by J Bailes
We sit in silence for a few moments before I break the silence. “Sorry to put a damper on our cuddles, but I've got obligations I must fulfill,” I say, tearing myself from his embrace. Yes, tearing myself, as in forcefully prying his arms open.
“Obligations huh, to whom?” he asks, refusing to release his grip. Instead, he squeezes me tighter.
It feels so good that I quickly give into him and relax against him. “To your mother, Blake, and you can't convince me to neglect them either. She loves me,” I say sweetly, batting my eyes at him. Me batting my eyes is a plea for him to not test my boundaries, because he knows he'll get his way. I can't deny him; it's impossible. I've tried in the past and failed.
His grip on me doesn't loosen. “She can do it on her own. She's done it on her own every year; no reason this year should be any different,” he persuades, lifting my hair up and away from my shoulder, exposing my ear. He brings his head down to the side of my neck and before words leave his mouth, I feel the heat from his tongue on the lobe of my ear. He sucks it into his mouth before nibbling it between his teeth. “Are you going to put your so-called obligations before me, Allie?” he whispers, rubbing his hand under my shirt across my midriff.
Goosebumps spread onto every inch of my body rapidly, and I shudder at his touch. His teeth release my lobe and his lips travel to my neck, right where my pulse is beating profusely. “Answer me, baby,” he commands, but he doesn't give me a chance to speak. He continues kissing and sucking my neck, and his hand is slowly creeping higher underneath my shirt. “Feel that? Feel the way your body instantly reacts to my touch, babe?” Fuck yeah, I feel it; my shudders are turning into convulsions. I'm sure everyone in the house can feel the rumble I'm letting off. His hand travels higher, cupping my breast. “And this...” his hand travels to my aching nipple, “immediately stands to attention at the slightest touch from me,” he whispers, grazing my hardening nipple with his thumb. All I can do is relax my head against his shoulder, close my eyes, and for the first time in a long time, pray. I pray that God grants me the will power to exit this theater before I end up performing porn, live in his parents’ theater.
Oh God. Oh holy hell.... now both of his hands are under my shirt, cupping my breasts. I have to latch onto my bottom lip to muffle my moans. My hands grip the armrest as he sucks my neck, rolling and pulling my nipples between his fingers. “Feel that, Al, feel what you do to me? You haven't even touched me." He presses his firm, hard cock against me. I have to bite my lip harder and squeeze my eyes tightly. I will not give into him. I can't disappoint Clair.
Aw fuck it. Who am I kidding? I have no willpower; he owns me and he knows it. I'm weak. Releasing my death grip from the chair, I unlatch my lip, giving into him. “Ahh,” I moan silently.
“That's right, baby,” he groans. “Don't fight it; it's pointless.” He knows whenever he touches me, my brain goes into a state of oblivion. In a matter of seconds, he has me flipped over, carrying me across the room. He places me against the wall.
“Blake, please don't... don't make me break my word, you know, to your mom,” I pant.
He pays no attention to my plea, and he continues to caress my breasts and backside. Thankfully, he doesn't capture my mouth. I don't want to experience morning breath first hand, but then again, I wouldn't stop him. “You really want me to stop, baby?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whimper, but my head’s shaking no, violently.
He laughs and gently sets me to the floor. “Okay, but only because you begged. I can't say no to you, in case you didn't notice.” He presses his hard cock against my sex. If he only knew how difficult it was asking him to stop. His penis is the water hose for the fire raging inside of my vagina. There's a forest fire deep down inside of my sex and he's the only one who can put it out. It's painful craving the pleasure he provides me.
As I enter the kitchen, the back of my throat contracts, my stomach rolls, and I'm gagging uncontrollably. The closer I get to Clair, the stronger the stench. The house smells of coffee and boiled eggs, the most delicious smell mixed with the most rotten smell on Earth. I pull my shirt up over my nose in an attempt to block the smell from damaging my nasal cavity.
