by Zoey Castile
She shuts her eyes and cries out.
“Does it hurt?”
She nods, and digs her nails into my skin. “But don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
So I don’t. I fuck her against the slick bathroom wall until I’m trembling and shaking and coming. I set her down and pull the condom off. I get on my knees and drape one of her legs over my shoulder. She tugs on my wet hair and guides me to her swollen, sensitive pussy. I grab the leg draped over me with one hand and her waist with the other and lock her in place against my mouth. I close my lips over her clit and lick until she can’t stop herself from trembling and screaming my name. Fallon. Over and over again until she shakes and sighs and her voice is a high-pitched cry of, “I’m coming.”
We towel off together. She smiles as she brushes her teeth. She has an extra toothbrush because she buys things in bulk. We stare at each other in the mirror. She spits into the sink first, and I follow.
“I don’t have any pajamas that fit you,” she says. Her voice is sexy and gruff, tired from all that screaming. I’d give myself a pat on the back if she wasn’t watching.
“Oh, am I spending the night?” I ask, playful. “I thought you’d kick me to the curb.”
She stands on her tiptoes and turns her lips up to me. It’s as if we’ve done this a thousand times because I instinctively bend down to meet her puckered mouth.
“You could go back downstairs,” she says. “Or you could spoon me to sleep.”
“Tempting. But what if I want to be the little spoon?”
She looks as if she’s seriously considering this. “We’ll flip a coin.”
I kiss her, this time harder. God, I want her so much. Her mouth is minty fresh, and her skin glows with the lotion she slathered on after she got out of the shower.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, and when I start to walk out she tugs me back to her.
“Don’t go.” Her voice is so soft it aches in my gut.
“I’ll go get a change of clothes and Yaz needs a walk.” I kiss her forehead, grab nothing but my keys and a towel.
One of my neighbors chooses this moment to take out her garbage. An older lady I’ve never met gasps at the sight of me. I mutter apologies and quickly change into a shirt, sweats, and sandals. I try to carry a barking and wriggling Yaz downstairs and wait while she does her business. When I take her back upstairs, I freshen her water bowl. I consider bringing her upstairs. The thought of falling asleep with Robyn, Yaz curled up between us, comes to mind.
I shake the thought from my head and tell myself to stop. I don’t get to fantasize about happy endings like that.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I tell her, scratching between her ears as she barks a few times before stomping around the center of my bed. “You’re still my number one girl.”
As I run back upstairs to Robyn, I’m not expecting my heart to squeeze the way it does at the sight of her. She’s in that ridiculously sexy silk robe, leaning at the doorway to her room. I go to her like she’s an oasis and I’m a fool lost in the desert. I kiss her all the way back to her bed, the silk coming undone to reveal her smooth light-brown skin. I pull off my shirt, and her fingers roam my skin.
“Oops,” she says, tracing her thumb on my neck.
I look at the wall-length mirror over the dresser. There’s a dark bruise on my neck, two on my shoulder, and one right over my right nipple.
“Nothing the makeup girls can’t cover up,” I say.
She presses a kiss to the bruise on my pec. “I’ve never lost control like that.”
The revelation is soft, her voice sleepy and cute as ever. But I know what she means. There was a wildness to her that I never would have guessed at our first encounter.
“When I’m with you—” she starts to say, pressing her hand on my chest. I rest my hand over hers. She frowns, then smiles, like she’s catching herself. She tucks a wet strand behind her head. “I’m sorry, I know we’re not supposed to get sentimental.”
I bite down on my teeth to stop myself from screaming “GET SENTIMENTAL.” Because I want to do it, too. I’m just too chicken-shit to do it first. Instead, I press a kiss on the apple of her cheek.
“Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
This time, we sleep. I am the big spoon. I love being the big spoon. Robyn fits against me like we were carved from the same tree trunk. She falls asleep instantly. I memorize the way she breathes. The way she mumbles whatever she’s dreaming about. The way she traps my hand around her body, as if I could even stand to tear myself away.
