Love Hacked

Because, at this point, I wanted his clothes off. Maybe burned. Definitely hidden. And me straddling him. Naked. My clothes also burned—except my jeans, because I liked this pair of jeans a lot.

But he seemed content to pet me heavily, grind into my center through four layers of clothes, lavish and taste every inch of my neck, shoulders, arms, chest. My h*ps shifted because they needed the friction, but these were rote movements, a silent begging.

Nevertheless, a few minutes turned into a lot of minutes. I was reaching a frenzy, and he made no movement toward home base—and he’d cock-blocked all my attempts.

His caresses had wound me so tight that my hands were balled into fists above my head, and my body trembled beneath him. I was so ready. I was sure I’d come apart as soon as his boy parts connected with my girl parts.

In fact, it was very possible I was going to unravel without him needing to whip anything out of anywhere.

What the shitzterhozen was he waiting for?

In the end, it was too late. He bit the side of my breast. He licked a trail to my nipple. He breathed on it. He massaged my other breast with his palm. He rubbed vicious circles around its center. And he thrust what might as well have been a steel pipe against me.

Nebulas became stars behind my eyes. Big bangs sounded in my ears. Later I would realize that it was the beating of my heart.

My eyes flew open, found his gaze on mine—steady, hot, expectant, watchful, shameless. Just seeing him above me was enough for another prolonged wave of stupor-inducing tremors. My chest was on fire, I felt like I was falling and flying, and he intercepted my screams with a kiss.

Alex had just given me my first dry-humping ticket to O-town. I didn’t know whether to feel mortification, amazement, or admiration.

As I came down from my throne circling above the earth, I felt all three—but mostly embarrassment. I choked on a strangled half sob.

He released my hands. At last, I was free to touch him. Instead, I broke from our kiss, turned my head to the side, and covered my face. It was flushed a deep red from my release—and from embarrassment.

Gently, reverently, he kissed my stomach then lowered my shirt to cover the exposed skin. I rolled onto my side, away from him. Alex spooned me. I tried to shift away, but he wrapped his arm around my middle, his leg around mine, and brought me firmly against his chest.

His leg was heavy.

I was trapped under a heavy object.

He held me in place and would not let me push him away. Nor would he let me escape.

It seemed that when all my inhibitions fled earlier, they’d also taken my ability to make light of a serious situation, or to say something shocking to ease my discomfort.

I felt like a live wire, raw and exposed, and the irony of the situation was not lost on me. I’d just experienced maybe the best, most intense sex of my life, and we both still had all our clothes on.

CHAPTER 14

Sunday’s Horoscope: You will be tempted to keep something that doesn’t belong to you. This instinct will prove fatal in the future if heeded.

Though he was quiet, stealthy even, the sound of Alex rising from the bed and the acute lack of warmth against my back stirred me from fitful dreams.

I held perfectly still and listened as he opened and closed my dresser drawers. After a brief moment, he returned to the bed and, with gentle but disinterested fingers, undid the button and zipper of my jeans. I opened my eyes fully then, turned to face him, and found that he’d placed a pair of very unsexy cotton pajamas on the bed next to me.

I frowned at them, then at him, my eyebrows pulled into a deep V between my eyes marking my confusion. His mouth hitched to the side as he watched me, his eyes steady. He wrapped his hand around the back of my head and brought my forehead to his mouth, kissed the V between my eyebrows, and let his lips linger there.

Then he stood abruptly and walked to my bathroom. He shut and lock the door, and a moment later, I heard the sound of my shower.

My gaze followed him and dawdled on the bathroom door. After several seconds, I looked at the sleepwear he’d selected. He was so weird. Did baggy, stained cotton pajamas with cartoons of sheep and alpacas turn him on?

I slipped out of my day clothes and into the pajamas. They were my favorite pair for pity parties and illnesses: unflattering, comfy, and familiar. Also, the sheep and alpacas had little word bubbles that imparted fiber puns, like You can never have ewe much yarn and I only sing alpacapella.

I dressed and was under the covers when Alex finally emerged from the bathroom.

Dressed in his jeans and shirt from earlier, Alex claimed his spot on the bed, but he didn’t join me under the covers. Instead, he opened his arms and, employing his now typical, somewhat amused steady stare, waited for me to snuggle face-first into his chest.

