One Week

by Roya Carmen

“About having you here.” he says. “In my studio. About making love to you in my studio.”

  Oh my… I open my eyes and study my surroundings. “Where… on the red couch?”

  He laughs. “On that chair over there.”

  Oh… he wants to fuck me on the weird torture chamber chair. “Yes… please.”

  He pulls the zipper of my jacket down, and slowly peels it off, lets it fall to the floor. He slides his warm hand under my blouse, and instantly heats my skin. I melt a little. “Did you ever fantasize about me?” he asks.

  “All the time,” I confess.

  He reaches for the button of my fly, and I sink my rear deeper into him. “What did that look like?” he asks.

  “Well, sometimes we made love in a nice fluffy bed,” I explain. “But most of the time, you fucked me against a wall; brick walls in alleyways, bedroom walls, the wall in my little studio loft one time.”

  He pulls my pants over my hips, down my legs, ever so slowly, all the while, planting kisses down my legs. “Wow, I came over all the way to your house? Where was your husband?”

  I let out a soft laugh. “He was away on business. My children were sleeping soundly.”

  He toys with my panties, and I feel myself get wetter by the minute. “Naughty,” he whispers.

  “It was just a fantasy…”

  He reaches his hand into the front of my panties. “But this is real…” he says. “God, you’re wet.”

  I close my eyes and lean my head against him — this feels so good. I love it when he takes it slow.

  He pulls his hand away, and bites my shoulder playfully.

  “You’re… such a tease,” I moan.

  “I like to make you crazy,” he admits. “So you have a thing for wall sex?”

  I smile. “I guess.”

  “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Yes,” I breathe, my voice so small. I turn to him and he helps me out of my shoes and jeans. I’m standing there in my blouse and panties. I reach for his jacket — I want him naked. I peel it off, and sink to my knees. I pull at his white tee, and lick the hot skin just above his navel. He groans so loudly, the sound bounces off the studio walls. He falls to his knees too, and he kisses me again. How am I ever going to go without this? I can’t.

  He slides his mouth to the curve of my neck, and works the buttons of my blouse.

  I’ll never have this again. I’ll never feel this again.

  I peel off his shirt, and bite his shoulder, the one with the tattoo. He growls and tears off my blouse, he slides his rough hand into the cup of my delicate lace bra and frees my breast. My nipples are hard with arousal. He draws his mouth to my breast and makes me ache with pleasure. We are going to fuck right here on the cold concrete floor, and I don’t care. I want it so much.

  His delicious mouth pulls from mine, and I ache for him. He stands and pulls me up. He wraps his large hands under my ass, and draws me in against him. I tighten my legs around his hips, and he carries me to the scary chair. He sinks into it with me still on top of him.

  “Tell me you have a condom,” I mutter in his ear. “Please.”

  He tilts his hips and reaches into his back pocket, his smile mischievous. He cups my face and we kiss again. It’s soft and sweet, but I’m eager to feel him inside me again. I reach for his fly, and dig into his jeans — he’s hard for me, so hard. “I love what I do to you,” I tell him.

  “And you do it so easily.”

  I wrap my hand around him, and we kiss again.

  We fuck on the scary chair, and it’s mind-blowing, a little awkward and uncomfortable at times, but he makes me come so hard, I fear my insides might explode.

  We’re all sweaty, post-bliss. I still have my white lace bra on, one breast dangling out, pressed against his bare chest. I still have my socks on too; pink ones with white polka-dots. He still has his jeans and boxers, lowered to just below his knees, and work boots on too. My hair is a tangled mess, and his is spiking up at a weird angle. “You look properly fucked,” he teases. “I like that look on you.”

  I laugh. “I like that look on you too.”

  We’re all dressed again, I’m sitting on the red sofa while he works on an important piece he needs to get done. I go and sneak a few peeks. He’s sexy as he wields and spins that long steel pipe. I don’t dare stand too close because it looks dangerous, and that fireball at the end of his stick looks like it could burn through flesh in a millisecond. But watching him is amazing — he’s a true magician.

