30. Klein
I liedto Paisley about how much the sting hurt. It killed me the ride back to the house, and going up the stairs was agony. But leaning on her small frame, watching her prepare the hot water, and offer to help me undress? There were anesthetic properties in her care.
I’m on the bed in the towel I’d wrapped around myself when I got out of the bathtub and shucked my wet shorts. The sting looks mean, red and angry, but on the bright side it’s not keeping me from lying down. The pain when it happened was shocking, almost like electricity at first, and then a hot throbbing. It has dulled now, thanks to Paisley nursing me.
I wonder how much longer Paisley will be gone? I should probably get dressed. Looking out the window though, at the glimmering blue ocean, it’s not easy to make myself get up. I won’t have this view forever. I’ll spend a few more minutes savoring it, then I’ll dress.
We’ve been on the island for three days, and I haven’t been able to figure out Paisley’s family yet. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but they’re missing something. A cohesion, perhaps? They seem like satellites, existing in the same orbit, but never touching. I’ve always understood that people can be rich in a variety of ways, and now I’m seeing firsthand what it means to have monetary wealth, but be lacking in love and belonging and acceptance.
It’s not a topic I like to think about, but even with my dad?—
“Hey,” comes a soft, tentative voice.
I’m smiling before my eyes meet hers.
Paisley hovers in the open doorway. Her hair is tied on the top of her head, messy, still windblown and beach matted from earlier. She hadn’t cleaned up before going to meet her sister. She’d only taken care of me.
“How are you feeling?” Paisley closes the door softly behind her. She bites the corner of her lower lip nervously, but her eyes dance, mischievous.
“You didn’t get dressed?” she asks, coming closer.
I look down at the towel. “I thought I had a little more time before you came back. If you want to bring me my clothes, I’ll get dressed.”
Instead of walking to the bathroom for my things, Paisley comes closer to the bed. She settles down at the end, sitting the same way I sat yesterday morning when I brought her coffee.
“May I?” she reaches for me, fingers brushing my ankle. “Just want to check on the patient.”
I turn my right leg over, just enough so she can see the red line. She sucks air through her teeth at the sight. “My grandma left that cream, if you want it.” Paisley pats her shorts pocket. “I picked it up before I came in here.”
“Maybe later,” I answer, because at this precise moment I’d rather not smell medicinal.
“I feel terrible this happened to you,” she says, her voice on the jagged end of a whisper.
“It’s just a jellyfish sting. Could be worse.”
“True. You could be made a eunuch.”
The corners of my mouth curve as I try not to laugh. “He’s lucky I stopped there.”
“Good to know you’re not above medieval torture methods.” With a fisted hand propped under her chin, she asks, “What did he say?”
I’d rather not tell her, only because I don’t want to watch her face absorb it. But I’m not going to lie. “He suggested he and I had both”—my fingers lift for air quotes—“done you.”
“Ahh.” She nods, nonplussed. “So he woke up and chose to be classy.”
Her sarcastic comment draws out my laughter. I’m relieved she’s not upset.
Paisley repositions herself so she’s sitting back on her heels, knees bent and thighs pressed together. “I shouldn’t be surprised you rode in on your white horse and gallantly fought for my honor.” Her hands clasp, resting on the crevice formed by her legs, and there’s something about the tenderness evident in her expression that steals my breath.
“Klein.” My name on her lips is ragged, harsh, silk over broken glass. “You’ve been so good to me since we arrived on the island. And somehow I know you’re going to keep being good to me.”
There’s that word we keep using. Good.
My mouth opens to speak, but whatever I had to say is halted by Paisley running her fingertips up the inside of my left leg. Her touch travels higher, meets the hem of the plush towel.
I swallow the boulder in my throat, unsure of what to do or say.
“And I was thinking,” Paisley continues, a lone fingertip swooping over my thigh muscle, “that I’d like to be good to you, too.”
“You already are,” I grit out. “We’re each holding up our end of the deal.” I know because I check the account regularly, I see the photos and captions Cecily is creating.
Paisley rubs my thigh. My midsection coils, blood rushing into a part of my body I’ve maintained near-perfect control over when I’m around Paisley.
Through a fringe of golden lashes her gaze tumbles down to me. She looks vulnerable and tentative, and seeing Paisley less than confident rips at my chest. I don’t know why, only that it does.
