3. Three
Three
Sara
As I walk up our sidewalk, I tiptoe through the garden, dodging the obstacle course of Liam’s boxing gear and the two motorcycles lining the driveway.
Joe waits under the fig tree, perched on the low stone wall, he’s changed into clean jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs his biceps perfectly and It’s quite incredible how he can look so hazardous one minute, and the next his aura is a calm stream.
He looks up when I approach, and his entire face goes soft, the tough-guy persona dissolving as he swings his legs off the wall.
“Hi,” he says, voice low.
“Hi.” I smile. He walks beside me in silence, not touching but close enough that our hands brush every few steps as we settle under the old olive tree, the ground still warm from the day. Tonight, it’s just us, the grass, the scent of the lemon trees, and the stars.
“You look beautiful,” he says, side-eyeing me.
“You do too, Joe.” I laugh, pinching my nose, “I mean… handsome.”
“Call me beautiful all day, beautiful, I’ll take it.” He stretches out his arms behind his head, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows, and stares up at the sky as if he’s memorizing the position of every single star.
After a few minutes of calmness and taking in the universe above us, he points to the sky. “Hercules, and Aquila, the eagle.”
A genuine smile and warmth spreads within me. “I didn’t know you knew anything about stars.”
“Why not? You didn’t think there was a bit of a nerd in me?” He smirks, looking at me.
“I honestly didn't. You’re full of surprises, Joe Laurent.” I smile back. “What made you learn about them?”
He thinks about his answer for a moment, I sense a hesitancy in him.
“When my dad would drink too much and yell at my mom,” he pauses, “it was very toxic, so my mom would set up a little camping tent and mattress out here in the summer, hold us tight hoping we’d focus on the stars instead of our father being a deadbeat drunk.
” I can feel the pain in his voice as he talks.
“You’ve never really told me about your dad, I’m sorry.” I caress his cheek.
“It’s okay, he’s dead now, and my mom is living the life she’s always deserved.”
My pulse stutters at that, as he lays himself back down and grabs my crossed legs to drag me closer to him.
“When I was seventeen, I thought I’d be dead.” He chuckles dryly. “Or in jail. Or just… gone,” he says it so matter-of-factly, like he’s talking about the weather.
“And now?” I ask.
“Thanks to you, I’m close to going to jail again.” We both laugh at that, and I want to save the sound in a seashell.
“What? Why?” I ask, chuckling.
“I can be a little possessive.” He grins, and my heart shouldn’t flutter at that statement, but it does.
“I know the feeling. I thought I’d be dead by now, too.” And I cringe at my own vulnerable confession.
He glances at me, something sharp in his deep blue eyes. “Do you really?”
“My brother was the golden child. I am the shadow…forgotten…in my own jail.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “After he died, it was like Mom could only see me in the outline of what was missing. Her grief consumed her. I can’t blame her, though.” I return my attention to the glistening pool at a distance, hoping it’ll drown the pain.
Joe props himself up on one elbow, studying me. “Sara, I’ll always remind you, baby, you’re nothing like a shadow,” he says, touching my hand tentatively. His thumb traces the faint scar at the base of my wrist, and my entire nervous system goes electric.
“Why do you have these little scars?” he asks, running his finger over the mark. I shrug, too embarrassed to admit my anxiety gets the best of me at times.
“My dogs.”
He tracks my expression, unconvinced, but luckily, he doesn’t pry for more.
“Do you ever wish you could freeze time?” I ask shyly, surrendering to my chest squeezing.
Joe’s voice is soft. “Yeah, when I’m with you.”
His words send my heart racing again. Resting on my elbow, I try to appear calm, gently brushing my hair away while being careful not to move the hand his fingers are tracing circles on it, but it's hard to contain the storm inside me and I draw closer to him with my leg hiking up against his.
His face slowly inches up to my neck as our bodies touch in a whisper.
“You smell so good.” He inhales me, and my hand reaches into his hair with an adoring stroke.
His face gleams and just as my soul begs, he leans into me and kisses me, depriving my lungs of air.
At first, it’s the press of our lips, dragging the kiss so carefully for a taste.
It’s slow and adoring until something turns hungry, as if he’s been holding his breath and I’m the only oxygen left.
I wrap my arms around his neck and allow his tongue to ravage me.
It feels incredible, tender, and yet impatient.
His hands slide down my back, burning a trail down my spine, and he grips my waist until I completely melt against him.
