Thirteen
Amelia
I woke up to a warm body at my back and a hand moving across my belly. Still in a pleasant sleep fog, I lay there for a long minute, enjoying the sensation that was half-comfort and half a complete turn-on. "Johnnie?"
"Yeah, angel," he said, his voice a little husky and I was pretty sure I felt his lips press into my hair. "You want me to stop?" he asked, his hand moving dangerously low on my belly before snaking off toward my hip and moving down my thigh.
Did I? I knew I should have wanted him to stop. He was dangerous for a normal twenty-six year old woman. So for a twenty-six year old freak who kept everyone too much at a distance to ever even consider the possibility of sex, yeah, well, he was positively perilous. But his breath was warm on my neck and his hands had my skin aching for more.
"I don't know yet," I said honestly.
"When you do know, let me know, okay?" he said, his hand moving back up my belly, his fingertips brushing against the underside of my breast.
"'Kay," I heard myself say, taking a deep breath.
"Want to roll over so I can kiss that sweet mouth?"
"'Kay," I said again, rolling in his arms. His eyes were on mine, a little hooded, but nothing like mine felt. I could barely keep mine open. And my entire body felt foreign, tingly. It was like being drunk, though sweeter, but no less out of control. My body was disconnected from the part of me that knew we shouldn't kiss again, the part that knew it wouldn't stop at kissing.
But then his hand was stroking my cheek and his face was lowered toward mine and I didn't even think anymore at all. His lips pressed into mine hard, but undemanding. I sank against him, my hands grabbing his arms and holding on as his tongue pressed into my mouth. I sighed into it, my tongue becoming bold, a growl escaping his lips spurring me on. His arm went around my hips as he moved onto his back, rolling me on top of him. My legs slipped between his, my hands moving up to cup his face as my mouth got hungry on his, biting into his lower lip, as his hands roamed my body. They toyed with my hair, then down my back, cupping my butt.
He knifed upward, taking me with him so he was sitting up and I was straddling his waist. His lips moved from mine, kissing down my neck. "You always spark like this?" he asked, his voice almost rough.
"No," I sighed, tilting my head to give him better access.
"Just for me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he sucked hard at the spot where my neck met my shoulder.
"Yes," I agreed because it was true.
Between my thighs, I could feel his erection pressing hard against me and my hips instinctively jerked forward, feeling him rub against my clit and ripping a strangled moan from me. Johnnie's head pulled backward, watching my face as he rocked against me, hitting the sweet spot again and making me gasp. Then I was gasping for an entirely different reason as I suddenly went flying backward, landing with a slight bounce against the mattress. Johnnie's hands moved up my calves, my thighs, across my hips. His fingers dipped into the waistline of my pants, pushing open the button and undoing the zip with a quickness that was almost unsettling. I felt his fingers slide into my panties. They had just barely brushed the triangle above my sex when my mind snapped back into place, making me jerk violently away from him.
"Whoa," he said, pulling his hand out of my panties and holding them both up at me, palms out. "Okay." My hands went up, covering my face as I made a strange whimper. "Baby, hey," he said, taking my wrists and pulling my hands from my face. "It's alright. We'll stop."
I pulled my wrists from him and pushed to sit up, turning and sitting off the end of the bed, my back to him. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a strange cocktail of want, of need, mixed with a strong dose of fear with a embarrassment chaser.
"Don't be sorry," he said and his body slid behind me, his legs wrapping around the outsides of mine, his head coming to rest on my shoulder, his arms tight around my belly. God, why did he have to be so good? It made everything all the more confusing and complicated. Because it was easy to dislike a bad boy; it was simple to dismiss a shameless manwhore. But as much as Johnnie was those things, he was more. He had a depth I didn't let myself see before, afraid of liking the huge well of potential I would find there. "I'm not bleedin'," he said oddly.
"What?"
"Know you think you cut me. I ain't bleeding, angel. Shouldn't be sorry for saying no."
"I don't want to lead you on."
"Honey, I'll take whatever you are willing to give me and I won't be angry about not getting more."
"I'm not a tease," I said moving away to stand, facing him.
"I never said you were."
"I'm..." Oh, god, was I really going to tell him?
"Amelia, you don't need to..."
"I'm a virgin." Okay, apparently I was going to tell him.
His shoulders dropped, his mouth opening slightly, his eyes going a little wide like it was the last thing he was expecting to come out of my mouth. Which was warranted. Who the hell was a virgin in their mid-twenties besides religious freaks and really unfortunate looking people? His brows drew together as he reached out and snagged my wrist again, pulling me into the open space between his legs. "You're a virgin?" he asked, his voice an odd little whisper.
