by Trent Jordan
“He usually hates other guys,” she finally said quietly. “The second he even sees one across the street, it’s like he’s got to act all tough. As if he’s telling everyone I’m his. Which I am.”
She chuckled. I kept playing with Shiloh.
“I guess you have some sort of effect on him, LeCharles. He should be growling and barking so loud that he’d wake everyone else up here.”
“Pretty sure everyone else here is awake and doing drugs.”
Rose chuckled. She went into her room as I continued to pet Shiloh. Shiloh rolled over, let me rub his belly, and then got up and licked me. Then, as if remembering that his owner was elsewhere, he bolted for the bedroom.
I took that as my cue to leave when I heard something unexpected.
Rose was crying in her room.
And she wasn’t sniffling. She was fully bawling her eyes out like I had never heard her before. And we had had some really shitty, terrible arguments before.
A part of me ferociously yelled inside that I needed to get the hell out of there. Rose was having a moment, but she was safe. She had her dog to protect her. She did not need me there, and she probably did not want me there either.
And yet...
There was a small but noticeable part of me that was telling me to go comfort her. Be empathic. See what she was crying about. Be human.
But if I’m human to her, she’s going to think...
Think what? That you still care for her?
Because she’s right.
“Damnit,” I muttered to myself.
I took a step back, but then Shiloh appeared in the doorway to the bedroom and started whimpering, as if he wanted to guilt-trip me.
Fucking hell, no one wanted me to get out of this easily, huh? First, the Saints and Reapers did their thing without me. Then Rose had her worst moment yet. And now the damn dog was begging me to stay?
“Two minutes,” I mumbled to myself.
Like hell you’re going to do that.
I went to the door and saw Rose sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to me, her head hung low between her hands. I knocked gently.
“Rose,” I said, trying to keep my voice somewhat neutral.
But if Rose heard me, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even acknowledge me. Perhaps I had misread the situation. Thank God.
I took two steps out.
“LeCharles, wait.”
Shit. I turned back around and slowly approached the door, resting my arm against it. She only looked up, not at me.
“Come.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through everything else—the air conditioner, Shiloh walking to us, any of the noise outside. It was like the sound of her voice, no matter how soft or weak, would forever be heard by my ears.
Last chance to back out.
I did not.
I went over to the side of her bed and sat beside her. Immediately, her arms wrapped around me.
I shouldn’t have allowed that. I should have kept my distance on the edge of the bed. I should... I should... I should...
But I didn’t do any of those things.
Rose had stopped crying.
Rose
On a night when I didn’t just hit rock bottom but nearly excavated the ground to go further beneath rock bottom, I actually found something in me that I didn’t think I would find so soon.
Strength.
Admittedly, from the outside, it probably looked like I was as weak as ever. I had just cried like a baby throwing the worst tantrum of her life, I was holding my ex-boyfriend as tightly as I could, and I still was broke and in a shitty part of town.
But I hadn’t called LeCharles back because I needed someone else for support.
I had called him back because my hug for him was meant to be a form of gratitude. It was to thank him for pulling me out of hell before things got worse, to the point where they would have irreversible effects on my life. And because of that strength, I could be honest with myself.
I didn’t just want to make things “right.”
I wanted LeCharles back.
But I didn’t want the asshole LeCharles back. I didn’t want the guy who had stood me up at Joe’s Java and then treated me like shit when he finally arrived. That was not the real LeCharles.
The real guy was the one who would surprise me after a stressful day at work with a heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates. The real guy was the one who would take me to the beach without asking, knowing full well that it was the place that I could relax, even if I had an MCAT textbook in front of me. The real guy listened, was kind, and didn’t try and offer unsolicited advice.
I wanted that LeCharles back. But I now had the strength, from whatever source I needed, to realize that if the LeCharles before me was not that LeCharles, I could move on.
Maybe it was because I recognized that at this point, the only place I had to go was up. Maybe it was because I recognized that the only thing that was going to save me was myself—not a man, not a job, not even Shiloh. Although that dog is awfully adorable and sweet.
I looked up into his eyes to finally say, “thank you.”
But when I did, I did not expect to see what I did—hope.
LeCharles had hope in his eyes too. He was trying to fight it.
No, that wasn’t right. It was like he was trying to figure out if he wanted to feel it or not. It confirmed my suspicions, and I could see it with such clarity. The old LeCharles was still in there, but it was buried beneath the ugly end to our last relationship and years and years of suffering.
I put my hand on his cheek, almost in awe of the fact he could still feel those things. He put his hand on mine. This was getting dangerous, and I didn’t care. We both... we both knew what could happen.
And I didn’t mean that just in the negative sense of the word. We knew what sort of joy, happiness, and love we could bring each other. We’d lived it almost exclusively for the first half of our relationship, and even in the latter half when things slowly started to fall apart. Even in the last weeks, when it felt like life was one eternal hell, there were still moments where the good shined through.
