by Izzy Daniels
I begin to withdraw my fingers from beneath her costume, but her hands fly to my arms to stop my retreat. I meet her blazing stare with my own pleading one. She has no idea what she does to me . Her hands tremble as she reaches for the buttons on my coat. Haltingly, she unfastens them and slides it off my shoulders, dropping it on the floor. Her fingertips are on my shoulders, running along my arms and back up to my shoulders, gaining confidence as she goes. The pleasure of the touch I’ve been longing for sends goosebumps prickling across my skin. Her index fingers slide under the straps of my tank top and my bra and she slowly pulls them down until they hang against my arms. I don’t move, I don’t breathe. I don’t want to break the spell. Somehow, this is different, her touch is more certain and I refuse to startle her away now.
Agonizingly slow, she brings her mouth to the skin where my neck and shoulder meet, pressing feather-light kisses there, then travels across the top of my shoulder. At the edge of it, she retraces those kisses and makes a new path across my collarbone and to the other side. My head falls back when her lips brush up my neck. I feel her warm tongue delicately tasting the sensitive skin there and along my jaw and an unexpected throaty sound escapes me.
A rush of desire overwhelms me, wild need taking hold of every inch of my existence. My hands are gripping her thighs and when her teeth nip my earlobe gingerly, my body clenches and throbs. Emma’s warm breath against my skin sends a delicious shiver through me. I can feel my immediate response. My nipples are almost painfully taut against my bra and there’s an eager ache between my legs. I desperately cling to the last remnants of my control but her mouth finds mine and I’m adrift in the passion, the sheer want, and the sexual movements of her tongue against mine that I can no longer see or feel anything that isn’t Emma.
I feel deprived when her mouth abruptly moves off mine but it evaporates when I realize what she’s doing. Her lips travel down my neck, each scintillating kiss moving lower. When she reaches my exposed cleavage, I feel her tongue sweep inside my bra. Urgently, she pulls the flimsy fabric down, baring my perky peaks. A rush of cool air hits them briefly before she takes one into her mouth. My hands grasp her and the axis of my entire world shifts and I feel it physically, mentally, spiritually. I’m drowning in sensations I’ve never felt before. Her mouth tugs lightly once more before her hand cups my breast, thumb replacing her mouth, and she moves to the other one. An explosive fire burns inside, consuming me.
“Please,” I whisper, but I don’t even know why. It’s enough for Emma to meet my eyes and they draw me in like magnets. Her forehead wrinkles in concern and I know she doesn’t know why I stopped her either.
“Not okay?” She asks in confusion.
“No, yes. Okay. Very okay. You?” I ask incoherently.
“Yes,” she assures me fervently. Her gaze is fiery as her thumb strokes my nipple and a shudder of pleasure rips through me. My limbs are jelly, but I stand and pull her up with me. I lead her down the hallway to my darkened bedroom. I fumble with the remote on my bedside table, turning on my battery operated candles, fostering a romantic glow to the room. She’s standing in the doorway and I’m struck again by her loveliness and the strength of my attraction. Amazing .
Her hair is slightly ruffled from our busy night and even that ridiculous dress doesn’t hide her appealing curves. As my eyes linger on her, I see her eyelashes flutter and her inherent shyness resurfaces. She seems unsure now so I cross the room and hold her hands to lightly pull her into the room.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. That doesn’t come close, but it’s true all the same. My fingers sweep up her arm and I cup her cheek. I kiss the blush on her cheeks, then the tip of her cute nose, and the curve of her brow over each eye. I cherish this face . My lips are on hers once again and I don’t want to ever stop kissing her. My greedy hands move around to her back and I start to unzip her dress, little by little, waiting to see if she will stop me. Instead of stopping me though, her arms, under my own, reach around my back. I feel her unclasp my bra and a new kind of excitement fills me. This is actually happening .
