by Kim Bailey
“Cal,” I pant, rotating my hips for emphasis. “Please, I need you too.”
My arms are no longer above me, they’re now pinned to the mattress, on either side of my head. Cal’s anxious, trembling vanishes. He looks at me with a greedy gaze I’ve only seen from him once before—the bathtub.
With a wild sounding moan, the hesitant, restrained virgin vanishes. In his place is a hungry, feral beast. His hips pump mercilessly, gyrating in a way that hits all the right spots. He’s an untamed creature of need, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.
It’s exhilarating.
It’s exhausting.
It’s absolute fucking heaven.
“You feel so good,” he pants, “So perfect. Fuck, Zadie. Fuck.”
“Yes. Yes!” I chant.
He continues speaking to me—whispered hums of heart-felt reverence. But the words are lost to sensation. I process nothing but sounds, feelings, and Cal. Only Cal.
When he comes, deep inside of me, it’s with a look of awe imprinted on his features. He stays over me, caressing me, kissing me, as we slowly come down from our excruciating high. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Sorry? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“But, you didn’t come—I was too caught up in my own pleasure.”
Laughing, I push on his chest. He takes my hint, rolling us to our sides, his arm wrapped firmly around me, holding me to him.
“That whole experience was like one long orgasm. I don’t need anything more. Trust me, I’m satisfied.”
“Are you sure about that?” He cocks an eyebrow, a smug little smirk forming on his lips. “You’re still grinding up against my leg.”
Fuck, he’s right. My body’s got a mind of its own—specifically my lower half. “God, I’m sorry.” My face heats from embarrassment. “It’s the extra hormones, I swear, I’m not normally this insatiable.”
“I kind of like you like this. I like the idea that you need me as much as I’ve needed you. It feels like we’re on an even playing field.”
“I’ve always wanted you,” I tell him honestly. “It just seemed like there were so many obstacles in the way.”
“Let’s break down those barriers, okay?” His hand sweeps over my back, my shoulder, my waist, my hip. Suddenly, he’s snaking his arm between our closely pressed bodies, his fingers finding my sex.
I’m still tingling from the last orgasm and everything that came after. But when he starts moving his fingers seductively over me, in me, I’m right back at the brink. “There are no more barriers,” I pant. “We didn’t even use a condom.”
“It’s fine,” he assures. His hands still stroking, tenderly. His touch is soft and slow, but the pressure builds inside of me, all the same.
“I admire you,” he says, biting his lip and curling his fingers, inside of me. “You’ve got a goal—a passion for something important—and you’re not letting anything stand in your way. I realize I’ve put myself in your path, Zadie, but I don’t want to be an obstacle.”
“Cal,” I gasp, as he continues massaging that magic spot.
“I want to be by your side—pushing you up, or holding you up. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”
I cry out as the orgasm overtakes me.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “God, you’re gorgeous. I’ll never get tired of watching you come undone.”
My muscles all tense, as my core pulses steadily. I ride out the waves of ecstasy, held securely in Cal’s arms.
When he kisses my forehead, unexpected tears flood my eyes. They pool in the corners, and stream down my face. “I feel like I’m unraveling,” I confess. “Like I’ve already come completely undone, but not in a good way.”
“No, Zadie, you’re strong. You can do this. And I’ll be here for those moments when you feel like you can’t.”
“How are you so perfect?” I wonder. “I’m worried, Cal. I’ve already defiled you—I’m afraid I’m going to completely ruin you.”
“I’m happy to have you defile and ruin me any time you like.” He laughs. “Trust me, I’m going to be begging for it. Often.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I, Zadie. I’m very serious about you.”
“I know. I’m still confused about why.”
His body curls further around me, encasing me in a protective bubble of comfort and care. His hand, still sticky from my release, rests possessively over my stomach. He lightly caresses the space where my little sea-alien baby grows. “You told me you thought I was impressive.”
“Yes?”
