by M. Mabie
I got as close to the cabinet as I could and firmly grounded my left hand on the counter top, stretching my right arm as high as it would go while pushing myself up as high as I could with the other. Two hands startled me when I felt them wrap around my hips and lift me into the air like I was but a feather.
Casey steadily held me up high so that I could clutch the dish with both of my hands and held me there until I said, “Got it.”
His body was close to mine and I felt his hot skin through my T-shirt on my way back down to the floor. My body reacted like it always had with him. I grew warm and tingly, and my panties were beginning to dampen. That was familiar.
I felt my lungs beg for more air and I had to cough to clear passage for the influx of oxygen they demanded.
Casey must have taken that as a sign that I was good to go, but he didn't move away completely. Left were his hands, still firmly holding me by the waist.
The air in the room was humid, from both the boiling stock and from us. Of course, he was sunburned and I was merely hot by association.
Finally I made a move to the side and around him, smiling as I turned, “Thanks.”
I collected my cut-up veggies and ran them under the water in the garden sink on the island. “I love this kitchen,” I said, trying to break the silence and distract myself from his nearness.
Getting frisky in a kitchen was one thing, but getting frisky while cooking was dangerous, and we were already dangerous enough together.
I turned the soup down and let it simmer as the chicken baked in the oven. We drank beers and walked around the family room that was open to the kitchen.
We'd stopped in front of pictures and I'd try to guess who was who, only getting it right about half the time. Casey and Cory were easy to tell apart for me, with their different styles and looks, but when there were children, it was almost impossible to know the difference. They were both very cute boys. It's funny how life makes you look different.
Then we stopped at one on the mantle that wasn't that old. It was Casey, his mom, and Cory at Foster’s birth. I wasn't able to make it in time for his arrival, but both Casey and his mom were there.
The look on her face was perfect. The boys were both looking into the camera for the photo, but Deb didn't take her eyes off her grandson. Her mouth was open, smiling wide and you could almost hear her cooing at the infant. The picture was priceless.
“She liked having lots of pictures of you guys around,” I said facing him.
“She liked the real thing more.” He shrugged and started back toward the kitchen saying, “So did I.”
The soup was good and the conversation came back. He had his moments. I'm sure that was normal.
It killed me he was in pain. That he was suffering. I needed to show him I was here for him. Yeah, showing up was nice. And making dinner was a thoughtful and necessary gesture, but I'm sure many people had done those things for him over the past few days. I needed to give him what no one else could.
Selfishly, I hoped no one else was.
“Thanks for helping me clean up,” I said as I handed him the last dish. We'd hand-washed the few we’d used, deciding it was easier to clean them in the sink.
“Thanks for dinner.”
Things between us had been very cool in comparison to what we were used to in our past. Before, when we'd see each other, he’d be inside me within hours. At the very least, we'd touch each other reconnecting for our time apart, almost instantly. That day was different.
It didn't feel forced, it simply felt slower. And that was okay considering our circumstances.
His mother had just died.
I was about to cheat on my husband, instead of my boyfriend or fiancé. Like it was any worse, but my actions were about to lead me into commandment breaking territory. Thank God himself that I wasn't religious enough to feel His guilt, too.
But enough time had passed and I longed to touch and rediscover him.
“You need a bath, you're getting smelly, Lou.” The use of my old pet name for him brought some of the old twinkle into his iridescent eyes.
“You know what, Betty? I, too, could have sworn I smelled something. It smelled like recirculated air. Maybe you're the one who's smelling up the place.”
It was wonderful to have him playing with me. For us, sarcastic banter was as common as arguing. But that night, I was determined the keep the conversation like that. Easy, friendly, and sweet.
Perhaps, I needed it, too. Maybe even more.
“Well what are we going to do about it, both of us smelling so damn awful like we do?”
“I suppose we should take that bath.” A rascally smirk spread across his face. I was proud to help put it there.
“We'll this is your place and you need it more, you should go first. I'll go get my bag from the car and—” before I could finish he'd wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me to his bare chest.
“You're not going anywhere. Except the bath tub with me.”
“But my stuff,” I queried. I had my luggage in my rental car that was parked in Casey's drive.
“Well, I guess that's tough shit,” he sweetly whispered into my hair above my ear. Then he lifted me off my feet and carried me down the long hall that led to the west side of the house.
He walked us into a large room, which I would think was the master bedroom of the house. “Is this your room?”
“Yeah, it was my mom and dad's when we were kids, but when they divorced, she moved into the spare room on the other side of the house, closer to our rooms. She said that she liked the view out to the back better and it has its own door to the patio.”
“Oh, this is big.” I blushed after realizing the double entendre.
“This room was the spare room for a long time. I moved my stuff in here, but when she was sick, I felt better sleeping down on the other hall, in my old room.”
That made my heart ache, so I placed a soft kiss to his neck. His breath hissed through his teeth and he stopped walking until I lifted my lips away.
Then he walked us into an impressive bathroom. It was as excellently furnished as the incredible kitchen was. Everything was white. The large soaker tub, white quartz double vanities, and a white-tiled floor. Everything else was chrome or glass. There was a giant walk-in shower on the opposite side from of tub and there was even a towel warmer.
