Catching a Fallen Starr

by Adriana Law

  It all changes becoming more desperate. I want to lick him. Touch him. Own him to his core. One of my legs comes up over his hip. I cling to him. Clutching. Grasping. Needing him a close as I can pull him. He clings right back, holding me tightly, his cheeks pressed to my chest as his pace quickens becoming more urgent.

  I’ve brought myself to a climax many times.

  I’ve probably even had a few drugged-out moments when a bang happened. I’d liken those distant and far between times to a fizzling firecracker. While what is building inside of me now is an impending explosion. Fireworks of many colors exploding in a pitch black sky. It is almost…painful.

  I arch into him, breathless, held up by his strong arms encircling my upper body. I know he is feeling the intensity too. Many times he pauses or slows, his breathing harsh and heavy as he whispers: whoa, wait, don’t move. I know he’s trying to make it last. But what really gets me and sends me over the edge is when he reaches the point he can no longer fighter it: hot breath in my ear… I need to come, he says. I need. Like it’s a must have: I need.

  His teeth catch my chin, and I let go. It’s too much. It’s too much good all at once! I want to cry out, but the words are lost. Sawyer groans with me as my back arches off the sofa, his cock jerking inside of me, and then we both go still. I open my eyes to stare up at the beams in the ceiling overhead. My arms go limp. I’m not sure what to do. Do I pat his back? No that won’t go over well. What do I do now? What do we do now? Sawyer continues to hold me tight, breathing warm breath over my chest, relaxing into the softness of my body as if he is getting comfortable.

  Somebody needs to say something.

  Sawyer breaks the silences. “You’re shaking?” he says.

  “Give me a second,” I manage to get out in the midst of trying to catch my breath. He is right. My muscles twitch under the surface. I can’t stop trembling.

  “Are you cold?” He burrows us down into the blanket. He pulls the blanket practically over our heads. His face is right at mine. His breath hot over my cheek. When I was little I always wished I had a brother or sister to hide under the blankets with, flashlight in hand while we told ghost stories. That’s what this feels like. Although I never imagined being this close to anyone before. Our noses are almost touching. I squeeze my eyes shut so that I won’t have to see his concerned expression.

  Sawyer gives me what I asked for and just patiently waits with no questions asked until the tremors subside. I can feel his heartbeat slowly return to normal. Hear our breaths smooth and even out. I open my eyes to find him still watching me with those deep brown eyes I thought I could never grow fond of. I was wrong.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” he finally says. “What’s wrong, Mya?” He cups my face with a hand and searches my eyes as if he’ll find the answers there. His thumb brushes away a tear from my cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you regretting it?”

  I shake my head again.

  “Then what’s wrong?” he asks.

  I tell him, “Everything I thought I knew about sex…you just obliterated.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s good. Very good. It was amazing.”

  His lips edge up into a smug grin. “Imagine what I could do to you in an actual bed.”

  “I have.”

  A huge smile breaks out on his face and then he is kissing me: my forehead, my lips, my cheeks. When he settles on my lips, it is the sweetest, gentlest of kisses.

  ***

  My initial thought on our previous sleeping arrangements is what lead me to drive him toward the sofa instead of his bed. But that was before when I just assumed things would return to normal after the sex. I assumed I would feel pressured every night to do it with him.

  I assume a lot.

  The truth is I never expected it to be me that is the extremely horny one. Not long after we go to bed as usual; him on his side snoring, me on my side—I have the overwhelming urge to have sex again.

  Not just any sex.

  Sex with Sawyer.

  The craving is so intense that I become moody thinking about it. How can he sleep? Every time my barefoot goes near his warmth I throb with an unquenched need.

  I try restlessly shifting on the bed hoping that my movements I will wake him.

  It doesn’t work.

  The only one my moving wakes up is Slick.

  Every time I move and sigh Sawyers Saint Bernard lifts head from where he is lying across the foot of the bed and he tilts his head staring at my side as if to say “you’re fidgeting is really starting to get on my nerves”.

