Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  Lucius elevates from his sitting position like a marionette in her arms. He embraces her flush against his body. She makes the slightest breathy sigh, and he lifts her up with him. She cradles her legs around his waist and he leans forward, laying them both over the couch. He pants in her ear, “You feel me. You’re feeling who I am.” Somewhere through the movement, her phone has dropped on the floor. But for some reason seems to be the last thing on their minds.

  The temperature between them increases and she whispers, “I do. I really feel you.” And… there was something in the way she said it.

  Lucius doesn’t know if it was her breathing against his ear. Maybe her fingertips pulling his back muscles down over her. The overwhelming feeling of being wanted. Or maybe the fact that she already shares a link with him… and… her testimony was confirmation. What he does know, is his reaction was involuntary. Emotion naturally flows through him like a plug that has been released. He fails in fighting the burst of his bio-empathic connection. Trying to hold back, but his sensations are forcing him in sharing a heated buildup through her body. Her hip motion is sent spiraling with the buildup’s urgency, willing to do anything. Tingles cover her body, “More now,” she gasps against him, making the experience tidal wave over them both.

  “I’m… trying… holding back. You’re sensing me. Baby, this is how I feel for you.” He kisses along her stretched jawline and her natural body lures further. “I need you,” he said like a whimpering song. His hips are lined up and obvious what he means. Obvious what his body is screaming for. Screaming for completion. He slightly presses a gentle movement. A delicate thrust begging her for. His entire body is pulsing uncontrollably. “I don’t think I can stop this time. I don’t know that I want to.”

  “Why does your body make me feel this way? The tingles. You’re giving me goosebumps,” she exhales against his ear and unbuttons two buttons of her shirt.

  He opens the flap of her invitation. “I wanna be connected to you. My body is begging.” He kisses her soft skin just above her breast. “I’m still fighting it. I’m trying to. You’re… you’re drawing it from me.”

  The kissing. His swelling desire naturally rises toward one another. His heart thunders and automatically touches Josephine’s upper thigh, pulling her toward him. He’s pulling with his invitation, reminding her he’s ready, “Please, make it stop, Josephine? I can’t…”

  I can’t, the thought develops quickly in his mind, I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to. What would her father say?

  “Baby, wait,” he breathed deep, “I wanna marry you. Really marry you. But I can’t do this. Not like this. Not without you knowing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This isn’t right.” He turns his head from her, trying to escape her beautiful features, and squeezes his eyes. “I have to have permission. This is wrong… what we’re doing is wrong. And you would know shortly after.” Hesitantly, he retracts his ability with all his strength. He struggles keeping his desires to himself. The natural heat is already risen but sometimes words help. He’s hoping his words help. He tells himself, “Ugh… please control it, Lucius.” He needs whatever help to fight. Anything to help him in not sleeping with the general’s daughter…

  until,

  “I don’t understand, Lucius. What we’re doing feels right. This feels wonderful.”

  “It’s my fault this time,” he gazes down at her, “I can’t help how you make me into putty. I’m weak for you.” He speaks against her neck. Trying to take a break. Trying to talk sense into his mind. “I wanna… wanna really marry you.”

  “We can,” holding him tighter, partially getting him riled up again. “We can get married.”

  “You don’t understand and I can’t tell you. You would know immediately and I’d be caught doing this the wrong way.”

  “Why? Why not? What’s the wrong way?”

  He furrows his brow, “I have to talk to him first. You’ll be so mad at me if this continues. You don’t know. You need to know who I am first. That way I know you really love me.”

  “Nonsense. Of course, I love you.” She unfastens another button, and stretches beneath him. A subtle arch of her jaw and she presses her hips up. “Who would you need to speak to? I could never be mad at you.”

