Chapter 30
30
Lucy
“Would a riesling work?”
Dexter looks up at me over the rack of wine bottles dividing up between aisles. “We can get both the riesling and the chardonnay if you want. We can never have too much wine.”
I beam at him, and he smiles back. We both turn to walk to the end of the aisle, where we meet.
“You know,” I say softly, all smiles and bliss. “This is a very coupley thing we’re doing here.”
He raises his brows, amused. “Is it now?”
“Accepting an invite to your sister’s apartment for dinner with her boyfriend while you volunteered to bring the wine?” I ask, our smiles now matching. “Very coupley.”
He smirks. “She’s just happy she finally has enough energy to cook an entire meal,” he explains. “And her gnocchi is honestly to die for.”
“I’m definitely not complaining,” I say, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I guess…”
“What?” he asks gently, a small dip furrowing between his brows.
I shake my head. “I can’t wait.”
This isn’t the first coupley thing we’ve done together. Late-night milkshake runs at The Lunch Car, movie nights at home under a shared blanket, heavy make out sessions on the couch. In fact, most of our time spent together has been doing very coupley things. But this…It feels like more. Like us playing the role of boyfriend and girlfriend in front of other people, no matter that we haven’t officially assigned each other such titles, makes it that much more coupley.
We grab our two bottles, white wine like Janet asked, and walk the remaining fifteen blocks to Janet and Charles’s apartment.
“Hey, guys,” Charles calls when he opens the door. “Janet’s just setting the table.”
Dexter steps to the side, letting me through first. As soon as I walk in, we’re greeted by the warm scents of cheese and garlic and something warm and homey. Small tea candles are set on a table covered with a linen tablecloth, and Janet’s hovering over it, a large platter in her hands holding a combination of tomato and basil leaves.
“Come on in!” she exclaims.
Janet smiles at us, and her eyes twinkle against the candlelight. She looks better than when I saw her in the hospital. Much better. Her face looks fuller, not gaunt or sullen. She looks happy. Like she’s excited and looking forward to the next day. Dexter told me she’s been wearing a scarf or the hair prosthetic she was finally approved for through her insurance, one she can apply on her own at home, but tonight she’s wearing neither. Instead, she’s proudly displaying the matching hairstyle she and Dexter have, and it looks so incredibly endearing to see them together.
Dexter also mentioned that Janet started attending meetings with a local cancer support group, which is where she learned about using her insurance to file a claim for a medical grade wig. It’s the little things that have been adding to her spirit. Talking to people who are going through what she is, learning ways to get a part of herself back—her pre-cancer self—instead of feeling like she has a big cancer stamp on her forehead. And it shows tonight.
I’m seeing the change in Dexter too. With each morsel of Janet and his past and himself he shares with me, I see less of it weigh him down. I don’t know if he feels the same way, but I almost feel like he’s letting me share the load with him. And for some reason, it doesn’t feel the least bit heavy for me. In fact, distributing some of the heaviness, like what he’s afraid of or the worry of how he’s going to manage if Janet loses this battle, makes things light. I can’t imagine either one of us ever going back to carrying each of our own burdens by ourselves. He and I together, we created this large, still growing construction of scaffolding, all the metal poles adding to me and him while we continuously learn how to hold each other up.
Charles moves around Janet to push aside some plates and sets a small basket of bread on the table. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turns to smile at him. Dexter and I give them a moment, more to watch them than anything else. Because I know deep down, witnessing moments like this has become rare for Dexter. Moments where he gets to see his sister just be .
“Thank you,” Janet says to Dexter as she takes the bottles from him.
“Sure,” he answers. “Lucy picked the riesling.”
Janet nods approvingly. “You have good taste.”
I feel Dexter’s warm hand press into my lower back as he pulls out a seat for me. Dinner moves along. Janet serves us with her gnocchi and pesto sauce, which tastes amazing, and we move through the bottles of wine, including a third Janet had tucked away on her small four bottle wine rack. By the time dinner’s over, the four of us are relaxed and fending off a slowly creeping food coma .
“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” Janet comments over a few slices of cheesecake she’s serving.
“Aspiring,” I correct.
“She’s a part of this huge ad campaign with a big brand, and they’re already going to use her pictures for the campaign,” Dexter interjects.
“Well, no,” I cut in. I glance at Dexter, giving him pleading eyes while he smiles proudly. “It’s not official yet. The art director handling the campaign asked me to turn in some of my edited pictures I’ve taken of the models. But I’m still learning a lot. My pictures aren’t nearly where they should be for any sort of billboard or magazine spread, but I’m hoping maybe by the end of this internship, I’ll be able to gain enough experience to turn in some quality work.”
Dexter waves a hand in my direction. “She’s being modest.”