I was impressed. I bet she had people wanting to visit all the time for the lavish spare bathroom alone.
He sat on the edge of the tub, I still straddled him, and he reached behind us turning on the oversized faucet. When his eyes met mine again I found the same smolder there that I remembered.
“Lift your arms. Unless you want to take a soak with your clothes on. And that’s okay. You are a married woman now,” he said in a joking voice, but it soured me.
Instantly, the thoughts in my head spun. They were familiar, too. The jabs.
I focused on a place on the wall, but I still raised my arms as he'd instructed. My body always did do exactly what he commanded of it. Some things never changed.
He took my shirt off but didn't let his eyes roam my flesh, instead they searched mine looking for the extra script to my inner dialog. He read me well.
“Hey, honeybee.” His voice was laced with remorse. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He cupped my cheeks and rained kisses all over my face. Repeating, “I'm sorry.” Over and over. I felt the shift in his apology. It intensified with his mouth on me.
When he pulled away, his eyes full of emotion, he took a long look into mine. He looked uncertain, which probably mirrored me.
“I'm sorry, too.” I felt a buildup of tears begin to seep from my eyes. “I'm sorry for a lot of things,” I whispered and looked down at his chest.
Casey lifted my head, with shaky hands that were still at the sides of my face, and took a lengthy uneven breath.
“We've both said things, done things, and made mistakes,” he admitted.
He kissed my nose, then pulled back far enough
to stare straight into me. “It doesn't mean that they were true, that we wanted to or that we won't do it again. We have right now, honeybee, and as bad as we are—we're good too. You're here. For me. I know you are. That means something. It means a lot.”
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks now, and with the outpouring of them I felt like I wanted to bare my soul.
“I don’t want to be married to him.” Then I sobbed. “I'm staying in California for a while. I don't want to go back, but I have to.” My chest constricted at the thought.
The water in the tub filled and began to lap at my feet that dangled in the basin. He stood, holding me and then turned to sit me on the edge. Casey, kneeling before me, ran a gentle hand down my shoulder and my back, stopping at the latch on the back of my bra. When it was unfastened, he slid the straps down my sides and then pulled it away, tossing it to the floor where my shirt laid.
“Stand up,” he said. “Let's get in this tub and we'll figure it out.”
When our clothes were removed and we were situated inside the large porcelain tub, facing each other again, I almost felt like I could do it. I almost felt like I could say the words.
I wanted him. Not Grant.
I wanted to be Casey's wife.
I wanted all of it. This house. His kids. A life here. But I didn't know how to do either, how to make it all happen or even say the words.
Instead, I asked him something that had been haunting me for over a year. “Why didn’t you ever sleep with me? Why didn’t you ever just stay?” My voice was low and somber, but my question sort of was, too. It always bothered me that he never wanted to wake up with me in his arms.
He reached for a large cup that was positioned on the tub shelf beside us and filled it with warm water. He poured its contents over my head, wetting my hair.
“I never wanted to leave, Blake. I had to.”
“But why?”
As he sunk the cup again to refill, he paused his work to think about what he was about to say.
“Because it hurt too much to wake up with you and then not wake up with you. Does that make any sense?”
His answer did make sense. I remembered that first morning and I ached to feel that with him again. That morning was a gift, and had I known how dear and precious it was, I would have paid attention to every single small detail and laid there with him for hours.
“I understand. I'm sorry I did this to you. To us.” This time I looked back at him, giving him the focus he deserved. Sometimes I felt like I was looking at him, but not allowing myself to see him. It was much too hard not seeing him when I needed to most.
“Will you sleep with me tonight?” I didn't mean to sound as desperate as I did; it just came out that way.
He looked torn. Then poured the water over my head.
“Are you really going to stay here?” he asked. I took the cup from him and repeated what he’d done to me, pouring the water over his practically bare head.
“I want to, if that's all right. I know you're going through a lot. I don't want to be something else to add to your stress. I’ll be in San Francisco for a little while. Maybe a month. I don't know about every night, but I know I want to stay tonight.”
Truth.
“What does Grant think about you staying here for so long? Did you have a fight?”
We didn't have a fight, we rarely did, and I’d left before it was possible. If I would have waited for him to get home from work and told him face to face about my trip, I wouldn't have been able to get here as fast.
So I only sent him an email, which was normally how we communicated during the day.
Yes. I emailed my husband that I was leaving for a month. It was cold, heartless even. It felt disgusting, but I did it. Guilt ate at me as I typed it, but ease replaced it when he sent one back like it was the customary way to do that sort of thing.
I got his reply when I was waiting to board the plane. He wasn't happy about me being gone for so long, but I was often gone for weeks. He asked me if I could come back, for a weekend, in the middle of my trip and I agreed. That seemed to be enough for him and he replied to travel safe and be careful.
I never felt like he missed me. Not the way Casey did.
