by R. C. Martin
Since the day I was sworn in, I’ve said that Veronica was made to be the First Lady of our state. She’s always done her best to fill the role of my biggest supporter as the woman at my side. In many ways, I think her role as my wife has helped her to bury her desire to be a mother. While I can’t hold it against her, it doesn’t change the fact that as we’ve grown, as we’ve matured and settled into one career advancement after another, we haven’t exactly changed together. In retrospect, it’s almost as though we’ve changed to accommodate one another.
It’s not that complicated with Blaine. As messy as the circumstances of our affair may be, what we share is quite simple—quite pure. It is honest and open. It is transparent and liberating. Even more, it is passionate and real—it is extraordinary.
It is all that I want.
She is all that I want.
Thinking back on his story, I furrow my brow at the thought of his sister. Curious as to how she’s currently fairing, I boldly inquire, “How is she now? Your sister?”
Sliding a slice of pizza onto his plate, he informs me, “Remarried her ex a year after she showed up at my place. They’ve got two kids.”
Taken aback by his answer, I hesitate to reach for my own slice. “Are they happy?”
“Very. Love covers a multitude of sins, or so I’m told.”
Love.
Over the last thirty-seven years, I’ve come to learn that there are various shades of love. I knew I had fallen in love with Veronica when I couldn’t imagine my life without her. However, I was seventeen, and I didn’t understand that I knew nothing of love. I’ve been so often told that love is a choice—one that is to be made every single day. To an extent, I can appreciate that as a wise proverb not to be forgotten; yet, the unadulterated fear I felt when I saw that napkin on Blaine’s kitchen counter, that was not a choice. My inability to comprehend her lack of interest while I was busy combatting my panic at the thought of another taking my place in her life—that was not a choice.
It’s not that I can’t imagine my future without Blaine. Rather, it’s the fear of who I’ll be without her that breathes life into my hope.
“I need to see her,” I mutter under my breath, trying to think of way to get her alone as soon as possible.
“There’s a twenty-four-hour fitness center a couple of blocks away from where she lives.”
I look across from me, speechless at Clay’s suggestion. It only takes me a second to recognize the genius of his plan. Tonight, he is full of surprises.
“I’ll need a membership,” I state obviously.
“I can swing you by after dinner.”
“Excellent.”
Blaine
WHEN I USED to get into a fight with Mateo before a shift, working through the evening was like pretending to ignore a papercut on my dominate hand. Working a shift after my fight with Michael feels like pretending to ignore a gaping wound across my entire chest. What’s worse is that the Lounge has had a pretty slow evening, giving me plenty of time to replay our exchange over and over again. Each time, it hits me anew that after I mentioned his wife, he had nothing else to say. I don’t know what that means, and it scares the shit out of me.
It’s not unusual for neither of us to know the next time we’ll be able to arrange to see each other. Sometimes it’s spur of the moment. When Michael has a spare hour and I’m home, he’ll sneak by. Other times, we could go more than a week without getting the chance to be together. I wasn’t expecting his visit earlier in the night. After that fight, I have no idea when I’ll see him again. The thought of going days without talking to him, without figuring out what the hell happened, it makes me anxious and sick to my stomach.
I don’t want to think that he was somehow defending his marital status. I don’t want to think that he got mad when I brought up his wife because he expects me to put up with her presence for forever. I don’t want to think that the fact that we’ve yet to have a conversation about what our future will look like is a telling sign that I should be reading into. I don’t want to feel this lost, wandering around in reality. I want to trust my heart. I want to trust his. I want to find my happy cloud again and go back to last weekend, when it was just him and me—but that’s not possible. Not with my gaping wound.
With my phone nestled in my back pocket, I know I’d feel a text notification or a call come through. Even still, I pull it out to check for any possible missed communication from Michael at least a hundred times between the beginning and the end of my shift. When two o’clock finally arrives, I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. Yet, something tells me I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.
“Yo, B—hold up a sec, will you?” calls out Dodger as I push open the front door.
“Yeah. I’ll be right outside,” I assure him. I force a smile before making my way out into the cool, late summer, morning air. While I’m gazing up at the moon, I feel him come to stand beside me, and I shift my focus in his direction.
“It’s just you and me, now. Tell me what’s going on. I can tell you’ve been upset all night.”
I can feel the urge to cry coming on fast at his invitation, and I’m at a loss as to what to do. I hear Michael in my head, flippantly suggesting that I tell my friends I have a boyfriend, and reality hits me in my sore spot, yet again. I wonder if anything between Michael and me will ever be normal. If I’ll ever get to introduce him to my friends, or if we’ll crack under the weight of our secret and never make it that far. Or worse, if we do make it that far and he doesn’t like my friends, all of whom are still in their early twenties—except Simone.
“Yeah, okay, now you really need to tell me—what the fuck, Blaine?”
I’m startled out of my fearful thoughts when Dodger swipes a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t realized I started crying.
“I’ll be okay,” I murmur, brushing my fingertips under my eyes.
“Bullshit.”
“You wouldn’t understand anyway.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he shrugs and challenges, “Try me.”
