I don’t even recognize the person who says that.
When did I become someone who cares for other people? When did Henry Stone become someone who could tear my soul to pieces with a simple glance? When did he go from being a nobody I wouldn’t look at twice in a million years to making my heart race like a F1 racecar? Have I been blind all along or has he always been so fuckin’ beautiful?
“Max.” He fastens his hands around my face, fingers climbing into my hair, reaching my scalp. “I’m sorry.”
“But why—”
The sentence dies midway, air having disappeared from my lungs. He pulls me until I land flat on his body, my breasts squished against his hard chest. His breath fans my throat before his hands bracket the sides of my face.
Our lips crash together in a passionate war. A mild dread circles my chest, but before I can examine it, it’s decimated by the heat of Henry’s response. His tongue presses against my teeth, my gums, flicking at the side of my mouth, sketching tickly curves inside me. Devouring the play of sensations, I simultaneously fight the assault of discomfort closing around my throat.
I don’t wanna stop, but my negatively conditioned instinct is rebelling against my desires. There’s too much fear inside me that I can’t throw away. I try to tell my body that this is okay, that Henry wouldn’t hurt a fly, but I’ve told these lies too many times about Rob.
But then my thoughts stop. Because Henry slips his hands under the fabric of my dress, under the flimsy bra, until he’s caught a nipple between his fingers. The rough slide of his thumb pad against the hard nub shoots a thread of pleasure into my veins. Pleasurable sensations ripple through me, my exhales tearing helplessly in response.
“Henry…” I moan, turning to jelly against his body.
“I know, Max. I know I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t take advantage of your pity for me. But I can’t seem to stop myself.” His hand circles my collarbone languorously, milking deep emotions from me. At my sharply indrawn breath, he grows worried. “Are you scared?”
“No.” Those words emerge from the depths of my soul. “And I don’t pity you. I respect you.”
My reply ignites a smile on his lips. I like it when he smiles. It makes the whole room glow, as if stars have sprung up in the corners of the pink-wallpapered walls. A pink sky, huh?
Resting his lips on the valley between my breasts, Henry murmurs low over my heated skin. “I’ve imagined doing this with you every morning you served me breakfast.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t, not after what you told me in Coney Island. And when you played it cool after that kiss, it was like being rejected by you all over again.”
A giggle wrenches out of my tight throat. “Me? Cool? Oh, please, I almost orgasm every time I see you doing dishes in the morning.”
“Really? Now that’s news to me.”
No words are required beyond this point.
We’re both mad for each other, that much is apparent. And yet…it doesn’t change much. The impulse to flee, to just get away from the touch of another human being, is building inside me. Closing my eyes, trying to fight it away, I lift up the dress, pull down my panties, and guide his hands to my clit. If he doesn’t hurry this up, he’s going to lose to my fears. They’re gaining ground fast. I can’t hold them forever. It’s a miracle I’ve come this far.
Thankfully Henry’s not stupid; he peels my clothes away and tosses them to the floor, then strokes my clit in delicious, ecstatic circles with his fingers. Dipping his head, he adds tongue, every slide causing wet pleasure to drip down my inner thighs. Parting my legs further, I roll back my head on the pillow. And close my eyes.
That turns out to be the death knell of this thing.
Because I snap back upright almost instantly, closing my legs together. I forgot how detrimental darkness was to my sense of safety. How quickly it could make everything vanish. How quickly it could transport me back to that scary, dangerous place.
“S-stop.” I’m having trouble swallowing; my throat’s clenched like a fist.
“You okay?” Henry moves away, giving me space.
“Uh-huh.”
So not okay.
Cradling my head between my palms, I inhale, all the sexual tension bleeding out my body.
Concentrate, Max, I tell myself. I can’t disappoint him after we’ve come this far, but I have no desire to be touched anymore. I suddenly want to be clothed again. To have something between him and my vulnerability. This body is my greatest vulnerability.
