Can't Go Without

by Angelisa Stone

  Her moans increase my desire. I want to take her right here, right now. But I can’t rush this. I have to control this. After what she said about that jackass, I have to take my time and make sure she enjoys every last second of this—as much as I do.

  “Stand up, Leah,” I say. When she stands over me, I pull her underwear down. I try to toss them on the floor, but she grabs them from me.

  “Underrated my ass,” she says, grabbing the soap, lathering them up.

  “You’re not really going to wash those underwear in here are you?” I ask, watching her skeptically.

  “Nope,” she says, grinning, “I’m going to wash you with them.”

  “There’s a washrag right there,” I say, pointing to the towel rack.

  “I want to use these. I want my overrated little pair of underwear to wash every inch of your body,” Leah says, rubbing the soapy underwear along my shoulders and down my arms. “Then, I’m going to rinse the soap out… let them dry… and wear them.” Holy fuck. Holy mother fuck. “I’m going to love knowing something that’s touched every part of you is between my legs all day long.”

  Fuck.

  Shit.

  “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation—”

  “Uh Tristan? What’re you doing?” Leah asks, still rubbing her underwear all over my body and along the hairline of my neck.

  “Fucking… the ‘Bill of Rights’… reciting it,” I groan between painful, agonizing moans. “If you don’t want me to blow my load the second those underwear hit my dick, then I’ve gotta recite something.”

  Leah trails the underwear below the water, gripping me with the underwear and her hands. “How’s that?”

  “…conceived in Liberty…”

  Stroking my length with the underwear, she says, “If you’re moving to the South…the confederate south… then you should probably know the difference between the ‘Bill of Rights’ and the ‘Gettysburg Address’, Einstein.”

  “Oh fuck. Shit, that’s right,” I recall, trying to redirect my mind. “I can’t really focus here. I just feel how good that is… ‘We the People of the’… fuck.”

  Leah increases her tempo, alternating between applying pressure with the wash cloth and taking it away in small light strokes. She covers my mouth with hers, kissing me passionately, still stroking me. Leah sucks my earlobe into her mouth, taking complete control of me. Slowly, she lets go of the washcloth and of me, and slides herself down onto my entire length in one swift movement.

  “Oh God, Leah,” I groan. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

  Whispering in my ear, “You’re not the only one about to lose it here, Tristan.” Leah begins moving up and down on me in fast, hard movements. The warm water is splashing around us in array of colors. My painted pictures are dripping down into the water and stamping on Leah’s breasts and stomach, symbolizing that what was hers is now mine and vice versa. Our lives, our pasts, our fears, and our pain are all intermingled as one as we both climb higher and higher, reaching and yearning for the peak. I’ve never had sex like this, this close, this intimate, this perfect.

  I stop all movement, allowing Leah to take complete control of us, of everything. “Don’t stop, doll. Take this, take all of me.” My hands rest on her hips, not moving her or maneuvering her in any way. I’ve relinquished all of myself to her will, letting her call the shots, taking charge of both of us.

  Leah leans back, arching her back toward my knees. I caress her breasts with her soapy underwear; it’s intimate, yet carnal and forbidden. “Tristan, move with me,” Leah begs. “Feel me please… touch me.”

  I reach my hand and the panties under the water, stroking her as she thrusts up and down on me and gyrates her hips rhythmically. Leah knows what she wants and how to get it. She’s shown me what I want and how I can never ever let it go. The water is thrashing out of the tub around us. Both of us are moving quickly and frantically, wanting to climb this together.

  “Look at me,” I say, pulling her body back up to me. Leah’s eyes meet mine. Our pace quickens. Holding her gaze, I move my hips with hers, still caressing her with the underwear at the center of her desire, bringing her to brink. Her breathing increases. Her eyes close.

  “No! Open your eyes, Leah.” When they open, I feel her body spasm instantly and quake around me. I feel the sensation of her gripping me and hugging me from the inside in small squeezes of desire and satisfaction. I let go seconds after her, feeling the release of everything I’d pent up for past three years. This, Leah, everything I have right now, right here, is my future.

