Just Give Me a Reason

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  Beth’s face is flushed from our walk in the cold. Her arms and shoulders are bare, and so are her feet. The maternity dress she’s wearing clings to the curve of her hips and breasts, and her hair is down.

  Lord, she is lovely.

  Her eyes go to my chest, my throat. To the hand she held on our way back to the house. And then up to my lips. She leans forward a little, unconsciously, and then catches herself and sits back against the sink. Her fingertips grip the edge.

  I think of going to stand in front of her. Of kneeling and pressing my mouth into the fullness of her belly. But the smell of toasting bread fills the kitchen, and Beth pushes herself off the counter to flip the sandwiches. I set the cutting board of vegetables on the table. Then I stir the hot soup and pour it into bowls.

  We eat in relative silence. I don’t think either of us knows what to say. Something has shifted—I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the quiet of the day, the sense of having settled into it instead of resisting. I feel like I’m slipping downhill toward something, and I can’t seem to put my hands out to stop myself.

  I consider going to bed early—shutting myself behind a closed door to save us both from what we are slipping toward. But I don’t want to be rude and leave her out here in the house alone. At the same time, I know this isn’t working.

  We might be able to spend time together around Ray and Holly, on holidays and at family gatherings, and learn to tolerate the energy that’s between us. But a full day alone together is more than I am equipped to handle. Watching Beth spoon soup into her mouth is quickly becoming a kind of torture.

  I don’t think we can go on like this. Judging by the heat in her eyes, I doubt Beth does, either.

  Which—God, it moves me that she feels that way. That she sees me that way. Beth, who is so fucking beautiful and alive. It’s a bright light that pours all the way through me, to be wanted by her. I don’t even care if it’s largely driven by hormones. I’ll take it.

  After we clean up, she suggests we watch a movie, and I agree immediately—relieved. It’s the perfect solution, or at least I hope it will be. We’ll have something to focus on besides each other.

  She holds up a DVD of The Piano from Holly’s collection. “It’s my favorite. You get to see Harvey Keitel’s junk.”

  “Exactly what was missing from my life,” I tell her.

  She turns off the lights and pops the movie in. Then she sits beside me on the couch.

  And it’s fine at first. I’ve never seen the movie, and the opening shots of New Zealand are sweeping and dramatic alongside the music. Beth settles back against the cushions and stretches her legs out on the coffee table.

  The black dress she’s wearing falls over her knee. The muscles in her calf flex in the flickering light, and immediately I want to run my hand along them, to drag my fingers up the inside of her leg.

  She catches me looking at her and sucks in a quiet breath. Then she tucks her legs in closer to each other and looks back at the screen, to a little girl dancing on a cold, gray beach. Her hips move beside mine, shifting the balance of cushions on the couch. I sink in a little closer.

  And I realize we’ve made a serious tactical mistake. Because it was hard enough being friends in the daylight, doing innocuous things like playing games and hanging out with the dog. It’s another matter entirely to sit beside her in the dark. Where anything could happen, and no one would be here to see.

  I’d suggest turning off the TV and going to bed, but Beth’s eyes are fixed pointedly to the screen. Maybe that means she’s really into the movie, and I’m just reading into what feels like a tense silence. If that’s the case, the last thing I want to do is interrupt the show and make things awkward.

  I adjust my position on the couch, and Beth flinches a little and pulls away.

  “You okay?” I ask. But when I look at her, I know she isn’t. I know I’m not.

  I turn back to the screen to try to get my bearings. To process the ache I see in her face. The same ache of desire I feel. The same need.

  Tension vibrates off her body like a heated coil, and I know, down in my gut, that it’s not going to work—us trying to be friends.

  I don’t want to be her friend.

  I want something bigger and deeper than that. I want to feel her body pressed against mine. I want to slide her dress up her hips and push myself inside her.

