Twelve
B EFORE SIX O’CLOCK on the following Monday morning, I’m clutching fistfuls of my sheets and digging my heels into the mattress while Isaac has his head between my thighs and is performing some sort of magic act with his mouth.
I came once soon after he started, and now he’s working me up to a deeper, more powerful orgasm through an intentional strategy of stimulation and denial.
It’s really working for me. I’ve been squirming and making helpless whimpers that have been increasing in volume for several minutes. Occasionally Isaac will lift his head to look at me with pleased, smug amusement, and his open enjoyment of my responses is almost as heady as the sensations.
Almost.
He glances up again, his stubble glistening with moisture, and despite how close I am to coming, I’m compelled to give him an eye roll. “Stop gloating.”
He chuckles as he gets backs to work, and the vibrations from his laughter and his skillful sucking of my clit are all it takes to send me over the edge.
I’ve never considered myself a particularly loud person in bed, but the shock wave of pleasure is too overwhelming to control my volume. I try to smother my cry with my hand as I shake through the pulses of release. Hot satisfaction saturates me from head to toe as I slowly come down, sprawled limply with my thighs splayed and my hair spread out all over the pillow and my face.
Isaac is still shaking with lingering amusement and grinning widely as he straightens up onto his knees.
“Thank you,” I say. “Not that you deserve it when you’re looking so obnoxiously pleased with yourself, but still. Come up here and I’ll do something for you.” I reach up, trying to get hold of him so I can pull him down on top of me.
He comes willingly, but as I wrap my arms around him, he murmurs dryly, “Uh, I’m already taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m already taken care of.”
I squeeze my hands between our bodies so I can check, and I discover that he’s soft and sated. No longer erect.
I massage him gently there, but I’m giggling at the same time.
“No need for mockery.” He’s doing a good job maintaining his sardonic tone, but his body betrays his warm satisfaction. He’s smiling and relaxed and cuddly as he gets more comfortable on top of me and nuzzles the crook of my neck.
He’s every bit as happy as I am right now.
“I wasn’t mocking.” I try to sound as cool as he does but fail utterly. I can’t hold back my laughter.
“You were laughing at my lack of control.”
“I don’t give a damn about your lack of control. In fact, I kind of like the fact that you come when I do. It makes me feel special.”
“You are special.” He presses a few sweet kisses against my pulse point. “I may never have been some kind of sex god, but I could usually control myself before you.”
“You control yourself just fine.” I’m stroking his bare back and ass with delicious entitlement. Like this man and all his warm flesh and firm muscle and sharp intellect and deep heart are mine.
Mine.
“I could do better.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. After all, I got a couple of mind-blowing orgasms before six o’clock in the morning. How many women are that lucky?”
“Some women might want to be asleep at six in the morning.”
“Well, that’s their loss. The orgasms were much better.”
He kisses my throat, then adjusts and kisses my mouth. “Shit, I need to get going so I can shower and dress before work.”
“I know. You weren’t actually supposed to spend the night last night.”
We flew back from Boston like normal and then headed straight to my place, the two-day separation over the weekend too much for us to wait any longer. He mentioned leaving later in the night so he wouldn’t have to rush before work, but he fell asleep instead.
So here we are. About to part ways again on a Monday morning.
He sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and smoothing his wildly rumpled hair. Not that the smoothing helps. It springs right back up into chaotic kinks and waves. “Okay,” he says. “I’m getting up.”
I wait. “I don’t see much getting up happening.”
“It’s happening now.” He groans as he stands up, completely naked. He took all his clothes off during foreplay last night and never put them back on.
The same is true of me. I pull the sheets up since it’s chilly in the room.
Isaac bends over to collect his scattered clothes from the floor. With a glance at me over his shoulder, he asks, “So we’re doing the same as last week? Playing it cool and waiting for the weekend?”
He doesn’t sound annoyed or impatient or remotely discontent by this arrangement. He’s leaving it entirely up to me.
I wish he’d give me a little clue about what he’d prefer, but he doesn’t.
