23
meg
The food was delicious, particularly a decadent arrangement of strong cheeses that came with something called a Hurricane Po’ Boy, which was topped with barbecue sauce and crispy shrimp. John overordered and we had so much food left, including a completely untouched crème brûlée.
I totally planned to pick at the burnt-sugar topping sometime before bed. Or maybe we could even have some fun with it.
But John looked like he was half-asleep on the chair, and I was so full that I could barely move. Still, being alone with him, at last, I either needed a bath or to run a marathon. Since I didn’t want to hack up my lunch like a model from the nineties, I crawled out of the feather fluff bed and wandered past John and into the suite bathroom.
The bathroom area was largely covered in dark tiles, the sink and a sizable mirror separate from everything else. The shower was huge, as was the Jacuzzi; it was even bigger than it looked in pictures.
I ran the perfect bath, and soon bubbles were piling up a foot or so above the tub’s edge. John undressed while I called my mom and managed to sneak into the water before I could even steal a glance of his body. We hadn’t been together since he had had a two-week break back in October. I was more nervous than I had anticipated, and my bloated cheese-stuffed stomach was no reassurance.
When I got into the bathroom, John was neck deep in bubbles and his eyes both calmed and enticed me.
“Come in, I’m a little lonely in here.” He smiled.
He was a man of few words, but he knew what words to use, and when. I pulled my sweater over my head and let it fall to the floor. His eyes were on me, taking me in, devouring me, which made me excited enough to almost forget about the food baby pushing on my stomach.
I took my pants off, and John’s eyes ate my body up like Sunday brunch at a Southern country club. I pushed my arms against the sides of my chest and got a little wet when water splashed up over the sides as he shifted. I loved what a woman’s body could do to a man. Not what it could do for them, but to them. The boys at my high school always called me a tease, and I was. I loved it. They wanted me—and couldn’t have me—so they pretended they were too good for me and called me names and passed around pictures of my body, which they would never be able to touch themselves.
When my panties slid down my smooth, pampered legs, John’s mouth went slack and his eyes barely blinked. I stood up, adrenaline flowing through me, licking at the tension I felt from him. I stepped out of my panties fully and eased into the tub. The water burned my skin as I submerged myself into the soft bubble bath. I sat opposite John in the big tub, a sea of bubbles floating between us. I felt like I had so much to say to him, but at the same time didn’t know what to talk about.
Then it was quiet, the only noises in the room being the soft sounds of the bubbles popping between us. John’s short hair was still dry on his head, looking lighter than his wet chest hair. I wanted to touch him, so I slid over to his naked body, and he parted his legs, letting me settle my back against his chest.
“I missed your body,” he said, his hands exploring my neck, my chest. John Brooke’s hands were never rough; they always carried in them some sort of timidity that made me feel like he was a little bit of a challenge.
I pushed my ass against his front and felt him hard against me. “I missed yours.”
His hands grabbed mine and he turned me around. He moved my hands between his legs, making me take his length. I felt powerful as I manipulated his body with light strokes. I felt like a goddess when his head tipped back, and my hands felt like they were connected to the earth. Meredith always told us that a woman’s body is the most divine, most powerful entity in the universe, that it creates life—and can end it, too. She taught me to never be ashamed of my body or my sexuality.
Though I would guess that she didn’t exactly mean for me to take it as far as I invariably did.
There I was, a sexual predator, practically the graceful version of a porn star, using my hands and body to bring my prey to ecstasy. I watched my man’s eyes and made sure he knew I was thinking dirty, dirty things about him and couldn’t wait for him to be inside me. I even said as much and took pleasure in watching his face change. Blinking eyes, open mouth panting my name, and he was getting closer, so I pumped faster and asked him if he wanted me to fuck him, and he could barely nod because he was so captivated by my body and the way my hips moved as I straddled him and put him inside me. He stuttered a line of words and spilled out my name as he came so quickly. As flattered as I was that I had accomplished what I intended to even faster than I had planned, I knew from our history that once he came, he was down for the count for a while.
