Before Girl

by Kate Canterbary

  I dropped my head back against the seat as I laughed. "Is that how you celebrate your birthday, Cal? Breaking and entering?"

  He unbuckled his seat belt, shook his head. "Yeah. That's how former Army Rangers do it."

  "That's funny," I replied. "I thought that little performance in your bedroom was how Army Rangers did it."

  "Yes on both counts." He reached over, cupped my cheek. I leaned into his touch. "Take me inside, Stella."

  "Are you speaking about this"—I gestured down the length of my body—"or that?"—a nod toward the house.

  "Yes on both counts," he repeated.

  I melted into his easy touch, sighing in relief when he leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine. It was a gentle kiss, patient and unhurried as if he knew we had all the time in the world.

  But…did we? Did we have time? Or was this bound to end like everything else always ended for me? My head was fogged in, thick with questions and doubts and hopes.

  Cal released my seat belt and whispered, "Stay there. I'm coming to get you." As if I could've moved after that. He climbed out, rounded the car, his fingers gliding over the hood as he walked. He opened my door, took my hand as I gained my feet, and held out his palm. "Keys, Stella."

  I handed them over as he swatted my backside. This was the kind of chivalry I wanted: open my door, smack my ass. "It's the one with the red nail polish. The side door," I said, nodding to the narrow set of stairs and small porch. "I only use the front door on Halloween."

  "You must get a lot of kids in this neighborhood," he said, swinging his gaze up and down the quiet street. "This is nice. I can see why you'd keep it to yourself."

  We walked up the driveway, our fingers laced together. He unlocked the door, held it open for me. A single light shone over the sink, the one I switched on every time I left home. I frowned at it for a moment, struggling to remember the last time I cleaned the bathrooms and changed the sheets. But Cal closed the door behind him and turned the lock, and none of that mattered. We stared at each other, smiling as if we were alone for the very first time.

  Cal placed my keys on their hook. He took my bag from my shoulder, set it down. Then he brought his palms to my hips, pulled me close, pressed a kiss to my forehead. I looked up at him in the low light, nodded. "Come with me," I whispered. "I want to show you something."

  I led him through the house, upstairs to the bedroom that had never before welcomed a man. I closed the door behind me, leaned back against the hard plane of wood. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the all-white space. White walls, white blankets, white pillows, white furniture.

  "If you'd asked me," Cal started, "I never would've chosen this for you. But now that I'm here, I get it." He turned toward me. "I get it."

  I kicked off my ballet flats. "What do you get?"

  He tipped his head to the wall where four square canvases hung, each with a single curved line of black giving rise to the shape of a woman's body against the flood of white. "You," he replied simply. "I get you." He gestured to the bottom right canvas, the one hinting at the dent of a waist, the cleft of a backside. "I get the calm of this space. The absence of noise."

  I shrugged out of my jean jacket, tossed it at the bench at the foot of the bed. I wasn't sure whether it landed. I was too busy staring at Cal, here, in my calm. I reached for that panic. Tried to get my hands around it one more time. But it wasn't there.

  "I get your quirks," he continued, nodding at the abalone shell mermaid lamp on my bedside table, the one sporting a solid D-cup. "I get your mind, your heart."

  I pushed away from the door, toward Cal. I went to him hands first, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him against me. "How?" I asked. "How do you do that? How do you know?"

  I walked him back until his legs hit the bed. He sat, drew me between his legs, shifted his hands to my waist. Squeezed me there, like he wanted my skin to remember his fingertips. "I've always known. Even when it didn't make sense."

  "That's crazy." I tangled my fingers in his hair while his hands shifted to my back, my thighs. "It's crazy, Cal."

  "And yet here we are," he said with a lopsided grin.

  "Here we are." My hands skated over his shoulders, down his arms and then up again. I brought my fingers to the buttons at the base of his throat, glanced up to meet his gaze. "Yes?"

  He nodded. "Yes, Stella."

