by Anthology
Daniel's mouth moves over my hip, nibbling at the tattoos there. My thigh. My knee, which makes me giggle and squirm. He cuffs my ankle to hold my leg still as he works his way down, making sure to kiss the tops of my feet. Gretel said that's the place tattoos hurt the worst, and I understand why -- I don't think anyone's ever kissed me there, and the sensation is tingly and prickly and utterly delicious. His strong hands work at my arch, easing aches I didn't know I had. When he kisses my instep, my foot jerks involuntarily.
"I'm not going to suck your toes," he promises with a laugh. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."
"I don't think so."
He moves up my leg. Inner thigh. His breath caresses my pussy, and I hold my breath, waiting for his kiss. The slickness of his tongue. His fingers inside me.
He makes me wait.
When at last I feel the pressure of his mouth on me, I arch and sigh. Eyes closed, my hands again find the headboard, gripping tight. I want him to take control of this. Do whatever he wants. It feels important to me, somehow, like I'm giving him something he wouldn't think to ask for.
His moan resonates inside me, and for a moment I tense. I don't look at him. I rock my hips against his mouth, but just a little. His tongue flickers on my clit. He pushes my thighs wider apart, hands going under my ass to hold me to his lips and tongue. When he sucks gently on my clit, I cry out.
Daniel moans again. He moves me against him, and the synchronicity of mouth and hands has me edging closer and closer. The headboard creaks from the tightness of my grip.
"You are so good at this." My voice is low and rough, rasping. My back arches a little more, pressing my head onto the pillow. I turn it from side to side, slowly, as my hips rock.
"You taste so good. You feel so good. Fuck, Maura. You are so..." He trails off, his attention back on my clit.
I'm riding this wave of pleasure, getting closer, when he stops so abruptly I have to look at him. Daniel's kneeling between my legs, his mouth wet and open. Eyes hungry. His fist grips his cock, stroking...and he's hard. Getting harder as I watch.
I don't know what to do, what to say. He knows I see it, but if I say something, will it ruin it for him? Will he lose his erection? Should I touch him?
"Just...stay right there," he says. "Can you touch yourself for me, Maura? While I watch?"
My hand moves between my legs without hesitation. I'm already so close that the tweak of my fingers on my clit is enough to make my cunt clench. I push two deep inside me, finding heat and wetness. My thumb strokes my clit while I move my fingers in and out, mimicking the pace he's set with his fist.
Daniel's head goes back. The muscles in his arms stand out. The infinity symbol over his heart is very, very black against his skin. It jumps with the beat of his heart. He pumps his cock slowly, then faster. We're working together though neither of us is touching each other.
"I'm going to come." I say it quietly, each word almost a stutter. So close. Feels so good. I know how to bring myself pleasure faster than anyone else ever has, but it's different when I do it myself. I'm teasing, letting myself get closer to the edge without going over. I'm waiting for him.
Praying for him, actually, though I'm sure God has better things to do than worry about a guy losing a hard-on. Still, I know this is embarrassing for Daniel. Something hard to live with. If I can do anything at all to help him come, I'll pray.
"Oh. Fuck." He grits his teeth, fist pumping faster. Sweat has beaded on his brow and lip. His face is flushed. "Oh, yeah..."
I take a chance, offer him the encouragement of my voice. My fingers circle faster. I groan. I sigh. "Come for me, Daniel. I want to see you come."
He looks at me, really at me. Focusing. "I'm going to come."
"Yes," I breathe, tipping over with him. "Come for me."
The first shot hits the bed next to my head like a bullet, so hard I actually hear it thump the pillow. He jets, shuddering, cock throbbing. It spills over his fist, over his belly. All over mine. My orgasm hits me in slow ripples -- it feels good, but I'm pretty sure it's not even close to what he's feeling.
He comes forever. Shaking. When at last his hand stops stroking, his shoulders hunch. He lets out a long, low sigh. When he looks at me, finally, I can only imagine what he must see -- he's covered me with the evidence of his pleasure.