It was worth trying to unlock that.
It was worth taking a risk.
We pulled each other close, and we kissed.
And when we kissed, it was like we unlocked all of the good parts of the past. Instead of opening Pandora’s Box, where we unleashed all of the bad parts of the world, we had unleashed all of the good things from the old days. The old feelings of erotic love, of true love... it was all so fast, and it was all so much, but it felt real.
It felt right.
He pushed me down onto the bed as our kissing ramped up in intensity. Our bodies were moving all around each other. My legs were wrapped around his hips, pulling me closer. His hands were reaching down inside of my jeans, not quite yet at the point of no return but daring me to allow him to go there.
I was getting wrapped up in the moment very fast, far too fast for me to retain control. The first few moments of that kiss might have felt right and felt erotic, but now I was starting to get flooded with hormones. I wasn’t looking at LeCharles, the man before me. I was looking at LeCharles, the fantasy made reality. It was like the pendulum had swung from darkness to reality... and then straight through reality and up to a brightness so luminous that it blinded me.
Nevertheless, I didn’t stop. I reached down to the bottom of his shirt and lifted it off. He was still just as muscular and ripped as he was before. I wanted to say something so bad, but words felt like they would ruin the moment or, worse, pull us out of it to the point of being unable to recover. Instead, I was content to run my hands over his back and his obliques, admiring the lines of his muscles and how they tensed and flexed under different stimuli.
I also removed my top, and LeCharles reached around and removed my bra. I offered no resistance and, in fact, welcomed him doing so. If I was to be naked with my emotions and my honesty, then I had to get to tha
t point literally.
I pressed my hips under him, and though I did not have the strength to move him myself, LeCharles nevertheless got the hint. He rolled back over and allowed me to mount him. I sat back on his crotch, running my hips over his, tossing my head back as his hands groped and squeezed my breasts. I still did not dare speak, but there were certainly some pleasant moans.
I leaned forward in an erotic lust and kissed him again, this time going full bore with my tongue. My hips ground against his even harder, and I was at the point of just needing him to give me sexual release. I didn’t even care what happened anymore. I had lost my clarity of consequences or implications or anything that extended beyond the feeling in my sex. I just wanted that release—nothing else mattered or was even considered.
And the best way to make that happen?
To make LeCharles feel that.
I moved my lips from his and down to his thick neck. LeCharles let out some groans, muttering my name. It was the first time either of us had said a word since we’d started kissing, and I loved it. Rather than pull me out of the moment, it only got me more riled up. It also didn’t hurt that his hands were working inside of my pants, squeezing my ass. The position of our bodies made it impossible for him to reach down in front of me, but that didn’t mean he didn’t make the effort.
I then continued my trail of kisses down his chest, down his stomach, down to his V-cut. And now his damn jeans were in the way.
I sat up, reached down, and unbuttoned them. LeCharles didn’t say anything, but I could see for the briefest of moments some hesitation on his part. And it was just enough to make me pause.
Were we really going to do this? Was this really a good idea? Were we going to do something that could lead to a whole host of complications?
My desire for LeCharles was great. My lust for him was great.
But...
Was my love for him great? Was this too fast? For all that I had said about being strong and being willing to step aside if LeCharles was going to be this way, was having sex with him at the first moment really that? Or was it me begging for him through the use of my body?
I paused just long enough to make eye contact with LeCharles. I could sense the same feelings of confusion and uncertainty pouring through him. It was no secret that he was rock hard beneath me, and all it took was about one yank on his now-unbuttoned jeans and boxers to have sex. It would have been so easy.
But would it have been what we needed right now? Or would it just have been sexual release brought about by a natural response to a hot man?
In other words, did I really want sex because I wanted LeCharles, or did I want sex because I just wanted sex in general?
“Rose?” he finally said.
I put my hands on his jeans and boxers, squeezed, and gently leaned forward as if massaging his groin. But I shook my head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I don’t know if this is right yet.”
I braced myself for the worst. I prepared myself to be called a fucking tease, a slut, a whore, a no-good bitch who used him... I accepted that I’d hear things far worse than I ever heard at Joe’s Java or in the grocery store.
He spoke.
And it floored me.
“I feel the same way, to be honest.”
LeCharles…
I nodded, leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek. I cuddled him closely.
“I want to have sex, don’t get me wrong,” I said. “But I want to make sure that I want to have sex with you, if that makes sense.”
LeCharles chuckled.
“It sounds a bit ridiculous, but I think I understand.”
“I want to make sure that the person I’m sleeping with is the person that I want to be with. I’m so grateful that you saved me from the Brewskis situation, but I want... ”
I didn’t say anything else. LeCharles knew what I wanted. I felt that saying it out loud would somehow cheapen it.
No, that’s not it. You’re afraid to say it. Which means you need to say it.
