by Penelope Sky
She came closer to the bed and grabbed the hem of her sweater. Then she slowly pulled it over her head.
Yes.
Her bra came next and then her jeans, a pile forming on my bedroom floor, her panties on top.
I breathed hard, unable to believe this was happening, that I would be inside the woman I loved in just seconds.
She came to the bed and got on top of me, her hair falling down around my face as she held herself above me.
My hand slid into her hair, and I brought her face to my lips, kissing her hard, kissing her as quickly as I could.
She breathed into my lungs, panting at the cosmic explosion of our touch. Her hand gripped my shoulder, and she clawed me like a wild cat climbing up a tree. Her other hand moved to my chest, planting itself hard against my muscle.
My hand pushed my boxers over my hips, letting my cock come free.
She lowered herself onto my length, rolling her hips back so she could position my head directly over her pussy, straightening it so she could slide down in one fluid motion.
I groaned so loud against her mouth I sounded like a monster.
She moaned against my mouth, her nails digging deep into me.
“Baby…” I wrapped my arm around her waist and flipped her to her back, wanting to make love to her the way I used to, smash her into my mattress as I pinned her down, keep her underneath me so she couldn’t get away.
Her legs locked around my waist, and she gripped the back of my shoulders, breathing hard into my mouth, tears escaping the corners of her eyes from emotion, not because I’d made her come. “Heath…”
I thrust into her hard, like I was being timed, like I only had so long to enjoy her. “Baby, I fucking missed you.”
The world turned quiet, and the heartache in my chest died away when we were together. With every thrust, I got lost deeper, swept away by the comfort of our connection, my mind turned off completely so I could just feel…feel her.
With my forehead pressed to hers, I moved into her slowly, pushed my cock all the way inside before I pulled it out again, getting coated in her cream and come. It felt so good to be with her, like there’d been no time spent apart, like I’d never lost her.
Like she’d always been mine.
She clung to me just the way she used to, her nails enthusiastic, her hold demanding. Her pussy was soaked, like I could fuck her over and over and she would never run dry.
I thrust into her a final few times, feeling myself reach my threshold once again, making me fill every inch of her with another load. How could I ever be with someone else when this was who I was supposed to be with?
Fuck, I talked like a pussy.
I pulled out of her and rolled over, slick with sweat, satisfied, and so damn happy. I closed my eyes and lay there, feeling the peace settle into my soul, the fear and sadness disappearing like the setting sun.
Then she got out of bed.
She walked to her clothes and started to put them on.
I opened my eyes and looked at her. “What are you doing?”
She clasped her bra then pulled her sweater over her head. “I have to go…”
I was so shocked by what she’d said that all I could do was stare at her.
She pulled on her jeans—and walked out.
What the fuck just happened?
I jumped out of bed and went after her. “Stay until morning.” It was the dead of the night. I didn’t even know what time it was, but it was sometime between midnight and sunrise.
“I can’t…” She reached the stairs and began to descend.
I grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her back. “Why are you treating me like a booty call?”
She turned back to me, her eyes guarded, like she didn’t even want to look at me.
My eyes narrowed further.
“I missed you…and I caved. I just wanted to be with you.”
Why was I so fucking stupid? “And you didn’t consider my feelings at all?” This separation was hard for me too, but I didn’t storm into her bedroom in the middle of the night and drop all my clothes.
She lowered her eyes. “I-I won’t do it again. I just didn’t want to go out and pick up some random guy, not when you’re the one I want.”
That was the last thing I wanted. “So, you’re just going to come by whenever you feel like it?”
“I don’t have to.”
“No…it’s fine.” I was too weak to say no. I was too weak to deny the only woman I wanted.
“I can’t sleep over. That’s just too much.”
Straight down to business, then.
“No kiss goodbye…”
Purely physical.
“It’s just hard to quit cold turkey, you know?”
I had hoped she’d changed her mind, that she’d realized she couldn’t live without me. But now, she just wanted to use me, because I gave her good dick. It didn’t make me feel good, but I didn’t have the strength to deny her.
“No talking.”
I stared at her.
“If that’s okay with you…” She watched me hesitantly, like I might say no.
I stared at her like she wasn’t mine, instead the ghost of the woman who used to belong to me. She was still gone, and now I had to let go of her slowly…little by little.
“Because it doesn’t have to be.”
I knew it was a bad idea. It was smarter just to push through it. But I also hoped the cycle would start over again, that we would sleep together, but the sex would turn into something more. I might get everything I wanted…or get hurt even more. “I’d rather have some of you than none of you at all.”
Ten
Catalina
My dad was used to seeing me at least once a week, but since I was too depressed to even leave the house, I never showed my face. I didn’t want to go to Damien’s at all, didn’t want to interact with another human, plaster a smile on my face.