  Does Sawyer’s ability to dose right off mean he regrets it so much that he’s sworn to himself that it WILL NEVER happen again. God I hope not.

  I suddenly sit up to look at Sawyer’s alarm clock sitting on the floor. The guy needs to buy some furniture for this room. The alarm clock sits right by the plugin. The glowing numbers taunt that it is 2:32 A.M. and I am the only one that is awake. Well, Slick is awake due to my restlessness. I sigh and flop down onto my back.

  Ever other night that I’ve shared Sawyer’s bed with him, I have always slept in one of his T-shirts and my softie shorts as protection. I didn’t want to risk crossing over from “friends” territory into “I’m half-naked-in-your-bed-which-suggest-that-I-obviously-want-you”.

  Lifting my hips I slide the softie shorts off and toss them to the floor.

  It’s hot.

  I glance over to where Sawyer is laying on his stomach, arms up; one over the pillow, one under. I envy that damn pillow. Suddenly, he inhales a deep breath and raises, shedding the sheet.

  Yawning he stumbles out of the room. I hear the toilet flush and then he comes back. As he gets back into bed he glances over at me and our eyes lock. Slowly he changes direction, crawling over his sheets to where I’m lying on my back. His grin is devilish. His body sexy and predator like, but I’m not afraid. I’m wound with anticipation. He slowly works his way up over my body.

  His head dips, his lips and teeth doing pleasurable things to my mouth.

  “I can’t sleep,” I admit.

  “Why can’t you sleep, Mya?” He settles between my now bent legs, his erection rocking against me. My fingertips skim the muscles in his bicep that’s revealed by him holding the weight of his upper body up off of me. I answer as honestly as I can. “I was lonely over here without you. I was beginning to think you’re not a cuddler.”

  He smiles, lowering an elbow to the mattress. “Oh. I’m a cuddler.” With his other hand he traces slow circles over my chest. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he says.

  “Not being with you…that overwhelms me.”

  His head lowers, his tongue flicking delicately over my lips, then sliding into my mouth. I love kissing Sawyer. I love teasing him. I love hearing him groan when I suck on his tongue. I could kiss him for hours and hours. I would be happy doing no more than kissing him for the rest of my life. This is a new feeling for me.

  Sawyer lies down next to me. Touching me constantly with his fingertips but taking his time. There is no rush. Neither of us is going anywhere. I smile and stretch lazily, happier and more relaxed than I ever been in my life. “The only thing missing is rain outside the window,” I say. “Then this would be perfect.”

  He pauses in admiring the way his finger moves over my lower stomach. “Rain is depressing.”

  “Sometimes it is,” I agree. “But then sometimes it’s magical.”

  He holds his head up with his hand and stares down at me. “Yeah, you have a point. Rainy days and making love do go well together.”

  We take the time to get to know each other’s body. I roll over on my stomach. Sawyer starts on the inside of my ankles, slowly gliding his tongue upward, the backs of my knees, my thighs…I quiver, it feels so damn good. He bites my ass, and I laugh into the pillow. His fingertips run along my tattoos starting with the one across my lower back, right above the two indentions. �
��Tell me about it,” he says, his breath fanning out over my already heated flesh.

  I raise up on an elbow and look over my left shoulder. “It’s a Thunderbird.”

  “Keep going.”

  “With the flutter of its mighty wings,” I tell him, “it can have an influence on natural occurrence like…rain, thunder, clouds…”

  “I believe it.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “You are one cool chick,” he says. He smiles, working his way up to the owl’s face on my shoulder blade. It’s all lines, shades of black and gray, except for the eyes.

  “Its eyes kind of look like mine,” Sawyer says.

  The owl’s eyes are a rich amber color.

  “Huh.” I smile over a shoulder, angling so I can catch a glimpse of what he sees. “I never thought about it, but you’re right. It does.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I guess it means… I chose for the eyes to be brown, instead of blue.”

  His teeth sink into my shoulder blade. “I mean…what’s the significance behind the owl.

