Love Me Broken

by Lily Jenkins

  “Yes,” I say. “Do it.”

  “Say it,” he says gruffly. “Tell me what you want.” He presses his finger into me in a way that makes me squirm, my fingers desperately clutching the doorframe.

  I moan again, and gasp, “Lick me. I want you to lick me, Adam.”

  His eyes go wide at my directness, and he rushes forward to my skirt. In one quick motion he lifts it up and presses his face into me. My skirt flutters down and lands on top of his head, but I can still see his strong shoulders below me, his hands reaching up to touch me.

  I feel his tongue first, gently touching the outside of me. It tickles in a marvelous way. Then I feel his fingers pulling my lips apart, and suddenly his face is there. I feel his slight stubble press into me as his tongue reaches out and he starts massaging the inside of me. I shudder at the sensation, feeling the tip of his tongue swirl around. Just when I think it can’t be any more intense, that I can’t take any more, I feel him put a finger in as well. His perfect aim doesn’t fail him and he touches me directly on my button as he licks and massages me, and all at once my entire body is melting.

  “Oh!” I cry out, not worried at all now if anyone hears me. I’m too lost in the moment. I can’t even form words. “Ohhh!”

  He feels my excitement and the intensity and speed of his movement increases, until I feel like I’m weighted down on all sides by this incredible warm pressure. My blood is pumping ecstasy through my veins, and I feel a shudder curl my toes and tickle my fingertips. My eyes go back in my head as the sensation in my body increases, builds, and then finally explodes in a climax so powerful it almost feels like the whole Column has been smashed into the ocean. I moan something incoherent, and Adam continues, feeling the waves of my pleasure course through my body. I feel the wind on my sweaty forehead, and feel the breeze in my hair, whipping it around my shoulders.

  In this moment, in this exact moment, I have the clear thought that this—this—is what it feels like to be alive.

  I’m still panting by the time Adam stands back up, handing me my leggings and bra. My body feels too weak to bother with them now, so I simply hold them as Adam puts his arms around me and turns me to the sunset. The sky is pink and on fire, the sun cresting over the distance beyond the water to our left, and I just breathe in the cool evening air, feeling its cooling touch on my bare legs under my skirt.

  Adam’s arms feel safe and strong around me, and even though I’m still warm, I don’t mind the additional warmth of having his body so close. I feel little kisses on the crown of my head, but I’m not yet at full control of my senses.

  I’ve had orgasms before, but nothing like this. This was more than an orgasm. This was an experience. I look up at Adam behind me, almost unsure how any human being could give me so heavenly a sensation. And, as much as I’d be embarrassed to say it out loud, my first thought is that if he could do it once, does that mean he could do it again? But the sun is setting, and the night air is suddenly much colder than the evening’s. Adam kisses me lightly on my neck, and I know it’s time to go. We haven’t been caught up here yet; no sense in pushing our luck.

  Adam lends me his shoulder for balance as I pull back on my underwear and leggings. He’s openly watching with a grin on his face. I can’t help but smile back. It’s like we’re partners in crime.

  As I snap back on my bra, I realize we probably are. With this thought, I straighten up so that I can reach Adam’s mouth. I kiss him. It’s not the frenzied kiss of before, but it’s still full of passion and longing, and I can feel his need for me through it.

  Then, leaning up against him, I feel his need for me in a more human fashion.

  “Oh,” I say. “Did you need to, uh…?”

  He looks down at the tent in his jeans. Then he looks back up and gives a shrug. “That’s what I get for forgetting a condom.”

  I sneak another quick glance at the sizable bulge in his jeans, and then we give one last look to the horizon before heading back down. It’s lucky we have the long winding stairwell in front of us, because it’s not until we are back on solid ground that Adam is able to walk comfortably again.

  The next morning, I am staring off into space for the better part of an hour, barely able to make my bed and take a shower. I think I brush my hair for a good twenty minutes, which is totally pointless because I end up braiding it into two long ropes. I catch myself smiling into the mirror, and humming when I go downstairs to make toast and eggs over easy for breakfast. I’m in such a good mood that I make two helpings and bring the second out to my mother on the porch, along with a tall glass of orange juice.

