by Anthology
"I'm going to make you come, Maura."
Oh, he certainly was. Her hand, but his words. The thought of him. The memory of his touch and scent and flavor, all of those things were sending her over the edge, hurtling her toward climax. There was, in fact, no stopping it now, not that she wanted to. She wanted to give herself up to it, lose herself in the pleasure. Let it consume her.
She still had words, but they were broken by soft, breathy sighs and gasps she couldn't hold back. "Fuck," she said. "Oh, fuck, Ian, that feels so good..."
Ian kept talking, telling her just what he was doing to her, how much he loved the taste of her, how much he loved feeling her when she came. "I have my fingers inside you. I can feel you clenching."
That was it, she was done. Finished. Ignited, combusting, up and over and inside out. Pleasure surged so fiercely all she could do was shake with it.
Quieting, her breath still rasping, she came back to herself. She blinked into the darkness and licked her lips, unable to tell if sweat or tears had painted them with salt. Every muscle felt loose, but pain tightened in her chest with the heavy thud of her heart. She waited to regret this, but she never had and did not, now.
"I love the way you make me feel," she told him. "When you're inside me. I love how you make me come. I love how you fit against me, and how you say my name. I want you to feel good, too."
Ian huffed into the phone. "I am. I do. Getting closer, touching myself. Thinking of you."
"I love that, too." The ache of desire to be with him hit her hard, a fist squeezing her heart. Maura put a hand over her eyes, pressing her fingers into her temples, willing herself to hold her shit together. Not to break down, not now. He wanted her to beg, but not this way.
"Shit, this feels so good. I'm getting close, thinking about fucking you, Maura. I want to be behind you, pulling your hair so your head tips back..."
She shivered, too sated to even get close to another climax but helpless not to be aroused by the image he painted. "I love it when you pull my hair."
"I know you do." Ian's low laugh slid into a groan. "Oh, fuck. So close, now."
"I want you to come, baby. Come so hard for me." The words people said while fucking were always so silly, but she didn't care. She wanted to talk him to orgasm the way he'd done for her. If all she had of him were words, she was going to use every single one she had.
"I'm coming." His voice slurred into silence broken by the harsh, rough edge of his breathing. She listened, waiting, counting her own in-and-out breaths. After eleven of them, Ian spoke. "See what you do to me?"
He meant it as a compliment, but it tightened her jaw. Maura scowled, knowing he couldn't see her face but that he'd hear anger in her voice if she wasn't careful to disguise it. Did she even want to?
"Well, goodnight," she said abruptly. "Thanks for the mutual jack-off. It was great."
"Wait, what? Hey, hey. Don't..."
She disconnected the call and got up from the bed to stalk to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth to wash away the imagined taste of him. It didn't work. You can't rinse away a memory.
Her phone was ringing.
She'd never assigned him his own ringtone-- in fact, this might be the first time he'd ever called her phone directly. For so long their communication had been limited to furtive instant messages and phone calls sifted through third-party apps. Now there was no reason for them to keep anything a secret, yet the trill of the phone still set her on edge. The call went to voicemail before she could reach it, but the phone rang again a few seconds later. She answered it, but with silence.
"Don't do that," Ian said by way of greeting.
"Don't do what?"
"Hang up on me." He sounded pissed.
Well. So was she. Maura gripped the phone tight, pressing it to her ear. Naked in the dark and cold, the heat of her anger kept her teeth from chattering even though the rest of her had prickled into gooseflesh.
"You got what you wanted," she told him. "What more is there to say? What? You wanted to cuddle, after?"
She knew how to read him by every huff and puff. Now he gave a low, frustrated mutter. "What's your problem?"
"You're my problem. You've been my problem for three years. Soon it will be four. And five. And someday, ten. A hundred fucking years, Ian, you'll be my problem." She chose her words carefully, determined not to cry. She'd given him a lot, but she wasn't going to give him her pain.
"Maura..."
She waited for him to say more than her name in that defeated tone she hated so much, but Ian didn't say anything else. She bit her tongue and rubbed the sore spot against the back of her teeth to keep herself from speaking. So much to say that couldn't be said, so much that had always remained unspoken and maybe always would.
Ian sighed. "Do you want me to not call you any more?"
"You're the one who said we shouldn't see each other again. You're the one who said this had all been a mistake from the start," she reminded him. "Remember that? It was only yesterday. And then what, a few hours later you're messaging me with your dick in your hand. What, exactly, am I supposed to think, Ian? Am I supposed to be flattered that when you're horny, you think of me?"
"It's not just that, and you know it!"
Maura pinched the bridge of her nose, but refused to soften. "Tell me then. What is it? Because I can't even pretend to know, any more."
"I don't know what to tell you."
"How about that you want to be with me? You could start there." She wanted to spit the words but settled for swallowing their sour taste. When he said nothing and the sound of his breathing began to hurt her ears as his silence was hurting her heart, Maura disconnected the phone again.
He called back. "Stop doing that."
"It's late," she countered. "I have to work in the morning, and so do you."
In the beginning, they'd spent so many nights staying up too late that for a time she'd walked through most of her days in a sleep-induced haze. She didn't want to do that now. If anything, she wanted the oblivion sleep would bring so that she didn't need to have this discussion with him any longer.
"I'm trying to talk to you," he said.
"And yet, you say nothing. I get it. I understand. You've made yourself abundantly clear. I'm not an idiot," Maura said tightly, "but I guess I sure am dumb."
Ian sighed. "No. You're not. Stop."
"That's all you ever say!" She cried. "Stop. Don't. Can't. Won't. I get it, Ian! You can't give me what I want, and I'm the asshole who just keeps asking. Well. Guess what. I'm done, now."
"Done with what?" He sounded alarmed, and Maura smiled though she found no speck of humor in the conversation. "What does that mean."
"It means I'm done asking you for anything. And you know what happens when you ask for nothing, don't you? That's exactly what you get. Don't knock on my door if you don't intend to be there when I open it."
"Don't hang up," Ian said hastily, then added, "please."
The please caught her. Maura slid into her covers and tried to warm herself, not even attempting to find her discarded pajamas in the dark. "All you ever do," she said quietly, "is tell me that you can't."
"I'm sorry I can't go all in with you."
She closed her eyes, so tired. "For fuck's sake, Ian. I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to give this a real chance. It's been almost three years, and no matter what else has happened, doesn't that mean something? Everything's different now. I'm free to be with you, for real. I thought...goddammit, Ian. I thought you wanted that. I do."
"I never wanted you to leave him for me."
There it was, bold and harsh, the truth she'd already known. It didn't feel any better hearing it from him, but it didn't make her angry or defensive. It only made her sad and resigned and tired.
"Oh, Ian," Maura said. "Don't you get it? I left him for myself. Not for you. It was never for you."
This time when she disconnected, he didn't call back.
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Chapter Two
What do you do when you can't stop yourself from going back over and over to the same person? No matter how bad they are for you. No matter how much they hurt you. Again and again, always the same. What do you do when you can't stop loving?
It wasn't the longest they'd gone without talking to each other. In the beginning, weeks had passed sometimes before one or the other of them reached out, though it was always as easy to talk to him as though no time had passed at all. At least in the beginning. And there'd been months of silence during her divorce, when she'd been focused on making sure everything she needed to do was done. This time, it had only been three days. A very fucking long three days.
The worst of it was the constant forgetting -- she'd see something funny and want to text him a picture, hear a joke and want to tell him, discover a new song and her fingers were on her phone's keyboard all ready to share it with him before she remembered. For three years they'd had to sneak every scrap of contact they had, and now that nothing was stopping them from talking or seeing each other whenever they wanted, they weren't speaking.
She missed him. She would always miss him. That's what love was, sometimes, a big gaping hole in the middle of everything else.
"It's not like I never had my heart broken before," Maura told Shelly across the table. "It's just the first time I ever did it to myself on purpose. I knew better. And yet..."
"You just kept doing it. I know." Shelly made a face and put the menu aside. She'd order the same thing she always did, and so would Maura. They'd been coming to the Black Raven Cafe for ten years. The chicken caesar salad was to die for.
Maura laughed at her friend's expression. "What can I say? His penis is made of magic."
"Riiiiight." Shelly looked skeptical. "That's totally it."
"And I'm head over heels, totally crazy for him. That too. I can admit it." Maura sighed, then rapped the table with her knuckles. "Fucking Ahab."
Shelly looked sympathetic. "He's a pussy."
"Yes. That. Or maybe he just doesn't feel about me the way I feel about him." This was hard to admit, hard to feel. But necessary.
"Bullshit. He's crazy about you, too. He's just being a man about it. He can't give you what you seem to want?" Shelly snorted her derision and wagged a finger. "Bull. Shit. All that means is that he's too scared to try."
Maura stirred the ice cubes in her glass of iced tea, wishing she'd gone for a cup of the Black Raven's famous hot cocoa with a peppermint stick and plenty of whipped cream. Screw the calories. Screw the salad, too, she decided when the waiter came to take their order. "I'll take a bacon double cheeseburger, chipotle mayo on the side. Onion rings. Oh...and an extra large cocoa. Extra whip. Hot fudge drizzle."
"Super cute," Shelly commented about the waiter when she'd placed her own order of the expected salad and he'd walked away. She gave Maura an eyebrow lift. "And, wow. When's the last time you ate?"
"I'm eating my feelings," Maura said flatly. "And I didn't notice him."
"You didn't notice how cute that waiter was? What the hell? I can't even with you," Shelly said. "What happened to your hot dude meter?"
Maura frowned. "It broke."
This earned a second brow lift from Shelly, who could always be counted on to provide comfort and ass-kicking in equal measures. "Ian's an asshole."
"Yeah," Maura said, not meaning it. Because that was the thing. Ian could be a jerk sometimes, who couldn't? She wasn't proud to say she had her moments of outright bitchery. But he was not an asshole.
"I hate to see him get to you." Shelly leaned a little closer across the table. "I mean...you're not regretting anything now, are you? About Chad?"
"God, no." Maura gave a startled laugh and shook her head. "No way. The divorce was the best thing. The right thing. Sometimes things break and you can't fix them. Better to end it than live on in misery and resentment."
Shelly, who'd been married to her high school sweetheart for almost twenty years, pursed her lips. She was the only other person Maura had ever told about Ian. If she'd laid judgment about the affair, she'd never given Maura any sign of it.
"There are days," Shelly said, and paused before saying in a low voice with a furtive glance around the room, as though someone might give a damn what they were saying, "I envy you."
Maura laughed, then covered her mouth apologetically. "Oh, c'mon. You and Rex are like salt and pepper. Peanut butter and jelly."
"Doesn't mean I don't want to toss him out the window sometimes. The one on the second floor," Shelly added, as though she needed to clarify.
"That's normal." Maura chewed on her next words a minute before figuring out how to say what she meant. "When all you do is argue about who forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste or whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher or who should take care of Christmas presents for whose parents...when that's all you've become is nagging each other, that's no good. But I didn't leave Chad because we fought all the time. I left him because I'd stopped caring enough to even argue. One day he asked me why I hadn't bothered to pick up his dry cleaning for him, and all I could do was stare at him like he was talking in a foreign language. I mean, literally, Shelly, I simply could not process what the fuck he was talking about. And he kept on and on about it, just picking away at me, until I realized that I simply no longer cared enough even to defend myself. It wouldn't matter. If it wasn't the dry cleaning it would be about whose turn it was to make dinner, or why I couldn't iron his shirts for him, and I was just...done. All done."