"Yes," I said, swallowing hard as his finger moved across the pulse point in my wrist.
"Aw honey," he said, giving me a sweet smile and pulling me to him as he laid back down, then rolled us onto our sides.
"I know it's weird..." I started, uncomfortable with the silence.
"Just 'cause it's not common doesn't mean it's weird," he countered, stroking my hair off my neck.
"Says the slut," I said with a teasing smile, needing to lighten the mood which felt unnervingly weighted. "When did you lose it?"
He snorted a little, giving me a grin. "Fifteen."
"Seriously?" I yelped.
"It was a Mrs. Robinson situation."
"Do I even want to ask?"
"Ms. Nafta."
"Bobby's mother?" I screeched.
"She was a babe back then. Just divorced; on the prowl."
"You were fifteen!" I objected, grossed out.
"And horny as a rabbit," he agreed with a wink.
"Gross."
His smile spread for a second as his hand landed on the side of my neck and rested there. "Angel," he started, his voice more serious than I was used to it being, but it was still almost unnervingly soft. "You've held onto this for a fuckuva long time. If you're keeping it for someone special, I understand and I respect that more than you'd know. That being said, honey, if you think you'd want to give that to me... I'd make sure it wasn't something you'd regret." He let that rest for a moment, let it settle in. "But don't mistake that for expectations. Okay?"
I wet my lips, swallowing past the lump that was suddenly lodged in my throat. "Okay."
"Okay. Now I think we should get outta bed, yeah?"
"Yeah," I agreed, pretty sure I was seconds away from crying out 'take me, take me!'. Getting out of bed was definitely a good idea.
He rolled up fast and I followed more slowly. In the living room, his phone started buzzing and he went in search of it. "Make yourself at home, darlin'," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared.
Following instructions, I went into the bathroom, splashed some cool water on my face, tried to settle my nerves. What man handled news like that the way he did? I remembered the guys I tried to date in high school and college. I remembered their reaction being something like a country salivating at the idea of sticking their flag in new soil. They wanted to be the conquering party. They wanted to go where no man had gone before. To them, that was nothing. It was a different kind of notch to have in their bedpost; it was a story to tell their boys over beers: 'Oh yeah, took her V-card. Man, she was so fucking tight!'. Can't say that was exactly the kind of attitude that prompted leg-spreading.
But the way Johnnie responded? Perfection. It didn't sound like some challenge to him. If anything, he made it sound like it was a gift, like it was something precious he would count himself lucky to receive.
How the hell was I supposed to resist that?
I sighed, turning off the light in the bathroom and walking through the apartment, Johnnie's voice a quiet, but not secretive sound coming from the living room so I felt safe enough to venture out. He gave me a small smile as he paced in front of the front windows that overlooked the street and I moved into the kitchen, finding a glass and filling it with water.
"You hungry, baby?" he asked, coming into the kitchen and I hadn't even heard him end his call. "We'll order in."
"No... I can... make something," I supplied, moving toward the fridge. It was the least I could do with him helping me with my problems. Besides, I wasn't used to take-out. There weren't many options for it back home so I always cooked my own dinner. But when I opened his fridge, all I found was a six pack of beer, a Chinese food carton, and a bottle of ketchup. "I'm guessing you don't cook," I said, closing the door and turning around to see him grinning.
"Honey unless it's coming in a can or a take-away container, I'm not eating."
"But... don't you miss home cooked meals?"
"Been a long fuckin' time since I had one so I don't know. I mean Breaker can grill a steak, but that's about it."
"Can I cook for you?" I asked, the words coming out bolder than I felt.
"You wanna cook for me?" he asked, ducking his head, almost looking a little... sheepish.
"I mean... I, um, like cooking and..."
"You wanna cook for me," he said, this time with much more certainty and a hint of amusement. "Okay. You can cook for me. Gotta get some supplies so I need to go put on a shirt 'less I offend that stupid 'no shoes, no shirt' policy."
"I think they'd make an exception for you." Oh. My. God. I did not just say that out loud! What the heck was wrong with me?
"Like my body, huh?" he asked with a boyish grin I both wanted to slap off his face and take a picture of so I never forgot it.
"It's just... you know... with all the tattoos... it's practically like a shirt," I fumbled dumbly, only succeeding in making the grin spread.
"I like your body too," he said with a wink as he went toward his bedroom to, presumably, grab a shirt.
