The One Who Got Away

by Kristina Wright

  “Wow, this is strange,” I said, with a laugh.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know maybe it’s too late for us, but I thought—”

  I really wanted to know what he thought, but the waiter was there to clear our table of the plates I didn’t even remember eating from. Once we were alone again and Erik was signing the check, I found myself panicking. Dinner was over, and other than some small talk about me, and his laundry list of life changes, we’d not really said much. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I knew I wasn’t ready for this—whatever this was—to end.

  “Want to come over to my place?” I asked, a little too quickly, as he followed me out to the parking lot. I sounded spooked, and I was. Erik…two years gone from my life, but never quite gone-gone, until now. Knowing he’d be hundreds of miles away suddenly made our breakup seem that much more final. “I feel like there’s more to say than just goodbye.”

  If he thought that was corny, he didn’t show it. He nodded. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  A week that had started with me not having seen Erik in two years was ending with him following me home. My head was still spinning—no margarita necessary—when I let us into my place. This was the last thing I had expected to happen, him coming over, so my apartment wasn’t exactly spotless. I nudged the cat out of the way and straightened as I went from front door to kitchen.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt.

  “I’m not really thirsty.” He had followed me and I found his close proximity unnerving. “And I’m guessing neither are you.”

  I wasn’t. I was just going through the motions. And while I didn’t intend to be playing a game, it felt like I was. “Nope. Not at all. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, actually.”

  He looked at me, blinked, and started laughing. That made me laugh. Pretty soon, we were both doubled over in laughter and the cat had fled for the bedroom. None of it was funny and nothing made sense, but one minute we were laughing and the next minute he had his arms around me and was kissing me— and there was nothing at all funny about that, either.

  “God, I missed you,” he murmured against my lips. “So much.”

  “Me, too.” I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to think. And when it dawned on me that I wasn’t talking or thinking, I put my hand against his chest and firmly pushed him away. “But what are we doing?”

  He stared at me, his breathing a little ragged, as was mine. “I don’t know. I swear, this wasn’t what I intended.” He held up his hands as if to ward me off. “I really didn’t think we’d do anything but have dinner and catch up and—”

  He trailed off for the second time in explaining what we were doing. This time, there was no waiter to interrupt. “And?” I prompted. “What did you want tonight to be about?”

  “Honestly?”

  I rolled my eyes as I leaned against the counter, putting as much space between us as I could in my small kitchen. It would’ve been easy enough to relocate to the couch in the living room, but I was tired of interruptions. I wanted to know what was going on in his head.

  “No, lie to me.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, well…I thought tonight would be about… starting over.”

  It was a good thing we’d already eaten dinner, or I surely would have choked on my enchilada. “Starting over? You and me? Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I needed to sit down, but the only way out of the kitchen was to nudge past him in the doorway and I wasn’t getting that close. “But…you’re moving. To Chicago. Soon.”

  He nodded.

  “But you were hoping we’d start over tonight?”

  He nodded again. “I know it doesn’t make sense—”

  I laughed. “Math doesn’t make sense. Politics doesn’t make sense. This, this is just crazy talk.”

  “So you don’t want to?” His expression said it all. He was hurt. “You’re really over me?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter! You’re moving, remember? Moving. Whatever this might be”—I gestured to the space between us—“doesn’t matter. You’re leaving.”

  My voice had risen with every word until I was practically shouting. I took a deep breath and said, very softly, “And no, I’m not over you. Obviously.”

  He laughed again, and it changed his entire look. I liked it. “It’s only Chicago, Fiona. Seriously. My dad’s death hit me hard—look at me.”

  I had been looking for the past couple of hours, but I did as he said. There were lines around his eyes I didn’t remember, a crease in his forehead that made him look pensive and older than he was. And the weight loss didn’t help.

  “You look…not good.”

  “I know. And honestly, I look better than I did a couple of months ago,” he said with a wry grin. “I feel better, too. Because I’ve had time to come to terms with Dad’s death and realize that I was kind of floating along in life, not really doing anything meaningful. Not really pursuing what I want for myself.”

  “And what do you want for yourself?”

  “You.”

  I looked away. It’s what I wanted to hear, but that didn’t make it true. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You, but not just you. I want to be there for my mom because she and dad were there for me my whole life. I want to be a teacher. I’m glad I’ve been a firefighter, glad for the training and the experience, but I want to do something that makes me feel like I’m making a difference every day and not just when there’s an emergency. I want to trade in the balls-to-the-wall adrenaline rush for something more consistent and stable and, well, adult.”

  “Adult, huh?”

  “Yeah, Fiona. It was time for me to grow up and figure out what I want, and I want you. The only adrenaline rush I want is the one I get when I’m close to you.” He closed that short distance between us and took me in his arms.

