by Torrest, T.
I gave him a “yeah right” look.
“It’s true,” he said. “If I was lying, then why haven’t I been able to take my eyes off you since you dropped the dress? I don’t think I ever want to see you wearing clothes again. I’ve been standing here plotting how to keep you naked twenty-four hours a day.”
“Might be kinda hard to go back down to the party. Or the supermarket. Or church.”-to
That made him chuckle. “Oh, it’ll be hard alright. In fact…” he pulled me against his hips again, “I’d say it already is.”
“Wow, that was bad.”
“I’ll show you bad.”
“Stop talking, you retard! Just take off your damned pants already.”
“I’ll show you retard.”
“Oh my God.”
His hands went to the belt at his waist, and then he slid his zipper down. Slowly. The move would have been sexy as hell if he hadn’t thrown out this line along with it:
“Want me to dance for you?”
“Oh my God! Just shut up!” I chastised as we both laughed. I gave his shoulder a shove before diving into his bed and sliding under the sheets. I laid on my side, propping a hand up under my head to watch him strip.
Trip didn’t disappoint.
His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxer-briefs and he gave a little eyebrow wiggle before dropping his drawers. I will swear to my dying day that the sound that accompanied this action was: Boioioioioing!
Hello, my old friend.
I was lying there, taking in his perfect body, watching as he climbed onto the bed and crawled over me slowly, feeling stunned and excited that he was mine for the taking.
Mine. Holy shit. After all these years, Trip was finally mine.
I shivered as he kissed his way up my body, felt his soft, hot lips grazing over the thin sheet that separated him from my bare skin. He pulled it away to plant a quick suction-kiss on my breast which better not leave a hickey before reaching into his nightstand drawer. He pulled out like a freaking magician’s scarf of condoms, tearing one off and tossing the rest back into the drawer.
“Hey. I thought you said you’ve never brought a girl up here. What’s with the Trojan army?”
“A boy can dream, can’t he?”
“Whoa. Wait. How old are those things?”
Trip’s brows furrowed, focused on the packet in his hand. “I don’t know. Why? Do they go bad?”
Jane, you ignorant slut.
My eyes practically rolled out of my head. “I’m guessing that’s never been a problem for you, as I’m quite sure you’ve managed to tear through a gross of these puppies at a clip, but yeah. They have expiration dates.”
He ignored my jab and checked the stamp on the packaging. Before I could get confirmation that the date was from the Clinton administration, I said, “Just forget it. I’m on the pill anyway. Unless, you know… I mean… you’re… okay, right?”
He pursed his lips in a scowl before answering. “Babe. Yes. I know you won’t believe me, but it’s been… a while. I’ve been tested since then.”
Ugh. I hated the clinical conversation we were having. But after all those years apart, there was no way we were waiting another minute to sleep together. We’d waited long enough. But the fact was, Trip was a bit of a… popular guy during his twenties. And even though he’d recently professed himself to be a one-woman-man… well, sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas, you know what I’m saying?
But thank God for small favors, because it seemed the extracurricular activities of his past weren’t about to affect our present.
I gave him the wide eyes and tossed out, “Looks like we’re going bareback, baby.”
“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”
I laughed at that, until his expression turned serious. He brushed a sweet, soft kiss against my lips, then said, “Hey Lay?”
“Yeah?”
“A lot of women… they, uh… they expect me to be some sort of sexual dynamo between the sheets.”
“Kinda tacky bringing up other women right now, don’t you think?”
“Sorry.”
“Besides. I’m not a lot of women.”
“Oh, I know that. I’m just trying to give you a heads up about what to expect here. Because I totally am.”
The kiss he planted on me was enough to stop our laughter, as I felt his hot, sweet lips slanting fiercely across my own. His tongue invaded my mouth, the taste of him sweeter than ever. His scent assaulted my inhales, the same crisp, clean smell that had always been a part of him.
I ran my hands up his sides, making him flinch and causing me to shudder. There were new planes of his body to explore, this foreign land of bulges and bumps along his arms, his chest, his stomach. I was taken aback by the feel of him, the firmness at my fingertips, the smooth skin covering the solid knots of muscle under my palms.
Trip was doing some exploring of his own.
His hands roved over my breasts, between my legs, his breathing coming out in ragged moans against my neck as he pressed his hardened length into my thigh. I grabbed his hair in my fists, directing his mouth to mine once again, writhing underneath his touch, groaning with stinging need, reveling in the staccato beats of my quickening heart.
He positioned his body between my legs and pushed himself against me, just the tip of him teasing at my entrance, his face buried in my neck, his voice rasping, “Oh God, Lay. I’ve only got so much restraint, here. I need to be inside you.”
Chapter 7
ASSISTED LIVING
The ache in his voice caused the tremors to start, made my heart race with anticipation. He was always able to do this to me. Always able to drive me over the brink with just a few spoken words, a few well-executed touches. Oh, please. Who am I kidding? He could look at me the right way and it was enough to make me fall to pieces.
I know it may seem odd that we were hooking up while the repast was still happening downstairs. But I didn’t let myself feel too guilty. Trip was entitled to a little happiness after all he’d been through. We were allowed to embrace life.
