TWENTY

A Soft Place to Land

I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been – both physically and emotionally – but as I wander around Nan’s apartment, I can’t relax. I end up eating beans out of a can for dinner, and then when Moby crawls onto his side of Nan’s bed and puts his head under his wing for the night, I clean. I scrub her bathroom until the smell of bleach makes me dizzy. I dust every surface in the living room. I even wash the floors. And still, I’m filled with a type of anxious restlessness I’ve never felt before.

Maybe staying here is a bad idea. Every time I turn around, I see a ghost of Nan as her beautiful, vibrant self, but that’s quickly followed by the memory of her in the hospital, frail and unconscious, dwarfed by the litany of machines around her.

I have to get out.

I make sure Moby’s food and water bowls are full, and then I lock up the apartment and just walk. The fresh night air helps a little, and the bustling streets of Brooklyn seem to quell my rising need for human connection. However, the longer I walk, the more I notice that everyone seems to have a place to go except for me. And someone to be with. I pass couples holding hands, couples sitting on park benches, couples looking lovingly at each other across tables in restaurants and cafés. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before how the whole damn world seems to be paired off, and the more I notice it, the more agitated I become.

No wonder single people become bitter. It’s like the universe is conspiring to make us feel defective. Every happy couple that passes is a slap in the face, as the world yells, “See? Look at the joy you’re missing out on. You think you’re content, but you’re not. Those two over there sucking face near the subway station – they’re the content ones. They have each other. You’re just alone and lonely, and trying to convince yourself you like it that way.”

I turn a corner and see a bar. “Oh, yes.”

Nothing like some hard liquor to dull stupid urges. I walk in and order a triple whiskey, no ice. The bartender gives me a look but complies. As soon as he hands it to me, I down the entire thing in three painful mouthfuls, which is an achievement considering I despise whiskey. “Thanks,” I say through a burning throat.

It tasted awful, but at least it has the desired effect of distracting me from deeper thoughts. I throw down some cash and go on my way.

As I turn east, I tell myself I’m wandering aimlessly, but I’m not. I try to be content in my aloneness, but I’m not. I contemplate calling Asha and sharing the burden of Nannabeth and how I’m feeling, but I don’t.

Instead, I see the familiar building in the distance and walk faster. By the time I climb the steps and stand outside the huge metal door, I’m puffing.

Emotions churning, I take a few deep breaths then knock. I can hear classical music coming from inside, as well the aroma of something cooking that smells delicious.

I hear footsteps, and then the door pulls back to reveal Max, devastatingly shirtless and barefoot in his jeans. For a moment, he seems surprised to see me, then relieved. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He waits for me to speak, and when I don’t he says, “Come in.”

I nod, and he steps aside, so I can enter. After he closes the door, he walks around to stand in front of me. The distance between us chafes. So does the silence.

“Eden?”

I look at my feet. It’s easier than looking at his face. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I do get lonely.”

He’s silent, but I can feel him staring at me. I see his bare feet poking out of the bottom of his jeans. They’re handsome, just like him. Large and attractive. When they move closer, I feel the heat of his whole body just inches away.

“Admitting it is the first step,” he says, his voice soft. “And?”

“And ... I guess tonight, I don’t feel like being alone. I want to be with someone.”

He’s so close now, his cheek grazes my temple, but still he doesn’t touch me. Warm breath against my ear makes me shiver when he talks. “Don’t do that. Don’t seek me out and pretend it’s just because you need someone. The world is full of someones. You came here because you needed me.”

He puts a hand on my waist, and I let him. “Say it, Eden. I promise, it doesn’t make you weak.”

“Yes, it does. Every time I’m with you, I’m weak, and getting weaker every second.”

He takes my hands and presses them flat into his chest. “There’s no shame in needing me. I need you, too.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together. Just let me help you.”