"Don't look at me like that," I said at Millie who had jumped up on the counter somewhere in the middle of my rambling. I swear she was giving me a look that said, 'could you be any more awkward?'. Judgmental furbag. "You don't have to talk to him. You don't understand."
"Talking to the cat?" Johnnie's voice asked, sounding amused as he walked back in with a plain black v-neck tee on.
"She was silently judging me," I defended on a self-deprecating smile.
"Hey, she was all for me sending you some chrysanthemums."
"Chrysanthemums?" I asked as he led me out into the hallway.
"Yeah I told her that roses were more likely to say 'sorry for being a dick'."
I watched his back as I followed him down the stairs. "You weren't a ... you know."
"Dick," he said, stopping at the bottom landing and watching me. "Come on, you can say it." I pressed my lips together for a minute. Of course I could say it; it just felt weird. He threw an arm around my shoulders, leading me out to the street. "Don't worry. Stick with me and you'll be a master of cuss words, darlin'."
"Not sure that's something I aspire to," I said, stopping when he did beside a sleek black car that I knew enough about cars to know it cost about as much as my college tuition had. "This is yours?"
"Keep your tongue in your mouth," he said, opening the door for me. "Don't want drool all over the seats."
"Ha ha," I said, slipping in, worrying more than a little bit of the possibility of my shoes being dirty.
"Relax," he said, getting in the driver's seat. "It's just a car."
"It costs more than some people's homes."
"Still just a car," he said dismissively and I got to sit and wonder how much one got paid for shooting someone. Apparently it was a lot judging by the apartment and the car.
"Do you like it here?" I asked, watching the endless stores pass by.
I felt his eyes on my profile. "It's home." I felt myself nodding at that, though I wasn't exactly familiar with the concept. "How about you? You like it in Alabama?"
I felt my shoulder shrug. "It's nice there."
"That's not an answer." I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to find a way to explain it. "It's just not home," he said simply and it was exactly the right thing to say.
"I guess. It wasn't bad when..." I trailed off, uncomfortable talking about my friendship with Ben when Johnnie had such bad blood there.
"When my Pops was around. You know honey," he said, pulling us into the grocery store parking lot, "you need to have people. I know you have your walls up and you have reasons for that, but it's no way to live."
"I guess you're more well adjusted than me, huh?" I asked, thinking of how much damage it must have done to him to be so abused by his father. But despite that, he managed to start over, build a new life, let people get close to him. We got out of the car in a silence that felt uncomfortable. Johnnie's hand went around my hips and stayed there, steady and familiar, like we walked like that all the time. "Hold on, I need to get a buggy," I said, trying to pull away as he led me toward the doors.
"A... buggy?" he asked, his lips twitching.
"To... put the food in..." I said, not understanding what was so funny.
"Call 'um 'carts' up here, pumpkin," he informed me.
"Cart, carriage, buggy... whatever you want to call it, we need one," I said with a wave of my hand. "What?" I asked when all he did was stand there and smile at me.
"You're kinda cute." I shook my head at him, turning and going back to grab the darn cart. Johnnie walked beside me as we moved through the produce section. I was just putting a bag of green beans in the cart when he leaned in close and whispered in my ear like it was some big secret, "We look like a couple." I felt myself jolt at the words, not sure what he meant by that. Was that a good thing? Was it a bad thing? Was it just an observation? "You know, you could just ask," he told me, arms behind his back as we moved toward the meat department.
"Ask what?"
"Whatever it is you're thinking when those little lines go between your brows."
"Some thoughts are private," I countered, bending over to look at the pork chops to avoid having to look him in the eye. He said nothing as I picked out my selection and placed it in the cart. When I started walking again, his hands were no longer clasped behind his back. I knew this because his hand was suddenly behind my back, as in tucked inside my back pocket, as in resting on my butt. I froze mid-stride, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "We can't walk through the store with your hand on my butt," I whisper-yelled at him.
"Sure we can," he said on a shrug, squeezing my butt for emphasis.
"It's inappropriate," I objected as he started pushing the cart with his free hand, making me walk forward with him.
"Yep," he agreed.
"People are looking at us," I tried, because they were and it was borderline mortifying.
"Sure are," he agreed and I could see he was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.
"This isn't funny."
"Honey," he said, suddenly turning me and pressing my back against the glass of a freezer, crushing my body against it with his, his hand still in my back pocket, "not like I got my hands in your panties. People want to look, let them look. They're probably just jealous 'cause they got no ass to grab or their husband hasn't grabbed theirs in a decade. Fuck what everyone else thinks." With that, he stepped away and resumed his casual cart pushing, firm hand on my behind as he smiled huge at anyone who dared looked our way.