  She shakes her head beside me. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

  “Sure,” I tell her. “Yeah.” I try to inch away, to give us both a little space, but my movement makes the cushions sag, and upsets Beth’s balance, bringing her closer to me again. Her bare shoulder glances mine and she gasps softly.

  “Beth.” I turn to her now. “Do you want me to—”

  “No. Just, let’s…the movie. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I turn back to the screen, but whatever is happening now, I can’t follow it. The sea landscape has given way to a dark, cramped cabin, and Beth is beside me, radiating heat. I feel the vibration of her body—so close to mine. She sighs quietly, and I think of the sound she would make if I touched her. The way she would move. The way she would smell.

  I take a ragged breath.

  “Tony.” She sits abruptly and grabs the clicker to turn off the movie.

  I shake my head to clear it. “Yeah?”

  The screen goes blank, and Beth leans back heavily against the couch. “Maybe I should go to bed. Okay? I’m just…I don’t know.”

  I try to make out her features, but my eyes haven’t adjusted yet to the relative darkness. “Are you all right?”

  She gives a frustrated sigh. “I’m just…Look, I’ll be honest. My body is, like, screaming at me right now. Everything feels so sensitive, the slightest touch sends me through the roof. And with you sitting here so close to me, I can’t take it. It’s too much. Okay?” She leans forward and tries to put a playful hand on my knee. “You’re too much man for me, Tony Lopez.”

  I want to laugh, too, but all that comes out is a harsh breath. In the dark, I feel Beth’s hand on me—the way her fingers tighten when, unconsciously, I flex the muscle in my leg. The forced humor flies right out of her. I feel it go, replaced by something thicker. And sweeter.

  “I should…” She falters. “I should go.” She starts to lift her hand and stand.

  And I almost let her. I really do. I almost wish her a pleasant evening and send her on her way. It would be the simple thing to do. The safe thing.

  But God Almighty, I don’t want to do the safe thing.

  I don’t want to say good night, and lose this feeling.

  I don’t want her to go.

  I cover her hand with mine. And then I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Firmly. And hold her there on the couch.

  “Wait.” I hear her intake of breath, and I tighten my grip. “Wait, Beth.”

  “What?” Her voice is high and tight. “What is it?”

  I feel the tension coursing through her, and I want to release it. I want to release it for her. For myself.

  In some distant part of my brain, I know that this is the final slide on the slope we’ve been slipping down all evening. I know that once I say what I’m about to say, there won’t be any going back. But I say it anyway.

  “What if I—” I turn her hand in mine, and press into her palm with my thumb. She breathes in sharply. “What if I…touch you? I can, maybe I can…”

  She shivers.

  “What you’re feeling. The sensitivity. The…tenderness. In your body. I can make you…I can make you feel better.” I turn my hand palm up in hers, offering it to her. “Just…Beth. Put my hand where you want it.”

  “Tony…”

  I lower my mouth to her shoulder and breathe in her scent. I’m scared to death that she’ll say no, and terrified that she’ll say yes. I brush my lips over her bare skin. “Show me what you want.”

  Her fingers tighten around mine, and she is still. So still—but trembling. The room is silent and dark, and all I can hear
is my own ragged breathing. And the wind moving through the trees, creaking against the foundation of the house.

  And the helpless sound she makes before she takes my hand and places it on her breast.

  Christ.

  Her full, round breast, straining into my fingers. I feel her nipple through the cotton of her dress—stiff and tight—and when I move my thumb across it, her whole body arches.

  Immediately, she grabs my leg again and digs her fingers in. And what that does to me is indescribable. I open my mouth on her bare shoulder and breathe out, hard.

  She makes a tight sound, and reaches up and undoes the buttons of her dress. I watch her unsteady fingers while I trace the contours of her shoulder with my tongue, and roll her taut nipple between my fingers and thumb.

  I don’t know how to adjust to the fact that I am here, finally, with her. After all these months of wanting her. After all the painful longing of the last twenty-four hours.

  But I am here. And she is with me. And God, it’s good. It’s so good to taste her sweet, smooth skin.

