Audrey
I don’t want to go back to Northwestern. It was such an easy decision to make once Grant made me admit to myself how talented I am and how much I've been denying myself that confidence. Once he made me say it, I could finally see how badly I wanted it.
The only problem is that if I don’t go back to college, then I have to stay here. And if I stay here, then it will be a lot harder to see Grant. Maybe he’ll decide to stay somewhere in town. I can go to art classes at the community college and see him when I can.
Still, this plan feels wrong. Like I’m still holding back. But I don’t know how.
At dinner, my mother seems almost pleased with me. She’s actually smiling at me and not talking about me like I'm not there. She’s not going to be so happy when I tell her what I’m thinking.
Grant sits across from me, and every few moments I feel his shoe lean against mine. Our eyes meet over the table, and I lick my lips in a way that only he would catch. A subtle reminder of what we just did.
After dinner, we all get ready for Christmas Eve service, the one time a year we actually go to church. But I can’t focus. I feel like time is slipping away and the time I have left with Grant isn’t enough. I wish we had more time to build on whatever this is. To figure out if what we’re feeling is real or just physical.
Every fiber of my being knows it’s real. It feels real, but what if I’m being too rash or emotional? How does he feel about me? We’ve had so little time to just talk, the two of us.
When we arrive at the church, my mother pulls me by the hand to sit by her. I notice how Roger jerks his head toward Grant to direct him to sit with him. I’m one end of the pew and he’s on the other. My stomach sours, and I don’t know why. It’s like I’m having physical reactions to the way my heart feels right now. Is this even possible?
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with Roger all weekend,” my mother whispers. When I glance at her, she’s staring down at her program. “I feel like I’ve hardly spent any time with you.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
It’s not really okay, but I tell her that just to make this conversation stop. I don’t want to hear her apology or listen to her try to make this behavior right when it would probably take hours of licensed therapy to make my mother understand the way I feel when I'm around her.
“You like Roger, don’t you?” she asks quietly. My brother on the other side of her is talking to his wife so he doesn't hear our conversation.
“Yeah, Roger is fine, Mom.”
“Are you mad at me for getting married? I notice how you hardly look at me anymore.”
I’m about to tell her that I’m not mad at her when I realize that I think I am. I am mad at her for getting married, for being spontaneous and following her heart while I've been slaving away at a rigorous college program that she wanted for me. I’m mad that she took the confidence and never left any for me. I’m mad that she never taught me to do the things she did for herself.
And I almost don't say any of that, but then I peer down the line and see Grant looking down at me. He told me not to hold my tongue, so I don’t.
But just as I’m about to start speaking, the music begins to play on the stage and we all stand to start singing. My skin is practically crawling. I can’t be here. My whole life is a lie, and I’m not even brave enough to stand up to my own mother. I’m too afraid to follow my own dreams and live my own life.
Mostly I start to feel sick because I know that Grant landing in my life is my gift, and if I don’t take it while I have the chance, I stand to lose more than a real connection. I’ll lose my self-respect, faith in myself, and courage to live.
“I’m not feeling so good,” I mutter.
“What?” she asks, looking at me.
“I want to go home.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Yes, I’ll find my own way, but I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Oh...okay,” she stammers, and I hug her. I don't know why, but I do. “Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, but I hold my hands up.
“No. Just stay, enjoy the service. I’ll be fine.”
Then, I turn and rush out, down the aisle surrounded by packed pews and it’s not until I’m outside that I can finally breathe. So I just stand near the parking lot and take long even breaths.
A hand lands soft on my back, a heavy, large hand, and I know it’s his before I even turn around. So I bury my face in his shirt. Arms engulf me and I start to cry although I don’t even know why. I feel like a balloon that’s been filled too much, and I’m about to pop.
“I don’t want to go back to Chicago.”
“Okay,” he says carefully. “Is this because of me?”
I shake my head. “No. You just helped me to see why I was so miserable before. I was angry, resentful, jealous. Jealous of my mother, so I chose to stay in school and live a life I hated just to spite her, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to be in pre-law. I want to be an artist, go to art school, follow my own passions.”
“So, tell her that, .”
“I can’t,” I cry. “I tried, but the moment passed, and now I don’t know if I’ll get it back.”
“Don’t wait for the moment, . Just take it. Tell her.”
I look up at him, touching the back of his neck and running my hand through his hair. We don’t kiss and he keeps his hands safely on my arms, but the moment still feels tender. Gazing into each other’s eyes as Silent Night plays loud enough to hear in the parking lot.
“Do you still want me to take you home?” he asks, carefully.
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly. If this is truly my last night with Grant, I want everything. I want to fill my memory with as much of him as I can.
His head hangs forward as he kisses me, and the moment our lips touch, those three little words ring out through my mind. I love him.
It may seem crazy and I know it’s fast, but everywhere I turned all weekend, he was there, and every time my eyes landed on his face, I was filled with warmth. There are a million reasons why I should be with Grant and none why I shouldn’t.
The kiss deepens, and I pull away panting. “Take me home.”
