The Firefly Effect

by Gail, Allie

  I’ve never considered myself beautiful. Average, at best. How bizarre to think that the boy who used to go out of his way to tap my insecurities has become the only man who ever made me feel truly desirable.

  He reaches behind me to turn off the water, then slides open the foggy shower door. We step out and I grab a couple of towels, silently passing him one. He uses it to rub his hair dry while I sneak furtive looks at his upright member. There is something about a penis that’s just so fascinating. That must be how men feel about tits. It’s hardwired into our chromosomes, I suppose. All I know is, every time I see that part of him, I automatically want to touch it.

  So naturally that’s what I do. Only, a mere touch is not nearly enough exploration for me. I lean forward to wrap my lips around it as well as my hand. Mm, he tastes so good, like pure clean maleness with faint traces of soap.

  He drops his towel on the tile floor. “Shit…Melanie…”

  I try deep-throating him to see how he likes that.

  He likes it. A lot.

  Clutching my head between his hands, he groans a sigh while guiding me into a slow rhythm. “Oh, fuck…baby, you’re killing me…I swear to God, you’re killing me...”

  It’s hard to smile with your mouth full, but I manage. My tongue glides along his shaft, and he practically yelps.

  “Stop…stop…” Abruptly he pulls out, his breath coming in heavy pants, and I straighten to give him a perplexed look. I’ve only done this a couple of times before, but surely I’m not that bad at it. Did I hurt him? Is he hyperventilating or something? Maybe I scraped him with my teeth.

  Before I have a chance to ask what’s wrong, he’s dragging me into the bedroom by one arm and bending me over the side of the bed. I feel the weight of his body over my back, his rigid length nestled between my ass cheeks as he pushes a lock of wet hair aside to trace the contours of my ear with his tongue.

  “Not like that. I want to come inside you,” he whispers.

  My stomach flutters with excitement, quickly escalating when he grabs my wrists and holds my arms still. His stiff cock needs no help finding my entrance, and as he pushes his way into the heat between my folds I am overcome with a delightful sensation of fullness. I press my face against the bedcovers to stifle the sounds of my ecstasy.

  “See…isn’t this better?” His grip tightens around my wrists as he slowly begins gyrating his hips in long, even thrusts.

  “Yes, God…you feel so good…”

  “My name isn’t God. You know what it is. Now let’s hear you say it.”

  I mumble his name into the covers as he picks up the pace. Oh, yes…

  “I didn’t hear you, Melanie. What was that?”

  I turn my head to one side and spit some loose hair out of my face. “Shane.”

  “Nuh-uh. Still not clear enough. Say it again.”

  What the hell’s with him? “Shane…”

  “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.” He lets go of my wrists, apparently deciding he can get better leverage by grasping my hips instead. His thrusts are coming harder and faster, and they have a frantic desperation to them. I can tell he’s close. “I love hearing you say my name. Nobody else says it the way you do.”

  Now I’m intrigued. How do I say it? Do I have a weird accent I’m not aware of? Well, okay – if vocal assertion is what he wants, I can get into that.

  “Give it to me, Shane baby. Just like that. Yes, that’s it…fuck me…please…oh yes, that’s it…fuck me hard, Doctor Becker…”

  That, apparently, is exactly what puts the cherry on his ice cream sundae. Groaning and muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he slams into me a few more times, hard, almost painfully deep, and I cry out his name once more but this time it was purely unintentional. I fist the covers in my hands as he fills me with the most intimate part of himself and I know, I know in that instant that I’m in a world of trouble because just-sex is fast becoming mindblowing-sex and poor Eduardo will never live up to my expectations after this.

  Yes, I named my dildo Eduardo. Don’t judge. A single girl gets lonely.

  Shane falls forward on his arms, nuzzling my hair as he breathes in a deep, low voice, “That. Was. Superb. You are one hell of a woman, Melanie Lane.”

