Plight

by K. M. Golland

  She stared at me, sympathy curving her pouting mouth.

  “Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody. There’s no such thing as a perfect person in a perfect world because neither exists. People are flawed. Life is flawed. And it’s through flaws and mistakes that we learn to accept, forgive, and grow.”

  She placed her hands in mine and let me guide her to stand. “But imperfection doesn’t justify the actions of a cold-blooded killer or a brutal rapist.”

  “No, I’m not saying that it does.” I held our hands by our sides. “Because nothing justifies that, which is why I represent them. I make sure they receive their duty of care and nothing more.”

  She let go of my hands and draped her arms over my shoulders, stretching up on one foot while suspending her sore ankle. “You remind me of a vigilante superhero.”

  I laughed. “Batman?”

  “Maybe. Speaking of Batman, where’s that t-shirt?”

  Picking her up in my arms, I carried her to my bedroom and gently set her down on the bed. I walked into my walk-in robe, opened my set of drawers, and quickly rifled through them until I found it. “Here you go?” I said, walking back out, the t-shirt in my hands.

  “Thank you.” She took it from me, quickly threaded it over her head, and then reached behind and unhooked her bra, pulling it out through one of the armholes.

  “I’ve never understood how you women do that.”

  “It’s easy,” she said, twirling the bra around her finger. “Here, I’ll show you. Hold out your hands.” Danielle hopped up to me and proceeded to guide the bra’s straps over my hands.

  “What are you doin—”

  “Oh shoosh. This is the best way to learn.”

  “You’re not gonna do that thing up are you?”

  “Think of it as your next dare.”

  She continued to hop behind me and hooked the bra into place before the sharp sting of her hand slapped my arse.

  “Hey!”

  Leaning back, she raked me with her eyes. “Oh, you look good in nude, Lots.”

  All I could do was stand there, in my boxer shorts, while a small piece of lace material emasculated me. “Danielle Cunningham, you have exactly two seconds to get this thing off of me.”

  “The point was for you to do it.”

  “Danielle!” I warned.

  “Wait!” She hurriedly limped to my drawer, pulled out another t-shirt, then limped back and roughly plonked it over my head. “There. Knock yourself out.”

  Her giggle was a candied tickle to my ears — sugary sweet and highly addictive. I wanted to gorge myself in it while humming appreciatively, knowing all the while it might not be good for my health … or my sanity.

  “Fuck, this thing is uncomfortable.” I reached behind to where the bra was digging into my back in an attempt to wrestle it free.

  My wrestling didn’t work.

  All it did was incite Danielle to burst into laughter and plonk herself down onto my bed. “Don’t tie yourself in knots, Lots.” She laughed some more.

  “Oh, you’re real funny, aren’t you?”

  She nodded and snorted, then snorted again.

  I couldn’t help myself and laughed along with her, managing to free the clasp and undo the bra.

  “Now what the fuck do I do?” I mumbled, trying to pull it through the armhole but nearly severing my neck in the process. “Jesus fucking Christ! It’s attacking me.”

  Frustrated, I yanked everything off in one aggressive sweep, the bra and t-shirt hooking on my nose and almost bringing me to tears.

  “Oh … my … God! Can’t … breathe,” she said, clutching her stomach and rolling back onto the bed. “It … hurts. It … hurts.”

  I gently grabbed her sore ankle. She squealed and tried to kick herself free of my grip with her good foot, but I was too strong for her tiny frame to stand a chance.

  “I’m sorry, Lots. I swear,” she pleaded while laughing.

  “Lies.”

  “No. Truth,” she giggled. “Truth!”

  Before I could react, her good foot swung at me again, this time connecting with my side. I let go and clutched the tender area. “That was a cheap shot!”

  “Shit! Did I hurt you?” She sat up and scooted forward along the bed, concern plastering her face, which was when I seized my opportunity and pushed her back on the bed, climbing on top of her and straddling her lap.