  My mind was spinning and I had nowhere to go, nowhere to look, except in his very earnest, very familiar eyes. I had missed him in a way I’d wanted to deny and that point was driven home by the moisture collecting between my thighs and the way I wanted to press my body against every inch of him, especially the bulge in his pants that was unmistakable. He was thinner, but the muscles were still there, flexing and holding me close as if I might run. But I had no desire to run; I was exactly where I had wanted to be. It was as if two years hadn’t passed at all, but in another way it was as if he were a stranger I needed to discover.

  “Bedroom, now,” was all I could mutter as I reached up to press my lips to his. I didn’t want to think anymore. Later, I would think later. But right now, there was an urge growing in me. A need only Erik could satisfy.

  He took my hand and I followed him into my bedroom. The bed wasn’t made, but instead of looking messy it simply looked inviting—as if it were waiting for us and had taken the time to turn back the spread and rumple the sheets so we would feel welcome. Erik tumbled me down lengthwise across the mattress and I fell willingly, aching for him.

  Clothes came off a piece at a time, with each of us working to help the other. Naked. I wanted him naked, I wanted to feel his skin against mine. I caught my breath as I stared at his body; the weight loss looked unnatural on his muscular frame and it brought forth some deep protective urge in me. I wanted to feed him, fatten him up, bring him back to me. But first, god, I just wanted to fuck him.

  I didn’t need an invitation to straddle him and press my wet slit against the length of his erection. He let out a groan that was as full of need and longing as I was feeling and I knew I was home. Slowly, I slid down his shaft, taking first the head then the entire length of him inside me. Yes. It had been a long time, but my body still remembered him, still tightened as he filled me, knowing his shape, remembering the way he filled me just so.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he said through gritted teeth, his breath already ragged. “I’ve thought about you, about this, so much. I should never have let you
go. But I didn’t know how to keep you.”

  I didn’t say anything. My brain couldn’t form the words to say what I was feeling, what I wanted. All I could do was show him. And I did. Leaning over his lanky body, I kissed him, using my lips and tongue and teeth while my pussy tightened on his cock and I rode him. He gripped my ass, holding tight while I moved on him, groaning into my mouth with every downward thrust. His tongue swept along mine, teasing out my own breathy moans as he slid his hands over the curve of my hips, up my waist and around to cup my breasts and thumb my nipples. The movements, the feelings, were familiar as a recurring dream— but there was something more, something new, about the way we connected. We found a rhythm that was harder, faster, more immediate. His hands stroked up and down my curves from breast to hips as he rose to meet my downward thrusts.

  My orgasm surprised me. I was so caught up in watching his expression, enjoying the way his body responded to me, that one moment I was there, solid and present and completely focused on riding his erection and drawing forth his moans that mirrored my own, and the next I was flying to pieces, feeling breathless and weightless as my climax pulled me apart and Erik’s thrusts became the center of my world. I cried out as he held me to him and I belatedly realized he was right there with me in the midst of his own orgasm that left his body taut and quivering. I stroked my hand down his chest as I shifted off him, my head still fitting so well in the hollow of his shoulder. He played with the damp wisps of my hair as I continued to soothe him with a gentle hand.

  “Wow,” he said finally when his breath had returned to normal.

  I laughed. “That word is getting a lot of play tonight. That was…unexpected.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t say it wasn’t what I was hoping for.”

  “You said you weren’t expecting this,” I said, inhaling the heady scent of our lovemaking.

  “Doesn’t mean a guy can’t hope.”

  We were quiet for a while, and I wondered if he was attempting to process all of this madness with the same rapid-fire speed as I was. Probably not. I am notorious for overthinking things, and though he’d laid a lot on me at once and then fucked me senseless, I was trying not to make it more complicated than it was. But it was complicated, no two ways about it. And in the aftermath of the mind-blowing sex, my rational mind was trying to make sense of it all.

  “So, Chicago, huh?”

  “Yeah. Not for a couple of months, though. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up,” he said, his fingertips stroking along my hairline, teasing the shell of my ear.

  I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat. “Am I a loose end?”

  “No, I told you—you’re part of my plans for the future. If you’ll have me.”

  “I see. And how do you imagine this working, with you in Chicago?”

  He laughed, his chest rumbling with that happy sound, and it made me smile. “I don’t know. I’m flying by the seat of my pants here, Fi. I just know what I want and that I’m going to do whatever it takes to get it.”

  “Long-distance relationship?”

  “Sure, why not? It’s just a few hours by car. I’ve socked away a lot of savings and I have financial aid and grants, so I won’t need to work right away. And I will have all kinds of time during school breaks. You have vacation time. We can meet halfway; I’ll come here, whatever I need to do.”