Damn, this is why I stay away from sex. It always gets awkward for me. And I hate letting people down. Nobody understands what it’s like to have your sense of security breached every time someone touches you. To constantly feel like this is all going to spin out of control and become something twisted and ugly.
But if I pull back now, Henry’s gonna be hurt by the rejection, and that’s not what I want. Oh, God, what should I do? It’s so hard to explain to him what’s happening inside me in a way that doesn’t make it seem like his fault.
So I continue. Because that’s what I must do. But I won’t let him touch me anymore.
With a faint burst of courage, I tease his coat away from his shoulder. He lets me. Then I pick at his buttons until his shirt gapes open.
“You sure you wanna go there?” he asks, eyes brimming with concern. “Baby, you look like you saw a ghost.”
“I’m trying to get a look at your back.” My voice shivers.
Perplexed, he shrugs out of his shirt. “My back? So all this was to have a look at my back?”
He doesn’t have to look at me like I’m a freak. I’m getting to the truth…soon.
“I need to confirm you didn’t lie about being okay earlier.”
“And here I thought we were having sex.”
“We were.” Bearing down on his back with my hand, I am relieved that there are no lumps or redness there. Only smooth skin that feels like heaven when I touch it. “Until I got scared.”
“Why’re you scared?” He cups my chin tenderly, which doesn’t help with the queasy feeling in my stomach.
I need his hands off me. Guess I’ll have to accomplish that on my own. A small flicker of bravery lifts my hand to his pants. The problem with my courage is that it comes in unreliable spurts that vanish almost as quickly as they came.
“Never mind. I’ll finish what I started.” Pulling him towards the edge of the bed, I unzip his pants and kneel on the floor.
My problem is this: I’m way too image-conscious to give up. I don’t want Henry accusing me of flaking out midway, so I’ll put myself through the wringer just to make sure I leave a good impression on him. It’s insane, but that’s who I am. And living with all these contradictory feelings inside me is a part of being who I am.
The rest of his clothes almost slip through my fingers, piece by piece. Dragging my wet tongue against his hard arousal, I don’t spend any time relishing the sensations or even taking in his nakedness. I can’t, or I’ll lose the will to move forward. I must keep fanning the flames, and do so while trying to avoid him touching me.
I take his erect shaft in my hands, the clock ticking away silently at the back of my mind, the push and pull of wanting to go all the way and wanting to just run away from everything warring violently. I must finish this quickly.
He tries to reach for me, but I slap his hand away. “Not now.”
This has to go my way if it’s going to get anywhere.
My tongue traces a languorous path over the underside of his penis. Circling the tip, I suck at it before plunging it into my mouth. It’s an awkward fit, to say the least. I have a small mouth and he’s…well…a bit too big.
Did I mention this is my first time giving a blowjob to someone who doesn’t entirely fit in my mouth?
Nobody tells you how complicated this shit is when you’re in a special situation like this. The eHow.coms of the world make this sound like child’s play. It’s like sucking a ba
nana…yeah? I think not.
Damn. My jaw’s already aching. Still, I stretch my cheeks, trying to suck him without gagging. Talk about ambitious. He thrusts in and out of my mouth, every impact nearly knocking me on my back. The tip of his dick spearing the back of my throat only releases a fresh flood of panic. Eventually my throat spasms with coughs, ejecting him right out.
Fine. Blowjob’s out of the question.
Changing course smoothly, I close his hard shaft between my palms. If I think of him as a lump of flesh without a personality and gender, I’ll at least be able to manage a hand job. I didn’t have any problem massaging his back because I couldn’t see his face then, and he was nothing more than a body to me. Bodies can’t hurt.
Wrapping my fingers around his penis, I move them up and down steadily, aiming for a rhythm that can satisfy him. When he breathes hard, I know I’ve got him. He closes his eyes and surrenders to my touch. No demands, no instructions, nothing.
I envy how he can loosen himself up enough to enjoy sex, even with a virtual stranger like me. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do that.
Varying my pace, using my hands in tandem, I fist harder until I make him come.