The tip of her tongue pokes out and swipes over her upper lip. “This wouldn’t be a part of our deal.” One corner of her mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “It would be a part of our new deal. Our fun deal.”
My heartbeats pick up pace.
Paisley rises, still on her knees but no longer sitting on her heels. “Klein, what do you say? Will you allow me to be good to you? Help you forget about your sting for a little while?”
Sting? Oh, right. All this talk, this tension, shoved the sting and its pain to the back of my mind. But with Paisley’s mention of it, the searing heat on my leg flares.
I don’t want Paisley doing anything with me out of guilt. Or anything else that’s not purely because she desires to.
Sitting up from the mountain of pillows, I place two fingers under her chin and align our gazes.
“Paisley, I know this week has been a lot for you emotionally, and I don’t want you to?—”
She shakes her head, a tiny movement that causes her messy bun to bounce. “That’s not it, Klein. This is something I want to do. Something I’ve”—her jaw shifts under my touch as she bites at her lower lip—“thought about already.”
Of all the words I thought might come from Paisley Royce’s mouth today, that admittance was not one of them.
“I’ve thought about you, too. That way.” I breathe a short laugh. “Every way.”
Paisley grins. She moves her chin left, breaking my touch on her. Her palms are on my thighs, her warmth seeping into my skin. Her hands glide up, disappearing under the towel.
My muscles flex at her soft touch, and in anticipation.
“Lie back,” Paisley whispers.
I do as she says. Using my thighs to steady her, Paisley leans in, pressing her lips to my lower stomach. Her lips move over the muscle slowly, and she murmurs, “I like your body, Klein. The way your hips have this ‘v’ shape,” she shifts left, running her tongue along the diagonal, until she’s stopped by the rolled top of the towel. “It was very distracting on the beach earlier.”
“My apologies.”
She fists the top of the towel and tugs, and the end of the towel that was tucked in gives way. She looks up at me, gaze wickedly playful.
“Poor Klein,” she pouts, batting her eyelashes.
“Poor me,” I say, trying not to smile. “So sad.”
Paisley sits back enough to grab both ends of the towel. Slowly, she pulls them apart, like opening the blinds on a window.
As if driven by a spring, I surge forward.
Paisley licks her lips, saying impishly, “Would you look at that? It doesn’t light up.”
I’ve never been in this position and laughed before, but here I am. Chuckling at Paisley’s wit, even on the precipice of something so intimate.
Paisley grips the part of me that’s throbbing. Her fisted hand climbs, gathering dew, and says, “I hope this takes your mind off things.”
My mind is already taken off things. What pain? Where?
And then Paisley leans forward. Wraps her mouth around me, warm, wet, and perfect.
Stars. That’s what I see. My head tips back and I look up at the ceiling as my brain adjusts to the simple fact this is Paisley—Paisley!—with her mouth on me.
My gaze snaps back down. I can’t miss a moment of this. Paisley’s sunshine hair, the sun illuminating her right side, the diamond stud in her ear casting prisms of light on the wall.
My thumb rubs over her cheek. Her ocean-eyed gaze meets mine. She looks sexy as hell, a vixen, but somehow sweet.
What have I done right in this life to deserve Paisley on her knees, mouth filled with me, gazing up at me with an intoxicating mix of sweetness and desire?
Paisley’s eyes flicker closed, her gaze drops, and she gets to work.
My entire world fades into the background, and there is only this moment, beautiful Paisley’s head bobbing in my lap, letting down her guard and offering this piece of herself.
My focus narrows, becoming a pinpoint, and the pleasure ascends. I look around for a tissue, a T-shirt, but there’s nothing in supply. Only the towel trapped under my body.
“Paisley,” I groan, stroking her cheek with my knuckles. “Soon. I’m going to?—”
She hums, not letting up. The peak nears, my muscles tightening, and I attempt to move away from her, but she locks my hips into place with her hands and pushes herself further down on me.
My eyes close as white flashes across my vision. “Paisley,” I croak, my hand wrapped around the side of her neck.
My body jerks, and under my palm Paisley’s throat undulates.
Oh.
Fuck.
Paisley releases me tenderly, and my eyes blink open. She returns to sitting on her heels, and if it weren’t for the leftover shock of my orgasm, I’d consider everything that just happened one of my many fantasies about this woman.