This isn’t going to end well. Ricky’s words echo in the back of my thoughts.
And yeah, maybe I know that. We’re from two different worlds. Have different lifestyles. We were brought up different. Maybe she’s better than me in some ways. Maybe I’m not the kind of guy who can give her what she wants.
But I can make her feel like she’s never felt before, and I can make love to her like she deserves.
It’s been a long time since I’ve slept beside someone. Maybe that’s why I can’t fall asleep. Or maybe it’s because I know, in the morning, I won’t have any excuse not to tell her that I’m leaving sooner than expected.
It shouldn’t be this difficult. We had an agreement. But as she moves in her sleep, her damp hair cool on my skin and her soft body against my own, I know I’m not strong enough to tell the truth.
14
Leave the Night On
ROBYN
“Remember to get your permission slips signed!” I tell my kids at the end of class. They run out of the room like tiny Oreo-filled bats out of hell.
“Ms. Flores! Ms. Flores!” Kendra Wilson stands in front of me. “I have a gift for you. I drew you.”
She hands me a piece of paper with her final-hour art project.
“Thank you, Kendra.” I rub the top of her head. “See you next week, okay?”
Before I can take a look at the drawing, there’s a knock on my door. I fold it and put it in my purse for something to do because it’s Lukas. My chest fills with white-hot anxiety, and my body fidgets like I don’t know which way is up or down anymore.
“Ms. Flores,” he says, when I don’t answer. “I wanted to talk to you.”
It’s been a week and a half since our disastrous accidental double date. I start to put away the things on my desk. Pens, stacks of papers, apples, clock, stapler. Wait. No. I take the clock and stapler back out.
“Yes, Principal Papadopoulos?”
“I wanted to apologize . . . about that night. I should’ve done it sooner, but the next day I had meetings, and you always run out of school so I can’t catch you. Then the days stretched too long, and what can I say? I suppose I’m embarrassed.”
He’s a striking man. His bright hazel eyes zone in on me. His tight, muscular body is hugged by a fine suit, and he stands casually, one hand in his pocket. If I hadn’t gotten to know him, to see what he’s really like, I’d be like the other teachers and women in the building fawning over him. Lily was right. All it took was one afternoon in the teachers’ lounge and I realized everyone was pining for him.
But when I think of Lukas, I think of the restaurant. The neon lights, the salsa music, the pretty date who he ignored and treated like crap. The way he sat with me while Fallon and Melodie were in the bathroom. I never told Fallon what Lukas said. You can do better than that, right? I think you and I could make the perfect couple. Who says that to another person who is clearly on a date? Who says that to their subordinate?
Anger flashes red in my eyes. I turn for something to do. I grab my chalk eraser and get to cleaning off today’s vocabulary.
I want to say, That’s not an apology.
“We don’t have to do this,” I tell him. “Your apology should be to Fallon.”
He frowns, confused. “I thought his name was Zac.”
“I call him by his last name.”
Lukas raises his thick black eyebrows. “Right. Zac Fallon. Perhaps I’ll be able
to apologize to him in person at the rehearsal dinner?”
I steel my breath. “Fallon isn’t going with me to the rehearsal dinner.”
“Why’s that?” He sounds friendly, concerned.
“I don’t really feel comfortable talking about my personal life with my boss.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Robyn. I wanted to clear the air before Lily and Dave’s wedding. Dave’s an old friend and I know this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. I want everything to go right for them.”
“You won’t have to worry,” I say, trying to smile. “The air is clear.”
I dust off my hands as he looks down at his shiny leather shoes. I should say more. I should tell him where to shove it. But I don’t.
“See you tonight,” he says.
* * *
Back in my apartment, I dance around my room holding my dress for tonight’s wedding party dinner. It’s a blue-green dress I found on sale. My grandma Consuelo would be proud of me for finding an $800 dress on sale for $150. It’s sleeveless, with a sweetheart top that hugs my breasts and waist, then falls loosely in soft chiffon layers that just brush the floor.