“I feel the same about you. I’m not perfect. I have no direction, no goals, no focus in life—other than you. You’ve got a dream, and you’re chasing it. That is impressive.”
“You’ve got direction. You’ve lived with cancer and you’re volunteering at the hospital. That’s inspiring.”
His arms tense, his shoulders and chest tighten. It’s as though he’s stopped breathing. His mouth pulls to a tight line as he brutally grinds his jaw.
“Cal?” I whisper.
He winces. His eyes screwing closed as he begins to pull away from me.
“Cal?” I chase his movement, grasping him in my desperate hands. Now I’m the one holding him tight, cocooning his lean frame as best I can.
“Please, don’t,” he answers.
“I don’t understand. Why are you pulling away from me? What did I say?”
“It’s not what you said... it’s what you feel.” He breathes deeply and I’m left gasping for air. “I moved here to get away from everyone’s pity. I can’t stand to have you look at me the same way they do.”
“You think that’s all this is?” My voice is edged with hurt and anger. “You think I fucked you out of pity?”
He doesn’t answer, he simply rolls to his back with an arm thrown across his face, shielding himself from me.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
I’ve been too focused on protecting myself—on not getting burned again or falling for his charm. I forgot about the other side of the equation. I knew I could hurt him, I just didn’t realize how easily.
Sitting up, I fling my leg over his waist, straddling him. He grunts at the contact, his arms uncovering his face, settling on my legs, but his eyes remain closed.
“Look at me,” I plead.
Slowly, his lids lift, the forest green of his agonized gaze penetrating my heart.
“You,” I whisper, brokenly, pointing my finger into his chest for emphasis. “You are so much more than cancer. I’m not impressed by you because you lived with it, or because you lived through it. I’m impressed by you because you’re you—a beautiful person who breathes life into others. You, Caleb Anderson, are inspiring to me. You. Not fucking cancer.”
The forest floods, a single tear cascading down the hard plain of his face. Reaching out, I capture it, bringing the moisture to my lips. Something shifts in the air, and I swear—instead of sweat and sex—I smell spring. Life. The birth of hope.
Covering his hands with my own, I encourage them to move back to my stomach—cradling the life yet to be born. “You give me faith this is possible. That I can do this.”
“You can.”
“I know I can. You’ve helped put that belief in me.” My hands smooth over the back of his, running up and down his forearms. “Like you said before, I can do this on my own. But I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to. I want to do it with you—if you’ll let me.”
“I’m still scared,” I admit.
“Good. That means you’re smart. It means you’re thinking. But, Zadie, you need to know, I’ll never hurt you. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you. Either of you.” The heat of his touch brands me with his promise. “Ever.”
He says ever, but what I hear is forever.
Forever.
Caleb
“I WISH YOU WERE the father.”
Her words echo through me, breaking my heart, but igniting my soul.
“God, Zadie.”
“I know,” she sighs. Her body sags forward, her head bowing to mine, her hair falling around us. My lips rest gently on her forehead. “But I really want it to be you,” she says.
There’s no resistance when I close my arms around her. She collapses onto me, her arms curled into my sides, her face buried at my neck.
With a deep sigh, I kiss the side of her face. “I wish it was me. Wish it could be me.” Brushing her hair away from her face, I gently force her to look up at me. Her eyes are glassy, but brave. She’s so open to me. So beautiful. “I want kids. I want an entire huge family.” I smile, sadly. “But, I can’t. I was sick for a long time, and the treatments that made me better...well, they saved my life, but they changed me. Damaged me. My body’s broken, Zadie. I’ll never get to be a dad.”
She smiles back at me. “Cal, you’re not hearing me.” Her lips meet mine briefly, her tongue darting out to tease. “I’m not wishing on a star. I’m asking you. I want you to be a father to my child. No one else. Just you.”
“What about Sean?”
