33
ERICA
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King stays quiet for a while. When I finally get his attention again, he looks at me. He seems out of it, but it’s funny seeing the tiny smile on his face. It’s the most peaceful I’ve seen him in a while. He’s had his moments, but it’s nice… actually nice… that we shared that.
“Well, since you have to leave,” I say sadly. I’m still lying on top of him, my legs between his, my stomach pressed to him.
Trying to get up, I’m surprised when he pulls me back down. His arm stays wrapped around me as he lies back on the couch, eyes still closed, like he’s about to fall asleep.
“I will, just give me a minute,” he says tiredly, his eyes remaining closed in that peaceful aura he’s basking in.
So I do. I give him a minute. But a minute turns into five minutes, then ten, until I hear him lightly snoring.
Unable to help myself, I smile. I smile at the thought that his dick was in my mouth. I was so nervous because it’s so different. I felt it, and I know what it feels like.
I knew he was big, but I never actually saw it fully in front of me, in all its majesty, like a big towering landmark right in front of my nose.
He was so thick it was hard for me to keep my teeth off of him as I slid him down inside me, and the amount of cum was just so much that I almost choked on it.
The minute I felt King tense up, his muscles going taut underneath me right before relaxing, my endorphins released all at once as he started pouring down my throat.
Then he started making that beautiful noise.
Hearing the sounds of ultimate pleasure that came from King, and his body jerking along with the pleasure I was giving him as he breathed hard, is the most erotic thing I have ever felt.
And before I know it, his light snoring begins putting me to sleep too.
The next time my eyes flutter open, the soft glow of the living room clock catches my attention. The old wall clock I’d long assumed was broken now reads 3:07 a.m.
I’m still lying sprawled on top of King, our bodies pressed together in the quiet darkness.
His right arm is still wrapped securely around me, draped over my back in a warm, instinctive possessiveness. His left arm dangles limply off the edge of the couch, fingers brushing the floor.
A faint, rhythmic movement against my hair draws my attention. His lips are parting and closing ever so slightly, murmuring something too soft and sleepy to make out. That gentle, unconscious motion is what must have pulled me from sleep.
“I… I’m sorry. Sorry ,” King whispers very quietly. Maybe he’s dreaming about God or something.
Probably feeling guilty.
Birdsong drifts through the quiet room. Or maybe it’s only in my head.
Did I fall back asleep?
As I wake a small smile beams on my lips as I slowly become aware of the warmth of King beneath me.
His breathing has changed; deeper, then lighter as he begins to stir.
I can’t believe we actually spent the whole night like this on the couch, exactly the way we fell asleep.
At some point I must have drifted off again without even noticing.
King blinks awake, letting out a low, sleepy groan. His hair is tousled, falling messily across his forehead in that effortlessly sexy way.
“Good morning,” I murmur softly.
He blinks twice, looking disoriented, looking at me as if he’s confused why I’m here.
He starts to sit up, and I let him, falling back onto my knees and rising steadily off the couch. My knee cracks.
Wow, that’s embarrassing.
As King slowly sits up, he swings his legs over the edge of the couch and leans forward, burying his face in both hands. He wipes downward across his eyes and cheeks with a tired groan that vibrates low in his throat. When he speaks, his voice comes out rough and hoarse from sleep.
“I’m sorry,” he says, draping his forearms over his thighs. He lifts his gaze to meet mine, eyes still heavy with exhaustion.
“You came pretty hard,” I reply, standing there and giving him a bright smile, but he doesn’t return it.
Instead, he looks absolutely ashamed, turning away from me and looking down at the rug.
He holds out his right hand, still looking at the rug as he sits there, his left elbow resting on his knee.
I take his hand, and without looking at me, he slowly and tiredly, not just in his physicality but seemingly in his soul, drops to his knees and forces me to my knees too.
He takes both of my hands in his, bows his head, and begins to pray in a low, hoarse voice:
“Dear God, I come before You asking for forgiveness. Forgive me and Erica for our lewdness, for having sex outside of marriage. Forgive us for insulting the Holy Spirit. Your Word says in 1 Corinthians 6:18, ‘Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually sins against their own body.’ Lord, I have sinned against my own body and against You. Galatians 5:19-21 warns that the acts of the flesh include sexual immorality, and that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God. Please have mercy on us. Cleanse us, Father…”
I can’t take it anymore.
“Stop!” I yell, scrambling to my feet and yanking my hands free from his. He lets his arms drop lifelessly to his sides. As I pull away, his head stays bowed low, face hidden toward the floor in shame.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I insist, staring at him. Why won’t he look at me? He’s sitting back on his heels now, arms hanging limp like a broken toy with the batteries pulled out. “We need to—”
“I need to… I need to…” he cuts in, voice trembling. He’s shaking.
“King?” I ask softly.
When he looks up at me, I can see how distressed he is. Holy shit, there are tears in his eyes that haven’t fallen, and he looks absolutely terrified.
What the hell is going on?