Suddenly, we’re in his truck, our hands linked over the center console. Andy Williams sings on the radio, and just as we leave the parking lot of the church, large white snowflakes begin to fall.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He lifts our hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. There’s an unspoken understanding that when we get back to the house, we are not stopping. Tonight is Christmas Eve, and all we want is each other.
He parks the truck in front of the trailer, and instead of going into the house, he takes me by the hand to his RV. It’s huge, and he’s had the heat running so it’s cozy when we step inside. It’s bigger than any RV I’ve ever seen, with a kitchen island and reclining leather sofa. He goes to the full-size fridge to get me a water bottle, but I just move up the two steps that lead to the master suite. The king size bed takes up almost the whole space, but it’s plush and comfortable looking.
When he joins me in the room, standing next to me, I don’t hesitate. Our mouths crash together as his arms wind around my back. My body feels like a bomb ready to detonate. There are no more words left to say, just an undeniable hunger that demands to be fed.
My hands are on his chest, running down to his stomach to grip the hem of his shirt.
“,” he says in a husky warning.
“Shut up,” I reply as I pull his black sweater over his head. My fingers play over the plains of his chest, running softly through the soft patch of hair stretched across his pecs and down to the ridges of his six pack. Grant has the type of body built by labor, sun-kissed and soft. I place a warm, gentle kiss just over his heart.
“God, I want you, ,” he moans.
“Then, take me,” I whisper against his chest.
I’m hoisted off the floor without warning, his hand gentle but powerful around my thighs. Then, I’m on my back and his hands glide up my dress, gathering the material as he glides upward. As he pulls the dress over my head, leaving me in just my bra and panties beneath him, he hovers over me, kissing me again before he says, “No, . I mean...I want you.”
“I know. I want you too,” I beg as I work on his belt. His hand stops my movement.
“I want you...to come with me,” he says softly, staring into my eyes. “I want you, .”
I swallow. “Are you serious?”
“I know it’s crazy. You barely know me, but everything that’s happened between us this weekend won’t let me drive away from you, and I think I could make you happy. It could be like this...for...well, for however long you want.”
Tears fill my eyes as I nod.
“Would you like that?” he asks.
I nod again, tears streaming down to the bedding beneath me. Then, instead of speaking, I grab him by the back of the neck and pull his lips down to mine. He devours me, kissing me deeply while I wrap my legs around his hips to pull him closer.
It becomes a tangle of limbs and hands as we both struggle to get every shred of clothes off as fast as we can until we’re both naked and his heavy erection rests against my leg.
His mouth moves hungrily over my body, nipping at my breasts as he takes one pink bud into his mouth, and I let out a high-pitched moan. Grant touches me like no man ever has before, like he is worshipping my body, exploring every precious inch.
“Grant, please,” I cry when he moves to the other breast.
“Please what?” he moans against my skin, teasing me on purpose.
I grab the beard on his face and pull him up to look at me. “Fuck me,” I beg.
Then I feel him at my entrance. Instead of entering me, he runs the head of his dick over the moisture pooling there. He hooks an arm under my leg and slides in easily.
We each let out heavy moans as he fills the void between my legs.
“Yes,” I whisper, letting my head hang back. It’s not just that feeling of fullness that I love, but there’s something different about Grant. We’re connected, and I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.
Slowly, he pulls out before moving back in until he’s even deeper. Taking his time, he does this two more times before I start to get impatient. I whine, desperate to feel him harder. Just then, once he’s almost all the way out, he slams in, and I gasp.
“Please do that again.”
Our mouths fuse, and I take a bite of his lower lip as he slams home again. A tightening begins to build in my stomach, and it becomes hard to breathe.
“Again,” I breathe.
Soon he’s slamming home again and again, and I feel myself start to build toward my climax. “Don’t stop, Grant. It feels so good.”
My voice is strangled and tight, and I can’t take my eyes off his face, so beautiful and strong. With Grant, I am safe. He offers me a sense of security and contentment that I crave. And just imagining him in my life, filling this role sends me over the edge.
“God, ,” he grunts, his lips parted in a look of wicked joy.
Being with Grant is so dirty, so beautiful. I find my clit, rubbing along with his thrusts, watching his face, the pleasure written all over it. I can’t stop writhing underneath him until I finally crest that hill and reach my climax.
“I’m coming!” I gasp as my body tenses, my toes curling, and my spine curling so impossibly tight that I swear my heart stops beating altogether.
He lets out a heavy grunt as he slams in one last time. Then he pulls out and spills the stringy, white cum on my belly. The welcome warmth and sensation of it filling me with satisfaction. I’m still panting when he finishes.
Then his mouth is on mine again.
“God, I fucking love you,” he mumbles against my mouth. Neither of us react to his words, and maybe it’s insane of him to feel that way already, but it doesn't feel insane. It feels right.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
His forehead meets mine, and we both take a moment to breathe the same air while our heartbeats return to normal.
“This is crazy, but I don’t care,” he says without pulling away.
“I don’t care either. It doesn’t matter what other people think if we’re happy.”
“, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”
A smile stretches across my face as I kiss him again.
“Me too.”