  “I’m curious,” I said, pinning her arms above her head. “Are you still ridiculously ticklish?”

  Her head and neck craned forward. “No. Grew out of that a long time ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Are you lying to me again?”

  “No. Next question.”

  Fuck, she was cute. “Yeah, see I’m gonna need proof. I’m all about facts, remember?”

  Transferring her hands into one of mine, I kept them secured above her head while I slowly crept my fingers down her arm toward her armpit.

  She squirmed.

  “Do you know rats laugh when they’re tickled?”

  “What? No. Why? Have you tickled one?”

  “No.” I tickled her underarm for being a smartarse.

  She squealed and wriggled. “Stop!”

  “See? You lied. You are still ticklish. I think I need more proof, though.”

  “No, you don’t. Yes, I lied. I’m sorry.”

  Continuing to creep my fingers down, I trailed them along her side, stopping at the hem of my Batman t-shirt when I noticed her erect nipples through the material. Fuck!

  I wanted to tickle those … with my tongue.

  Flicking my eyes to hers, she bit her lip, her chest rising and falling in short, desperate pants. She wanted what I wanted; I could tell. Unlike her mouth, the rest of her body couldn’t lie.

  “Do you also know,” I asked, continuing to creep my fingers along her tummy, “that it’s impossible to tickle yourself?”

  She bucked her hips ever so slightly. “No. But I’m guessing that’s a good thing.”

  I trailed higher, lifting the t-shirt and placing a soft kiss just below her bellybutton. “Do you know you can stop a person tickling you?”

  She hummed and swirled her hips. “Elliot.”

  “You can, but I’m not going to tell you how.” I lifted the t-shirt over her breasts and glanced up, seeing perfectly rounded mounds. They were gorgeous, firm, and soft.

  She arched her back and moaned when I circled her nipple with my fingertip. Once. Twice. Faster.

  “Do you wanna know how to make it stop?”

  Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, no words escaping those parted lips.

  “You don’t want me to tell you, do you?”

  She moaned again, so I slid my tongue across her skin until her nipple was in my mouth.

  “Oh God,” she breathed, grinding her hips into mine.

  I couldn’t help myself and did the same thing, wanting nothing more than to slide my thick, hard, cock inside her and feel her slick, wet heat on my skin. I’d dreamed about it, jerked off to thoughts of it … I’d even pictured her in a past one-night stand’s place.

  Releasing her hands, I trailed kisses to her other nipple and massaged the breast I’d just licked. She was so soft, so smooth, and she tasted like pure fucking heaven.

  “Lots … that’s—”

  “Perfect,” I murmured, continuing to lick, kiss and suck.

  Her fingers dug into my scalp when I flicked my tongue rapidly and sucked as much of her breast into my mouth as I could, repeating the process, over and over until her chest couldn’t arch toward me any further.

  She relaxed and fell back onto the bed, pulling on my hair and yanking my head back enough to separate my lips from her skin. “We have to stop,” she pleaded through heavy breaths.

  My eyes found hers. Desperate. Panicked. Soaked in lust.

  “Do we?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay.” I crept kisses down her stomach to the seam of her underw
ear, smelling just how wet and aroused I’d made her. “Are you sure?” I asked, pressing my nose against her clit and licking the material covering her pussy.

  “No,” she moaned, bucking her hips, wanting more.

  So I gave her more, swiping my tongue over her the material again, and again.

  “Yes, yes. I mean yes!” She scampered back and out from underneath me, her chest puffing, her eyes wide and blinking. “Yes. Please stop. We can’t. I … I don’t want—”

  She looked about ready to dive headfirst through my window just to escape, and it scared the ever-living shit out of me.

  “Okay. Okay,” I said, interrupting her while holding my hands up in surrender. “No fucking. I promise, no fucking.”

  Her body relaxed just slightly.

  “But you should know that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, Danielle.”

  A pained expression drifted across her face.

  “And I know you want to as well. But I won’t push. I’ll never push.”