“And you’ve seen my work?” I say in a sharp whisper, turning to face him.
He shrugs. “You do use my laptop,” he says in a low voice only meant for me.
“Are you looking through my stuff?”
“No,” he answers, taking a pause on jabbing the crumbly cheesecake crust on his plate to give me a sheepish smile. “I, uh, needed to transfer some files over, and I saw them.”
“Oh.”
He eyes me carefully, like he’s gauging whether or not that small detail will upset me—him catching an unguarded glimpse of something that may be a little too personal for his eyes. But all it does is make me realize how much of myself I don’t mind Dexter seeing. I don’t feel guarded or timid about anything with him. And maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s the only person who understands me for me. Not the Lucy who still works at a coffee house back home. Not the Lucy who holds so many misgivings about the future but puts on a show like I do for my friends and family. Just me.
“Do you like fashion photography? Or commercial photography?” Janet asks, pulling me away from the inquisitive gaze I tipped toward Dexter.
“Um, I think I’m still deciding,” I answer. “I kind of like both so far, and I think I’m just learning too much right now to decide what I’m really into. Before this, I was doing marketing for an ad agency, so I don’t have much experience in the photography field.”
“But that marketing experience must have helped,” she comments. “Must be why you’re doing well with this ad campaign.”
“Huh,” I huffed, musing at the realization that she has a point. All those years spent in marketing gave me an eye for what consumers look for. What stands out, what appeals to the eye of the general public. I’m using that experience and channeling it toward my photography work now. Who would’ve thought?
“You know, I have an exhibition opening at the gallery coming up next Thursday,” Janet announces. “You two should come by.”
“Are you okay to do that?” Dexter asks.
“It’s just one night,” Janet answers. “And we have a handful of new artists who I spent a lot of time with to collaborate on this exhibition. One of them, I got really close with. Her work is amazing, and I can’t miss her first show.” She turns to me. “Maybe you can take some pictures? I know she would really appreciate that. You know, anything that isn’t taken from a crappy camera phone.”
I smile. “Sure,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “I’d love to.”
Hours later, after the last of the cheesecake was wrapped away in foil and the empty wine bottles clinked in the recycle bin, Dexter and I are on our way home. We spent the rest of the evening poring over old photo albums Janet had tucked away on her large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, mainly to embarrass Dexter but also because I asked. When Janet mentioned science camp and advanced rocketry, I had to see them for myself. And when I caught a glimpse of eleven-year-old Dexter in protective goggles and a gap-toothed smile, I fell harder.
“You know, you were right,” Dexter says, sliding his hand into mine.
“About what?”
“That was very coupley.” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses the knuckle on my middle finger. “And I liked it.”
I giggle. Like a girly giggle with a hand to my mouth and my chin tucked down to my shoulder. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, becoming bashful when Dexter gives me the kind of attention only boyfriends do. Like when he makes a silly joke just for the sake of making me laugh or when he says something like he just did.
“I liked it too,” I answer as he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “It felt very…comfy-cozy.”
He laughs this time, the deep throatiness of his chuckle vibrating against me. I know moments like this are measured, each one being ticked off an already premade list of kisses and hugs and more kisses. We both know the end is coming at some point. Every moment between us is full of expiration dates. My internship, my sister’s wedding, my flight back to Seattle. All of those have actual dates on a calendar, like on a milk carton or a tub of peanut butter. And the expiration date of our…relationship, if that’s what we’d call this, is becoming more and more invasive with each passing day. At first, we knew and simply pushed it aside, where we could ignore it. But now, with only a month until the wedding, it’s becoming harder to ignore .
We get home and get ready for bed. With the early days we have tomorrow and our usual routine pat down, we mosey our way to our separate bedrooms and reemerge shortly after in our night wear. Me in a long sleep shirt that stops at the top of my legs and him in just pajama pants. Bare chest and pajama pants. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, but each time I do, it takes my breath away a little bit. I love how I can see the faint ridges of the muscles on his stomach that make him soft and warm. Or the way the bulge of his biceps show how strong he is while knowing how gentle he feels when those arms wrap around me. There are also the grooves that line down his hips, centering the smattering of hair that runs from his belly button to below his waistline.
We move to the bathroom, where we wash up. Dexter stands over me while he brushes his teeth, and I continue my extensive seven step skin care routine as he watches. When I’m done and he’s just waiting, I turn around to face him. “You know when Janet said my marketing experience must be helping me during this internship?”
“Hmm?” he hums with serious eyes.
“I really thought I came into this with zero experience and I was basically algae. Just, bottom of the food chain with absolutely nothing to offer. And Janet made me realize I actually brought some of my experience with me and maybe I’m not, you know…scum.”
