A Good Man

by Rosanna Leo

Emily released the breath she was holding. As her stomach assumed its normal, fuller contours, Michael kneaded her skin and lapped at her belly button. Overcome, she tangled her fingers in his messy curls and scratched at his back as he worshipped her body.

  When he stood, he touched her chin. “I know how Trent made you feel. You never need to feel that way again.”

  As she searched for words, he stripped out of his socks, jeans and boxer briefs. He took her hand and led her into the shower, closing the glass door behind them. Michael urged her under the rain shower head and Emily closed her eyes as hot water coursed over her body. He took her mouth, winding his arms around her, pressing her against his erection. They nipped and nibbled at each other’s lips. Water entered their mouths, but she didn’t care. She drank it down with his passion.

  Hungry, needing to see him come, she reached for his cock, but he moved her hand away.

  “No, Dimples. You first.”

  When he flattened her against the shower wall, she squealed as the cold tiles met her hot skin. Laughing, he pinned her there and palmed her wet breasts. She squirmed as he toyed with her nipples, rendering them so stiff and sore she wanted to scream. Michael sucked one tip into his mouth, and she sighed as his lips and tongue offered her a sweet respite from his marauding fingers.

  The ache in her belly coiled and expanded, shooting heat into all her limbs. Every part of her body screamed for release. Her breasts. Her sex. Her knees.

  Just as she thought she might collapse, Michael moved a hand between her legs, toying with her swollen lips. Emily rode his hand, determined to come. He thrust two, then three, fingers inside her. As much as he filled her, stretched her, she still felt so empty in her core.

  “Please, Michael.”

  He grunted in her ear. “Do you need more, sweet thing?”

  She nodded.

  He circled her clit, torturing her. “Say what’s on your mind, Em.”

  “Michael.” Her voice sounded strange, echoing with need in the large shower. “Please fuck me.”

  “That’s an interesting request. I’ll be sure to give it some thought.”

  Just as she was about to take matters into her own hands, he dropped once more to his knees and spread her legs. Crouched before her, Michael sucked until she came on a cry worthy of a banshee plying her trade at a funeral. Emily dug her fingernails into his shoulders, alternately urging him to stop and begging him to continue.

  “So good.” Her legs buckled.

  He released her, stood and kissed her hard, allowing her to taste her own essence on his lips. She offered up silent thanks for his strength. Without him holding her up, she would have fallen to the shower floor.

  Panting, his erection throbbing, he reached for a sponge and squirted some body wash onto it.

  “What about you?”

  His brown eyes appeared black in the muted light. “This is for me. I want to wash you.”

  When the soapy sponge met with her skin, Emily sighed. Michael started at her neck, lathering up her collarbones and the backs of her shoulders. As he rubbed with one hand, he massaged her with the other, his thumb making slow circles on her flesh. He bathed her arms, taking his time, conjuring up erogenous zones she never knew she possessed. Not even her fingers escaped his attention and he took time to play with each digit.

  “You have beautiful hands.”

  “I like yours. I like all your calluses.”

  “What is it with women and calluses anyway?”

  “Have you had many women admire your calluses?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  Laughing, she retreated, but he brought her back to the circle of his arms. She had a retort, but it disappeared on her tongue when he began to lather her breasts. Round and round he went with the sponge, palming her fullness, flicking her nipples.

  “I won’t even tell you what I think of your breasts. If I do, I’ll never stop talking.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “I’m not flattering you, Em.” He frowned, and the aura of lightness around them darkened. “I’m not sure you realize what you’ve come to mean to me.”

  He could go from frivolity to intensity in the blink of an eye. As much as she appreciated his sense of humor, when it transformed into a desire laden with urgency, it blindsided her. Sometimes it seemed he’d already leaped past the next few steps in their romance and she wasn’t sure she could catch up. “Michael, I…”

  “I’m under your spell.”

  She couldn’t respond and didn’t know what to say anyway. Any words she knew seemed inadequate.

  “I realize we’re not in the same place as far as relationships go. I’m sure there’s a part of you that sees me as a fun hook-up, and that’s okay.”

  “You’re not just a hook-up to me.”

  “I’m glad, but I know you’ve had your heart broken. I’m under no illusion that a couple of dates with me has repaired it. I just want you to know I’m here, whenever you want me, however you want me.”

  “I do want you.” His powerful words made her rejoice, but they also weighed her down. What if she couldn’t give him what he wanted? “Everything is happening so quickly, though.”

  “I know.” He cracked a small smile. “I didn’t expect it either, but here we are, in a shower together, sharing a sponge.” He chuckled at his own joke, but his voice had an edge. If she peeled away the layers, she might almost be able to see the pulsing heart of his sadness. “This doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. Now let me finish washing you. I haven’t even gotten to the good parts yet.”

  Michael asked her to sit on the built-in ledge. He crouched before her and washed her legs from toe to thigh. Emily tensed as he smoothed his hands toward her hips. He pulled her to standing once again. His gaze locked on hers, he moved the soft sponge between her legs and ministered to her sex.