  As soon as he’s done, he wants to get back home to Floyd. He says he often takes him to his studio, but today he wanted some privacy — I think he’s tired of the dog staring at us when we fuck.

  I’m holding the pretty paperweight in my hands, ready to go, when he says, “I have one more thing for you,” he says. “Something I did for you a long time ago. I wanted to mail it out to you, but then, you ended things between us…”

  I’m brought back to that day, a day which seems so long ago now. “I’m sorry… that was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

  “I know,” he says and reaches for a flat package tucked behind a chair. It’s wrapped in brown paper and has my name written on it. “Here you go,” he says. “I hope you like it.”

  I set my paperweight down on the glass coffee table, and feverishly tear off the wrapping, eager to see. My heart warms at the sight of it. It’s a beautiful framed watercolor of an elephant, full of vibrant colors. It’s one of his best, in my opinion. “This is amazing,” I cry. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”

  “Well, I know how much you love elephants. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  “God, yes. I appreciate it. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” It is. John has given me so much over the years, diamond necklaces, expensive earrings, the watch I wear every day, designer clothing, everything my little heart desired, but somehow, nothing ever compared to this.

  I hop over to him, and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Glad to see you like it,” he says.

  “I love it,” I tell him. “I’ll hang it in my studio.” Yet, another reminder of him. I’m never getting over him. Ever.

  I study the painting again, wishing I had half the talent he does. “I feel bad… I haven’t gotten you anything yet. You’re spoiling me with gifts, and I—”

  He wraps an arm around me. “I don’t need anything from you… just you being here is my gift.” He laughs at his own words. “I’m sorry I sound like a Hallmark movie, but it’s true.”

  I smirk up at him. “You ever watch those?”

  “Well, my ex made me watch a few over the years,” he admits.

  I smile up at him, thinking he’s the sweetest thing ever. John would never in a million years, watch one of those movies. I, on the other hand, love them. “Did you hate them?”

  “Embarrassingly enough… no,” he confesses. “Remember, I grew up with two women in the house… even our two cats were female.”

  I laugh out loud. “Well, Floyd is a boy, right?!”

  “Yeah, I’m a real man now,” he says proudly.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “A real man with a heart of gold.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  WHEN WE GET HOME, Floyd is so excited to see me, he jumps up on me and almost takes me down. Eli laughs.

  “I could get used to this unconditional love,” I tell him.

  “What?! Does Elsie not love you?” he teases, and I’m impressed that he remembers my cat’s name, but that’s the thing about Eli — he seems to remember everything I say.

  I smile at the thought of her. “She ignores me a lot… she’s a cat.” I wonder where she is right now, probably sleeping comfortably on the loveseat in my loft. The kids are at school, having lunch. I hope John is packing them good lunches with stuff they like — this is all new to him.

  I help Eli in the kitchen as he makes veal with capers, angel pasta, and a garden salad. He’s got the veal and pasta under control, and
I’m in charge of the salad and setting the table. I love these intimate dinners, just the two of us — no servers, no people, just Floyd. I can’t remember the last time John and I had an intimate dinner at home, just the two of us. It must have been before the kids were born. No wonder we lost our way.

  Eli strikes me as a homebody which I love because I am too. Or maybe he just can’t afford restaurants. “I love these candle holders,” I tell him, admiring the blown glass.

  “Yes, they were a gift to Clara,” he tells me with sad eyes. “I made them for her on our first anniversary. She left them when we split up.”

  “She didn’t take them with her?” I say, baffled. “She forgot them?”

  He’s still hovering over the stove. “I guess.”

  I would never forget something as beautiful as these, I think to myself. Maybe she just didn’t want the reminder. I know if I were ever with him, and he were no longer mine, I wouldn’t want to remember — it would hurt too much.

  The thought doesn’t leave me as I ease myself into one of the modern curved chairs at the kitchen table. I’m with him right now. He’s all mine, if only for a week. When I say goodbye, he’ll no longer be mine. I know it will hurt so much. I try not to think about it.

