He’s changed his mind; I can see it in his expression. A few minutes ago he was ready to take me right here, but then he undressed me and somewhere between the two seconds it took for him to slide my nightshirt off, he’s had a damn epiphany. I need to make a decision: should I cut and run or call him out?
What I’d like to do right now is punch him in the face for no other reason but to make myself feel better about his imminent rejection. I’m frustrated, turned on, and seething mad that I only have myself to blame. I was sure we were on the same page; the intense look on his face spurred me on. I don’t know how I could have misread the signals. I mean, he’s standing in his boxers, and there’s not much room for misinterpretation with a pair of tight-fitting Kleins. His feelings about our current situation stood out. Literally.
Almost naked and standing in my mother’s kitchen, my skin is still damp from the milk Ellis is covered in. An involuntary shiver makes my body convulse, and I notice as I look down that my nipples have hardened. In any other circumstance I’d be embarrassed, but my body’s reaction isn’t due to lust, it’s the chill of spilled milk on my skin. Suddenly I’m all too aware of what a ridiculous situation I’ve put myself in. The last time I can remember feeling this stupid and unsure I was a silly eighteen-year-old that still believed Ellis and I would live happily ever after. I was convinced he didn’t want to make love to me then, too.
1998
“I don’t think Ellis dares to have sex with me,” I proclaimed walking out of my bathroom.
Molly had been sitting on the end of my bed waiting for me to finish trying to tame my hair. She’d persuaded me to go watch the hockey game Ellis was playing tonight. It was at home, so the lure of not having to travel had closed the deal. I hadn’t really been out much since my surgery, and when I’d finally gotten around to answering one of Molly’s calls, she’d unleashed holy hell on me. It was refreshing, to say the least. Everyone had been pussyfooting around me like I was a damaged china doll ready to fall to pieces at any moment—except Molly.
“That’s way more information than you needed to share, Harlow,” she laughed, looking a little mortified. Our relationship had never entered the realm of talking about sex or guys. I’m pretty sure she thought I was still a virgin by the shocked expression on her face.
“I know, but I need your advice,” I simpered. “You’ve had way more experience with guys than anyone I know.”
“Wow, way to make me feel like a whore!” She picked up the stuffed, ratty, old bear from the side of my bed and hurled it at my head.
“Ouch! That came out wrong—you know what I meant. I think he’s reluctant to sleep with me because he thinks he’s going to trigger another heart attack or something.”
“So, he’s not modest about his performance then? He must think pretty highly of his bedroom skills if he thinks they’re worthy of a cardiac arrest.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “He’s got skills,” I mused. “I’ve already told him that I spoke with my nurse, and she said it would be okay.”
“Maybe put the moves on him, then, you know? Set the tone and reverse the roles. Pick him up, take him out and then book a room somewhere.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “You know, I’ve known you two for a long time. You’re practically family, and family talking about sex is just weird.”
“You used to live for girl talk like this,” I mused. I never took Molly for such a prude. She’d had her fair share of boyfriends throughout school. I assumed this was the kind of thing that she spoke about with her other girlfriends. I guess I’d been wrong.
“A girl can change her mind.” She was right I supposed. I smiled at her attempt at a wink. “Okay, I won’t bring up my sex life again.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” she said standing. “You ready to go?”
I fixed my shirt in the mirror, making sure that my scar wasn’t on show.
“Am now.”
The hockey match blew, and not just because our team had gotten their asses handed to them on home turf. It blew for a whole new reason, and one I’d never dealt with before. When you have two older brothers, and most people deemed you as “one of the guys” it cut out a lot of talk about you. But when you almost drop dead of a heart attack your senior year the gloves are off and everyone assumes they have free reign. I had to endure a whole match with people pointing and whispering. I didn’t hear anything particularly bad, but having what felt like an arena’s worth of people talking about you and not to you doesn’t feel nice.
The final buzzer sounded and I made my way out into the parking lot like the building was on fire. I told Molly that I’d catch a ride back home with Ellis and that I’d pass on going for pizza. She didn’t look too happy about me wanting to leave alone, but I assured her I’d be fine. I found Ellis’s Honda and climbed in. He never locked it. Both our dads had chastised him about the fact, but I had Ellis’s back on this one. Nobody would steal his car, not when there were a million other better-looking ones to go at. The Honda looked like it was ready for the junkyard, but I loved it. It wasn’t pretentious or gaudy like Ellis’s buddy Elliot’s car. His parents had bought him a brand new shiny black BMW when he’d passed his test. It took him almost a month before he’d wrapped it around a signpost in town. His parents wouldn’t pay for the repairs, and so he drove it around with a huge ass dent in the trunk. The Honda had so many lumps and bumps you’d never know if a new one appeared. That was the beauty of it, or at least that’s what Ellis claimed.
“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” he asked opening the passenger door and almost dropping his kit bag on me until he noticed I was sitting there.
“Waiting for you. I wanted to take you someplace, so you can either let me drive, or I’ll direct you.”
He climbed into the driver’s seat and moved across to kiss me hello before settling back in his seat and buckling in.
