Hope Falls_Giving a Little

by Frances Elliot

  Emily was starting the dishwasher when the door opened and George skittered in to shake himself and cover her with snowflakes. Joe stood on the porch step in an awkward position, holding the storm door open. “Okay kitty, make up your mind, please. In or out? I’m giving you all kinds of room.”

  About thirty seconds passed before Flash walked slowly, regally into the kitchen, her fur poofed out against the cold. She gave Emily one disdainful look and continued out of the room. “I swear that cat was supervising me,” said Joe, taking off his coat. “Sat on the porch watching every move I made – she’d make a good exam proctor.”

  “You have no idea what an honor it was when she allowed you to hold the door for her,” said Emily, laughing.

  Then she looked into his happy face, saw that soft, warm look in his eyes again and almost felt faint. Her self-consciousness flooded back and she saw that he too, looked suddenly uneasy. Come on, Emily, she told herself, this is not the first good-looking man you’ve seen. Stop being such a ridiculous goop. You’re making him uncomfortable.

  Fortunately, her father walked in rubbing his palms together. “All right, let’s go. What in the world are you doing out…ah, Joe. Up for a little cutthroat Scrabble?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll pass and go—”

  “The answer to that question is yes, son, so follow me. Got the board all set up, so let’s get moving,” he said as he left the room.

  Joe looked at Emily, who shrugged and rolled her eyes. He shrugged back, looking happy again. As they walked down the hall, her dad called back over his shoulder “Everybody got their wallet?”

  “You people gamble on Scrabble?” Joe said from behind her.

  “Indeed we do,” said her dad. “Dollar a point.”

  Joe stopped walking and Emily turned. “Good lord,” he said. “Way too rich for my blood.”

  “He’s kidding,” Emily said softly. “In theory, the winner gets a dollar from the losers, but it never happens.” In a louder voice she added, “Dad’s not as funny as he thinks he is.”

  “Heard that,” her father said.

  “Hope so,” said Emily as she reached the living room. “Gee, Dad, this looks kind of uncomfortable.” The board was set up on the coffee table and it looked like there’d be a lot of standing up and reaching involved except from the sofa.

  “You kids can sit on the floor. Best I could do unless you think your mother won’t mind if I clear room on that rent-a-table.”

  “Worst idea of the night,” said Emily.

  “Does that include visiting Bill and Mary, whoever the hell they are?” Joe muttered to her. Her father was already selecting tiles from his prime seat on the sofa and didn’t notice.

  Emily looked at Joe, her eyes wide with surprise, a smile on her face. They were conspirators again. “Okay, second worst,” she said.

  Her dad looked up. “Sit down, kids. Let’s go.”

  The “kids” looked at each other and Joe folded his long frame down to the floor with a graceful ease that made Emily want to sigh aloud. He was across the coffee table from her father, which left Emily the narrow end. She tried to sink to the floor without looking too awkward, but teetered and instinctively put a hand on Joe’s shoulder to steady herself.

  He closed his eyes and Emily saw his chest slowly rise as he took a breath, held it for a moment and then blew it out through slightly parted lips. It looked as though he’d taken a short yoga break. He opened his eyes and reached into the bag for tiles. Emily crossed her legs and began concentrating on keeping her knee away from his.

  “I’m going first,” said her father, “because I have an excellent word and I hate a cramped board.”

  Joe looked up in mild surprise and Emily said, “You’ll find my dad has an interesting definition of the word “rule.” And he cheats – I can guarantee he’s already hidden every dictionary in the house.”

  Studiously ignoring her, her father put “ravens” on the board and Joe followed, using the “v” to make vixen. “Well, well, well,” said her dad. “With triple points for the ‘x.’ I sense I’ve at last found a worthy opponent – you may as well concede now, Emily my dear.”

  Actually, Emily held her own and as the game progressed, she relaxed and sensed that Joe did, too. The television, the volume low, was tuned to some kind of holiday special and though they’d all groaned when the carols began, it was pleasant and homey and, she thought, not really too early at all to start thinking about Christmas.

