by M. Leighton
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE- TOMMI
I feel like a prisoner who just got released on probation. When I got Lance’s call this morning, I knew how I’d spend my brief reprieve. There was no question.
I know it was supposed to be a one-time thing with Sig, but after last night…I knew I’d need more. Now I can have more, but without the risk.
Sig doesn’t say a word after Travis closes the door and stomps up the concrete steps to school. He simply shifts into drive and speeds back the way we came, making only two different turns. The two turns that take us to his house rather than mine.
From the moment he closes his front door behind us, we are enveloped in an urgency that belies the fact that we spent hours having sex last night. It’s like it never happened. We are as eager to touch and taste and feel as we were the very first time.
Sweaty and boneless, we take a break around lunch when Sig drives me to my house to take care of Momma. I go about everything with a happy tune playing in my mind and the knowledge that Sig is waiting for me in the living room. It’s odd that such a small thing would make such a difference, but it does. For the first time since I was sixteen, I feel like everything might just work out okay. Not because I have answers that I didn’t have yesterday or because my plan has changed. I think this just serves as a reminder of what I’m fighting for in the broader sense.
Sig takes me back to his house and strips me bare just inside the front door. With an eagerness that doesn’t seem to wane, he sheaths himself with a condom, presses me up against the cool wooden panel and entices moan after moan, scream after scream from my body.
When I’m limp in his arms, his body and the door the only things keeping me upright, Sig murmurs in my ear. “Think you’ve got another one for me before we go pick up Travis?”
Dear lord, this guy isn’t an animal; he’s a machine.
“As much as I’d love to, I really don’t think I can.” I feel sure that there is some sort of maximum climax that a human body can achieve in a twenty-four hour period, and I’m pretty sure that we’ve already met if not exceeded it.
“Never underestimate me,” he whispers, peeling my back off the door and carrying me like I’m made of glass. Down the short hall and into the bathroom, Sig deposits me on my feet to stand on the toilet seat lid. “I have other things to show you. Did I mention that?”
“No,” I admit, already feeling breathless with anticipation, like I haven’t had countless orgasms already.
Sig’s smile is devilish, pure and simple. “Then let me tell you a little story.”
And he does. Less than an hour later, when I’ve lost the feeling in my legs from the most mind-numbing orgasm I’ve ever experienced, I realize that Sig was right. I should never underestimate him.
********
Nothing about the day or the evening is routine. From spending the morning and afternoon locked away in Sig’s arms to picking up Travis from school and hearing the suggestion that the three of us should go out to eat and see a movie, everything is different.
I would’ve nipped it in the bud immediately had Travis not seemed to so enjoy playing football with Sig. I know he needs friends and a man around, but his Asperger’s makes it challenging to integrate new things, which normally upset his routine, which, in turn, upsets him. But after seeing the enthusiasm on his face (which is a big step for Travis who hides most every emotion behind the brim of his hat) and him asking with big, soulful eyes, “Can we go?” I thought maybe it’s time to stop guarding him so closely. He is growing up after all. And this normalcy is what I want for him more than anything. So I agree, knowing that it’s only a huge bonus that I get to spend more time with Sig.
“We can go.”
I see Travis tightly controlling a smile when he leans back against the cushion of the back seat.
And so goes the night. Sig drops us home, giving me a wink that says he knows I need time to take care of my mother. He promises that he’ll be back around five so we can eat before a seven o’clock movie.
Everything goes off without a hitch. Travis is so comfortable around Sig, it makes me second-guess holding him so close. I hope desperately that I haven’t hurt him by going too far in the other direction. But I can’t forget the months that he spent away from me and how far his health–mental, emotional and physical–declined.
Maybe it’s not too late, I tell myself as we’re leaving, Travis and Sig tossing a balled up wad of napkins from the theater back and forth, challenging each other over Harry Potter movie trivia.
“How do you know so much about Harry Potter? Aren’t you a little old to be watching shit like that?”
“There’s no such thing as too old for Harry Potter. And how dare you refer to HP movies as ‘shit like that’. I’ll kick your ass, lil man.”
“Bring it, Conan,” Travis replies in the way that boys do.
Sig puts his big hands on either side of Travis’s skull and pretends to squeeze hard. “I will crush you!” he says in a low, harsh voice that’s probably supposed to sound like a movie character. Something that goes far above my head. I’ve never had enough time or brain space for too many frivolous things like movies and normal girl stuff. But I’m glad that Travis has.
Rather than making me feel bitter or resentful, the thought brings me incredible peace, like maybe all that I’ve done has helped him. Somehow. Just a little. Because that’s all I’ve wanted–for him to grow up in as much of a normal way as possible.
Their banter continues all the way home. Sig catches my eye occasionally and gives me a wink or a warm smile that says, no matter what else is going on, he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to kiss me. I get a little chill every time he does it.
Back at our house, when I would otherwise have said goodnight to Sig (at least until I could get away without notice), Travis begs him to stay and play some video games. Sig glances at me, as though asking if it’s okay. I nod imperceptibly.
