Remembering Phoenix

by Randa Lynn

  His eyes darken with desire, and in a single moment I’m flipped onto my back. All I hear is the thrumming of my heart. All I see is the shadowed gaze of the only person who’s ever made me feel alive.

  Slayter stands up, sliding my leggings down my thighs, and discards them to the floor. His chest rises and falls as he roughs his fingers through his hair, his hungry gaze never leaving mine. “If we start this, Charlie, I won’t be able to stop.”

  I nod my head. “Okay.” Please don’t stop, I plead with my eyes.

  “No,” he says, the timbre of his voice firm. “I don’t think you understand. I have wanted you, your body, for a while. That day you ran into me, fuck. You fell, but I fell for you so hard. We start this and I won’t be able to quit you.”

  The severity of his words slam into me. Knowing it’s not just me who is spinning, dizzy from this pull we seem to have on one another, is intoxicating.

  “I don’t want you to,” I rasp out. “I don’t care if you don’t stop.” I’m not sure if my need for him is simply so strong in this moment, or if it’s so strong because I’m finally letting myself surrender to the fact that I feel something for him. Everything within me is screaming it’s the latter of those choices.

  He climbs onto the bed, his arms placed on either side of my body. He’s pinning me in, but this doesn’t feel a thing like captivity.

  Lifting his hand, he gently brushes it across my face. I shiver from his touch. “This face, it’s fucking flawless. Every flaw you see is perfect to me.” His hand travels down my neck, over my collar bone, before reaching, unclasping my bra. He slips it off, dropping it to the floor. His hand continues its quest over my body, his touch causing goosebumps to pebble my skin. He grazes my sensitive nipples. “These,” he dips his head, nipping and sucking one while working my other breast with his hand. My body hums with intense need, feeling more alive than it’s ever felt before. “Perfection.”

  A moan escapes my lips as he touches my body like no one ever has. Every touch is calculated and thought out. It’s as if he’s studied me, my body, and knows exactly the right spots to touch to send my desire through the roof. “That sound. It drives me mad,” he says right before he hooks his thumbs in my thong, yanking them from my body.

  I watch him as his eyes travel over every curve of my bare skin. There’s no barrier between us—nothing I can hide from him as I allow him to see me. Every broken, guilt-stricken, piece of me. He’s not seeing me under false pretenses that I’m this normal woman, not marred by the things of my past. He’s here. And he wants me. The real me.

  I have never felt more okay than I do in this very moment.

  His finger dips inside of me.

  Then another.

  He pumps in and out, flicking his fingers in the most perfect way causing me to moan out in pure ecstasy. My eyes close as I writhe against his hand as my body ignites with the most intense pleasure. “Open your eyes, Charlie,” Slayter demands.

  I do as he says.

  His eyes burrow into me, hooded with desire as his thumb works feverishly against my clit.

  I keep my eyes locked on his, the intensity of our gaze causes a tsunami of feelings to swirl inside of me.

  I become lost in this feeling of floating. It’s a high I’ve never been on, a stark contrast to the constant state of sinking I’m in.

  Slayter bends down, pressing his warm lips against mine. His tongue lightly licks my bottom lip, and before I know it, volts of pleasure shoot throughout my body as an orgasm breaks free.

  With one final kiss, he removes his fingers, and gets off the bed. I’m still on a high from his touch, still relishing in the warmth of his kisses, when I hear him grumble, “Shit. I don’t have a rubber.”

  I push up on my elbows. “I’m on birth control.”

  He takes my assurance as acceptance to continue—thank God—and stands up, pushing his sweats and boxers to the floor. His very large erection springs free. “Now is your last chance to back out,” he says. His voice is soft, in no way harsh.

  “I don’t want to back out,” I assure him. I should look up at him, but I can’t. My eyes are firmly glued to his cock. My body pulses, needing more of him. “I just want you right now.”

  In an instant, he positions himself between my legs. He smirks and slams into me. I gasp as he fills me, both physically and emotionally. I drown out everything except him. I feel every single inch of him as he consumes me. He sets a rhythm; our bodies slap together with each thrust he pushes inside of me.

