by A.R. Rivera
35
-Angel
Clanging metal echoes off the walls of my cell as the door closes. The mattress at my back is so thin; it's feels as if I'm lying directly on the unforgiving metal frame. The sides of my throat stick on each swallow. Today's session has left it parched and sore.
When my dinner is delivered, I thank the guard on the other side of the small window. I'm thinking of Avery-probably sitting in a corner somewhere, curled up and quiet, resolutely present even though I can't see her-as I walk over to the open bathroom area to shovel the shit they call food into the toilet and flush.
I don't want to think about food. I want to stay inside that room with Jake, holding him. But there is no way I am going to give up that night. I'll tell them anything else. Everything. Except my last good night.
I can hear his soft, sweet voice in my ears, feel his touch.
+++
"So fucking act like it." Jake smacked my backside. "That's what I want."
The room was quiet as I contemplated. What was Jake trying to tell me? He wasn't threatening to dump me for another woman. He didn't even mention that other guitarist chick.
I was the one who thought about her all the time. I was the one who brought her up and made him angry. Jake wasn't trying to segue into asking for a threesome, or any other stupid demeaning thing like I always feared he would. So what was he trying to tell me? What was I doing wrong?
"Angel," he spoke softer, kneading my stinging rump. "I think we can both concede that you're a complex woman. I've never pretended to fully understand you, but you have always understood me, baby. I need you to do that for me, right now. Understand that what I'm feeling isn't about anyone but me, and give me what I need. Please."
I looked into his wide hazel eyes and something clicked. Jake was commanding me to have confidence in him and his love for me. He was telling me to believe in myself and in us, because he couldn't always be the one to do it. He needed me to rise up and be for him what he was for me: solace, a place to rest.
Jakes' life-his choices-they were exhausting. Being in his band meant he was constantly chasing-whether it was a song, a moment, a performance, or an audience-he was actively seeking to make his dreams a reality. And Jake was the one who chased me most of the time. He loved doing it, it was in his nature, but he needed me to chase him, too. The second I got that . . . Jake was Houdini, again. He made the insecurity disappear and brought out that feeling of value; the one that would help me take control and make love to him until the bad feelings went away, until he forgot that he was ever worried about the future.
He wanted me to make him forget everything but us and he did not want to ask me for it. He wanted me to put myself in his position, to understand what he needed, and react.
I took his face in my hands and claimed his mouth, tasting him with renewed fervor. His hands gripped tightly around my waist as my fingers traced the planes of his chest. He groaned when my fingernails scratched his back and shoulders underneath his plain cotton shirt.
I peeled my top off. Next was his. I leaned back on his knees and unbuttoned his jeans, but didn't go further. Instead, I stood, staring at him as I undressed. Jake did the same, his eyes never leaving mine.
Pushing him back down to the bed, I took his hands and stretched them out at his sides, then, began trailing my lips from his palm, up along his arm, to his wonderful strong shoulder. I went for his neck, suckling at his hot skin. Jake held my head and leaned his back. When I sat up to examine my handy work, a large red love bite marked his creamy skin.
Jakes' eyes were dancing as he sat up, placing a hand on either side of my face. "'I wish I was Adam. Then you'd be my Eve. And you would know it's true when I say you were made for me.' Do you get it?"
My chest filled with his sweetness. Heat blossomed in my belly. He was reciting the last lines from my song. And the way he said it, I knew he really felt that way.
"Jake. You're Shakespeare."
He rolled his eyes, but those lips of his came down with righteous enthusiasm. He scraped his palms over me, digging his fingers into my hips. He lifted me from his lap and laid me down on my back. His mouth was soft, moving languidly over me; making me want to scream and cry, and thank him for loving me. Or for breathing. His existence made the world a better place.
The delicious feeling of being everything to the man I loved danced inside my chest. I reached for him. He pulled me up from the bed until I was on back his lap. Cocooning me in his embrace, his tongue parted my lips; dancing against mine and filling my mouth the same way his body filled mine.
He spoke into my mouth as we kissed; sweet poetry and promises. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of being devoured, being consumed by him.
His husky voice was in my ear. "Say it again. Say 'yes'."
It was an exquisite feeling, making love with Jake. So intense and encompassing. I did as he commanded, repeated everything he told me to. I was his. Body and soul. And he was mine. We kissed sweetly, reverently, holding each other in the most intimate way.
He opened his shining hazel eyes. "Angel. I love you."
The look on his face was so intense, it made the tight coils of my desire break. Shredding and shattering me into a thousand glorious pieces. Jake watched me come apart and then wrapped his arms tighter around me, uttering my name.
Once we caught our breath, I turned on the television in time to catch the two a.m. repeat of the eleven o'clock news. Jake was quiet and red-faced through the three-minute edited interview they aired, but I was so proud. They mentioned his proposal but thankfully didn't air any of it. And then, we made love some more.
As far as either of us knew, it was just one of the thousands of nights we would have together. We were sure our future was just beginning.
+ + +