  I set them down on the side table next to her, and she looks at the breakfast like I’ve served her green eggs and ham.

  Back inside, I finish my food, brush my teeth, and go into the garage to feed Pete and try yet again to gain his trust. Maybe it’s my mood, or the tone of my voice, but he actually comes out a little today. I see his whole face, his cute orange fluff and green eyes. I set down the dish before me and wait, staying exactly still.

  He puts one paw forward, and pauses. Then another.

  Oh my god, I think he’s actually going to come near me.

  Then all at once, he rushes to the food, taking sharp little bites. He looks up at me distrustfully while he chews, and I just watch him with my hands on my thighs, unmoving.

  “See?” I say gently. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

  When he’s nearing the end of his bowl, I can’t resist it. I reach out a hand to pet him. But at the motion, even the mere start of a motion, Pete’s entire posture changes and he dashes back behind the boxes again.

  “Oh, Pete,” I sigh. But I still feel a little encouraged by the progress. I top off Pete’s bowl—maybe if I keep feeding him, he’ll be too fat to run away—and head back into the house.

  Back in my room, I can’t find anything to do. I find my phone—no messages—and think about calling Nicole. If anyone wants to hear my ramblings about Adam, it would be her. Then I notice the time. She’d be at work now. I look at the mirror, suddenly finding my clothes a little too sloppy. What if Adam comes into the coffee shop? Not that he ever has before, but what if he calls while I’m there and I don’t have time to come back and change?

  I pull open my closet door and start rummaging through the clothes, pulling out a few different tops and throwing them onto my bed. Then I spend a good ten minutes holding up different outfits to my body, making faces of disappointment, and finally deciding on something that’s honestly not much different from what I had on in the first place. I’m just so restless that I can’t sit still, and changing clothes seems as good of a waste of time as anything else.

  I gather my things, put on some of that coral lipstick that will now forever remind me of being in the Column with Adam, and pack my little purse with a few cosmetics on the off chance that I might run into Adam later.

  When I leave the house, I see the plate of food next to my mother has been touched. There are a few bites out of the toast, and the eggs—I’m not sure if she ate any, but she definitely broke the yolk on one and made a mess of it on the plate. That’s… something, right?

  The orange juice is untouched.

  At the coffee shop, there’s a line at the counter longer than I’ve seen in a while. I catch sight of Nicole, who looks frenzied and flustered. Little tufts of hair are sticking up on her head, and her face is sweaty and her eyes look exhausted. There’s a small snarl to her lips, which should give anyone in line the hint that she’s not having a good day, but it seems like the customers keep saying the wrong thing or something, because she looks almost pained by the interactions.

  I get in line. I try to catch her eye, but she doesn’t notice me. She’s the only one working today, so she has to both take the orders and make the drinks. That’s normally not a big deal, but when there’s a line, she’s told me, it can be surprisingly stressful. The guy in front of me, a middle-aged businessman with a Bluetooth device in his ear, keeps looking at his wat
ch and sighing. The line moves, and Nicole’s favorite customer walks up: Margie. I think I see Nicole’s eye twitch from here as she sets eyes on the older woman. Today she’s wearing a pink and neon green Hawaiian shirt and bright green pants that are doing her no favors. I don’t hear exactly what they are saying to each other, but Margie throws up her hands at the end and shouts, “Finally!”

  Poor Nicole.

  The line moves slowly. I’m three people back when Nicole sees me. She gives an exhausted smile, and seems somewhat grateful to see a friendly face. Of course, as soon as she turns back to the line, her face hardens and I might as well not be there. Five minutes later, I’m at the front of the line.

  “Geez,” I say, “it’s crazy in here.”

