Chapter Eleven
This time, in the cab back to the hotel, JC didn’t chat with the driver. He gave directions then turned to look at me, his eyes burning and blazing with want and affection. And I, usually one to buckle up and pray during a taxi ride through the city, climbed into his lap, straddling him. Again, our lips met. His hand tangled in my hair and my hands cupped his face as my tongue traced love notes along his. The ante was upped now. No longer was this kiss not about sex. Now, it was foreplay. The most tender, sweet foreplay that I’d ever experienced. Even with the cabbie shouting obscenities at the road behind me.
JC’s hand wandered first, slipping up my shirt to push my bra up and caress my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple until I was gasping into his mouth. He slid his hips forward, and I pressed my pelvis tightly to him so I could grind against his erection. When I couldn’t get the pressure I needed through my jeans, I stopped worrying about me and reached down to palm him through his pants. The feel of him—so hard, thickening further in my hand—I wanted more. Then JC bucked into my touch and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I slid off his lap to the floor, barely fitting in the tight space, and unzipped his pants. It was a delightful surprise to find he hadn’t worn underwear and his cock stood upright and proud.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “What are you doing, Gwen?” His hushed tone wasn’t worried for himself. He wasn’t concerned at all to have himself exposed in the back of a taxi. It was me, he knew, that would feel uncomfortable in this situation.
Funny thing, though. I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I felt excited and naughty, and wow, naughty was a lot more awesome than I’d realized.
I answered JC with a pump of my hand down his length.
“Gwen,” he said my name quietly, reverently. “You don’t need to do—” He cut himself off with a strangled breath in as I sucked the tip of his cock. “Jesus. That’s…you should stop. Ah, don’t stop.”
I didn’t plan on stopping. I didn’t think I could. I licked along the thick vein and then opened my mouth to take the whole of him in. He squirmed. He moaned. He was, for once, off-balance because of me instead of the other way around.
None of it was typical behavior for me. I recognized that as equally as I recognized that I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered at the moment was having JC as close as possible—having him in me in any way that was possible. And since stripping out of jeans and riding his cock wasn’t exactly the easiest task in a moving vehicle, a blowjob seemed a little bit more manageable.
Besides, I relished the effect I had on him. I adored his sounds and the tensing of his thighs at either side of me. More, I craved the emotional exchange that occurred as he put his hands on my head and guided me. The way he looked at me as I peered up at him, even while I fisted the base of his erection and slid his cock in and out of my mouth, continued to portray so much more than lust. When I flattened my tongue and sucked his length, my need to pleasure him was not only out of carnal desire, but also out of fondness. When I drew him in until he touched the back of my throat, it was because I suspected he’d become fond of me as well.
He was getting close when the cab pulled up at the curb. I was so entranced with making JC come that I hadn’t realized we’d stopped moving. But then he was pushing me away, tucking his erection in his pants as he fumbled with the cash in his wallet. I slid out of the car and waited for him, not even bothering to check out the driver’s expression. He could be annoyed, disgusted, turned on—let him. I didn’t care in the slightest.
The walk through the lobby was the longest of my life followed by a never-ending elevator ride. The sexual tension between us was so thick, so palpable. If it weren’t for the family with young children sharing our car, we certainly would have continued making out. We tried to make up for it with our hands, joined together between us. We squeezed and caressed with our fingers, much the way we had on our first trip to the hotel.
The family got off on the same floor we did, but even when they turned down the opposite hall, JC and I remained connected only through our hands. Each step toward our door piled on another layer of tension, and by the time we made it inside the room, I thought I might explode.
And then I did.
When JC dropped the La Perla bag at his feet and we came together, it was like an explosion of the grandest fireworks. My lips ignited and flamed against his as he worked me out of my coat. My blood roared in my ears and burned in my veins. Then he pulled my shirt over my head and when his fingers brushed against my skin, sparks shot through my nervous system. My bra came off next, and my nipples stood up under his gaze, erupting from my smooth skin like perfect pink buds.