  He lowers his lips to mine, kissing me fiercely, like his life depends upon it. Maybe mine does.

  “You feel better than I imagined,” he breathes against my skin, the heat of his breath caressing my face.

  “I’m feeling,” I whisper, not sure if he can hear me or not. But I am, I’m feeling so much more than I know how to handle. It’s a sensation I’m not used to, a tiny light shining in my state of darkness.

  I wrap my arms around him, digging my nails into his back as he causes the stone wall around my soul to start weakening.

  Heartbeat for heartbeat.

  Ragged breath for ragged breath.

  Soul for soul.

  I feel him in every fiber of my being, etching a spot in my life so deeply. I don’t know if I’m ready for it. But this, right now—him—takes away all my uncertainty.

  My spine starts tingling, pleasure building as he lifts my leg up over his shoulder, slamming his length into my deepest depths. Everything hazes out as my body is slammed with another orgasm. His rhythm falters, releasing his own right after me.

  Slayter collapses beside me, gently kissing me on my lips. His touch is gentle and warm. His tenderness swarms around me, comforting me in a way I’ve never known. Bringing his hand up, he brushes is along my swollen lips. We stare silently at each other for a few moments, nothing needing to be said.

  He pulls me into him, bare body against bare body, and I let his arms calm the storms raging inside.

  Running his fingers through my hair, he whispers, “I’ve got you, Charlie.” For the first time, I believe it.

  This is so not me.

  The fanciest restaurant I’ve ever eaten at is Texas Roadhouse, and you can chuck peanuts on the floor. I’m a beer and hot wings type of girl. Not champagne and lobster bisque. I take a small sip of my water—which the waiter is keeping very full—and look out the window.

  You can see a good bit of Dallas from twenty-seven floors up. SĒR is in a fancy hotel, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when my jeans, flats, and black V-neck fitted tee were way underdressed for the occasion.

  This is what I get for agreeing to go out to dinner on a whim. I had a total of fifteen minutes to make myself presentable, and it takes much, much longer to do that. But when Slayter practically begs me to get out of my pajamas and grab some food, I can’t really object.

  I should have.

  But over the course of this relationship, or whatever this is, he’s made me agree to so many things I wouldn’t normally do. Before Slayter, I only left my house for work, to buy groceries, go to doctor appointments, or to endure family time. Now, I leave the house at least four times a week. Bowling. Movies. Dinner. Hiking. Going to the park. Shopping.

  I don’t do any of those things. I watch movies on Netflix. I only hike on the treadmill—in my apartment. I could tell you every single time I’ve gone bowling—three times—and they all include Slayter. And to be honest, I’ve enjoyed every time.

  After fighting with my feelings, fighting with the need to not be happy, I gave in. I’m still dealing with guilt, but I’m handling it. With the help of Slayter, the pain gets a little easier to bear. The pain hasn’t lessened; that will never happen.

  Slayter just makes me stronger. When I’m weak, he builds me up. When I’m broken to the point of not believing I can put myself back together, he becomes a mender.

  It still baffles me how, when I see so much ugly, so much dark, Slayter sees something in me. Light. Beauty. Ho
pe…

  “You look beautiful,” Slayter says, setting his glass down.

  “I look ridiculous,” I whisper from around my glass of water. I’m thankful he spoke, successfully bringing me out of my thoughts.

  Slayter smiles. “You couldn’t look ridiculous even if you tried,” he says before taking a bite of his Porterhouse steak.

  I roll my eyes and take a bite of my lobster bisque. It’s a tiny little bowl. Far too tiny for the hefty price tag on it. Whataburger sounds good right now. Taco Bell. McDonald’s McNuggets, even. Hell, I’d even go for the dreaded Burger King. At least they actually give out human sized food to their patrons.

  “At least I decided to ditch the Chucks.” I shrug. A lady walks by in a long black, sparkly dress. Her hair is covered by an overly large hat, like one you’d find at the horse races. I think I’d be more comfortable at the horse races, now that I think about it. “Why did you insist we come here?” I ask. “Something less fancy and more wallet friendly wouldn’t have sufficed?”