  “You’re so beautiful.” He studies her. Unable to resist. His lips brush against her newly exposed upper breast, tipping his tongue to taste her skin. “Make me stop.” His fingers curl over the top of her pants, slightly pulling them down over her hip. “Tell me no. Woman, please have mercy on me?” He kisses her neck, moving naturally between her wrapped legs. He feels her warmth calling him in closer. His hormones are surging, causing the involuntary impulses across his skin again. “How do you do this to me? Baby…” he whispers his begging, “have mercy on me.”

  Josephine combs her fingers through his hair. Their kisses are harder, breathing is deeper. She glides her palms over wrinkles of his shirt and down to the small of his back. With the added compression between them, he daydreams of removing her pants. The daydream makes promises he may continue in taking her as his wife and argue later. His mind is trampling over his better judgment,

  Give her a great experience and she won’t be mad.

  His breath is tangled. Sighing from reading her mind.

  I feel what she’s thinking of doing. Oh… my…

  And then…

  her right hand follows his pant line around his hips. His body solidifies with a slow inhale of paralysis sweeping over him. The tips of her fingers slide across his masculine hair line leading to his pelvic. He braces himself, grabbing the back of the couch and elevating himself slightly. “Whatever you want,” he whimpered.

  Her fingertips dig little by little, gaining motivation. Overcoming any hesitation, she might have had before. Her fingernails brush against the skin of his lower abs. He forgets how to breathe. He’s losing the battle.

  Please? His mind begs for what she’s about to explore. He arches his back, trying to help so he can breathe again. He knows he would scream from the experience if he were to exhale. Lucius stares directly into her eyes. His lips slowly open from his rising blood pressure. The sensation is burning deep and sending throbbing butterflies across his body. Her fingertips slide side to side, cradling his waistline and even with his belt. She’s inching closer.

  She’s right there. Lower. Oh… why does she tease me so?

  His face expresses both pleasure and agony. She’s teasing before touching him, holding him as a willing hostage. She knows it. His full acceptance is confirmed when he closes his eyes, and giving in.

  Whatever she wants.

  Josephine unfastens his belt and tenderly unbuttons his jeans. He’s paused in place giving her full control. She knows he won’t argue. He won’t leave this time. He’ll stay. He’ll stay and they can be together. His bidding, begging, every last ounce of strength is tied by her fingertips. Her soft, warm fingertips. He nods, “Please?”

  then…

  Bang chime ding

  Her phone rings loudly. A ring tone of an annoying montage song. Gunshots and alligator hunters in some title sequence she downloaded for Carissa’s tone. Placed as a joke from that one-time Carissa had a license to hunt gators on the Bayou.

  Josephine yanks her hand from startle. Removing her hand from an overheated area. And, releasing him. Releasing him to breathe. Lucius kicks back, whipping him into understanding. What was…? He’s still tangled in a hot and sticky web, but on the other end of the couch from her. He turns his head and registers in his mind her position. The position she’s lying in. Her invitation. He fights the urge to ignore the phone and regather what he was doing. To finish what they had started.

  Lucius peels himself from the couch. Tougher than the first time and adjusting his loosened pants. He attempts to cover himself correctly. His body aches for her and sits with widened pulsing legs on the coffee table. Man spreading and insufficiently breathing. Why is it so to
ugh to breathe? He struggles not to gaze at her.

  Josephine exhales, seeing him drift away. Still in her provocative lying position, she glances down at a lit-up screen. The phone loudly chimes a ring tone she wishes she never would have downloaded for laughs.

  Lucius’s fingers tremble over his face. His head is down, hunching over before finally breathing. He squirms in his position. Agony. He’s battling complete agony, waiting for his biggest threat to pass.

  Be a good boy, he thinks. Don’t touch her. Wait for the sweltering blood to go away. Give it time. It’ll pass. Why isn’t it passing?

  He rocks slightly in place, staring into an unoccupied corner of the couch. His hope and concentration are still weaved in her desire. She watches him struggling. Changing position, and trying to ease his body as though every muscle is aching. She stays in her spot, offering her comfort. Letting him know she can quench his thirst whenever he’s ready. He tries turning his head away, practicing deep breathing. Her open invitation only manufactures more problems. He curls his lips inward and…

  the phone stops ringing.

