Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  But deep down, I knew that was impossible.

  When our fingertips started to shrivel, we got out of the shower and dried off. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, as if I was afraid she was going to disappear.

  She looked around at the clothing scattered on the bathroom floor. “I should probably hang my stuff up. I’m going to have to walk out of here in it eventually.”

  I didn’t like thinking about her walking out. “I’ll hang it up for you.” Tossing my towel onto the vanity, I leaned down and picked up her blouse and skirt.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed my towel, hung it on the back of the bathroom door along with her own, and scooped up her undergarments. “I’m just going to rinse these out real quick.”

  I left the bathroom and hung her clothing in the closet next to a couple shirts of mine. Then I stood there for a moment. I’d never lived with anyone, so I’d never shared a closet before. It sounds stupid, but there was something I liked about seeing our things hanging side-by-side like that. I shut the closet door and caught Maren’s reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of it. She stood naked at the sink, rinsing out her things. My chest felt tight. This is what it would be like. We’d do little things for each other, we’d observe one another doing insignificant, routine tasks, we’d walk around naked with no shame. For a moment I let myself imagine it, a life together without the tick of the clock in my head, counting down the hours we had left.

  But that was pointless. Time was not on my side.

  She caught me looking at her in the mirror and smiled over her shoulder. “Hey.”

  I went into the bathroom and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pressing my lips to her shoulder. I needed to make the most of every moment we had. “Hey.”

  She wrung out her things and spread them on a hand towel to dry. “There. That’s a little better. Want me to rinse yours?”

  “No. I don’t give a fuck about them.” I kissed the back of her head. “Your hair smells good.”

  “Thanks.” She rested her arms on top of mine, leaning back into my chest. “You feel good.” Then she turned to face me, ran her hands up my chest and down my shoulders. “Tell me about your tattoos now.”

  “That could take all night, and I have better ideas.” Already my dick was showing interest in how close her hips were to mine.

  She smiled as she traced the Arabic lettering on my left deltoid. “Indulge me a little. What’s that say?”

  “It says, ‘I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.’”

  “That’s beautiful. But also sort of sad. What is it from?”

  “The Madman, by Khalil Gibran. He actually wrote it in English, but I liked the look of the Arabic better.” I also liked that most people couldn’t read it. My connection to the sentiment wasn’t something I enjoyed explaining to anyone.

  “Did you design it?”

  “I draw all my tattoos. But someone else does them.”

  “What about this?” Her hand moved over the tiger on my left forearm. “Why a tiger?”

  “I like the way they move.”

  She nodded, running her palm over the ink covering my right shoulder and upper arm. “And this one?”

  “A Maori tribal design.”

  She drew a line with her finger down the center of my chest and over to the side of my rib cage, where I had decided to put the one tattoo I thought of as hers. It was an abstract drawing of a mermaid, done in sweeping minimalist curves. She’d once told me her name meant sea and she thought of mermaids as her spirit animal. “Ooooh, I love this. Did I ever tell you how much I love mermaids?”

  “I don’t remember,” I lied.

  “Does it mean anything?”

  It means part of you is always with me. “No. I actually drew it for someone else, but he decided on a different design, something more traditional. So I kept it for myself.”

  She bit her lip, nodding slowly as she studied it. “It’s beautiful.” Then she looked up at me wistfully. “Maybe you’ll design a mermaid tattoo for me someday. Maybe you’ll even do it.”

  I swallowed hard. Heard my neurologist’s voice.

  You should be prepared to lose some fine motor control on your right side.

  She focused on her fingers moving across my chest again. “I could come visit you in Portland or something.”

  I didn’t say anything, and she looked up again.

  “Would that be okay? To come visit you sometime?”

  Words refused to form. I knew my silence was worse than a lie, but I couldn’t speak.

  Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry. That’s probably too forward of me.”

  “I just—can’t make any promises,” I managed, hating myself.

  She put on a face so brave it nearly broke my heart. “I get it. Really. And if all we have is tonight, so be it. I’ll think of it as an unexpected gift. A second chance for the goodbye I wanted back then.”

  Because I didn’t trust myself with words, I kissed her, and felt desire stir inside me again. Heat spread from the center of my body. My heart began to pump harder. My cock began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh.

  She smiled and reached down, taking it in her hand. “Already? I’m impressed.”

  “Good.” And because I didn’t want to spend the entire night fucking her in my hotel bathroom, I took her by the shoulders and steered her out into the room. Then I swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bed, laying her on top of the sheets where I’d rested earlier. The bedside lamp was on, and I reached to switch it off, but she grabbed my arm.

  “Leave it on,” she whispered, reaching for me. “I like seeing you.”