Every time I saw Casey after a long break, his face would split into a wide open smile, his teeth were so perfect and bright, and he'd come to me like he couldn't wait another minute for me to walk all the way to him. That always felt so good.
“No, we didn't fight. We never really do.”
How weird was that? Something that should have been a good thing in a relationship was such a bad thing for our marriage. There was never a fight. No passion. No desperation. It just was.
“Not like we do,” I said and tried to smile.
“We do know how to fight, don't we? It's becoming a second language fighting with you. Over and over and over. I think by now we're almost fluent.”
I dipped the cup under and tipped the whole thing on him, more on his face than on his head.
“I miss your hair, Casey. I don't like it this short.” I couldn't help myself and I inched closer to him. Wrapping my legs around his waist and rising up higher on his lap. His hands found my backside and pulled me even closer. I could feel him growing hard between us. My hands moved over his short hair and my thumbs ironed out the fine red wrinkles on his forehead that the sun had made and time had creased.
I touched his face and lips.
“I miss your mouth.” And then I kissed him chastely on the side where his lips met in the corner. “I miss the way your eyes undress me the moment you see me.” I dotted kisses along his jaw to his ear, feeling him harden even more under my lap, his hands firming their grip on my ass. I said into his ear, “I miss the way your breath feels in my ear. I want you, Casey. I always want you.”
His mouth moved around my face to find its mate and they devoured each other. Nothing in the moment was rushed. We had no place to go. We were where we needed to be.
I rose up and felt him at my entrance and without a guiding hand, I sat myself on him and didn't stop until he was all of the way inside me.
Nothing felt like Casey Moore.
“I miss you, too,” he said over and over like a mantra as I rose and fell slowly over top of him. He wrapped his arms around me tightly and kissed me everywhere his mouth could find.
“I hate it when you're gone. I hate when I can't talk to you. I hate thinking about you with him. It’s killing me. It's killing me not being the one who gets to have you. Stay, Blake. Be mine.”
He spoke loving words in my ears and told me how much he needed me. We moved so slow that the water barely lapped in the tub, taking our time. Savoring the sensations.
As we got closer he brought a hand between us and touched me the way only he did. His thumb dancing delicately over the sensitive spot he was so familiar with. He stroked it like a flint catching my body on fire.
“Tell me you're mine, honeybee, and I'll let you come.”
My orgasm was on the precipice of ignition, so I had no other choice. “I'm yours. I've always been yours, Casey. Please.” I begged, craving my time-denied release. “I'll say whatever you want.”
His thumb slowed and moved away from the epicenter of my building climax. “No, Blake. I don't want you to just say it. I need you to mean it.”
My body was wanton and throbbing for its orgasm. I ground myself onto him and moaned my truth, “I always want you. Only you.”
Our mouths met feverishly, out teeth hitting together as we feasted on one another.
He relieved me, bringing his hand back to my screaming body, and in less than three or four deft strokes we were coming. I stilled and let the feeling of him emptying inside me claim all of my senses.
I didn't have my bag, and therefore I had no clean clothes in the house to put on. When we left the confines of the tub, when the water grew cool and shivers peaked on both of our flesh, I wrapped myself in a large towel and stood there like I was waiting for further instructi
on.
“Did you mean what you said?” I asked as I watched him rummage through the cabinet under the sink.
Absentmindedly, he replied, “Yeah.” Finally popping his head out, holding a new toothbrush out to me.
“You did?” I retorted, knowing he wasn't paying attention to my question.
His face looked befuddled, as if he didn't follow.
“You just answered yeah. I don't think you heard me.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. He looked so calm and almost like the easy-going man I knew months and months ago.
“I heard you. You asked if I meant what I said and the answer is easy. Yes. I don't know what you were talking about.” He stood and smiled wrapping his arms around my shoulders, while I gripped the toothbrush in between our bodies. “The thing you don't understand is that I've meant everything I've said tonight.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now brush your teeth. It's time for bed, Betty. I hope you're not tired.”
I prayed that it was real. All of it.
The wicked grin on his face made my heart beat double time.
I stood beside him at the sink. Even though there were two, we shared. He already turned the water on and was dispelling the paste to his brush. He looked at me expectantly in the mirror and offered me a squeeze. I pointed the head of the new toothbrush at him and he gave it a stripe across the bristles. We brushed our teeth smiling like it was the most normal of activities.
He also found a comb and brought it with him into the bedroom. We walked to the end of the bed and it was like we didn't know what to do. We'd been in beds together plenty of times, but that time, I was nervous. It felt poles apart from before.
“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” I asked him, a little shyly.
“Are you serious?” He looked at me like I was being audacious. “It doesn't matter to me. I've been dreaming of sleeping all night with you for so long that I don't give a fuck if you sleep side to side at the end of the damn thing.”
I giggled. It really was irrelevant, because I didn't care either.
“This is a bit weird, isn't it?” I asked. My pulse was racing. I heard what he'd said earlier and I wasn't sure what this would mean. I wanted it, but I didn't want to do more damage to him than good. Of all things, this is what I stopped to consider. All of the things I've done to this man, and that was the thing that caused me to pause. I felt silly.