  Silence enhances his issue. He leans back and looks over at Josephine. Immediately, the burn rushes in stronger than before. The rush is in everything she’s doing and how she lays with her body stretched. Her facial features and seductive eyes. Her legs. Ready to cradle him. Her jeans pulled down on one side, exposing a soft hip. And above all…

  her same…

  exact…

  desire.

  He’s bursting inside. his body is uncontrollably tensing. His hands lift himself up. He starts slanting toward her like a prowling lion. Her eyes greet him for more. Her body arches with a sigh.

  Gunshots

  Her phone rings again.

  She recoils her hands and glances down. He also retracts, but much slower than she moves. He regains his seat. This time with flaring nostrils and a face of astonishment. So easily given up. No barrier left. Or fight to restrain anything.

  Josephine lowers her leg from the back of the couch. She fixes her blue jeans and answers her phone. “Hello, Carissa.”

  “Augh!” He moans loudly when hearing her voice. He stands with a stretch of his jaw, curling his lips. Squeezing his fingers through his thighs.

  Calm down, he tries ordering his body.

  He imagines grabbing the phone and crushing it, before catching himself. He looks for anything at this moment. Anything at all. He’s no longer able to take the atmosphere of the living room, and heads straight into the kitchen. He rushes toward the kitchen sink and flips the faucet on. Cold water runs over his hair. Cooling his heated head. He grabs the spout, spraying for a remedy. Cold water splashes over his neck, ears, and through every hair covering his overactive mind. He takes up temporary residence beneath the cold spring. A mild therapy. Somewhat helping. Josephine’s conversation is muzzled from the next room within the sound of gushing water blanketing his ears. His throbbing pulse overtakes his eardrums. The longer he stays under, the easier it is to govern his unbalanced emotions. He senses it and hears her thoughts, knowing that the evening will only escalate with tension. He has to resolve this.

  Control yourself, Lucius, control yourself. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She has to know first.

  In the middle of his mind chanting for strength, Josephine borders the kitchen entrance. She leans beside the cabinet, watching him. Her smile grows slightly with her top teeth holding her bottom lip in place. “What are you doing?” She giggles, “Does that feel good in there? I hope you drained it first.”

  He moans, “Uh,” sounding more on the lines of suffering. He squints his eyes, checking the water level. He sighs, internally thanking her for draining soapy, gravy water first. But it would have made no difference. His head remains buried beneath a cold flow.

  “Are you making it,” she asked.

  “Augh,” using groans with more guttural vigor than usual. “Barely,” he said.

  “I guess you’ve noticed,” she glances away for a moment with a roll of her eyes, “My friends wanna talk to me.”

  “Uh huh,” vaguely answered. He’s too busy picking up the sprayer again, drenching himself in the face and along his temples then back up to his crown.

  She snickers, “Well…” shaking her head at how the water soaks his collar. She says, “Carissa got worried when I didn’t answer.”

  “Uuhh…” lingering his groan.

  “Anyway…” clearing her throat, “she’s on her way. She will be here in half an hour.”

  “Okay,” he sighs, but not like before. Some restraint has manifested. “That’s good,” he said. At this point, his voice changes and shuts the water off. His collar, hair, and ears all drip across his cheekbones and rolls down his nose. He stays hunched over and is quite clear he’s being serious when he says, “Josephine…” speaking somber, “Please… because you love me…” he paused, hoping she won’t take his words wrong, “don’t touch me again. Especially, if your friends are coming over.”

  She straightens from the doorframe and steps toward him. Her shoulders hang and opens a drawer. She takes a brown and turquoise, paisley hand towel out and lays terrycloth on the counter next to him. “I hadn’t intended…” clearing her throat. “I wasn’t planning for any of that to happen. I can’t explain the way I felt.”

  How could she know, he thought. She doesn’t understand who she’s with.