Fuck what everyone else thinks. I wondered if that was some motto of his. Judging by his tats and piercings and the unusual modern-day punk way he dressed, I figured that was probably the case. I was never that kind of person. I always worried, always wondered what people were thinking about me or saying about me. I always molded my behavior so that they didn't have much to work off of. And, quite honestly, it was exhausting. How nice it must be for him to not fret like that over every little thing. How much head space that must have cleared up.
"Buttermilk?" I asked as he slipped it into the cart.
"You're making me homemade biscuits," he informed me.
"Oh I am, am I?" I asked, smiling a little.
"Of course you are," he said, nudging my shoulder with his.
And it was right then, right there in the cold aisle in an unfamiliar grocery store when a thought hit me that made me feel almost light-headed. And that thought was: I liked this. I liked shopping for food with him. I liked his familiar friendliness. I liked his boyish presumptuousness. Heck, I even liked his hand on my butt. I could do it, this exact thing, I could do it with him every week for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. That was freaking terrifying.
"Uh oh," he said, tugging me out of my head. "There's those lines again," he said, reaching out and touching them.
"I was just thinking. Stop watching me; it's creepy."
"About damn time you got yourself a nice girl," a female voice called from behind me and Johnnie's face immediately lit up. "Parading around town with all those short skirts with nothing but air between their ears." Johnnie turned me, but did not remove his hand from my pocket to face the woman. She was middle aged (or just past) with dark hair and light, almost see-through green eyes that were unmistakably familiar. This tiny little slip of a woman was Paine's mother. "Manners," she said to Johnnie with a lifted brow and he had the good sense to look sheepish. "Mama Gina, this is Amelia. Amelia, this is Gina. She's..."
"Paine's mother," I supplied, offering my hand which she accepted. "I met your son yesterday. He was nice enough to, um, walk me to... my door."
"He's a good boy when he lifts himself from whatever stranger's bed he tumbled into," she said frankly, but with very little animosity and I was left wondering why it wasn't weird that she knew her son was a, well, whore. "Good to see Shoot here settling down," she said and Johnnie didn't move to correct her and I felt it wasn't my place to do so. "Maybe it will rub off on my son. Whoring around is cute and all in your twenties. Not so much in your thirties. You cooking for him?" she asked me, nodding toward the cart.
"Yes, ma'am," I answered with a small smile.
"Lose this one and I'm coming over and tearing you a new one," she said to Shooter, who smiled. "Don't let his reputation fool you, he's a good boy. Just needed a good woman to calm him down. You guys have a nice meal. Amelia," she added, stopping mid-turn, "have Shoot bring you to dinner at my place sometime."
"Yes, ma'am," Johnnie answered immediately, leaving me almost sputtering at him as she walked away. "What?" he asked, looking innocent.
"You shouldn't tell her you'll bring me when you know you won't."
"Who says I won't?"
"Johnnie..."
"Look," he said, charming smile falling away, looking suddenly all-business. "I'm not the kinda man to pussyfoot around shit. I think it, I feel it, I say it. So I'm saying this and I don't care if it freaks you out. I don't care if it permanently etches those lines between your brows. I like you, honey."
"You don't even know me," I countered automatically, a swirling feeling starting in my belly that was scary, but in an almost good way that I knew could only mean trouble.
"I like the way you try to put me in my place. I like that you know how to cook and bake. I like that you're passionate about helping people you don't even know. I like the way you hate my fuckin' cat. I like the way you filled out those jean shorts the first day I met you and the way you fill out a sundress even better. I like the way some of your smiles can mean 'fuck you' and I like the way your voice dips low and shy when you're unsure of yourself. Babe, how the fuck much more do I need to simply declare that I like it?" He did sort of have a point. "And know what else, angel?"
"What?" I asked, not given much of a choice.
"I think you like me too."
"I don't know..." I started.
"Babe," he said, shaking his head at me like I was trying his patience. "You know I was beat as a kid. You know I ran away from home to escape that shit. You know my dad was a fuck and you know I never let that go. You know I was a spiteful little shit sending him scotch every month, hoping he was drowning himself in it. You know I have the mouth of a sailor. You know I kill people for a living. You know all that bad shit and you still like me."
I swallowed hard against the realization that he was right. I knew all of that, all those dark and unlikeable parts of him and, despite myself, I did still like him. "You're... ah... pretty sure of yourself," I went with, not quite comfortable admitting the truth to myself, let alone him.
