Lengths

by Liz Reinhardt; Steph Campbell

  “Why can’t you see how amazing you are?” she asks, and takes my hand. She tugs me closer and kisses me, her eyes closed. I know because mine are wide open. “I. Want. You. Now.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”

  I know it’s one of those ideas that sounds good in the moment, but winds up being bad fucking business.

  But she’s loosening my tie, unbuttoning the buttons that go down my shirtfront, and pushing my jacket off my shoulders. Her small, soft hand slides in the gap in the shirt and runs over my chest. Her lips brush over my neck, along my jaw. She sucks in on my earlobe and lets her tongue trace around my ear, breaking my arms out in chills. I yank her back onto my lap and rub my hands between her shoulder blades, knocking the ribbon straps of her sundress down off her shoulders.

  I lower my mouth and kiss the skin where her straps were, the skin under her collarbones, the skin that pokes out of the top of her tiny, lacy bra, pink as a Valentine. I push the dress down to her hips and run my hands over the lace of her bra, down the smooth skin on either side of her spine, let my fingers tangle in the waistband of her thong.

  She pops a button off my cuff yanking the shirt off, and her fingers fumble at the button of my pants and try to pull the zipper down, but I’m rock hard and pressed awkwardly against it.

  “Deo,” she gasps, and I lift her up, off the too-tiny loveseat. She wraps her long legs around my waist and I stagger with her in my arms into her dim bedroom. I set her down on the bed, and she yanks at my wrists, making me topple half on top of her. Her fingers comb up and down my ribs and her fingernails dig lightly into my back before her hands dart south and manage to get the zipper down. My pants hang half off my ass, and her brown eyes are wide, dark, and inviting me.

  The happiness I feel over that look is second-guessed by a nagging voice in the back of my head. A voice that reminds me that what happens in this room tends to stay in this room. And, hard as it was to keep my nights spent holding her in my arms locked in this tiny space, I know for sure I’m not going to be able to keep earth-shaking sex in here, too.

  She shimmies her dress down her legs and grabs at the elastic waistband of her thong. I put my hands over hers and shake my head, begging her to let me do these sexy-as-fuck things I’ve thought about a million times in my endless morning showers.

  I pull the little scrap of fabric over her smooth thighs, watch her mouth part as it bumps over her knees, down along her calves, and I untangle it from her ankles. I kneel in front of the bed where she sits, her chest rising and falling in time to her frantic breathing. I reach behind her back and unsnap the pink bra, letting it fall aside. And then I lean over her and kiss along those perfect, exactly-a-handful tits, pulling her nipple in my mouth and listening to the gasp that comes like clockwork from the twist of my tongue on her. I rub my face along the sweet, soft skin on the underside, and let my mouth suck and lick until she’s whimpering. I pull back to look at her and totally love what I see.

  Strange how completely different she looks naked than she did in a bikini.

  Maybe because the bikini was for everyone. Just Whit, just all her soft, tanned skin is for me and me alone. I kneel back and kiss her knees, watching the goosebumps prickle up her thighs. I follow their bumpy trail, leaving wet kisses imprinted on her soft skin, until I make it right to the top.

  “Open your legs.” We never talk when we’re together in this room, but I want to. I don’t want this to be silent. I want to hear her voice during this.

  She drops her head back and does what I tell her to. I lay my palms flat on her thighs and run my hands up to her hips, let my fingers grip her hard and kiss along along the sweet, wet center of her. I assumed that Whit was experienced based on her booty calls before we starting shacking up, but she presses her thighs closed and slides back on the bed, away from my mouth.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head and trying to pull me up to her mouth.

  “Yes,” I counter, hooking her under the knees and pulling her back with one tug.

  “No.” This time it’s fainter, because I’m kissing and licking whatever I can, and she likes it. And wiggles away from it at the same time.

  “Why not?” I ask, kissing the tops of her thighs and dragging my mouth down to her knees.

  She looks down the length of her perfect, sweet body at me and bites that sexy-as-hell pouty lip. “It’s…too exposed.”

