Neanderthal Seeks Human(103)

On the long, long journey to the bed, Ida had her way on the couch and the floor and the dresser; at one point Ida had her way against the wall.

For maybe the first time ever in my life my mind spent a significant amount of time not wandering because it couldn’t engage or gain any traction. All forebrain surfaces were slippery; everything and nothing was distracting at once. I was so focused on the moment, on the feeling and sensation of being with and over and next to and under and against Quinn.

I was crushed and grabbed and stroked and admired and savored and, by God, aroused. I was aroused like it was going out of style and on sale. At one point I thought it was going to sever me in two and I panicked in much the same way a feral animal panics when approached with unfamiliar kindness.

But, to my wonderment, Quinn seemed to innately comprehend what I needed; when I required tenderness and when I craved… not tenderness. He calibrated his movements, caresses, and kisses as the counterpoint to desires I had no idea existed within me but which, now, I was certain I could never live without. And, with one arresting look, one devastatingly raw gaze which stole my breath and held me captive, one moment of connection, he made me fearless.

The jarring part, because there is one, is that Quinn seemed to be just as lost as I was and my body, my hands, my mouth, and my eyes seemed to know how to be his counterpoint, how to reassure and ignite and move and respond. If my forebrain were engaged I’m sure I wouldn’t have recognized this suddenly fearless creature who found boldness and bravery and shed cowardice within the dreamy chaotic perfection of physical intimacy.

When Ida- seemingly sated, satisfied, and smug- allowed the curtain to be pulled back- albeit briefly- we were collapsed against each other in a Chinese knot of limbs and sheets. I was slightly less drunk on alcohol, but a great deal drunker on the euphoria that, apparently, accompanies mind-blowing sex.

Ida whispered in my ear that Quinn felt warm and good and very, very right. I nodded at this assertion even as a small pain originating in my heart made it suddenly hard to breathe. I suppressed the sensation, swallowed it, put it on a shelf to think about later.

Abruptly, I had three rapid thoughts:

Quinn still has his tie on.

I wonder if he’ll let me keep it.

I wonder if he’ll let me use it to...

And then, just like that, Ida was in control again.





CHAPTER 21

Life is funny.

And I don’t mean just ha-ha funny; I also mean cunning and curious and capricious and “The jokes on you, Batman!” funny.

Sleep gradually rescinded and I blinked against unforgiving brightness. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, the first thing that appeared clearly in focus, was the staunchly, almost glowing, white pillow and empty sheets next to me. To my still drowsy eyes the sheets did not look familiar and the room was too bright. I frowned, closed my eyes, opened them again and I remembered.

Naked.

On a bed.

In a hotel.

In Las Vegas.

Having just spent the better part of the early morning engaging in insouciantly indulgent love making with Quinn Sullivan.

I sat up abruptly and unthinkingly. My eyes were no longer drowsy. Like an electric current had just been passed through my spine, I was shocked awake. My gaze tried to absorb everything at once: the room, the window, the door, the clock, the bed, my nakedness, the discarded piles of clothes, peppering the floor like anthills, and the equally discarded pile of cards next to the ottoman.

Rigidly, I listened intently for sounds- footsteps, breathing, shower, faucet- and spent several seconds holding air suspended in my lungs before convinced that I was alone. I released the breath I’d been holding slowly and allowed my muscles to relax just a little. I further allowed my brain to tentatively turn its attention to thoughts and feelings other than alarm and battle readiness as my eyes slowly took in my surroundings, looking at the details rather than surmise whether or not I was in immediate danger of encountering Quinn.

Because, impulsively, upon first recognizing and realizing where I was and what I’d done, that’s what it felt like: danger.

Since I spent much of my childhood being left behind and ignored, one might think that, as an adult, moments of perceived abandonment would feel old hat. The truth is, as an adult, I am always waiting to be left behind. I’m always ready to be discarded and, therefore, I spend a significant amount of time preparing for this eventuality.

I lower my expectations, I don’t seek out meaningful relationships, and I don’t engage in any sort of real intimacy, physical or otherwise.

Engage is the key word here.

Except, when I engage, when it happens, when I’m left behind it doesn’t feel old hat. It feels like it did the first time and it takes me by surprise.