I ran my fingers over the pale scars at his forearm, the remnants from when he broke it years before, a faint reminder of the self-destructive boy he once was. It was at total odds with the reformed man in my arms, the generous, thriving person he’d become. It wasn’t an easy transition to make, and he’d worked really hard to come so far.
So, I knew Trip needed this. He needed to know he was still breathing. Needed to know that he’d kicked his habit—when his father couldn’t—and that he wouldn’t end up on a slab before the age of sixty. At least not from drinking, anyway. He needed to feel alive. He needed to feel loved. Hell, I needed it.
It was amazing, knowing this man loved me. That was a fact. Our timing may have sucked, but the feelings had already been confirmed. Years ago.
At least his were.
He didn’t know that I had chosen to love him back. I needed to rectify that right now. I took a deep breath and said the words I thought I’d never get the chance to say to him, the words I’d never allowed myself to say. Well, not on purpose anyway.
“I love you.”
He lifted his head and looked at me in disbelief. “What?”
Oh God. Too soon? Is this just supposed to be sex right now?
I wanted to die. I wanted to stuff the words back into my mouth, wishing I’d never said them. Maybe I could laugh and play it off like a joke, like I didn’t really mean it.
No. I immediately shook the negative thoughts aside. I would not go down this road again. I would never fail to put my heart on the line when it came to Trip ever again. We’d lost too much time because of my insecurities and our inability to communicate properly.
Never. Again.
I put my hands on either side of his neck, my thumbs brushing along his jaw. I was scared, but I looked directly into his eyes and said it again. “I’m in love with you, Trip. I love you. I always have.”
It
looked as though he’d been slapped in the face by my words. Pain drifted across his features as he dropped his head and shook it. “I know.”
Not the words I was imagining, and the unexpectedness made me laugh.
“You know? Oh my God. Did you just Han Solo me?”
I felt him shaking with laughter against my body before any sound came out of his mouth. When it did, it sent us both into a fit of giggles, as I jokingly tried to shove the big galoot off of me.
“Okay. Where’s my dress? This was a big mistake. I take it back. I meant to say ‘Up yours, Chester’.”
He pinned me to the mattress with his heavy body, settling himself between my legs again, explaining, “You didn’t let me finish! I was trying to say I know you love me. I know, and it’s incredible.” He looked down at me, his eyes a shifting pool of blue, the corner of his lip quirked into a lopsided smile as he gently swiped my hair behind my ear. He buried his face against my neck, his breath tickling against my skin as he whispered softly, “Because I am completely in love with you right back.”
It only took fifteen freaking years, but we managed to finally recite our lines properly. I love you. Well, I love you, too. Jesus. Isn’t that how normal people do it?
He raised his head and smiled into my eyes as he requested, “Say it again.”
“What? Han Solo? Does that turn you on, nerd? Should I Leia my hair and throw on a gold bikini?” God, he was so cute. Just look at that face.
His grin was infectious. “Yes. Eventually. But right now I just want to hear you say it. Say it again.”
I stopped laughing and met his eyes. “I love y—”
My words were cut off with a gasp as he slid into me with a groan; proudly, confidently, holding himself still, letting my body get used to the feel of him inside me. Again.
It was as if he’d never left me, as if the two of us had always been joined together, as if we were always meant to be.
He didn’t. We had. We were.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
He pulled out almost fully, then slid back in—slowly—full-length this time, which was almost my undoing. Oh God yes. I twined my fingers in his hair and arched toward him as he repeated the movement, his arm wrapped around my middle, holding me fixed to him, gliding in and out of me leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. Each time he entered me, he plunged just a little harder, a little faster, picking up the pace ever so slightly until he was rocking against me in an unhurried, steady rhythm, a never-ending slow-dance that threatened to completely shatter my heart.
This man in my arms. This beautiful man who was capable of beautiful things, in as well as out of the bedroom. The exquisiteness of his touch, the weight of his words, the tender care he took to make me feel loved, cherished… unbelievably turned on. It was too much emotion. Bittersweet and wonderful, being in the bed of the man I loved deep down to my core; my heart, my soul. The man I had loved—and would continue to love—forever.
Trip’s voice cracked on a rough whisper. “Open your eyes.”
When I did, I saw him looking into my eyes, heavy-lidded, full of adoration and wanting. Making sure I knew he was with me. Only me.
“I love you, Lay.”
His words brought the fresh sting of tears, and my eyes began to leak even as my heart swelled.
“Hey… hey, why are you crying?” He gave a little chuckle in understanding, swiping the moisture from my cheeks and saying, “It’s okay, babe. We’re okay now.”
It was hard to believe, even though I knew he was right. It was just that we had a million unsaid things between us, a million hurts to heal. It was scary to think that our chance for happiness could be ruined again by misunderstandings. I didn’t think I’d survive if things didn’t work out for us this time.
Jeebus. I needed to turn my brain off. Why was I allowing myself to worry about tomorrow and the unlikely demise of us when I finally had him exactly where I wanted right then?
“Trip?” I said through tear-blurred eyes. “I’m just so happy right now.”