He crawls up my body to kiss me. "Thank you."
"You're...welcome." It feels silly to say, but it's the only thing I can think of.
Without asking, Daniel pads naked into my bathroom and comes back with a warm, wet cloth that he uses to clean me and the bed and anything else that needs it. Then, still naked, he crawls into bed beside me and falls asleep.
I am sexually sated. I am more than a little humbled and flattered. I potentially have a boyfriend, now, and yes, it looks as though we might eventually, actually fuck.
But I can't sleep.
I get up from the bed and slip on my pajamas. I go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I think about what it means, this new thing. If I want to do it with Daniel. Or at all. If I even can. And while I'm thinking, I go to my laptop and scroll the blogs I read, my Connex wall. It's late and I'm tired, and I'm not...unhappy.
But if this boyfriend thing is going to work, I'm sure the negotiations will include no dating, so though I haven't even logged into my Luvfinder account in over a month, I figure I might as well delete it now while the world of dreams dances out of reach. I log in. Scroll through my profile, to my account. I try to find the place where I can delete my account, unsurprised to discover they don't make it easy. I find what I need, and in one last moment of casual curiosity, I check my nudges.
And that's when everything falls apart.
That's when my world breaks, shatters. Because when I click on the long list of requests, there is only one name that stands out to me in all of them.
Ian.
***
Her decision shouldn't have been as easy as it was, but Daniel hadn't heard more than Ian's name before he turned on his heel and left the kitchen without waiting for Maura to finish her sentence. She watched him go, her stomach in knots, but didn't go after him. Not right away. Not soon enough.
That, she guessed was her answer about what she really wanted, anyway.
Still, when she heard the front door open, she forced herself to move fast enough to catch him before he could get to his car. "Daniel. Wait."
He'd paused on her porch to put his shoes on, and he turned. "What."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"Was there more?" He shoved his foot into his shoe and stood, shaking the leg of his jeans to straighten it.
Maura didn't blame him for being upset, but at the same time, his instant assumption that she was going to dump him for Ian set her stubborn function in motion. "All you let me say was that Ian asked me for a date on my Luvfinder account."
"I think that's enough to know, isn't it?"
"I didn't say I was going to go."
"What were you doing on there, anyway?" Daniel moved closer, his eyes bright. Cheeks flushed. "After we...shit, Maura. I thought we were..."
"I was going on it to delete my account!"
"At two in the morning?"
Maura's shoulders straightened. Her jaw set. "I told you, I couldn't sleep."
"Yeah. Whatever. I'm out of here." Daniel made a pushing away gesture. "See you around."
"Don't go like that."
At least he stopped again, though this time he wouldn't turn to look at her. "Just...forget it. Okay? I was stupid to think this would work. I'm going off to Malaysia. You've got Ian, and I know you're in love with him. He's just going to fuck with your head again, you know that, right? But I guess it doesn't matter."
"I didn't say I was going to go out with him!"
Daniel shook his head. "But you want to. Don't you?"
She didn't have a ready answer for that. Her first response had been vindication. Ian wanted her. Ian was apologizing. Ian was, finally,
the one doing the chasing. But vindication isn't satisfaction, and despite her reservations about committing to a relationship with Daniel, she had agreed to it, and she hadn't been willing to back out simply because Ian had finally seemed to get his shit together.
"Never mind," Daniel said without waiting for her to answer. "Just forget it. I should've known better."
"Daniel. Wait." But once she'd asked him to wait, Maura didn't know what she wanted him to wait for. Hesitantly, she reached for him, but he didn't reach back. She let her hand fall back to her side. "I'm sorry. Please don't go like this."
"I'm not sure what you expect me to do or say, not after that little story you just told me."
"Stay for breakfast, anyway. I can make eggs and toast..."
Bitter laughter barked out of him. "Oh, sure. Break it off with me, then make me breakfast. Real classy, Maura. Thanks. But no, I think I'll pass."