There comes a point where holding everything in is too hard. The pain of containing all of the things you don’t want to feel becomes too overwhelming, and as much as I despise crying, and as much as I try to stop the tears, they bully their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. I think tensing my jaw will stop them, but it doesn’t. I think digging my fingers into Max’s chest will help, but it doesn’t. My fear is too big for my body, and it squeezes out of me into the fresh air where it thrives and multiplies into giant, heaving sobs.

“I could l-lose her, Max.”

“You won’t. She’s strong.”

“She’s old. I’ll lose her and then ... the only person left on the planet who l-loves me, is Asha ... and she’ll be gone one day, too. Married and happy ... and I’ll be truly alone.”

“Never going to happen. Not while I’m around. Come here.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself feel comforted, and I let myself be weak and vulnerable. It’s so alien to me, I don’t recognize the tortured sounds I’m making. I haven’t cried like this since Mom’s funeral, and it’s just as painful now as it was then.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

This is what loving gets you. This expanding world of pain. Because no one stays forever. They all leave in the end.

“I can’t picture a world ... without N-Nan. I don’t kn-know who I am ... without her.”

Max holds me closer and strokes my back, and when he encourages me to let it all out, I do. I cling to him like he’s my life preserver. He whispers to me, tells me it’s going to be okay. Tells me I’m amazing and beautiful. For some reason, that makes me cry harder. I know I’m making his chest wet with my tears, but he doesn’t seem to care, so neither do I.

I don’t know how long we stand there, but it’s long enough that when I’m done, I’m so drained I practically fall asleep in his arms.

Without a word, he scoops me up and strides into the bedroom where he lays me down on the crisp, white duvet and pulls a blanket over me. Then he lies beside me and strokes the tears from my face, until I close my eyes and drift off.

* * *

The next morning, I wake to find myself wrapped around a half-naked and unconscious man. His arm is beneath my neck, and I’m snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, my hand resting on his stomach. I look down to see my bare leg draped over his. I vaguely remember struggling out of my jeans during the night to get more comfortable, and it seems Max did the same, because he’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs.

I close my eyes and suck in some deep breaths.

It takes me a moment to understand how I got to his loft and why I’m in his bed, but then it comes back in excruciating detail. Oh, yeah. I inflicted my mental and emotional breakdown on him. As I was blubbering all over his chest, he must have patted himself on the back for being attracted to a crazy woman.

I slowly move out of his arms and retreat to the other side of the bed. As mortifying as my ugly crying was, I can’t deny that I feel better today. The simmering anxiety that’s been with me since Nan’s accident has faded to a dull buzz rather than a deafening roar. Of course, I now have a different brand of anxiety brewing – the type that comes from my ever-expanding feelings for Max. Even watching him sleep inspires an uncomfortable level of affection.

I study his face, so relaxed as he dreams. He really is beautiful, and that has nothing to do with his chiseled jaw or perfect face. It’s because he has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. He thinks he used to be a terrible person, and maybe he was, but I don’t see that in him now. Everything he’s done for me since Nan’s accident proves it. I’ve never had a man want to take care of me like this before. And even though I’d like to believe I don’t need him, maybe I do. And maybe I can learn to be okay with that.

Goddammit. Why did he have to complicate everything by being so amazing?

I squeeze my eyes shut and lie flat on my back as an epiphany hits me, making the room spin.

Sometimes when self-awareness comes, it’s in shadows and stealth, like a cat; winding around your body until it settles in your chest, comforting and warm. And at other times, it crashes down like a sky-diving elephant looking for a soft place to land.

Right now, the elephant is sitting squarely on my heart, and its name is I’m in Love with This Man.

I drape my arm over my face and sigh.

Shit.

I wasn’t lying last night when I told Max I didn’t know how to do this. A real, grownup relationship is something I have zero experience with, and I’m sure that if there are a hundred different ways to fuck it up, I’ll find each and every one, plus a few no one’s ever thought of. Furthermore, avoiding fucking this up is something I have no time for while Nan’s sick, so if Max thinks I’m going to drop everything to become some perfect little girlfriend, he can just ...

I jump in surprise when a warm hand takes mine, and I open my eyes to see Max lying on his side, watching me as my heart skips several dozen beats.