“What do you have planned? I was kind of hoping I could coax you back home to my place; Mom and Dad are at one of Dad’s work friend’s retirement dinner. I have the place to myself.”
“You win. Let’s go!” I said with a laugh and pulled my belt on. “I was going to get you to drive out to Bleacher’s Point, but this works much better.”
His eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he stalled turning on the engine, a small smirk playing on his lips.
“You wanted to go to Bleacher’s Point? There’s nothing to do there but make out or have sex in your car.”
“I know,” I shrugged. “But that was before I realized that we could go back to your place and have sex without the worry of some dog walker slash jogger catching us.”
He laughed at my crudeness, but pulled out of the parking lot like a horse out of the stalls.
The moment we pulled up to his house his hands were all over me, but there was still an air of hesitancy in his touch. I wasn’t sure whether he second-guessed himself, worried that I wasn’t yet physically up to the task at hand, so to speak, or if the problem was with me. Maybe I was so focused on everything that he was doing that I read something in his touch that simply wasn’t there. I was beginning to obsess over trivial things like how long or short his kisses lasted, or whether he was purposefully avoiding touching my chest because of the scar. He hadn’t ever asked to see it once. At first, I’d been happy about it—I hated how it looked and felt, and the thought of Ellis looking at it and being turned off scared the crap out of me. Something strange had transpired, though, because the more time that passed without him showing any curiosity toward it, the more I worried that it actually did repulse him, and suddenly I was eager for him to see and touch it.
We stumbled through the dark hallway kissing and fumbling, without paying attention to anything but each other. His hands were in my hair one second, and then on my ass the next as we blindly maneuvered the stairs to his room and fell through the door of his bedroom. Literally, fell through. Our lust-filled panting and moaning were replaced with a burst of laughter. Ellis had cushioned my fall and was sprawled between his bedroom and the landing with me perched on top of him.
“That was smooth,” he said with a groan. I didn’t realize the door was already open when I leaned back to open it.
“You just couldn’t wait to get me to the bed,” I chortled. “Admit it.”
“That’s kinda true.”
I crawled over him and stood, still laughing, disheveled and slightly out of breath. “You know that’s not what people mean when they say, ‘sweep her off her feet,’ right?”
He picked himself up from the floor and stood filling the doorframe. His blond hair was still damp from showering after the game and looked a dark golden brown. His jeans were riding low on his hips, and my eyes flashed to the tan-defined lines of the V that disappeared under the waistband of his boxers.
“Having a good look?” His eyes were sparkling as I drew my gaze lazily up to meet his.
“You’re so pretty,” I mused, batting my eyelashes at him. His lopsided grin flattened instantly.
“Pretty? That’s not a way to describe a man. Girls are pretty. Flowers are pretty. Not me.”
I bit down on my lip, trying to contain the smile fighting to burst free.
“You are, too! Men can absolutely be classified as pretty.”
He huffed in exasperation. “You’re not getting it. I’m rugged, or handsome, or hot has fuck!” he exclaimed. “Calling me pretty is as bad as naming my junk after a Care Bear. It deflates a guy’s ego.”
I couldn’t contain the laughter after that, and he rushed forward, picking me up in one clean swoop and depositing me into the middle of his bed. He began tickling me and demanded that I called him hot. I writhed from side to side trying to avoid him reaching my ribs, squealing like a little girl for him to stop.
“Babe, you’re hot, you are hot, okay! Now stop before I pass out,” I squirmed.
His hands fell away promptly, almost as quickly as the smile on his face. “Do you feel like you’re going to pass out? Shit, Harlow, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” He grabbed my arms and began looking me over, no doubt for signs of distress.
“I’m fine! I just don’t like being tickled,” I told him in a huff. The mood had turned south rapidly.
“Okay, I just forgot that I need to be more careful with you now.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and moved to sit next to me rather than directly in front of me.
“You do realize that I hate that people are treating me differently,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to second-guess tickling me, or kissing me until we’re both breathless. I want you to want me the same way you did before this.” I pulled at the neckline of my shirt, indicating the ICD.
“Harlow, trust me when I tell you that I want you just the same, if not more than I did before your surgery. I just don’t want to do anything that will compromise your health. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”
“And I can’t live with feeling like a shadow of myself. Just treat me like you always have and trust me to tell you if I need to slow down, Ellis. Don’t take that away from me. Please.” I moved from the bed and pushed his legs apart so that I could stand between them. I liked the tables turning and being the one that got to bend down to kiss him. He was so much taller than me that it only ever happened if we were in this position.
I ran my fingers through his damp hair and moved his head back so I could kiss him how I wanted to be kissed. I guessed that I’d need to be an example, do what Molly had suggested and take the lead.
So that’s exactly what I did.
“Lift your arms in the air,” I whispered as I bent down, gathered the hem of his white t-shirt, and began slowly pulling it up and over his head. I wasn’t particularly versed at seduction; I’d never had to be. We were always in tune when it came to initiating sex; it was a steady and almost seamless evolution from making out, to tumbling between the sheets. I don’t recall either of us ever having asked the other one to make love to them. That’s not how we worked, so me instigating what I hoped was about to happen felt strangely new and exhilarating.