  Every touch spelled her undoing, but she was happy to come apart. It all felt so good. The lather, the heat from the water, the pressure from his fingers. His words seemed scripted for her ears alone and his smile hinted at perils she’d only glimpsed.

  “You have the prettiest little pussy.” His voice was like a warm hug from a dangerous man, tempting her but putting her on guard at the same time.

  “Oh, God.” She was close, so close. She could envision the spring inside her belly, tight with anticipation, ready to bounce all over her senses. She hadn’t thought she’d be ready so soon after the last orgasm, although her previous experiences with Michael had taught her that he knew how to play her body better than anyone she’d ever known. He was capable of wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her, and he still left her in a state of wanting more.

  Just when she was ready to implode, he glided the sponge over her hip and bathed her ass.

  She groaned, knowing he was delaying the inevitable to torture her. How could such a giving man be capable of withholding the one the thing she needed the most? “Dammit.”

  “You want to come again, sweetheart?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girls say ‘please.’”

  “I don’t want to be good.”

  “No? Then you’ll get fucked like a bad girl.” He dropped the sponge and twisted the shower taps, turning off the water.

  “But…”

  He threw open the shower door and pointed at the entrance to his bedroom. “Bed. Now.”

  She didn’t even have a chance to admire his bed furnishings. Michael followed her into the room and gently thrust her to the bed. Dripping wet, like Poseidon on a rampage, he reached into his bedside table and produced a condom. His hands jerky, he unwrapped it and rolled it on. Emily didn’t wait for him to part her legs. She opened wide and he sank between them, cursing like a devil. He thrust inside her, hitting her at an angle that made her eyes roll back in her head.

  “Jesus!”

  “I don’t think he’s coming to your rescue.”

  Michael took her hard and fast, scoring all her vulnerabilities. A crushing
wave reduced her body to limp nerves as she came, clinging to him, digging her nails into his skin.

  “That’s it. Scratch me, baby.” He took her until she was spent, until she was ready to sleep where she fell, the edge of the bed as her pillow.

  He still hadn’t come.

  As he continued to use her body for his own pleasure, she shivered from the cold. Not even close to being dry, she threw her arms around his shoulders and held him close. Wrapped around him, she shut her eyes and tried to absorb all his heat and exuberance. His ass tightened and his voice transformed into a guttural war cry. When he came, he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and murmured.

  “Emily. You’re mine.”

  Biting back the lump in her throat, she stifled her own cry. She wanted to be his, she really did. She wanted to give him her loyalty and trust, but she needed him to offer it in return and talk about the things that worried him.

  Without his honesty, without his trust, she wasn’t sure their affair would ever be more than a frenzy of thoughtless need.

  * * * *

  A strange noise dragged Emily from her slumber. The faint groan reminded her of a wounded animal. For a moment, as she blinked a few times to drag herself into a state of alertness, she thought she’d wandered outside and encountered a dog at the side of the road. Had the poor thing been hit by a car?

  The fog in her head cleared and she remembered she was in bed, Michael’s bed. She rolled over. He wasn’t there. Seized by strange panic, she sat up. Although they’d only slept together a handful of times, waking up without him lying next to her was starting to become a regular occurrence.

  The noise sounded again from the far side of the room, only this time it took the form of a shout.

  “Stop! Don’t hurt them.”

  “Michael?” She fumbled for the switch to the bedside table light and turned it on.

  He sat curled up in the corner of the room, naked and mumbling. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his plaintive tones made it clear he was having a nightmare. He’d wrapped his arms around his head and she couldn’t see his face. She could, however, see a scrap of white paper in his closed fist.

  She threw her legs out of the bed and stood quietly, wincing when her feet made the hardwood floor creak. Not wishing to startle him, she took cautious steps. “Michael, I’m here.”

  His pained voice emanated from the crook of his elbow. “Can’t let him hurt them. Can’t let him hurt…”

  She brushed her fingers against his arm.

  Red, wild eyes greeted her.

  “It’s just me, Emily.”

  “Em?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she pondered him, being alone in the dark. If she’d heard him sooner, she might have been able to spare him a few moments of torment.

  He glanced at his surroundings, as if seeing the room for the first time. “I’m sorry I woke you. I have nightmares sometimes.”

  “It must have been a bad one.”

  “Yeah, but it’s done now. You should get some sleep.” He started to stand.

  She grabbed his arm. “Wait. Please. I wish you’d talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I walked in my sleep. No big deal.”

  “There’s a piece of paper in your hand. May I see it?”

  “Paper?” Frowning, he opened his fist.

  She pried it from his fingers. It was ripped in two, but she was still able to put the pieces together and read it. “This is an invitation. The police department wants to recognize you at a reception.”

  “Oh, that. I must have grabbed it when I walked. I forgot about it.”

  “How could you forget? It’s a huge honor.”

  “It’s a crock of shit.”

  “Michael, I understand you’re modest, but maybe you should consider attending this. How many people can say they’ve won an award for bravery?” She touched his cheek, but he angled his face. It wasn’t an obvious retreat, just enough to make her heartbeat limp.