I sit up, pulling the top sheet up to my shoulders as I do. “I think that’s the smart thing. Don’t you?”
“Probably so.” His eyes dart downward, and his mouth twitches up. “Why are you denying me one last look to tide me over through a long, River-less week?”
With a giggle, I lower the sheet.
“There they are.” His eyes crawl over my naked breasts. They’re pretty good as far as breasts go, but they’re far too large to be perky. He doesn’t appear to mind. “Enough to blow a man’s head off.”
More laughter ripples out of me at his choice of words.
He watches me as he quickly pulls on his clothes. “You don’t mind if I text occasionally, do you?”
“Of course I don’t mind. That would be nice. We finally have each other’s numbers, so we might as well use them.”
“That’s what I think.” He pulls a thin gray sweater over his head. “Okay. I’m off. See you at the airport on Friday.”
“See you.”
With that, he walks out the door.
***
F OR THE NEXT FOUR WEEKS , we follow the same pattern. Sex on Friday nights after the flight to Boston, and sex on Sunday nights after the flight to Savannah.
The first week, I waited to see if Isaac would text. He did. Later that same Monday in the afternoon and again in the evening. After a few days, I was convinced that he’d be happy to hear from me, so I felt comfortable enough to text anytime something funny or interesting happened during my days. He did the same, so by the second week we were texting regularly—throughout every day.
It’s been a good month. Even with the workweek separation, I have more and better sex than I’ve ever had before, and each day I feel closer to Isaac.
The fifth week, I have to fly back to Boston on Wednesday because Raven’s wedding is on Saturday. I make the flight alone since Isaac has to work until Friday.
I’ve been torn all week about whether I should invite him to the wedding. I want to. Desperately. And once or twice it seemed like he might have been hinting around for an invitation, although it’s really hard to read his warm, dry manner and tell what’s serious to him.
Finally I decide not to ask him. A wedding means meeting the family, and that’s a major step. We’ve been together for just over a month, and we don’t even live in the same city. We’re not ready for serious steps.
Maybe my heart is ready, but my heart is always getting me hurt. I vowed to be smart about this thing with Isaac, and I’m going to hold to that even when it’s hard.
For the three days leading up to the wedding, I’m busy with prep and prewedding events at least eighteen hours each day. By the time the wedding actually happens, I’m dead on my feet and in that exhausted daze that happens with too much stress and too little sleep.
That state always strains me emotionally, and it’s hardly a surprise that, well after midnight, I’m sitting on a chair in a side room of the reception venue, my hair spilling down over my back and shoulders because my fancy updo fell down, one of my very high heels in one hand.
In my other hand is my phone. Without any intention or conscious choice, I’ve called Isaac and am waiting for him to answer.
It’s the middle of the night. I’m probably waking him up. On the third ring, I’m about to end the call, but then his thick, sleepy voice comes on the line. “River? Is everything all right, baby?”
He’s never called me that before. It sends shivers down my spine and an excited jolt to my heart, but even that’s not enough to keep the tears back. “Yes.” I sniff and clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine. You’re crying. What happened? Where are you? I’m getting up right now.”
“No, no, it’s not an emergency. I’m sorry to wake you up. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Yes, you should have called.” I hear motion on the other end of the call. He’s definitely gotten out of bed. “Are you still at the wedding hotel? I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Please don’t.” The words come out with a whimper. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Maybe I can come there?”
“Yes! Yes, of course you can. But don’t try to drive. I’ll come to pick you up.”
“No, my dad called his car service for me. I’ve had too much to drink to drive anywhere right now. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Okay. Good. Come straight here.” The background sounds have stilled, so he must have stopped rushing around, throwing on his clothes. “Can’t you tell me what it is?”
“It’s nothing big. I promise. I just... I just fell apart. It’s really embarrassing.”
“I thought you never get embarrassed.”
“I don’t.” I sniff and wipe my eyes, pleased that the sobs aren’t as obvious in my voice anymore.