We moved as we undressed. Except for my panties, I was naked by the time we reached the bedroom doorway. JC lost his pants in the threshold then lifted me up and carried me to the edge of the bed. He set me down, tenderly, but not too gently. His every kiss—in fact, every caress—was thoughtful and affectionate but still rough and demanding the way I’d come to expect from him. The way I liked it. The way I loved it.
The way I loved him.
I jerked as the thought penetrated through the haze of passion and landed with a thud in the spotlight of my consciousness. I loved him. Goddammit. I completely loved him.
JC lifted his head from the spot he’d been sucking on my neck. “Are you okay?”
My stomach was twisting and my heart was racing and my skin felt like it was on fire. “Yeah. I think that maybe I finally am.”
He smiled, accepting my answer easily as he pulled my panties off of me. He pushed my knees apart and bent down to the floor. Then he buried his head between my thighs, swiping his tongue along my folds and around my clit. His hands massaged up and down my calves as he continued to work me, teasing me to the edge of orgasm, taunting me until the world began to tilt and spin.
Just as I started to fall under, he stood and scooted me back on the bed. He studied me as he stroked himself. I could see the gleam of pre-cum already on his cock, and I wanted it on me. In me. Wanted him to mark me and take me.
Because I was his now. Already. Completely. All he needed to do was claim me.
As he lowered himself over me and pushed into my wet channel, I pretended that he was doing just that. I pretended that it meant everything I wanted it to mean. Whether it did or didn’t, I couldn’t know. So as it was happening, I pretended that I could know. Pretended that I did know exactly what he meant with each thrust that rammed into me.
It was beautiful. It was poetry. The way he moved and touched me. The way he took care of me. The way he kissed me—God, the way he didn’t stop kissing me.
He didn’t question me the way he usually did. Didn’t push me to tell him how I felt or how he made me feel. I was telling him anyway—without words—with my mouth, with my body, with my eyes, with the soft sounds of pleasure that sang in the back of my throat. Yes, you feel good inside me. You fit my pussy so perfectly. You make me come so hard.
And I did come so hard. Hard and long, clenching around his cock, milking him. Then he was the one who told me, “God, you feel so good, Gwen. Squeeze me like that. Just like that.” His movement stuttered as I tightened, but he grabbed my hips and found a new rhythm. “Again, Gwen. Let’s go together next time.”
I pulled my knees in and wrapped my ankles around his waist so that he could drive deeper. The shift in angle let his cock hit me in all the right places, let his pelvis grind against me with just the right pressure. But it wasn’t only the new stimulation that sent me soaring toward my next climax. It was his eyes, locked with mine. As open as my body was to him at the moment, it was JC’s soul that was open to me. He spoke secrets in that look. He told me things I wasn’t supposed to know. He told me that I wasn’t what he planned. He told me that I was everything he needed. He told me that he wasn’t fucking—that he was making love.
I’m sure I said all the same things back. I’m sure I said more. And when I went again, it was with him, my orgasm crashing and mingling with his so completely that I couldn’t tell which sounds were his and which were mine. Couldn’t tell if it was my heart pounding in my chest or his pounding against mine. Couldn’t tell whether it was me sobbing into his skin or him sobbing into mine.
But what I did know was that we’d flown together. He’d loosened me before this. Today, whatever fetters had caged him, they’d been released as well, and we met there in the sky, wild and free, two birds that had been imprisoned too long.
***
He held me long after we’d settled, sweeping light strokes down my back with his fingers and intermittently kissing my forehead. Our legs tangled together and our chests fell and rose in tandem. We never cuddled after sex, and while it hadn’t been awkward before, this was the easiest we’d ever been.
There was a part of me that was tempted to analyze the situation, wonder what the day meant for our future and try to interpret whether or not I was okay with the change. Whether he was okay with the change.