“Sorry,” he says with an amused expression. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Maybe not, but your grin tells me you’re enjoying it, right?”

He gives a non-committal shrug. “The noise you made was cute. Like a gerbil having shock therapy.”

He looks down at our hands as he links his fingers through mine. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I run my other hand over his and allow myself to enjoy the soft brush of skin on skin. I’ve never thought twice about putting my hand in a man’s pants, but stroking Max’s fingers? It’s such an everyday gesture for most people, but for me it’s a whole new world of intimate contact.

“I feel a bit better,’ I say. ”Thanks to you. I’m sorry for falling apart. I don’t usually do that.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“Really?” I tuck some hair behind my ear. “I went full-on emotional disaster area. Can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.”

“I can.” He props his head up with his hand, and against my will, I stare at his bicep.

“Would you like to share?”

“Well, you did wake up once and look at me like I was an axe murderer waiting to kill you. Then recognition sank in, and you ... uh, well ... then you made yourself comfortable by putting your hand on my crotch.”

“Really?”

“Yep. At first, I thought you were making a semi-conscious pass at me, but no. You just put your hand there and went back to sleep.”

“Did you move my hand away?”

“No. Cupping that general area seemed to soothe you, which is the only reason I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Wow. Selfless.”

He shrugs. “Eh. I do what I can.”

“I don’t remember that at all.”

He glances down at my bare legs then back up to my face. “That’s okay. I remember it vividly enough for both of us.”

I know he’s thinking about touching me, because there’s no disguising his current arousal in those boxer briefs, but even though I want him more than is probably healthy, how on earth can I contemplate taking something for myself when Nan’s in the condition she is?

“I should go.”

“No, you should rest. You still look exhausted.”

“I wanted to be back at the hospital by now.”

“Dyson’s already there. Honestly, Eden, the best way to help your Nan is to take some time for yourself. We can call to see how she is, but then you need to take a day off.”

He’s just picked up his phone from the nightstand when it buzzes with a message. He checks the screen then holds it out so I can see. It’s from Dyson.

<No change in Nan’s condition, despite some of my best work as Darcy. Never fear, this morning I’m starting on Dickens. My Nicholas Nickleby is sure to do the trick. Tell Eden to relax and get some rest. I got this.>

I smile. I barely know Dyson, and yet he’s giving up his time to help me.

“Are you paying him?” I ask.

Max shakes his head and puts his phone back on the nightstand. “Nope. When he heard, he wanted to help. I think he could tell how worried I was about you. And how important your Nan is to you.” He turns back to me. “So, there you have it. Stay in bed today. I’ll provide whatever you want. Food, drink, emotional support ...” He looks into my eyes. “Physical release … just tell me what you need.”

We both go quiet as the air fills with tension. A big part of it is sexual, but there’s also a sense of awkwardness that comes from not knowing where we go from here. I can no longer deny I need him. Last night proved that. But a few hours of emotional intimacy doesn’t make any of the issues I have go away. It just puts pressure on me to try to be different, and I don’t know how.

“So,” he says then clears his throat. “You ... uh ... never mentioned the stuff we talked about at the warehouse. About my family.”

I take his hand again. “Do we need to?”

“Well, I hit you with the confession that I was raised to be a chauvinistic misogynist, and you have yet to comment. I’m not stupid enough to think you don’t have an opinion on it. In fact, I have no doubt your opinions have opinions.”

I push up on my elbow and stare down at him. “Max ...” I struggle to find the right words. I begin slowly, so I don’t say the wrong thing. “I don’t know who you used to be, but I like who you are now, and that’s enough for me.” I’m so unused to being this emotionally expressive, my voice is shaking. “And I know you’ve been told this by a lot of women, but I ...” I look into his face. “I’ve never said anything like this to a man before, so for me, this is a big deal. You’re ... amazing. And what you do is amazing. If you see your work as some kind of penance, then I think you’ve more than made up for your past.”