  She wipes a hand across her forehead. There’s a burn mark from the espresso machine on the underside of her wrist. “Mark was supposed to be here an hour ago.” Mark is her coworker, although I have trouble keeping track of the coffee shop’s rotating staff. Nicole is the only one who has been there more than three months. She’s been there three years.

  “Well, I’ll just take a regular coffee,” I tell her, knowing the drink requires no work on her part, just pouring.

  “Nonsense,” she says. “Let me make you something tasty.”

  I turn back to see how many people are behind me. Only one lady in her thirties, with a boy by her side who is about three or four. I smile at him, but the mother doesn’t notice. She looks as exhausted as Nicole.

  “Okay,” I tell Nicole. “I guess this is a bad time to visit though.”

  She looks at the line. “Nah. It’s clearing up. Besides, I’ve got news.”

  Even though I am in a good mood, I have to force myself to act cheerful at this statement. “News” with Nicole is only one of two things: a new boyfriend or a new get-rich-quick scheme that’s sure to eat up what little money she has. For an otherwise smart girl, she sure makes some stupid choices in life.

  Nicole makes me something full of cinnamon and froth, and I take a seat by the window. In this moment of stillness, my thoughts immediately return to Adam. And as I take a sip of the hot beverage, I find myself picturing what he looks like beneath his jeans. I almost jump when Nicole says, from directly behind me, “Sorry about that.”

  She takes the seat across from me, an equally frothy drink in her hand, and I look back toward the register. There’s a skinny guy there with dark hair and an I-hate-the-world expression on his face. It must be Mark.

  Nicole rants a little about her customers this morning—which is kind of embarrassing, as most of the people she’s talking about are still within hearing distance at the coffee shop—and then asks me what seems to be her new opening line for conversation this past month: “So how’s the cat?” I’ve already told her about the phone call alerting me to the fact that the cat was abandoned. When I asked her if she wanted the cat, her response was a regretful statement that she didn’t have the wherewithal to look after her own life, let alone an animal’s. But she’s been very interested in his well-being, regardless.

  I give her an update. “He let me get pretty close today. I couldn’t pet him, but it was encouraging.”

  “Maybe we could both try later?” she suggests. “Maybe I’ll make him nervous, and he’ll run to you for comfort?”

  “I don’t think it works like that.”

  We take sips of our drinks.

  “So,” Nicole says, setting her cup down. “I’ve got big news.”

  I hold my breath and smile.

  She smiles back and pauses for effect. “Well… guess what?”

  I don’t even respond.

  “I’m seeing someone new!”

  I let out a sigh. “Oh? Who is he?”

  “His name is Brad and he’s a shipyard worker.”

  I take this in. “Brad?” I ask. “From Chad to Brad, seriously?”

  She shrugs, but she’s still pleased. “I know! But it’s just a coincidence. He’s nothing like Chad. He’s much more mature.”

  Mature. I know what that means. “How old is he?”

  “Oh…” She looks up at the ceiling. “I think maybe thirty. You know. Thirty-five or forty.”

  I blink. “That’s a big range.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, I needed something different.”

  “He’s not married, is he?”

  “Only to the sea.” She laughs, and I can’t help it. I laugh too.

  “How long is he in port?”

  “You know, I’m not really sure. But he comes back all the time. The end of his line is in Astoria.”

  I nod, but I’m cynical. “Uh-huh. And where’s the start of his line?”

  She looks a bit embarrassed and picks up her cup. “China,” she says, and then takes a sip before she can say anything more.

  “Well,” I say after a moment. “I wish you the best with Brad.”

  She leans forward and whispers, “He’s got so many tattoos, you wouldn’t believe it. That’s how I met him. He started showing them to me.”

  I try to think of a situation in which showing off tattoos counts as a cute-meet story, but I come up with a blank. I’m not sure I want to know, so I don’t ask. She talks a little more about Brad—mostly things that suggest she’s only met him the one time, and even then briefly—and then gets a look on her face like she’s the cat that swallowed the canary.

  “So,” she asks, almost giggling. “How are things with Adam?”