But I didn’t let myself fall into that. Maybe JC’s efforts to teach me to let loose had really taken a hold of me. Or maybe I just didn’t want to face the possible reality of our relationship. Either way, I let myself linger in his touch, in his scent, in his embrace. Let myself enjoy the exploration of my lover that he’d never allowed before.
“What does this say?” I asked after a while, my hand dancing across the tattoo on his torso. “It’s Chinese, right?”
“Japanese. ‘The current age is but a brief moment in the greater scope of existence.’”
“Um…what?”
He chuckled and I liked the pleasant way my nipples rubbed against his chest as he did. “It basically means live for today. It’s Buddhist.”
I put my hand on his chest and rested my chin on it to look up at him. “Are you Buddhist?” It seemed like I’d have figured this out already if he were. Like, shouldn’t there be tantric sex or something? That was a Buddhist thing, wasn’t it? Maybe that’s what we’d been having. I was so ignorant about Eastern religion.
But he shook his head. “No. I just liked the sentiment.”
Live for today was the epitome of my relationship with JC. “It fits you. That’s for sure.” I couldn’t see the image on his bicep in the position we were in, but I asked about it next. “And the compass? What made you get that one?”
He raised his arm and looked at the black etched compass, as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “Don’t you think it’s cool?”
“Actually, it’s rather hot.” I’d never known I liked tattooed men until I’d seen JC strip, but now I realized that inked men hit my buttons.
Or maybe just JC hit my buttons.
He returned his arm to my back and smirked. “I can live with hot.”
I wouldn’t doubt that he’d earned the attention of plenty of women with both the positioning and choice of image. Yet, I doubted that he’d gotten it in hopes of hooking up. He didn’t need skin art for that.
I tapped his chest playfully. “But does it mean something? Why did you get it?”
He groaned as if he didn’t want to tell me. After scrubbing his hand over his face, he said, “Honestly? I don’t know. I was drunk.”
“You drunk-tattooed?”
“It’s why I don’t drink anymore. I do crazy things and have no recollection. Once when I was drinking, I remember wanting street tacos. Next thing I know, I was waking up in a cantina in Mexico.”
His eyes sparkled when he talked, and I bet that mine sparkled with his. “You woke up with a compass tattoo?”
“The compass was another drunken event.” His tone said he was still embarrassed about it. “I’d never even considered a compass before it showed up on my arm.”
“At least you didn’t pick a flower or a MOM tattoo. Drunk JC has good taste.”
“I can’t even think about what I could have gotten. Like I said, no more alcohol for me.”
“You don’t drink?” I was asking so many questions. Too many probably, but it felt so liberating to finally get them past my lips. And his answers…I drank them up like they were the only water on a deserted island.
“I’ll have an occasional glass of wine, but nothing harder unless I want to lose several hours of my life and end up as the real life study for the next Hangover movie.”
“Hey, those are good movies.” I ran my fingers across the grid of letters on his forearm. Four rows that spelled out a date—December seventeenth. Had he flinched as I touched it? Or was that just my imagination? This was the tattoo that interested me the most. The one that I was sure shed the most light on the man I’d unexpectedly fallen for. “Is this one also the result of overindulging?”
“No. That one’s not.” He brushed against a spot on my back. “What’s this from?”
“What?” I looked over my shoulder, but I already knew what he was talking about. I hadn’t thought about it in a while, and since it was under my blade, I didn’t see it all the time to remind me of its existence.
“This mark.” He leaned up so he could see it better. “Is it a scar?”
“Yeah, it is.” But I wanted to know more about his tattoo. “So what’s important about December seventeenth?” He’d said his birthday was in July, so it wasn’t that. What kind of a date would a man mark on his skin? Someone else’s birthday. An anniversary. A date that he fell in love. Like I could so easily have today’s date tattooed on my body. It would already forever be tattooed on my heart.
