Chapter 11 Tallus #2
“I’m not giving up.” He kissed my earlobe, then my temple.
“I swear, Tallus.” Another kiss landed on my forehead before his bloodshot gaze found mine.
“I’m quitting. The booze is gone. No more drinking to escape.
I won’t let it be a Band-Aid anymore. Those were excuses.
I can do better. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, and you can’t possibly believe me anymore, but—”
I cupped his face in my hands, smearing the last stray tears with my thumbs. “I believe you.”
“How?”
I shrugged. Maybe it wouldn’t happen today or tomorrow or next week or next year, but I did believe Diem would one day win this battle. He would prevail.
The old Diem would have used this moment to reiterate that he didn’t deserve me, but the message had finally sunk in that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Diem settled on his side, one leg draped over mine.
Balanced on an elbow, he used his other hand to loosen my necktie.
I lifted my head so he could remove it, ever cautious of my glasses.
With fumbling fingers, he untucked my shirt and undid the buttons down the front, top to bottom, one at a time, until the sides fell open.
I wore a light undershirt, and Diem carefully untucked the chain he’d given me, cautiously laying Boone’s ring in the center of my chest like he had discovered a precious artifact. He stared at it reverently for a long time without saying anything.
His gears spun. Again, he got lost in his head, a pinch appearing between his brows.
At one point, he moved his hand under the hem of my undershirt and gently stroked the dusting of hair that grew below my navel, but his mind remained far, far away, and for the second time in a handful of days, I couldn’t see beyond his walls and read his mind.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Hm?” He blinked back to the present.
“You’re deep in thought.”
“Oh.” His voice rasped with lingering emotion. “I was… How’s the party planning going?”
The question was a Diem Diversion, but I would ride it into the sunset if that was what he needed.
“Well, I canceled the strippers since the attending audience all have fragile tickers, and we don’t want to be responsible for premature… eject-ulation?”
Diem snorted, worked hard at covering the unexpected amusement, and failed. “That was terrible.”
“I was scrambling for an appropriate pun. I thought it was a good cover.”
“Tell me about the magician?”
I rolled my eyes, something I’d fought hard not to do in front of Aaron.
“Well, Mr. Daily gave me a card for a guy who they have in from time to time who does magic tricks or some such nonsense. He claims the seniors enjoy his act, so it might be something worth looking into. I don’t know. Your call. What do you think?”
Diem diverted his attention to my stomach. He moved his hand farther up my body, dragging the undershirt with it, exposing my abdomen. He pressed his palm against the warm skin above my navel, his thumb continuously stroking a mindless path.
He was gone again.
“D?”
“Yeah. Go for it.”
“Really? A magician?”
“Why not? It would kill time. Better than trying to run a game of Bingo.”
“Now, see. Bingo would be a blast. We should play Bingo. We’re playing Bingo.”
“You forget half these people can’t hear, and the other half won’t keep up because their minds are gone.”
“That’s what’s so fun about it. Sheer Bingo chaos. I’ll win for sure. But alas, I’ll consider Houdini as well.” Hedging, unsure that I wanted to address a potentially touchy subject, I asked, “How do you feel about the slideshow?”
His reaction to the albums made me wonder if I should reconsider.
Diem glided his hand over my hip, then skated his fingers back to my navel, drawing circles around the mini crater.
He shrugged, not meeting my gaze. “Nana would like it. It might stir memories. Get her talking. It’s not about me. My feelings don’t matter.”
“Your feelings always matter, D.”
“Not with this. This day is hers.”
“Okay.”
“You aren’t inviting my parents.” It wasn’t a question, but it held an edge, like he required confirmation.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
I told him about the list of retro music I intended to play and my plans to string fairy lights, streamers, and balloons from the ceiling. I described the craft supplies I’d ordered from and my desire to set up a table for those who wanted to add bling to their party hats.
While I talked, Diem remained far away, lost in a slow exploration of my body.
Every freckle. Every whorl of hair below my belly.
Every protruding bone and crease of skin.
The hills and valleys, and the rise of goose bumps when he hit an especially sensitive spot.
He studied me like I was a test he was determined to pass.
Like an artist admiring a sculpture.
My words fell away as he inched my undershirt higher, the pads of his fingers tickling my ribs and ghosting my nipples. They pebbled instantly into hard nubs. He circled one with his thumb before brushing it again.
