by Anthology
They'd fucked on that couch and when it was over, she'd told him she loved him. Ian had not said it in return. He'd given her a ride home though, dropping her off a couple blocks away. The silence in the car had been thick and uncomfortable, and they hadn't kissed goodbye. That had been the last time she'd seen him before her divorce and the long, silent months during it.
His silence in the face of her declaration of love had been the reason she'd gone ahead with the divorce. Because she'd realized in that moment that it didn't matter if Ian loved her or not. She didn't want to be with anyone else. Didn't want to love somebody else. If she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to suffer being with anyone.
"No, I'm good. Thanks." Maura sat on the end of the couch.
Ian sat on the loveseat, so far from her it might as well have been on the other side of the world. "You sure? Water? Anything?"
"If I drink anything else, I'm going to float away." Maura shifted to the edge of the cushion, more uneasy now than she'd been before ringing the doorbell.
"So," Ian said. Then nothing.
Maura tensed. "So."
"I have to talk to you."
"I guessed that much," she said. "Do I want to hear what you have to say?"
Ian wouldn't look at her. Everything about his body language screamed denial and distance, which was answer enough. Maura stood on shaky legs, her stomach churning, throat dry. He was going to tell her he'd had enough. He'd found someone new, or maybe worse than that, simply that he no longer wanted her.
"No," she said when he didn't answer her right away. "I guess I probably don't. Thanks for dinner, Ian, but I'll show myself out."
She was already in the doorway before he managed to catch her by saying her name. She stopped but didn't turn, one hand on the doorframe to keep herself steady. Everything had gone the opposite of woozy, everything had gone completely crystalline. She wouldn't even have the benefit of hazy recollection, later. She'd be able to remember every single second.
"Maura," Ian said again. "Wait."
Still, she didn't turn. She owed it to him to listen, she supposed, but how could she look at him while he broke her heart again? Her fingers gripped the wood, and she took a deep breath. She was the asshole, here. She was the one who kept running after the football, only for him to pull it away at the last minute.
"I love you," Ian said.
A single sob burst out of her before she bit it back. And still, she couldn't face him. Could not look at his face. Not even for this, what she'd been waiting so long to hear. If only he would touch her, she thought. Kiss her. But he didn't.
"It's Room 101," he told her.
This turned her, though only halfway toward him. "Loving me is Room 101? The worst thing in the world?"
So he had read the book, George Orwell's 1984. Like the shirt and the crockpot, it had been a gift she was certain he wouldn't use. Room 101 was where the Thought Police took you in order to break you. It contained the worst thing in the world.
Ian stood. "No. Losing you is what's in my Room 101. The thought of it, Maura. I can't stand it."
She'd have run to him, if she thought he would take her in his arms, but even with those words coming from his mouth she wasn't convinced that he wouldn't push her away. "You don't have to lose me."
"But I could."
"Anyone could lose anyone, Ian, it's...it's the risk you take when you love someone." Her breath shuddered. She watched him look away from her, unable to meet her gaze. "And I love you."
"I know you do. For now."
She was helpless to respond to this with anything but the truth. No false promises. He wouldn't bear them, and though Maura could never claim not to be a liar, she had never been untruthful to Ian. "Yes. For now. And I have for a long time."
"Love," Ian said, "ends. It doesn't last. No matter how much you want it to. It all ends."
How could she argue with that? He wasn't wrong. Pessimistic, but not wrong. She crossed the room to him, finally, because waiting for Ian to do it meant it would never happen.
She kissed him.
And again.
She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, and she kissed his mouth over and over until at last he yielded to her. His arms went around her. His mouth opened. He sighed into her and filled her with his breath.
"Ian. I love you. I want to be with you. I know it's complicated fuckery, but...it always is. With anyone. And I want to try to make this work with you, how can I make you believe me?"
"I believe you. I just don't believe it will last."
Honesty stings, and though she knew he had every right to feel that way, it still felt like a slap. "You think I don't worry, too? I changed my whole life --"
"Not for me," Ian said roughly, almost panicked. "You said -"
"No. Not for you. Not because of you, except that you became a part of me. You are so much a part of me, Ian. You are amazing and wonderful, and I love you. I want to be with you."
"It's reckless," he said.
She smiled. "Perfectly."
"I don't know why you think that," he said harshly.
The answer to that was another kiss, this one lingering. She looked into his eyes, desperate to find a way to convince him and knowing there was nothing for her to say that could. "Because it's true."
This time, Ian kissed her. Soft at first, then getting harder when she sighed against him. His hands moved over her back to grab her ass and pull her against him. And just like that, like a match to gasoline, they ignited.
Ian dragged his teeth across her throat to nip at her collarbones, and the pleasure-pain forced a small cry from her. Both his hands came up to cup her breasts through her thin t-shirt and the lace bra she wore beneath. Her nipples jutted instantly, and he pinched them as hard as he knew she liked.
Maura went to her knees, her hands already working at his belt. She went too fast, jerking at the leather hard enough to move his entire body, but in moments his cock was free and in her fist. Her mouth seconds after that. She drank in his moan was she took him as far as she could, then let her mouth slide along his shaft to tongue the head of his cock. Gripping the base of him, she sucked harder, adding a twist of her hand. He grabbed her hair at that, sinking his fingers deep into it. Pulling.
