Eden

It was nearly midnight when I calmed down enough to even consider going to bed.

For hours I had replayed those moments, thought about how angry I was at Michael. He had no right to behave the way he had. And her certainly had no right to tell me to shut up.

He was a fucking asshole, something I’d known for years, but this should have been the thing to finally get it through my head.

So what that Kevin had been intent on using a tragedy to his advantage? He hadn’t crossed any of the lines Michael had, repeatedly, and if he had, I knew without a doubt I would have put him in his place.

Not Michael, though.

I didn’t recognize the doormat I became when Michael was around, still didn’t know what about him made me lose myself.

But the reasons didn’t matter.

What mattered was that I couldn’t allow this to continue to happen, wouldn’t let Michael walk all over me.

As much as I might have wished it otherwise, as addicted to him as I was, I would end…whatever it was between us if he couldn’t accept that.

My heart clenched at the thought, but I ignored it, just as I ignored the suspicion that Michael wouldn’t accept what I had to say. Nothing I had ever seen of him told me that he would, so if I were smart, I’d get on with the business of trying to forget about him, of trying to forget about the way that he, and only he, made me feel.

Because as much as I loved that feeling, craved it, I loved and respected myself more.

The problem was, I didn’t trust myself, not when it came to Michael. So I would have to stand firm. I would not yield on this.

I thought about calling Kevin again to check on him, but the four other calls I had placed earlier had gone unanswered. He’d seemed mostly unhurt, though explosively pissed when he’d left the hotel, and I guess I couldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to talk to me.

Still, I felt some measure of responsibility, chided myself for doing so.

Michael was an adult, responsible for his own actions, just as I was mine.

Rather than spend one of my days off thinking about him, I would rest, plan what I wanted to do with my free time, and forget about Michael, Kevin, and M. Lounge and Hotel for the moment.

No sooner had I decided that than the doorbell rang. I knew exactly who it was. No one else would show up at this hour without so much as a call.

My anger intensified, chased by incredulity.

He couldn’t possibly be showing up here, now, not after the way he’d behaved.

I jammed my feet into my slippers, not slowing long enough to grab a robe as I went to the door.

Everything inside of me knew what awaited me on the other side of the door, and beyond the shock of him having the gall to come here now, there was some excitement about the fact that I wouldn’t have to wait to tell Michael exactly what I thought about him and where he could stick his macho bullshit.

The words were already formed, hovering on the tip of my tongue, waiting to explode out of me when I pulled the door open.

And they died there when I took a look at him.

He was dressed down, as casual as I’d ever seen him, but it wasn’t his clothes that made the difference.

It was his demeanor, the unfamiliar aura that hung around him.

He looked like Michael, his face unsmiling, looking as though it was ready to turn into a frown at any moment, his eyes alert. But where I was so used to seeing anger in them, was used to him always being prepared to fight, I didn’t see that this time.

He looked tired. A word I never associated with Michael, one I decided I didn’t like.

“Come in,” I said, closing the door behind him after he entered.

I turned, looked at him, and waited.

Waited some more. And then, in the next breath he reached for me and crushed me into a tight embrace.

It was unlike any other we had ever shared.

The thrill of being close to him, feeling his arms around me, his body against mine was still there, but there was a depth now, a difference.

There was emotion.

Michael held me like he never wanted to let me go. And I let him, held him back, hoping he wouldn’t.

After a while, he dropped his arms, looked at me in the eyes.

I still wasn’t sure what was happening, but following my instincts, I reached up, touched his face.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked, my eyes searching his.

“No,” he said.

“Then let’s go to bed,” I said.

I lowered my hand, reached for his, and led him to my bedroom.

He knew the way, but when we got there, instead of the explosive passion, the combustible chemistry that had been there, Michael lay beside me.

As I drifted to sleep, I realized this was the most intimate moment I’d ever shared with anyone.

* * *

Eden

The next morning was the culmination of more dreams than I could even count at this point.

The number of times I had closed my eyes, imagined what it would be like to wake up with Michael Murphy in my bed were numerous, embarrassingly frequent.

And nothing compared to the reality of him being there.

When I awoke, I’d stayed there frozen, what had happened the night before all coming back to me in a flash.

When it did, I was troubled, but even more I was happy.

Because sometime during the night, Michael had wrapped his arms around me, pulled me against the solid wall of his chest. Now I was caged by him, surrounded by the warmth of his body, the strength in his arms, the unique scent that was so Michael.

His breathing told me that he was awake, but I didn’t speak, didn’t even move.

We had things to deal with, and we would, but for now, I wanted to steal this moment, take it while I had it.

So I did, lay there, my eyes sealed shut though I could see the sunlight behind them.

I didn’t even move at the first brush of Michael’s lips against my shoulder.

Didn’t move when he brushed his lips against my neck, then down, leaving a trail of kisses between my shoulder blades, tracing my spine down, down.

As his lips moved down, his hand moved up, starting at my knee, up my thigh, settling against my mound.

I moved then, the tremors that rocked my body growing more intense as he kissed me, smoothed his hands over me.

I arched my back, pushing my hips until they were flush against his body, his burgeoning hardness nestling between my ass cheeks. I rocked against him, needy, desperate for more, was rewarded by a little jerk of Michael’s cock.