Clair doesn't notice me immediately; she's busy chopping potatoes. Once she rinses them off and drops them into the boiling water, she turns around and almost jumps completely out of her skin. “Holy Jesus, Allie, you scared the crap out of me,” she says, clutching her hands to her chest, gripping her apron. She takes in a few calming breaths, regaining her composure, and begins walking towards me. When we're toe-to-toe, she just stares at me. She has a questioning look on her face, and as she cocks her head, she reaches up and yanks my shirt down, exposing my nose to the toxic smell that's floating through the air. “You'll never get used to the smell if you never actually smell it.” Exactly. I don't want to get used to the smell; no one should.
She rises on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me in for a hug. Placing a kiss to my cheek, she says, “I'm so glad you decided to meet us. Blake hasn't brought a girl home since.... well, since Elana.” Now, I take a few steps back, wondering who in the hell this ‘Elana’ is.
“Elana?” I ask, bewildered.
Clair's arms drop from my shoulders. “Yes, dear. Elana was Blake's high school sweetheart. They dated their sophomore and senior year. They called it quits when Blake decided to attend med school in North Carolina. Poor boy, she broke his heart,” she explains.
Weird, Blake's never mentioned anyone significant from his past, and that's something we've all discussed before. He knows about Sophie's heartbreaks; however, she's more of the breaking-heart type than she is getting her heart broken, but it's happened. He knows about the relationship I had with Wyatt, and even though he doesn't know the details, he still knows that Wyatt crushed my heart. So I find it somewhat odd that he'd keep Elana a secret. Now I want nothing more than to run down to the theater and badger Blake for information. The mention of someone breaking his heart makes mine sad, and now I want to know who this chick is, just so I can give her a good kick to the vagina.
Chapter Twelve
MOST OF MY MORNING is spent measuring spices, mixing, and washing the dishes we dirtied. The Andrews' back yard looks marvelous; it's truly extravagant. There are red, white, and blue balloons attached to an exploding firework centerpiece, sparkling banners hanging about the French doors. There are American flag printed tents all over the back yard, and wooden dance floors have been placed in the middle of the tents. There's a grill for Blake and another one for Aken. Clair rented a DJ, and music is blasting through the neighborhood. Just as I'm pouring myself a glass of red punch with blue colored ice cubes, my phone vibrates. I pull it from my back pocket, swipe my finger across the screen, and read the text message my mom sent.
Mom: Hi honey! Just wanted to say Happy Fourth of July! Jack and I are here at the cemetery paying our respects to Kyle and all the other fallen soldiers. Wish you were here, love. Jack's helping me decorate Kyle's tombstone, but it'd be better if you were here helping. Enjoy your time away, be safe, and please have fun. I hope to see you soon :) Oh, and please reconsider moving back home... I'll stay there with you....
Way to rain on my parade, Mom. Kyle hadn't even crossed my mind today, not until now. Between the disgusting smells, helping Clair, and relaxing with Blake, my mind's been occupied. But now, I want to go back inside the house, run upstairs, lock the door, and sulk in sadness, alone. As I debate hiding out, two familiar arms snake around my waist from behind. “You okay?” Blake asks.
I nod my head and continue to stare at the screen on my phone. “Yeah, it's just- it's,” I try to answer him as best as I can, but I get choked up as tears sting my eyes. “Look.” I turn in his arms and put the phone in front of his face.
His jaw flexes. “Oh damn, Al. I'm sorry baby... come here,” he reaches to the back of my head and pulls my head into his chest; my forehead rests against his sternum. He places his lips onto the top of my head
and he squeezes me tightly. “Shhh, it’s okay... fuck, this is my fault.” I begin to shake my head no, but he stills me. “No, Al, it is. This is too much for you right now, and I should've known better than to let them throw this party,” he explains, cupping my face between his hands. He releases my face and clasps his hands behind his head. “Shit! You've just lost your brother, and I know how much this holiday means to you and-”
I reach my hand up and cover his. “Blake, I'm fine, really... I just got a little emotional remembering the day we put him there, but I'm fine now. Promise.” I take my free hand and make an X over my heart. I chance one last glance at the picture my mom sent; it's Kyle's headstone that she's decorated with balloons, ribbons, and several pictures of our family.
There's a picture of Dad holding Kyle as a baby on Christmas, one of the entire family, just four months before Dad became ill, Kyle at graduation, and several of Kyle and me. It's a memory I wish I could forget; the sight of him in his casket, his vibrant personality, nonexistent. The pain, the emptiness, the anger... I want it all to disappear.