It’s the color of Fallon’s eyes. The blue of turquoise waters. I slip into it, and search for my earrings. I want to pretend that Lukas’s non-apology never happened. I just want to remember the way Fallon felt. His lips, his skin, his dick. The next day at school, I couldn’t even sit down the whole day. Not comfortably, and at that memory I smile at myself like a fool.
His name lights up my phone as I put on gold Swarovski crystal earrings. They were a graduation present to myself after finishing my master’s. Something pretty, shiny, that would remind me that I have a bright future.
Fallon: You home?
Me: Just getting dressed.
Fallon: Don’t get dressed on my account.
There’s a knock on my door, and I don’t have to look through the peephole to know it’s Fallon.
He stands there holding a plastic bag that smells like Chinese food and a six-pack of beer.
I realize that, in this moment, I’m going to hurt his feelings. “Hey. What’s all this?”
“Holy fuck. I forgot to wear my tux.” He looks me up and down. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing. “You look—incredible. What—”
“Tonight’s the rehearsal dinner,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. My heart gives an anxious tug.
In blue track pants with red and white piping down the side and a long-sleeve white shirt with buttons at the collar, he looks like the low-key Han Solo of my dreams.
“My bad. I should’ve called first. I just wanted to surprise you. I should go.”
“I am surprised.” I shut the door and press myself against it. Invite him, a part of me says. But I’m not sure if that’s the best idea. I’m not sure he’d even want to go to a wedding party where he doesn’t know anyone there. “I wish I could stay and enjoy it with you.”
“I thought the wedding was next weekend.” He takes one of the beers, twists off the cap, and drinks.
“It is,” I say, taking one of the beers for myself and tapping the bottle to his. “But they moved up the rehearsal dinner because of some of David’s family scheduling I won’t bore you with.”
“I don’t think you could ever bore me.”
He sounds so honest, it makes something inside my gut twist. Maybe I’m just hungry. Maybe a terrible part of me wants to say, Fuck it. And stay here with him.
I set my beer down.
I close the distance between us and take his face in my hands. I take his full bottom lip between mine and suck it softly. His tongue flicks inside my mouth, reaching for mine. I loop my arms around his neck. The hickeys I gave him are fading, and my body is thrilled in thinking I can give him new ones.
He slams me against him, pulls up the sides of my gown. My fingers pull down the front of his pants, releasing his erection. I wrap my hand around it and stroke. “Damn—”
“What?” he whispers against my ear.
“It’s just—every time I see you I’m always surprised at how fucking big you are.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He chuckles softly against my throat. He moans, and slides his fingers between my legs. He pulls away, startled. “Robyn Flores, were you going to leave this house without underwear?”
My breath hitches with the sensation of his fingers stroking me. I smirk. “Maybe I was just waiting for you.”
We stumble back and hit the side of my sofa. He pulls out a condom and rolls it on.
“You’re so beautiful, Robyn.” He slides inside of me. It hurts, still raw from our marathon night. But I ache for him, and I wrap my legs around his waist. “I want to rip this fucking dress right off you.”
He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, exposing the tender skin of my throat. He kisses me from my chin, down to the scoop of my clavicle, to the tops of my breasts. Every kiss is matched with a thrust of his cock that reaches deeper and deeper. He touches every part of me with his hands, his mouth, and I can’t get enough.
“Come with me,” I tell him. “I’m so close.”
I hold on firmly, and we fall backward over the armrest and onto the couch. He moans in my ear, holding me so tight I might burst in his arms. When I come, I wriggle against him, the friction against my clit better than any feeling I’ve ever had.
We lie like that for a long time. He drags lazy kisses across the tops of my breasts, and I twirl his hair around my fingertips.
Then my phone buzzes and I remember that I have to be somewhere.