  “I don’t need an award and I don’t need to do a commemorative episode of Handymen. I remember what happened. No one needs to remind me.” He reached for the torn invitation, crumpled it into a tight ball and let it drop to the floor. “In a few days, it will be the one-year anniversary. Jane Ashton was murdered almost three hundred and sixty-five days ago. She’s in the ground. She can’t attend any receptions. She won’t be getting any medals or handshakes from the chief of police. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “I’m sure Jane would want you to get recognition.”

  “But that’s the thing, Em. Jane doesn’t have a say in the matter, and for some reason, I just don’t feel like hobnobbing with a bunch of stuck-up bureaucrats because they have to fulfill their quota of gold stars.”

  He stood and began to pace, beautiful but vulnerable in his nudity, his hands clenched at the back of his neck.

  “I want to understand, Michael. I do.”

  He looked at her through mournful eyes, half-hidden in shadow. “Why am I still having nightmares? Why can’t I forget?”

  Emily hurried to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s because you haven’t allowed yourself to face it. From what I’ve seen, you keep pushing it aside.”

  “Because it’s always in my face. No one will let me forget.”

  “Maybe you’re not supposed to forget.”

  “Em, I can’t go back there.” His face twisted with red agony, his voice cracking. “Why won’t everyone just let it die?”

  “Maybe it’s because those children didn’t die. And neither did you.”

  “Sometimes I think a part of me has.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re here. Thank God you’re here.” She gathered him into her arms and pulled his head down to her shoulder. She stroked her fingers through his curls. “I won’t let them push you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  He’d taken great pains to make her feel safe. She could do the same for him.

  “You’re on my side?”

  “I swear it. You can trust me.”

  His voice came out as an awed whisper. “Thank you.”

  “Just promise me one thing. When you’re ready to talk, talk to me. Okay?”

  “I’d never want to give you that burden.”

  “I don’t see it as a burden, and if it ever became one, I’d rather we shared it.”

  Michael met her gaze and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. “Woman, I’m crazy about you.”

  “You mean…a great deal to me too.”

  “I want to make you come again. I can’t think straight unless I’m inside you.”

  He brushed his thumb against her lower lip, parting them. Moaning, Michael kissed her, sliding his tongue between her lips.

  Emily held him tight, moved by his words but terrified at the depth of his emotion. She’d sworn to give him time, to give him space, but in truth she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing so. It wasn’t in her nature to avoid a discussion, and at some point, she’d need to talk to him. She was convinced his sadness stemmed from never having given therapy a real chance. Aside from a couple of short conversations with his former therapist, he hadn’t really discussed the shooting with anyone. More than anything, she would have loved to see him embrace the idea of formal recognition by the police service, but knew he wasn’t ready to accept the praise. Somehow, he still thought he was at fault.

  How would she ever help him move forward?

  ‘You can’t fix someone who won’t admit he’s broken.’

  “I need you.” He picked her up and carried her back to bed.

  Even though she knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind, she needed him too. She might not be able to help him deal with his PTSD, but she could give him this. Perhaps, in losing himself in her body, he could find a small piece of himself.

  Michael retrieved a condom from the bedside table and rolled it on. He touched her sex and found her wet. Even though she wasn’t completely in the mo
od, she always seemed to be wet around him. Her body knew something she didn’t. He lay atop her, breached her entrance and sank deep inside.

  So full. So good. She wanted him inside her forever. Emily smoothed her hands toward his backside and held on to him like a penitent clutching a rosary.

  He burrowed his face against her neck. “God, Em. You help me forget everything.”

  She provided him with oblivion. She wasn’t sure if that pleased her or not, especially given the fact that he made her all too aware. Aware of her pumping heart, aware of her fears for him. Aware of how fast she was falling too. When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the air against her face as she plummeted.

  As she came, she cried out. He’d said he was crazy about her and she understood the sentiment behind those words. He might be capable of falling in love with her. She wished she could shout the same words, but they wouldn’t pass her lips. Hopefully he’d understand. She wanted to love him, but she was in no position to know her own mind on that score. God willing, he wouldn’t feel deflated hearing only the choked sobs of her orgasm.

  He came as well, but on a silent shudder. He lay still for a moment, his hips jerking with the final spasms. Panting, he rose and went to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the taps.

  Her mind racing, Emily slid out of bed and retrieved the crumpled awards reception invitation, smoothing it out.

  R.S.V.P. by July 31.

  He needed to respond. What if he didn’t? Would he hate himself later for not attending such a momentous occasion?

  Maybe she could respond for him. She had enough time to broach the subject and make him understand. Perhaps, after a couple of months, he’d feel better and able to attend the event. She could see him now, dressed in a suit, so handsome. He’d shake hands with the chief of police and might finally understand the impact of his noble actions.

  It would be so easy to slip the invitation into her purse. The handbag was slung over a chair, mere feet away. He probably wouldn’t even miss it. From the looks of it, he’d already tossed it into the trash.

  Then again, if she deceived Michael and took a piece of mail that was clearly for his eyes only, he might hate her forever. How could she expect honesty from him if she wasn’t prepared to demonstrate it in return?