“What about him?” She stares at me with a frown, daring me to challenge her. When I don’t back down, she answers, “I’d never deny him his basic rights. But, Cal, he’s a mess. Unless he changes how he lives, I’m not sure I want him around my baby. Besides, I’ve tried contacting him at least a dozen times, he’s obviously not interested in talking to me. I can only guess, he’s not interested in raising a child either.”
“You don’t know that—people change. If he knew –”
“Trust me,” she interrupts. “I know.”
“Zadie,” I sigh.
“It’s okay. I’m done worrying about him. He’s not interested, and that’s okay. It’s good, even. Because, I want you. And you still haven’t answered me. Will you? Can you be the father my child deserves? Even if things don’t work between you and me, even if we only end up being friends, after all...Please, Cal?”
All my ridiculous fantasies. All my dreams for a future I once thought impossible—I think they all just came true. The woman I’ve searched for, longed for, just offered me my future. And she did it while sprawled on top of me, naked.
“Yes.” It’s all I can manage.
My mouth captures hers again—a wistful touch of lips and tongues. This time, her kiss tastes like salt and sadness, but feels like a token of commitment. It all feels like a dream.
Dreams don’t last, however. The pace of our kiss increases. The dream-like quality is slowly burned away by erotic reality.
Zadie breaks away. Bracing her hands on my chest, she sits up, rubbing her core hotly over me. A wicked smile graces her sweet lips. “Your body doesn’t feel broken to me. In fact, it feels quite impressive. One might even call it inspiring.”
“Why don’t you show me how inspired you are?” I dare.
Blush heats her cheeks, a deviant look of fiery sin graces her sweet face. “My, my, Cal Anderson. You’ve strayed pretty far from innocent virgin. You’ve got quite the dirty side, don’t you?”
“Only when I’m around you,” I tell her, honestly.
Grasping her hips, I squeeze, encouraging her with my hands, my eyes, to move. Move.
She picks up my not-so-subtle hint. Taking me in her hand, she arches her back in pleasure as she settles herself over my hardened shaft.
She moves. Slowly. Gracefully. Fucking flawlessly.
Together, we ride the crest of our passion, all the way back to the top, until we’re both falling over the edge again. Together.
I’d have never guessed my first time would be like this—that it would turn into so much more—and that it wouldn’t be just once. Being with Zadie—so intimately, so purely—puts all my daydreams to shame.
After coming down, we finally decide to clean ourselves up. We drift off to sleep, held securely in each other’s arms.
Days drift by. It’s hard to say exactly how many—we sort of forget about everything and everyone else. My mental promise to see my brother and his family is forgotten. Work, school, hospitals are all forgotten. Even thoughts of Chante—where she might be, and why she’s not home—are forgotten. The fact that we’ve had this apartment to ourselves for so long is completely lost to us. We’re distracted by the feeling of our bodies as they join, and the many climaxes we reach together.
But as nice as sex for days has been—and honestly, it’s been really fucking fantastic—it can’t last forever. Our responsibilities can be ignored for a while, but the reality is, real life doesn’t care how happy we are. Real life demands we wake up and take notice.
Real life comes barreling in at precisely two forty-five on a Tuesday afternoon. It comes in the form of a cop with a bad attitude and an even worse bedside manner than Chante.
Zadie and I are lazing around the living room. We’ve just finished a marathon of superhero movies. The end credits for The Avengers are scrolling across the television screen. We’ve also just finished a marathon sex session. We only watched the first fifteen minutes or so of the movie. Everything after that was background noise to Zadie. She stripped, first herself, then me, and proceeded to blow my mind. Again.
She’s lying on top of me, sweaty and naked—her body formed perfectly to my own. Someone bangs loudly on the apartment door. We both jump, startled by the disruption to our heavenly state of adoration.
“Who the hell is that?” she asks.
“Maybe it’s Chante.” I scramble to help her find her clothes, while searching for my pants at the same time.
“Why would Chante knock at her own apartment?” Her question is met with more obnoxious, persistent banging.