  Dinner is delicious. I’ve left my phone in Eli’s bedroom and haven’t looked at it all day. I don’t want any more messages from John. I know it might not quite be responsible but just for a few hours, I want this time with Eli. I don’t want to think about my other life. I know I’m being incredibly selfish, and it’s not in my nature to be so. I’ve always put others before me. But maybe it’s time to be a little selfish.

  Following dinner, we play a quick game of Scrabble and I kick Eli’s behind, and we argue over whether ‘quartzy’ is a word. I say it is, and he says it isn’t. It wins me the game.

  I’m perusing his DVD collection when I spot one of my favorite movies ever. “I can’t believe you have this movie.” I’m giddy. I smile at the sight of the dog on roller skates, and Uma Thurman tangled up in his leash. Oddly, Ben Chaplin doesn’t seem as dreamy as he used to be.

  He’s finishing up in the kitchen — the sight of him with a dish towel is sexier than words can describe. I love a man in the kitchen. “Which one?” he asks.

  “The Truth about Cats and Dogs,” I tell him. “It’s one of my favorites. I love Janeane Garofalo.”

  He smiles. “Oh that…” He smiles. “That was one of Clara’s. I guess she forgot that too.”

  “Did you ever watch it?”

  “Will you judge me if I say I did?”

  I laugh. “I’ll judge you positively.”

  “Well, in that case,” he says, inching closer to me. “I loved it.”

  I pull him in to me and reach for a kiss.

  “Really!” he says. “I actually did like it. Maybe it was the dog.”

  “Yeah, that big lug’s pretty cute,” I say. “Kinda reminds me of Floyd.”

  “You wanna watch it?” he asks. “I can make some popcorn.”

  “I’d rather ice cream.” I tell him because I know he has some in his freezer — I peeked.

  “What the lady desires, the lady gets,” he says. I’m excited. Never in a million years, could I ever imagine watching a romantic comedy and eating ice cream with John. He’s way too health conscious. Typically, we watch the latest Marvel movie, eat Kale chips, and drink foreign beer. I don’t even like beer that much.

  We cuddle on the sofa, the three of us; Eli wrapped around me, and Floyd at my feet. I’m deliriously happy. I’m not myself. I’m not Gabriella Moore, wife and mother of two. I’ve tucked Gabriella Moore in a little box and closed the lid. She doesn’t exist. I’ll open the box again in a few days when I go back home. I don’t know who I am, but I feel alive. I don’t know how old I am, but I feel young. I’m not sure where I’m going, not sure what tomorrow will bring. I have no responsibilities, no reality. My life is a dream.

  And I’m in love.

  “They remind me of us,” I say to Eli. “They don’t meet for the longest time. They fall in love with each other’s minds first.”

  He holds me tighter. “Well, it’s not quite the same, but I see what you mean.”

  “She totally catfished him though.”

  We’re at the scene where they’re chatting in the bathtub. “This scene is so sexy,” I say. “It’s my favorite scene.”

  He laughs and I turn to him. He kisses me, sweetly and softly. “Remember when we chatted in the bath?”

  “How can I forget?” I say, remembering that night. I was so aroused, I was all thumbs. I kept making typos and having to backtrack. I couldn’t tap on my phone fast enough.

  “What were we chatting about again?”

  “The pros and cons of baths versus showers,” he tells me with a laugh. “And then we had quite the extensive conversation about the joys of slow cookers and bread makers. Remember, you were trying to convince me to buy a bread maker?”

  I laugh so loud, Floyd startles. “Oh my god, that conversation was so not sexy.”

  “But I was picturing you naked in the bath the whole time,” he confesses.

  “Me too, totally. And there was no bubble bath, if you know what I mean.”

  He bites his lip, and I want to jump him right there. “Was I hard,” he asks with dark eyes, “when you imagined me?”

  Damn.

  “Yes.”

  “And does reality live up to expectations?”