  “I really think we should give lessons,” Tristan says again, running his hands through my hair as I rest my head on his chest.

  “I don’t really think that people sign up for sex lessons, Stan,” I argue, listening to his stomach rumble again. “We need to get you fed.”

  “I don’t think we’re ever going to appease my appetite,” Tristan jokes, pulling me directly on top of him. “

  “Well, I’m getting hungry, too,” I say. “Let’s order pizza and breadsticks.”

  “I can think of something else I’d rather do with my stick,” Tristan says, thrusting his hips dramatically, making me fall off of him. “Shit, not that again.”

  I get up to pull on my tank top and pants, sans underwear as they’re still drying on the towel rack. Tristan’s phone vibrates. “That’s the fourth call you’ve gotten in the last hour. Are you ever going to answer it?”

  “Why should I? Nothing is more important than sex with you.”

  “Well if I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow, then you better answer that call. I don’t think I have round four in me tonight,” I say, trying to tame the damage done to my hair.

  “You don’t have round four in you… yet. But don’t worry, after a little pizza, we’ll be ready to go again.” Tristan says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “I love looking at you. You’re so beautiful.” Tristan kisses my neck. The effect is instantaneous. I want him all over again. I’ve never been this sexually ignited by someone before. It’s like I can’t get enough of him, of his scent, his touch, his taste. I’m not even sure what the Hell has come over me. I’m like an addict looking for my next fix.

  The phone vibrates again. Tristan groans, letting go of me to go grab it. “Tristan O’Donnell.” I watch him in the mirror. He goes from sweet, sexy, sex-starved man to formal, professional, stern businessman in a blink of an eye. I never used to be attracted that kind of ambition and testosterone, but damn it all to Hell, it works for him and works well. Really fucking well.

  “Alright, great… yeah… I’ll be in some time tomorrow to go over the papers,” he says, smiling and winking at me. I can feel that wink all the way down to my toes. “Perfect… yep… thanks. Yeah, you too.” Tristan throws his phone on the bed and picks me up, spinning me around. “Go get some clothes from your room. We’re going out—and not to the Oasis. We’ve got to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “They took the offer. I got myself a beach house, baby.” Tristan exclaims, spinning me around again. All the air leaves my body. My head gets instantly light, and my stomach ironically fills with a sense of unappetizing emptiness.

  “This will be perfect,” Tristan says, cutting his steak and dipping it in steak sauce. “You can fly down on all the weekends you don’t have an exhibit. On the weekends you do, I’ll come see you… and stop in and see my mom too. It’s perfect.”

  “Tristan, I don’t—”

  “Hey, ya know what else? Maybe I can bring Lanette up to see your dad sometimes too. I’m sure he’d want to come back down here.” Tristan’s been talking a mile a minute about his house and moving to South Carolina. All I want to do is rewind time and destroy his phone before those calls come in. It seems like every time I’m with Tristan all I want to do is turn back time and fix what breaks us.

  “Tristan, you are getting a little ahead of yourself here,”
I say, putting my fork down. Taking a deep breath, I say. “I came down here to clear the air, mend a friendship. A friendship Tristan.”

  “A friendship?” he repeats. “You call the last four hours a friendship?”

  “I think they call it ‘friends with benefits’ now,” I try to joke and make light of the situation.

  “So, you’re telling me that you want to be ‘friends with benefits?’ Isn’t that for like slutty high school girls and dumb drunk college chicks?” Tristan asks, scowling. “I thought we were starting something real here, Leah.”

  “We are, Tristan; we’re starting a friendship, a meaningful, lasting friendship,” I say, smiling at him as my insides crumble in pain. “That’s pretty real, if you ask me.”

  “What does that even mean? I can’t touch you anymore?”

  “Of course you can. Believe me, I want you to touch me as much as you want to touch me,” I joke playfully. “But if something… or someone comes along, then it’s all good. You’ll be here. I’ll be there. We don’t have to get all crazy and jealous. We’ll just let it all play out. When I see you, then we’ll have some fun. Keep it casual.”

