His eyes take a slow journey down the length of my body before they come back to mine. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
Those three words. There’s a quiet strength to them. And although they come out on a lofty whisper, they’re worth so much more. They are a declaration. They are a promise. They are a gift. My stomach flutters at this revelation in a way I’ve never felt.
He steps in and kisses me with an intensity unlike any of our kisses before. I grasp onto his neck with both hands as he lifts one leg then the other, before heading for the hall. My legs instinctively wrap around his body like there’s no place they’d rather be. He takes a few more steps towards his room, continuing the kiss as we move.
I lift my mouth back a fraction to ask, “Eric?”
On a fevered breath, he answers, “California. All weekend.”
“All weekend?” I break away, a surprised look on my face.
His smile is triumphant. “All fucking weekend.”
When the door swings open, I don’t care what’s hanging on his walls or what books are on his nightstand. I just want one thing. The same thing I wanted since the night we met. The same thing I know he wants when he carries me farther into the room.
I loosen from his hold and work quickly on his zipper, then drop to my knees to pull down his jeans. As he steps out, I’m about to stand, but freeze when I look up at his face.
“What?” I ask with a playful, naïve tone.
“You’re killing me right now, you know that?” He closes then reopens his eyes slowly.
I lean in towards his gray boxer briefs and cock my head to the side, feigning ignorance. “Why is that?”
Keeping my eyes on him, I bring my mouth closer to the bulge he can no longer hide. Just as I’m about to make contact, he puts a gentle hand to my head and stops me. “Christina …” My name is both a warning and a plea, but a devilish grin is my only response. “Keep it up and this will be over before it starts.”
Ignoring his warning, I lean in, place a warm kiss on the prize in front of me, and stand to face him. Before I can say or do anything next, a small scream escapes me as I’m tossed to the bed. CJ is on top of me, pulling the straps of my bra down as I reach behind for the clasp. It doesn’t even hit the floor before his mouth covers a breast, sucking, nipping, and swirling before moving to the next and doing the same. I try to dig my fingers into his hair, scratch his skin, anything, but he’s already moving down, pulling my underwear over my thighs.
I rise up on my elbows and watch him. He’s taking stock of every inch of what’s about to be his, all the while rubbing his fingers over the lace in his hand.
“I swear to God, if you smell them, you’ll never see me naked again.” I shake my head as a laugh escapes, receiving only a mocking glare in response as he walks over to his dresser and tucks them into a drawer. I’m still laughing when he steps back to the end of the bed and loses the briefs. And. All. Laughing. Stops.
“Holy hell. Now that’s beautiful.” He smiles, but it’s a flash, because then … it’s on. Our mouths connect first as I pull him down on me and feel his hand run roughly up my leg to my hip. He grips me there and brings me in closer, giving us both the friction we so desperately need. I rock my hips a few more times against his before he moves away just enough to reach into the nightstand and grab a condom. I steal it from his hand and rip it open. To hell with the foreplay. We’ll save the slow burn for another time. Right now, more than anything in my life, I need to touch him. I stroke him once before he lifts his hips up and away from me.
“Christina …” He delivers those three syllables with an intense mixture of pleasure and pain. A wave of pride comes over me, at the power I have over him.
I whisper sincerely, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” All is forgiven as I roll on the condom, and he slides inside.
Bliss.
As we slowly begin to find our rhythm, he takes my hand in his, then the other, raising them over my head and entwining our fingers as he goes. I wrap my legs around him and dig my heels into his thighs. He kisses me and pushes farther, deeper, every thrust making me want more. I desperately want this to last, but when he breaks the kiss and raises up on his arms, the new angle is too much, hitting me just the right way. After a few strokes, I’m flying. A second later he follows me, and I can’t help but to absorb everything in this moment. The sounds rumbling from his chest, the tightening of his jaw, and that final, deep sigh as he brings his forehead down to mine.