  I move my mouth up to her neck and brush my lips over the pulse point there. Her fingers falter at the buttons and I push them gently away and take over. Until her dress is open to the waist.

  Her belly swells below a lacy black bra. I run my palm over her belly button and back up to the front clasp. When I release it, her ripe breasts spill out in the cool evening air.

  I knew her body would be beautiful. Any man with eyes could have deduced that. But I am not prepared for the tidal wave of need that sweeps over me when I see her, naked in the soft moonlight. Her nipples are dark and broad, drawn tight in the cool evening air. I want them in my mouth like I have never wanted anything else in my life.

  And I can. I can take them now. Take her. She leans back, her hair spilling thick and dark over her shoulders, and she waits for me. Trembling and ready. For me to touch her with my lips. My tongue.

  I close my mouth over one hard nipple and take the other in my hand, and she twists into it. Her fingers grip the back of my head, pressing me closer. She leans forward now, so she can see me sucking her nipple into my mouth, and I pull back, releasing the wet bud and blowing gently on the place where my mouth was.

  Beth gasps, and I lick her lightly. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Fuck.”

  That word in her mouth makes all the breath go out of me. I grip her arms and bite into her nipple and she gasps, arching into my mouth.

  “Say it again,” I whisper.

  She brings my face up to hers roughly. I feel her breath on my lips when she speaks. “Fuck, Tony.”

  Then her tongue is in my mouth—hot and soft, and not at all shy. I slide my hands into her thick hair, and kiss her hard and deep.

  Her hands move under my shirt, over my back, and then she growls in frustration and pulls the shirt up and off. Her palms shape my chest, my shoulders, and then she lowers her head and licks my throat. I breathe out hard and push her back on the couch. So that I can press both hands over her shoulders and pull her dress down.

  She’s naked now from the waist up—her breasts and belly round and ripe, like a goddess figure—proud and powerful. She looks at me with hooded, dilated eyes, her breathing hard and irregular.

  “Tony.”

  I pull my hands away. In case I need to stop. In case she’s had enough and doesn’t want to take it any further. “Yes?”

  Her hands move to the skirt of her dress and begin to hitch it up. Her eyes close, and she sways a little against me. “Please.”

  I shudder in relief and slide my hand between her legs.

  “Is it still a bad idea?” I ask, and grip the inside of her thigh. Her head falls back against the couch, and I wrench her legs farther apart.

  “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  I run the backs of my knuckles over the cotton of her panties. She’s wet and hot, and I turn to her mouth and bite gently on her bottom lip. She gasps and shivers against my hand.

  I want to be good at this, to have the distance to give her what she needs. But I’ve lost all ability to think clearly, to calculate or plan. All I can do is react. My hands and mouth do what they want, and I can only pray it’s the right thing.

  The way Beth is moving, the sounds she’s making—I think it’s the right thing. She is just as swept up in this as I am, just as out of her mind. There is no hesitation in her, no fear of this pleasure. She is in it; she owns it. And God, it is killing me.

  “Tony,” she says, and I dig my knuckles in through her panties. Between her labia. Up against her clit.

  I can’t breathe.

  “More,” she tells me.

  I open my eyes and see her naked breasts, her belly, her open legs with my fist pressed to her core, and suddenly I can’t wait anymore. I need to feel her, bare and wet against my fingers.

  I reach inside her underwear and stroke over her clit. “I want to make it better, Beth.”

  She presses her face to mine and breathes against my cheek. “Yes. God.”

  She spreads her legs wide, and though I mean to be slow, I can’t be. I just can’t. She’s rolling her hips in rhythm, grinding against my hand.

  It’s happening so quickly. Everything I’ve wanted so much and didn’t even know to want. Because touching her, tasting her—it’s more than I imagined. So much more than I could have conceived before this moment.