  “This,” he points to his Porterhouse with his fork, “is the best steak you’ll ever eat. And plus, you deserve to go someplace nice every once in a while.”

  I look around the restaurant. The servers are in pressed, black slacks and white, crisp button ups. A guy, positioned in the corner, sings while playing the piano. The melodies float through the air like rich little musical notes.

  A couple walks by our table, expensive perfume permeates the air. The woman’s chest is puffed out like she owns the place. Maybe she does. Her furry coat looks like it came fresh off a black bear. Poor bear. “Maybe she’ll get mauled by the next one before she can wear it.”

  “What?” Slayter’s eyebrow cocks in amusement.

  I flick my wrist slightly in her direction. “The lady walking? She looks like she’s wearing a bear. I hope the next one attacks the shit out of her. She deserves it.”

  He chokes on his water; coughing into his black cloth napkin. “I can’t take you anywhere nice.”

  I shrug. “I never asked you to.”

  He looks into my eyes. His jaw ticks, like he’s wanting to say something, but he doesn’t. At least not with his mouth, but he’s talking to me alright. He’s yelling at me with each second his gaze burns into me. Each passing second, it becomes more intense, more heated with desire. His gaze falls down my face, landing right where my cleavage peeps out from the V of my shirt. I shift, turning my upper body slightly away from his line of sight. “That’s really not fair. Not fair at all.” He pokes his bottom lip out playfully.

  I give him a wink. I enjoy that he can break me down. I enjoy being able to be playful and joke around with him. I’m not a joking person. I have a dry sense of humor, and most days, I have no humor at all. Around him, though, I find the hidden little comic in me. “All’s fair in sex and war.” I blow him a kiss.

  “Sex, yeah? We’ll see about that later.”

  A waitress walks by our table, her eyes tuned in on Slayter. She stops a few steps past our table before turning around. Her ombré hair whipping around from the swift turn on her heels. As quickly as she moves past our table, she’s back. Her eyes never leaving their lock on Slayter. I can’t say I really blame her. He looks downright edible in his black slacks and white button down that remains unbuttoned at the top two buttons. I know what’s underneath his shirt, and it is everything a woman’s wet dreams are made of. I might not blame her for looking, but that also doesn’t mean I really appreciate the fact.

  Uh, hi. I’m right here, bitch.

  “How is your dinner?” she purrs. She places her fingers on the edge of the wooden table, tapping them gently.

  Slayter’s eyes move from her to me. He smirks as he notices my jaw tightening. My grasp twists tighter around the spoon the longer she goes without acknowledging me. This feeling of jealousy, and possession, washes over me, settling in my gut like the stomach flu. It’s not lost on me how I go through my life trying to remain in the shadows, but right now I want to be front and center. “Our dinner is perfect,” I answer her. Her body finally shifts, noticing me. About time. Her demeanor changes from flirtatious to snarky in a heartbeat. “We’d also like our check, too.” I look at Slayter seductively, licking my lips slowly as I reach across the table. Grabbing his hand, I rub my thumb in a circle across his knuckles. Knowing she’s looking at me makes my will to put her in her place grow exponentially. I’m not the same Charlie I usually am. She’s disappeared for the time being. "Dessert is waiting on both of us as soon as we get out of this shit-hole.”

  She scoffs, “Well. I’m sorry you feel that way, miss.”

  I can tell she’s trying to sound as polite as possible, but her complete distaste for me isn’t getting past me. It’s a good thing I’m not particularly adept at beating around the bush. “Actually, it’s been fabulous. That is, except for the last three minutes, when this rather rude waitress decided to eye my man like he was a lollipop.” At this point, Slayter slams several hundred dollar bills on the table, his amused eyes never leaving mine. I stand up, scooting my chair underneath the table. Leaning in to the waitress, I whisper, “He is, but I’m the only one who will be licking him.”

  With a wink, I grab Slayter’s hand and walk to the elevators.

