Bess
With the radio on and Brooks lounging by the fire AJ built in my fireplace, we drank coffee and talked. It wasn’t odd; at least, it didn’t feel that way. AJ had spent plenty of time over at my place in the early days of my being out on my own, holding my hand while I got my life in order, allowing me to go through all the stages of recovery, and the emotions that went with them.
His sponsor did much of the same for him when he first left rehab. Lucky for AJ, he didn’t need his sponsor that often. At least, not anymore.
Like I needed AJ now.
He wasn’t that much older than me, but he was much wiser when it came to life. He hadn’t wasted time on college because he had been in the throes of using since high school. After cleaning up, he started a construction business and made a life for himself close to where his grandparents used to live, finding peace in a simpler life.
Finished with my mug, the scent of coffee and campfire hanging in the air, I leaned my head back, letting it rest on the back of the sofa as I closed my eyes. I’d been crying about how lonely I was, questioning, “Is it always going to be this way?” when I felt AJ’s hot breath move closer. It smelled like coffee and mint with the faintest trace of tobacco.
His mouth lit a path of heat along my collarbone, and the sleeve of his flannel shirt grazed my wrist as he brought his hand up to caress my cheek. This did feel odd. My sponsor, the gentle but demanding man in front of me, had never touched me other than enveloping me in friendly bear hugs. This was a gentler touch, his rough and calloused fingers sending a message in their soft path.
I lifted my head slowly, opening my eyes and taking in his inviting ones before dropping my gaze. I focused on his light brown five o’clock shadow as he spoke.
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Bess. You don’t have to be alone. You’re not alone. You have friends, and you have me.”
His eyes searched mine, begging me to understand the hidden meaning behind his words. I didn’t really have friends. And we were nothing more than sponsor and sponsee.
I didn’t really have him. Or did I?
“AJ . . .” I breathed out his name slowly, looking up but hesitating to meet his eyes.
“Bess, don’t. I know this isn’t the best idea, but we know what each other has been through. I care for you, and I’m pretty sure you care for me. We could be good for each other. Let me be there for you. I don’t want you to feel alone.”
Another tear made its way down my cheek as my heart pounded a frightfully fast rhythm in my chest. AJ was soothing and strong—a rock for me—and I felt something deep for him, but wasn’t totally sure what the feeling was. But as he looked at me with his clear sea-green eyes and his messy, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, while holding me tightly in his cozy flannel embrace, my body relented and my head nodded. I felt it moving up and down, small unsure movements, but a definite affirmative.
I’m not alone.
His hand reached down and squeezed mine while the other stayed steady on my cheek. My breath quickened and my heart doubled its already rapid pace, but I didn’t move. I stayed the course, waited for what was to come next, and then his mouth was on mine. Chapped yet tender lips took over my own, learning the feel and taste of mine.
AJ was there for me. He was showing me; I felt it as our clothes slowly made their way to the floor—followed by us.
I wasn’t a virgin, but I hadn’t been touched by a man in at least five years. The last encounter I remembered was following a long night out with some guy I met at a bar. There hadn’t been anyone since I became sober; this was all brand new. My hands shook as I tried to wrap my arms around the naked man on top of me.
AJ held his weight up on one elbow and whispered, “Hey, it’s okay. We can take our time. Shh, relax.”
And then he trailed kisses down my neck until he reached my cleavage where he alternated between my breasts, kissing, nipping, and sucking. I relaxed into the rug beneath me, the fire roaring to my left, nightfall filling the windows on my right. His hand made its way down my abdomen, only hesitating for a second while waiting for my nod, before dipping inside me.
His lingering mouth finally joined forces with his masterful hand, and my core began to blaze as big as the flames lighting our silhouettes. Then the dam broke and I shattered, my own wetness only cooling me for a moment.
I nudged AJ to make his way back up to kiss me. God, the flavors and sensations were all so vibrant. This was nothing like the muted lust of being high or drunk. I tasted myself on his tongue, smelled my orgasm swirling through the room, and felt his hardness pressing into me—igniting my heat once again.
“You doing okay? Bess?” he asked me.
“Yes.” It was quiet and breathy, but I definitely said yes.
As he leaned back to grab his jeans, I felt AJ’s absence immediately. Silently wondering what he was doing, if he was leaving—if he didn’t want me anymore—I wondered if anyone could ever truly want me. Then I watched him pull a condom wrapper from his pocket, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Pathetic.
He was back on me in a minute, searching with his eyes once again, waiting patiently yet asking me to hurry at the same time.
I took the package, hoping I remembered what to do, then ripped it open and slid it on him—committing a major no-no in the recovery world—before he slid deep inside me, taking his time until we both had exhausted any worries of being alone on this night.