I couldn’t help but think his date had to do with a woman.
But maybe that was only because I was a woman and because my imagination was limited. Or I was looking for a reason to be jealous.
JC completely ignored my question, which only made me more convinced it was about a woman, and asked his own. “How did you get your scar?”
I wondered if we were playing a game of bluff. Who would tell the story they didn’t want to tell first? Except he’d already told me the story behind two of his tattoos. It was probably my turn. Quid pro quo and all.
I bit my lip then said, “I did something stupid.”
“What was that?”
“Made my dad mad.” I’d been wearing a bikini to sun in the yard. I’d known he wouldn’t like me doing it, but I’d done it anyway, hoping he wouldn’t catch me. But he did. I was twelve and he’d accused me of dressing like a prostitute. He’d picked up a loose board from the fence, not realizing there was a nail in it. Or maybe not caring. When he smacked it across my back, the nail caught in my bare skin and pulled a deep gash. It should have had stitches, hence why it had scarred so badly. I’d been lucky to not get tetanus, because he never took me in to have it looked at.
It wasn’t something I told people. I didn’t like the pitying looks I got when they found out my father beat his kids. Worse was when they could no longer look at me at all. It’s surprising how many folks can’t deal with other people’s tragedy. Like it’s contagious or something.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to JC to know either. But he’d asked, and I wanted to be honest with him more than I wanted to hide the ugly parts of me. Wanted to show him that he could be honest with me.
“Your dad did this?”
I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” I prepared myself to answer more.
But JC surprised me. Putting two fingers under my chin, he leaned up and kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that said what words couldn’t say. It said I’m sorry this happened to you, but it didn’t come off patronizing. It said Let me make it better, while doing exactly that.
It was the best balance of compassion and understanding that I’d ever received in regards to my past abuse.
I was so grateful and moved by it that I quickly let it grow. I slipped my tongue deep into his mouth and shifted my body on top of his. His gentle caresses turned rougher, more desperate, as he sucked and nipped at my lips. His cock stiffened under my belly, and without breaking our kiss, I drew my knees up to straddle him. Still wet from earlier, I slid down, sheathing him easily.
I pulled away from his kiss, sitting back to ride him, my palms flat on his chest. This position was outside my comfort zone, and it took a few minutes for me to establish any sort of a rhythm. JC had been right when he’d guessed that I liked to hand over the control in the bedroom. But maybe he needed that from me sometimes too. Even if he didn’t need it, I wanted to show him that I could be versatile. For him. That I could give as well as take.
It was different being in charge. I had to shift a few times before I found the angle that hit where I liked when JC usually found it immediately. With me on top, he could touch me in ways he normally couldn’t. As soon as his thumb landed on my clit, the pressure began to build, low and warm. Spreading over me and through me, gathering momentum until it felt like I could soar.
Suddenly he sat up, burying his face between my breasts. “Oh, Gwen…”
I slowed as he kissed around one of my nipples. Then his eyes fastened to mine, and he said, “I can’t decide if you came along at the best time or the worst.”
He tugged my knees higher, forcing my ass to sit back so I sat more firmly on his cock. Gripping my hips, he took over, knocking my clit just right as he rocked me against him. “Right now, I’m just glad that you came along.”
His words were all I needed to spur my climax. It hit me, bowling me over, as though it hadn’t given me any warning, despite the fact that it really had. Much the way falling in love with JC had hit me. All the signs had been there. Still, I’d refused to see it coming on.
And what could I do about it now? Nothing except ride the wave the same way that I was riding the crest of my orgasm. It shattered through me. It wracked me and wrecked me. Yet in the end, as I dug my fingers into JC’s shoulders and felt him pound through my resistance, I was better for it. I was calmed and pieced together. I was made new. I was made whole.
***
We slept after.
We dozed away the afternoon, wrapped around each other.
