by Liz Madrid
Minutes later, they leave the bathroom, stepping on rose petals that stick to the bottoms of their feet, though they steer clear of the candles, even if they are LED. He leads her towards the bed, but Esme stops. She wants to see him. She lets go of his hand and steps back, boldly admiring the view. There’s a scar just below his left knee, the one that stole his chance with the major leagues so many years ago though he’s never complained about that. She can still name the muscles so defined on his body, and she remembers it’s how she got her A in Anatomy, using him as her study model. She knows the muscles that comprise his defined quadriceps, his hamstrings and upwards to the rectus abdominis and the obliques that give him the six-pack many of their friends envied. Someone once told her that Evan was vain, working out as he did, and she’d laughed at them. Of course, he’s vain, she’d countered, just like we all are. Some of us just aren’t blessed with the right genes to make it look so easy.
Standing before her now, Evan looks like a Greek god, though none of the great masters ever sculpted their creations with throbbing erections like the one she’s gazing at now. Or maybe they did till someone said something.
“You’re so beautiful,” she says.
“And so are you.”
“How have you not changed all these years?”
“For you, in the hopes that you’d look at me again the way you’re looking at me now,” he says, taking her hand and resting it on his taut belly. “There’s only been you, Es.”
That’s when it hits her—how the last few years have been spent constantly worrying about things she didn’t have to worry so much about. They were doing quite well, and she didn’t even have to work that second job. But she did it anyway as if his decision to quit his job at his father’s legal firm had been her fault, all because she didn’t want to be the stay-at-home mother while he was busy representing corporate clients. She’d been too scared of changing dirty diapers, taking care of bloody noses, answering the many questions that Kieran asked about sports or the planets, or agonizing over Meghan’s flip flopping between wearing the pink lace top or the red shirt for school each morning. She’d been so afraid of becoming her mother, with no skill to fall back on when her knight in shining armor abandoned her to find another process to rescue. Wasn’t her father on the fifth wife now?
But Esme pushes the thoughts away. Right now, there’s only her and Evan and no one else. There’s also nothing else apart from them. They’re in their world, and he’s done everything he can to keep them both there, and the family intact.
She reaches out her hand towards him, her fingers tingling at the touch of his skin. She traces the hard defined lines of his flat belly, feeling him tense even more as she follows the contour of the oblique muscles, her fingers moving along the sides, and back towards the center again.
He’s watching her every movement, she can feel it, her every discovery of him and the body that he’s kept fit for her, the heart that’s kept beating for her.
“I see you, Evan,” she whispers. “And I’ve always loved you, even if I’ve been too busy with everything else. It’s just that I’ve been scared that one day, you’ll leave-”
“I’ll always be yours,” he says, taking her in his arms and kissing her, a hungry kiss that leaves her gasping for breath. Her arms circle his neck for support, for his kiss has left her weak in the knees. His tongue slips between her teeth, sweeping along the back of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, and she moans, her hands roving lower to find him, gripping him, stroking him.
Esme no longer cares about taking her time. She wants him, and she knows that when it’s over there’ll be time to talk. There’ll always be time to talk, now that she knows more than she’s ever known since she fooled herself into believing he’d stopped loving her the way he always did.
Evan chuckles, and when she leans away, she sees mischief in his eyes. But before she can say anything, he lifts her over his shoulder and in a few strides, tosses her playfully on the bed. As she lands against the soft covers, Esme laughs, all the worries now gone as she welcomes him in her arms, laughing and giggling as he kisses her again.
How he can torment her like this she doesn’t know, but his kisses continue down her breasts, lavishing one with attention with his hands, his mouth and his tongue, and then the other. When he moves down her belly and even lower, she’s calling out his name, her fingers ruffling his hair as he finds the lips of her sex, tasting her. He’s always known how to pleasure her, for he’s memorized every line and every curve. He knows where to touch her for he was her first. He’s become the architect of her pleasure, the writer behind every gasp and every sigh.
Even now as his mouth and tongue pleasure her, as he sucks the sensitive folds of her sex between his teeth, his fingers against her hips keeping her still on the bed, she knows he’s writing the next line, one that ends with his name on her lips, begging for him to fill her. And when he does, even as she tastes herself on his tongue as he kisses her, she knows it’s nothing like the first time.
No, for this time is better than the first time. For she is no eighteen-year-old, not anymore. She is no longer someone so scared of losing the man she’s fallen in love with, wondering when he’d find another princess to save from some castle far away and leave her in the gutter with only her tears to keep her company. No, Esme knows she’s his only princess, his queen, the only one who holds his heart and soul.
And as she feels herself rushing towards that precipice that signals her release, she sees him watching her, their eyes locking together. When she comes, she feels her walls squeeze him, milking him, warmth suffusing her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. She’s out of breath and nearly out of her mind as he keeps moving in and out of her, prolonging the wave that seems to take her out to sea, where the grayness of the ocean threatens to swallow her whole. Then she sees his eyes, gray like the Atlantic ocean, feeling him tighten as he seats himself deep within her and with a groan, lets himself go with her name on his lips.