  I freed each button while he studied me. His breath came in short, quick bursts against my cheek and that was enough to keep me from going in search of that panic again. At the end of the placket, I pushed the shirt over his shoulders before reaching for his belt. "Yes?"

  Another nod, another, "Yes, Stella."

  He leaned back, his hands anchored on the bed behind him as I worked his jeans open. His gaze never left me as I peeled his clothes from him. When his boxers hit the floor, I reached for the hem of my dress but he grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

  "My turn, sweet thing," he said. The dress was up, over my head, gone in the blink of an eye. My bra and panties followed, separating from my skin without ceremony.

  I smoothed my hand up his flank, over his chest and shoulder, pausing at the Army Ranger tattoo on his bicep. With my free hand, I reached between us, closed my fingers around his length. "Yes?" I asked, stroking him just enough to send his eyes rolling back.

  "Yes, Stella. Yes," Cal answered.

  He sucked in a breath as my lips ghosted over his neck, jaw, shoulders. I kissed every inch of skin I could reach and then went back for more, for every bit of him I could keep for myself. Mine. I squirreled away each rumble and grumble that slipped past his lips, all his sighs and hums and growls.

  I edged onto the bed, planting my knees on either side of him. He nudged at my opening and I groaned at the feel of him, hot and hard and mine. But then, "I don't have any, um, I don't keep any because I don't, I mean, I never, not here—"

  "In my wallet," he gritted out.

  I blew out a frustrated breath and leaned into Cal, our foreheads pressed together. "Okay," I murmured, nodding. "I'll do that, you get comfortable."

  "The only thing I need for comfort is your cunt so hurry up."

  Oh, my rumbly-grumbly man-brick.

  I hopped off his lap and went in search of his jeans. They were on the other side of the room because I couldn't simply strip his clothes off and leave them nearby, I had to fling them away like an insult. I dropped to the floor, patting the fabric for his wallet and then holding it in both hands when I found it.

  "I meant what I said, Stella," Cal called. I spared him a glance and found him kicked back on the middle of my bed, voluminous pillows at his back and blankets like an avalanche around him. The rigid line of his jaw refuted his casual pose. The hand curled around his cock too. "Hurry up."

  Flipping his wallet open, I smiled at the driver's license announcing his full name but went straight for the condom tucked in with the cash. I made a quick dash for the bed, straddling his legs as I opened the packet. I tipped my chin down, toward his shaft. "Yes?"

  He gave me a slow nod as he shifted his hands to my hips. "Yes," he said. The way he gazed up at me, it was the most magnificent heat I'd ever known. Like he could warm me through with nothing more than a stare.

  And hell, I wanted to do that for him. I wanted to fill him with all the things he needed.

  His hips bucked when I reached for him, rolled the condom down his length. Once it was in place, I shifted, dragging my breasts over his chest, up to his mouth as I crawled to him. He sucked my nipple into his mouth as I guided him into me. He rested his hand on the small of my back, holding me in place and then pulling me down as he surged into me.

  I looked down, watching as his body met mine. I'd never felt as powerful and beautiful and desired as I did when he was inside me, his grumbles and growls mixing with my sighs and whispers until we were one sound, one body. I closed my eyes, focused on the rasp of his teeth on my nipple and the fullness of his cock and the need in my blood and the love in my heart. And
I stopped thinking. Stopped looking for my panic, my escape hatch. Stopped bracing myself against the inevitability of heartbreak. Stopped holding back, keeping safe.

  I pushed up to straddle his hips, my hands flat on his chest and his cock fully seated inside me and his gaze burning me, branding me. My body moved on its own, knowing what we needed without direction or thought.

  Cal's eyes drifted shut and then opened again, searing right through me as he thrust up, stole my breath, stole everything I had to give.

  "I think," I said, my words panting out in jagged syllables and tears filling my eyes, "I think I love you."

  A snarl sounded in his throat. He reached up, thumbed away my tears, saying, "I think you do too."

  30

  Cal

  Stella rolled off me with a high-pitched "Whoa" as she hit the mattress.

  "Yeah," I agreed, reaching for her. "Whoa."

  My hand connected with her belly, the underside of her breast. I wanted to look at her, see the damage we'd done to each other. But that required turning my head and I'd spent the last of my strength on blasting into the condom like I was trying to incinerate the thing.

  I'd thought about it, more than once. Thought about what Stella would feel like with nothing between us. What she'd look like with me spilling out of her. And I thought about it now as I eased the rubber down my shaft and deposited it in a wad of tissues.

  There was no explaining my desire to bite her, to watch my seed splash on her skin. Never had these urges presented themselves before this woman. When I really thought about it, nothing before Stella was worth remembering. It'd been satisfying, a bit basic. I'd never felt starved for a woman, never wanted to possess a woman in every way possible, never felt unleashed by her nod, her "yes."

  But even at forty-two, there was a first time for everything. There had to be, because I'd never wanted to rip off a condom and pound into a woman while she told me she loved me before tonight.

  I'd heard the words before but they sounded different this time around. Felt different too, as if there was a space deep inside me meant to hold them, keep them. A space I'd never accessed before.

  Stella curled into my side, nestling her head on my chest. Her cheek was still damp. They seemed like good tears, happy tears, great sex tears. "Are you all right, sweet thing?" I ran my knuckles down her face. "What's happening here?"

  "I don't know," she whispered. "I might be dying. Maybe it's a heart attack. I don't know."

  I reached across my body, pressed my hand between her breasts, just over the organ hidden behind layers of tissue and bone. It pounded fast, steady. "You're fine," I said. "Just well-fucked."

  "That's all," she answered. "Like I'm not still seeing stars and remembering what my face feels like."

  I glanced down at her with a grin. "Like I said, you're fine. You're just perfect."

  "I want to tell you something but it might change your opinion of me," she said. "I need you to prepare for that."

  "Unlikely." I brushed her hair over her shoulder, trailed my fingertips down her spine. Nothing could change my opinion of her. "Out with it, sweet thing."

  "Okay, okay," she said. "Even though we just had a ton of spaghetti and meatballs the size of Georgia's head and an entire chocolate cake, I could really go for some pizza right now."

  As if on command, her stomach sent up a loud gurgle.

  "You're probably thinking to yourself, 'Wow. This girl is a bottomless pit,'" she continued. "And that is true but you have to agree this"—she gestured to the sheets ripped clear off the corners of the mattress and the pillows piled on the floor—"was a little athletic. Like a marathon. I basically burned off all that pasta."

  "And now you're ready for pizza," I said.

  "That's right."

  I kissed the top of her head, breathed in the scent of her. This moment right here—us naked and spent, the bed in shambles, the bond between us unbreakable—was only the beginning. There were years and years of this ahead of us.

  "You stay here," I said, shifting her head onto the one pillow we hadn't lost in the struggle. I caged her in, my hands on her wrists and my knees tight on her hips. "I'll find my phone and order some pizza. Unless you threw my pants out the window."

  "I might've," she said, laughing. "Things got a little rowdy."

  I dropped a kiss on her lips. Went back for another. I couldn't imagine how it was possible but I felt my cock stiffening on her thigh. Fuck me. I was mad for this woman. Just fucking gone for her. "I like you rowdy."

  She glanced down the length of my body, stared at my cock long enough for it to throb for her, and then smiled, hitting me with the full force of her dimples. As if she required that last inch of my surrender. "I wasn't the only rowdy one."

  I tipped my head to the side, offered a small shrug of agreement. "You didn't seem to mind."

  She shook her head, pursed her lips together. Peered at me as if she was trying to see me with new eyes. "What do you want, Cal? What do you really, really want?"

  I dropped my head between her breasts, scraped my teeth over her skin. "You're all I want, Stella."

  "Yeah, you've mentioned something like that before," she said. "You're going to let me up and I'm going to the bathroom. When I get back, we can keep being rowdy and honest and real."

  I murmured my agreement, not ready to part ways with her breasts. "I'll order that pizza."