  At one point Joe tilted his head in skepticism and cleared his throat. “Ah, Mike, I’m afraid I have to challenge you on ‘hoople.’ I am, shall we say, unfamiliar with that word.”

  “Nonsense. That is a…barrel-making term.”

  Joe was working hard to keep a straight face. “That so?”

  “Yes indeed. Spent some time in my youth in the barrel business. It is a verb – one ‘hooples’ the bands around the staves.”

  Emily burst out laughing. “Dad, that is a new low and you should be ashamed of yourself. While you two fight it out, I think I’ll get something to drink. Cocoa, anyone?”

  In the voice of someone grievously insulted, her father said “No thank you, but I would very much appreciate a bottle of beer, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Joe, adding, “I’d love to hear more about barrel-making, sir. Is oak the only wood used?”

  This time it seemed natural and easy to use Joe’s shoulder for leverage as she got up. But again, he closed his eyes and did that breathing thing at her touch and she thought over that strange reaction as she walked to the kitchen. She was reaching into the refrigerator when a whole new idea struck her and she stood up again, her hands empty.

  Thinking back and beginning with the moment they met, she tried to look at their encounters differently. Her eyes opened wide, she gasped and then realized she’d been holding her breath. A cartoonist would draw the little light bulb over my head, she thought. But still – the notion that she was turning him on was outrageous. Men always said they found her smart and fun and that it took some time before they started thinking she was sexy.

  She got the beer out and was popping the caps off, still thinking, when her mother walked in. “Did the timer go off? I want to get those yams out and get ready for bed – I’d forgotten how putting children to bed makes me sleepy, too.”

  “I’ll do it, Mom. You go on up. I take it Emma’s asleep?”

  “Out like a light, almost fell asleep in the tub. I’ll take care of the yams – your father said to tell you to stop dawdling, it’s your turn.”

  As she walked back, her steps light, Emily felt unexpectedly and thrillingly powerful. She wanted to giggle. I’m going to find out, she thought, feeling daring. She held the three bottles in two hands and offered one to Joe first, then smiled as she saw him take it by the neck, carefully avoiding her fingers.

  “Hoople,” she saw, remained on the board. Emily checked her letters and scanned the board. “Excuse me,” she said, and looked at Joe. “Fraxis?”

  He actually blushed and Emily wondered if she’d ever seen anything quite as cute. “Physics term,” he said, striving for dignity.

  “Ah, I see. Luckily, I am able to play an actual, commonly-used word,” she said. Playing off the “f,” she made “fint.”

  Joe looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Commonly-used?”

  Thinking fast, Emily said, “Sure. It’s the seam on a hat band – you know, on ladies hats they cover it up with a bow or a flower.”

  Her father shrugged and began re-arranging his tiles, but Joe kept his eyes on her face and began to drum his fingers on the table. Very deliberately, she covered his hand with her own, leaned towards him and said softly, “Knock it off – Dad bought it and you’re gonna screw it up for me.”

  “No collaboration!” her father suddenly roared and they both jumped a bit and stared at him.

  Then, as she withdrew her hand, Emily let her fingers trail along Joe’s skin, but didn’t look
at him. In her peripheral vision though, she was aware of the slow turn of his head and knew he was staring at her. She folded her hands into her lap to hide the way they trembled.

  Her dad sighed, muttered “best I can do,” and put “atom” on the board.

  They played another round and now Emily regretted what she’d done – all that easy camaraderie seemed to have evaporated and Joe seemed fidgety. Her mom walked in drying her hands on her apron and said, “Mike, it’s almost ten and I’m going up. Can I get anybody anything first?”

  “You know my dear, I think I’ll join you. I find myself with nothing but vowels and am ready to concede.”

  He stood, stretched a little and extended a hand to Joe. “I trust you will give me a rematch…no, no, don’t get up. You two keep going, declare a winner if you can.”