  I trace my thumbs along the wettest, slickest lines of her and watch her head roll back. “I’d like to.” I keep my voice soft. “Every single part of you is beyond fucking sexy to me. It will make you feel good. I promise you that.” She squeezes her knees together, then loosens them. “I really want to. I’ve thought about doing it a thousand times.” She moans a little and opens wider. “You can trust me, Whit. I promise.”

  Her knees fall wide to the sides, and I put my mouth on her, licking and sucking until her breath changes from steady and labored to panting and frantic. Her hands ball the sheets and pull up, her heels push against the bedframe, and her entire body shakes as her hips lift off the mattress.

  “Deo!” Her head is thrown back and, suddenly, I want her so badly, I can’t imagine a single damn thing that could stop me from being with her.

  “Are you sure you want this. Whit, you want me?” I’m going crazy, but there’s no way this is happening unless she wants it. Absolutely, no questions, wants it.

  She rolls over on the bed, her sweet heart-shaped ass facing me, pulls open the drawer next to her bedside table, and grabs a condom. She rolls back over and sits up, pulling down on the waist of my boxer briefs with a rough yank and rolling the condom on my dick. I kick my pants and boxers the rest of the way off, and lock my mouth over hers, sweet, open, and busy gasping and pleading my name. Her tongue twines quick and sure in my mouth, and her hands go low with mine. I slide one finger, then two into her and her teeth catch my bottom lip. One of her hands pushes mine away, and she leads me to the slick, hot center of her.

  I want to wait, drag it all out, prolong what I’ve already waited so long for, but I slide into her and she’s hot and tight and her hips are pressing in a frenzied rhythm against me. I press my forehead into the space between her neck and her collarbone and focus on making it good for her, on holding back and not thinking about how sweet and warm and slick she is, so ready for me, I know she’s probably imagined it as many times as I have.

  I hold out until I feel the very beginning of her shudders, proud as hell of myself for not letting go before. Her fingers brush through my hair, then fist in it and pull as her shudders deepen. My name flies out of her mouth fast and urgent, and there’s not a thing I can do to stop myself from coming, hard and satisfied against her, into Whit, in this bed we’ve slept in dozens of times but never done this in.

  Her breath comes out hard and harsh, and I pull out slowly, remove the condom, and throw it away. She’s curled on her side, not looking at me or anyone or anything. Her eyes are closed. I pull the covers down under her body, already heavy with sleep. I crawl next to her and pull the blankets up, our naked bodies pressed against each other’s, and snuggle her in an entirely new way tonight. This time, she sleeps with loose limbs and easy, gentle breathing while I’m tense and worried.

  “Whit,” I whisper in her ear like a pussy, knowing she can’t hear a fucking thing. “I love you. I hope to fuck this didn’t change anything.” I run a rough hand over her shiny hair, dreading the dawn.

  -Twelve—

  Whit

  “Did you know that if you have a cat, they’ll eat you several days before a dog will? Like, cats will only wait a day or two before they start chomping on your brain matter, but your dog will wait like a week. Isn’t that crazy?” I peer into my lukewarm cup of coffee and notice the congealed skin of cream on top. Should I drink it? How much do I need this caffeine exactly? I can’t believe I’d actually consider drinking this.

  Deo narrows his eyes at me. “And pretty fucking morbid, Whit. What the hell are you studying in that wei
rd-ass class? Last week it was the people who breastfed til their kids turn eight, and now face-eating pets. Also, why are you even worried? We don’t have any animals.”

  I can’t help it. I flinch when he says ‘we.’

  “Wait, are you even studying? Like, are there face-mauling cats in that chapter, or are you thinking about zombies again? Because, I told you, I have us covered if the apocalypse breaks out.” He picks up a rubber band he finds on the floor across the room and shoots it at me.

  I deflect it with my book, then slam it shut. “Just my morbid imagination hard at work. I guess that means I’m ready for a break. You want to go get something to eat?” I’ve been sitting cross-legged on my bed for hours staring at this damn book. I try to stretch, but everything just aches.