  Lucius turns his jaw from the sink. He glimpses the terrycloth towel folded beneath her hand. But he doesn’t move. She stares at his eyes, expecting he’ll take the rag from her hand. And realizes how serious he is by not moving. The way he looks at her skin as if she herself is a weapon. He waits. She slowly unwinds her arm back and moves away. He slowly reaches at the same speed — watching her.

  “Oh… wow,” her words slipped. “You’re serious.” He squeezes the cloth hard against his face, curling his fingers into thick wrinkles. She says, “You’re mad at me?”

  “No,” dropping the towel into the sink. His head glimpses back, but only watching her elbow before lowering his chin again. He exhales, “I’m mad at myself.”

  “Why?” Her shoulders shrug, “I know that’s not the traditional way… but… I’ve never done that before. I wasn’t planning on doing that. I couldn’t…” Her eyes twirl, thinking, and says, “I mean… I’ve… I’m a virgin and —

  “Uh…” His voice drums in the sink basin, “You’re making me feel worse, Josephine.”

  Her head sinks between shoulders, “I’m sorry,” and a thought hits her like concrete, thinking maybe she’s just another girl.

  “I’ve never done that before either,” he stops her mid-thought. “I’m a virgin too.” His head swings sideways, as it hovers above the dropped towel. “I might not be able to tell you everything, but I can promise you. I promise I have never loved a woman. Or held any woman in the way I hold you.” His eyes tear up. “And I will never love ever again… as I love you.”

  She breaks from the floor using the balls of her feet, “Oh, Lucius…”

  He jerks over, “Stop… baby, please? I can’t stop.”

  She slants a step back. Her fingers roll to her chest, “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “Don’t apologize. I need your help. I can’t explain what’s actually happening but you can’t touch me.” Lucius grabs the towel and raises himself straight. He leans against the countertop, drying his hair. “I work…uh… I… uh… your… um,” and he gives up. “Nevermind. I’m terrified of the angry part, followed by the punishment part.” His head sways, “I couldn’t explain without you… augh,” he hollers, “Just don’t touch me!” He gazes at her, “You know I’m not strong enough.” One brow hikes, “And neither are you.”

  “Don’t think badly of me.”

  “I’m not,” his eyes fall, “That’s why I’m mad at myself. I know better.” He lowers the towel from his collar and neck, dropping his hand. He confesses, “I’ll never be good enough for —

  “No, you �
��

  He raises his hand, stopping her. Small veins are visible around his eyes and forehead. “What I say shouldn’t be taken carelessly. You are… more important than I. One day you will understand this. And… I fear… you won’t want…” his eyes squeeze, hiding them behind brown and turquoise material. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ll try to explain.”

  “What about the day after that?”

  He re-folds her towel, raising a glared look, “Right now…” he steps toward the living room, “… you need to get ready for your friends.” Without looking at her, he knows how she’s trailing behind him and folding her arms. She takes in a deep breath and widening her lips for more questions. He swivels back and interrupts her mid-breath, “Remember. I’m not here.”

  Lucius prepares in her lower bathroom, fixing his hair forward to make a peak over his crown. Carissa is only minutes away, so he takes those precious moments in advising her, “I know you’re tempted. And you don’t understand. What I tell you, is for your safety as much as it is for theirs. You can’t let anyone know I’m here.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. They’re my friends. They’re not dangerous, Lucius.”

  He glances at her, “You’ve been saying my name. That alone has caused more damage than good. I’ve been trying to clean up the mess.”

  Her lips part, “Is that what brought you back?”

  “Nothing is as it appears. Not like you think.” He turns her faucet on, dabbing water in certain areas of his hair. He rearranges the shaggy spots she had brushed her fingers through earlier for him. Erasing evidence of any near disaster experience. “I’m still figuring it out. I’ll have to explain a few things to you. Enough that you know I’m trying to be honest with you. Which is something I’m failing at. Something I was supposed to be —