by Gabrielle G.
His lips are warm and soft and when his tongue pushes its way through, I understand the need he has for me to be quiet.
I urge my brain to shut up.
It’s chanting that this isn’t how King used to kiss me, but I allow my body to take over, and I feel peaceful, connected, and turned on.
Oliver steps in, forcing me against the wall but his hands never leave my face.
He tastes like mint and sadness.
I moan in his mouth before realizing the desolation I sense are from the tears I’m crying.
Oliver strides back.
“Why the fuck are you crying?” he asks, the gentlemen I’ve met last week is long gone, his eyes dark from desire and his erection poking at my core.
“You’re the first man I’ve kissed since King died,” I answer honestly, knowing he will understand my vulnerability.
He undoubtedly remembers the first time he kissed someone other than Elaine. He pulls at his fuck-me hair and looks at me with sorrow.
“I shouldn’t have, I’m—,” I don’t let him finish and jump him to kiss his lips some more, needing him to shut up and not make me regret what I felt when he kissed me.
Because for an instant, when he was kissing me, it felt right.
For an instant, I didn’t feel the emptiness I carry around like a battle wound.
For an instant, I felt alive.
And if I have to kiss Oliver some more to feel again, I’ll gladly oblige.
Chapter Twelve
OLIVER
My heart beats in my chest like a woodpecker against a tree —hard and fast, with a rhythm I didn’t think possible again.
Tessa’s lips are my heaven, and a blanket of warmth slides over me.
My tongue caresses her lips, drinking the tears she’s still shedding.
She refuses to stop.
She needs to go through it.
And I understand why.
The first time I kissed someone other than Elaine, I felt like I cheated.
I told myself I was a piece of shit, betraying her memory.
I don’t want that for Tessa, but there is nothing I can do to stop the thoughts from taking over, so as long as she’s kissing me, I’m kissing her back.
My hands move slowly alongside her body, tracing her silhouette. I stop them on her waist. If she hasn’t kissed anyone since her dead guy, she didn’t fuck anyone either.
I won’t fuck her like a jackhammer in an elevator.
She needs time, kisses, affection, and respect. I bring my hands back up slowly and set them back on each side of her face.
My thumbs wipe the tears that are still falling while I deepen the kiss, thrusting into her mouth like I would between her legs.
I want to devour her and swallow all her pain.
I want to kiss her until I taste happiness instead of sorrow on her lips.
But unfortunately, time isn’t on my side.
The elevator ride is over, and the doors remind me of the world surrounding us.
I back away, out of breath and dizzy, and glance at her for any indication how she feels.
Silence surrounds us.
If I am at peace with the moment we shared, all I feared she would feel is written on her face: guilt, hurt, grief.
Slowly, I walk to her and take her hand.
“Come, Murdock,” I whisper, pulling her behind me.
Opening the palm of my other hand, I don’t need to ask for her to drop her keys. There is no way she can drive feeling the way she does.
Every step we take, her face falls even more.
I walk her around the car and open the passenger door.
She slides in, giving me a tight smile and a small nod to thank me.
She’s broken, and it’s up to me to put her back together.
I start driving but have no idea where she lives, so I take the direction of the motel I’m staying at.
She’s still not saying a word, lost in her thoughts, and I can’t blame her.
As she did yesterday, I reach for her hand and don’t let go.
Taking a big breath in, I give her the answer she needed before I attacked her mouth.
“Being loved by my in-laws was the most wonderful thing until I killed their daughter. My parents were never the loving kind, and I never knew what parents were supposed to be like until Pat and Sue. But then… The guilt I carried was nothing compared to the betrayal I felt just thinking about them. So when Pat came last night, I lost my shit. Of course, I didn’t show it to him. I acted as if I was on a mission. I needed to survive and pretend, and that’s what I did. Mark called when Pat left, and I pretended a little more. I was so fucking tired, I crashed down on my bed, but I wasn’t able to sleep. I turned and turned some more and gave up around two in the morning. I left the room and started to walk around town. Remembering everything about Elaine and what we went through. I needed time alone to get my head back on my shoulders. I came here thinking I would tell Mark and her family how she died, but I can’t. I need to leave this place.”
I look at her from the corner of my eyes, but she’s still frozen like a figurine of grief. So, I go on.
“Mark is worried because I disappeared once and didn’t talk to him for five years, and he knows I can do it again. I’m an asshole, Tessa. When I’m not well, I flee. At least that’s who I’ve become since Elaine died. I overthink and get so anxious I need to do some things several times to calm myself. I’m pretty sure Mark knows, but he’s too smart to point out my issues. I’ve hidden it from my entourage in New York, but Mark and I, we’ve shared too much over the years for him not to see things. He certainly had an eye on me the past five years. I’ve seen people follow me, and I always knew it was his way to be there without forcing himself into my life. He’s a great friend.”
Still not a word. I give her more.