  “No need.” He tosses a dish towel over his shoulder, looking so very delicious. And domestic. “I made us some dinner.”

  “No shit?” I toss the book aside and follow Deo to the kitchen, breathing the enticing aroma of home-cooked food deep into my malnourished lungs. It smells incredible; I must have really been into that anthropology book to miss the scents and sounds of Deo preparing this meal. “This looks amazing.”

  “Sit.” He motions to the bar and I pull up one of the stools. Deo has cleaned off all of the clutter-the mail, keys, clothes and whatever else we toss up here on our way in and out of my apartment. In place of the junk are two mismatched place-mats and an even more mismatched pair of place settings. But somehow, it’s perfect. “So, pan-roasted chicken with roasted tomatoes and white beans.”

  Deo scoops a heaping portion onto each of our plates and then takes the stool next to mine.

  “Are you sure you made this?” I tease.

  “Hey, Marigold is the one that can’t cook. I learned from my Gramps. He used to be a Navy cook, you know. Every time he makes a damn pizza, there’s enough to feed the whole freaking town.” He gives me an eager smile and waits for me to try it.

  I stab a forkful of chicken and pause before taking a bite and moaning over the flavor explosion in my mouth.

  “Mmm. Mmm, seriously. Amazing.” I point to my mouth and moan again. “But what’s the occasion?” Deo has basically been living at my place for the last couple of weeks, going home just to check in on his grandfather, or grab some extra clothes. Neither one of us has cooked in all that time, and, instead, have been surviving on a diet of Honey Nut Cheerios and rice cakes. I’m starved for a decent meal.

  “Your last final is tomorrow. Would I be a total dweeb if I confessed that I can’t wait for you to finish up the semester, so we can surf and you can seduce me anytime of the day?” He lets his fingers tip-toe up my arm. I reach over and mimic the movement, but this time, I move up his thigh.

  I hop off of the stool and press my lips to his throat. His skin is salty like the ocean air and once I start, it’s always hard to pull away.

  “Hey, hey, why are you being so nice? You know that freaks me out,” Deo jokes, pulling back from me.

  He’s right. I enjoy every second of our nights together, but it’s been a struggle to carry that same strong connection during the day. It’s too much, still. And way too scary. I just can’t allow myself to give in to the happiness or the fallout that Deo could bring. It’s bad enough that I feel like I keep running right up to the edge of the water, but stopping before my feet dip into the waves. I can’t force myself to jump in, no matter how amazing the water might be.

  He pulls my hand to his chest and disrupts my spinning thoughts. “Feel my poor, shocked heart. It’s beating out of my chest.”

  The feeling of his racing heart is familiar, since my ear is usually pressed against it at night. I listen to that steady thump as it goes from pounding with lust, to slowing with sleep and satisfaction. Then Deo rubs his hands over me in slow, relaxing circles and our limbs tangle together in the most perfect mess ever. And I steady my breathing and try to concentrate on that rhythmic beat alone.

  I know Deo assumes I’m asleep, and, sometimes, the sound of his voice cuts through the simple sound of his heart beating.

  Like when he tells me how much he loves me, or how he’d do anything to make me happy.

  I’m a horrible person for not saying anything back, or even letting him know that I’ve heard him at all, but I just can’t. No matter how treasured and wonderful and perfect it makes me feel, I just lie there next to him, petrified with this crazy mix of perfect happiness and absolute terror.

  The terror I feel in his arms could maybe be measured if you took my fear of sharks, my horror at the shadowy loneliness of my apartment, and my nervousness about possible future pet cats eating my corpse when I die alone and squish them all together and multiply their ugliness by a trillion. And then you could stick me in a dark house with zombies bashing in at the windows as the terror cherry on top.

  “Seriously, what’s up?” Deo asks.

  “What are your plans for the summer. I mean, other than impressing me with your sexual prowess?” Which, for the silent record, is damn impressive. I’ll never tell him that, since his ego is already big enough as it is. But, man, that boy knows how to use what he was blessed with.

  Deo shrugs and evades, his usual tactic when I bring up anything more substantive than our dinner plans. “I hadn’t really given it a whole lot of thought.”