I’d gone to Heath’s because I couldn’t stand the loneliness anymore. Just wanted the pain to stop—just for a few hours—so I could take a full breath and get some relief. But then I had to leave, and that was hard.
It was hard not to sleep beside him.
Hard not to talk to him.
Hard not to tell him I loved him.
It was a bad idea and I’d expected Heath to throw me out on my ass, but he didn’t. He agreed, even though it seemed like he didn’t want to. He wanted me to change my mind, to go against the wishes of my family and choose him instead.
I couldn’t.
My phone rang beside me on the bed, Damien’s name on the screen.
I groaned because I didn’t want to talk to him. I’d ended things with Heath so our relationship would be normal again, but now I resented him, labeled him as the cause of my agony.
But I answered anyway. “Hey.”
It wasn’t Damien. It was my father instead. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”
My dad had an old cell phone he never used, and he’d probably lost it somewhere in his bedroom and Patricia had to search for it. His voice caught me off guard, and I immediately cleared my throat to sound normal. “Yes, Dad. Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” His tone was full of accusation, like I’d seriously betrayed him in some way.
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Just been busy.”
“I don’t like that. I want to see you. Remember, I won’t be around forever…”
He always guilt-tripped me right away.
“I’ll have Damien bring me over there—”
“I’ll come over for lunch tomorrow, Dad. How about that?”
“Now that’s more like it.” Then he hung up on me.
I knew exactly where Damien got his asshole tendencies from.
I made myself look nice, wearing a loose sweater, my hair in curls, and wore black leggings underneath with brown boots that reached my knees. Most women loved baggy sweaters with a warm cup of pumpkin spice latte
in their hands.
Not me.
God, I missed the heat.
I walked inside, said hello to Patricia, and then headed to the dining room. Damien was probably at work, as was Anna, so I didn’t have to worry about seeing them. Obviously, I couldn’t avoid them forever, couldn’t prevent the inevitable conversation we would eventually have…when I told them I’d left Heath.
My dad was already sitting there, politely refraining from eating his food until I got there. When he saw me walk into the room, his eyes lit up in an indescribable way, as if nothing made him happier than seeing me. There was only one other person who ever looked at me that way—and he wasn’t in my life anymore. He got to his feet so he could kiss me on the cheek and embrace me, being affectionate and kind, like he hadn’t just snapped at me yesterday. “Sweetheart, you look beautiful as always.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I kissed him back then took a seat.
Patricia brought the salads first then the soups and sandwiches.
Dad ate right away, telling me about his mediocre life living with Damien, playing chess with him, watching his favorite shows in the evening, and telling me old stories he’d already shared hundreds of times. He rarely left the house unless it was to walk around the block to get some exercise.
It was easier just to listen to him talk because I wasn’t in the mood to be talkative.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ve been working a lot. We’re finishing our last few shows, and we’re preparing for something new. So, lots of rehearsal…”
“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see it. You’re the star, I presume?”
I was definitely the best female lead, but I never said that out loud to anyone. “You’ll have to see.”
He smiled. “I definitely will.”
I stirred my spoon into my soup and watched it swirl. It was butternut squash, an autumn soup even though winter was right on our doorstep. It wouldn’t be long until Christmas. I couldn’t believe how quickly time had passed…how long it’d been since I’d met Heath on that summer night.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin and looked at him again, not realizing how long I’d been looking down.
“Come on, Catalina. I’m your father.” He pointed his fingertips at his temple. “I know things…”
I smiled slightly. “Did you know your son is an asshole?”
“Yes, I knew that long before you did,” he teased. “Now, talk to me.”
“Dad, it’s nothing…”
“Come on. I’m great at giving advice.”
“Well, I don’t need advice on this.”
“Then I can listen.”
I stirred my soup again, my eyes down.
Dad stopped eating, staring at me with his hands clasped together above his soup.
He wasn’t going to let this go.
“Alright.” I set my spoon down to the side so I wouldn’t have to keep stirring my soup and pretend I was hungry. “Well, I was seeing this guy…but it didn’t work out. So, I guess I’m a little sad about it.” A little? The biggest understatement of the year.
“A man?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise. “Didn’t realize you were seeing anybody.”
“It wasn’t serious. But then it was serious. And then it wasn’t serious again…”
“Did he end things?”
“No…I did.” I couldn’t believe I was talking about a guy to my father, and even more surprisingly, he wasn’t being weird about it. Maybe he really saw me as an adult rather than his little girl. Or maybe he just wanted me to be married as soon as possible, to have a man in my life who would take care of me the way Damien took care of Anna.
“Why?”
I tried to think of the best way to phrase it. “When things got serious, I realized he wasn’t the right man to be serious with, so I ended it before it could get more complicated.”
“So, he wasn’t marriage material?”
“I guess.”
He nodded like he understood even though there was no way he could. “Does he want to have a family?”
“He said he would do it if it was important to me.”