He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me and running his hands up and down my back. I press my face into his bare chest and bask in the feel of my skin against his. “First of all, you could never be scum,” he says into my hair. “And second, Lucy, I’m not saying your work is amazing because I’m trying to get into your panties.” I giggle when he pauses, and he uses that moment to peck my cheek. “You’re going to find your pictures on the side of a bus one day.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be happy to make it out of this internship with my will still intact,” I say bashfully. “But I guess,” I add a little more resolutely, “ just hearing all of that once in a while makes me feel like I actually might have a shot of doing something after this internship. Something big. At least, for me .”
“Yeah,” he says softly with a smile that teeters between pride and tenderness.
I push away from him and saunter into the hallway. My back is turned to him, and I don’t feel him close behind me. When I look over my shoulder, I see that he’s still at the doorway to the bathroom. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes track the length of my body. “You’re not going to bed?”
He takes a slow, cautious step toward me. “I will.”
“Did you want me to stay up with you?”
He shakes his head. “Only if you want to.”
I yawn. “Sure,” I say as I raise my arms above my head. It causes my shirt to lift a little, and Dexter’s eyes zone in on the exposed skin below the hem.
His hands grip my waist, and he nudges me toward the wall. “I really don’t want to push you into anything. I want to be responsible adults here because I really do think it’s the smart thing to do given our…situation, but Lucy, I’m still a man.” He pauses to swallow. “A man who knows he has the sexiest woman in the world standing in front of him.”
My eyes round, and the sleep that was creeping its way through my body vanishes. “Are you asking me to put some pants on?”
He chuckles and leans into me. “Absolutely not.”
“So…no pants, huh?”
“No pants.”
I stand on tiptoes and press into him for a long, lingering kiss. My mind starts to sift through ways to bend the rules of our abstinence pact, looking for illogical ways to call the whole thing superfluous or overly cautious. Maybe even finding a few cracks we can slip through without fully breaking the rules .
“I know we said ‘no sex’ and all,” I say, mischief written all over the racy gleam in my eyes. “But we can do other stuff, right?”
Dexter’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “What other stuff did you have in mind?” he asks in a low whisper against my lips.
I kiss him again, trailing my hands down his stomach and letting our tongues tangle in a knot of desperation and heat before dropping to my knees. I peer up at him, and the realization of what this “other stuff” is I’m implying settles in his dark gaze.
“Lucy,” he groans. “You don’t have to.”
I tilt my head to the side and bat my eyelashes. “I want to.” And before he can protest again, I spring his already hard erection free and take him in my mouth in one long, greedy pull.
“ Shit ,” he hisses. One of his hands presses against the wall behind me, and the other threads through my hair. My tongue flattens against the underside of his dick, and he starts to hit the back of my throat, forcing gurgled gagging noises from me. I grip his base with my fist, twisting and turning as his hips jerk forward, and his fingers tug at my hair with urgency. I feel my head hit the wall behind me, and his palm cups my scalp to buffer the harsh thumps. But his movements don’t get any gentler. Instead, he moves in a frenzy, letting my head bob between his legs while I watch the muscles in his arms and stomach and chest strain. And suddenly, I become obsessed with making him come.
“ Baby ,” he says through a rough voice. “I’m going to come. If you don’t?—”
I respond by sucking harder, hollowing my cheeks and humming a low moan that vibrates between us. Dexter urgently yanks me to my feet and quickly tucks himself back into his pajamas.
“Was that not—did you not like that?”
A harsh breath slips through his lips, and he swallows hard. “ No , Lucy. That was…That was good . ”
“Just good?” I ask, my eyes rounding with innocence.
“More than good,” he answers, his voice like gravel tumbling in his throat. “I just think?—”
I cut him off with a kiss, raking my nails from his nape to his scalp. Because I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want to peruse through all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this, only to realize how reckless we’ve let ourselves become over a night out and a few extra glasses of wine.
He responds with a kiss just as hungry as mine, and that obsession to see him lose control returns. Through the foggy mist of lust and sex, all I see is the both of us giving into every carnal desire we can think of. And with anyone else, I wouldn’t even dream of losing control like this. I can’t fathom being this exposed and vulnerable while wanting to peel back more layers of myself.
But Dexter’s not just anyone.
I shove my hand into his pants and grip him, moving my hand up and down his length while pushing away the slowly creeping ache clawing at my chest. It doesn’t take long before he presses his body to mine, gripping me through a harsh shudder and a deep groan loud enough to make my entire body rattle, showing how violently his orgasm tears through him.
I expect things to end there, with Dexter breathing harshly into my neck and my hand growing slick inside his boxer briefs, but it doesn’t. He wraps his hand around my wrist, and he drags me into my room, kissing me fiercely as soon as we cross the threshold.