The waiter brought their food then, and both women stopped long enough to dig in. Maura let out a long, low groan of satisfaction at the taste of the burger. Fuck the size of her thighs. This was heaven wrapped in nirvana on a platter of delight.
The conversation turned to other things. Work, family, celebrity gossip. It was exactly what Maura had needed, a few hours of girl time with her bestie, and even she'd been unable to manage any ogling of the super cute waiter, she did feel better by the end of the lunch.
In the parking lot, Shelly hugged her unexpectedly. Maura squeezed back, surprised but grateful for the embrace. A good friend was worth everything in the world, and Shelly was one of the best.
"Hang in there, cookie," Shelly said. "You know I'm here if you need to vent."
Maura straightened and smiled. "Thanks. I know. I'll be fine. I'm sure it's for the best, anyway. I'll get over it...eventually."
Shelly didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. "Anytime you need me, just call. And hey. If you need someone to go out with dancing with you and play wingman while you score with all the hot guys who will be lining up for a shot at you, I'm your gal."
"Absolutely." Maura had no intentions of going on a manhunt any time soon, but there was no doubt that when she did, Shelly'd be the first person she'd call. Then again, wasn't that how she'd gotten into this mess in the first place? Girls' night out, one too many margaritas, the slow pulse and throb of her favorite song and a man who knew how to dance?
If she'd known then what she knew now, Maura thought as she got in her car and waved at Shelly, driving away. She caught sight of her reflection in the rear-view mirror, wide gray eyes lined with navy. Today, she wore red lipstick like armor. If she knew then what she knew now, nothing would've changed. She'd have done it all over again.
Every time.
***
The message pinged through her phone late enough that she knew he was hoping she'd already be asleep, but not so late it could be considered outrageous. Of course she'd left her phone on, with all the notifications set to alert her if he should contact her. And what had he said, after all this time?
Hey
That was it. Not even a fucking winky emoticon to give the single syllable any sort of tone of voice. Staring at it, Maura shook her head.
If you want to talk to me, she typed, you can call me. Remember?
She waited. The minutes ticked by while she busied herself with her bedtime preparations. Shower, shave, wa
sh her face, deep condition her hair. Brush and floss. Moisturize.
He wasn't going to call.
Bastard.
Well, fuck him then, Maura thought as she opened up her tub of scented lotion and began smoothing it over her legs and belly. Her breasts. Her breath hitched when she held the weight of them in her hands and thumbed her nipples taut.
Her phone rang. Ian. She answered right away, not interested in playing games.
"Hi," he said. "Are you awake?"
"Depends. Am I dreaming this?" She settled against her headboard, knees drawn to her chest.
He laughed, but uncertainly. "I don't think so."
"I'm not sure. It doesn't feel quite real."
"I could convince you."
His flirting tone forced a reluctant smile out of her. "How are you going to do that?"
"Uh..." Ian laughed again, a little more genuinely. "I don't know. How are you doing?"
"Fine. You?"
"Good, I'm good." Pause, an awkward chuckle. "I was going to wait a week before I texted you, but I just couldn't hold out."
God, she fucking hated games. "Maybe next time, you should. Or not bother at all."
"I didn't call to fight with you," Ian said immediately. "Okay?"
She bit back another angry response. "Why did you call, then?"
"I missed you."
Her anger and frustration drained away. She said nothing at first. Then, "I miss you every day."
"I thought about you today when I was at the grocery store. They had Goldfish crackers on sale. I bought three bags."
"...You don't like Goldfish crackers," she said around the rush of emotion threatening to make her voice waver.
"But you do."
"Too bad I'm not there to eat them, then."
"Right," Ian said. "Too bad."
There'd been as much silence as speech in their relationship, hardly any of it awkward. There'd been times when the only communication they'd needed was a smile. A touch. A kiss. The stroke of his fingers along the back of her neck and tangle of them in her hair.