by Penny Reid
At length he said, “Parker.”
“Sandeke,” I responded automatically.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh…” I released the breath I’d been holding. My eyes darted to the door behind him and I betrayed the truth of it. “I’m hiding in the closet.”
His brow was still furrowed, but his gaze relaxed slightly. When he spoke, he spoke very slowly, like he was trying not to frighten me. “Why are you hiding in the closet?”
“Why does anyone hide in a closet?” My voice was very small, my chin wobbled, and as new tears flooded my vision, he began to blur a little.
Martin lifted a single eyebrow and stalked closer, raising then showing me the palms of his hands. He was less than a foot away when he gently wrapped his long fingers around my upper arms.
“Do you hide in the closet often?” His voice was soft and his eyes moved over my face, likely taking in the smudged mascara and resultant raccoon eyes.
I realized abruptly that we’d had this conversation before. Except it was in a chemistry lab and I’d been unable to scratch an itch. Maybe I hadn’t made as much progress as I thought. Maybe all these months of trying to be someone different, better, stronger, more passionate had been futile.
Or maybe it was Martin. Perhaps I’d always be the girl hiding in the science cabinet, hiding from Martin Sandeke.
“Sometimes.” I choked on the word, my jaw clenched, and I willed the tears to recede. Instead one spilled down my cheek. His eyes followed its progress then moved back to mine.
“Is this an everyday thing?” he asked in a near whisper, his thumbs brushing lightly over the sleeves of my dress.
He was confusing me and I heaved a sob, my chin falling to my chest and said, “No. Only on special occasions, like when I make an idiot of myself and tell Martin Sandeke that I’m still in…in…in—”
I didn’t finish because he slid his finger under my chin, lifted my face to his, and kissed me.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, did he ever kiss me.
It was a devouring kiss, a hungry kiss, a demanding, a claiming, a merciless kiss. He crushed me to him and swept his tongue into my mouth, leaving me no chance to breathe or recover or think.
And it went on and on. Martin dipped his head to one side then the next, his hands roaming over my body, grabbing and squeezing and reaching for the hem of my dress, sliding his hand against the soft silk. It was only when his fingers connected with the straps of my garter belt did he lift his head and let me breathe. And that was only because he wanted to release a string of expletives as he confirmed I was, in fact, wearing thigh highs; and I was, in fact, wearing lacy panties.
“Fuck me,” he finished, his eyes moving back to mine, turbulent yet determined.
Meanwhile I was trying catch my breath. “Martin, I—”
“Parker, I fucking love you. I’ve always loved you. I never stopped.”
I could hardly believe his words. I felt suddenly weightless, overwhelmed, and bursting with such intense levels of joy I just barely contained my instinctual desire to do a jig.
He continued, sounding stern yet tender, “And you really, really pissed me off when you left tonight.”
“I’m sorry I did that.” I nodded, smiling because I was level one million happy.
“I forgive you.” He returned my grin.
This made me frown. I wasn’t the only one who’d been an idiot, so I pointed at his chest with my finger. “But, in all fairness, you ordered an appetizer.”
“So?”
“So? So I tell you I love you and you order escargot.”
Martin, still grinning, bent and kissed my neck, then bit it. It hurt a little and it felt wonderful. His breath was hot against my skin. “You shocked the hell out of me. I didn’t know. I had no idea. I never know what you’re thinking. You hide everything behind those gorgeous gray eyes…”
I’d missed his sharp teeth and leaned my head to one side to give him better access, pressed against him. I couldn’t think. All I knew was we were in a closet kissing, his amorous hands were up my skirt, and the figurative Bunsen burner in my pants demanded satisfaction.
“Martin—”
“There has been no one else since you. No one.” His mouth was hot on my skin, devouring me. “You’re all I think about, all I want. You are everything.”
Oh, gah! Right in the feels!
I braced my hands against his chest before he could capture my mouth again, needing to tell him the whole truth. “Listen, wait, I know we have a lot to discuss and this is all very sudden, but—”
“Sudden?” He reeled back a bit. His contemptuous tone and slightly horrified expression told me he disagreed.
“Yes, I mean—one minute we’re friends, or we’re working on being friends, and the next minute I’m telling you I’m still in love with you…” I searched his eyes, made sure he was really looking at me. I wanted him to understand this wasn’t temporary, that my feelings weren’t going to change. “But, you need to know, this wasn’t sudden for me. I made up my mind last week, after you explained things in New York, but before you came to the coffee shop. I want to be with you. I don’t want to be just friends. That’s not going to work for me.”
His mouth hitched to the side and his hands on me tightened. “Kaitlyn, I decided we were never going to be just friends the moment you walked into chemistry lab last year. We were never going to be just friends. That wasn’t ever going to work.”
“But. But. You said—”
“I lied.”
My mouth fell open.
He shrugged, showing me he did not regret this lie. “I was tired of waiting. I needed you to forgive me, show you I’ve changed, but I knew you wouldn’t listen to me if I showed up at your door and demanded we get back together—which is what I wanted to do. Christmas was extremely frustrating because I saw you were taking my offer of friendship seriously, and you were trying to do the right thing.”