Once we both catch our breath, he lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “Mr. Rogers was a Navy SEAL?”
I’m lying alongside him, my leg cocked over his, while his chin rests on my head and his fingers lightly stroke my back. “It was only once,” I say into his chest.
“What was only once?”
“They only locked me in my room once. It was a few years after my mom died, and it was only for the day. It was my fault, though. I knew what I was doing would get me in trouble.”
His hand stills, waiting for me to continue.
“Fatima has a son my age, Alanzo, and he was my best friend.” I sigh, remembering the pain when he left. “He would always tell me how I lived in ‘bizarro world’ and we’d laugh about it, even though I didn’t know what he meant. One day, when he said it again, I asked him to explain. He said, ‘You live in a giant house, big enough for King Kong, but no one ever laughs or smiles or hugs. No one ever plays hide and seek or dances in the kitchen or even plays music. You never go out and catch fireflies or have bike races. Don’t you like to do those things?’”
“We were about ten years old, playing Uno under the veranda at the pool house at the time, when he explained to me that there were no other houses in the world like mine. They were all like his. Small, tiny even, but filled with laughter and singing and game nights and bonfires. ‘So that’s why you live in ‘bizarro world.’”
“I remember feeling like I’d just discovered the missing piece to a puzzle. Up until that day, I thought every family was like mine, cold and distant, eating meals in silence in their grand dining room, and having your nanny tuck you in and kiss you goodnight instead of your mom or dad.”
“So I decided I was going to leave ‘bizzaro world’ and go live with Fatima and Alanzo. The next morning, after breakfast, I packed my little suitcase and headed for the kitchen. Not thinking anything of it, I told Fatima right in front of Father, that when she went home that day, I was going with her to live with her. That I wanted to play ghost in the graveyard and kickball, eat hot dogs right off the grill and be where people were happy.”
I can still see it so clearly. Running my hand up and down his chest, I close my eyes and muster up the strength to finish.
“Father casually set down his coffee, walked across the kitchen, grabbed me under my arm and dragged me across the house, up the stairs and to my room. I was crying all the way because I didn’t understand why I was in trouble. I thought he would be sad if I left, not mad.” And I had never seen Father so mad, so emotional. Before or since. The deep bruises from his grip showed for days after.
My body tense, I continue. “When he got to my room, he shoved me in and slammed the door, but not before pointing a finger in my face and growling, ‘We don’t always get what we want, Christina.’”
As I finish the story, remembering the hurt and confusion I felt at the time, CJ’s arms tighten around me, wrapping a warmth over me like a blanket. For the first time since my mom was here, I’m reminded of what it feels like to be protected and cherished.
We lay quietly for a few minutes until CJ whispers into the dark room. “I hope I never meet him.”
“That makes two of us.” I tilt my head towards his and ask, “So, you see why I need to leave?”
“It helps me to understand a little better now.”
I feel a smidgen of relief as I tilt my head back down and watch my fingers travel across his stomach. “Good, because I think about it all the time. Where I would go. What I would do. How w
ould I reinvent myself.”
“Reinvent yourself? Like a new identity?” He asks.
“More or less. I wouldn’t want them to ever find me. Not that I think they’d try.”
“So, where do you plan to go?”
“That’s easy. Somewhere small and unknown. A place that, unless you’ve lived there, you’ve never heard of it. And definitely somewhere warm, so I don’t have to deal with the cold.” I answer definitively.
“Wow, you really have put some thought into this. Well, if you’re reinventing yourself, you’re going to need a new name,” he says that last part teasingly.
I don’t hesitate to answer. “That’s easy. Sara.”
“Sara?”
“Yeah, that’s what my mom wanted to name me. It means ‘pure’ and ‘kind’. But Grandmother thought the name was common and low class, unworthy of a Harcourt. Fatima told me that was one of my mom’s greatest regrets, not fighting Grandmother on my name. Because she thought the exact opposite from Grandmother. That Sara was the name of someone who was caring and generous. Needless to say, my mom and Grandmother weren’t close.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think Sara is a beautiful name. It suits you.”