He lets out a noisy breath though his nose, like he’s been holding it in since he confessed his most shameful sins. Honestly, with what I now know about his family, I’m surprised he didn’t devolve into a class-A asshole and declare war on the world, but I guess those sorts of major life events define you. There’s a choice whether to give in to the darkness or struggle toward the light, and Max ended up being full of light.

He stares up at me. “So ... I’m glad you didn’t take out a restraining order, but ... where do we go from here?”

I suck up my fear and start with trying to be honest. “I’ve never had a healthy emotional relationship with a man. Or, any relationship with a man, really.” I say it fast, thinking it might sound less pathetic that way. It doesn’t. “I don’t even know where to start in trying to be with you.”

He moves closer, so we’re almost nose to nose. “I’ve had a lot of perfect relationships, but none of them have been real. This whole thing will be one big learning curve for me, too.”

Swallowing my rising panic, I graze my fingers from his temple to his chin. Being so affectionate with him is all new to me, and I’m nervous I’m not doing it right. “I have trust issues. I’m impatient and judgmental. And I’ve never admitted this before, but I never refill ice cube trays when they’re empty. I leave them for Asha, every single time.”

He slides his hand from my shoulder, down over my butt, to the back of my knee, and he pulls my leg up to his hip, so he can slide his thigh between my legs. He keeps looking me in the eyes as he rocks a little, pressing his erection against where I’m aching the most.

“I hate myself on so many levels,” he says, his voice becoming breathy, “I should probably be in therapy. And when I used to share a bathroom with my brother, I’d leave a single square of toilet paper, so he’d have to change the roll.”

I circle my hips and press down on his thigh while gripping his back to give myself better leverage.

“So,” I say, “we both agree we’re terrible people and that falling for each other is probably a bad idea.”

“Absolutely.” He climbs on top of me, so he’s fully between my legs, and I spread my thighs. “One of the worst ideas ever.” He grinds against me, his hardness feeling incredible against my softness. “But I don’t care. Even if this whole thing goes down in flames, you’re already the best bad decision I’ve ever made.”

I pull him closer. Our noses are touching now. “Last chance to change your mind.”

He searches my eyes. “Never going to happen. Ever.”

For a moment, we both stop and stare at each other, and there’s a whole other conversation that happens in the silence. One in which an imaginary doctor shakes his head in sympathy as he says, “I’m sorry. They’re too far gone. There’s nothing I can do.”

I hold my breath as Max leans down and kisses me gently, and I don’t want to move in case I ruin the moment. His lips are so soft and warm, I could live in this moment forever and be a happy woman. He adds a little suction before pulling back, and then he angles his head and kisses me again, a little more pressure this time, my top lip caught between his. Though his body is tense and hard, this – the gentle press and suck of his lips and the delicate way he moves his mouth over mine – it demonstrates supreme restraint. The need to discover me for the first time instead of just giving into the hormones that are demanding we get naked as soon as possible.

His kisses slowly become more passionate, and when our tongues touch, we both make noises that speak of the slow, sweet torture of taking our time. I give up trying to think and just feel, letting my muscles melt into the mattress as he adjusts his position to wrap his arms more firmly around me.

He once told me that you could live and die within the lifetime of a good kiss, and that’s what this feels like. As if I’ve always known the shape of his mouth but never experienced it before. Like all of our interlocking parts have been biding their time, watching people come and go from our lives, until we found each other.

The longer and deeper he kisses me, the more the air catches in my chest. My blood rushes, my limbs tremble, and I feel like I’m falling in slow motion, but every second, I speed up a little. His tongue is more insistent. He grips me harder. I go from caressing him to gripping him. Pulling at him. Walking the line from civilized to feral and back again.

“Max?”

“Hmmmm.” He kisses around my words.

“You once told me that a kiss is most effective when it doesn’t lead to sex.”

“Yes.” His hand is wrapped around my hip now, squeezing and releasing in time with his pelvis pressing against me.

“This kiss is beyond spectacular, but I just wanted to make sure that you’re planning on having sex with me, right?”