"I didn't break it off with you! If you'd just listen --"
Daniel waved a dismissive hand in response.
"You know what?" She snapped, crossing her arms, "Go, then. I could've told you nothing, but I wanted to be up front with you. He contacted me. Would you rather have had me say nothing?"
"I'd rather have you just turn him down!"
Maura rubbed the tip of her tongue along the back of her teeth as each word of her response seemed to form itself letter by single letter.
"You can't say you don't want to see him."
"No," she said. "I guess I can't say that and be telling the truth. But that doesn't mean I was going to dump you. Especially not after..."
At the look on his face, she stopped herself from saying more. Daniel drew himself up as carefully as a man who'd been kicked in the junk. In a way, maybe he felt like he had. He took the first step off the porch, then looked back at her.
"Good luck. He's going to fuck you over again, because that's why guys like him do. And you're going to let him, because that's what women like you do. Can't see what you have right in front of your face. Fuck you, I'm over it."
Maura recoiled at his vehemence. "Wow. You know what? If that's how you're going to be about it, yes. Go. I'm over it, too."
Daniel stayed put, glaring at her. Maura glared back. She didn't blame him for being irritated or uncertain -- but his attitude? That could get fucked with something hard and sandpapery.
"You couldn't even give me the rest of the week?" He bit out the question. "I'm going out of the country, for God's sakes. You couldn't just fucking give me a week?"
"And then what, we could've started some kind of fucked up, long-distance relationship?"
"Maybe...we could've..." Daniel glared at her. "You could've broken it off a helluva lot better than this, anyway."
She goggled, mouth open wide before she shut it with a click of her teeth. "I was trying to be honest with you! I guess maybe I should've lied to you. That would've been better?"
"Then I could've hated you," Daniel said, "instead of just thinking you're stupid."
She blinked. Then again. Then carefully, slowly and deliberately, she backed over her threshold, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Then she firmly shut the door without saying another word to him.
***
I used to be incapable of imagining any way Ian could ever disappoint me; that's how hard I'd fallen. Everything he did was perfect and alluring and delightful. My head knew that the realities of things like sharing space and debts and chores would surely wear that all away. That's what happens in relationships. You get used to each other, and the habits and mannerisms that once you found so charming become the grain of sand in an oyster. If you love each other enough, you make a pearl around the things that make you crazy. If you don't...well. Lots of people don't. My head knew that, but my stupid heart refused to pay attention.
Still, I did find it hard to believe Ian could ever make me go white-hot with rage. There were none of those niggling, back-of-the-mind excuses about behavior I'd made for other lovers. And with so little time, all of it stolen, there was no place for silly arguments.
And that's the issue. Time. I don't have enough of it, and Ian doesn't seem to understand that whatever time there was, it needs to be cherished. Not wasted.
"Lunch," I say to his tiny, precious face in my phone's screen. I should've known better than to let him video call me. It always makes it harder to resist him, but who am I kidding. I can never resist Ian. "An hour?"
Ian's nose wrinkles, and he shakes his head. "I'd have to leave the office, fight traffic...plus I already brought my lunch."
"So you're saying you'd choose a dry turkey sandwich at your desk over lunch with me?" I keep my voice light, almost teasing. I don't want him to know how desperate I am to see him. It's been over two weeks, and the last chance we had was only for an hour or so. If that's all I can get, I'll take it, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
"What time would you want to meet? And where?"
"How about Ambrosia. It's that new place about twenty minutes from your office. At eleven? So it's not crowded, we'll avoid traffic..." I trail off, already seeing the 'no' in his face. I won't beg. I won't chase.
"Nah. That's quite a hike. Just can't make it work. Another time, maybe. Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all.
We make another few minutes of small talk, but my answers are curt and I can't really look at him any more. I cut the call short and sit with my phone in my hands, staring at the screen, which seems blanker without his face decorating it. I eat my own lunch at my desk, and though my phone pings with a message from him, I don't even look at it until it's time to go home.