I let her pull off my bra first, then she draws my tank over my head, discarding both on the floor. Her blue eyes rove over my ink, my breasts, my stomach and I just let her. The tips of her fingers brush the bare skin around my belly button and she hooks a finger into the waistband of my pants. I can see echoes of her thoughts rushing by on her face, deliberating on taking my pants off of me. Yes, please. Instead, both of her hands dip into my pants and reach around to my backside, where she grabs each cheek firmly.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” she murmurs seductively while her hands explore the curves above my thighs. “Is that… are you wearing a thong?” She’s fingering the lace at my hips. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
Truth be told, I’ve been wearing sexy underthings every time I’ve seen her since our first date, on the small chance that she’d want to get undressed with me. But, some things are better left unsaid. The answer seems to have encouraged her to remove my pants, because she quickly does so. She takes a step back as I step out of them and stares unabashedly. I’m standing before her in just my barely-there thong and black calf-height socks. Her eyes are glued to the space between my legs, she has her right index knuckle between her teeth. Her eyes flicker away and then back, then away again. It’s time to even things out.
I reach for the puffy sleeves of her costume and she lets me push them down, exposing the small swells of pale skin. I get the dress down to her waist and she puts her hands on my shoulders to steady herself as she steps out of it. She’s wearing a white strapless longline bra and white bikini underwear. With the sparkles on her eyes and cheekbones, her pouty lips swollen, and her light curls framing her face, she looks like an angel. This moment, the one where the most spectacular woman I have ever met the woman stands before me in her underwear and barefeet, is a moment I’ll never ever forget. In fact, I’m positive I’ll replay it over and over and over.
She closes the distance between us and walks me backward until the backs of my legs find the bed, and I bring her down with me. She’s on top of me, our legs tangled, every inch of my skin is sizzling with anticipation. Emma is propped on her left elbow near my head as we kiss, her left fingers are in my hair while her right hand is exploring my body. She slides her hand wickedly down my chest again, pausing over my underwear, then skittering across my thigh. My right hand is feeling up her back while the other one is palming her breast through her bra. I can feel her nipple stiffening with each graze. Her thigh has moved between my legs, pushing against my underwear. Before we go further, I have to be sure.
“Are you ready?” I ask, trying to mask the desire in my voice. I’ve never been so ready in my life but I need her to be with me. She’s gazing down at me, her irises flashing with scandalous hunger.
“Yes. Completely,” she exhales hotly. A sinful smile turns the corners of my lips up. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.
…
My eyes are blurry when they open, it’s early dawn. Just a hint of light in the room. I start to roll over but I catch sight of her. Emma is naked in my bed, spread belly-down across my sheets, her hair splayed across the pillow. Waking up to the sight of her here overwhelms me with emotions I can’t say yet. I lean up on one elbow so I can get a better look at her sleeping. I know, total creep move. But I’ve never seen her sleep. I’m enchanted by everything about her, including the faint purr of her deep slumber. As I watch her breathe, I notice she has a purple bruise on her lower back and for a moment, I feel horror that I might have hurt her somehow. I lost count of all the orgasms we shared last night, but I can’t find anything in my memory for something that might have caused that. It’s possible she got it from work, those swinging doors always seemed dangerous. My eyes move on to her small, freckled shoulders and then up to her eyelashes resting sweetly against her upper cheekbones. I could stare forever, which I nearly do. Eventually, a thought occurs so I cli
mb out of bed, throw on some pjs and tiptoe to the kitchen. The coffee is brewing when she comes around the hallway corner and into the kitchen. She’s wearing my sheet and a smile and my heart swells.
“I’m sorry if I woke you. I wanted to have your beloved coffee ready for you.”
“You didn’t wake me. I missed you. And, okay, yes… I smelled my favorite liquid heaven.” She taps her nose and grins at me. She is so cute, I can’t even stand it.
“Why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll pop in some toast for you.” Or else I’m going to pull off that sheet and set you on this counter.
“Do you mind if I shower real quick? It only takes me like three minutes.”
“For sure. Want company?” I ask, innocently.