"What's not to be sure about?" he asked, giving me his boyish, cocky smile as he gestured toward his body as if maybe sensing that he was pushing too hard and I was pulling away. "Is it too much to expect you to make loaded sweet potatoes for dinner?" he asked as he finally released my butt and put both hands on the cart, leaving me to walk beside it, letting me have the space I needed.
"We have to go back and get the ingredients," I relented and his smile absolutely did not warm me up from the inside out.
"Marry me," he said, mouth still full of his first bite of dinner.
"Good?" I asked, feeling a swell of pride well up in my chest. I never really had anyone to cook for except his father and that was so different. It was an entirely new feeling to know a guy that you realized you had some feelings for liked your cooking.
"Baby..." he said, drawing out the word like it meant more than an endearment. When I held my hands out like I needed more than that, he smiled. "Know what?"
"No, what?"
"Only one thing I've had in my life that is better than this meal," he started, smile going downright devilish. "And that's your pussy." I felt the place in question tighten almost painfully, my mouth falling open. "In fact, the only way to make this dinner better is to get some of that for dessert."
"Johnnie," I tried, shaking my head, not sure how one was supposed to respond to a comment like that.
"Nope. Accept it. I'm getting my face between your thighs within the next hour," he declared, stabbing a bit of loaded sweet potato and bringing it up to his mouth.
I reached for the wine he had stopped on the way home to buy and took a sip as I tried to reason with the chaos between my legs that was very much in agreement with Johnnie's plans for the evening. "Be serious," I tried, rolling my eyes.
"Gonna eat your right here on this table," he declared, putting his hand on the surface as I pushed my thighs together under the table, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Johnnie..."
"If there's anything I'm fuckin' serious about, angelface, it's how much I like getting you off. So you're gonna be a good girl and climb up here when we're finished eating and I am going to show you just how much I appreciate you cookin' for me. And I'm gonna do that by running my tongue up that sweet, wet pussy of yours until you come so hard you forget your own name." He paused, watching my face for a while before he let the intensity fall from his gaze. "Now let's talk about this potato..."
"The... potato?" I parroted back at him, not quite comprehending the turn in conversation.
"Yeah, honey, the potato..." he said, smiling down at his food like he was enjoying my momentary loss of functioning brain power.
"Johnnie I..."
"For instance, does it taste this good when it is reheated?"
"Reheated?"
"Yeah 'cause I changed my mind."
"About what?"
"About the order of my meal. I think I want dessert first," he declared, slowly moving out of his seat and walking around the table toward me.
"You can't be..."
"Serious?" he finished, reaching down and pulling my fork out of my hand, letting it clank loudly against my plate as he pulled me out of my seat. "Oh, I can be. In fact, I am," he said, hands moving to my pants and making short work of my button and zip. His hands went inside slightly to snag my panties too and dragged both layers down my legs as I stood there too shocked to react. "Fucking love these thighs," he declared, running a hand up one.
And that was, perhaps, the only thing he could have said to snap me out of my weird little brain fog. "What? They're fat," I said automatically, my disdain for the thighs in question very clear in my tone.
"Fat?" he repeated, eyes scrunching up.
"Yes, fat."
His forehead fell to mine and his whole body started shaking and it took me a second to realize he was laughing. He was laughing at me!
"What are you laughing at?" I asked, my voice taking on a shrill edge.
"You," he declared, moving back an inch and reaching out to boop my nose.
"I don't like being laughed at," I said, lowering my eyes at him.
"Then stop being so silly."
"I'm not being silly."
"Baby, if you think your thighs are fat, then you're definitely being silly."
"I'm being honest," I countered, not sure why I felt the need to fight with him to convince him to buy into my insecurity.
"So we're being honest. Then let me be honest," he said, pulling back so that the only part of us that was touching was our feet. "I've had a lot of women in my life. I've had every fucking body type: short, tall, skinny, muscular, soft. And they're all good, baby. They all have their own sort of appeal. But me? I like me the kind of curves I can sink my fingers into. And, newsflash darlin', a lot of men do. So when I say I love your thighs, I ain't saying that because I want to get between them, I'm saying that because I fucking mean it. Don't you dare try to convince me that seeing something I like and telling you I like it is somehow me trying to be dishonest with you. Now all that being said, I am going to get between these thighs and I am going to love to feel them wrapped around my face while I eat your sweet pussy. So if we're done arguin' bout stupid shit, I'd like to get to that if you don't mind."