  So this is what gets him off? Hearing his name? Didn’t see that one coming. It’s kind of sweet, actually. I have this sudden mental image of a scene from American Pie, the one where the ditzy band camp girl is getting freaky with her prom date. I can’t help but visualize Shane doing the same thing. Say my name, bitch! I try not to laugh, but an erratic giggle spills out nonetheless.

  Slowly pulling out of me, he flops down on the bed by my side while I roll over into his waiting arms. He smiles, his eyes warm and gentle. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. You. You’re just funny.”

  “I am? How am I funny?”

  “I don’t know. You just are.”

  “I think you’re funny.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” he echoes, imitating me. “You just are.”

  I fold one of my legs around his. It feels so nice being held like this. Why couldn’t he stay with me last night? “So what you’re saying is, you have some kind of clown fetish.”

  “Maybe. If I asked you to wear one of those big red noses that honk, would you be down for that?”

  “Hmm,” I pretend to consider. “Okay, but I have to draw the line at anything involving seltzer and rubber chickens.”

  “Damn. Well, there go my plans for this afternoon.”

  “I’m not even going to ask.” Smiling to myself, I snuggle closer to him and for one crazy second I wonder – was he serious about never having done this before? Without a condom, I mean. And if so, what made him decide to deviate from that practice? Not that I’m worried or anything. I trust Shane. I know that’s hard to fathom considering our combative past and the fact that I barely know him – well, the adult version of him anyway – but my intuition tells me that whatever else he may be, he is not dishonest.

  The rain is pounding against the roof in heavy torrents, and the lonely sound makes me shiver.

  “Are you cold?” His warm arms tighten around me.

  “Kind of,” I mumble against his chest. “Why does it feel like it’s ten below in here all of a sudden?”

  “Probably because I turned the thermostat down as low as it would go.”

  “Why? Was ice skating one of your plans for this afternoon?”

  “I want it to stay cool in here. We won’t have any air conditioning after the power goes out.”

  “Maybe the power won’t go out,” I suggest optimistically.

  “Mm-hm. And maybe the hurricane will get swallowed up by Puff the Magic Dragon.” Kissing my forehead, he disentangles himself from me and gets up to search through his pants for the cell phone that’s rudely trilling. “Hi, Audrey. What’s up?”

  Audrey? While he’s focused on the call, I hop off the bed and rummage through the chest of drawers for some clothes. I try not to appear interested, but it’s almost impossible to pretend I’m not listening. Curiosity has my ears sharply tuned in. I find myself resenting the interruption. Who is Audrey? And what’s more, why do I care?

  “No, Thursday should be fine,” he is saying. “Did you get the lab results yet?”

  Oh. Someone from his clinic, obviously. Feeling way more relieved than I should, I shut myself in the bathroom to freshen up and get dressed. By the time I emerge, he’s got his underwear on and is trying to pull his pants up with one hand while still engrossed in conversation with Audrey. He winks at me with a grin as I head out into the living room.

  Even with the lights on, it’s gloomy in the house with all the shutters closed. I peer through the narrow decorative glass panes that frame the front door. The rain has stopped, and water is dripping from the eaves. The sky is a monochrome sheet of mottled gray, rolling swiftly past like the blurred credits of a black-and-white film.

>   I hear a faint whooshing sound that’s gradually getting louder, and at first I think it’s about to start pouring again. Instead the noise turns out to be a strong gust of wind passing through. For a few brief moments it shakes the dwarf palmetto trees lining the deserted street. The bright green fronds dip and sway gracefully before slowly relaxing again.

  How bad will it get by tomorrow, I wonder? For the first time I feel a twinge of nervous apprehension. Was it a bad idea to stay? A lot of locals pulled out, but I really thought they were overreacting. What if I was wrong?

  I reassure myself with the logic that since there was no mandatory evacuation ordered for this area, then that must mean we aren’t expected to see anything catastrophic. Plus, Elliott’s not supposed to get any stronger. So I shouldn’t worry. Right?