“Yes, yes, I do as a matter of fact.” She leads and I follow her into my bathroom, grabbing clean towels on the way. I turn on the water and she helps me out of my clothes. She drops the sheet and steps into the shower. I get in behind her and stand close so we are both sprayed by the hot water. As she wets her hair, I lather body wash into my hands and start tenderly rubbing her back, avoiding the bruise I saw. She relaxes against me and the longer I massage her, the more she melts into me. She’s so mine. I wash her hair next, massaging her scalp as her forehead rests on my chest. I hold her against me underneath the water, the heat seeping into us. Us . I want us to be an us . The words are nearly bursting out of me, but I reign them in. Eventually, she returns the favor, washing me, taking her time as she studies all of my tattoos, from my neck to my toes. It’s nearly as intimate as last night and I welcome it. When we step out, steam covers the mirror and I wrap her in a soft towel. I dry myself off and kiss her on the lips.
“I’m going to go get breakfast ready. Take your time.”
“You don’t have to, I can do it,” she interjects.
“Shh. I want to,” I assure her and I shut the bathroom door on any reply she could give.
I throw two slices of bread in the toaster, grab the butter, a knife and a plate. I’ve made her toast before, she likes it crispy with lots of butter melted into it. I pull out two bananas from the fridge and I get her mug from the drying rack. I’m just setting everything onto the table when she comes back with wet hair, wearing snug jeans and a t-shirt. She smiles at me and I settle in next to her at the table. She takes my hand into hers and kisses it.
“Thank you. You’re kind of amazing.” Sigh. I lean forward and plant my lips on hers. She kisses me back and I pull away, barely an inch.
“No, you. You are amazing. I love you,” I say softly. It feels so good to finally say, like a release. Her face jerks back and crumples. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Too soon, abort! Undo! Her eyes are on her lap and she’s shaking her head.
“No, Brooke. You can’t,” Emma announces quietly.
“Yes, I can. I do. I fell for you on our first date. It took me by surprise, but it’s my undeniable truth.”
“That’s impossible,” she says.
“No, it’s not, Emma. I love you, believe me. I know how I feel,” I declare. “I’ve spent many hours pondering it and I always come back to the same thing.”
“You can’t, you barely know me… I haven’t told you..” She swallows hard, not finishing her thought.
“Emma, I know you,” I inform her. “I know all of your smiles, I know how you take your coffee, I know your eyes, I know the freckles on your face, the scar on your knuckle from the oven burn, I know that you secretly tear up at commercials with puppies, I know that you are afraid of snakes, I know that you carry a notepad that only has recipes in it, I know that you are shy but goofy, I know that you’re ridiculously awful at bowling, that you like sprinkles on your ice cream because they’re crunchy. Emma, I love everything about you. You’re driven, smart, caring, sweet, and I love all of you.” She looks dumbfounded at my proclamations. She pushes her chair back and stands up abruptly. Her hands are holding her head.
“No. Please. Stop,” she begs, her voice breaking slightly. She starts pacing between the living room and kitchen.
“I can’t stop loving you. I wouldn’t even if I could,” I protest. I go to her and gently tug arms down and hold her hands tightly. “Why do you want me to stop?”
“I… You…” She trails off, uncertain. Her eyes meet mine and they’re shiny with unshed tears. Her face has panic on it and I don’t understand why. “Just trust me, you can’t love me. I’m unlovable,” she says resolutely.
“Emma. That’s not true. There’s so much to love about yo--”
“Stop! You don’t get it,” she cuts me off, her voice fierce. “I killed my mom! So there, you see, you can’t love me. I’m a murderer.” My hands drop hers in surprise. My mind races to find the right words to say, but her vehemence is startling.
“I don’t understand. She died when you were twelve,” I state unconvinced.
“Yes. Because I killed her.” She seems defeated, her body slumps at her confession.
“What happened?” I know she couldn’t have hurt anyone, that’s not in her nature. I lead her over to the couch and sit her down, taking her hands again. I wait while she collects her thoughts.
