Sunday, October 18, 2009
HAD I DIED AND gone to Heaven? Or maybe it was my mom showing me what it was like.
Only hours before, I had been sulking and brooding. Painting a damn shed. Then Blake appeared out of nowhere, painted Bait in red on the wall, took care of me and made me eat, washed me in the tub with her two small hands, and then there I was in bed with her, about to sleep with her, really sleep with her, for the first time in over a year.
Oh, and she'd just asked me if I could, please, see if her p-ssy was wet.
Well, you bet your sweet f*cking ass I could. I'd never been surer of anything. She was ready for me, but I'd make damn sure she knew exactly how wet I could make her.
I gazed down at her, with my weight on my arms, the same way she had, and turned the tables. “I like your research.”
I couldn't take it any longer and leaned down to kiss her smiling lips. I paused before our mouths met and watched her close her eyes. It was one of those rare and sublime moments. I’d trade my soul for a picture of her like that, frozen in time. Her hair splayed over the white pillowcase under her head. In my bed. Her lips pursed ready for mine. She looked peaceful waiting for me.
All for me.
“Look at me, honeybee.” And her eyes fluttered open and met my gaze. She grinned unabashedly and wrapped her arms around me causing my balance to wane, and I fell atop of her. I heard a contented laugh come from her and crushed my mouth to hers. Her tongue didn't hesitate, meeting me and running itself over mine.
I felt her hips grind against my naked lower half. I felt her readiness soak through the boxers, but I wanted to make her beg for real, like her bullshit research had mentioned. My lips left hers and ran across her clavicle.
I retreated lower, kissing my way down to her navel and I circled it, leaving a wet trail every step of the way. I skimmed my hands up the inside of the loose shorts and found her dripping and so ready for me. But she'd have to wait.
I wanted her just as bad, the head of my hard cock sneaking up the front of my shirt. But if this relationship had taught me anything, it was patience. And I could hold out for a little longer if it meant hearing her desperate for only me.
I parted her damp flesh and ran my thumb from her * to her entrance. Her back arched, her body invited me to come inside. I felt her *oris delicately bead and throb under my touch and knew she would come undone with little more than what I was already doing.
But I wasn't leaving her tonight. I had nowhere to go. I was taking my time with her. It would be such sweet torture the likes of which she’d never had to deal with.
In the past, I'd been too rushed to be with her. So needy to make her come, almost trying to prove to her that I could. But I knew I could. She'd come to me, skin marked with my letters, because I needed her. To sate my needs and confirm her own.
I continued the mild assault with my thumb. I skirted my fingers over her opening, promising to go in, to bring her the release she craved, but I didn't. Instead, I removed my hand and watched her face and body grieve its loss of me. I reveled in that power.
I slowly removed my shirt and her boxers, pulling them down her legs inch by inch, letting the fabric graze her love-slick skin. Her nose was that beautiful shade of pink that haunted my dreams.
I led her leg to the side of my face with my left hand and found my cock with the other. I kissed her ankle and rubbed myself, making a show of it.
She writhed. Her pouty mouth shaped into an “O” as she watched. She could only take so much. I watched as her hand slowly crept to her center and began its own sensual mission, her long middle finger finding the spot and running over it in time with my strokes.
Just as I saw her head start to dip back into the pillow and her eyes start to close—sure signs that she was getting close to her peak—I moved her hand and stilled my own.
“Not yet, honeybee. You have to wait.” She didn't argue, only nodding her compliance, biting her lip. She was breathing hard and I watched as she tried to rein in her desire. “You're not ready yet.”
“I am ready, Casey. I'm ready now.” Her voice sounded seductively deprived.
I lowered myself to kiss directly on the bare flesh above her pink p-ssy. p-ssy. If she said that word, then I'd have no choice but to cave. I'd probably cave anyway, because this power I had over her was heady. It always was.
Blake in the throes of passion was always a precious sight, but Blake being submissive and obeying my will was nirvana. Not often over our history had we played with the roles much, always too rushed to take our time. Although, there were times in the heat of an argument, she'd yield to me when she knew her body had sided with mine. That time in Atlanta, she would have done anything I told her even though she was a little afraid.
Thinking about her like that only served to chip away at my tenacity and so I continued my onslaught.
I licked at her swollen skin and sank my rigid tongue through her, diving in, giving it one long taste.