  Get a grip, Mel. This isn’t Armageddon. It’s just a storm.

  The sound of the bedroom door closing down the hallway reminds me that I am not alone here.

  “It’s stopped raining,” I comment to Shane as he saunters up behind me.

  “Wrong, Felony. It’s only just begun.” Spinning me around, he pulls me into his arms with an impish grin.

  “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that anymore.” I can’t stop myself from smiling though. I have to admit, that idiotic name is starting to grow on me.

  “Old habits are awfully hard to break.”

  “So are bones, but if you keep it up I might break one of yours.”

  “There you go, threatening me with bodily harm again. What did I tell you? Old habits.”

  “Speaking of old habits…can I ask you a question?”

  “I think you just did.”

  I roll my eyes at his corny rebuttal. “I was just wondering. How’d you know about Mark MacKinnon?”

  “Who?”

  “My neighbor. The guy with the red Mustang. Remember, he was the reason you started calling me that in the first place.”

  His smile fades as he studies me warily. “I’m not sure what you mean. How did I know about him…?”

  “I just thought…I mean, in retrospect it seemed like you were the only person who saw him for what he really was. Like you knew–”

  “What he really was?” His dark eyes seem to suddenly flash like lightning and he releases my waist to grip my shoulders. “Melanie. What did that goddamn piece of shit pedophile do to you?”

  “Nothing!” I hastily assure him, taken aback by his anger. “I mean, not really.”

  “Oh? How about you define ‘not really’ for me, please.”

  “It was no big deal. He just asked me if I’d text him some nude selfies.”

  Shane’s fingers dig into my shoulders. “That’s your idea of no big deal? You were fourteen fucking years old! Jesus Christ – you didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Well, of course not!”

  “Are you sure?”

  I raise one eyebrow and give him a look that hopefully conveys how absurd I think his question is. “Um, yeah. Pretty sure. Unless, you know, I did it in my sleep or something.”

  He isn’t amused. “Did he try anything? Did that pervert touch you?”

  “No. I would’ve ripped his balls off.” I would have, too. Or at least given them a good swift kick. Back then I was pretty spunky.

  That, of course, was B.L.

  Before Luka.

  Visibly relaxing, Shane runs a hand through his loose hair with a sigh. “Of that I have no doubt. So that’s all there was to it? He asked for pictures and you said no?”

  “Technically I didn’t say anything. I gave him the silent treatment until he stopped at a stop sign and then I just got out and walked the rest of the way home.”

  “He never bothered you after that?”

  “No. He was probably afraid I’d tell someone.”

  “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

  “Maybe, but you still haven’t answered my question. How did you know?”

  “Well…I didn’t,” he admits with a shrug. “Not really. I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

  “Oh.” I consider this for a moment. “Why did it matter to you how he was looking at me?”

  He frowns slightly, and a strange faraway look clouds his eyes. After a very long pause, all he finally has to say is, “I don’t know.”

  I think it’s time to get off this subject. I never should have brought it up in the first place. This is just way too much seriousness, and I am not prepared to handle that kind of depth right now.

  “Hey. I’m getting hungry,” I announce with a bright smile. “How about you?”

  “Absolutely.” His eyes instantly clear and he reaches up to tweak my earlobe playfully. “I’m guessing pancakes are no longer on the menu?”

  “How about a BLT? Since I already have the bacon cooked and everything.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We breeze into the kitchen together and instantly freeze at the same time, gazing wordlessly at the mess we left behind. Whoa. It’s a disaster zone in here. The goopy batter is drying on the ceramic tiles and in hardening trails where it got splattered down the cabinet doors. It’s going to be a major pain in the ass to scrub that crap off.

  It was still totally worth it.

  Shane is the first to break the silence. “Um. Tell you what. I’ll clean this up if you make us those sandwiches.”

  “Deal.”

  “And Melanie?”

  “Hm?”