I can recall exactly each time my feelings for him grew, how I’ve yearned for his touch, to smell him, to taste him, and it’s lighting up every nerve in me.
We fall back onto the grass, still attached to each other, and the world disappears, time stops, everything quiets.
There’s only the warmth of his body; nothing belongs to me besides this, him, right now.
Nothing else. A reprieve from the weight I carry with the permission to feel a connection I so desperately burn for.
The weight of his strong build shifting over my body is equivalent to a feeling of safety I’ve chased.
His fingers dig into my thigh and gently brush up around my shorts, and the dizzy thud of my rapid pulse takes me into a spell.
For a second, he pulls away to look at me.
His magnificent blue eyes have never looked so dark, possessed, untamed.
“Okay?” he whispers, voice ragged, and I acknowledge him silently as I bring him closer.
I’m more than okay. His lips reach my collarbone, nibbling at my skin, and I lose track of time.
When he breaks off, his chest is heaving, and he gently grabs my face in his hands.
“I really fucking care about you.” His words rattle a darker part of me. I wanted to hear him say this.
I want to say it back, but I’m nervous. He pulls me to him, and beneath it all, he holds equal restraint, wildness, heat, and God, that scent. Lavender, but not soft or floral. It’s sharper, cleaner, masculine. One that screams into my nervous system that I'll think of him long after he's gone.
I kiss him again. “Are you ever afraid of wanting things?” I ask, meeting his eyes.
His jaw tightens. “Yes, wanting things means losing them.” He rolls to his side, pinning me underneath, and there’s an ache in his eyes.
“You know what happens when you need someone, Sara?” He tilts his chin up, searching my face. “They leave.” The finality in his tone is a ghost I’ve known too well. It should scare me, but it propels a sudden courage to reassure him.
“I’m not leaving,” I say, my hand tracing his jaw.
He holds my gaze as if he understands and yet is unsure if I mean it.
I mean it enough that I grab the front of his shirt, pull him in so close that I can taste every unfinished word he hasn’t said yet.
When he kisses me this time, it’s not measured, he grabs me rougher, pulls my hair so my mouth tilts closer to his, like he can’t get enough.
His other hand finds the curve of my hip, and I arch against him, wanting more, more, more.
The force of my insatiable desire silences my turbulent emotions, and the mere thought of never getting tonight back terrifies me, suspending me in time.
“I want you, Joe.” I utter the words raw and breathless, closing my eyes.
“Look at me.” He demands, his grip tightening on my skin.
I open my eyes to his deep blue gaze, when he carefully says,
“Your first time is serious. I want to take my time, make sure you’re ready.”
“But I am—” I assure him, refusing to turn away from this.
“I’m six years older than you, Sara. I have to make sure.”
I nod. He cares about me and the foreignness of it strikes me in the face, and he must recognize it.
“Sara, you’re every bit the woman I want now and tomorrow. Nothing is stopping me from how I feel about you.” I can barely nod in understanding as he trails soft kisses on my neck.
My breath catches as if speaking will shatter everything.
Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, my hand drifts up to cup his face and slides down his neck to his stomach, and heat coils inside me.
I should pull back and stop this. I really should but my hand drifts further inch by inch, a prayer in motion and when I reach the edge of his erection, I tense from longing.
He pauses, catches my wrist lightly, and I blink up at him, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“I will not let this happen like this,” he says, smoothing a stray strand of hair from my face. “You don’t get to give me something you can’t take back.”
I barely whisper, “But I want to.”
He presses his forehead to mine. Silence blooms between us, thick and alive.
“I care too much about you to rush this,” he admits, voice low. “If I have you, Sara, I won’t let you go. It’s not just sex for me.”
“What are you so worried about, Joe? Because six years is not much of a difference.”
“I just wanted you to graduate first, or… get my shit together. I just…” He pushes his hair back and lets out a heavy breath as if he’s torn with what he keeps holding back from me.
“Give me this, Joe. Give me you. I need you…” I whisper, my voice shaking.
So that part of you always stays with me.
His eyes shift. “Fuck.”
He scoops me up in his arms effortlessly and crosses the yard, carrying me to his bedroom.
I clutch his sweatshirt and lie back on the sheets as he sets me on his mattress and leans down kissing me hard.
He lifts the hem of my shirt against my ribs with urgency, kissing me everywhere.
When he inhales my skin, nibbling at it and tasting me, I tremble beneath him.