In the warmth of CJ’s bed, wrapped in his arms, I drift off and dream of my mom, and for the first time ever, she’s not looking up at me with vacant eyes.
CJ sets his beer on the coffee table as he lies back on the couch, arm out inviting me to join him. “Okay, so, remember last episode, Father Gabriel left the gate open. Morgan still refuses to kill. And Rick killed Pete after Pete killed Reg.”
My mouth turns in disgust as my back meets his chest. “How could I forget that? The way Pete sliced open Reg’s throat then he bled to death in his wife’s arms. Poor Deanna.”
He looks down on me with smiling eyes. “It’s great, right? Admit, you love it.”
“Well, I love it until I wake up at two o’clock in the morning, feeling like a walker is nibbling on my neck.”
“That’s no walker, sweetheart.” He rolls into me, bends his head, and nips at my neck. I burst into a fit of giggles and try to push him away. We’ve been trying to watch one episode a night of The Walking Dead, and we’re somewhere in season five. Carol is seriously bad-ass.
Without much discussion, CJ and I have worked our way into a natural routine. After going back and forth from here to California for a few weeks, he’s now working primarily in New York, with Eric taking on his role in California. Unfortunately, for the second time this month, he’s traveling home for the weekend at his mom’s request. Every time he goes, I hint about going with him. The fact that none of my hints have been taken seriously, that he always manages to find a way around the subject when I bring it up, is starting to weigh on me.
By the end of the episode, the coffee table is littered with a few empty beer bottles along with an empty bottle of pinot noir.
“I need to throw a few things together for tomorrow.” CJ lays flat on top of me, kissing me dizzy, or maybe that’s the wine, before rolling off and heading toward his room.
“Sure you don’t want some company tomorrow?” I stand at his doorway and sway a little as I watch him pack his duffle bag. His flight leaves first thing in the morning.
“Are you drunk?” He smiles at me, and I’m lost in his perfect, beautiful smile with all those perfect, beautiful teeth and those perfect, beautiful lips and his perfect …
“Holy shit. You are drunk.” He’s on me like flies on rice. Or is it flies on … it doesn’t freaking matter because CJ already has my shirt off and his hands in my hair. He’s got me pressed up against the wall, kissing me roughly. My mind is mush, and all I can think about is how much I like him. His hands and his chin and his shoulders and his ankles. Yes, even his ankles. And I suddenly want to tell him. I need to tell him.
“I like all your parts.” He’s kissing my neck, nipping at my shoulder, when I feel him laugh against my skin. “A lot. I like all your parts a lot.” He’s trailing kisses down my chest as my yoga pants begin to slide down my hips. I run my fingers through his hair and enjoy all the goodness I’m feeling right now. “God, I love wine. Wine is the best. They should put it in the water. I feel brave and smart and melty. Like Wonder Woman. I am so like Wonder Woman. Is that why she has so many W’s in her name? Because Wonder Woman likes wine, too? I bet that’s her super power. Drinking lots and lots of wine. What do you think?”
CJ appears in front of me and quickly does away with my shirt before wrapping his hands around my back and unclasping my bra, all the while eyeing me like he’s starved. “I think I’m really going to like drunk sex with you.”
And that’s when I look him in the eyes and allow the “brave” part of my newfound super powers to take over my brain.
And ruin everything.
“I want to come home with you, CJ. Take me home with you.” I know tomorrow I’ll be embarrassed by the whine in my voice but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Christina …” His tone is chastising as he continues to kiss me, but I don’t give up. Because, you know, I’m Wonder Woman. “Please, CJ. I promise it’ll be good. I promise they’ll like me.” He’s kissing my neck, working his way down my chest.