“You taste so sweet, honeybee,” I said against her skin in between kisses.
She was bare, precisely how I’d liked. Smooth and silky. Nothing to hide her away from me.
What I’d said wasn't all for show to drive her crazy. I‘d done my research, too. Certified by the University of Blake. She'd always reacted to me telling her how much I loved her p-ssy.
She wasn't that vocal, but let me tell you something real about what true amazing was. The way Blake smelled, felt, tasted, and looked when she'd clench up tight in the face of a climax. Amazing. I’d prayed almost every day that I was the only man who'd ever really seen it.
So, I didn't continue with my worship. She’d tip over the edge too soon. I only gave her enough to reinforce my torture.
“Touch me,” she panted. “Please, Casey. Please.”
So the begging was a dick-wagger. She was right. My cock twitched hearing her say my name. Who was I really torturing? If I made it five more minutes, then I’d have been lucky.
Her hands found my head, void of the hair, which she loved to touch. I couldn't deny that feeling her skin on my skin wasn't a new sensation I liked. I loved hearing her say she’d missed my hair, knowing the reason I cut the shit off was because I couldn’t stop feeling her hands run through it in my sleep.
She embraced me and pulled my head in closer to her center, attempting to give herself relief.
I reached for her hands with one of mine and held them together above my head, tight to her flat belly.
“Don't you get it yet?” I whimpered, in between wide licks up her cleft. “I've got you. Right now, your mine. Let me keep you for a few more minutes. Even if it is just on this ledge.”
It was then I slipped a finger past my mouth and slid it into her and she moaned. Still not fighting the hold that I had on her hands.
“Casey, I need you. I need yoooouu,” she groaned, losing control of her body. “Please. Make love to me. Please, I can't take it any longer.”
Yes, my sweet honeybee, that is exactly what I’m going to do. Make. Love. To. You.
I climbed up the bed, released her hands and they went straight to my back. Her grip sinking into my muscles, her fingers fitting perfectly between my ribs.
So in tune with her, I didn't even waste the thought on guiding myself into her. My body was educated in hers. Her body was searching for mine between us. Squirming up with her pelvis, her greedy sex found me.
We could find each other with our hands tied behind our backs.
I pushed into her and she came apart the very second my hips rocked into hers.
My God, I thought.
Then my lips said, “My God.”
All complex thoughts were gone.
She quaked and seized around me and I felt a slickness that could boost any man's ego ten-fold. Yes, in fact she did come and I could feel it.
I ground against her as she rode me from the bottom through her pleasure. Then a carnal male drive took over and consideration was simply a thing of ten minutes ago.
My fists balled the sheets under the pillow she laid on, and my other hand held her hip as I set a punishing rhythm, losing any precious control I thought I had.
Her hands were everywhere, gripping my back and grasping my shoulders like she couldn't get a good enough hold on me. My hand slid under her ass and lifted her to an angle that sent fire up my spine.
“Ah, I want you to come again, Blake. Can you do that for me?” I hissed air through my teeth, feeling my back starting to tense and my ab muscles beginning an all too familiar twitch. “I want to come inside you while you're screaming my name.”
Her center clenched and then I brought my hand between us and ran my hand over her quickly, parting my fingers around where we met. She came off the bed, her arms around me tight and the force pushed me back onto my heels.
My words and my ejaculation came at the same time.
“God, you’re here. Ah, f*ck, Blake. F*ck, Blake!” We held on to each other so tight, chest to chest, hanging on for dear life.
I lay there that night, with the whole world in my arms. Biting my tongue to keep from telling her how much I loved her again. It was all I had, but it never felt like enough. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that that was what love was. Never having enough of something. Always wanting more. Being greedy with your heart.
The wind blew in through the long, sheer curtains from the north and it ran across the flowers in the garden out back. The scent reminded me of why she was here. Reminded me of what I'd lost.
Blake had fallen asleep merely minutes after we came after the third round, which ended only a few minutes prior. It was almost light outside. She lay on her belly in the crook of my arm with one of hers stretched across my chest. I rubbed my hand up and down her side, her skin was velvet on my battered palms.
Every so often she'd startle, but only waking enough to squeeze me, letting herself know I was still here—I thought–and then she'd fall back into her slumber. It filled me with hope.