“I did take it seriously. I wanted to be your safe place,” I admitted with a new rush of emotion that stung my eyes. “I love you, I care about you, and I wanted to be there for you even if you didn’t love me… But my pants kept getting in the way.”
Martin smiled very briefly at the mention of my pants, but then he scowled. His tone became fierce and angry as he leaned farther away. “Don’t ever think that I never loved you.”
“I—”
“When you said that to me in New York, when you told me you didn’t think I’d ever loved you, I swear to God I wanted to strangle you. I’ve never felt like such a failure.”
“Oh, Martin, I promise, I didn’t say it to hurt you. I didn’t.” It was important he believe me.
“I know. You didn’t think I cared. I figured that out later, when you were asleep on top of me on the couch, after I acted like a fuckwad and suggested sex with no strings, wanting to hurt you back. I am sorry about that,” he whispered, sounding truly remorseful.
Yet his hands, having now lifted my skirt completely over my hips, were currently taking liberties with the bare skin of my torso, my back, and delving into the lace of my underwear.
“I forgive you,” I gasped, a hot cascade of chaotic need coursing through me, everywhere he touched igniting my arousal. My movements became jerky and frantic as I pushed away his jacket and coat, and grabbed for his zipper.
“Kaitlyn—”
“Everything is forgiven,” I added in a rush, tired of talking. We weren’t friends—well, we were friends. But now we would never be just friends. There was no reason we couldn’t get started being more than friends.
Right. This. Second.
Martin caught my wrists, halting my progress, his breathing labored. “No, no—we’re not doing this yet.”
“But I need you, I need to feel you,” I whined.
“Don’t—”
I tried a different approach, lowering my voice and cupping his erection through his pants. “I love you. I want to make love to you. I need you inside me.�
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Martin groaned inelegantly, a despairing, needy sound. Pressing his lips against mine, he silenced me with the hot slide of his mouth, his invading tongue. Martin brought my hands to his sides and trapped them there.
My heart soared even as my lower belly flip-flopped then twisted with erotic anticipation. He released my wrists and one of his hands moved on my thigh and between my legs, shifting the lace panties to one side so he could touch my center. I inhaled sharply, arching at the contact, my eyes half closing.
“So wet for me…I love how you feel. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” He sounded mesmerized and a little vicious. “Tell me how much you need me.”
I couldn’t form words because…sex.
“Say it.” He paired this demand with a stroke of his finger. I realized he was unbuckling the belt of his pants with his other hand.
I shuddered in response to his skilled fingers, having to hold onto him “I need you, I need you so much,” I barely managed to say.
I felt the words.
I felt them to my bones.
I never wanted to be separated from him again.
He was pressing me against the coats and my hands wound around his neck. His pants dropped to the floor, leaving him in boxer briefs. I reached for them frantically and pushed them down, freeing his penis.
I gripped it. Stroked it twice. I felt it, and it felt amazing, and right, and crucial.
He hissed, “You’re still on birth control, yes?”
I nodded, rocking my hips into his hand, feeling him there, needing more.
He kissed my lips harshly, then said against them, “I haven’t been with anyone but you. Not since the boat. Not for months before that. I haven’t wanted anyone but you. I never want to be with anyone but you. You’re all I can think about. Just you, only you.”
I moaned. The time for coherent thought had officially passed. I understood what he was saying so I nodded my head, giving him permission to do what I’d been fantasizing about since it first happened.
“Please…please.” I rubbed against him, wanting to completely give myself over to passion.
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he said. His voice held true regret. He then proceeded to tear my new lace underwear in two.
I didn’t have time to react because the next thing he did was grab my bottom, lift me up, and turn my back against the wall. He then brought me down, filling me in one swift stroke. He rocked back then filled me again with another inelegant thrust of his hips, pinning me to the wall, spreading my legs wide, to his satisfaction.
My head fell to his shoulder. I closed my eyes. I felt.
I felt myself adjust to him.
I felt him stretch me.
The beautiful friction his body made with mine.
I felt my love for him, and my desire, asphyxiate and overwhelm me.
I felt our combined passion for each other and the insanity of it, how mad and reckless we were.
“Say it again.” He moved in then out, slowly at first, but then increasing the tempo to a punishing pace. “Tell me again.”
I knew what he wanted. “I love you.”
“I want you in so many ways, so many ways—”
“Then take me.”
He growled and my back hit the wall. I was uncomfortable and completely, irrevocably aroused. There was nothing smooth, practiced, or controlled about what we were doing. Only greedy and needful. Essential. It was all passion and no technique.
I was mindless with selfishness. I couldn’t think past this moment because I wanted it so badly. So I’d taken it. It was raw, and it was real, and it was true. We both came quickly, hard, loud, and together. And I immediately wanted a repeat. Or a threepeat.
In the aftermath our ragged breaths married, and his mouth sought then mated with mine—slow, sensual, and loving. I whimpered, sore but needing him still. He laughed wickedly, grinding into me.