He had been tracing his fingers in an irregular pattern over my skin, but when I rocked once more, he moved his hands forward, trailed them down, swirling his fingertips in the coarse hair of my sex, using that same slow, swirling motion to move his fingers along the delicate skin of my inner thigh before he settled at my center.

Like always, I was wet for him, ready, and like always, he took what I so freely offered, dipping one finger, then a second into my wetness, still moving in those slow, lazy swirls, circling his finger around, and round.

I was taut with need, everything around me fading as Michael kissed my spine, his breath warm against me as he pressed his lips at the small of my back and then began working his way up again.

I was almost swept away in my own world but not so much that I missed the way his breath hitched, the way he tightened the hold he had around my waist. I sighed my disappointment when he broke away, but went quiet when he shifted until he lay on his side, his strong arm locked around my waist, his cock, heavy, hard between my thighs.

More than anything, I wanted him to enter me, was anxious to feel the way he would spread me, the way my walls would pulse around his thickness.

But he didn’t, something I knew I would be grateful for later, but now I resented it. At least I did until he thrust, sent his hips lurching forward until his cockhead hit my clit.

The reverberating sensation was sheer pleasure, almost overwhelming in its strength.

When he did so again, I cried out, squeezing my thighs closed tighter as he pistoned his hips. He breathed out a harsh breath, began to move faster.

Wetness was running from me freely, coating the inside of my thighs, his shaft, both of us now sticky.

I didn’t care.

He wasn’t even inside me, but I was ready to explode, the tap tap tap of his cock against my clit driving me insane.

So mindless that I didn’t care about the bright sun that filled my room, leaving no possibility he couldn’t see the sag of my breasts, the fullness of my thighs, the paunch of my stomach.

I’d never been so exposed in front of Michael in the daylight, and before had been nervous about what would happen when I was, how he would respond. There was no way he could miss any of them now, but he seemed not to care. He slammed his lean, strong hips into mine, centered his hand on that paunch to hold me in place.

When he tightened his hand, hit my clit one last time, I cried out, lost myself in an intense climax, one that left me shivering, shattered.

A moment later, he spilled himself, his cum painting my thighs as he exhaled hard. My sweat, our combined juices on my skin, Michael’s tight hold on my waist, his harsh breath against my ear couldn’t detract from the beauty of this moment.

I still hadn’t opened my eyes, but reached for Michael when I felt him move.

“Stay still,” he whispered.

I didn’t defy him but instead lay there, listened to the sound of him moving in my bathroom and then his footsteps as he approached.

I sighed at the first feel of the warm cloth against my legs, shifted to give him access as he wiped away his essence. It was insane, but I was saddened that he was no longer there and at the same time flattered by his thoughtfulness.

This was how I had imagined it, Michael, gentle, kind, but still him, me as content as I could ever recall being.

But as beautiful as this moment was, I knew it was short-lived.

I kept my eyes closed as long as I could, waited, and then finally turned to face him.

His jaw was shadowed, stubble peppering it, and his hair, usually so neat was unruly.

I found myself reaching for the dark strands, pushing them back away from his forehead, letting my fingers move over his rough jaw, down the bare expanse of his chest.

It blew my mind that he was here, left me somewhat off balance that he even wanted me. I hated myself for thinking that, knew that I deserved no less, and again began remembering what had happened the night before.

I looked at Michael, could see the subtle change in his expression, knew he was aware of the direction my thoughts had taken.

“Get dressed. Then we’ll talk,” he said.

There was Michael. Always issuing orders.

This time, I complied. I didn’t want to give in to him, felt compelled to prove a point. Even more, I knew he was right. We needed to talk.

So instead of staring at Michael’s beauty, thinking of how thoroughly he had mastered my body or how much he pissed me off, I got up, dressed quickly in casual clothes and left Michael in my bedroom, went to my kitchen to wait for him.

He emerged a few minutes later, casually taking in my home.

It gave me some measure of shame that I had let Michael fuck me in public, and at my workplace, but he’d never actually seen my kitchen.

Another sign of how out of control I had let things get, how I had lost myself.

No more.

“I have some things to say to you, Michael,” I said.

He stood, arms hanging at his side, the tilt of his head still arrogant, but a softness in his eyes I didn’t always see.

He nodded curtly.

“What you did yesterday was way out of line. You don’t get to go around hitting people. And you sure as shit don’t get to tell me to shut up,” I said.

Even thinking it now, I felt some of that anger returning. Mostly at myself. Because despite what I’d resolved, I had welcomed him with open arms, had again given myself to him with no hesitation.

That probably made my words now seem weak, meaningless, something I knew Michael wouldn’t miss, something I knew he would probably take advantage of.

Because I could keep my firm line, tell him what was and was not acceptable, but the truth was, I had no idea if I could hold that line. Didn’t know that I wouldn’t spread my legs in the middle of the hotel lobby if Michael crooked his finger.

Pathetic. And what a place to be. At Michael Murphy’s mercy.

After I spoke, I continued to look at him, kept me eyes on him as I waited, trying to anticipate what he might say.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“I don’t think you understood what…” I started and then trailed off quickly, looking at him quizzically. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Talk about taking the wind out of my sails.

Michael had just agreed with me, hadn’t put up any kind of argument at all.

The question was, why wasn’t I happier about it?