Standing up, even though he’s tall, he looks so small right now, like the entire life has been drained out of him. Then, as if speaking on autopilot, he says, “I have to go. I have to go to worship practice. It’s at 7 p.m., so you might want to be there.”
“Pastor Darrian never mentioned that,” I say.
King only says, “Okay.”
But he seems so out of it, speaking like a robot is controlling him.
He leaves, putting on his boots, staring off into space as he does so, and never once looking at me as he opens the door to my apartment and kind of ambles, almost drunkenly, through the hallway and down the stairs.
He’s so out of it that he straight up leaves my door wide open.
Closing it, I feel more concerned about why he’s so out of it. Like, I know he’s ashamed, but I did try to stop it several times, even though I didn’t want to.
As soon as I click the door shut, a quick, stark knock echoes through the apartment.
Turning the knob and pulling it open, I see Xenith standing there with her usual bright energy. She steps inside without waiting for an invitation.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. We sway gently from side to side in that easy, familiar hug.
“Hey, girl,” she replies, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“I didn’t know you were home,” I tell her.
“Yeah, for a little bit.”
We settle onto the couch and catch up for a while. I end up telling her everything that happened, because why wouldn’t I?
Last night had actually been really hot… if you subtracted the complete killjoy disaster of this morning. As she sits beside me with legs tucked under her, she listens with a growing grin, her eyebrows shooting up comically high before dropping again in exaggerated disbelief.
Smiling back at her, I watch as she takes a quick breath and says, “Some of those devout guys are the biggest freaks.”
My smile widens. “Yeah, I don’t get why he’s so against it, though. He acts like he straight up killed someone.”
Xenith seems to think for a moment and then says, “Maybe he struggled with something, or maybe he has mental issues and that’s all he’s hanging on to.”
Nodding, I reply, “Yeah, probably. He does tend to space out sometimes, I’ve noticed.”
Xenith blinks at me. “Why?”
Breathing in, I look into the empty space in front of me. “I don’t know, and I don’t think he realizes when he’s doing it, but he’s also really protective. I don’t know, maybe he used to be like a… boxer or something.”
“Him? Too tall. Then again a lot of guys have a weird background because, I don’t know, maybe it’s me, but a lot of people before they give their lives to Christ tend to have a lot of baggage, and that’s why they use the religion as a means to try and help them with it, kind of like therapy but in a religious way,” she tells me, then laughs as if a thought just came to her and states, “What if he was a Satanist?”
Her eyes go wide comically with a big smile and open mouth.
Shaking my head, I laugh too. Then I take a deep breath as if just remembering. “How’s your boyfriend by the way?”
“I like him but he’s kind of wishy-washy. He wants me to go half on everything and I don’t mind,” she says, putting up a hand to set the record straight before putting it back down, “but like he’s trying to argue with me. Maybe he’s not ready for responsibility or something.”
“Have you talked to him about that stuff?”
“Yeah, I mean like… even when I try to make the conversation about that, it’s not even like it’s heavy-handed or anything, but anytime I try to remotely criticize him about anything or just suggest something that has to do with our future, he gets really weird.”
I smile at her. “Guys tend to be like that sometimes,” I say. “My ex was like that.”
“Yeah but your ex was a dog.”
Blinking at her, I smile.
She leans forward, eyes bright. “Hey, you want to do something fun tonight? We could invite Zosha.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with Zoe. She’s been acting weird with me.”
“The girl did lose her father. Her whole life upended.”
“Yeah but I’ve been there for her and she just blows up on me for the littlest of things.
I think she likes King and she’s mad at me or something and I can see that and I don’t even blame her for that because everybody likes him, but I wouldn’t peg Zoe for a toxic person. Then again, you never know people.”
Xenith smiles. “From what I know about her, she seems like a good girl. Give her some time. Losing a loved one, it takes a toll on people and sometimes they don’t know how to handle it, especially if they’re still grieving. So I wouldn’t take anything she says or does right now personally.”
We chitchat for a while longer, then Xenith heads back to her apartment. Xander isn’t there; he’s out doing whatever. Our talk sticks with me, though, and makes me think even more about Zoe, so I decide to give her a call.
Even as the phone rings, one clear thought settles in my mind: I shouldn’t tell Zoe about King just in case. I don’t want to tell her about sucking his dick in case she really does like him and lied about it.
Zoe answers the phone.
“How are you? What’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing. What’s up with you?” I reply.
“I’m still at the bakery at the youth camp.”
“Are you coming back for the weekend?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hey, are we good?” I ask.
There's a deep sigh and a bit of hesitation on the other end. “Yeah, of course we are. I just feel like I was a shitty friend to you.”
A sense of joy settles in my heart. Zoe is still in there. “It’s okay. I wasn’t the best friend either.”
We talk for a little while longer and it actually feels nice, but it doesn’t feel complete or thorough, as if a wall has gone up between us, because now I can’t tell Zoe about King anymore.
Even still, I don’t want to lose my friend. Zoe is like a tether to this place, this wonderful little town called Brackenridge that I still want to believe holds its magic and has a place for me too.