“If you say so.” His murmur is warm and thick. Exactly the sound I want to hear. “Well, get the driver to bring you here. You can fall apart on me.”
***
I SAAC IS AS GOOD AS his word. As soon as he opens his apartment door, I burst into tears at the sight of his tangled waves and concerned expression. He draws me over to his couch and wraps his arms around me, letting me cry into his T-shirt until I can control myself enough to talk.
My explanation is rambling and messy and rather wet. “Like I said, it’s really nothing. It’s just... I don’t even know. I’m so tired and haven’t gotten much sleep. And then after the wedding and the big parts of the reception, it felt like such a relief. But also a letdown. I have no idea why. So I drank too much. Way more than normal. And then I acted kind of silly, which wouldn’t be a big deal. But I... But I...” I choke on new sobs and force out “It was such a mistake.”
Isaac still has one arm around me, so I feel when he stiffens dramatically. His tone is different when he asks softly, “What did you do?”
“Not that!” I clutch fistfuls of his shirt. “Isaac, I would never. Never! Never do anything with another man no matter how drunk I was. I promise.”
He relaxes immediately and strokes my hair back from my damp face. “I didn’t think so. Sorry. I know it’s not about me, but I got momentarily worried.”
“I know. Of course you did.” He handed me tissues when I got here, and I’ve now got a big bunch of them in one hand. I use them to mop at my face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s not that at all.”
“So what is it?”
“It’s... My mom was nagging at me. Just for normal stuff. About how I need to get my hair and nails done and let a professional help me with my makeup. And how I should let her take me shopping and how I need to lose fifteen pounds. And I... I lost it.”
“You lost it?”
“I snapped. Yelled at her. Told her off.” A chill has washed over me, stilling my tears. I straighten, pulling away from Isaac. “It was... It was bad.”
“No, it wasn’t bad.” He sits up more too, rubbing my back just below my shoulder blades. “I don’t care what you said to her. She deserved it. She’s never treated you right.”
“She’s not been great, but she’s never been that bad. And this was at Raven’s wedding. In front of a few of her friends. I was so mean.” I burst into tears again, squeezing my eyes shut as my whole body shakes. “I’m never mean. I’ve never been so mean in my life. It was so, so bad.”
He wraps both arms around me and pulls me into a hug. “You weren’t mean. You’re not capable of being mean.”
“Yes, I am,” I mumble against his now-damp shirt.
“I don’t think so. Your mean is everyone else’s normal state of being. But even if you were mean, she deserves it. You’ve put up with too much from your family for too long, and you’ve never stood up for yourself. You did tonight. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
“I do. I hurt her.”
“And how many times has she hurt you?”
I don’t have an answer for him, but the question pierces the exhausted fog of my head.
Despite everything, it makes me feel better.
I cry on and off for another twenty minutes, until I’m finally able to stop for real. I recline limply against Isaac’s chest. We’ve somehow ended up stretched out on the couch together with me between his legs.
“I’m sorry for the breakdown,” I say hoarsely after a few minutes of silence.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt. You’re the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever met. With the softest heart. Anyone else would have snapped and let your mom have it years ago.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it.”
“Okay.”
“So no beating yourself up about it.”
“Okay.”
“No feeling guilty.”
“I said okay.”
He huffs with gentle laughter. “Now you’re sounding more like yourself.”
“Am I?”
He tilts his head down to nuzzle my hair. “Yes, you are.”
“Sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night.”
“I don’t mind. I’m glad you called me. I wouldn’t have been happy at all to discover you were upset and tried to deal with it by yourself. Or worse, turned to someone other than me.”
I giggle for the first time all evening. Turn my head to peer up at his face. “Who else would I turn to?”
“I don’t know. But I’m imagining all kinds of other threats lurking at the perimeters and trying to hijack my job.”
“Your job?”
He leans forward to kiss me. “To take care of you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. The words cover me like a heavy blanket. Both the warmth and the weight.
Soon after that, we get into bed and go to sleep together.