"I love that," she breathed against him before sucking a little harder, hard enough to make him mutter a curse. He pushed into her. She loved that, too. "Oh, Ian, Ian. I love it when you fuck my mouth."
She knew his triggers. What to say and how to say it. How hard and fast to work his cock until he twisted his fingers tighter in her hair and pulled her head back. On her knees, head tipped back with her hand still stroking him, Maura looked up at him.
"I ache for you," she told him, not caring how much she gave and how much it could hurt when he took it without giving her anything in return.
He didn't pull her to her feet. Instead, Ian got on the floor with her. His mouth sought hers as he tugged her shirt off, breaking the kiss long enough to get it over her head before he was kissing her again. He anchored her to his mouth with a hand on the back of her neck. His other hand slid into the front of her jeans and found her already slick and ready for his fingers. He teased her clit, not enough room for him to push inside her without undoing her jeans. It made his touch all the more deliciously torturous.
He pushed her onto her back on the soft thickness of his beige carpet. Cradling her against him, Ian kept up the steady, circling pressure on her clit while he made love so thoroughly to her mouth, she was left breathless. Mindless, the way he always made her. Maura lifted her hips, struggling toward more sensation.
"Shh," Ian told her. "There's my girl."
She fucking loved it when he called her that, but there was only so much she could take. "Stop. Teasing. Me."
"You want to come?" Ian mouthed against her ear. He worked open the button of her jeans, making more room but doing no more to get her over the edge.
Maura laughed, breathless. "Yes. God.
Yes. But I want you to be inside me when I do."
He might think he had the upper hand, but the way he groaned when she said that told her he was as close to the edge as she was. She had no problem giving up to him. Giving in. He was the one who fought it, but times like this proved he was as helpless against her as she was to him.
"Inside me," she whispered in his ear as he moved his fingers inside her panties to find her heat. "I want your cock inside me."
They worked together as seamlessly as they'd worked together earlier in the kitchen. Her jeans and panties off, his pants. Her bra after that. His shirt, a button pinging off the edge of the wooden coffee table in their haste. Then he rolled them both so she was on top, his cock nestled against her clit. All it would take was a small shift to get him inside her.
Maura leaned to kiss him, the shift in angle giving him access to her cunt. Ian pushed inside her with a single fluid motion, seating himself so deep they both groaned. She rolled her hips as he thrust. He slid a hand between them, letting his knuckles provide her with the perfect amount of pressure on her clit.
Her climax rolled over her in long, slow waves that didn't fade but built and built until they overtook her. Her fingers dug into his chest as she rode him. He fucked into her harder, pushing her forward. She kissed his mouth, but her lips skidded from his from the force of their motion. Burying her face into Ian's neck, Maura came for what seemed forever. Ian shuddered beneath her.
When the pleasure had faded enough for her to move, she rolled off him and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her knees were rug burned. Her shoulder pressed his, and so did her hip, but she was too drowsy and sated to move. Beside her, Ian started to snore.
Maura pushed up on her elbow to look down at him. There might come a time when she was no longer overcome with love at the sight of his face, or when her love might become something soft and faded and worn. But to stop loving him? Impossible.
"How would I live," she murmured, "without my Ian?"
Tenderly, she stroked the hair from his forehead and kissed his mouth. He woke with a start, looking guilty. Maura sat, thinking she should start looking for her clothes. She was getting a chill.
Ian sat, too, saying nothing as she pulled on her panties and bra, then her t-shirt. She watched him carefully as she turned her jeans right-side out, but didn't put them on. She knelt beside him.
"Ian?"
"It's getting late," he said. "We should go to bed."
She'd never been in his bedroom, though she'd seen it often enough in their video chats. The easy compatibility they'd shared while making dinner and the synchronicity of their lovemaking stalled here. Ian pulled a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from a drawer to give her.
"You can use the bathroom first," he offered. "Umm...I have an extra toothbrush for you."
In bed, she curled on her side, facing out. Ian lay on his back beside her. The soft, slow rasp of his breathing soothed her, but she couldn't sleep. All this time, and they'd only slept together once. She didn't know if he liked to be cuddled or preferred his space; she didn't know if he would mind if she tossed and turned for a few minutes while she tried to get comfortable with a pillow she wasn't used to.
"Are you sleeping?" His whisper eased over her in the darkness, so quiet it made her smile because he was clearly trying not to wake her, if she was.
"No."
The bed shook as he moved closer to her, pulling her against him. His breath warmed her neck. His hand fit naturally just below her breasts.
"It will be okay, Ian," Maura said sleepily, relaxing against him. "Everything will be okay."
But it wasn't. She fell asleep with his arms around her and woke when he moved away from her. When he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, she sat up too.
"Don't do this," she said. The only light came from the moon shining through the window. It made him a shadow, indistinguishable from all the others except that he moved and the others stayed still. "Go to sleep."
"I can't sleep."