"Um..." I started, a little too stunned to say more because, really, how do you respond to something like that? How do you say thank you to someone for making a lifetime of insecurity vanish in a minute? "Thank..."
"Thank me by getting that sweet ass on this table already," he said, reaching for a napkin as I moved to do so, feeling awkward about having my bare butt on the table where we had just been eating a nice dinner. And then I looked to see what he was doing and he was tucking the napkin into the collar of his shirt.
"Oh my god... what are you..." I started, feeling my cheeks heat up as a strange, strangled laugh got caught at the back of my throat.
"Manners, baby," he declared with a wicked little wink.
"Oh my god stop. Seriously," I said, hands going up to cover my flaming cheeks.
In that position, I didn't see him lower himself to the floor beside my dangling feet. I did, however, feel him force my legs wide a split second before his tongue traced up my slick cleft. A shocked gasp exploded from my mouth as my hands dropped to the table, grabbing the edge almost painfully. His face tipped upward, looking devilish. "Got a problem with my dinner etiquette, honey?" he asked.
"N... no," I said, shakily.
"Good. Then lay back and wrap those thighs 'round me, baby," he demanded and I immediately moved to comply. After that, there was no more joking, no teasing. There was nothing but his tongue moving against me with such exquisite precision that I felt the pressure deep in my lower stomach get heavier, my thighs tighten around him. His tongue ring flicked over my clit and I moaned loudly, my hand swinging out and knocking something to the floor. Johnnie didn't so much as flinch he was so focused and I felt his hand snake up the inside of my thigh, pressing through my wet folds and pausing at the entrance to my body. I felt myself tense, but his finger just stayed there for a moment, pulsing against the opening but not pressing inside until I felt the uncertainty slip away, replaced with a primal sort of knowledge that I needed to feel him inside. Then I didn't have to need it, because he was giving it to me. His finger slipped inside to the hilt, pausing for a moment as he sucked hard on my clit, before starting to thrust in and out of me, creating a friction that threatened to make me dumb.
"Johnnie..." I groaned, my hands going into his hair and holding on.
Inside me, his finger turned, crooking upward and stroking over the top wall, seeking the spot and finding it way too quickly, making my entire body spasm as I tightened around him. Against my flesh, he made some sort of humming growl that I swear vibrated all through my system. His tongue ring made another sweep as his finger dug into the spot a little harder and I just... shattered.
My entire body tensed as the orgasm broke through my system, drawing out a strangled cry as I rocked up into him, the pulsations strong and insistent as Johnnie kept stroking, kept licking, kept drawing it out.
My back flattened back against the table as I gasped for breath, my thighs shaking slightly as I forced my hands to untwist from his hair, one resting on the back of his neck, the other falling with a thump to the table beside me. Johnnie's finger slid out from me and his hands moved up to spread my thighs against the table as his mouth shifted to kiss down my thigh then up the other, sealing his approval deep into the marrow, making me realize I would never look at them with the same kind of derision that I used to.
Finally, one of his fists planted beside my hip and he pushed himself up, waiting for me to open my eyes. When I did, he pulled off the napkin and made a show of folding it and dabbing daintily at the corners of his mouth. "That was delicious. Time for the next course."
I choked on a laugh, shaking my head. "I hate you," I declared with a smile.
He chuckled, grabbing my arms and pulling me upward until I was sitting at the edge of the table again. His hands moved to cup my face, his thumb stroking over my lips before his head tilted down and touched his to mine, soft, sweet, until everything inside me felt melty and warm, until I felt him invade every part of me. As he moved away and I reached for my pants and panties, I had the blinding realization of how much it was going to hurt when he got ripped away again. And, make no mistake, that was exactly what was going to happen. Maybe not that day or the next or even the next week. But it was going to happen eventually.
He was going to walk away and there would be a Johnnie-sized hole inside me; a space I knew I would never be able to fill up. I knew this because I knew the feeling of watching a man you cared for walk away. I knew that kind of hurt deep. I knew that hurt from the seven year old perspective, watching the first man I cared about leave me. I heard that slamming door down to my soul and I swore I would never let myself feel that way again. I promised myself that I would never let another man leave an empty space inside me. But there I was, buttoning my pants and moving to sit across a table from a man who seemed oblivious to, or unconcerned by, the inevitable hollowness.
But, I guessed as I picked up my fork and ate food that settled like poison in my stomach, that was how it worked. The men walked away, moving on and creating more voids that the women would be left trying to fill... all the while knowing they never could.