  I stretched out above her, settling my hips between her thighs, sealing my lips over one perfect breast, kneading the other with my hand. She gasped when I circled her taut little nipple with my tongue and dug her heels into the back of my legs when I sucked it into my mouth. Vowing I’d spend more time on her now that the first orgasm was out of my system, I lavished attention on every inch of her skin, and I didn’t let her put her hands on me. I kissed her in places I’d never kissed anyone—the inside of her elbow, the back of her knee, every single one of her toes. I swept my tongue across her collarbone, up the top of her spine, along the crest of her perfect round ass. I touched her in places I knew she liked and discovered new ways to make her moan and sigh and plead, her body quivering beneath me.

  “Dallas, I need you inside me,” she said. This time when she reached for my cock, I let her have it, groaning at her touch. She grasped it firmly, working her hand up and down my shaft before teasing the slick crown with her fingertips. “Now. Please.”

  I did as she asked, sliding inside her in one smooth stroke. Her hands moved to my ass, and she pulled me tight to her body, rocking her hips and grinding against me. I braced myself above her, shifting my weight to give her the angle she needed.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Deep like that. God, you’re so perfect. No one has ever made me feel this way.”

  “Come again for me,” I whispered, unable to stop the speeding freight train inside me. I fucked her hard and fast, every nerve ending of my body on fire, praying she was with me. “I want to feel you.”

  A moment later, neither of us could talk as the untamable need to possess each other fully took over and carried us off the edge of tension into the free-fall of release. As our bodies shuddered and stilled, we clung to each other, skin damp with sweat, breath hot and quick, hearts hammering against one another’s chests.

  When the room came back into focus, I tipped onto my side and gathered her close, breathed her in.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I had two again. I don’t even know how you’re doing that. It’s so good. Why is it so good?”

  Because I still love you. “I don’t know.”

  “But … does this—with me—feel different to you?”

&
nbsp; I could hear the nervous tremble in her voice, and it forced me to be honest. “Yes. It does.”

  “Do you think maybe it’s because you were my first or something?”

  “Maybe.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Remember that night?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I pulled back a little and looked down at her. “Of course I do. It was a Thursday night in July. We were in my bed, and there was a thunderstorm going on. I was going to stop, but you said, ‘Don’t stop this time.’”

  She smiled, but there was something sad in her expression, too. “I’ve never regretted it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “But I always used to wish it was your first time, too.”

  “It felt like it was. It was the only first time that mattered to me, anyway.”

  She leaned away from me and gave me a dubious look. “Stop it. Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.” Offering her these little truths about the past made me feel less guilty.

  “That makes me happy.” She snuggled up to me again, then reached between us and ran her fingertips over the Arabic quote on my shoulder. It was so soothing, I got a little drowsy and probably would have fallen asleep if she hadn’t asked a question.

  Her voice was soft and curious. “Do you really feel this way? Do you like being lonely because it makes you feel safe?”

  “Yes,” I said, too tired or too guilty or too in love to lie to her any more tonight.

  She sighed and kissed my chest, but said nothing more. A moment later, we were both asleep.

  Seven

  Maren

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Out—I have to get out.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  It’s coming for me. It’s moving too fast.

  Why won’t the door open?

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Frantic, I look down and notice the door doesn’t even have a handle.

  I’m trapped.

  Tickticktickticktick

  I try to scream, but choke on the sound. I try to bang on the door but can’t pry my hands from the clock. I’m sweating and crying, my heart is racing—because it’s real this time. It’s not a dream, and—

  “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.” I heard a man’s voice above the out-of-control ticking of the clock. I opened my eyes.

  Dallas was on his side, propped on one elbow looking down at me. One of his hands brushed the hair back from my forehead.

  Confused, I bolted upright and glanced wildly around the room. “Where is it?”

  Dallas sat up too. “Where is what, babe?”

  “The snake.” But even as I said it, something in my brain recognized how ludicrous it sounded.

  “God, I’m so tempted to make a joke right now.” He put an arm around me and kissed my bare shoulder. “But I won’t. There is no snake, Maren. You were having a nightmare.”

  The fog was beginning to clear. The bedside lamp next to me was still on, allowing me to take in my surroundings. King-sized bed. Brown leather chair. Large flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Nothing was familiar. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in my hotel room.”

  As my pulse decelerated and reality sank in, the memory of last night came rushing back to me. “Oh. Right. The prom.” I looked under the sheet. “Guess it’s true what they say about the dress.”

  He chuckled. “You awake now?”

  “Yes.” I took a few deep breaths. The scent of sex and Dallas filled my head, grounding me. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. Can I get you anything? Water?”

  I shook my head. “I’m okay. I just need to be still for a minute.”

  He kissed my temple. “Okay.”

  Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly, letting the ebb and flow of it calm me. Dallas rubbed my back in gentle, soothing circles.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now can I make a joke about a snake in the bed?”

  My lips tipped up, but my stomach still felt a little uneasy. “Go ahead.”

  He sighed. “Nah. Wouldn’t even be fun. You sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t. Not really. Why wouldn’t that stupid nightmare let me be? What if it had nothing to do with closure? What if Dallas and I parted ways tomorrow and I still couldn’t sleep at night? I blinked back tears and sniffed.