“I want to know if I sleep with you, LeCharles, that it’s the you that I fell in love with a decade ago,” I said. “I don’t want it to be this current iteration. You still have a good heart, but you’ve been kind of an asshole to me.”
I could scarcely believe the words coming out of my mouth right there. The man I’d been so desperate to have back in some fashion, I had just called an asshole? What was the world coming to?
Shit, maybe I really was getting my strength back. Maybe I finally was moving things forward in the right direction.
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “I don’t know... your return has brought back a lot of old feelings for me.”
“Some good, some bad.”
It wasn’t a question. We were experiencing the same thing.
“Exactly,” he said. “And now, after tonight... it’s just, when you looked at me, I knew something was going to happen. I just kind of figured we could do it and figure things out in the morning.”
I snorted with a smile. That was such a male response—it was so stereotypical. I was not sure that LeCharles could have produced a more predictable masculine response. Fuck now, think later.
But it wasn’t the kind of thing that I was going to hold against him. It didn’t make him a bad guy, and it didn’t even make him just “another guy.” If I were in his shoes, I probably would have reacted the same way. It was the most masculine response possible.
“We can figure things out in the morning,” I said. “But let’s take everything else slow, okay?”
LeCharles nodded. I kissed him on the cheek one more time before I worked with him to pull up the covers. We huddled underneath, nearly naked but not quite. Far from feeling deprived of sexual satisfaction, far from feeling frustrated, I felt something much more important and much more rewarding, at least beyond the immediate moment of release.
I felt empowered.
Despite having drunk as much as I had, despite all of the nightmare that the previous day was, despite nearly getting gang-raped by the Fallen Saints, I slept better than I had in weeks in that bed.
LeCharles’ chest, of course, provided quite the pillow. But at some point, before we both fell asleep, he had to get up to the bathroom, and when he did, I just wound up cuddling with my pillow. He came back, but I didn’t need his body to fall asleep. Just having his presence in my apartment was enough.
No, that was giving him too much credit.
Having my strength back was enough.
I wasn’t a fool enough to believe that I had suddenly gone from a weak, supplicant woman into Wonder Woman, nor was I a fool enough to believe that my problems would just vanish overnight. I would probably have to get a second job very soon, I’d have to figure out a routine revolved around Shiloh, and the situation with LeCharles was undoubtedly going to involve future fights and unexpected problems.
But for now, just knowing that I was looking up at my future instead of down at it was awe-inspiring enough.
When I woke up, I saw LeCharles sitting on the bed, his left leg resting on his right thigh as he put a sock on. I murmured loudly, trying to get him to look back at me. He paused for a moment and turned to look at me.
His guard was back up.
Damnit. Okay, I should have predicted this. I should have known that this might happen.
“You sleep well?”
It seemed like an innocuous enough question. But I knew if LeCharles was going to turn into the monster he’d acted like before, any question could be twisted into something vile in no time.
“Well enough.”
So not a monster, but not exactly loving and tender.
“You’re getting ready to leave right now, aren’t you?”
Good to see I’m still as honest as I was last night with a little bit of alcohol and a lot of lust in me.
LeCharles simply nodded and continued to put his clothes on.
“You’re not going to talk about it?”
LeC
harles sighed.
“I think we talked plenty about it last night,” he said. “Not sure what more there is to say.”
That’s bullshit, and you know it. There’s plenty more to talk about. But LeCharles was in one of those states where saying anything more was awkward and potentially explosive, and so I just sighed.
At first, I just collapsed back into the pillow, letting him have his space to act like some stupid asshole who wanted to leave first thing in the morning. But as I closed my eyes back shut and thought about how this was playing out, I decided I had to double down on the honesty not for his sake, but for mine.
I couldn’t have worked to better myself if I was going to suddenly act like a coward afraid to call things out for what they were when they most needed it.
The breaking point for me was when I felt LeCharles’ weight come off the bed, telling me he was either looking for clothes on the ground or preparing to move entirely.
“LeCharles.”
I sat up and looked at him, standing in the frame of the door. I was naked from the waist up, and LeCharles had full view of everything that he had groped and touched last night. But that didn’t faze me in the slightest. If he was going to be distracted by my breasts so much he couldn’t get the message, then that was on him.
“I know last night got weird, and I know you don’t want to talk about it right now, and that’s fine,” I said. “But I’m not going to play this game anymore. If you want us to build toward something, then let’s build toward it, or at least consider doing so. But if you mock me, belittle me, and criticize me as you have for the first couple of weeks that I’ve been here? Then I’ll recognize that you have changed. And not for the better. And the LeCharles that I once fell in love with is dead and gone, replaced by someone much worse.”
I could see the words hit him way harder than even I anticipated. It was like his body was literally caving in, the way he seemed to shrink before me. I didn’t think anyone had spoken to him so honestly before; certainly no woman ever had.