going to move forward. With her apartment gone, everything she owned was in her room. That mattered more than an ancient grudge and an old lover.

  When she went to put her lipstick on, her hand was shaking, and she couldn’t do it. He laid down next to her on the yacht the whole night. There was no no conversation, just his chest, an expanse of magnificent proportions, supporting her head, and her fingers, walking down his stomach—his hand stroking her hair.

  They would kiss and let their eyes droop, and she’d let her head fall back down, bobbing from the force of his lungs moving up and down. She’d entered a territory that she didn’t think she’d escape. Now she was going to dinner with him, and that wasn’t OK.