  I picture his face, and my eyes must go sort of dreamy, because Nicole starts laughing before I even answer. “They’re great,” I tell her. “He’s really amazing. We had another date last night, and I—” I hesitate “—showed him all around Astoria.” I take a sip of my drink and look up at Nicole.

  Her eyes are squinting at me, as if trying to peer into my soul. I think about all the things that she could see, and I blush.

  Nicole gasps. “Erica!”

  I can’t look at her. I stare at the table. I don’t even have to say anything.

  “Oh my god!” she continues, and I realize where we are and look up just enough to hush her. She starts laughing. “This is perfect. It almost makes up for my entire morning. And about time! I was beginning to feel like a bit of a floozy when I’d be going out all the time and you’d just stay home. Finally! We’re on the same page again.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. Part of me is a bit offended. My first couple of dates in a year, while she is working her way through the alphabet with guys. But I know she means well, and it would be worse for me to say something about our differences than to let this one slide.

  “So what was he like?” she asks. She’s quiet now, careful not to embarrass me so that she won’t miss any of the details. “I bet he’s big. He seems like he’d be big. What kind of lover is he? Does he take control? Sometimes that’s nice, but sometimes it’s nice when they let you take control, you know what I mean?”

  She notices that I can’t get in a word, and then goes silent. “Just tell me about him,” she says.

  “He’s…” I look out the window, trying to think and put it into words. “He’s Adam.”

  Nicole waits a moment, and sees that I’m not going to continue.

  “Right. I know that much. What did you do?”

  I hold my drink, just to have something to do with my hands. “I called him—”

  Nicole squeals, and I give her a look. “Sorry, sorry,” she whispers. “Continue.”

  I can’t help but smile a little at her excitement. “I called him, and then he came over to pick me up on his motorcycle.” Nicole’s hands clutch together but she manages to stay quiet. “We rode down to the trolley and then rode that around for a while.” I stop, remembering the awkward moments on the trolley ride. I had forgotten about that. I’ll have to think about that more later. “Then we got out and walked around a bit. Then… we, um, went up to the Column.” I stop here abruptly and blush.

  Nicole’s mouth drops open. “No!” she gasps. “The Co
lumn?”

  I nod, my face burning.

  “Erica! The Column!” She’s shaking her head. Then she teases, “I always knew that deep down you were a little slut.”

  “You’re one to talk,” I tease back.

  “Well, I’ve never done it in the Column. So how big was he?”

  My forehead creases. “Um, I didn’t exactly see him. It was more, um, about me.”

  Nicole leans forward. “He went down on you?” she whispers.

  I nod, and Nicole leans back and squeals. I try to hush her, but she is too overjoyed. Then she lifts up her glass, and I lift up mine. “To our summer flings,” she says, and clinks my glass. She takes a drink from hers, but mine stays in the air in front of me.

  Fling? Is Adam just a fling?

  Nicole sees the tension on my face. I don’t take a sip. My cup goes back to the table. “I’m not sure I want him to be just a fling,” I tell her.

  All the amusement falls from her face. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know. I—I don’t know.”

  “Erica,” she chides, “you’ve just met him.”

  “I know. I know that. But it’s just that, these last few weeks with him, it’s like I’ve woken up from some deep sleep that I’ve been in ever since…” I hesitate, then close my eyes tightly and force myself to say it. “Ever since Conner died. And I just don’t want to live like that anymore. It’s different with Adam. He—he does something to me. Something I need. Something I don’t want to end.”

  Nicole just stares at me. I had no intention of saying this to Nicole. These were ideas that I’ve not let myself think about completely on my own, and surely she didn’t intend to provoke such a confession. But I can’t be casual about how I feel for Adam. It’s too important. I can’t lie about it.

  It’s quiet between us for a while longer. Finally, Nicole says, “I suppose there are repair shops in New York.” Her tone is mocking.

  I shake my head. “I’m not even sure I want to go to New York anymore. I’ve been thinking of just following Adam wherever he goes.”