“The restaurant my mom worked at, the one I told you about?” She begins. “The same one where I spent hours every single day. Well one night I begged my mom to go to a sleepover, my first one ever, she was killed. Three teens came in to rob it and she was shot.” Tears fall down her cheeks and she looks so ashamed, but I’m missing something. I don’t understand her story.
“But, Emma, if you weren’t even there, why would you think you killed her?”
“That’s just it,” She practically shouts. “I wasn’t there! I should have been there.” She stands up again. “‘Us against the world.’ That was what we used to say to each other, our motto. The two musketeers. We stuck together. She always had my back and I always had hers. Except when she really needed me. I failed her. I begged my mom to let me stay over at Miranda’s house and she didn’t want me too. I told her I wasn’t a kid anymore. I yelled at her. She let me go and I wasn’t there to protect her. She was shot in the stomach and she suffered. I abandoned her. I let her die in agony,” her voice rough with emotion. My heart is breaking into pieces for her, tears are flowing down my own cheeks.
“Oh, baby girl, you couldn’t have known. If you were there, you would have gotten hurt or worse. It isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault. Emma, look at me,” I command but she shakes her head. I stand and put my arms around her. “It’s not your fault.” She’s shaking, a sound of anguish spills out of her and she succumbs to the sobs. Her hands wrap around me and grip my shoulders tightly. I hold her while she falls apart. I cry for her, for her pain and sorrow, for believing she is responsible for something so horrendous but so out of her control for all these years. From what I’ve learned about her over the last two months, I believe she probably hasn’t let herself cry in a long time. That she’s been carrying around this self-imposed guilt like a weight on her shoulders. She doesn’t cry for more than a few minutes before she’s pulling away. My arms fall uselessly to my sides. She turns her back to me and wipes her palms under her wet eyes.
“I have to go to work,” Emma says. Her tone is hard to read, but I feel like she’s shutting me out. I can’t let her do that, but I don’t know how to stop her.
“Can you stay?” I ask. I want to beg her, I want to talk this out with her. I want her to accept my love for her, to believe that she can be loved.
“No, you know I can’t.” She turns back to me and forces a smile. “I have to go.” She’s rushing around grabbing her bags and moving them by the door. She digs out her work sneakers and I feel a sense of dread. What if she leaves and doesn’t come back?
“Will you call me when you get out, like always?” I probe apprehensively.
“Of course. I’m sorry about freaking out on you. And crying,” she replies, her voice almost back to normal.
“Don’t apologize for that,” I tell her firmly. She slips on her shoe
s, slides her bags onto her shoulder and opens my front door. She pauses but doesn’t look back.
“Thank you,” she says faintly before stepping out and closing the door behind her. I stand staring at the door, partly hoping she’ll open it again and kiss me and tell me she loves me, too. The other part knows she won’t. I stumble to my bed before the tears start, falling heavily into my comforter. I pull my pillow to me, catching her scent lingering on it and that just makes me cry harder, the ache in my chest unbearable. Emma .
11
Emmaline
My thoughts are scattered like leaves at the edge of an autumn gust. The grief and guilt wrench at me in equal parts. But selfishly, I want to be held by Brooke. She calms the worst of it, even though she doesn’t know it. I heard what she said, that it’s not my fault, but she doesn’t understand. She never will. I force my leaden legs into the restaurant where I nod to Joe, and turn my thoughts to preparing for the day. It’s like any other day: pull my cheeks up into a smile, say all the right things, be normal, cut the lemons, make the salads, fill the dressings. It’s all rote, taking zero mental effort, which is why I can’t stop seeing Brooke’s face in my mind. Especially the blissful look on it when she told me she loved me. My stomach plummets. By the time I left, her face was so full of hurt. Wait, it was hurt, not disgust. Why would she be hurt? Unless… No. I’ve already established, she can’t love me. But what if she does? That’s not something that could be possible. I’ve heard it a thousand times. My uncle’s voice penetrates my thoughts.
You’re selfish. You left your mother there to die. She didn’t deserve that, you should have died in her place. You’re disgusting. Unlovable. You’re a murderer.