So I did. And it was nice. But his hands were cold. He was so cold that his skin was almost freezing to the touch.

I withdrew my arms from beneath the snuggly comforter and wrapped him in a tight embrace, rubbed his back and arms. He hummed, seemed to relax a bit, and I felt his small smile against my hair.

It took my still sleepy mind several moments to put together the puzzle pieces; I was teetering on the edge of slumber when I realized that the shower he’d just taken had been a cold one.

***

Alex was gone. I knew this before I opened my eyes because I felt sad when I usually felt happy.

I waited several minutes behind the gray darkness of my closed eyelids, stretched, then turned my face into my pillow. I wanted to postpone confirming my suspicion for as long as possible.

And when I did, when I was met with an empty room, I closed my eyes again and heaved a loud, obnoxious sigh.

“Alex, Alex, Alex. Wo sind sie, Alex?”

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I like to speak in German. I can’t actually speak German. I only know a few phrases, but I like to pretend I can. It makes me feel worldly.

The smell of coffee caused a temporary spike of hope in my chest. I shot upward, my eyes now wide. But then I remembered that my coffee machine was on a timer, just like every morning.

Oh drat and bollocks.

I grumbled and cursed as my warm feet connected with the cold floor. This feeling of grumpy melancholy was atypical for me. I was usually a morning person. I was also an afternoon person, as well as a night person.

But after just one night of having Alex in my bed and in my apartment, I missed him now that he was gone. He was the entirety of my mood problem.

I crossed to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. Flipping on the light, revealing my image in the mirror, I reflected—pun intended—that perhaps it was for the best that Alex had left before being faced with my morning eye and drool crust. Also, as I’d neglected to brush my teeth the night before, my breath would have placed strongly in a fetid smell competition.

After brushing my teeth, I reached into the shower to start the hot water and almost missed the note taped to the tile. I had to blink at it several times before I registered what it was. But when I did, I snatched it greedily and devoured Alex’s handwritten scrawl. I realized that he must’ve left it for me after his cold shower.

It read,

Dear Sandra,

I have to leave before you wake up, so I’m leaving this note now. Thank you for spending the day with me. You are amazing, and you make me want things. This might not be fair to you, but I can’t help it.

I don’t think I’ll ever recover from watching you last night. Please don’t try to hide from me again. I needed to see you, touch you after. You are exquisitely beautiful. But last night, beneath me, you were celestial. Thoughts of you will keep me warm. Thoughts of you keep me too warm. Right now, I feel close to spontaneous incineration. I burn. I hurt.

According to our agreement, I am allowed at least two more interactions this week. I have some thoughts on where, but don’t know your work schedule. Can you write me a note today and leave it with Mr. Patel at the restaurant? He’ll make sure that only I receive it. Please write to me by the end of Sunday. I need to hear from you.

Please also destroy this note after reading it.

-A

I read it seven times while standing in my bathroom. In fact, I decided to postpone my shower and, pressing the note to my chest, hurried into the kitchen so that I could enjoy it again over coffee.

Of course I focused on the juiciest parts first:

I don’t think I’ll ever recover….

….you were celestial.

I burn. I hurt.

My toes curled in my slippers and he wasn’t even in the room. His words made me feel less embarrassed and confused by my solo act and uncontrollable turned-on-ness.

However, I couldn’t help but wonder why, given his self-reported almost spontaneous incineration, he’d decided to forego his own pleasure last night. Maybe he worried the apartment was bugged with cameras….

But then I reread the first paragraph, and my attention caught on the phrases you make me want things and I can’t help myself. I had the abrupt sensation of falling. My stomach dropped to my knees, and my vascular system expanded and contracted with lovely spikes of pain in my chest and heart and throat. The ground and chair beneath me were unstable. Even the table was a bit wobbly.

I closed my eyes against the vertigo, astonished that I could be so affected by a letter, and wondered if this was what it felt like to swoon.

It was a lovely letter. He was lovely. He made me feel lovely.

“Lovely, lovely, lovely,” I sighed to my coffee as I opened my eyes and took a sip. Then I repeated it in German, “Schön, schön, schön.”