“Christina, that’s not …”
I turn my head away as a painful thought runs through me. “Unless you don’t want to take me home? Is that it? You don’t want to take me home with you?” My throat suddenly feels tight and I try to swallow.
“Christina, stop.” His voice is calm and reassuring, but it doesn’t stop my tears from building.
“Do they know about me? Do they even know that you have a girlfriend?” I sniffle as the first tear falls.
CJ does his best to sooth my sudden, drunken anxiety attack, rubbing my arms and kissing my forehead. “Christina, babe, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
So I do what any rational, drunk girl would do. I cry more. Until I don’t just cry. I drop my head onto his shoulder and sob.
“I thought you liked me! I thought we were good. Are you going to break up with me? Oh my God, you’re breaking up with me!”
“Jesus, what was in that wine?” CJ asks the room as he engulfs me in his arms, one hand on my head, the other stroking my back. “Sshhh, Christina, no one is breaking up. I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I’m here, and I’m not leaving. Do you hear me?”
I feel a vibration, like maybe he’s laughing, but my head is swimming, and his words are taking longer to penetrate than necessary. I manage a nod in response just as a fresh round of tears breaks free, more out of embarrassment now than fear. Before I know it, CJ has us lying on the bed, chest to chest, as he plants gentle, reassuring kisses on my face and head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I mumble the words into his chest as he strokes my back. Between the wine, the tears, his soothing words, warm kisses and gentle touch, I fall into a deep sleep.
I wake up to a dark room. A small stream of sunlight sneaks in from the curtains, so it must be morning. I roll over to look at the clock and—holy crap, my head. Someone is squeezing it. Hard. And my mouth. I think I ate sand. Is that even possible? A wretched moan fills the room and shoots arrows into my head. Just when I’m about to tell them to stop, I realize it’s coming from me.
The door to the bedroom opens, and CJ walks in, forcing me to bury my face in the pillow at the brightness that follows him into the room.
I hear him set something down on the nightstand and feel the mattress dip beside me.
“Good morning, beauty.”
He wakes me with those same words every morning, but they’re usually said with heat, not the humor I hear now.
“There’s nothing beautiful about this,” I mumble into the pillow. I feel his fingers run through my hair, lightly pulling it away from my face.
“Christina, even when you’re shit-faced you’re beautiful.” I feel him plant a kiss on my shoulder. “Can you sit up? I’ve got water and aspirin for you. And I made you toast.”
>
He’s so good to me. I try to sit up and reach for the water. I’ve never felt this hungover before. How much did I drink? I only had … oh no.
The Walking Dead.
Pinot noir.
Pinot noir.
Pinot noir.
I sit up too fast, and my brain bounces around my skull. Some water splashes on the comforter, but I don’t care because my stupidity from last night is causing me more pain than my head now. Then I remember something else. Something important.
“What time is it? You’re supposed to be on a plane!” I look up into CJ’s eyes, and they’re calm. I’m so confused. He looks towards the water, silently telling me to drink, so I do as I wait for him to respond.
“I changed my flight.” He answers casually.
“What? No … I …” I close my eyes and hold the heel of my hand to my head to steady the riveting pain.
“It’s okay.” He’s rubbing my back and sounding sincere. Far more sincere than I deserve after my reenactment of The Real Housewives last night. I shouldn’t have drunk wine last night. Or maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the entire bottle.
I cover my face with my free hand and try to decide which emotion is winning right now, guilt or embarrassment.
“You should’ve left. You missed your flight because of me.”
“Shhh …” He continues to rub my back as he plants a kiss on my temple. “Christina, are you serious? There’s no way I would have left you like that.”
I bow my head, covering my face with my palms. “I’m so embarrassed, CJ. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He shushes me as we sit side-by-side, his arm around me and my head resting on his shoulder. After a few minutes, I break the silence. “So I guess I’ve blown any chance of coming home with you anytime soon.” I don’t ask it as a question, because I already know his answer.
Beautiful Lies Page 9