  As soon as the doors close, every bit of steel lady balls I just grew dissipates. My bulletproof stature crumbles as Slayter stares down at me. I can’t believe I just did that. “Holy sh—“

  His lips crash against mine, shutting me up, as he pushes me back against the rear wall of the elevator. His tongue glides in my mouth as his hands cup the nape of my neck. I kiss him back, relishing the way this spontaneity makes me feel.

  When I’m with him, he brings me up, makes me feel alive. I just hope and pray one day I won’t need him to make me feel alive.

  I want to be the reason my feet stay firmly planted. I want to be my own strength.

  I want to be able to rely on myself.

  He nips the bottom of my lip, releasing me, as the elevator door slides open.

  I’m left absolutely breathless.

  Maybe I’ll work on relying on myself tomorrow…

  “Want some?” I hold out a spoon of ice cream to Charlie.

  She shakes her head, pulling her loose-fitted beanie down. “No way. It’s too cold for ice cream.”

  I pop the dollop of ice cream in my mouth and eat it. “It is never too cold for ice cream,” I correct her. “Some people are just too sensitive.”

  Charlie laughs, leaning into me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “Some people are just too insane to realize eating ice cream when it’s cold doesn’t make sense,” she says before taking a bite of her chocolate chip cookie.

  “Some people are so weather sensitive,” I joke, taking the final bite of my ice cream and tossing it into the nearby trash can.

  She nudges me playfully with her elbow, and giggles before looking at the shoppers walking about. “I don’t know how people spend hours in this place shopping. It tires me out just thinking about it.”

  “This is why we’re perfect for each other. I hate shopping, too.”

  Leaning her head back, Charlie scrunches her nose in mock disgust. “Except when it comes to buying a stupid expensive jacket?”

  “Hey now. It’s not a jacket. It’s a coat, and it’s my favorite.”

  “So,” she says, “if it’s a coat and not a jacket, tell me the difference between the two.”

  “That’s easy.” That’s so not easy. “My jackets zip up. My coats button up.”

  She laughs hysterically. “That makes absolutely no sense what-so-ever. Do you know that?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I have absolutely no idea, so it was the best answer I could come up with.”

  She laughs. “Hey,” she says, looking out at the people, “I think that’s the waitress from that restaurant we ate at last month.” She points in the direction.

  I look, but I couldn’t tell you if it was or not. I really didn’t pay her any mind. “I have
no idea.” I shrug, smiling as I remember Charlie riled up.

  “I could always go say hi.” She grins mischievously.

  “Let’s just stay right here.”

  She rolls her eyes jokingly. I grab her hand, interlocking our fingers together as she takes the last bite of her cookie. We sit on the bench for a while, just watching all the shoppers meander around the Galleria.

  An older couple slowly makes their way around while a group of teenagers skip around, laughing without a care in the world. A young mom and her two children walk by, and I can feel Charlie’s body tense beside me. The light air that has been surrounding us falls heavy. “So,” I say, trying to get her mind on something else other than her heartache, “if you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

  “I don’t know,” she breathes out, never taking her eyes off of the little family.

  I grab her chin with my hand, forcing her gaze to break from them. She looks in my eyes, and I can see the tears trying to form, but I won’t let them. “Hey. It’s you and me right now,” I tell her. A sad smile peeps at her lips, and she blinks back the moisture in her eyes. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I repeat my question.

  She chews on her bottom lip as she contemplates the answer. “New Zealand.”

  “New Zealand?” I ask. “Interesting choice.”

  “Yeah,” she says quietly, “It’s the first far off place I remember seeing when I got out of the hospital. I don’t remember if it was on the TV or on the internet, but every picture I saw was absolutely beautiful.”

  “Maybe we can go there someday.”

  She blinks rapidly a few times, soaking in my response. “Yeah, maybe…”

  The conversation stays lighter. No one comes by that triggers Charlie, and I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful for a few moments of having the fun, lighthearted Charlie that I know she can be. I don’t see that side of her often, so anytime I do, it’s cherished.

  “You ready to get out of here?” Charlie asks, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers.