“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Don’t talk. Just keep doing that.”
He does, and after less than a minute, I know this is not going to take long. I learned long ago that the trick is not to concentrate on reaching a peak, but to be with someone with whom you feel totally at ease. Then you can close your eyes and let go of the world, and you’ll be carried to the peak without ever taking a step. I’ve felt at ease with John from the first, and now is no different. He knows where I want to go and how to take me there, and I’m content to let him. I dig my fingers into his hair and pull him into me, and he groans with pleasure.
With a sudden tingle, a film of sweat covers my skin from my scalp to my toes. The tension builds steadily within me, and my thighs go taut and quiver with strain. As I hold myself still against his insistent kisses, his hands slide up my ribs and cover my breasts, and I feel him urging me toward completion, one flick no different from the last, the next a trigger that catapults me into another dimension, where every nerve ending sings with heat and every muscle trembles without command. For an instant all goes white; then the whiteness bends into waves that dissipate into soft color and the physical fallout of shivering and panting that let him know he has done well. He lifts his head and lightly kisses my belly, and I slide down his chest and hug him tightly.
“Hmm.” The sound of consternation.
I reach back and tickle his stomach, then slide my hand farther down. “Feels like somebody needs some special attention before anyone goes to sleep.”
He tries to look nonchalant, but he’s not fooling anybody.
I reach back and undo his belt and trousers, then try to fit the condom on him with one hand. “This is like you learning to unhook a bra when you were a teenager, right?”
He laughs. “You’re doing pretty well.”
“There. Everything okay?”
He pulls my face down and kisses me again, gently despite his need. I playfully bite his bottom lip, waiting to see how desperate he is, but he just keeps kissing me. Before long I realize what he already seems to know: I want him inside me as badly as he wants to be there.
“You win,” I tell him, sliding backward.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I will be in a minute. Go slow.”
“I’m counting.” His eyes twinkle. “Not easy to be still now.”
He lays his hands on my thighs and slowly presses up into me, taking my breath away. Then he begins to move, sliding me forward and back with maddening regularity. The mere presence of him there is enough to scramble my thoughts. It’s been almost a year since I made love with a man, and I feel as though I’m recovering from a sort of physical amnesia. To be so full and still need to be filled, to feel utterly vulnerable and yet primally complete, all of it comes back in the grip of his strong hands and the slow ebb and flow of him in my softest place.
I can tell he’s happy, but I also sense that he’s holding back. That at the core he sees me as fragile.
“I’m not a china vase, John.”
“I know that.”
“You’re thinking about what I told Thalia.”
He slows his movement, then stops. “You can’t pretend that’s not part of you. That you’re completely over it.”
“I’m not over it. But I am above it. Is it you that has a problem with it?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just worried about you. I want to take care of you.”
“Then do that.” I start to move against him, but he still looks uncertain. There’s only one way to get past this awkwardness, and that’s to rip him out of his preconceptions. It’s a risk, but one I feel I have to take.
“Did Lenz tell you about my affair with my teacher?” I ask, watching his eyes as I move.
“No. But I saw something in his notes.”
“Lenz showed you his notes?”
“They were on the table in the conference room.” He looks troubled now. “I took a quick look.”
“Only natural, right?”
“I’m an investigator. Nosy by nature.”
“What did you think about what you read?”
“I don’t judge anybody, as long as they don’t hurt someone else.”
“Good. Because I was really in love with him.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
I arch my back, and John closes his eyes and groans deep in his throat. “You know one thing I really liked in that relationship?”
“What?”
“When I went to school after being with him the night before, or that morning, nobody knew. But I knew. I could still feel him. I felt marked, you know? I belonged to him.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. Wanting to belong to somebody. Anybody.”
“Shows how much you know. I’m as independent as they come, right?” I settle my weight and begin moving in slow circles. “But you know what?”
“What?” he asks hoarsely.
“After we’ve been together long enough for the CDC or whoever to clear us, you know what I want?”
“What?”
“I want you to fill me up. I want you to mark your territory every day, so I can always feel you.”
“Jesus, Jordan-”
Tightening my muscles, I plant my palms on his chest and push. He moans with ineffable pleasure, and his eyes go wide, searching mine, trying to discover all that I am in a span of seconds. Foolish man. My neuroses alone would take years to plumb. He bites his lip against the pain of his leg and grasps my wrists in his hands.
At last he snaps out of himself, out of the man who sees me as someone to be protected and into the one who wants me beyond restraint. His hands fly to my hips, pulling me down as he flails into me, not caring anymore about my feelings or his leg, nothing but getting as deep into me as physical limits will allow, making me his alone. The bed, which only squeaked before, hammers the wall. The lamp on the end table crashes to the floor. None of it matters. I grip the headboard with all my strength and hold him against the mattress until he screams and goes into spasms you’d think would kill a man but which in fact bring him gasping and sweating back to life. When he collapses onto the pillow, I fall beside him.
“Jesus,” he says breathlessly.
“I know.”
“You’re amazing.”
“Hardly.”
“How do you feel?”
“The same way you feel about me. You think all the boys get this treatment?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.”
He smiles with contentment. “I love you, Jordan.”
“Take it easy. You’re in shock.”
“I think you’re right. I haven’t been – I mean, I haven’t felt like that since…”
“When?”
He blinks and looks at the ceiling. “I was going to say Vietnam.”
The mild euphoria I felt before slips away. “You slept with Vietnamese women over there?”
“Everybody did.”