It’s true. We’d just had sex in the front closet of my apartment while my roommate was in the next room, likely laughing her ass off. I didn’t care. I had no regrets. Actually, quite the opposite.
When Martin carefully lowered and released me, my feet touched the ground and my legs were wobbly. I leaned heavily against the wall and tried to right my dress with clumsy fingers as he finished buttoning his pants, a devilish and satisfied smile claiming his features.
I opened my mouth to say something—that we should go make love on my bed now—but then he kissed me senseless once more, getting me hot and bothered in the closet all over again. Pulling away after several long, wonderful minutes, he whispered hotly against my ear, “The next time we make love, it will be in our home, in our bed, the one we share with each other.”
He leaned away slightly, capturing my gaze, his dazzling gaze telling me he was serious.
“But—”
“Because I can’t live without you anymore. I can’t spend any more days and nights not knowing when I’ll see you, hear you play, touch you. I won’t settle for less.” His tone was stern, implacable, as though he’d reached the end of his patience.
I exhaled my frustration, because I was already calculating how to get him totally naked tonight. “But you live in New York and I live here.”
“Then I’ll commute.”
My head hit the wall behind me and I glared at him. I couldn’t think. “This is not a decision to make right now. We need time, we need to talk—but later. Much later. Not tonight.”
“No. Talk now.” His eyes were uncompromising and belligerent, sharp and pointed, and I knew it would be nearly impossible to talk him out of this. But I didn’t want to talk him out of it, I just wanted him to cede that we had time to discuss living arrangements later. Living arrangements, cities, zip codes, commuting—that could all wait.
But right now, I didn’t want to think about being responsible. In fact, I didn’t want to think at all. I wanted to focus on feeling and touching, and logic and reason be damned.
Passion for the win!
“Martin, Christmas was…it was good, I think, and last spring we had a beautiful week—”
“Don’t you get it yet, Kaitlyn?” He sounded tortured, at his wit’s end.
Martin’s eyes captured mine and he held me, all of me, hostage with the savagery of his gaze. Martin’s hands lifted to my face, his rough calluses against the smooth skin of my cheeks and jaw, his fingers threading slightly into the hair at my temples. When he spoke his voice was raw with months of hope and need and desperation.
“I don’t want a beautiful week with you. I want a beautiful lifetime.”
***
Much to the disappointment of my pants, Martin and I did not have the sex again that night.
I started referring to it as “the sex” in my brain while we were still in the closet, because sex with Martin wasn’t ever going to be sex. It was THE sex. Everything with him felt like it should have a definite article (the) in front of it, as though all verbs became nouns and took on a special meaning.
The sex.
The cuddling.
The touching.
The whispers.
The laughter.
The words.
The feelings.
The teasing.
The love.
I couldn’t wait.
But rather than “the sex,” Martin pulled me away from Sam’s rainbow of coats, out of the closet, and to my bedroom. While I straightened myself, he waited for me, throwing his coat, jacket, and tie to my desk chair. He watched me in the reflection of my dresser mirror, and I found I couldn’t, nor did I want to, feel embarrassment when his gaze was so possessive and predatory.
When I faced him, he stalked to me, walked me backward until my legs met the edge of the mattress, all the while staring at me like this was Christmas morning and I was everything he’d ever wanted and hoped for.
I lay down first, he stretched over me, his lithe form above. I reached for him. I touched him. We kissed.
We kissed for a long time a
nd his hands never strayed to the hot zones; though I could feel his want for me, his desire with every shift of his hips. And each time things became a bit frenzied he would retreat, breathing heavily and reining himself by placing whisper-soft kisses over my face, jaw, and neck. Or he’d just hold himself still above me, slowing his heart.
And I cherished him. I poured my desperate longing and care for Martin into my touch. I stroked his back lovingly and held him in a way I hoped communicated the gravity of my affection. I returned his kisses and gave him several of my own. I managed to untuck his shirt and slide my hands along the sides of his torso, memorizing and remembering the feel of his skin.
Eventually the urgency tapered, something in my soul soothed, and he rested beside me. I was tucked tightly against him, my head on his shoulder, my body curved into his side, his hands in my hair, and his lips at my forehead. We both basked in each other’s presence along with a deep sense of decisive contentment.
And strangely, my mind was blank. I was truly in the now. Likely because the now was so very, very good.
But Martin had clearly been thinking, because he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to the coffee shop last week?”
I turned into his shoulder and hid my face. “If you must know,” came my muffled response, “I did decide to tell you. I was going to call you and schedule a time to meet. Then you came by my work and asked for girl advice. And tonight, we arrived at the restaurant and I assumed you were taking me there on a reconnaissance mission for your date.”
“My date?”
“The girl? The one you like? The one you wanted advice about last week when I narrowly managed to refrain from stabbing you with my butter knife.”
He groaned, shaking his head. I lifted my chin so I could see his face. When his eyes opened they were equal parts amused and frustrated.
“Kaitlyn, you’re the girl. I never gave up, I just figured I needed to take a different approach. I kept fucking things up when you were in New York, even though I was trying to be so careful. I needed your advice because everything I did seemed to push you further away.”