He kissed my neck and gently pushed me off him, cradling me at his side. I moved back in front of him and laid my head back on his chest. Then there was more silence.
We sat that way for what felt like hours, and when I heard John’s light snoring behind my ear, I turned to find his eyes closed.
I was exhausted and I knew he had to be, but here I was completely naked in a bathtub with him and we had barely touched before he came. He was asleep. Eyes closed, breathing hard, mouth slack. Sleeping.
I was naked and soapy, and he was sleeping.
The Ritz in the Quarter was insane. I felt a world away from my parents’ house and the stained tub and the dishes that Beth washes and dries and everyone lets lie on the counter for a day before Beth puts them away.
I wasn’t going to sit in that fancy-ass room while he snoozed in the bathtub. I needed a night out, but I didn’t want a night alone, either.
I moved away from John, making sure he didn’t awaken. It blew my mind that the tub was big enough for me to sit on the other side and rest my chin against the lip of the tub, feet spread out, and still I wasn’t touching John’s body.
The emails from earlier scratched against my mind as the bubbles thinned over the cooling water. I thought I left the life-sabotaging bullshit from my peers back in Texas. I dealt with two full years of shit and made it out of Fort Hood and to New Orleans only a little stained. I couldn’t think of anyone who would waste their time sending me fake emails, except maybe Bell Gardiner? That girl with her tiny waist and long black hair would totally be vindictive enough to do that. And petty enough. She hated me for no reason other than my relationship with Shia, if you could even call it that. I thought it was sad the way girls turned on each other over boys instead of allying together. Bell Gardiner was a little too old to be sending fake emails, but she still wore white eyeliner, so I couldn’t put anything past her.
Bell Gardiner could have Shia King. From the day he left Louisiana for his first humanitarian trip, I had convinced myself that I didn’t want anything to do with his green eyes or the beautiful tawny brown of his skin. I didn’t care that he thought Bell Gardiner was better than me. John Brooke was certainly a better match for me than Shia. It shouldn’t have been a competition.
But it was. Shia was probably fucking Bell Gardiner while I sat naked in lukewarm bathwater with a snoring boyfriend.
A snoring boyfriend who had just graduated from West Point, at least.
Shia was probably on top of Bell Gardiner, promising her the same shit he promised me.
“We’re going to travel the world together, Meg.”
“I can’t wait for our future, Meg.”
Once he even told me that he couldn’t wait to tell his mom that we were together, and I even believed him.
I had visions of us holding hands, walking the streets of Mexico City, eating fresh fruit from street carts. He never believed that I would leave with him, and that’s what corroded our relationship, his refusal to believe that I would leave my mom and sisters to travel the world with him.
As I looked over at John Brooke asleep in the bathtub, I still wasn’t sure if Shia was right about me.
Shia King was pushing himself into my mind from wherever he was, and it was messing with my head. I was lucky to be here in a huge, expensive hotel suite with John Brooke, soaking in a tub in the center of the French Quarter. Poor John, he was so tired, and I was being the worst kind of bitch by thinking about Shia.
I moved back to John and reached between his legs. He was soft for a few seconds, but when John stirred awake, so did the rest of him. His eyes flew open and his body jerked a little before he remembered where he was, then he closed his eyes, rested his head on the lip of the massive tub, and let me play with him.
I started slow, with my hand tight around him, moving from top to bottom, and I felt his hands on my shoulders, turning me around. His mouth found mine immediately and he moaned through our lips.
“Touch me,” I said into his mouth.
His hands were timid as they explored my breasts, and his fingers completely avoided my nipples, which drove me insane. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it purposefully to wind me up, but I wanted to believe he was. I didn’t know how many women John had slept with, but I definitely knew I wasn’t the first.
His hands slid down my torso until he stopped between my legs. I was panting. He was groaning and so, so hard in my hand. I was losing myself in the rhythm of his kiss, his hand between my legs, pushing in and pulling out. Climbing onto his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck and lowered my body onto his again.
John’s eyes closed as he entered me and I sank down on his length. He was so thick, even though not that long, and I felt my mind drifting into the familiar state of desire.