I hesitate for a moment. Then, my exhaustion getting the better of me, I blurt, “Remember that guy from last night? The one who gave me his number?”
“Yeah,” he mutters with a scowl. “Did you call him or something?”
“No. God, no—but my…boyfriend found his number on accident and got really pissed.”
“Whoa, your what? Did you get back with Mateo? Fuck, B, why didn’t—”
“It’s not Mateo. It’s someone else. I didn’t tell you because it’s complicated. Anyway, we got into a fight about it, and I don’t know what it all means.”
“Shit. Now I feel like a dick for egging you on last night.”
“No, don’t,” I insist, shaking my head at him. “It’s not your fault. I should have thrown it away. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know it would be that big of a deal. I wasn’t planning on calling the guy.”
“You told your—mystery boyfriend this?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He shrugs again and says, “Well, I don’t know, B. Maybe he just needed a minute to cool off. You’re still pretty new, right? This could be a mild case of jealousy. Trust me, it happens to the best of us.” He smirks, dropping his arms before he lightly taps my arm. “When you catch a good one, the thought of losing her while you’re not around is terrifying.”
My muddled mind tries wrapping itself around his theory, but I can’t let go of the fact that Michael is married and I am not. If anyone should be afraid of losing to another, it’s me.
“Maybe,” I sigh.
“Come on,” he insists, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll walk you to your car. You both probably need to sleep it off. If he’s still being a douche tomorrow, maybe he’s got a small dick and you should ditch him.”
In spite of how I feel, I cough out a laugh, imagining Michael’s dick—which is anything but small.
“Hmm. I’m guessing that means you’ve seen the goods?” he teases
, giving me a small shake.
“You could say that.” I bite the inside of my cheek, sweeping my hair behind my ears before I softly admit, “The goods are good…really good.”
“In that case, I hope things are a little brighter in the morning.”
“Thanks, Dodge.”
When we reach my car, he waits for me to sink into the driver’s seat and then closes me in. He taps the top of the vehicle before he yells, “Get some sleep, B.”
I nod in reply, knowing good and well that my mind is far too anxious to make any such promises.
I SIT STRAIGHT up in bed, waking from a restless sleep. Trying to get my bearings, I peer through the darkness, the dim light from the setting moon shining through my tall windows across the bed. When I realize that it was my phone that startled me, I pat around for the device. I know I didn’t plug it in and leave it on my nightstand like usual. I may or may not have spent an hour scrolling through images of Michael on Google while trying to fall asleep. By the time I find the device, tucked underneath my pillow, it’s no longer ringing.
Just as I see that My Lover was trying to reach me, there’s a knock at my front door. I snap my gaze through my banister, my heart rate speeding up as I stare down at my entryway. My phone starts ringing again, and when I see Michael’s calling, a ridiculous amount of hope fills my chest. There’s another knock, and I’m quick to scramble out of bed. My thoughts and emotions are so jumbled, I almost forget that it’s four in the morning, and I should probably answer my phone before whipping open the door.
“Hello?” I answer, my feet carrying me swiftly down the stairs.
“Angel, open the door. It’s me.”
My hope intensifies at the sound of his term of endearment, and I can’t even bother to answer him. I drop my phone on the dining room table as I pass and race toward the door. My hands are shaking as I fumble with the locks, but I manage to get them turned. Opening the barrier between us, I see Michael standing in the hallway, dressed in a pair of tennis shoes, gym shorts, and a muscle shirt. All the fear and insecurities I’ve been battling since he stormed out come rising to the surface, and I don’t even hesitate to throw myself at him.
I jump up and circle my arms around his shoulders, and he’s quick to crush me against his chest. His strong embrace is my undoing, and I bury my face in his neck as I let my tears fall. I barely even notice as he carries me over the threshold before shutting the door behind us with his foot. He soothes me, rubbing one of his hands across my back. Neither of us speaks right away, but I don’t mind. We’ve been in a fight for less than twelve hours, but it feels like much longer.
With Michael, everything is greater—brighter, more vibrant, and more passionate. With him, I feel deeper, I love harder—but I also hurt harder, too.
I stole one of his undershirts from his duffel over the weekend, when he wasn’t looking. It’s what I changed into before I climbed into bed a couple of hours ago. So when I hitch my legs up, wrapping them around his hips, and he drops a hand to graze my thigh, my skin is bare. His touch makes me hold him tighter.
“I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his lips grazing my ear. “I had a bad day. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Blaine.”
“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I took his number. I didn’t mean—”
“I was jealous,” he admits, holding me closer. “I didn’t have the right to be, but I was—am. I hate that you feel like you can’t tell people about us. I hate that you can’t introduce me to your friends; that I can’t be the one flirting with you in public.”
He spins us around, pressing my back against the door as he grabs my sides and holds me—his thumbs right below the small swell of my breasts.
“It’s my fault. I know that I’ve put us in this situation, and I’m sorry. I’m going to figure this out, angel,” he promises, peering through the darkness into my eyes. He touches his forehead to mine, and my heart aches with the crushing weight of my love for this man. “I’m going to leave Veronica. I need you to know that. I—”
Having heard enough, I lean forward and cut him off with a kiss. “I know you will, baby. You’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out,” I mutter before delivering another kiss. “This isn’t all your fault.”