Paisley’s eyebrows lift, gaze watery. “Feeling any pain?”
Struggling to find my way out of my post-fellatio haze, it takes me a moment to decipher what she means. “I’m feeling everything but pain.” I’m not only feeling the afterglow of pleasure, I’m feeling all kinds of things I’m not supposed to. Feelings that weren’t a part of our deal. Feelings that make me want to tell her to forget our deal and just let me be here, on the island, in some capacity that isn’t fake.
What would she do if I said that? Should I say that?
“Klein, can I be honest with you?”
“Always,” I hurry to confirm. I throw the towel around my lap. No need to be the only naked one here. Also, my thigh muscles are twitching.
Paisley captures the side of her lower lip between her teeth. “I feel a little shy now.”
“You?”
“Yes. Me.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she twists the comforter. “That was probably the boldest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Her head snaps up. “Until now, that act was a perk reserved for boyfriends.”
I reach for her hand, stilling the twisting motion. “You coming here with a fake boyfriend in tow was bold. You coming here at all was brave.”
She crosses her arms and looks away, playfully haughty. “You’re saying that because I just blew you.”
I shake my head, laughing once again at something this woman has said. Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around her and lift. She gasps, then lets herself be lifted, tucked against my chest. She’s careful of my right leg, and I’m grateful. The pain has come back, but I know it was actually always there. The distraction she provided was effective.
Paisley’s head settles on my chest. Using the palm of her hand, she drums a beat on the center of my chest. “That’s the sound of your heart, Klein. It’s still beating fast. I made it race.”
“No past tense.”
Paisley lifts her head, staring deep into my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Present tense. You are making my heart race.”
She shakes her head as much as she can in this position. “It’s the effects of?—”
“You, Paisley. It’s the effects of you.”
“Klein.” But that’s all she says. Just my name.
“Paisley, we’ve agreed to have fun this week. And we are. We will,” I amend. There is so much more I want to do with this woman. I want to make her body sing, her eyes search the ceiling unseeingly. “But that doesn’t mean my heart can’t beat faster around you.”
She looks at me for a long second, and then says, “I’d do well to remember you are a wordsmith. You spend your days immersed in language, toying with words, adjusting them to elicit emotional response.”
She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t want to get it, either. She wants to make light of my words, to not allow them their weight.
What is she afraid of?
I’ll give her this one. I’ll let her have a pass. This week we’ll have the kind of fun she is asking for. But will that be enough for me?
“Klein the writer,” I say, using one of the nicknames she’s given me. I’m giving her an out, something to fall back on.
“Klein the writer,” she echoes. “I’m going to rinse my mouth out.”
From where I lie I can see Paisley standing in front of the bathroom mirror, squeezing a pea-sized amount of toothpaste onto her fingertip. She adds the toothpaste and a handful of water to her mouth and swishes. Through the mirror she meets my eyes, and I swear even from across the room a faint shade of pink blooms on her cheeks.
She spits, rinses, and blots her mouth with a hand towel. Exiting the bathroom, she comes to stand in front of me. Her lips are pursed for a second before she asks, “Are we good?”
“Good?” I repeat disbelievingly, like a dummy. I’m James Bond realizing his life’s purpose, finally closing his decades-long story arc. I’m Spiderman kissing Mary Jane upside down. I’m Klein Madigan, fresh off a lascivious act with the object of his affection. “Paisley, I’m better than good.”
“Glad to hear it.” She adjusts the P on her necklace. “I’m not going to lie, I don’t know what to do now.” Her floundering is endearing.
“Maybe grab some clothes for me out of the dresser? I’ll get dressed and we can go downstairs.”
Without another word she gets clothes from the dresser and hands them over, then goes into the bathroom to brush her hair and make herself presentable (her words—I think she looks perfect as is.).
I dress, careful of my sting.
Paisley returns, hair wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck. I reach for her hand, ignoring the pain in my leg.
“Let’s go spend some time with your family before we have to go to Shane’s place tonight.”
“Ugh,” Paisley groans. “The mixer. I forgot about that.”
Taking her hand, I open the bedroom door for her. “Maybe it’ll be better than you think.”
Paisley presses up on tiptoe, delivering a kiss to my cheek. “You’re going to be there, so it’s already better.”