I watched the curtain move in the wind and it finally lulled me to sleep.
I was visited by the reoccurring dream I had often about Blake's wedding. In my dream, I stood at the altar with her and Grant.
It changed though. Sometimes I'm the priest. Sometimes I say their vows with them, like a third party. But it was always the three of us standing there. In this particular version, the priest asked Blake to kiss her husband and she kissed me.
When I woke up the next morning I didn't feel the dread I usually did. I felt like maybe she was going to pick me. As my eyes blinked open, the first thing I saw was the small tattoo she'd had done on the back of her neck.
She was rolled away from me and slept peacefully. Her side rose and fell like the tide. After we'd exhausted ourselves physically and emotionally last night, she'd swept her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. Still held up with the elastic, her hair was just so that I could see the ink through the few wispy pieces that had slipped from the hold of the hair tie overnight.
The hook wasn't very big. I wondered how they'd even made the lines so fine and faint. It was delicate and not very noticeable at all. My initials stuck out—at least to me—plain as day. Knowing that she'd marked her beautiful skin with my brand did something inside me.
It made that possessive voice, which I always tried not to pay attention to, louder.
She is yours and her skin bares the mark that proves it.
Instinctively, I pulled her warm body flush against mine and I held her like that until she began to stir, waking up. Her body relaxed into mine and fit into every void my body left for hers. Her ass tucked into my hips, my legs were traced with her legs, one of her feet slipped in between my calves. The soft cool skin of her shoulders and back perfectly paired with the hot skin on my chest.
I had one arm under her and her head lay on it, her fingers woven into mine where they met. My free arm wrapped around her flat stomach, my hand almost reaching from one side to the other of her.
I felt her belly rumble. She was hungry and she'd lost a lot of weight since I'd last seen her body. Her hipbones were sharp, the definition of her ribs showed, her clavicle more distinct. She didn't look unhealthy, but for someone who worshiped food the way she did, it was a clear message she'd been going through something, too.
The thought of her being hungry, or ill, after recently losing my mother the way we did, lurched at my gut.
She needed to eat.
I said softly in her ear, “Good morning, Betty.” I put my lips on her shoulder and left them there. “Let me make you breakfast.”
She laughed a little, “What are you going to make me?”
“Pop-tarts.”
She stretched her arms above her head, and in her stretch her ass pressed deliciously into me. “What kind?” she said through a wake-up yawn.
“What does it matter? A Pop-tart is a Pop-tart.”
“So not true. Some Pop-Tarts are good, some aren't.” She rolled to face me. “So what kind do you have?”
“Maple and Strawberry, I think.”
“Okay, I'll let you make me breakfast then. I'll brew the coffee.” And she grinned.
“This is something new now, isn't it?”
Her eyes looked thoughtful. “This feels all new. A new day.” I grabbed her by the ass and lifted her to my stomach to lie on top of me.
“I like new days when they start like this.” I paired our foreheads. And she closed her eyes.
“Me, too.”
We made Pop-Tarts and coffee and sat outside. Blake cut up a melon that I'd brought in from the garden. It was a little foreign and a lot more natural than I thought it should be. Even after all of this time and everything, we still knew how to be Casey and Blake.
We remembered how to talk to each other. In a matter of an hour, it didn't even feel like we'd been apart.
I charged my phone and called my family to let them know I was still alive. They all sort of got the hint that I needed some space after I'd told my sister Morgan to, “leave me the f*ck alone for a while.”
It was rude and so I apologized when I finally reached her.
“I'm sorry I snapped at you the other day, Morg,” I said before we got off the phone. “I wanted some space, but I'm glad you wanted to be here for me.”
“It's okay. I know it’s hard. I just love you so much and I hate seeing you unhappy.” She started crying. “I don't want you to be alone.” Her heart was so big, so tender. My baby sister lived to help others.
“Hey now, don't cry. I'm not alone.” I looked at Blake on the patio through the big window, she was smelling one of the flowers. I didn't feel alone anyway.
“You're not. Who's there, Aly? Troy?” She sounded hopeful.
I couldn't lie to her. It wasn't my style. “Blake’s here.”
“Casey, she's married!”
“I know,” I said. I knew that more than anybody.
“So what is she doing there?” She never seemed to like Blake and whenever her name came up she acted offended. Morgan's morality and sense of right and wrong was like a compass. Everything was simply good or bad to her. Which was a bad way to be, but Morgan was good to her core.