“So, you had that conversation?” he asked in surprise. “Then you must have loved this man.”
I shrugged in response, refusing to say the words.
“Then what makes him unfit for you, sweetheart? Because you can have any man you want, and if this is the man you want, he must be something.”
He was definitely something, just not the right something. “Damien doesn’t like him.” I was frank about it. That way, I could cut off all further questions. “And Damien will never like him. I thought it was more important to be with a man who would be accepted by my family.”
“Well, Damien doesn’t like a lot of people…”
I chuckled slightly. “True.”
“You’re wise beyond your years to make a hard decision like that. But, as your advocate, I also have to say…you’re the one in the relationship. Your brother is not.”
Now, I loved my father so much more. My eyes softened, wishing Damien possessed his gentleness. “Well, Damien really hates him, and his reasons are not unfounded.”
“Then why would you love a man your brother despises?”
I stared at my soup again. “Because I didn’t know the reasons why Damien hated him when we met. If I had, I’m sure it would have changed everything.”
“Can you tell me what these reasons are?”
I thought about coming clean right then and there, but I already had to deal with Damien’s resentment; I couldn’t handle getting it from my father too. “It doesn’t matter, Dad. I’m not seeing him anymore, so…” I grabbed my spoon and took a sip, letting the autumn flavors splash into my mouth.
He was quiet for a long time, regarding everything I said with silent concentration. “If you really love this man, like the way I loved your mother, the way Damien loves Anna, I feel like you should try to work it out. Because love is always stronger than hate, sweetheart. Always.”
I stirred the contents and kept my face stoic, even though my expression wanted to slacken, my eyes flood with tears. “I tried talking to Damien many times, Dad. He won’t change his mind. So, let’s just leave it at that…”
I didn’t hear from Heath for a long time.
Over a week.
I went to his place, got what I needed to survive, but he didn’t reciprocate. He seemed to be keeping his distance, because being with me was harder than being without me. I tried not to think about what he did in his spare time, if he was picking up other women, if he was paying for sex again, if he was doing everything people usually did to get over an ex.
Even if they meant nothing to him, the idea still killed me.
I couldn’t be with someone else, not for a long time. It would be so awkward, so sad, so forced. There would never be a time when I met a man who was better than Heath, who made the butterflies in my stomach soar, and not just because the gypsy told me so. I already knew how I felt about him, knew it was special, knew it couldn’t be replicated with someone else. Our love wasn’t ordinary. Extraordinary, instead.
I asked my father not to discuss about our conversation to Damien, and he seemed to keep my secret because Damien never mentioned it to me. And if my father had, I knew Damien would come at me hard, furious I mentioned anything to him.
I sat in bed with a book in my lap, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything I read. My eyes kept glancing out the window, seeing the cold frost the corners of the glass. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I was exhausted from rehearsal all week, but I was never calm enough to go to sleep and make it through the night. I was always awakened by my dreams, nightmares, fantasies…
Then I heard the familiar sound of footsteps outside my door.
The turn of the locks.
And then the sound of a big man walking across the hardwood floor.
The book was still open in my
lap because I hadn’t moved. My heart started to pound inside my chest, vibrate my rib cage, and my sense of hearing heightened, picked up every single movement.
He grabbed the vase from under the sink, turned on the faucet to fill it with water, and then set it on the kitchen island.
He only did that for one reason—because he’d brought me flowers.
Immediately, tears formed in my eyes, and I closed them so they wouldn’t grow. I didn’t want those tears to streak down my cheeks, to let my emotions break me down all over again. It was hard not to picture him doing that all the time, for the rest of our lives, and our children remembering what their father did for their mother when we were gone.
He stepped into the bedroom, pulling off his shirt as he went. His shoes and jeans came off next, his expressionless eyes on me.
I closed the book and set it aside before I turned off the lamp, so no one could see us together through the open window. My top came off, my bottoms, and then my panties.
He didn’t say a word, just like I asked. He moved on top of me and dug his hand into my hair, kissing me softly, cradling my head as we exchanged purposeful kisses, our breaths coming out at the same time, our tongues eager to greet each other.
My arms circled his large torso, moving across his broad back so my nails could anchor in his flesh. My knees parted and squeezed his waist, my ankles locked together against his ass.
He continued to kiss me, his hand slightly shaking, like he couldn’t believe my lips were real, that the strands against his fingertips were really mine. Without saying a word, he showed me how much he loved me, how miserable he was every single day we weren’t together. He showed me his devastation, his agony.
I combated my tears until they were gone, but when I felt the pain in his soul, felt how much he hurt on a human level, the wetness couldn’t be stopped. The drops grew until they leaked past my closed eyelids, dripping down my cheeks to the thumb of his hand that rested against my face.
He pulled his lips away from my mouth and moved to the teardrop that made it to my neck. He kissed it away before he moved to the other, gathering the drops like they were too precious to fall.