He blows his load, and the liquid drizzles down my arms, dripping to the super-expensive carpet. Lemme just say here I’m glad I don’t have to be the one to clean this up.
The room is pervaded by a post-orgasm quietude (I made up that phrase) immediately after. Henry gets back to lying on his back, eyes shut.
I come to sit next to him on the bed, my anxiety gradually ebbing out, my heart rate dropping back to the normal range. I haven’t been on birth control in over a year, after I took my vow of celibacy, so I’m glad we didn’t go too far. But this is surely the worst sex I’ve had in a long time. And most definitely the worst sex he’s had in his life.
But as I look at Henry’s sleeping profile, I have no regrets. I’m glad I was able to make him come. The poor guy at least deserves that much, after I startled him when he was going down on me.
“I can’t believe I did this at your parents’ house with a hundred people downstairs,” is the first thing I say when he opens his eyes.
“And nobody caught us.” He winks. “We’re good.”
The easy camaraderie between us returns instantly. It’s a miracle I don’t feel weird talking to him after that super-horrible sex we just had. He seems satisfied. For now, that’ll have to do.
“Lucien’s still looking for us,” I remind him. “Hide-and-seek, remember?”
“Meanwhile, we’ve been playing a different game altogether.”
When a delicious smile licks his mouth, I cannot prevent my heart from melting, or myself from reaching out again to kiss him. But I am stopped by the sharp stab in my chest before I can complete the act. A sudden clammy feeling paralyzes me—a feeling I know only too well.
The sheen of sweat starts to show on my face, and I squirm away from Henry, frantically hunting for my clothes. Desperately needing their refuge. I feel exposed and unsafe all of a sudden. Is it my imagination or is the temperature in the room plummeting for real? How could I be wearing nothing?
Dashing for my crumpled gown, I slither into its satiny folds like my life depends on it. Tears prick at my eyes. They’re not tears of regret or guilt—they’re tears of anger, tears of frustration.
I’m so angry that I still can’t get over my weakness. I hate this constant urge to withdraw whenever someone touches me. I hate that I know how quickly I would withdraw if Henry were to touch me now. But most of all, I detest the knowledge that I failed again tonight.
It sucks to be me.
“Henry…” My voice cracks.
Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, please don’t cry, I repeat over and over again in my head, to no avail. The tears have decided to fall, and fall they will.
“What’s the matter? Max, look at me. Why’re you crying?” Henry’s alarmed.
But still beautiful. Oh, he’s so beautiful. I wish I could have him. But even the thought of it is enough to scare me out of my wits at this moment. I’m drowning in panic.
“Max, say something. Did you get hurt?”
“I shouldn’t have done that; it was too much—”
Before I can complete, a brusque hammering sounds at the door.
“Uncle Henry. Max. I know you’re in there.” The door knob rattles. “But why is the door locked?”
Oh, my God, Lucien’s outside the door. He’s found us. He’s going to come in and see Henry naked and that’ll be the end of his innocence and my employment. Lunging to prevent the door from opening, I am glad when it holds. I forgot Henry locked it earlier.
Behind me, Henry’s gone still.
“What’re you doing? Hurry up and put on your clothes!” I whisper to him.
He dresses speedily, without any more discussion of my feelings.
Gingerly I unlock the door, simultaneously wiping away tears with the back of my hand.
“Good job. You found us.” I applaud Lucien, unenthusiastically.
“Hey, Max, you should be quieter when you’re trying to hide. I could hear both of you clearly.”
Heat floods my cheeks at the suggestion of what he could possibly be referring to. I don’t even want to start imagining what Lucien heard us doing.
“We were talking.” Henry avoids looking in my direction.
Lucien rakes him with his eyes. “Why are your clothes creased?”
“It must be because I was trying to cramp into a small space.” Henry gently directs Lucien back downstairs, lips thin with tension.