He didn’t say a word as he obeyed my command, but his crooked smile urged me on. The blue in his eyes darkened as I dropped his shirt at my side and then took a step back and slowly began unbuttoning my own. I’d seen women do this in movies hundreds of times; they’d maintain eye contact while making a show of undressing. I had managed three buttons before the fourth got stuck. I had to avert my stare so I could concentrate on unbuttoning the rest. By the time I brought my gaze back up to Ellis’s I could see the humor dancing over his features. My stomach clenched as I slowly let my shirt slide down my arms and gather in a pool at my feet, hoping to steer the atmosphere back towards sensual instead of amusing. His humor quickly subsided as his jaw tensed and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“I’ve missed this,” he said grabbing hold of the back of my thighs and pulling me to him until his forehead rested between my breasts. I shivered as he placed a light kiss on the highly sensitive spot of skin just below my breasts. I loved when he kissed me there—it always gave me chills. His hands moved north to palm my butt, squeezing slightly and causing me to gasp.
“Me too,” I agreed, reaching behind me and tugging on the white lace to unclasped my bra.
The second it was gone Ellis stood, scooping me up with his movement and depositing me on the bed, then maneuvering over me to drop his head to my chest. I was waiting for the moment his soft, warm mouth would close around me, but it didn’t come. Instead, he laid lazy feather-light kisses in a path up between my breasts until he reached the small purple scar that bore testament to my heart condition. My fists curled into the cool cotton sheets, and my breathing stilled, waiting for him to bypass the area. He didn’t. He caught me completely off guard as he lowered his mouth down and his lips gently skimmed over the incision. My body was on fire—from sensation or relief I couldn’t be sure. He repeated the movement letting his lips linger for a few seconds more. The gesture shocked me a little. I was so sure he’d avoid it, as though somehow it tainted what was otherwise so good. I blinked and felt the warm trickle of a tear slide down across the side of my face and betray my anxiety. My chest expelled a heavy breath as the realization that he wasn’t sickened by it began to seep in.
“I think that’s my new favorite spot,” Ellis said, letting his gaze wander from my chest back up to my face. His eyes narrowed at the tear making its way across my jaw.
I shook off his admission, wanting him to know that he didn’t need to try and make me feel better. “You don’t have to say that, Ellis.” My voice sounded rough with emotion, even to my own ears.
“I’m serious,” he said resting on his elbow and bringing his other hand to my face, swiping another traitorous tear from my cheek. “I wouldn’t ever tell you something like that if it weren’t the truth, H. I know you’re self-conscious about it at the moment, but do you wanna know what I see when I look at it?”
I didn’t. Not really, because all I saw when I looked at it was loss. It represented living a censored version of my life, or at least it did up until he spoke his next words.
“I see second chances. I see a future that for a terrifying few days I was sure had been stolen when you collapsed. I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was that day; my life only makes sense if you’re in it.” He traced my incision with his index finger before moving to lace his hand with my own. “This scar means that I don’t have to. It means you’re here. How can I not love something that gives me you?”
My throat bobbed, and my chest tightened. I didn’t have an appropriate response to show him how relieved or how loved he made me feel. His words were like a balm, cooling and soothing the ache that my condition had left within me. It never occurred to me when I looked in the mirror to see anything beyond the negativity and depression the scar made me feel inside. Ellis had just inadvertently given me a small ray of sunshine. Something positive to hold onto when it felt like all the light in my life was being blocked out by the gravity of my heart problems.
“You’re pretty amazing, Mr. Hughes,” I told him, letting go of my anxiety about him touching me there, and relaxing deeper into the soft mattress.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Ms. Stevens.”
I looked down to where our jean-clad legs were tangled and pouted.
“What’s wrong?” Ellis asked, pursing his lips.
“We’re wearing entirely too many clothes, and I can’t decide if I want to strip you or watch while you do it yourself,” I said, flashing him my biggest grin. It no doubt looked more menacing than sexy, but he’d just made me feel like me—the normal carefree version—and I hadn’t felt like that since my heart attack.
“You do me, and I’ll do you,” he quipped smugly as he lifted his weight from me.
I lunged forward grabbing the waistband of his jeans and wrestled them half way down his thighs before he could even blink. His words had lit a fire in my belly, every nerve ending felt electrified and my skin prickled with the desire building inside. I brought my hands up to his jaw, pulling his lips to mine and falling backward, dragging him down with me. My feet scrambled to kick down his jeans further as he made quick work of unbuttoning mine and sliding them off along with my underwear, demonstrating far more finesse than I’d shown.
His hands found my center, causing my back to arch dramatically and my thighs to quiver. Each measured movement of his adept fingers made my pulse race faster and my body more alive than I could ever remember. This is what I needed, I thought as Ellis bent down and claimed my mouth roughly. He was doing exactly what I wanted by trusting me to tell him if this was too much. I pushed my fingers into his hair, holding on as he breathed light back into me.