He pushes his hand under my shirt and brushes it up against my ribcage, then the curve of my breast.

“No. No sex this morning.” He looks down at me as his giant hand closes around my breast, the rough pad of his thumb teasing my nipple. “I’m going to fuck you now, then later when my body isn’t calling all the shots, we’ll get around to various forms of making love. But definitely no plain, boring sex will be happening. Not with you. Not ever.”

He kisses me again, and this time he starts grinding against me in time with the sweep of his tongue. I groan and press up to meet him, and within seconds, my need for him transforms from hazy and delicate to raw and brutal as we both let the lusty beasts that have been grazing on our suppressed passion for the past few weeks, well and truly out of their cages.

He lowers his full weight onto me, and when I grab his ass with both hands and squeeze, he growls against my mouth and pushes his hand between us, using strong pianist’s fingers to make me arch even more. The rush of sensation is so fast and powerful, the room spins around me. Low grunts and long moans fill the air as we work our way around each other’s bodies, exploring all of the places we’ve been dreaming about.

As he grinds against me, his muscles ripple beneath my hands, and I can feel the shape of him beneath his underwear sliding hard against me. He’s a big guy, and his weight makes me struggle for breath, but I love the feeling. He circles his pelvis. and I wrap my legs around his hips to urge him closer. He’s so hard that every pass of him over my clit makes me gasp and plead for more.

“Eden.” There’s a world of need in his voice as he pulls off my T-shirt and starts on my bra. “Put your hands on me. Now.”

I reach between us and slide my hand into his underwear. He stops dead the moment I palm him and curl my fingers around his erection. “Like this?”

He holds himself off the bed, and as I stroke him and revel in the feel of him, the expression on his face screams of pleasure so extreme, it’s almost painful to experience. “Exactly like that.” He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses out a breath. “This is you first warning that I’m going to need to be inside of you soon, or I’m going to lose my mind.”

“That works for me.”

He makes a dark noise before yanking off my panties. And then when I’m totally naked and exposed to him more than I’ve ever been to any man, he kneels above me and looks down in such wonder, it makes my heart ache.

“You are ... God, Eden. I don’t have the words. And I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for way too long.”

Without giving me any time to respond, he pushes my knees open and sinks his head down between my legs. Then there’s no way I can stay lucid, because his mouth is on me, and all I can do is throw my head back and groan as he gives me pleasure like I’ve never known.

Some men treat going down on a woman like it’s a chore. They’ll do it if they have to, but it’s not the first choice in their sexual toolkit. However, the way Max is moving his mouth across me? It’s like he’s starving to death, and I’m the first decent meal he’s had in years. Every time I don’t think he can make more pleasure jolt through to my spine, he does.

I reach behind me and curl my fingers around the cast iron headboard as I stare up at the ceiling. And when it’s all too much for even that, I squeeze my eyes shut as he closes his hands over my hips and pulls me more firmly onto his face.

Oh, sweet holy Hercules.

I can’t. I can’t deal with anymore. I think I start pleading with him, but whatever I’m saying is a blur.

My rambling seems to spur him on, and when he groans against me, the first tendrils of my orgasm curl and twist low and deep. I squeeze my eyes shut as the pulses come faster, gaining power as they go.

“Jesus ... Max.”

I’m flying so close to the edge, it would be easy to fall apart on his mouth, but I don’t want that. This is the first time I’ve ever slept with someone I love, and I want him to be a part of me when he makes me come for the first time.

“Max ...” When the pleading tone in my voice doesn’t stop him, I reach down and slide my fingers into his hair before pulling his head up until he looks at me. “I need you inside. Please.”

He climbs back up the bed, and I push him onto his back, so I can pull off his underwear. After I tug them down and throw them onto the floor, I see him for the first time, and dear God ... he’s beautiful. I touch the silken skin, tracing the long, thick shape of him. He makes tight noises in his throat but doesn’t stop me.