“She came to see me. Don't be like that Morgan, you might be smart, but you don't know everything.”
“I know what you looked like after her wedding. I know you love her and she married someone else. Those seem to be valid reasons for me to dislike her. How would you feel if someone treated me that way?” She told me once that she wanted to be a nurse, but she was more equipped to be a lawyer.
“I'd tell you to think for yourself and be happy. This isn't your business. I love you, and thanks for your concern, but she makes me feel better. You don't get it. You only know the story, Morg. I've lived it.”
She sighed on the other end. “I love you, too. Stop talking to me like I'm a little girl.”
“You are a little girl.” I laughed. “To me.”
“Whatever. I've got to go. Please, be careful and be good to yourself. Can you meet me for lunch next week?”
“I will. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. And Casey?” she said as an afterthought, “I'm glad she makes you feel better, it’s about time she did.”
How is it that my younger, my least experienced sibling, was wiser than all of us?
The day wasted away. We watched television. We had sex on the half wall of the stone patio. We made food and listened to music. We took a walk down to the shed. The red “Bait” still written on the back wall facing away from the property.
“This really is something, isn't it?” she said that night as we looked at the sky, even though it was nearly starless. We watched the clouds pass between us and the moon. It felt a little symbolic.
“I think so.”
She rolled over and looked at me, all business. “I like it.”
“I know.”
“I want this,” she said in exasperation, falling back against the blanket looking up again. “I want this!” She screamed into the night.
What it must be like in her shoes. I'd spent the better part of the past year, or more, trying to figure that out. Listening to her cry out for what she really wanted, lying there beside me, and hearing it was that. There. With me. It breathed life into my person.
“Then take it,” I said.
“I'm trying. I want a divorce. I don't love him like—” and she paused, but I heard the full sentence. She’d never told me she loved me. And I’d only told her in a fight.
She asked, “Can you give me a little more time?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I can try, if you mean that.”
“I mean it.”
“How long is a little time?”
“I don't know. I just got married. My parents—” she paused again, leaving another dangling sentence in the damp night air.
“Just say it, honeybee. We passed polite a long time ago.”
“I don't want my parents to hate you. I don't want them to hate me, either. I just married Grant. They've known him a long time and they’re so close. They won't understand all of this.” She rolled in my direction. “I need to start talking to them. I can talk to my dad. I just can't spring it on them. I need to give it time. Maybe a year.”
Another year? F*cking hell. But what was one more at that point? It would take me more than that to get over her, which was fact.
I thought about what she was offering. She wanted me to wait. More. A year. A year wouldn’t be so bad as long as we still had communication. Without that, I’d smother in my head. She asked me for time to ease out of a marriage that looked great on paper, but shitty on the wall.
We could at least count on Reggie to be on our side. He never liked Grant to begin with, according to Blake.
But could I patiently wait while she went back to him?
I answered the best I could, the only answer I ever had for her. “You know I can't say no. That's what this is all about. I can't say no to anything you ask of me, and you can never say yes to me in return.”
“I say yes to you more than you know.” Blake sat up and hugged her knees. “I say yes to you on the inside.”
That made sense. It was f*cked up and nobody else could possibly get what she meant, but to me, that was real.
“Don't make me wait too long. Please, Blake. Not a year,” I pleaded.
She didn't go to work on Monday. I showed her how I made my first homebrews in the basement and we decided that someday she'd make one of her own.
We talked about things we'd never discussed before. Things that were listed under the category of Future. Each moment felt almost fictional.
She worked on Tuesday and the rest of the week. Things moved. The cogs of life started to turn.
We even had Cory, Micah and Foster over on the weekend.
If I was going to win a life like the one I was pretending was real, then the wait would be worth it.
It was perfect. I felt relief like I'd never known. Having Blake around morning and night, being able to touch or kiss her on cue of any whim I had to do so, was f*cking life changing. It was like that time she let me sample the cheesecake, giving me just a taste so that I knew what I was fighting for.
This life. This was what I was fighting for.
The only difference was this time she was the one who had to do all the fighting. Maybe she was reminding herself how much she loved the cheesecake, too.
In those two weeks, we thrived. I hadn't seen her bite at her nails once. She was my Blake, and it suited her so well.