“I don’t know. She never locks up, maybe she forgot her key.” With a light tap to Zadie’s ass and a kiss on her cheek, I suggest, “Why don’t you take your stuff to my room? I’ll get the door.”
I don’t bother checking to see who it is, I simply unlock and open it.
“Caleb, took you long enough to answer.”
“I’m sorry, I was busy.” I respond automatically—respect and expectation getting the better of me. “What are you doing here, Dylan?”
He looks almost casual. His thumbs are hooked in the pockets of his jeans and his golden blond hair is longer and messier than I’ve ever seen it.
“Chantal asked me to come get you. Well, not you specifically. She wants Zadie, but figured you were probably a package deal by now.”
“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“You are a package deal, aren’t you? Please, tell me you locked that shit down.”
“Cal?” Zadie calls softly from behind me. Turning, I see she’s dressed in one of my T-shirts. Her bare legs press together as she looks hesitantly between me and Dylan. We’ve been apart mere minutes, but looking at her now is like seeing her for the first time—I’m awed by her beauty. Her hair’s tangled, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are bright, ruby red. She looks thoroughly and recently fucked. She looks sinful and succulent. She looks like she’s mine.
“Wow. Good job, kiddo.” Dylan pats me on the back. It’s like a secret handshake—I’ve had sex with a hot chick and he feels obligated to welcome me into the stud club. It’s ridiculously chauvinistic, and it makes me want to apologize to Zadie. But, more importantly, I want to know what the hell is going on and why Chante would send him here.
“It’s okay, baby,” I reassure her, inviting her to my side with an open arm. She comes to me quickly, allowing me to wrap her in a protective, possessive hold. “Zadie, this is Dylan.”
“I saw you,” she says to him. “At the club, with Chante.”
“Yeah, I was there,” he agrees, almost amicably—well, as amicable as Dylan gets.
“Wait!” Zadie says, starting to put the pieces together. “You’re Dylan? Jamie’s ex, Dylan?”
His face remains passive, but the pulse in his neck increases noticeably. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“No wonder Chante had that fit at dinner,” Zadie muses.
“I need your woman to come with me.” He looks me dead in the eye, giving nothing away. His ability to keep calm. His emotionless features. It may be part of his job as a police officer, but right now, it’s really unnerving. “Zadie,” He turns to her. “There’s been an accident.”
“Is it Chante? Is she alright?” She tenses.
“No, it’s not Chantal, she’s fine.” Zadie and I both seem to hold our breath, waiting for Dylan to finally spill. “It’s Sean.” We breathe in unison, but while I’m steady and sure, Zadie’s trembling. “The big dumb ginger got sideswiped. He’s stable, but he’s unconscious. Chantal thought you’d want to be there.”
“You could have just called,” I say.
“When was the last time either of you checked your phone?” he retorts. “We’ve called. And texted. And called again. We assumed you were busy, getting busy. So, she sent me. She didn’t want to leave him.”
“She’s there?” Zadie asks, anxiously. “Is she Sean’s Attending? I should go. I should get dressed and go.”
“Shhh...” I soothe. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get you there—one thing at a time.”
“She’s not his doctor,” Dylan cuts in. “She thought it would be a conflict of interest. But she’s with him. She hasn’t left his side.”
“Wait, what?” I stutter. “What do you mean, conflict of interest?” But as I say it, it dawns on me. “Holy fucking shit. Sean? It’s Sean?”
Dylan’s hard features and solid stance don’t change. But there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s known all along, and obviously so has Chante. Zadie’s the only one in the total fucking dark.
She jolts in my hold—shocked by my outburst—I’ve probably confused her, maybe even scared her. Her big brown eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen. “What’s going on?” she whispers hoarsely.
“Maybe you should go get dressed,” Dylan suggests. “Chantal will have my ass if I tell you too much. She’ll want to be the one to explain herself, I’m sure.”
“Explain herself?” I question. “She’s got a hell of a lot more than simple explaining to do. She’s been lying to everyone this whole time. She better be prepared to grovel.”