If Lucien doesn’t believe that excuse, he doesn’t let on. He tries to glance back at me, but I refuse to meet his eye. I feel guilty about deceiving him, even if it’s for his own good.
The second my feet hit the bottom stair, I mutter, “Bye. I’ll be going now,” and make a hasty retreat.
Flying past Lucien and Henry, I run to the exit, not bothering to let Ji-ae or Emilia know that I’m leaving.
I can’t think. I don’t want to think. I just want to get away, be alone, and eat, eat, eat away this pain in my heart.
*
After my third slice of pizza, I finally begin to see some truths.
Chief among them is that I’m falling in love with Henry. And there’s no way for it to end well. Henry is a man—a man with sexual needs. I can’t feed those sexual needs, not the way I am now. Even if he agrees to a platonic relationship (which I’m sure he won’t), it’ll only be a matter of time before he gets frustrated by the lack of intimacy.
Tonight I may have managed a small step forward, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking into that apartment every morning if I didn’t have the assurance that Henry wasn’t going to touch me.
I cherished the platonic relationship Henry and I shared before. This sex shit’s stirring up too many fears, to the point that it makes the thought of seeing Henry again uncomfortable. And I never want thinking about him to become something I detest—because I like thinking about him way too much.
The second problem, of course, is how hard sex is for me. Although I’ve had these issues for a long time, they never interfered with my life before, because I didn’t exacerbate them by jumping into relationships. But today, I couldn’t stop myself. I was excited. I was so pumped up to have sex with Henry, to finally be held close by him, to taste more than his lips, to feel that same wonderful joy…but sex is not a kiss. It’s more.
Being single was peaceful; I could harmoniously co-exist with my problem. After the horrible incident in Hollywood, I welcomed and cherished the calm. I wanted to enjoy that kind of mental peace forever.
With Henry, I’ll never be able to. I’ll constantly be reminded of my flaws, constantly tormented by my inability to give him things a normal girlfriend would be able to give him.
He’s a wonderful person. He even changed my perception of love from something shallow and flashy to something that burns with warmth and sincerity. But he can’t change hims
elf. And I can’t change me.
Wiping away the fresh wave of tears that have hit me, I chew on my pizza. I haven’t cried like this in so long.
On days like these, I miss acting. I miss having a way to release my emotions and completely drain everything. Living in a make-believe world, slipping into the skin of someone who’s not as imperfect as me, forgetting reality for hours and hours…I miss all of that.
No point in lamenting now. I should eat this pizza and be glad that I got out of that bedroom alive, with my heart and everything else intact.
Actually…that slice of pepperoni pizza on display looks really appetizing. I should go get it.
*
“Won’t you ask why I was late?”
I creep into Coop’s house at one am to find Ji-ae awake.
“Already know. You were with Henry.” I appreciate the lack of explicit detail on what I was doing with him, because from the expression on her face, it’s obvious she knows. “He’s a good person, Max.”
“Yeah. Pity I work for him.”
Although technically, I work for his sister. But I’m still not going to start something up with him. (Part of my brain tells me it’s too late for such thoughts.)
“Did you both go out?” Ji-ae remarks. “I didn’t see Henry again after he went up the stairs with you.”
“Henry didn’t return to the party?”
“Nope.”
Perhaps he went home, too, to reflect on what happened.
Ji-ae’s eyelashes lift with worry, the dark circles under her eyes deepening when light hits them. “Will everything be okay tomorrow? You’ll still be working for him?”
Shit. I didn’t think that far ahead. What am I going to do tomorrow? It’ll be super weird. (Understatement of the year.)
Plan. I need a plan. A speech that clearly explains my position. I’ll have to be firm about never letting what happened between us happen again.
I lick my lips. Words flow into my brain automatically.
I’m sorry, Henry, but I think we should revert to the relationship we had. Last night was kinda traumatic for me…not that it’s your fault…but you remember what I told you? The stuff that happened in Hollywood. I guess I’m still not over it. So let’s put what happened behind us. It’s the right thing to do.
Henry & Me Page 14