  After shaking hands with Joe, her dad leaned over, kissed Emily on the top of her head and said, “Good night, sweetheart. Good to have you home.”

  Her parents’ voices faded as they climbed the stairs and then the room seemed unnaturally quiet, despite the music coming from the television. Joe stared fixedly at the board, immobile. Emily re-arranged her tiles. Then re-arranged them again. A commercial came on, urging them to get out and shop tomorrow at midnight.

  None of the words before her looked familiar. What did “stock” mean? What was “wheat?” Why didn’t Joe say something? Emily wanted to just get up and flee but was afraid to stand, almost certain her legs would wobble. She cleared her throat. Performers she didn’t recognize, all wearing Santa hats, clustered together to wave good night.

  “I give up,” said Joe, and stood so suddenly he jostled the table. Thinking he meant the game, Emily glanced at up his face and opened her mouth to speak.

  But she felt her hand grabbed and he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. Almost crushing her fingers, he pulled her close until their hips were pressed together. Through his jeans, she could feel the hard bulge of his erection and felt a surge of desire so strong she shuddered.

  Still tightly holding her hand, he brought her arm around to the small of her back, as though they were going to dance. With his other hand, he lifted her chin and scanned her face, her lips, her eyes. His expression was strange. He seemed to be searching for something – reassurance? Emily didn’t know how she could make her acceptance any more plain; she let herself relax in his grip and parted her lips, waiting for his kiss.

  “You know I’m not a long-term kind of guy,” he said, watching her eyes.

  “I’m not looking for one,” she said.

  For the briefest of moments, a half-second before their lips met, Emily thought she saw a flash of something close to regret in his eyes. Then she felt his tongue slide firmly into her mouth, taking possession of her, and she moaned. Everything else faded away and she was aware of nothing beyond the urgent need of his kiss.

  She didn’t think she’d been kissed like this before – there was something strong and primal and elemental that overwhelmed her. Her arm was released and she felt his hands slide over her ass and tightly grip her buttocks. One hand moved down to lift her thigh and she sighed against his lips and wrapped her leg around his. His breath was short and raspy and his body radiated heat.

  “Where can we go? Will they hear us if we go upstairs?” he said, moving his lips against hers.

  Emily was incapable of speech. She broke the kiss, looked into his eyes and mutely shook her head.

  “Go. Go now, or they will find me fucking you on the sofa when they come home.”

  Abruptly releasing her and turning away, he blew out a deep breath. Then, to her amazement, he leant and began to one by one replace the game pieces in the little bag, his hands shaking. Emily stood rooted to the spot, watching him, until he said hoarsely, “I am trying to regain some kind of control. Get out of here. I’ll see you upstairs.”

  She ran upstairs to the door of her room and paused, catching her breath. She turned the knob carefully, stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. Emma didn’t even stir. Standing in the darkness, her chest still heaving, her body burning with desire, she was flooded with sudden realization. You left it up to me, she thought.

  I can try to settle down, brush my teeth, put on my pajamas and climb into bed. Think pure thoughts and drift off to sleep. She had the feeling he’d be relieved if she did, that he expected her to take a minute, think things over and change her mind. Wrong, she thought, you’re dead wrong. I want you; I want your weight on top of me; I want to feel all that strength and power moving inside me. And “meaningless” is fine by me – a big-deal, time-consuming relationship is the last thing I need right now.

  The floorboards in the hall squeaked and Emily heard soft footsteps pass by and pad up the attic stairs. She crossed the room, slid open the bottom drawer of her dresser and began searching by feel for something to put on. I’ve got to get these clothes off fast and get upstairs before he cools down and changes his mind.

  She yanked out something soft and flannel and hastily stripped, leaving her clothes on the floor. An old nightgown, okay, that’ll look fine if I meet someone in the hall, I’ll say I’m going down for tea or something, she thought, her mind racing. She pulled it over her head and slipped silently out of the room.

