He grabs my hands and threads his fingers through mine, pushing my arms over my head.
“Thank you!” I gasp at him in the same surprised tone of voice I’d have for someone who’s picked up and returned a fifty-dollar bill I’ve dropped.
It amuses him. “You’re very welcome.”
“You were right.”
“You have no idea how much I get off on hearing that.”
He moves, and I realize he’s inside me again. When did that happen?
“How come it doesn’t hurt anymore?”
“Who cares?” he retorts, thrusting gently.
“Good point.”
“You just needed to relax, like I said.” He buries his face in my neck, nipping at the skin there while he moves in and out, going slightly deeper with each thrust. As he quickens his pace, he says, “I’m sorry if this hurts.”
Before I can even steel myself for it, it’s over. I jerk a little, but I’m distracted by the kisses Jude’s placing up and down my arm as he experiences his orgasm. When it’s over, he kisses my mouth and says up against it, “Are you okay? You flinched. I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so fine. Let’s do it again.”
He laughs and rolls onto his back, catching his breath. “Give me a few moments. It’s not quite like in the movies.”
“I know that!” I reply defensively. “I’m not a complete moron.”
When he pats his chest conciliatorily, I scoot over and put my head on it. I doze as he plays with my hair. I don’t know how much time passes before he wakes me up by shifting under me.
Panicked at the thought of him leaving, I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “Where are you going? You can stay here tonight.” Despite my best intentions, it comes out sounding about as pathetic as a mewing wet kitten.
Smirking, he looks over his shoulder at me as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I thought I’d go to the toilet, if that’s all right with you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
I give him the courtesy of not staring openly as he walks stark naked to the bathroom, but I do watch him from the corner of my eye. He tiptoes his way through his clothes, almost tripping on his bunched-up shorts, the used condom dangling from between his thumb and forefinger.
After he’s shut the door, I realize something very important: there’s no going back. I’ve crossed one of those thresholds that the door slams shut behind you and locks from the other side. My old life is dead to me, no matter what happens next. I’ll never again be content to sit home alone on a weekend, watching WGN, petting Sandberg, and eating crappy frozen dinners. I’ve seen how other (a.k.a., “normal”) people live.
And I like it. A lot.
16
I’m having a really hard time at work. I have the attention span of someone who’s just discovered sex (that’s a little shorter than the attention span of a flea). I don’t think it’s affected my work performance yet (otherwise Lisa would have pointed it out), but I leave work every day exhausted from the effort I’ve had to put forth to keep my back to Jude’s office windows. The other day he was wearing a suit with a vest and he had his jacket off, his back to me as he stood at his drafting table. I finally had to go into his office, close his blinds, then leave again.
He immediately IMed me.
MONDAY, AUGUST 17, 2:36 P.M.
Jude.Weatherington:
??
Libby.Foster:
Never mind. It’s for the good of the entire company, trust me
Later, back at my place, I let him in on the whole story, and he laughed. “Well, I can’t very well sequester myself all day so you can do your job.”
“Yes, you can,” I argued. “You used to stay in there for eight hour stretches; you’ll just have to go back to doing that.”
Things are a little better now that we’re not keeping our relationship a secret. Not that we were ever very successful at it. But now that it’s official with both of our bosses, I feel a lot less paranoid about every visit he makes to my desk. Since there’s nothing to speculate about anymore, people have stopped staring so much at us and have gone back to their own lives.
Except for Leslie, of course. She likes to make snide comments as often and as publicly as possible, the jealous whore. Jude thinks it’s funny and just laughs it off, but I’m a little more self-conscious about what people are thinking. Half the time I feel like I have a blinking sign over my head that says, “Freshly laid.”
It doesn’t help that everything seems to be about sex. I mean, I thought it was bad before, when I was sexually frustrated, but now it’s ten times worse. Songs that I never interpreted to be sexual I now understand to be basically lyrical porn. I look at the billboards around town, whether they’re hawking shoes or hair care products, and blush, picturing whatever Jude and I did the night before (or that morning or afternoon). I’m afraid I might be a sex addict.
Of course, I keep most of my thoughts to myself. And I try to play it cool with Jude, restraining myself and allowing him to make the first move at least half the time. I don’t want him to know he’s created a monster.
Speaking of monsters, Marvin emerges from his cave today for the first time I’ve seen him in weeks. He stops by my desk, standing next to Jude, who’s leaning against my cubicle wall, waiting for me to collect my things so we can leave for the day.
“Uh… hey,” he says to Jude, “Gary told me he wanted me to do another animation for one of your projects.