  He made it sound so easy. I was torn between elation and hopelessness. Could we make it work this time? Was it worth the risk? The answer was in the curve of his smile and the warmth of his body pressed against mine. Yeah, it was worth it.

  “Okay,” I said, though there were a thousand questions I wanted to ask. Keep it simple, right? “Okay.”

  He rolled over me, covering my body with his own, and I felt the press of his erection returning. The questions and doubts fled and all that mattered was this moment. We’d figure out the rest later.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  LAILA BLAKE (lailablake.com) is an author, linguist and translator. She writes character-driven love stories, cofounded the micropublishing venture Lilt Literary and blogs about feminism and society. Laila’s body of work encompasses literary erotica, romance and speculative fiction. Her short stories have been featured in numerous anthologies.

  JILLIAN BOYD (ladylaidbare.com) is the author of numerous erotic short stories and has been published by the likes of Cleis Press, House of Erotica and Constable and Robinson. She lives with her adorable boyfriend in London, where she blogs, bakes and dreams about wild, uninhibited romance while hanging the laundry.

  RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL (rachelkramerbussel.com) is the editor of The Big Book of Orgasms; Cheeky Spanking Stories; Flying High: Sexy Stories from the Mile High Club; Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples and more. She writes about sex, dating, books and pop culture, teaches erotic writing workshops and tweets @raquelita.

  Born in one country, raised in a second and living in a third, J. CRICHTON is a teacher and translator who uses her jet-setting experiences as inspiration for steamy writing. She is a firm believer in chasing dreams, happy endings and great sex.

  CLAIRE DE WINTER is a published novelist and recovering attorney. She lives in the industrial Midwest with her husband and two small children.

  EMERALD’s erotic fiction has been featured in anthologies published by Cleis Press, Mischief and Logical-Lust. She’s an assistant newsletter editor and Facebook group moderator for Marketing for Romance Writers (MFRW) and blogs about sexuality from psychological, social and spiritual perspectives at her website, The Green Light District (TheGreenLightDistrict.org).

  TAMSIN FLOWERS (tamsinflowers.com) writes lighthearted erotica, often with a twist in the tale and a sense of fun. Her stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and usually, she’s working on at least ten stories at once.

  MIA HOPKINS is a Los Angeles-based writer of romance and erotic fiction. Her work has been featured by Clean Sheets, Go Deeper Press, and Cleis Press. If she had a choice, her death row meal would be oysters, whiskey, a baguette, and a giant cake with bolt cutters baked inside.

  SKYLAR KADE (skylarkade.com) writes erotic romance, usually of the kinky persuasion. She lives in California and spends her time asking the cabana boys to bring her more mimosas and feed her strawberries while she dreams up her next naughty adventure.

  H. KEYES is an art aficionado and punk rocker living in Japan. She’s into design, tattoos, kimono, decadent history and window-shopping all around Tokyo.

  RENEE LUKE is a multi-published award-winning author, who has written for several houses, but is now self-publishing. She writes stories with rich texture, deep emotions and realist characters. She creates stories where sensual seduces erotic and believes in love, romance and happily-ever-afters.

  KIM STRATTFORD (kimstrattford.com) lives in Northern Virginia with two cats and a whole cast of characters in her head. She has stories accepted to Powerless Against You: A Romantic Superhero Anthology from New Mourning Publishing and Roane Publishing’s Summer’s Embrace anthology.

  ALEX TOBIN (tobinwords.com) lives in Portland, OR, with a huge collection of great books and terrible movies. When not dreaming of the grand marketing scheme that will bring his works to the attention of the world, Alex can be found procrastinating about writing and laughing in the face of looming deadlines.

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Described by The Romance Reader as “a budding force to be reckoned with” and as one of the “legendary erotica heavy-hitters” by Violet Blue, KRISTINA WRIGHT (kristinawright.com) is an award-winning author and the editor of over a dozen Cleis Press anthologies, including Fairy Tale Lust and the Best Erotic Romance series. Her short fiction has appeared in over one hundred anthologies and her nonfiction has appeared in publications as diverse as USA Today, the Washington Post, Cosmopolitan, Narratively and Brain, Child Magazine. She is the author of the groundbreaking cross-genre relationship guide Bedded Bliss: A Couple’s Guide to Lust Ever After and the HarperCollins erotic romance Seduce Me Tonight. She
holds degrees in English and humanities from Charleston Southern University and Old Dominion University and has taught English and world mythology at the college level. She lives in Virginia with her husband, a retired lieutenant commander in the Navy, and their two young sons.