It's not the only time Ian passes up a chance for us to get together. For days he'll message me constantly throughout the day, sending photos, jokes, flirty emoticons. Sometimes, he makes wistful comments like "really wish I could see you."
But when I give him the chance to really see me, not in a photo or a video call but my real face, my real hands, my real mouth...he can't manage to make it happen. It makes me desperate, hating myself for being the stereotypical, clinging girlfriend who can't let her man out of her sight long enough to have a life to go out with friends or even time alone.
Except that I'm not Ian's girlfriend, and we don't have much time as it is. There are vast, long stretches when seeing him is impossible, so when I am able to make the space in my complicated and increasingly stressful life, is it so wrong for me to expect him to find a way to see me?
Apparently Ian thinks so, and that's when I discover I can be disappointed in him, after all.
It is our first fight, and it's a doozy. Predictably, it happens when we actually are together, which makes me feel all the more irrational for complaining -- and I fucking hate feeling irrational and out of control with the fire of a hundred thousand supernova suns. I've managed to convince Ian to meet me for an hour or two in one of those cheesy roadside motels that feature little cabins instead of a long row of rooms. Our cabin is number six, and I paid forty-nine dollars cash for the night, even though we won't be staying much past eight o'clock.
The double bed doesn't look particularly comfortable, but the comforter is a whimsical quilt and the artwork is framed photographs that look as though an actual person took them, not pictures in frames bought in bulk. I study one -- a covered bridge. It's a common theme around here, but this black and white shot has managed to capture something almost creepy about the traditional composition of bridge and stream and road.
"Cry Baby Bridge," I say with a snap of my fingers. "That's what it reminds me of!"
Ian has turned on the television. Without a remote, he has to flip through the channels by hand. The first flicker of annoyance sidesteps its way through me. We're here to fuck, not watch The Price is Right.
"Ever heard of it?"
He looks at me. "Huh?"
"Cry Baby Bridge. It's supposed to be about an hour from here. It's one of those urban legend things." I watch his face for any signs of recognition, but of course that sort of stuff
is my purview, not Ian's. He'll dismiss it as silliness, I'm sure. "Some young unwed mother in 1880 or something like that was supposed to have jumped to her death there. You're supposed to be able to hear the baby crying."
Ian shrugs without much interest. "Creepy."
"We should go." I say it impulsively. I cross to him, pull him by the collar toward me for a kiss. "You wanna?"
"Now?"
"No." I think for a moment, calculating ahead, putting pieces together that hadn't, until just now, fit. "Sunday."
Chad will be out of town with his fishing buddies from sometime before dawn until probably late at night. Ian and I could have the whole day together. A nice drive. A creepy bridge. Lunch. And, if the timing's right, I'm sure we could find another of these roadside cabins and get naked, but really...
"I want to spend the day with you. I just want some time." I find his mouth for a kiss. I pull him closer, breathing him in. Already my breath is quickening, my pulse leaping. Heat in my throat and chest and between my legs.
"You're spending time with me right now." His hands roam along my back, my ass, anchor on my hips. His mouth finds my throat and I want to tip my head back to take advantage of this embrace, but something in his tone stops me.
"Well...yeah. But does that mean we can't spend the day together on Sunday, too? It would be fun."
Ian looks shifty. Not guilty -- if I didn't know better, I might think he has someone else to spend his Sunday with, and I know that's not true. At least, I used to know it. Now I'm not so sure.
I step out of his embrace. "Ian."
"Let's just enjoy the time we have right now." He tries to pull me closer, but I'm not having it.
Ian often makes my hands shake, but from desire. Now another heated emotion is twitching my fingers so I have to curl them into fists and tuck them into my armpits, my crossed arms a shield. "You don't want to spend the day with me?"
Ian sighs and scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand for a moment. "Look, we're here together, now. It's Wednesday. You're talking about Sunday already. Spend the day together? And before you know it, we'll be sneaking off for nooners three times a week..."