“I speak perfect French because I was raised in Paris and went to the American school there. I stayed in the city of lights until my sister left for college in New York, and I begged her not to leave me with our parents. They didn’t fight for me to stay. Anna is the only family that counts, but sometimes she goes too far. Like today. I guess I should be glad to have so many people loving me and caring for me, but occasionally I need peace, I need for them not to worry, I need to be treated like everyone else. Even if I hide my pain, even if I didn’t tell them about the fear I have of people around me dying unexpectedly, even if they see the trouble in me, I need them to act as if I was normal, so that I can believe it too. But Anna never really buys my excuses, and now that she’s with her rock star, she’s even more attuned to my emotions than before. She thinks she can save me the same way she saved Dan Darling.”
“Bullshit,” Tessa finally mutters.
“Exactly. Bullshit. If love was a salvation for Darling, it’s a damnation for me. For people like us. And I hope Anna never goes through what you and I went through, but I also hope she can comprehend I didn’t get divorced or my fiancée didn’t cheat on me. The woman I loved died before my eyes, doing something I asked her to do because I craved the adrenaline and the excitement of being on a mission with my brothers. I killed her by being selfish. Because that’s what I am, Tessa. A selfish asshole. The proof is that I could kiss you again, knowing how it hurts you, how guilt is eating at you right now, how it makes you feel like a piece of shit, I would do it again. Because that’s who I am. You made me feel good, you made me feel alive, warm, cherished so I would kiss you. Again and again, because now that I’ve tasted your lips, I want to drink your juice.”
I park the car in front of my room and stop speaking, waiting for her to tell me anything at this point. She opens the door and gets out of the car. I follow suit, wondering where she’s at.
“Is that your room?” she asks, pointing at the door in front of us. I nod. “When are you going back to New York?” She leans against the frame, waiting for me to open it.
“As soon as I can,” I tell her, loving how she’s not afraid to come close
to me.
“Can I ask you to fuck me before you leave?” I almost lose my balance, hearing her words. Almost.
“Fucking you isn’t a solution, Tessa,” I say while opening the door and inviting her in with a gesture of my hand.
“True, but it’s a temporary compress on an open wound, and it seems you’ll be good at mending the abrasions on my heart.” She walks to the bed and lets herself fall.
“Not sure I can take care of your heart, but I certainly can take care of your pussy.” I joke, but like in every joke, there is some truth to my words.
How could I take care of her heart when mine still bleeds my loss? I’m good with pussy and orgasms, with a need I can understand and fill, not with shattered organs.
“So make me come so I can get back on the bicycle and maybe start fucking around. I always thought it would feel awful to kiss someone else, but for a moment there, before everything stopped, it felt good. I want to feel that way again, and maybe being with another man is what I need.”
“Or maybe you’ll feel even more guilty. Maybe you’ll feel like I did, the way I still do every time. Are you ready for that?” I can’t believe I’m pushing her not to have sex with me, but there is no way I can be the only guy putting her back on track. She’s the first woman I somewhat felt something for after kissing her. Even Naomi didn’t make me feel like I had wings when we were together. Fucking Tessa for her to move on to other men is not a possibility.
“Please,” she says, her tormented eyes looking at me with tears in them, “make me feel again.”
I’m a sucker for crying chicks.
I come closer and sit next to her.
The fingers of one hand instantly stroking her knuckles while the thumb of the other dries her cheeks.
Slowly, I bring my lips to her face and drink her in.
Little kisses that make me feel good and allow her to close her eyes. I kiss her cheek, her nose, her eyes, collecting every tear, one after the other. They are the most precious gifts she could give me. They are tears of letting go of her fiancé and getting lost in me. They are tears of emotional pain but also of mental freedom.
Every tear will bring her closer to the peace she needs to go on. It’s all I wish for her.
I hope she won’t stay a ghost in love with a past she can’t ever have, like me.
I want her to heal more than everything. The realization brings me to let a tear fall as well. I want her to be happier than I’ll ever be. I don’t know why but I need Tessa to be fine for both of us. As if she can read my mind, she backs away, looks at me, and smiles. Her hands dry the sign of my sadness. And without a word, she presses her lips against mine and kisses me some more. This time her kiss isn’t a sad apology for the tears she’s shedding.
It’s a full-on war declaration to my willpower.
Tessa wants to be fucked and has decided I’ll be the one to do the work. Her tongue swirls around mine, her breasts press against my chest, her hands come up my leg. She’s dangerously close to my cock, and I’m afraid I’ll blow fast. My hand reaches hers and stops her in her tracks before my dick overpowers my brain, and I fuck her to oblivion.
“Tessa,” I warn her, “I’m not who you want…”
“I know,” she says with sadness in her voice. “But I’m not who you want either. So maybe we could help each other.”
I shake my head. “I won’t fuck you, sweetheart. I can make out all night if you need, I can make you high on kisses, but I won’t have sex with you. Your walls are too far down, it will only hurt us.”
“What if I need to hurt to feel alive?”
Images of Tessa under me, hurting a little while I thrust between her legs, come directly to my mind. “Then I’m not the one who can hurt you,” I say kissing her slowly, trying to get my control back. But then she bites me and all I’ve been holding off comes surging into my brain, into my body, into my dick. Hard as a rock I push her against the bed and cover her. I lose track of what I should do and get lost in her. Kissing her more deeply, I let my fingers trace her breasts and finding their way under her shirt, while I thrust against her jeans. Her hands find the buckle of my belt and she hungrily opens my jeans and dives into my underwear. Her hand is cold compared to the burning desire powering my cock. I grunt and nibble at her lips.