  I laugh. “I know what you meant.”

  “The tattoo has to mean something…otherwise you wouldn’t have put it on your body.”

  “Owls are honored as the keeper of spirits of those who have passed from one plane to another,” I explain. “Myth says the owl gives wings to its newest freed soul helping it from this world to the next.”

  “Have you lost someone?” he asks.

  I don’t answer at first. My belly flops. Do I lie? “Yes.”

  “Who did you lose?”

  “A child.”

  All the joking, playful atmosphere gets sucked from the room. I tense. Afraid. I watch Sawyer over my shoulder. He’s hasn’t moved. He’s thinking. Trying to work out the piece of the puzzle in his head. Please God, don’t let him ask.

  He does ask. “Whose baby?”

  “Sterling’s,” I tell him.

  Any other guy would dart from the bed and have a meltdown. Their selfish pride wounded. Their ego damaged. I’m beginning to think Sawyer Bentley is non-human.

  He doesn’t move away from me. He is still touching me. I rush on to explain, “I had a miscarriage early on. A long, long time ago. Before I even knew you existed.”

  His voice is weighted with emotion when he finally does put me out of my misery. “I’m sorry. Sterling never—”

  “Of course he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his body.” I drop my face into my hands. “The guy always gets the advantage of making a clean break, walking away.”

  “You’ve lost so much,” Sawyer says. He moves back up to beside me and rolls my body toward his. His hands pry my hands away from my face. “Look at me.”

  I obey.

  He tells me, “I don’t have the right to offer forgiveness for something I had no part of. That’s between you and God…the Great Spirit…Mother Earth…whatever higher power you believe in.”

  I was wrong.

  Sawyer is human.

  I hold eye contact. “Do I sense sarcasm?”

  “Probably,” he says. “It’s not the easiest thing to hear…especially now. Would I beat my brother’s ass if he didn’t finally have his shit together and his priorities straight? Hell yeah. Does it piss me off? Hell yeah. Does it make me think any less of you? Hell No.”

  “How can it not?”

  “I’m not going to judge you, or Sterling, or anybody when I’ve made my share of mistakes. Do I like the thought of you and my brother—?”

  “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t….”

  He presses a finger to my lips. “Shh, I can accept it, but it’s probably best if you don’t give me details.”

  “I never would.”

  “And I respect that. Some things are better left in the past, Mya.”

  “Understandable, and I agree. It is the past.” I pause, resting my cheek on the pillow. I ask him, “Do you believe in God?”

  “Do you?”

  “I asked the question first.”

  “Does my answer dictate what your answer will be?” he asks. I smile when he moves hair out of my eye, tucking it behind an ear. “It’s growing out, you hair,” he says.

  “Is that what you want…my hair to be long?”

  He gently kisses me. “I don’t care if shave it all off. You’re beautiful however you wear your hair.” His hand lingers on my face.

  “I have my own opinion about God,” I say. “I just wanted you to go first.”

  “Okay. Yes. I believe in God. YOU are proof that He exists.”

  “Oh, you are good.”

  “Your turn,” he says.

  “God and I are not on speaking terms right now. I have to be honest…I feel abandoned by Him and that doesn’t sit well with me. I have abandonment issues.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “I would like to see some proof, you know? Nothing big,” I say. “A mini-miracle.”

  He hikes a brow and grins. “A mini-miracle?”

  “Yeah. Something tangible. Something I can touch.”

  Sawyer rolls me over to my back, his mouth hot on my neck. “You mean touch like this?” His mouth moves up, his teeth grazing flesh.

  I shiver in response, giving an incoherent: exactly.

  As if driven by some inner voice prodding Sawyer to prove that I am his, he waste no time getting back to the business of making love to me, not once, but twice. Against everything from my past screaming that I should not trust this feeling I lower all the walls I have built to keep the pain out, and I pray to God this doesn’t end badly.

  Wrapped up in Sawyer I decide: the good outweighs the risk.