  Getting up from the bed, I walked around to my side and pulled back the covers before climbing in and lying on my back with my arm outstretched, an invitation for her to rest her head upon my chest. “I’ll wait till you’re ready.”

  She sighed, slid under the covers as well and cuddled into my side. “Lots, I may never be ready.”

  I hugged her tightly and kissed her head. “You will, so I’ll wait.”

  Lying there, with Danielle in my arms, I felt like pinching myself. She was where she belonged and I had every intention to make her see that.

  Every intention.

  I’d only ever waited for her — twenty-two years, in fact. Another day, month, year or two wouldn’t matter, because I’d wait forever if that was what it took.

  Placing her hand on my heart, I could feel her uncertainty as if she knew my heart was hers but just didn’t know how to accept it.

  It made me smile

  … because I knew that one day she would figure it out.

  I’d always hated those initial moments of waking up, when your brain computed reality from make believe and you realised what you’d just experienced never happened. Some days that realisation was a good thing, like when I’d wake from a nightmare fuelled by my memories of being trapped in the drain. Those mornings were terrifying and, thankfully, few and far between. Then there were the times when it wasn’t such a good thing, like when I woke with a sated smile on my face because I’d just experienced the world’s greatest orgasm or sweetest gesture. Regardless, I still hated that split second before reality hit, where I’d have to decipher which morning I was to encounter.

  Squinting my eyes, I swear my heart forgot to beat, as I experienced that moment I hated so much before quickly realising the smile forming on my face was the result of Elliot’s two, strong, warm arms encasing me from behind. Oh my God! Elliot Parker is hugging me … in bed … in HIS bed.

  I slipped my hands down the front of me, feeling for my knickers. Yes, they’re still on. Thank fuck for that. The presence of my underwear confirmed what I’d just experienced before waking was a dream, a really good one.

  A safe one.

  Wanting to get back to my subconscious bedroom jockey skills, I closed my eyes and willed the scene back to the forefront of my mind but with little success, mainly because Elliot’s rock hard proximity made leaving reality far too difficult.

  He’s so warm, and hard, and he smells so good.

  I could honestly say that not many people smelled pleasant in the morning; it was basically when we were at our worst. But Elliot … he smelled like clean sheets, firewood, pine needles, and man. Dirty, raw, clean man.

  Slowly rotating in his arms, I was extra careful not to wake him, holding my breath and biting my lip each time he moved. When we were younger and he was allowed to stay over one time, I’d woken before him and watched him sleep. Back then, it was perhaps a little creepy … unlike now, because I was just rolling over in bed and keeping my eyes open. It wasn’t my fault that he was in my line of sight.

  Smiling, my teeth clamping harder on my lip, I took note of Elliot’s dishevelled hair, parts of it covering his forehead and eyes and other parts sticking up at the back. He looked adorable, a bit like Ernie from Sesame Street sans the orange skin and big red nose. I giggled, and his eyelids twitched.

  “You’re awake, aren’t you?” I asked quietly.

  He didn’t answer, but I was positive he was fighting the muscles in his face not to smile and betray him.

  “Pity,” I sighed. “I can’t seem to find my knickers. They were here just a second ago.”

  His eyes shot open.

  “Ha! I knew it, ya faker.”

  “Do you seriously think I can sleep while you’re moaning and rubbing your arse against my cock?”

  “What? When? I did not.” Shit! Did I gyrate him while dreaming?

  “Yeah, you did. You’ve been doing it all morning. Want to see the proof?”

  I shook my head and pursed my lips. “Your factual bullshit won’t work on me.”

  He laughed and kissed the tip of my nose. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  I smiled. “Morning.”

  He smiled, too, neither of us talking for what felt like minutes, our eyes gleaming and searching one another’s face. I wanted to kiss him, to trace the contours of his jaw with my fingertips. My need and pull toward him was as natural as breathing, and yet … it made me a little sad.

  His eyes dulled. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. We didn’t fuck. That’s a good thing.”