“Careful, Blue-hair, I wouldn’t want to make a mess before show time.” I reach one of her nipples and flick it a few times while my mouth finds the crook of her neck. She tastes like a fucking paradise I never want to leave. But whatever happens tonight between us, I’m going back to New York.
Her hand squeezes me, stopping the thoughts cluttering my mind and bringing me back to what we’re doing. I remove her hand off my dick and slowly lift her shirt only to discover the flawlessness of her body: breasts I can take in my mouth, skin I can caress with the pad of my fingers, navel I can fill with my sperm. I don’t need much to find perfection. I remove my glasses and dive in cherishing every inch of her chest with my tongue.
“Oliver,” she moans, her hands grabbing the back of my neck. Hearing my name on her lips makes me fall deeper into her spell. “Fuck, yes,” she continues, and I go lower, nibbling at her flank, her ribs, her hipbone while my hands take care of removing her pants. I straddle her and sit on my heels to have a better look at her. And there she is, in matching bra and panties, her eyes hooded, her mouth slightly open, ready for me.
“Come,” she whispers, beckoning me with her finger. But first I want to get naked for her. Taking off my shirt, I hear her moan when my chest comes into view.
“Do you like what you see?” I smugly ask.
“Nah… You should work out more.” She winks at me and makes me laugh. I might not be in the navy anymore, but I work out daily to maintain the muscles I gained over the years.
“Let’s see if you really don’t like it.” I open her legs and kneel between them before my finger trails against her panties. From top to the side, brushing her clit and going down to her entrance. I can feel her heat and her wetness growing while I draw figure eights on her pussy. Her hips buck up, asking for more, and I pull at my dick for a little release, continuing the torture I’m inflicting on her.
“Please,” she begs and my cock jerks higher. Moving her panties aside, my finger traces her lips, getting coated by her juices. I push her bra down and can’t resist taking her nipple in my mouth, wanting to swallow it whole. When I feel her clench, I push my finger inside of her, her pussy welcoming me by gripping me and making me want to slide my dick in her forever. Needing her kiss, I come up to her mouth and drop my lips to hers. Our chest touching for the first time, our tongues twirling together, and my finger fucking her deep. I add a second one, and crook them to find her spot. She shivers at my touch and I want to devour her. Her hands finish undressing me, freeing my cock from the constraints of my pants and I grunt when her hand falls onto my ass. My dick rests against her pubic bone and she gets more excited, coating my fingers even more with her desire.
“Taste me,” she pleads. Abandoning her pussy, I bring my fingers to her mouth, mixing them with our tongues and grunt at the sweetness of her. My dick lowers down, as if magnetized by her entrance and the tip is ready to push in when I remember the condom. She nods against my mouth as if to give me permission to get inside of her, and I pray to the gods she’s under any kind of contraception because I can’t stop anymore. I rip off her panties and thrust inside her, my tongue and fingers still fucking her mouth while my dick finds a new home.
We’re both lost in each other, all grunts and moans, chasing our orgasm by going faster and faster until we’re about to fall. Feeling her clench around me, I pull out and replace my dick with three fingers so she can orgasm around something and finish jerking off at the sight of her coming, exploding on her chest and seeing my cum drip to her navel.
A perfect moment until she opens her eyes, looks at me and seems far. Very far from us.
Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have fucked her.
I
shake my head and back away quickly, letting my mask fall again, and stand up from the bed to give her something to clean up.
Her silence telling me more than the thousands of words she could use to explain.
I leave her there, towel in hand, and walk away to the bathroom to take a shower, so she can take the time she needs to come to peace with what we’ve done.
Chapter Thirteen
TESSA
Embarrassed. Degraded. Disgraced. There is a lot a woman can feel when a man humiliates her.
The first time I felt this way, I was twelve and had just kissed a boy.
A stupid boy who thought he was the shit.
He kissed me and told everyone I was a lousy kisser.
That’s the first time I thought I would die of mortification because of a man.
As Kelly Clarkson sings so annoyingly, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I got stronger.
And I learned.
Every time a man used me, every time a man diminished me, what we had, or our story, I grew stronger.
Every time I felt like less than what I was, I got up again and fought.
Getting stronger is in my DNA.
But the stronger you get, the thicker your skin is, the harder the fall.
Today is the day I fall.
I realize so the moment Oliver leaves me on his bed, still a little wet and a lot confused.
Weakened on my legs, my shoulders curling toward my chest, swallowing the gripping shame in my throbbing throat and the embarrassment on my sluggish heart, I run away from Oliver’s room.
Thankfully as I tend to lose my keys, I always have a second pair in my purse.
I open my door with shaking hands and jump in my car, hoping I’ll find peace in my baby.
I don’t.
Mechanically, I drive away with my tires screeching my pain, my thoughts shattered by what happened, and my foot glued to the acceleration pedal.
I flee fast, my chin trembling, and my body shivering at the idea of stopping the carousel of life indefinitely.