This isn’t something I do. I barely look at the men I sleep with, because they’re a means to an end. I don’t really care what they look like or whether they’re hung like a horse or not. But with Max, everything matters, because every part of him turns me on. Yes, his cock is beautiful, but so is his heart and mind. Who he is matters to me more than what he looks like, and that’s why he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever known. His incredible body is just a bonus.

I want to taste every sweet inch of him. I want to discover which parts will make him groan and which will make him swear when I suck on them. I want to taste his pecs and abs, and sink my teeth into tight bands of muscles around his arms.

But right now, I’m savoring the hard shape of him inside my mouth, the taste of him on the back of my tongue, the sweet, tortured sounds he makes as I take him as deep as I can, time and again.

“Fuck ... Eden.” I add my hand, twisting in tandem with my mouth. He fists his fingers in my hair, forcing me to slow down. “Wait. Please ... just ... Dammit. Get up here.”

With a low growl, he pulls me up until I’m straddling him, and he kisses me deeply before reaching into the nightstand for a condom. I take it from him, and he caresses my thighs as I make quick work of rolling it on.

When I’m done, I kiss him and reach down to align us.

He takes hold of my hips as I press against him, waiting for me to be ready. Letting me take the lead despite how much I can feel him wanting to take control.

“This is new for me,” he says, reaching up to cup my breasts. “Every single thing I’ve done with you over the past few days has been new. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Me, neither.”

I hover above him for a few seconds as I realize there’s no going back from this. Once we’ve taken this final step, I’ll be ruined for all other men. He knows it, too, and he gazes up at me with raw adoration.

“I won’t hurt you, Eden. I promise. I want this more than you can possibly know.”

Even if I had second thoughts, that would haven banished them. I watch his face when I slowly sink down, taking inch by delicious inch. The pressure of him filling me is so exquisite, it makes my mouth drop open. His jaw drops too, but his eyes stay locked onto mine. And then, as I settle onto his hips and fully surround him, a look of immense awe blooms on his face. I have no idea what my expression is, because I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling; relief, arousal, gratitude, wonder–all of it twists inside of me as I pull up and then sink down again.

Dear God. Yes.

This is a feeling I never knew existed. The pleasure is amplified and powered by something deeper. Something that infuses my soul as well as my body.

Max pushes his head back into the pillow and holds onto my hips while I ride him, and I’ve never seen a more glorious man in all my life. I pick up speed, following the rhythm of my pounding blood, and as Max winds tighter and tighter, his face changes. All of a sudden, he’s looking at me with raw hunger, and lightning fast, he flips me onto my back and takes over.

“You feel goddamn incredible,” he says, thrusting deep and hard, exactly how I need it right now. “Christ, Eden ... how can you feel this good?”

He kisses me, and we moan into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace. When I feel myself building, winding tighter with each thrust, I reach between us and circle my fingers. Max stares down at me, unfiltered emotion on his face.

“I love you,” he says and grips the back of my neck before increasing his pace. “I’ve loved you from the start. I couldn’t help it. Everything would have been so much simpler if you hadn’t made me fall in love with you.”

I circle my fingers faster, unable to breathe when the first flashes of my orgasm begin to spark.

“Max ...” It’s barely audible. I have no air. Everything is contracting, tighter and tighter, and he looks down at me like I’m a supernova exploding in front of him.

“Yes, Eden ... fuck, yes ...”

And then I come, and I try to keep my eyes open because this is the first orgasm with the man I love, but I can’t. Wave after wave hits me, and all I can do is moan Max’s name as he keeps thrusting, prolonging the experience for as long as he can.

Then, with a tortured cry, he wraps around me and squeezes. Every muscle goes tight, and my name spills from his mouth over and over again. He presses fully into me one, twice, three times, each accompanied by a sound of debilitating pleasure, and then he collapses onto me, thick arms and legs tangling with mine, melting into relaxation, and we sink into the mattress.

As we lie there, panting and boneless, chests pressed together and hearts beating in shocked, staccato time, I have no clue where he ends and I begin, and against all odds and a lifetime being terrified of this exact feeling, I think I’m okay with that.