Afterward, as they lie in bed in the semi-darkness, the room lit only by the candles, Esme doesn’t mind that there are no words, for she knows the words will come later. For now, she loves how he’s playing with her hair, twining a lock around his index finger and letting it go, only to do it all over again. She can feel the beating of his heart against her ear as she rests her head on his chest, loving the way it seems to sing just for her.
Not even her futile attempts trying to escape her mother’s fate can hold a candle to what she’s just learned at that moment, that though fear had driven her away from him—even if it was simply inside her head—his love for her always managed to bring her back. And this time, Esme knows it’s forever.
For maybe love stories aren’t the sole property of the young after all. Maybe everything else, from the rings that represented their union, the college funds that signified their commitment to their children’s future, and even the mortgage that was paid for so long ago, were nothing more but distractions from what mattered—that they were in this together.
Always.
HIS PRESENT
Sam and Erik (Finding Sam)
He must have left the present that morning before he left for work, long before she woke up. She knows this because last night, the gold box wasn’t on his night table. Yet there it is and as Sam slides over to Erik’s side of the bed to take a closer look, she wonders if he simply forgot to put the box under the Christmas tree in the living room.
It's a Fraser Fir tree after all, Erik's choice for the house for it's one that has needles not spaced too closely together, and easy for 4-year old Michael to hang the decorations without getting pricked. It's also the perfect tree to put against the window facing the Strand where people often stopped to remark about the decorations and the lights that twinkle from the eaves.
Sam had always chosen the Noble fir trees in the past for her little house, being the cheapest on the lot and usually small enough to fit through her door when she had to wrestle it through by her
self. But that was before she met Erik. These days, Erik picked the tree out and someone else brought in it for him. Already it is decorated with tinsel and collectible decorations that date from his grandparents, some of them crocheted and stiffened with glue, little trees and angels dotted with glitter. It's also laden with presents, more than she's ever seen in her life. It's her first Christmas together with Erik, and he's determined to spoil her and Michael.
But this present, the one he's set on his bedside table, has her name on it, just below the bright red bow, and she smiles, biting her lower lip as she wonders what’s inside. Sam lifts up the small square box, guessing that it’s probably jewelry. Has to be. Lingerie would need a much bigger box. This one’s quite light and she hears something moving inside - something solid. Jewelry then, she decides as she returns the box on the table.
Then she notices the note beneath the box. It’s in Erik’s handwriting and she picks it up, reads it.
Wear this tonight.
She frowns, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Wear what? To the party? Then as she glances at the present again, she realizes what he means. He wants her to wear whatever is in the box, her present.
Sam reaches for the present again, and is about to open it when she decides to wait. She lays back on the bed, closes her eyes, and listens to the sounds of the ocean just outside her window as she mentally goes through the things she has to do that day.
For the weekend before Christmas, she’s got the usual busy day. After a quick shower, she’s got to get dressed and go about her day with Michael, her 4-year old. Her days leading to the holidays have been so busy, she sometimes forgets what day it is. It’s a balancing act to be a wife to a medical doctor, a mother to a child who isn’t his, a daughter to her mother who lives a few miles down the road, a friend to Erik’s sister and many other friends she has made since meeting him - and lastly, for herself, an artist who needs to interpret her world with brushes, even her fingers upon the canvas.
But this weekend, Erik had asked one thing of her - that they have the whole weekend alone. After all, it was the weekend before Christmas and while most everyone in the South Bay - Manhattan and Hermosa Beach - partied the weekend away wearing ugly sweaters and bearing unwanted presents from holidays past in white elephant gift exchanges, there was one last party that they needed to attend, one that would take them away from the South Bay.
It's in Malibu, at a surgeon’s house overlooking the ocean. It's one of the parties that Erik has to attend as a doctor simply because it’s being hosted by his former mentor. The year before, it had been held in Beverly Hills, but this year, another doctor took up the hosting duties, wanting to show off his newly built home in Malibu and Erik said it would be fun. It would be a much-needed change from being on the Strand of Manhattan Beach that, while it was amazing to wake up to the sound of the waves every morning, it would be a relief to be away from all the people who walked along the Strand in front of their house, most of them not able to help peering the glass windows. A little privacy, he told her a week ago. They needed that.
Afterwards, the plan was to spend two nights at a hotel nearby before returning home on Monday morning and face the rest of the holiday madness to come.
Sam had already bought her dress for the party, a sexy red number complete with lace inserts and beads that glistened every time she moved. It showed off her long legs and feet that she’d dare slip into a pair of Loubotins she purchased on sale. Though Erik reminded her that she no longer had to search only for discounted prices for such things, Sam couldn’t help it. She still saved more than she spent. Forget that she was married to a doctor who made seven figures each year - she’d seen the numbers - yet she knew everything in life was always in flux. One day you were up, and the next, you were down.
Not that Erik was one to live extravagantly. Though they lived on the Strand in Manhattan Beach, Erik wasn’t one to splurge on a Ferrari or a Porsche (he drove a five-year old Range Rover which could accommodate a child seat for Michael) like some doctors she had met. He was one, however, who believed that if there was to be any splurging, it was splurging on her.