The rest of the night drags by, but I manage to semi-enjoy myself. I've done my best to push the memories of Kyle to the back of my mind - both good and bad. When I reflect on the good times we shared, it leads to tragic memories. The people here seem to be really friendly. I can't begin to tell you how many people asked if I was Blake's fiancé or not. When I tell them that I'm simply his girlfriend, they dig for information; I swear rich people eat, shit, and breathe gossip.
I've walked past several younger women and have heard them whispering, “Bet she's pregnant. Why else would he bring her here? Wait until Elana hears about this.” Well, I say fuck you and your momma too, dammit! One, I don't even look pregnant; my stomach's as flat as an ironing board. Two, I don't give a flying fuck what Elana thinks; she does not want a piece of me. I'm bad ass and I'll take her out, especially after hearing how she broke Blake's heart. Nobody hurts my man.
As I refill my cup, I see Blake emerging from the dance floor, making his way to me. He's been on the dance floor for over an hour, showing off his dance skills with his mother. There is nothing sexier than watching a man dance, watching his hips move effortlessly. My face fills with heat as I think back at the first time I experienced his moves, and I mean really experienced them. Of course, we've danced over the years, on a dance floor, but the first night I really experienced his talent was the night he claimed me as his - entirely. He love-fucked me into oblivion, pounding me to the beat of “Sail”. It's supernatural, the way he moves his body, how he can set my soul on fire. He's addictive.
Blake stands before me covered in sweat. “Ready, babe?” he asks, taking the cup from my hand and downing my punch. I crinkle my nose at him and place my hands on my hips. “Was that necessary? I would have poured you your own. You know that, right?”
He tosses the empty cup to the table and lets out a satisfied sound. “Yeah, but babe, if you can share this,” he closes the space between us and cups my sex, “then you can share the punch, no?” He flashes me his sexy lopsided grin, making it impossible for me to even pretend that I'm upset with him.
I swat his hand away from my lady. “You're such an ass sometimes... and yes, I'm ready,” I say, looping my arm through his. We maneuver our way through the guests to inform Aken and Clair of our plans to drive down and watch the fireworks show. Nashville's has some type of law where residents can't display fireworks due to fires and stuff, but they'll let them off Downtown. Now, this scenario makes no sense to me, but whatever. Blake promised me a show of my life; however, my mind leads me to believe that Blake isn't talking about Nashville's fireworks display. I'm positive he was referring to him and me setting off some rockets of our own. Oh snap! Watch out, Nashville...
Blake parks the truck on an overpass. We're surrounded by hundreds of cars, and despite their no fireworks law, people are setting them off. To our left, there's a group of teens setting off bottle rockets, which by the way, scare the shit out of me. You never know which way those things are going to go; you face them left, they go right; they're dangerous. In front of us, there are people shooting off roman candles, and the children with them swirl sprinklers. We're sitting in the bed of Aken's truck, tangled in each other. Our backs are pressed to the back of the truck, our legs are entwined, his arm resting over my shoulder, and I have my arms wrapped around his middle. The car beside us turns up their radio and people around us begin to count down from ten. As soon as they hit one, the crowd goes silent, and a large red heart shaped firework explodes high in the sky. It's absolutely stunning. Smoke quickly fills the sky as they let off more and more fireworks.
There’s a local radio station playing music with firework themes. Toward the end, the song, “I'm Proud To Be An American” begins to play, and a large explosion sounds; a firework that resembles an American flag appears. These fireworks are like nothing I've seen before. For the grand finale, they let off tons of fireworks; almost all of them erupt at the same time, one after the other. They let off one of each firework they've shot this evening, It's amazing.
I sneak a peek at Blake to see if his face seems as shocked as mine, but I catch him staring at me instead. His lips are turned upward into a slight smile; it's a satisfied smile. It's a smile you see when a couple gets married, or the smile you give after giving birth to your first born. It's love showing through his features, and it's at this moment, I decide to give him everything I have; my mind, body, soul, and my most sensitive organ within my body, my heart.