  "Let me find my phone," she said, wiggling away from me. I dropped onto the mattress, buried my face in her pillow. "Use my food delivery app. It's easier since my address is plugged in." She took my hand, placed the device in my palm. "Here you go. Make good choices."

  "Is this a test?" I asked, shifting away from the pillows. "If I order the wrong thing, will you send me packing?"

  She bobbed her head from side to side as she considered this. "I can think of some truly heinous pizza toppings but I know you. I know what you like." She pointed to me. "And you know what I like."

  I watched while she pulled on a short, dark green robe with little white pompoms along the edge. The fabric skimmed over her body like an oil slick. "I do," I replied, still captivated by the wide flare of her hips, the luscious curve of her breasts. I wanted to wrap that thin belt around my fist while I fucked her from behind.

  Fuck me.

  But the truth was, I'd feel this way about every piece of clothing in Stella's closet. I'd see ratty old sweatpants and want to rub her clit through them. I'd see a dress and want to yank it up, sit her on my cock. I'd bite her nipples through thick winter sweaters and slide my fingers up the leg of summer shorts.

  "Order wisely." She slipped out of the room, her silky robe fluttering as she went. I stared after her for a moment, too love drunk and cock hungry to do anything else.

  And then her phone vibrated in my hands.

  It was habit that drove me to look down, read the messages flashing across her screen.

  * * *

  Harry: Hey. Wanted to say hi. I miss your face.

  Harry: I want to see you this week. Monday night. Just come by my place when you're off work and we'll hang out.

  * * *

  Habit drove me to read those messages but a gut-punched blend of curiosity and horror drove me to go looking for others from Harry. Who I fucking hated. Who the fuck was named Harry anymore? Awful fucking name.

  There was only one previous message, dated a couple of weeks ago.

  * * *

  Harry: Are you ending this?

  * * *

  There was no response from Stella. No response.

  I stared at the timestamp, the date. I'd spent more than a month's worth of mornings walking with her at Jamaica Pond when that message had arrived. I'd shared at least twenty evenings with her. I'd tasted her cunt and bitten her ass and asked her to marry me and she hadn't responded.

  I dropped the phone as if it'd stung me.

  Suddenly, the rucked-up sheets and scattered pillows that represented every one of my dreams and desires now chafe
d my skin. I darted off the bed, snatched my clothes from the floor. My shirt was inside-out but I didn't care. My only concern was getting the hell out of here.

  I couldn't stay. I couldn't look at Stella after tonight—after everything—without demanding an explanation. But I knew what was coming to me. I'd accepted the terms. I'd known her conditions. And I'd stayed in spite of them. I'd believed I could outlast those men and I thought I had.

  But it wasn't the men I was working to outlast. It was Stella.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, hoping to find my phone. The one with a stunning shortage of women asking me to "hang out" with them. When I located it, I went straight for the car service app and thanked all the deities for GPS because I didn't know which fucking town I was in right now. And why would I know where Stella lived? Why the fuck would I know the name of the street she lived on or the number of guys who begged her to hang out in any given week?

  I ordered the first driver I could find and went in search of my shoes. If I didn't find them in the next nine seconds, I was leaving without them. Fuck shoes. Who needed them? Shoes, women who told you they love you, orgasms that made you believe in heaven. None of it was necessary. Fuck it all.

  Then Stella stepped inside the bedroom, her skin rosy and her hair gathered on the top of her head. She looked like a fucking angel and I hated Harry even more. In that moment, I hated Stella too. Hated her for being honest with me from the start, for letting me fall for her, for standing by while I built this fantasy world where all I had to do was love her harder, love her better than those guys. And I hated her for loving me in return because why bother if she wouldn't end it with Harry? Why say it if she couldn't be bothered to tell Harry it was over? Why allow me to belong to her if it wasn't meant for more than a minute?

  Her smile faltered as she took in my jeans, my inside-out shirt. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Did you get paged?"

  Yes. That was the answer. Far better than You're still seeing other guys and I told you I love you and you said it back and now I have to kill a douchebag named Harry.