  “Promise you’ll keep the condiments to yourself, okay?”

  ~ Chapter Sixteen ~

  “Here we go. This looks like something you might enjoy.”

  We’re snuggled together beneath a blanket on the couch, and I’ve paused the remote on the cable program guide over some sappy-sounding chick flick. Definitely not something I’d normally be interested in, but I am trying to be a considerate host here. Although since she’s the tenant, I suppose technically that makes me the guest even if I do own the place, right?

  Whatever, screw semantics – I just want her to realize I’m not the complete dickwad she remembers.

  To my surprise, she wrinkles her nose and gives me a funny look. “What makes you think that? You don't want to watch that, do you?”

  “Well, no,” I admit. “Not particularly.”

  “Keep going. Oh – wait, wait! Look, Fire in the Sky is about to come on. I haven’t seen that since I was about eight or nine. It creeped me out so bad I had to sleep with the lights on. Have you ever seen it?”

  I have, but what surprises me is that she has. I would have figured her as the Lifetime movie-of-the-week type. But UFO’s and alien abductions? Don’t tell me the girl’s into sci-fi. No way. Shit – like I need one more reason to fall for her.

  Don’t you mean fall for her again? Yes, again. The same way you did when you were still a wet-behind-the-ears kid. Only you were too ignorant to know what to do with those mixed-up emotions back then. History is simply repeating itself, old man. Or maybe it’s a continuation of something that never really ended. Either way, how about NOT fucking it up this time?

  “You like science fiction?”

  “Yes. Why? You don’t?” Looking up at me, she blinks innocently as if I should have known all along what her preferences are.

  “I do happen to enjoy a good sci-fi movie.” I select the channel and try to shift my position discreetly. She’s lying between my legs, sort of sideways with her cheek resting against my chest, and I know she has to feel my insatiable cock twitching. The damn thing’s pretty much in a permanent state of rigor mortis lately. I know she’s got to assume sex is all I ever think about.

  As far as she’s concerned, that could very well be an accurate assumption.

  “What else do you enjoy?”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. Is she flirting with me or asking what my interests are? “What else?” I hedge uncertainly.

  “For instance, now I know you like sci-fi movies. So tell me something else about yourself. Something
I don’t already know.” The soft glow of the television reflects in her curious eyes. “No, three things. Give me three things, and then I’ll give you three. Okay?”

  It’s cute how she’s making a game of this. “Three things about myself. Mm, let’s see…” I ponder what I should tell her. What is it she wants to know, exactly? Just trivial stuff or something more personal? “I had my lip pierced when I was nineteen,” I offer to start with.

  “You did?” Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Where?”

  “Right here.” I point to my bottom lip. “It was a vertical labret ring. I didn’t keep it for long, maybe six months.”

  “What made you decide to do that?”

  I shrug carelessly. “Why do teenagers do anything they do? Someone probably told me it would look good so I went and had it done.”

  She rolls her eyes with a knowing smirk. “My guess is, there was alcohol involved.”

  “There may have been,” I concede, grinning.

  “Figures. My first month of college, this girl got wasted out of her mind and wound up getting a tattoo in some random guy’s basement. She was showing it to everyone. I saw it. It was supposed to say Robert, only it was misspelled. The second ‘r’ was missing. Plus she didn’t even know anyone named Robert, which made it twice as funny. So basically she ended up with a tramp stamp that said Robet and she didn’t even remember having it done.”

  I shake my head with a chuckle. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk.”

  “I didn’t notice any misspelled tattoos on you.”

  “There aren’t any, but you don’t have to take my word for it. I’d be happy to let you look.”

  “I bet you would, perv.” Her fingers glide underneath the t-shirt I’m wearing to tickle my ribs lightly. “There isn’t a shy bone in your body, is there?”

  “Feel free to check for one of those as well.” I move my hips just enough to guide her direction. If she wants to check for shy bones, she may as well start where it counts.