  What the fuck am I talking about? I sound like a cheesy sitcom, trying to be cool and collected when all I want to do is burn down that fucking beach house. Hell, how bad would it be to add arson to my long rap sheet anyway? It would look good next to extortion, blackmail, bribery, and false accusations. Arson would make me look like a total badass.

  “Let me get this straight,” Tristan says, dropping his fork and leaning forward. There’s a small smudge of A1 steak sauce on his cheek. I resist the urge to reach out and touch him, wiping it from his face. “You don’t want to make some sort of plan of when you’re going to come down here… or when I’m going to fly up to see you?”

  “I mean; I want to see you, hang out with you, absolutely. We’re friends… and we are very good together in bed,” I smile faintly. “But it’s not like we’re dating or like shit… falling in love or anything.” I laugh ridiculously, not recognizing the sound that comes from my throat. A sound that resembles nothing more than the strained, contrived, pathetic excuse for the truth.

  “What the fuck? I thought things were going great, Leah. Why are you saying all this?” Tristan asks, reaching for my hand. I let him grasp it, holding it firmly in his hand. I don’t want to seem like a spoiled, petulant child by pulling it back, simply because he’s moving out of state. He obviously wants out of his old life. I get that. Who wouldn’t? I understand his hatred for his father. He wants to run. I can’t possibly ask him to stay and for what? Good sex.

  “Tristan, they are great. We’re friends. We’re not the labeling type, anyway. We’ll have fun when we see each other. No reason to put pressure on something that doesn’t need pressure.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he says, shaking his head, “that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Good! Now let’s order dessert to go, because I’ve got some ideas of what I want to do with some whipped cream.” I see the disappointment dissipate from his face and lust replaces it. That is one thing that is transparent about Tristan O’Donnell. He can be bought with good, old, down and dirty sex.

  “I like the way you think, Franchetti,” he says, throwing his credit card on the table and motioning the server over to us.

  Tristan and I spent the last two days in bed or out eating somewhere—sometimes even just eating in bed. We toured his new house and went over all the details of the new hotel and restaurant. I’ll admit that it was hard to not curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out, because he and I won’t be living in the same state. However, I kept a stiff upper lip and pretended that this “friends with benefits” arrangement was ideal for everyone. Sometimes, I had to bite my tongue—nearly all the way through it—to stop myself from begging him to stay in New Hampshire.

  However, I can see how happy and excited he is about being behind the scenes with the new hotel and restaurant. When Rory and Lanette went over all the plans with him, it was sexy as all Hell to watch him in businessman action. He was authoritative, knowledgeable, and even demanding at times. I straddled him the moment Rory and Lanette left Rory’s office.

  My father and Lanette spent the last two days sight-seeing and getting entirely too close for my comfort, but my comfort isn’t in question. If my dad wants to be with her, then he should be with her. I don’t know how two people as old as they are will be able to figure out the whole “long distance” thing, but they seem to believe they have it all figured out. For them to be together, one of them would have to concede their business and pack up and leave all that they know. I don’t even know whom I’m talking about… my dad or me. I don’t even know why I’m even thinking about all this. Tristan never mentioned once that he wished I was staying in Charleston or that he wished he were going back to New Hampshire. It’s only me who’s fretting, fretting about losing what I’ve always wanted.

  “Do you have everything?” Tristan asks, standing at the entranceway to the security checkpoint at the airport.

  “Yep, everything,” I say, refusing to add everything except for you. Please come with me. “I left you a surprise under your pillow,” I flirt, whispering in his ear. I was so turned on yesterday, wearing the same underwear that we sexed the Hell out of in the tub that I figured he’d like a little treat when he got back to the room.

  Tristan awakened a whole new sex machine in me, and for that, I will never forget him or be able to repay him. I now know the true meanings of passion, lust, satisfaction, and desire. Words that I only thought I could define before he came along. Words that I thought I could take or leave, go with or go without. Now, I know the truth.