The skin tightened and tingled.
My breath caught.
Diem shifted, ducking his head so he could skim his parted lips over the concave of my stomach. His hot exhale warmed my blood.
I closed my eyes and basked in the sensation as he left a trail of tender kisses over my lower abdomen. Diem moved, straddled my thighs. With his hands under my armpits, he heaved me upright and relieved me of my shirts before encouraging me to lie down again.
He adjusted the ring and chain so it lay in the slight indent between my pecs. He handled it like it was made of glass and might shatter at any moment. Satisfied, he resumed his earlier attentions, kissing, touching, and loving every inch of me.
That time with his mouth.
He buried his face in my armpit, inhaling. He dragged his tongue down my arm and tasted the inside of my elbow, softly grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh. His scruff scratched pleasantly, blazing a path as he peppered me with tender kisses.
The inferno he stoked in my core threatened to incinerate me from the inside out.
Diem didn’t rush. He was a man who made love with the focus of a detective, mentally recording every meticulous detail and committing every second to memory.
No moment was too small or insignificant.
No reaction when unnoticed. For him, it wasn’t about the climactic ending.
It was the journey, the discovery, the impression that remained long after it was over.
For someone who claimed he didn’t know what he was doing half the time, Diem was more capable of showing love than any man I knew. It was a quiet love. A tender love. One we kept to ourselves. One we shared on a molecular level. Others may not see it, but it wasn’t theirs to see.
The delicate way Diem explored made me shiver with anticipation. I yearned for the connection of our bodies. To feel him inside me. To become part of him.
Diem removed my trousers, socks, and underwear as he took a meandering trip down my body. He kissed the inside of my thighs, massaged the arches of my feet, and caressed the swells of my calves.
He nestled his nose in the crease at the top of my leg and inhaled before skating his teasing lips over my erection, leaving a ghosting impression of heat behind, and a thrum of need. He didn’t take me into his mouth. Not then. Not yet.
I could whine and plead and beg, but Diem would not be swayed to rush.
He journeyed back up my body, inch by inch, one kiss at a time, until our foreheads connected and we breathed the same pocket of air. Diem didn’t open his eyes. The faint tremors I’d noticed earlier still rippled through him, but they were different now, born from lust and desire and need.
I hooked my hands around his neck, keeping him in place. Keeping him stable. “I love you,” I whispered.
His face crumpled momentarily before he regained control, and the worry lines smoothed out once again. “I love you.”
“You’re still dressed.”
“I’m getting there.”
“Let me help.”
I freed him of his clothes and rolled him to his back. He protested at first, and I imagined after the day he’d had, he wanted to be in control, but his objection was weak, and he soon caved to my demands.
On his back, at my mercy, I returned the love he’d shown me, mapping every scar and tattoo with my lips, reading every page of Diem’s history as it was written on his skin. With a brush of my fingertips, I calmed his jumping nerves, and his muscles finally relaxed.
The world was dark outside the window. Pools of shadows filled the room. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a yellow ambience over the bed. It was enough illumination to pick out the ribbons of red in Diem’s sclera. Ever-present storms haunted the horizons of his gray eyes.
He seemed to struggle to keep his hands still, fisting and balling and squeezing the sheets. The arrested movements pulled at my heartstrings.
“Are you okay?” I whispered by his ear.
He nodded, but it was a lie.
I continued my journey, exploring the worst of his story, the parts that shamed him above all others.
Age-old cuts hid beneath the protective lion and compass inked on his thighs.
The marks of a troubled youth. A point in history when he couldn’t keep the pain inside any longer, and he’d tried to extract it through any means possible.
He watched as I studied those marks, kissing the dozens of faded scars, reaching into the past to hold that boy’s hand and tell him everything would be okay.
Diem was a man on trial, awaiting the verdict, certain his crime of simply existing would warrant the harshest punishment. Rejection. Disgust. Abandonment.
He knew no other outcome.
When I found my way back to his mouth, I kissed him until he released his desperate hold on that invisible ledge, trusting that I would not let him fall, that I would not reject him and walk away.
He moved his hands to my hips, drawing me down so we lay skin to skin.
I loved this big, beautiful, damaged man. Every scar. Every cut. Every invisible wound.
We were in this together. He was mine.
And when Diem made love to me, he claimed me in return.