“Only if you’re okay with losing,” he tells Travis.
“You wish, gangsta.”
I shake my head when they continue this all the way up the walk and through the house to Travis’s room.
I look in on Momma and get her ready for the night. Although it hasn’t been mentioned, I assume that I’ll sneak my way to Sig’s at some point and sneak back home in the morning. I won’t have to leave as early, though. Travis will sleep until at least noon.
Some time later, a hand gently jostles me awake and I shoot upright, glancing around at the clock behind my head. Five minutes until midnight.
“Sorry,” I tell Sig as I stretch, trying to wake up.
“Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding one hand behind my back, the other under my knees and lifting me into his arms. “I’m kidnapping you.”
I smile, hoping very much that this would happen.
“Travis?” I ask.
“Fell asleep in his gaming chair. I put him in his bed. He’ll be fine.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling more content than I have a right to, all things considered. “Then kidnap away. As long as you have me home by morning.”
“As you wish,” he mutters, carrying me out the door.
********
The hours run together like the muted colors of an abstract painting. I’m blissfully unaware of time. I flow through it like a ship through water, rather than stopping to engage in the ever-present battle of wills that I normally experience. Instead of dreading the morning when I have to go back to Lance or counting the minutes until I can get home and be away from him, I find myself enjoying the passage of every single one of them.
When Sig and I are alone, his hands are on me. His mouth, his body, his attention–they’re all mine. And I’m all his. And when we’re not alone, there’s an easy thread that seems to float invisibly between us, tying us together. Whether he’s talking to Travis or throwing the Frisbee with him in the park or the three of us are eating hot dogs from the rarely-used grill in my back yard, there’s always this
awareness that we share. Sometimes when I’m watching him, he’ll sneak a glance my way, like he can feel it. Or sometimes when he’s midsentence with Travis, his head will turn toward me and he’ll wink, never missing a beat. It’s as though no matter what else is going on, we are at the forefront of each other’s mind.
After we eat, I pop some popcorn and we sit down for a viewing of Anchorman one and two. According to Travis and Sig, that fact that I haven’t seen either one is a travesty of epic proportions and must be amended immediately. I laugh at several things in the movie, but I think I laugh more at the two of them quoting lines and adding their two cents, undoubtedly having seen the films numerous times.
When Travis makes his way to bed, Sig sits with me on the couch, his hand making lazy circles on my thigh until Travis’s soft snoring can be heard. Then, although I’m exhausted from so little sleep, I come instantly to a strange alertness and I let him sweep me away again.
He doesn’t drive me straight to his house, though. He goes past it and on to the park we visited earlier. “What are we doing back here?” I ask, anxious to feel his skin against mine and not really very enthused about any side trips that will delay it.
“You’ll see.”
Sig takes my hand and leads me back to the bench that I sat on while watching them play Frisbee today. It’s bathed in moonlight rather than bright sunshine now and it looks hauntingly beautiful, sitting here all alone in the night.
When he stops in front of it, I look up at him in question. He sits down and spreads his legs, pulling me between them.
“Every time I looked at you today, all I could think about was what you’d look like naked, with the sun pouring over your beautiful breasts, your face tipped up toward it, riding me, coming on me. And letting me come in you.” He reaches beneath my short, ruffled skirt and pulls my panties down. “Tell me, Just Tommi, are you on the pill?”
When I feel his hand travel back up my thigh, I reflexively spread my legs. “You don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant.”
“Mmmm,” he says when his fingers find my center. “That’s what I thought. And I’m sure you’ve been tested, right?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my breath already coming shorter. “Regularly. You?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing to worry about here. So how about this?” he asks, driving two fingers into me. “How about you let me love you in the moonlight instead?” As he speaks, he withdraws his fingers and urges me toward him until I climb onto the bench and straddle his hips. He unfastens his jeans and then reaches for the laces that hold the front of my shirt together, loosening them enough that it slides easily down my shoulders. He unhooks my lace bra, baring my breasts for him. “Damn, you’re even more perfect than I imagined you’d be. Skin like silk.” He strokes the skin of my chest, teasing the swells of each breast, bringing my nipples into throbbing points. “Nipples like candy.” He draws one into his mouth, his free hand moving the head of his cock between my folds. I feel my body squeezing, a silent plea for the penetration that I know is coming. “A pussy like nothing I’ve ever had before.”
At the end of that sentence, like punctuation, he pulls me down over him like a human sheath. The feel of him sliding into me, smooth as glass, is indescribable.
“God, you feel amazing. Like I knew you would.”
Gently, he urges me up and down in him. Slowly. So slowly, it’s maddening. When I would rush, he won’t let me. When I would drop harder, he won’t let me. He continually moves me on top of him in a deep, languorous rhythm that pushes me steadily, infuriatingly toward release.
Sig leans forward, worshipping my nipples, my neck, the curve of my arm, like he can’t get enough of me. He murmurs words about how beautiful I am, about how he loves the way I taste, the way I feel, about he could never tire of being inside me.