  She takes her nipples into her own hands while I touch her, and I can barely stand how hot that makes me, watching her touch herself like that. Her head arches against the sofa, and her leg hooks around mine. Her clit is swollen tight under my fingers, and she’s soaking wet. I force myself to slow down and move my fingertips in short circles around it. Then I move her hand away and take her nipple into my mouth. I suck, hard, and deepen the pressure on her clit, and she grips my back—her nails biting into me.

  I lean back and lick her nipple, my tongue flicking over her. “I want you to come, Beth.”

  A sheen of sweat shines on her chest, her shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Tell me.” I run my teeth over the tight bud of her nipple. “Say the words.” I want to hear her voice, deep and breathless, saying filthy things. I had no idea what that would do to me until now. And now I need it. I need to hear it.

  She breathes out hard, hips rolling, thrusting onto my fingers.

  “Fuck me with your hand, Tony.”

  Jesus.

  “Make me come.”

  I moan against her nipple when I take it into my mouth. Then I suck her and strum her clit with my fingers. She reaches up and grabs the back of the couch with both hands, and pushes herself into the motion.

  Her whole body is open to me, open and straining. She is not quiet—not at all. She makes throaty, explicit sounds. Wholly unself-conscious. Utterly beautiful.

  When she comes, it is full and hard. She shakes and bucks into me, and when she pulls my hand away finally, shuddering, I can smell her. Her wetness, her arousal.

  I breathe deeply to get control, and it’s not easy. I am dizzy with need for her. But I do it, because this is about Beth tonight. About giving her some relief. I receive the gift of her release, and it’s enough for me. For tonight, it has to be enough.

  “Tony,” she says.

  I take a shaky breath. “Yes?”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “What?”

  She moves so quickly I don’t know what’s happening at first. But then she’s straddling me, her dress hiked up around her hips, her thighs tight around mine.

  “I need your cock. I need to fuck you.”

  The way she says it—like she’s on fire—I almost can’t handle it. The room turns red and gold, her fire raging through it. Through me.

  It’s so much, and so big.

  And I am so ready to storm right into it.

  “Are you sure?”

  She leans back toward my knees and breathes deep to steady herself. Her eyes clear for a moment and look into min
e. “I’ve been tested for every possible thing, because of the pregnancy, okay? Just so you know. I’m safe. And you…have you?”

  I nod unsteadily. “Just in case, before I started dating, I—”

  “And you’re good? You’re clear?”

  “Yes.”

  I thrust upward against her—I can’t help it—and she breathes out hard and pushes back. “Take your fucking pants off.”

  I don’t get them down very far, but it’s enough. Her full breasts brush over my naked chest. Her underwear is still on, but her pussy is wet and hot. I push the thin material aside and press into her. Hard and deep.

  “Ah, God. That’s it.” She moans into it, relief and ecstasy flooding her face.

  She bears down on my dick, rolling her hips, and presses her palm flat over my chest. So that she can push against me and dig in.

  “Is it better? Is this—” My voice falters. “Is it what you need?”

  She half laughs. Half sobs. “Yes. It’s…God.” Her eyes squeeze shut, and her thighs tighten around my hips. “You feel so good inside me.”

  I grip her hips to hold her in place, and grind hard into her. She cries out, her eyes opening and blazing into mine.

  Her hair falls over my chest. Her lips are bruised, full, her breasts pressed up against me. Every time her nipples glance my skin she gasps, and it’s like a bolt of fire straight to my center.

  “I won’t last long,” I tell her.

  “I don’t need long.” She lifts up and pushes back down—tight and wet, sucking me. Her hands move up to grip my shoulders.

  “Jesus, Beth.”

  “Fuck me,” she whispers, right into my ear—sharp and hot. “Fuck my cunt, Tony.”

  God almighty.

  It’s probably wrong—I don’t know, and at the moment I can’t care—but the contrast of those harsh, explicit words and the sweet, swollen shape of her pregnant body: it turns me inside out. She is everything—everything in this moment. Every single force of nature, unleashed. I want to be swept away in her power, to be set free.