When I woke up, the room was dim and JC wasn’t in the bed next to me. I sat up and felt better as soon as I found him in the armchair, fully dressed, watching me. He sat with his legs outstretched, ankles crossed, like when I first met him. Yet his back was straight and his shoulders tight.
Before any words were spoken, I could tell things were different.
“What time is it?” I asked, hoping my half-asleep state was causing me to misread.
He smiled, and while it was sincere, it was weak. “Almost eight,” he said. “I was just going to wake you.”
“Yeah. I need to get home and get ready for work.” I’d have just enough time if I didn’t have too much trouble getting a cab. Focus on that, I told myself. On the responsibilities I had. I didn’t have time to dissect what was going on here.
“I called a taxi for you.” How he could always read my mind, I’d never know.
It struck me that if he had called for a ride before waking me that he’d either wanted to make sure I got as much sleep as possible or he’d wanted as little time with me as possible. I hoped it was the former. But, from the awkward distance between us, I feared it was the latter.
“All your things are there.” He nodded to the bottom of the bed where he’d laid out my clothes. Was the gathering of my things a kind gesture or a hint? “I’ll let you get dressed.” He stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
I dressed quickly, knowing if I slowed down I’d have time to analyze, and I was afraid I’d be emotional and jump to conclusions. Just because he seemed distant now didn’t mean I’d imagined how things were earlier. And it didn’t mean he regretted it either. It could simply mean he knew I needed to leave. Knew that he’d be a distraction if he didn’t give me space.
Still, shutting the door seemed like such a blatant statement. Impudent, even. Separating me from him. Shutting himself off. Shutting himself down. It stung, and my eyes blurred with tears.
Say ouch.
I blinked them away.
When I came out of the bedroom, JC was leaning against the back of the couch. Waiting for me, it seemed. Waiting for me to leave maybe. I spotted his suitcase by the door. “Are you still going to L.A. tonight?”
He gave a short nod. “My car will be here soon. I’ll be right behind you.”
“We could share an elevator.”
“I’ll catch the next one.”
So his bags were packed and his ride was coming, and yet he wasn’t going to ride down to the lobby with me. Had I done something so wrong that he couldn’t even spend another few minutes with me? If he had something to do without me around, he could just tell me. This distinct coldness was brutal.
At least he saw me to the door. I paused, my fingers wrapped around the handle, to search his face. So badly I wanted to see the man I’d spent the day with. When I really studied his eyes, I thought maybe I saw him.
Maybe.
He sighed. And when he did, he softened. Then for sure I glimpsed the guy I’d made love to all afternoon. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the closet. “We broke a lot of rules today, Gwen.”
It occurred to me that maybe he didn’t realize I was okay with the change. “Rules were made to be broken.” I winked, trying to adopt the lighter character that usually belonged to him.
He smiled weakly. “Some of them.”
My chest sank and I wasn’t able to hide the disappointment from my face.
He rushed at me, cradling my face in his hands. “Don’t, Gwen. We’ll sort things out next time, okay?”
I leaned into his touch, and all doubts quieted when he brushed his lips against mine. We didn’t usually part with a kiss. It was a sign. Things were okay. All was well.
He was probably just overwhelmed. Like I was overwhelmed. We didn’t have a chance to figure out what should happen between us next. What did I expect? That he’d fall at my feet and profess his love in the fifteen minutes we had before I needed to leave? I certainly wasn’t about to.
So.
Like he’d said, we’d sort it out next time. Right now he was still trying to get a handle on the concept of us. Whether love fit into our carefully constructed non-attached worlds. Whether we’d met at the best or the worst time.
To be fair, I was still trying to get a handle on it as well.
Best or worst time. For me, it would always be the worst time. But did it even matter? Somehow it seemed to matter very much. To JC. Mattered that it wasn’t the best time. That it wasn’t an ideal time.
So despite how upbeat I tried to be, when I walked out of the hotel room, alone, I couldn’t help but wonder if it might be the last time.