When climax finds me, it finds us both. We move together in a rhythm that never changes, only intensifies, until I am breathlessly calling his name over and over and over, and he’s jerking in my arms, spilling every last once of himself deep within me.
We sit, motionless, for several long minutes after the last waves have passed. Sig doesn’t release me, doesn’t lessen his hold one bit. And I don’t want him to. Something about the way he’s keeping me folded against him makes me think that I will remember this night long after I might’ve forgotten the others. Even though another voice mutters from the far recesses of my soul that I won’t be able to forget a single moment of my time with him. But somehow I know that there will be a significance to this time that I’ll carry with me forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX- SIG
It’s Sunday and, despite the easy smile she’s wearing, I know Tommi is as aware of Tonin’s return tonight as I am. The fact that we don’t have an exact time is unnerving as hell. I feel like we’re both just waiting for the axe to fall.
Travis seems to be enjoying the last couple of days. I know it’ll be hard on him when Tonin comes back, too. And that pisses me off. It’s not just Tommi that Tonin’s screwing with. It’s an innocent kid, too.
We finish our pancakes and head out to “Shoot the Hooch.” I promised Travis I’d take them tubing down the Chattahoochee today. We are well on our way to the closest entrance when Tommi’s phone rings. A silence steals over the cab of my truck and I know that we’re all thinking the same thing. And even though Travis doesn’t know everything that’s going on, he’s a bright enough kid to figure out that the way things have been will change dramatically when Tonin gets back.
Tommi glances at her phone and then up at me, her heart in her eyes. She looks almost frantic.
She turns her upper body away from me, clears her throat and answers the phone, plugging her other ear. “You back?” I hear her ask, a note of hopefulness in her voice. It’s pretty damn convincing, which bothers the shit out of me.
I don’t even try not to listen to each muted “yeah” and “uh-huh” and “I missed you, too.” It’s when I hear her say, “Today?” that I curl my fingers into a fist.
When she gets off the phone, I see her chest rise with a deep breath and she turns a disappointed face to Travis. “We’ll have to shoot the hooch another time, Trav. Lance is back and he wants to see me.”
“So? What about what you want?” he snaps.
“Travis, you know I–”
“Save it. Just take me home. I’ll go to Trip’s.”
“Travis, we can still go,” I offer.
“Just forget it. I wanna go home.”
On the way back, the atmosphere inside the truck couldn’t be any more different than it was five minutes ago. I could chew steel and spit nails, yet Tommi’s just sitting in her seat, quietly pretending this is all okay.
I drive them home in silence. When Travis gets out, Tommi turns to me, “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her walk stiffly to the front door and let them in. I watch her walk stiffly back to the truck fifteen minutes later, her hair flowing smoothly down her back, her body encased in a knee-length little dress that’s open halfway down her back.
I’m so pissed, I don’t say a word until we get to the garage. I cut the engine and we sit in the strained quiet until Tommi finally speaks.
“I have to go.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I do. You knew this was how it would be. You knew it couldn’t last.”
“That’s your choice, not mine.”
“If I could make any other one, I would. But I can’t.”
“Why?” I grind out. “Tell me why.”
She worries her lip. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Again, you can, you just won’t.”
“Sig, it’s the same thing to me–can’t and won’t. The reasons why I won’t are the same as why I can’t. My hands are tied.”
“I don’t believe that.” I could strangle her. Or Tonin. Somebody. I’m fuming.
Right up until I see tears fill her eyes. “I knew this was a mistake,” she croaks.
“I wish I could change it, but I can’t.” When I turn my eyes back to Tommi, lonely tears are streaming silently down both cheeks and her chin is trembling.
I cup the back of her neck and pull her to me, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’d change it for you if you’d just let me.”
“You can’t,” she cries brokenly. “Nobody can.”
I raise my head until my lips are touching her forehead. “But that was before you met me. I can help you, Tommi. I promise. You just have to trust me.”
“Maybe one day,” she says, tucking her face into the curve of my shoulder.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight until her shaking stops. “Remember what I told you,” I tell her.
She leans back to look at me, her eyes all big and glassy and tortured. “What?”
“Think of me. No matter what, think of me.” I take her lips in a kiss that’s meant to sear her all the way through what she has to face, whatever she feels like she has to hide, right down to her soul. I’m not sure, though, that it doesn’t sear me, too. One thing is for damn sure: It only made it that much harder to let her go, to walk her upstairs and into the arms of another man. And it was already hard as hell.
“Maybe you shouldn’t come up,” she says hesitantly, pulling away and looking at my lips rather than my eyes.
“Why?”
Her voice cracks. “Because if you do, I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
“Then don’t! I told you that I’d–”
“I know what you said. And you know what I said. So here we are. Stuck. Just like I knew we would be.” It’s her turn to lean her head back and exhale. She closes her eyes for a few seconds and then opens them, sitting up straighter and squaring her shoulders in determination. “But it’s what I have to do. You…you don’t have to wait for me,” she says, gaze focused on the windshield.