  After closing the attic door behind her, she paused to listen, make sure her movements hadn’t awakened anyone. It was dark, but at the top of the stairs the moonlight and a faint glow from the space heater showed her Joe’s figure stretched out on the bed. She’d been so quiet he hadn’t heard her, but as she approached he sensed movement and sat up.

  He rose to meet her and Emily could see only the outline of his lean, naked body against the light from the window behind him. “I thought you’d change your mind,” he said, stopping a step away from her. His face was completely shadowed, but she could see the small movement of his head as he looked her up and down.

  “My, my, my,” he whispered, “don’t we look sweet.”

  Emily looked down and saw that the nightgown was white, printed with little pink rosebuds – good lord, she’d had this since high school. Joe took a step closer and began to finger the tiny buttons on the bodice. “I suppose you know…that in its own way, this is even more alluring than black lace,” he murmured. “I think I’ll have to ravish you.”

  His hands moved down over her breasts to her hips and he pulled her close. Emily gasped, feeling that thick, rigid bulge against her again. She put her arms around his neck, twisted her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and tried to pull his mouth to hers. For a moment he seemed to resist, then he gripped her even more tightly and bent his head to kiss her.

  A thrill shot through her when their tongues met and Emily made a small whimpering sound that seemed to excite him even more. She felt his teeth nip lightly at her lower lip; one of his hands slid between them to roughly fondle her breast; the other moved to the back of her neck. The way he was handling her made his hands seem unusually strong – Emily felt frail, weightless, engulfed by something too powerful to resist.

  Without warning, he broke the kiss and turned his head slightly. “Sit down,” he said, without meeting her eyes.

  It didn’t occur to her to protest – she walked to the bed and sat. He sat beside her and lifted a hand to brush away a few strands of hair. Now the moonlight showed her his beautiful face and for a moment she saw that sweet look in his eyes. He looked searchingly into her face and said, “I have to be sure. Again, this is just sex, right? Nothing more.”

  Some combination of built-up tension and desire began to uncoil inside her and Emily almost smiled. She wanted to roll her eyes at him, say alright already, just sex is what I’m looking for, let’s go, buster. But she simply nodded and said, “Just sex. Nothing more.”

  His head was tilted a bit in query and she knew he’d seen something in her expression he hadn’t expected, something that made him start to smile, too. Then his face changed and hardened as he shut down whatever emotion he’d beg
un to feel. He stared directly at her, his eyes glittering with challenge and command. “Fine,” he said, his voice harsh, “suck me.”

  A convulsive, riotous quiver shot through her; she gasped, leaned over and took him into her mouth, all the way, all of him at once. She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his hand grasp momentarily at her hair as if to pull her back but she shook the hand away. The slick skin under her lips was exciting her in the same primitive way as his kiss; she felt unrestrained, abandoned to pleasure.

  Joe flopped back onto the bed, groaning, and Emily felt a new surge of need. She moved one of her hands to his thigh, nudged his legs open, continued to suck hard, but slowed her pace. His hands were on her head again, twisting into her hair. She gripped his thigh more tightly and felt the hard muscles under the flesh move in response.

  From deep in his throat another groan began, then was cut off. He sat up, pulled her head away, put both hands at her hips and lifted her, turned her, almost threw her onto her back. She shimmied further up towards the head of the bed and felt the edge of the pillow above her. She closed her eyes, stretched her arms above her head, heard herself whimper.

  There was a pause; she heard the rip of the condom wrapper and felt her nightgown yanked to her waist and then he was on her, his legs between hers, his breath hot at the side of her neck. Bending her knees, she drew her legs back and strained her pelvis up towards his, waiting for the feel of him inside her, instinct the only thing controlling her movements.

  When he pushed into her, forcefully, he felt even larger than he had in her mouth; she was stretched, filled, completed in a way she’d never felt before. His thrusts were long, and each time he withdrew she wanted to cry out, put her hands on his ass and push him back in, hurry him, feel him even more deeply inside her. He shifted his weight; she felt his hands on her wrists, pinning her, and her body seemed to open further as she accepted the loss of control. She moaned softly and opened her eyes.