  “Help me understand why.”

  I shrugged. “I told you. Friends should never fuck.”

  “So, technically, what you’re saying is that you can’t be friends before you become lovers.”

  “No. I’m just saying that you can’t be friends after you’ve been lovers. It never works out. I don’t want us to not be friends, Elliot. Ever.”

  “So you’re pre-empting a failed relationship if we were to ever start one?”

  “No. Well … yes … well...” I rolled onto my back. “I’m not getting lured into one of your cross-examinations. It’s too early in the morning, and I plead the fifth.”

  He belly-laughed. “You’re not in America, and I’m not trying to cross-examine you. I’m just trying to understand your logic.”

  “My logic stems from experience. Every one of my sexual relationships has progressed from a solid friendship that has been ruined because of sex. Every. Single. One.”

  “They probably weren’t doing it right.”

  I whacked him in the gut. “They were. And it’s every relationship bar one, actually, and that’s only because I ended the sex before it got out of control.”

  “So you’re saying that every sexual relationship you’ve had has ended badly?”

  “Yes.” I focussed on his ceiling because Elliot’s judgmental face wasn’t there.

  “And you think it’s because you introduced sex into the mix?”

  “I don’t think, I know.”

  “Danielle, have you ever considered that the dissolution of the friendship could be due to the fact that neither of you fought to keep it post sex?”

  I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

  “But it can be.” He rolled me onto my side so that I was facing him again. “If the friendship is strong enough, it can survive anything. It will survive anything. That’s us, Danielle; we can and will survive anything.”

  “But we haven’t, have we? You’re forgetting that seventeen years is a long time not to talk to one another.”

  “Trust me, I’m not forgetting.”

  “So what happened, Lots? Why’d we drift apart so easily?”

  He moved a lock of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know. One minute you were there, and the next you weren’t.”

  I blinked. “Me? One minute you were there, and the next you were taking Maureen Kropf to the year-nine social dance at your new school.”

  He blinked, too. Twice.
I counted.

  “Well, yeah. She was in my class and the only girl who would talk to me. I needed to take someone.”

  “She wasn’t the only girl who talked to you,” I mumbled.

  “Are you shitting me, Danielle?”

  “What?”

  “Are you saying that you stopped talking to me solely because I took some random girl to my year-nine social dance?”

  “She wasn’t just some random girl, Elliot. She was on my netball team and liked to share detailed information about her ‘dates’. And …” I wiped the tear from my eye before he noticed it. “And she wasn’t me.”

  “No, I’m fully aware she wasn’t you,” he said, his tone annoyed.

  An awkward silence settled between us. It was strange. Unfamiliar. I didn’t like it.

  “Well, I’m glad we established that,” I said, kicking off the blankets to quickly get out of bed. As I went to stand up and escape to the bathroom, a sharp, painful reminder of my sore foot shot up my leg. “Faaaaaaaark.”

  “What’s wrong? You okay?” Elliot rushed to my side of the bed and knelt down on the ground before me. “Show me.”

  He tried to take my foot in his hand, but I stopped him. “Don’t. It’s fine. It’s just sore.”

  He tried to reach for my foot again.

  “I said don’t.”

  “Danielle, don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  He pointed to me. “This.”

  “Me?” I slapped my hand to my chest. “Don’t do me?”

  Placing his palms on my knees, he spread them apart then crawled in between my legs, moving his hands to my arse and abruptly dragging me across the bed, my pelvis slamming into his abs. “If you think for one second that I’m gonna let you ruin the past twenty-four hours because of some misunderstanding over a girl back in high school, you’ve got another thing coming. Because, unlike your past boy ‘friends’, I don’t give up easily. And where you’re concerned, I won’t give up at all.”

  My chest tightened, and I tried not to let out the sob that was desperate to tear its way through me. But it was pointless, because I was fairly certain that sob had been buried for seventeen years, and now was the time to set it free.

  “But you did give up,” I cried, letting it burst out of me.