She scooted closer to him. He didn't cringe from her touch when she put curved her body around his and put her chin on his shoulder. She put her arms loosely around him, linking her fingers at his chest. She gave him her warmth and the beat of her heart. According to George Orwell in 1984, if you loved someone, that's what you gave him even when you had nothing else. Love.
Maura gave Ian her love, and somehow, it wasn't enough.
"It's just that...I'd rather it end now than later."
Maura sighed, weary, but giving him the room to say what he needed to say. "Why?"
"So I can be ready for it."
"Are you ready for it?" She asked a little too harshly. "Is that what you want, Ian? For me to go, now. For this all to just...end?"
"Before it leaves scars," Ian said in a low voice.
Maura snorted softly against him and kissed the back of his neck. "Too late, sweetheart. Way too late for that."
He half-turned. He could've kissed her mouth, had he twisted just a little more, but she didn't press forward. "I've never felt this way about anyone. That's all. I just don't think I can do it."
You're doing it, she wanted to say. You've already done it.
Instead, she withdrew from him. Quietly, without fanfare, she gathered her clothes and stripped out of his. She dressed and pulled her hair up again. Ian sat on the bed, watching her, though how much he could see in the dark she didn't know. When she'd finished, Maura went to him. She took his face in her hands and tipped it up so he had to look at her. There was enough light for that, at least.
"I love you," she told him. "But you're right. Eventually, that leaf has to let go."
"I'm sorry, Maura."
"Me too." She thought about kissing him, this her last chance, and couldn't bring herself to do more than brush her lips on his. Straightening, she let go of him. "I'll let myself out."
"I'll walk you --"
"No," she told him, too sharply. Too fierce. "I don't want you to."
She couldn't let him. She would break down and he would see it, and she'd be ashamed. Or worse, she would cling to him, weeping and begging. She would lose herself utterly in this grief already threatening to claw its way up her throat and out her mouth in wails and cries.
No. She would walk herself to the door and let herself out, and she would get in her car and drive herself home. There she might break down, in the safety of her own shower where she could scream and pound her fists. But not here.
In his kitchen though, as she gathered her keys, Maura paused to write a note. Simple. One sentence. She didn't sign her name.
She left it on the table, and she left him.
Chapter Eleven
I've always believed you can't predict love. You can't qualify or quantify it. Can't dissect it. Love hits you like a truck or the flu, coming up from out of nowhere to knock you to your knees.
Love burns you up alive.
Having said that, I should also be honest and say that I've been in love four or five times, six if you count my high school boyfriend, and we might as well, because just like the flu, love comes in many strains and just because some are milder than others, that doesn't make it any less, does it? Seven times, seven, if you count the time with Daniel. It was short, it didn't last, but that doesn't mean it wasn't love, in its own way.
What I'm getting at is that I've been in love more than once, and every time was different. I've never been a woman who holds back on emotion or builds walls. When I love, I love hard, but that doesn't make me soft.
Ian makes me soft, but that doesn't make this love. So...what is it then? We are friends. That's for sure. Lovers? Not yet, not quite, though I've thought about it a lot and I'm sure he has, too. I hope he has. I know I shouldn't, but I do.
I tried not to love him, I really did.
After all, what were the chances? I met him in a dance club on a Saturday night. I was out celebrating Shelly's birthday. Ian was there with some friends having a bachelor party. There
were five guys, five girls, none of us seriously looking to get hooked up but ready for a good time.
We've been talking for about an hour, our conversation punctuated with rounds of drinks and increasingly inebriated carousing from both the birthday girl and the groom as they play a game of Never Have I Ever. The ten of us had arrived around the same time and found spots in adjoining booths. The more we drink, the more it seems natural enough for the two groups to mingle and squeeze into one booth. The flirting commences, because let's face it, it's always more fun when there's flirting, even if nobody has any intentions of going further. Ian and I have ended up on the outer edge of the booth, both of us leaning against it rather than sitting. It's easier to talk that way, and right from that first night, we've both figured out we like talking to each other.
But the first time he asks me to dance, I say no. "I'm with my girlfriends."
"I'm with my friends, too." He looks at our group. Someone's bought a round of shots.
I look out at the dance floor, where clusters of men and women wriggle and writhe to the music from the live band. I shake my head with a smile, lifting my whiskey sour. "I have a drink."
"When it's finished," Ian says.
Since I plan on nursing this drink for the rest of the night, I agree. Ten minutes later, the band switches from covering Lady Gaga to playing Kings of Leon's Use Somebody. Ian takes my drink and puts it on the table. He takes me by the hand and leads me to the dance floor, where he pulls me into his arms as though I'm meant to be there for my entire life.
Love doesn't lend itself to lists, but if I had to make one, that moment would be in the Top Ten Reasons I Fell In Love With Ian Douglas.
Later, when things were slipping sideways, I'd cling to that moment. Replay it over and over. The brush of his breath against my neck, making me shiver. The press of his fingers, sliding now and then from between my shoulder blades to the small of my back or my hip. Sometimes, I'd allow myself to imagine how it might've been if I hadn't turned my face at the end of the night. If I'd let him kiss me then, how different it all might've been.