  “Hey. Come here.” Dallas lay back on the pillows and reached for me, and I molded myself to his side with my head on his warm, broad chest. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “Talk to me. Do you have nightmares a lot?”

  “Lately, I do. The same one.” I described the dream to him in full detail. “It sounds so stupid. But it feels so real while it’s happening. And I don’t know what it is or how to stop having it. I’ve tried everything.”

  “Like what?”

  “Meditation. Yoga. Detoxing. Melatonin. Clearing my chakras.”

  “Your what?”

  Laughing a little, I looked up at him. “My chakras. They’re sort of like spiritual focal points in the body. Energy flows through them, and if they’re blocked or cluttered with … stagnant baggage like fear or pain or negativity, you don’t feel right. You have to clear that stuff to reconnect with your inner wisdom and allow your consciousness to grow and guide you.”

  “Not gonna lie, that sounds a little strange to me, but you do you.”

  I clucked my tongue. “Dallas, have you been neglecting your chakras?”

  “Safe to say I have.”

  “They’re probably a mess. I should teach you how to clear them.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but we’re focused on you, remember? What can I do to make you feel better?”

  Sighing, I put my head on his chest again. “I don’t know. I actually thought just being with you would help.”

  “With me? Why?”

  “Okay, this might sound sort of strange too, but I believe dreams deliver powerful messages from the universe to our subconscious mind. When you showed up yesterday, I thought maybe the dream had been a warning.”

  “Am I the snake? That’s kind of badass.”

  “Hey!” I slapped him lightly on the chest. “That snake is seriously messing with my mental and physical well-being. It’s not a good thing.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” He squeezed me. “Go on. What did you think it had to do with me?”

  “I thought maybe …” I focused on my fingertips against his skin. “It was about getting closure on my relationship with you. To be honest, that was really the only thing in my life I had unresolved feelings about. I’ve been having the nightmare for a few weeks now, and then you showed up out of nowhere, and in my head, the message was clear: this is the opportunity for resolution. So when you asked me to dinner, I said yes.”

  “Wait a minute. That’s the only reason you said yes? For closure? I’m a little offended you weren’t thinking about my good looks and sparkling personality, Maren. I feel used.”

  “Okay, it was a little bit about those things. You’re still sort of charming, and you do have a cute butt. But mostly it was about me.”

  “Sort of charming?” He flipped me onto my back, pinning my wrists to the mattress above my head.

  I giggled. “Didn’t you hear the part about your cute butt?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “It is pretty cute.”

  “And I like other parts of you, too.”

  One eyebrow cocked up. “Oh yeah? Which ones?”

  My entire body tingled as he lowered his mouth to my neck. “Give me my hands back, and I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t think so.” He worked his way across my throat, his lips and tongue warm on my skin. “I want to hear you tell me about them.”

  “I like your smile and the little chip in your tooth.”

  He picked up his head and eyeballed me. “This is not a promising sta
rt.” But he lowered it again and kissed a path from the base of my throat down the center of my sternum.

  “I like your chin. It has a dimple I always want to kiss.”

  Against my thigh I could feel his erection growing harder.

  “I like your nose. It’s just the tiniest bit crooked.”

  He looked up at me and dragged his scruffy jaw across my chest. “It’s taken a few punches.”

  “Did you deserve them?”

  “Probably.” He took one nipple between his teeth and flicked it softly with his tongue.

  “Mmm.” I arched my back. “I love your mouth. Your lips. Your tongue.”

  “Getting warmer.” He worked his way back up my neck and kissed me hard and deep. I opened my knees and he settled his hips between my thighs. Then somehow he shackled both of my wrists with only one of his hands, and reached between us, guiding himself inside me.

  I moaned as he slid in deep and reached over my head again. But this time, instead of grabbing my wrists, he locked his fingers with mine, clasping our hands together.

  “I love your hands,” I whispered as he began to move, his body undulating slowly and sensually over mine. “And the way you touch me. I love your tattoos, because they tell me pieces of your story. I love your skin, because it smells so damn good. I love being this close to you. I love thinking that we’ve met somewhere before and we’ll meet somewhere again.”

  I wanted to go on, but I was losing focus, and my ability to speak was diminishing as the storm inside me grew. It gathered hot and strong at my center, twisting and whirling upward like a cyclone until I was breathless and dangling and frantic to feel our bodies sharing the same erotic pulse. But I managed one last little detail. “And I love your cock,” I whispered as he pushed me even closer to the edge. “Because it makes me come so hard.”

  Dallas groaned as his orgasm hit, and I came the moment I felt him throbbing inside me, my body on fire, the world around us melting away. I never wanted the feeling to end.

  Somewhere inside my head, I began to wonder why it had to.

  This was good. We were good together—better than good. I knew he felt it, too. Why was he so against giving us another chance? Why did it have to end when he left? He hadn’t really given me a good reason. He’d just said, I can’t. And I’d backed down—it wasn’t really in my nature to push people, and he must have his reasons.