Untangling my legs from his, I reposition myself so that I'm straddling him, one knee on each side of his thighs. I bring my hand to the side of his face, and gently stroke my fingers against his cheek. I bring my lips to his, but I don't connect them. “Have I told you just how much you mean to me?” I speak against his lips. Bringing my hand away from his face, I rest it over his heart. “Have I told how much I appreciate you, putting the pieces of my broken heart together again?” I say, moving my lips closer to his, still not making contact.
He rests his hands on the sides of my hips and stares deeply into my eyes. He looks at me in disbelief, and I understand why. I've lead him on for years, only to let him down because I thought my heart was permanently destroyed. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd love someone again, trust anyone, again. Tears prick my eyes, but instead of blinking them back, I let them slide down my face. “And have I told you, I'm utterly infatuated with you?” I ask, moving my hands around to the back of his neck, locking my fingers together.
Pressing my forehead against his, our noses lined, and our lips finally touching, I tell him, “I love you, Blake Andrews. My heart belongs to you. You've healed the bruises I thought would forever possess it; so please, please, handle it with care,” I plead.
His hands cup each side of my head and he swipes my tears away with his thumbs. “Baby, I'd never abuse your heart, and I promise to cherish it for as long as you'll allow me to,” he assures me. His thumbs continue to wipe away my tears, but he can't keep up; they increase in flow as he speaks. In this moment, I'm happy, and I can't help but smile. He tangles his hands into my hair and pulls me to him, crashing his lips to mine. “Al, you won't regret me,” he promises between kisses.
Smiling against his lips, I nod. “I know." I know I'll never regret him, but I hope it's the same for him. I don't know why, but for some reason I feel like my happiness is the calm before the storm; something always goes wrong. I pray for once in my life, God will let me hold on to this little piece of Heaven named Blake, and that he'll refrain from ripping Blake from my life, unlike the others.
It takes us over an hour to return to Blake's house; the traffic is horrendous. The cars are bumper-to-bumper, horns honking like crazy; it is totally uncalled for. Once we arrive, I come straight upstairs to shower in hopes of avoiding Clair. I need some alone time. Physically, I'm fine, but emotionally, I'm worn down.
As I enter the bathroom, I look between the shower and the su
nken tub, debating which one I'd rather take: a shower that's quick, or a long hot muscle-relaxing bubble bath. My muscles are a little tense so I shoot for the tub. I walk over to the tub and turn on the water. Placing my hand under the running water, I adjust the temperature to where it's extremely hot, but endurable. To the side of the tub stands a clear container that's labeled, “Lollia Breathe Tranquil Bubble Bath”. I reach over and pick it up. Twisting the top off, I pour the liquid under the running water. It immediately fizzes. As the water rises and the bubbles multiply, a distinctive aroma fills the room. Most bubble baths smell of lavender or vanilla, but the smell I'm inhaling is that of cherries, lilies, and citrus. It smells good enough to taste.
When the bubbles rise an inch below the rim of the tub, I turn the water off, and rid myself of my clothes. Following the steps leading down into the hot tub-sized bath, I slowly submerge myself into the bubbly warmth. Leaning against the tub, I rest my head on the platform surrounding it. Connecting my headphones into my phone, I place it on the platform beside me after I scroll through my playlist and decide on some slow-paced and relaxing melodies: Ben Rector, Phillip Phillips, Civil Wars, Ron Pope, and Switchfoot. As the music begins to play, I sink further into the water, allowing the bubbles to tickle underneath chin. I inhale a deep cleansing breath and soak up the sweet, yet crisp scent the bubble's let off. Closing my eyes and listening to the soft melodies, I begin to drift off. I'm conscious, but barely. Ben Rector's “Hide Away” is playing, I'm lost in the lyrics; it explains my life in a way that I cannot express. Thankfully, I've found my place to hide away, found my place of peace, found my reason to keep on breathing: Blake.
Somehow, I've sunken deeper into the water, I'm strangling on water and soapy foam. After composing myself, I resume my previous position. Out of nowhere, Paramore's “Into You” blares through my ears. I love this song, but I'm not sure how it got onto my playlist. I begin to bob my head and sing the lyrics when two large hands wrap around my ankles and glide their way up both of my legs. I don't bother opening my eyes because I already know who it is by the shock my body experiences as he touches me; besides, my muscles are so relaxed, I couldn't run from a snake if it was fixing to bite me in the ass.