“Baby, I have to go.” I tap Fallon on his shoulder and he climbs off me. He ducks into the bathroom to clean off, and I go to my bedroom mirror to assess the damage. The chiffon of my dress is a little wrinkled, but I can just say it’s part of the “look.” The “I just got my brains fucked out of my skull” look. The “best sex I’ve ever had” look. The “I never want this to end” look. The “girl, you’re in trouble” look.
I spritz my hair with some spray to tame the flyaways that are a result of rubbing against the couch. I use a Q-tip to clean off the smudges of my eye makeup. I reapply lip gloss. And oh, yeah, I fish out a pair of underwear.
“You look gorgeous,” Fallon says. He stands at the doorway to my room, shirtless and breathtaking. Every time I see him I have to remind myself to breathe.
“I’m sorry I have to go,” I say, slipping into gold pumps that make me just shy of eye-level with him. “Can we do something tomorrow?”
He walks over to me and presses a sweet kiss on my lips that aches right down to my core. “I’m putting in my request for the whole weekend. We leave tomorrow and come back Sunday night.”
“Did you just come up with this? Where are we going? What do I pack?”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Yes. It’s a secret. And casual clothes. No, you won’t need underwear.”
I try not to think that a weekend away is too soon. But with our unconventional timeline, it might just work.
“Okay, but I have homework. Just to let you know ahead of time.”
“No problem.” He follows me, kissing my neck, my cheeks, as I grab my purse and light jacket. “Hey, can I give you a ride?”
I’m afraid of what I might be tempted to do to him if we’re alone any longer. I resist my impulse to say yes. I tell him so, and he just laughs all the way downstairs and as he puts me in a cab, leaving me with a kiss that racks my soul and leaves me wanting more.
* * *
“Hey, can I talk to you?” Lily asks as soon as she sees me.
She looks beautiful, a vision in a white dress that harkens to the fifties, with a dazzling white veiled fascinator.
“Of course, what’s up?” I follow her down the restaurant hallway, away from the hordes of her family, future in-laws, and friends. A waiter stops us with a tray of white wine, and we each take one.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she starts.
&nbs
p; “Oh my god. You’re pregnant,” I say, cupping my mouth with my hand.
She widens her eyes. “No! Hello, this is my second glass tonight. Look, Robbie—” She hasn’t called me that since high school. Now she reserves it for when she wants to break bad news. Like the time she told me she hated my college boyfriend and he was all kinds of wrong. She was right. Like the time she found out she’d flunked out of her first college semester and we wouldn’t be roommates anymore. She got it together after that.
I patiently wait for her to speak.
“I know you’re going through a rough patch,” she says. “But I thought that maybe it’d make things easier for you if Sophia took over completely as maid of honor.”
“Lily—”
“Let me finish—I love you. You’re like the sister I never had. But there’s still a ton of stuff to do. This whole party happened because of Sophia. This is my wedding, and I can’t help but feel that you aren’t completely happy for me.”
I wait for my chest to feel like I can take a breath without crying. It’s true, I haven’t been on my best friend game. I’ve been coping. My lateness. My messiness. My aloofness. I’ve been barely holding it together and I can’t fully understand why.
I take a deep breath. “I understand. Sophia deserves it. Hell, she’s been there to pick up my mess from the beginning.”
“You can still be a bridesmaid. It’s just not fair to have you up there while Sophia did everything. It’s almost like you don’t want to be here.”
“If I didn’t want to be here,” I tell her, “I wouldn’t be. I’m here, Lily.”
She puckers her lips. “You show up half an hour late looking like you just got fucked in the back of the car.”
“You know what, Lil?” I hold up my finger accusingly. “There was once a time when the tables were turned. When you dropped out of college and I let you live in my dorm while you lied to your parents. When I had to fireman-carry you out of a cab and up the stairs because you were unconscious. I could go on and on, but I’m not because I didn’t think we were keeping score. Did you ever stop to think for a second that maybe I’m finally finding something—someone—that makes me happy?”