  “You and your dad are coming back in two weeks, right?” Tristan asks, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  “He is for sure,” I say. “I just don’t know if I can get away again, so soon.”

  “You’re coming back, Leah,” he says firmly, “even if I have to come there and drag you back down here. I’ll be up at the end of the month to pack up the rest of my shit. So, at least, I know I’ll see you then.” When he hugs me, wraps his arms around me, confusion sets in. I don’t know how to leave someone who feels exactly like home.

  I want to come back, want to see him, want to spend every second in his bed, but I don’t want to do this every time I see him. I don’t want all the “goodbyes” that go with it. We have to spend enough time in our lives saying “goodbye” to those we care about. God knows I don’t want to do it on a full-time basis. It’s just better for everyone this way.

  “Call me when you get in… oh yeah… send me some dirty pictures too,” Tristan says, as I start backing up through the security line.

  “Goodbye Tristan,” I say, waving quickly, turning around immediately to avoid letting him see the tears pooling in my eyes.

  Falling in love is a mistake. Loving someone is like holding on to a handful of sand. You pick up a heaping handful, keeping your hands tightly squeezed, but by the time you get over to your bucket or your sandcastle, there is so little left of the sand that you nearly have to start all over again. You can’t hold on to someone like that. Little pieces, little parts, all slip away, leaving you empty and alone in the end.

  My dad catches up to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Charleston sure loves its art. I bet they’d love a nice, new uppity gallery over on King Street.”

  “It’s not that easy, Dad,” I say, wiping my eyes.

  “You’re right, life’s never easy when you keep taking the hard way out,” my dad replies, untying his shoes, before taking them off and putting them on the security belt.

  Six weeks later...

  “You’re canceling again?” I ask into the phone. “I get that you have a lot going on, Leah. I do. But I’m in town and want to see you before your surgery tomorrow.” Going through my mail and tossing out all the shit that doesn’t need opened, I sit down on the barstool in my nearly empty apartment. “It’s not about th
e sex. I know we can’t have sex the night before your surgery… but I can see you… talk to you… hold you.”

  Leah’s been avoiding me like the plague. I’ve seen her once in four weeks and that’s only because I flew up here for 24 hours, just because I couldn’t wait any longer to see her. We spent all 24 of those hours holed up in her bedroom. Maybe, I should’ve taken her out, I don’t know. Ever since that night, she hasn’t really wanted to see me, hasn’t returned many of my calls or my texts. I scheduled the turning over of my keys at the same time of her surgery, so I could be there for her, be with her, every step of the way.

  However, Leah hasn’t wanted to see me. I stopped in to the gallery yesterday, first thing after my flight got in, and she was downright arctic to me, claiming that she was just worried about the surgery. I’m sure it’s a big deal getting an operation like that—taking out all that girl shit. I just don’t know why she’s pushing me away when the only thing I want to do is be with her through it all.

  I know she was pissed at me a couple of weeks ago when I told her that Adrian thought she was making a mistake and that she should wait until she’s at least 35 to even consider such drastic measures. He even got on the phone and begged her to reconsider having a hysterectomy right now. Leah wouldn’t talk to me for two days after that. I keep fucking up, but she won’t let me near her to even apologize.

  “I don’t get this, doll. Can’t we just watch a movie? I won’t touch you; I promise.” I proffer, trying to convince her to see me tonight. I miss the fuck out of her. She’s all I think about. I’m as whipped as Adrian—Hell maybe even more so, because he at least gets to see Kathryn, fuck the shit out of her whenever he wants. I don’t have that damn luxury. I just get to beg into a phone and get turned down day after day.

  “Fine. I’ll just see you tomorrow night then… unless… unless you’ve changed your mind, and you’ll let me be there in morning when you go in… I know I don’t need to be… but I want to be.” Waiting for her response, I already know what she’s going to say. “I get it. You just want your dad and Jill there. That’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”