That made him laugh. “You sure have a weird way of showing it, babe.” He lowered his mouth toward mine again. “Luckily, I know the right way.”
His kiss was sweet, but heated, his lips brushing against mine in waves. I felt the current stirring, this beautiful man holding my gaze locked to his, his incredible body rocking against mine, bringing me right to the edge of the cliff, willing me to fall.
I allowed the electric charges to overtake me, looking right into his face for as long as I could, until I came, unashamed, the tears slinking from my eyes and down my cheeks. It made a small smile appear across his gorgeous face as he quickened his pace to match the tremors cascading along my insides, finally growling into the air as his every muscle tensed and his movements stilled.
He collapsed on top of my body, still joined with me, and rolled us to our sides, the both of us breathless. I thought it would be nice to stay like that for a few days, just lounge around with him inside me indefinitely, but I guessed it would’ve been kinda hard to do stuff like drive a car or go to the bathroom. But for now, it was nice.
It was insane to think it had been so many years since we’d done this. At least I knew it wouldn’t be another fourteen years before the next time. How did we survive without each other all that time? We were always meant to be together. Always would be.
Trip felt it, too. He was actually tearing up himself as he said, “My God, every time, it never fails. You happen to me all over again.” He swiped a palm across my cheek and added, “I never stopped loving you, Lay. You were always with me. Everywhere.”
* * *
We did a quick cleanup in his bathroom and got dressed again. My heart always broke a little whenever I had to watch Trip put his clothes back on. It was just such a crying shame.
He grabbed my hand and led me around the hall, pointing out the framed pictures from his life. I may have been biased, but Trip was absolutely the most adorable little boy you’d ever want to see in your life. His hair was a much lighter shade of blond, and he looked like a filthy mess in most of the shots. Too freaking cute.
I was laughing about that when I turned to see Trip staring at a framed portrait of his father. He had his hands jammed into his pockets and was shooting daggers at the image of the man whose life was being celebrated downstairs.
“Trip?” I asked warily. He was wound too tightly, a mousetrap that could snap with the slightest provocation. I didn’t want to set him off.
Too late.
“Asshole!” he spat, throwing a fist at the wall next to his father’s head, denting the sheetrock. It wasn’t a satisfying jab, I guess, because he threw another punch, this one harder, cracking the wall. And then he took another. I stepped backwards as he continued thrashing the wall, eventually going for his real target, landing a punch against the man’s smiling jaw, splintering the glass. “Son of a bitch!” He ripped the picture fully off the wall and threw it to the ground.
At that, his angry rage quickly turned to collapsed sobbing as he buried his face and elbows against the damaged wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his right hand a bloody mess. “I hate him so much.”
I didn’t know the right way to console him, and I was hesitant to do so when he was in the middle of such a tirade. I decided to try out a rational angle when I said, “Trip. You don’t mean that.”
He whirled on me then, his eyes chips of ice as he answered, “Yes, I do! He died a long time ago, Lay.” He pointed to the ruined picture on the ground. “That man who was my father died years ago.”
I am the poster child for stubbornness during my anger, so I decided to let Trip have his. I smoothed some hair off of his forehead and kissed him there, soothing the raging beast. I slipped a hand down his arm and gripped his wrist, saying, “Okay. But let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”
He looked down at his hand in confusion, as if the appendage attached to his body wasn’t his own, finally rea
lizing that it was bleeding. I took him into the bathroom and ran his hand under the water, picking out the occasional shard of glass imbedded in his skin. I worked in silence, not knowing what to say. He was angry, and I wasn’t used to seeing him like that.
But of course he was angry. He had every right to be.
I Bactined and Band-Aided his knuckles, then dug out a dustpan and broom from the same closet where I’d found the first-aid kit.
“You don’t need to do that,” Trip said as I ignored him.
I swept up the glass and drywall debris while he gathered the remains of the portrait, depositing it in a spare bedroom, a sheepish expression on his face. We worked in silence, Trip in no mood to talk and me not wanting to say the wrong thing. The mess had been taken care of, but there wasn’t much we could do about the wall at that moment.
He pulled a new picture down from the spare room, and I used my heel to hammer its nail in the appropriate spot. That must have been enough to break the last of Trip’s anguish, because he kind of laughed as he looked on.
I held the shoe up and gave it a wiggle. “Girl hammer.”
When I was done, I slipped it back onto my foot, hung the picture over the hole, and dusted off my hands. “Well, that’s that.”
He had his hands jammed into his pockets as he nodded his head toward the wall. “Remind me to get someone over here to fix that tomorrow.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll give Rymer a call in the morning.”
“Rymer’s a contractor?”
“Rymer’s a little bit of everything these days.”
Trip was silent at that, letting the new information sink in. He stood there for a beat, looking embarrassed, his tail between his legs.
“Look. I’m sorry, Lay. I’m sorry you saw that.”
I could have used the opportunity for some big psychoanalytic development, some it-wasn’t-your-fault, Good Will Hunting-type breakthrough. But it’s not what he needed from me at that moment. I knew we’d get through it eventually; it just didn’t have to be right then. So, instead of opening my big mouth, I shut up and slipped my arms around his waist for a hug.