“I swear to God, Lucy,” he growls, gripping my throat to force my gaze to his. His bare chest heaves up and down, and a darkness casts over his eyes, making him look possessive. “This is as far as we go. After this, we go back on what we agreed on, okay? Because I’m trying really, really hard to do good by you.”
I nod .
“Good,” he answers, his voice dark and stern. “Now go lie down.” He jerks his chin toward my bed, and I comply, climbing toward the middle and carefully laying myself flat over the comforter. As soon as my head falls back, his fingers grip my ankles, and he drags me to the edge of the bed. And it’s his turn to drop to his knees. He taps at my hips, indicating for me to lift them so he can remove my underwear, and slides them right off. He sighs, rubbing his cheek into my skin and placing a small, gentle kiss at the apex of my thigh.
“You know what I want to do?” Those coarse words spoken through the low grating tone of his voice trails all the way down to my stomach where a throbbing empty pit sits. Waiting. Craving. Begging.
“What’s that?”
“I want to build a shrine for you.” A swipe of hot, wet tongue. “For every square inch of your body.” Another teasing flick. “For this sweet pussy I’m going to be dreaming about for eternity.”
I smirk. “Wouldn’t that be a sight.” Just as I get the last word out, his lips latch onto me, making me jolt. His tongue moves with purpose and fervor, and when he lays his forearm across my hips, I writhe under his hold on me. His mouth is so goddamn…greedy. Like he’s absolutely starved.
He lifts his head, and his eyes dart to mine. I suddenly feel like prey, and he’s the predator. “This might be a little…forward, but do you happen to have a little friend in here?”
My head pops up from the bed. “What, like a leprechaun?”
He chuckles against my skin before sucking on the sensitive area to his right, making me squirm. “I meant like a special battery-operated toy…”
“Oh, you mean Dennis.”
“You named your vibrator Dennis?”
“’Cause, ya know, he’s such a menace.”
He buries his face into my stomach, muffling a laugh. When he looks at me again, his face is bright red. “Where is this Dennis? ”
“Nightstand drawer, on the right.”
He bolts for the nightstand, and within seconds, he’s at the edge of the bed again. “Have you been using this pretty often lately?”
I hesitate. “Um, maybe.”
His jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as if this single admission makes him realize how ravenous he’s become since I moved in. How we’ve both become a ball of pent-up sexual energy with nothing but toys and hands to temporarily relieve some of that pressure. “With me in the next room?”
I silently nod before I hear the click of my bright blue toy, and the low buzzing sound echoes through the room. Dexter nudges it between my legs, and I flinch from how on edge I am.
“I swear, if this could be me instead…” I hear him whisper. And without further warning, he pushes the vibrator into me in one sweeping, slippery go. My back arches off the bed, and bright bursting spots begin to fill my vision. This feels a thousand times more erotic than when I do it myself. Dexter’s hands guiding it in and out of me with purpose, using my squeaks and moans to show him how much pressure to use or how high or low to keep the vibration setting at. The rough stubble from Dexter’s jaw grazes my skin, and when his tongue flicks my clit, a sharp gasp slips through my lips. It all feels like too much. His mouth starts to become violent, and my heels press into the mattress. I feel his hand snake up my stomach and firmly grip a breast, where he pinches a nipple. All of these sensations tip me over the edge, and I come with such intensity, I don’t know where on earth my body is. Sitting on the top of the Empire State Building, back at home in Seattle, floating around on a cluster of big fluffy clouds—I have no fucking idea.
“ Dexter !” I scream, twisting the sheets in my hands. He rides out my orgasm, moving the vibrator in and out of me until my body slumps into the bed. When my body’s finally gone fully limp, Dexter peppers my skin with gentle kisses, and sags into the soft skin of my stomach with a satisfied hum.
This was supposed to satiate the sexual tension between us, but I feel like it’s done the complete opposite. There’s no way I’ll ever get enough of this. My skin feels like it’s buzzing like a live wire, and all I can think about is how we can go another round in two and a half minutes.
Instead of suggesting just that, I watch Dexter pad to his room. He returns a few minutes later, reemerging in clean pajama pants and an easy smile on his face. He has a towel in his hand, and he kneels next to me to gently wipe between my legs. Everything about him is tender and soft, and I start to feel that ache tug at my heart again.
“Do you need a fresh pair of panties?” he asks cheekily when he’s done. “Since you left a nice little mess in the ones you were wearing…” His voice trails at the end, and he runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth like he’s ready to devour me all over again.
I huff a laugh. “Sure.” I lift a lazy finger toward the dresser. “Top left drawer.”
He does as he’s instructed and returns to my side to help my floppy limbs into the simple cotton panties he picked out. We climb under the sheets and lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms in complete silence while fighting off a slowly creeping sleep before letting it win.