  There is no way I would want to miss this.

  ***

  Later, when I go to pee, I flick on the light in the bathroom and stop cold in the doorway. Sawyer’s goals have changed.

  Work on the Hard Stuff First

  And number three now reads simply: Keep Her

  I glance over a shoulder at where he is. I pretend to not notice the change, go into the bathroom and quietly shut the door, leaning against it. I place a hand over my racing heart. Keep her. It is one goal I hope Sawyer accomplishes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Cross

  True love is loving someone in their worst moments.

  And here we are folks; on your left, take a good hard, long look because you might miss it if you squint too hard…the honeymoon bliss is officially over. We are now entering “the worst”.

  “Would you stand still for five seconds and talk to me?” I beg.

  The worst comes when someone doubts you, and you’re innocent. I can take it whenever someone blames me and I’m guilty. I’m used to it. The guilt and the need to cover my tracks helps with the perpetual lies that naturally seem to fall right out of my mouth. USUALLY the overwhelming guilt drives me forward, gives me a motive to NOT GET CAUGHT.

  But this is different.

  It didn’t do anything wrong.

  Normally, I would be all defensive but I’m caught me off guard and, I don’t know how to respond. It hurts, deeply, that Sawyer doubts me so.

  It is a few days after my introduction to meaningful sex. He strips the house of the valuables including the small kitchen appliances. Dragging all his shit into the bedroom. “Aww,” I tell him from where I’m perched on the foot of the bed. “And I wanted to pawn that juicer.” Okay. Humor is probably not the best defense here, but I haven’t done anything wrong except trying to make this work.

  Sawyer glares at me once he dumps the juicer on the closet floor beside the stainless steel toaster. “It’s not funny,” he says.

  He has the nerve to pull his brother’s painting from the wall and put it in the closet as well. My back teeth clench. I want to say, “You are a jerk!” but I hold my tongue. “You are being irrational,” I say instead.

  “I should’ve known,” he says out of breath. See. If he wasn’t being ridiculous; he could be out of breath while in the process of making love to me. He goes on, “I thought you acted high
the other day. Dozing off during the movie. You never do that.”

  “I was tired!” I shout. “Sleepy, Sawyer! I fell asleep on the sofa with you. That doesn’t mean I’m using. Normal people do that. You do that!”

  The closet is crammed full, some of his valuable belongings sticking out keeping the door from shutting all the way. He nudges a corner of his worthless crap with the toe of his boot until it’s out of the way so he can slam the closet door closed.

  The door slaps shut and bounces back open.

  Sawyer slams it again putting his entire upper body into it.

  The door rebels.

  He kicks it.

  When the door and he are finished scuffling Sawyer turns, a sheen of sweat making his handsome face glisten.

  “Are you finished,” I ask arms crossed over my chest. I stare at him as if he is the one here who is crazy paranoid. “Just so we’re clear, how are you going to keep me from opening the door and taking what I want? You plan on guarding your precious stuff day and night?”

  His expression softens, not much, but it does soften. “This isn’t about things, Mya,” he tells me. “I wouldn’t give a shit if you pawned all of it.”

  Collapsing against the closet door he drags both hands down his face exhaling into his palms. When his eyes connect with mine again, it’s a jolt to the gut. Okay. This has gone too far. We both are starting to care a little too much. This is where we both look for an exit and what’s left of our friendship gets tangled in a knotted the mess.

  “I don’t want you using,” he says.

  “If I want to use—”

  “I know I can’t stop you. I need to know. Did you pawn it for drugs?”

  “Pawn what, Sawyer?!”

  “The necklace,” he shouts.

  My stomach drops. Shit. I blink, my mouth opening but nothing comes out. He waits for an answer. The first week I was here I may have taken a cross necklace. The necklace appeared old and unimportant as if it would never be missed. The chain was coiled inside a small box and shoved under the clothes in his drawer. The man said it wasn’t worth much…thirty bucks, maybe. I talked him into forty. It was wrong. I can’t undo it.