If you could say pure bliss, that's how I’ve felt for the last two weeks with Liam. I see him every day. He waits outside my work and he takes me back to his place and fucks me into oblivion every fucking day. We hardly talk, and if we do it’s me talking. I've learned that he doesn't like to speak, but he does like to listen. There's nothing wrong with that, I think it's just the way he’s always been—listening and watching what everyone does. No one’s really wanted to hear what he has had to say. So he just takes it all in measure. But when he does talk, I see glimpses of the man that he really is, and it's a beautiful sight to behold.
I'm allowed to touch his neck, his face, and his hair. He hasn't let me ventured further, I’ve tried. But when I do, he pins my hands above my head and slams into me with such passion that I forget everything that’s happened. Touching where he can touch me any way he pleases. I don't believe I’m a weak woman, I believe I’ve been dealt a bad hand. I believe I thought I was in love at a young age and that when a man told me he loves me, I should believe it. That every word he spoke to me was true. But it wasn't, I was naïve, I was young, and I was definitely stupid.
Liam is the opposite. He doesn't tell me he loves me, but he does say I'm beautiful. And I believe that, I believe every word that comes from his mouth. I'm not being naïve this time, I believe what he says is true. When he puts his time into someone, he puts his all.
When I leave work, he’s standing outside his truck. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and as usual he has glasses covering his eyes. The black suit he always wears that fits him like a glove is covering his body. I get butterflies just from looking at him. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around his waist, but he won't let me. My hands are allowed to go around his neck now, and his around my waist, usually on my ass. I don't complain though. He gives me pieces, pieces I think he doesn't show anyone. Last night we were on the floor, both of us naked, both thoroughly fucked. He said something after I asked him about his walls, why they’re covered in graffiti. It's an odd thing to see, no one has walls like him, but then again no one is like Liam Black.
“They take me back to a time, a time when I was young and met a beautiful girl on the darkest night of nights. We had an indescribable bond and I would graffiti things to her. And she would sit and watch me. It was probably the happiest time of my life.”
I shed a tear when he said that that time was the happiest day of his life. The only way to remember was to paint the inside of his house later. I sleep on the couch when I'm at his. I haven't seen the inside of his room, he doesn't leave me until I'm fast asleep. He waits, waits until I pass out. And it's never long after we have fucked. I have to tell him something tonight, something that I need to do, something that's missing in me and he needs to understand. I don't know how we will, I just hope it's not the end of us.
“I think we should talk.” He’s naked, breathing heavily above me. My hands are above my head, being held there by his hands. He slams into me again, my eyes are closed, pure ecstasy taking over me. I manage to open them to see he’s looking at me, watching me. He likes to do this, he likes to see me. Where I can’t help but close my eyes, it’s instinct, too much, all at once taking me over.
“No,” he says, pulling out, leaving me on the floor. He stands naked and walks to the kitchen. And a beautiful sight. His ass is sculpted, no fat what-so-ever, his back is powerful, just as the rest of him. I manage to sit up though my body is sore. The light from the fridge shines on him, making him look so much more powerful than he already is.
“I have things to tell you.” I catch the bottle of water as it’s thrown at me. He cocks his head to the side, assessing me.
“I don’t want to hear them, Rose.”
“Why?”
“Our bubble is fine just the way it is, don’t burst it,” is all he says, then walks to his room, shutting the door and leaving me out. I don’t bother following, it’s a waste of time. He wouldn’t let me in anyway. When he comes out ten minutes later, he’s fully dressed in gloves and a black suit with his hair neatly styled.
“Going to get lucky?” I joke, standing and finding my dress, sliding it over my body.
“Yes.”
I swing back around, half dressed. He’s joking, I can see it now, but the joke hurt, more than it should have.
“Where are you going?” I ask, placing my shoes on while he watches my every move.
“I have work to do, Rose. I have more to do than fuck you.”
“Good, so do I. I have plans tomorrow. Don’t pick me up.” His forehead crinkles as he assesses what I’ve just said. He stands there, then turns away, picking up his keys. He nods for me to follow. I do without so much as a word.
He’s never taken me home after I have spent an afternoon with him. I’m always there when he wakes up, dressed and ready for work. He’s always right on time, ready to take me to work, without me even telling him when I start.
He stops at Casey’s house, parks his truck in the front yard. It’s dark and her lights are out. She must hear us though as the kitchen light flicks on, so I turn to face him. His eyes stay ahead, not looking at me. I reach for the handle, then pause, thinking of what I should say.
“Will you call me?” I ask just as my hand is on the door, ready to open it. My back is to him, I can’t face him—he’s shut down.
“No.”
“I’ll call you,” I say, stepping out. He doesn’t say anything else, he just drives off like nothing ever happened.