Sam glances at the box again as she emerges from the shower. She’s tempted to open it, but then it would certainly ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it, especially if it was meant to be worn at the party? Maybe she should wait till she’s ready to dress for the party, when she and Erik are alone.
Sam sighs. Self-control, Sam, she tells herself. Later, after Michael is safe with Anna, her mother, for the weekend, she can let loose all self-control and tear open the wrapper and see what Erik got for her.
Until then, there were six hours to go.
By the time she emerges from her second shower that day, ridding herself of child spit, sand and sweat, Sam is ready to tear open the box. She’s sitting naked on his side of the bed as she opens the wrapper, her self-control intact for she’s searching out the tape and delicately opening the corners. Then, realizing that she really does want to tear the wrapper, she rips it off the box and tosses it to the floor.
It’s a red velvet box, square with gold lettering at the top.
For Sam, it says in fancy script. Her breath hitches. It’s custom-made.
Sam opens the lid and sees the butterfly first. It’s made of gold and it’s molded slightly, as if designed to curve against the body. It takes her a moment to realize that it’s a thong, for from each of its lower wings, long delicate gold chains connect it to a short piece of black elastic and then to a set of shorter chains that link to a smaller butterfly along the back, as they would the elastic of a pair of panties, only this one was made of gold chain - minus the fabric. From the top of each butterfly’s wings is a soft black elastic waist band.
But it’s the sapphire pendant that hangs from two sets of delicate chains from the base of the large butterfly that catches Sam’s attention. She knows exactly where the pendant is designed to touch, and the mere thought of it makes her belly clench, releasing butterflies that flutter deep inside.
Standing in front of the mirror, she slips on the thong and adjusts it, the two chains going on either side of her labia, the pendant gently caressing that sensitive nub with each movement she makes. As she pulls in her belly in front of the mirror, not caring if she’s being vain, Sam is relieved that her Brazilian waxing appointment was a day earlier, which made wearing Erik’s present perfect. It makes the thong’s special features truly stand out - or actually, it makes that part of her truly stand out, and she can’t help but feel sexier than she’s ever felt before.
She turns around to study her backside. The smaller butterfly has a smaller pendant hanging below it, just along her sacrum. When she turns around again, she can’t help but realize that she’s wet. So wet.
“Do you like it?”
She gasps in surprise, not noticing him standing by the door, his hands in his pocket as he leans against the door. She’s naked except for the thong but she doesn’t cover herself, the proof of her arousal evident beneath his gaze for her nipples feel as hard as rocks.
But she’s blushing, lowering her eyes as Erik walks towards her. He’s wearing a crisp blue button-down shirt and blue jeans, something he never wears to the clinic, and his hair is slightly damp still. When he stands in front of her, Sam smells soap and shampoo.
“I showered at Livvy’s,” he smiles, and Sam wonders then if his sister had been in on the plan all along. But then she pushes all thoughts of anyone else from her mind, wanting only to focus on him and her.
Erik doesn’t touch her yet, though Sam can see his erection straining through his jeans.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs as he pushes a lock of hair from her shoulder, and with both hands, slowly traces a path down to her hard nipples. She gasps when he pinches and pulls them, her hands grabbing hold of him for balance for her knees have grown weak. She takes a step backwards but the back of her thighs hit the side of the bed.
“Shouldn’t we get ready for the party?” She asks, br
eathless. She wishes there was no party to go to, that they’d only have each other to entertain for the night. After all, it’s been a long time since they’ve been alone like this. It’s also been a long time since she’s felt so sensuous, so powerful before him.
“The party’s tomorrow night,” he says, smiling, his fingers still pinching and pulling, his eyes watching her as she blushes even more for getting her days mixed up. “Tonight’s just for us.”
“I’ve been so busy with play dates and appointments -“
“That’s why tonight’s just for us, Sam,” he murmurs, his face drawing closer as his hands leave her sore nipples and move lower to grasp her waist. “Just you and me.”
She leans towards him, wanting to kiss him but Erik holds back, a small smile on his lips. “Tell me what you want,” he says.
“I want you to make love to me,” she says, her hands getting busy as she unbuttons his shirt, pulling it loose from his jeans and off his shoulders. She loves how taut his muscles are, lean and hard. She could come just by watching him.
“What else?” Their faces are so close now and she can feel his breath against her face.
She looks up at him, engaging his blue eyes brazenly. “I want to hear you beg for me,” she says, her hands finding the buttons of his jeans, pulling down the zipper to free him finally, hot and hard in her hands as she strokes him. He closes his eyes, his mouth half open in a gasp as her finger circles the tip, moist with pre-cum.
“And I will,” he whispers as she turns around, reversing their positions so that he’s now against the side of the bed and she’s pushing him down onto the covers. She pulls off his jeans, grateful that he’s come upstairs barefoot. One less thing to remove as she tosses his jeans to the floor.
With every move she makes, the pendant hits her just where it’s supposed to, driving her mad with desire. Even the insides of her thighs as moist with her juices - not that Sam’s complaining. She loves how sexy the thong makes her feel. Like a butterfly finally emerging from its cocoon, she feels liberated somehow. Brazen.