  I reach for his mouth, bite his bottom lip gently, and slowly let go. “And then some.”

  We kiss for the longest time, and it tastes so sweet, I never want to stop. I reluctantly pull away. “We’re missing the movie,” I whisper.

  He smiles. “You’re cruel.”

  I’m almost asleep when the movie ends. He strokes my hair, and Floyd snores. The last thing I remember is that blissful feeling and thinking, I never want this moment to end.

  I’m still sleepy when I wake. The sun is streaming through the edges of the curtains. I could stay in this bed forever, for eternity. It feels so delicious to sleep in, to not have a single thing to do but enjoy life, to not have to adult for once. The feeling is completely foreign to me. I think about the kids — I miss them so much. My heart hurts at the thought that they might miss me too. I tell myself that they’re probably too busy to miss me. They’re sleeping right now. I grab my phone and send a quick ‘I love you’ to Emma.

  I love you both, I write. Share with your brother.

  Then I send them a photo of a bakery shop window I saw — the most gorgeous cakes known to mankind.

  When I get back, we’ll go out for cake at that place you like. You can get any cake you want! <3

  I check all my messages. There’s another one from John.

  Please, Gabbie, write back to me. Tell me you’ve not gone through with it.

  My heart sinks. I can’t deal with him right now. I don’t want to tell him the truth, but I need to. It’s the right thing to do.

  I’m sorry, I write. He’ll know what it means.

  There are also two messages from Maeve and Corrie. I smile when I read Corrie’s.

  Did you two bump nasties yet or what?!

  —

  None of your business, I reply.

  —

  How’s your trip going? Send pictures! Maeve writes.

  —

  Great!! I reply.

  I send Maeve a few pics of the city, and a selfie of Eli and me. I hear a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” I call out.

  Eli is all smiles. Even Floyd seems like he’s smiling, but maybe that’s just his normal Golden Retriever look. He’s wagging his tail so I know he’s happy to see me. When Eli bounces on the bed to kiss me, so does Floyd. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says, and Floyd climbs all over me, and licks my face, not quite the kind of wake-up I’m used to, but I love it.

  Eli is laughing his head off. “Sorry, he just really likes you.”

  The dog is suffocating me, and I
’m laughing so hard, I’m crying. Eli finally pulls Floyd off me, and walks him out of the bedroom with much fuss. I pout when he comes back. “Why’d you do that?!”

  I can hear Floyd whine on the other side of the door. “Bring him back,” I demand.

  “Wait for it,” he says. We both stay quiet for a few seconds, and Floyd’s whining quickly dies down.

  After a beat, Eli shoots me a playful smile as he closes the distance between us. He’s shirtless, and wearing grey sweats. His three-day-old beard looks tempting, and his mussed up hair is adorable. “Sorry, I wanted you all to myself.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  HE PRESSES HIS MOUTH softly to my collarbone. “You left me hanging last night,” he teases. “I thought I could have you after the movie,” he says as his mouth travels down to my breasts. He gently digs into the camisole of my nightie and frees it, and licks a slow circle around my hard nipple, teasing. “But you fell asleep on me.”

  I throw my head back and melt into the soft mattress.

  “I want you now,” he says. “God, I’m so hard.”

  Oh my… I’m already so turned on, and he’s barely started. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” I remind him.

  “I don’t care.”

  I reach for him, and feel his hardness. I want him as badly as he wants me.

  He trails his hands to the band of my panties and peels them off slowly. I lift my hips and pull them along with him. I want them off, and I want him inside me. I turn around and clamor to my knees. I’m on all fours, and I want him to take me like this.

  A low growl escapes him as he grabs me forcefully by the hips and pulls me closer. I feel his erection pressed against my sex, and I fear we’re being careless but I get lost in the moment. He pulls my long hair around my shoulder and drops soft butterfly kisses down the length of my spine. He sends shivers through me, and when he gets to the bottom of my back, to the tip of my crack, he does something completely unexpected — he bites my ass.