  I don’t know what Deo has planned for the rest of his life. His future is all very vague, and honestly, I just can’t handle that. I need plans. I need to be independent and be around happily independent people.

  That’s why I’m here, on my own. That’s why I gave up the dream of living in the plush dorms at the University of Delaware, and, instead, settled for this crappy apartment, the most liberal college in the country, and a mediocre job (apart from Rocko) to help pay for it all.

  Except that I’m not actually all that independent.

  Because I had to accept Deo’s help, which totally goes against everything I thought I believed in. And, despite how much I appreciate what he did, and despite the realization that I’d be so screwed without his help, it’s also, strangely, one of the things that’s holding me back with Deo.

  I want to want him because I made the choice as an independent person. And I want him to want me for the exact same reason. Once we start basing the reason we’re together on dependency (which all started with my freakish fear of being alone, so I take full blame), we run the risk of getting entwined in a way that isn’t good for either one of us. I want a relationship that still lets me keep a piece of myself, and Deo and I run the risk of being all-consuming.

  I know what happens when a love is all consuming, then gone.

  A big piece of you winds up gone, too, and once you get back on semi-solid footing after a blow like that, it’s scary as hell to imagine falling into that much pain and sadness again.

  So I try pushing him to be more independent, and less wrapped up in what I’m doing. I want him to have his own plans, his own life. For his good and mine.

  So I tell him the plan I’ve been trying to put in motion for him. “Because, my anthropology professor mentioned today that she’s looking for an assistant. Just someone to do some organizing, and data entry and I thought, since you were once in the service industry,” I wink at him, knowing he’s shy about his cabana boy days, “you’d be perfect for the job.”

  “And?” Deo presses, because he can tell by my coy smirk that there’s more.

  “So, I maybe gave her your number and she should be calling you tomorrow?” I say it like it’s a question, like it maybe didn’t happen.

  Deo sighs and rubs a rough hand over his tan face and seriously sexy five o’clock shadow. “Whit, I don’t need you to find me a job. I can take care of that on my own.”

  “I know that.” I kick my foot out and rub it up and down his calf, because he can never resist smiling when I pull that trick out of my bag. “I know. And I know that you don’t care about going to college, but I thought maybe just being around school might help change you
r mind. Maybe?”

  Deo pulls my foot on his lap and starts another one of his bone-melting massages. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “So you’ll talk to her?” I have a hard time asking the question without moaning over the way he’s handling my instep.

  His fingers continue to work their magic while he sighs and rolls his eyes. “There’s no limit to the lengths I’d go to to make you happy, doll.”

  I smile at him and he drops my foot and grabs my stool, sliding it across the floor to get me closer. He laces his fingers behind my neck and pulls me in. His lips glide over mine smoothly, his warm, sweet breath fills my mouth as his tongue traces over mine, flicking and teasing.

  My phone vibrates on the edge of the bar. Deo pulls away with a slow, sexy groan.

  “Sorry, I’ll be quick!” I promise. I round the side of the bar to catch the phone before it jumps off the edge of the counter or goes to voicemail. I’m still waiting on a call to sort out all of this financial aid bullshit, and the sooner I get that taken care of, the better. Then, I can pay Deo back and not feel like I have this weight hanging over my head.

  “Is it that tool, Ryan again? I thought you told him that he was done sampling the goods?” Deo tries to joke, but there’s a fierce flicker of jealousy in his eyes.

  I giggle and reach for the phone, but Deo grabs it from me in an athletic swoop and grab before I can answer.

  Ryan has been calling off and on, even though I did tell him we couldn’t keep up our arrangement anymore. More than likely, he’s just bored, or hoping to catch me when Deo and I are on the outs. Deo has been dying to grab the phone when he calls and give him a little good-natured ribbing. Or, I suspect, to properly mark his territory.

  “Rich and Paula?” Deo shows me the iPhone screen.

  It’s not Ryan.

  It’s my parents.

  “Give me the phone.” I practically leap over the bar to rip the phone from Deo’s hands.