He plunges his tongue into my mouth, momentarily silencing us both before he grumbles, “I started this.”
“We started this,” I mumble against his lips, burying my fingers in his hair. “I’m in this with you, Michael. I always have been.”
I’m about to confess that I love him, but he interrupts me. He kisses me fervently, and I don’t stop him. Instead, I try and convey the depths of all that I feel—my love, my fear, my frustration, my relief, and my hope—using my mouth and my greedy hands. I kiss him hard, clinging to him fiercely, unable to get him close enough. When he reaches down between us and shoves my panties aside, sliding his fingers along my slick center, I moan unabashedly.
“Yes—please, baby,” I beg.
It’s all I have to say. The next thing I know, he’s inside of me—and it’s perfect.
Michael
I SWALLOW BLAINE’S moan as I coat my dick in her arousal. She feels incredible, her body wrapped tightly around mine, and I regret having ever upset her—I regret having hurt her. My angel. My love. I hardly slept last night, anxious for the excuse to get out of bed; aching for the woman who now occupies my thoughts more than any other. Sleeping beside Veronica has become less than a routine. It’s as if I wake up every morning in a place that has somehow become foreign to me. Gabriel wasn’t wrong—I am changing. My heart is changing. Has changed.
I knew, the moment she opened the door, that I’m not falling anymore. I’m there, and I’m not going anywhere.
I buck my hips up harder, feeling my way underneath the shirt on her back. My shirt. She whimpers when I palm her breast, and I sense myself losing control like I so often do with this woman. My woman. I massage her tit while I hold tight to her opposite hip, all the while fucking her tight, wet pussy. My pussy.
She hums the sound of her pleasure, her warm breath fanning across my lips, and I can no longer keep my silence.
“Te amo, Blaine. Te amo más de lo que me sabía capaz de amar. Siempre, angel—siempre serás mi angel.”
A strangled cry spills from her throat, her hands holding my face close to hers as she begs, “Again. Tell me again, baby.”
“Te amo, Blaine. I love you. I love you more than I knew I was capable of loving. Always, angel—you’ll always be my angel.”
Her lips close around mine in a desperate kiss, and I can taste the salt of her tears even as she giggles into my mouth. “Michael,” she whispers on a sigh. “I love you, too. I love you so much.”
Her declaration unhinges me, and I need her to come—I need her to come right now.
I drive into her unyieldingly and rapidly. With every thrust of my hips, I press her harder against the door, causing it to make a rattling sound. She moans loudly, and I grunt in response, loving every single noise she makes while I’m inside of her. This is the soundtrack of our passion—our love—or need. It is ours, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“God—just like that,” she groans, her head falling back against the door. “You feel so good, baby.”
Sliding my hand down her chest and slipping it between us, I press my thumb against her clit and demand, “Come, Blaine. Strangle my cock.”
She grips the collar of my shirt, arching her back away from the door as her legs begin to shake. “Shit,” she murmurs when her core clenches all around me.
My own pleasure hits me instantly, a zing racing up my spine, and I bury myself balls deep—going still as she milks me dry.
“Hell, yes,” I grunt, pressing my forehead to the side of her neck.
Her body continues to tremble as we both work to catch our breath, and it’s not until she speaks that I realize that she’s crying.
“Tell me it’ll b
e enough,” she pleads, her arms locking around the back of my neck. “Tell me again that you love me and that it’ll be enough.”
Not understanding what has her so upset, I pepper kisses along the side of her neck until I’ve reached her ear. Her hair tickles my lips as I whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she stammers.
“I’m going to put you down. I need to see you.”
She nods and loosens her legs, causing me to slip out of her heat. Once she’s on her feet, she sniffles, wiping away her tears before we both right our clothing. Not wanting to blind her with the overhead light, I gently take her hand and lead the way up to her loft. We sit on the edge of the bed together, and I switch on her nearest bedside lamp. Groaning, she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my shoulder. I touch my lips to the top of her head, cupping my hand around the back of her neck.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Rather than answer me right away, she burrows her way into my side, hooking both of her legs over my thigh as she wraps her arms around my waist. I rest one arm around her hips, tucking her hair behind her ear with my other hand, waiting as patiently as possible for her to respond.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she finally confesses.
“Blaine, look at me,” I command, a small smile playing at my lips. I quirk my eyebrows at her when her hazel gaze collides with mine. I then go on to say, “Were you with me just now? I could have sworn you were there. I could have sworn you said you loved me, too.”
“What if you don’t like my friends? And your family—what if they hate me? What if you leave Veronica and reality tears us apart?”
I tug my eyebrows together, momentarily reminded that I’m the reason these insecurities exist. Deciding that I can only deal with this one mountain at a time, I shove aside my blame and do my best to assure her of my commitment. “There’s no if.” I shake my head, remembering what it felt like to climb out of bed a little while ago. Touching my forehead to Blaine’s, I explain, “I don’t belong to her any longer. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to even be in that house? Or how hard it is for me to share a bed with her, knowing that the woman I’d prefer to hold in my arms is sleeping here, alone?”