"More," I whisper.
He chuckles into my ear and it makes a shiver run through my whole body.
"Marisol," he says, his voice low and rough and demanding. "I love you and I'm going to fuck you over this counter."
"Good," I whisper back.
He pulls his fingers out and turns me around, my hips braced against cool marble. We're facing a huge vanity mirror, Gavin behind me, and I lock eyes with him as I brace myself against the counter.
I wink.
Gavin grins at me, then lowers his mouth to my ear, still looking me dead in the eyes.
"You saucy minx," he says.
The head of his cock is against my slit, and I bite my lip and hold my breath, just anticipating the moment when he's finally inside me again, when he sends a shockwave all the way to my toes. But he slides it down, between my lips, spreading my wetness to my clit and sending a tremor through my body.
I swallow a moan, my hands curling around the edge of the countertop.
"Come on," I whisper.
He circles my clit once, slides back, and then he drives himself inside me so hard and deep that I grunt and put one hand on the mirror to steady myself.
"I fucking love that noise," he growls.
"I fucking love your cock," I gasp.
"Jesus," he whispers, and drives himself in again, crushing my hips against the countertop.
This isn't sweet, it isn't gentle, it's fast and hard and needy. It's what I craved, the pure expression of sweaty, moaning, desperate togetherness.
I'm going to have bruises tomorrow, but right now it feels so damn good that I'm already losing control, every thought in my head dwindling down to the single point of white-hot heat that's building inside me.
He grabs my shoulder, hooking his hand around me and pulling me closer and I arch my back, my hand in his hair. I think I'm moaning, or at least making noise, and my eyes slide shut again.
"Make me come," I whisper. "God, please."
He groans and hammers himself into me, and that's all it takes. The white heat building inside me goes off like a nuclear bomb and the explosion rushes through me. I think I shout Gavin's name and then a second later he erupts inside me and we come together, his face buried in my neck.
When I finish, I'm trembling a little. I feel wrung out, emptied, and I finally let Gavin's hair go as he leans his face against the back of my head, breathing deeply like he's trying to recover. I think I'm doing the same thing.
Finally, he looks at me again. He kisses me on the temple and then smiles, his face against mine. I slowly take my hand from the mirror, leaving a print behind, swallowing hard.
"I think we just had really loud sex in the rehab bathroom," I whisper.
Gavin starts laughing, and after a second, I do too.
"No, we definitely had very loud sex in the rehab bathroom," he says. "Good thing I'm no longer a patient."
I take his hand in mine, looking at him in the mirror, and kiss it.
"I missed you," I say.
"I love you," he says, pulling my body against his. "And I did miss you but I think I just made that quite clear."
Gavin holds me for another long moment. I turn my head and pull him down to me for a slightly off-kilter kiss, and then we finally detach. I pull my skirt down and find my underwear while his zips his pants again.
Then we kiss one more time, unlock the door, and go home.
50
Gavin
Two Weeks Later
The woman sitting in the chair to my right gives me another strange, you-seem-familiar look, and I try to ignore it. She's been glancing over every thirty seconds the whole time I've been seated here, even though I've not said a single word to her.
On the outdoor stage, across the quad, a woman with gray hair reads out another name.
"Caleb Fulton," she announces, and a young man in a graduation gown climbs the stairs, shakes her hand, takes a roll of paper from her, and descends down the other side.
Fulton. They're getting close, and I sit up straighter, trying to get the best view of the stage I can.
I'm not supposed to be here. We've discussed the matter quite a bit for the past two weeks, and we specifically decided that it wasn't the right time for Marisol's parents to meet me, so I shouldn't come to her graduation.
I understand the logic. Marisol didn't think that two weeks after being released from rehab was the best time for her somewhat conservative parents to meet the tattooed ex-junkie still trying to win her back, and I couldn't really argue with that.
So I'm only disobeying the letter of the law, not the spirit, though if she wanted to debate it with me I'm certain I'd lose.
"Laura Gateway," the woman on stage calls.
I've scanned the crowd a few times, trying to figure out which are Marisol's parents, but the place is packed full of people. I had to pay for a scalped ticket, something I definitely never thought I'd be doing. I didn't even know that you could scalp tickets to a law school graduation until yesterday.
"Alice Gocert," the woman says, and a faint wave of nervousness flutters through my stomach, though it's not as if I've got to do anything. Everyone applauds Alice, who shakes hands, takes her diploma, and steps off the stage. I can see Marisol standing by the stairs, next in line, as she grins and waves to someone in the audience.
"Marisol Gomez," the woman says.
Marisol steps onto the stage. She's beaming, utterly fucking radiant as she shakes hands and accepts her diploma, giving another little wave to someone in the audience - her parents, I'm sure - before stepping down.
I want to stand up and shout Hey everybody, she's amazing and she's going to be a lawyer, but I don't. I sit still and don't make a fuss, watching Marisol walk back to her seat, and when the next person is called, I applaud politely once more.
I look up at the brick archway, trying to decipher the letters. The quad is a madhouse again, and rather than find Marisol and risk accidentally meeting her parents before I should, I'm just going to tell her where I am.
And also beg forgiveness for showing up, but I had to see her.
Gavin: I know we agreed, but I came to your graduation anyway because I couldn't stand to miss it. I promise not to meet your parents, but I'm under the archway at Foyce Hall.
I send it and wait. A minute or two goes by, and I put my phone back in my pocket, leaning against the wall. The moment I do, of course it buzzes.
Marisol: Stay there.
I do as ordered. A few people give me second looks, but I'm wearing sunglasses, a hat, a long-sleeved shirt and slacks, so I'm pretty well incognito. Yes, I had to buy slacks for the occasion.
After a few more minutes I see her, walking down the breezeway, and I wave, hoping she's not too angry.
She grins and waves back, so when we meet in the middle I sweep her up in a hug, spin her around, and give her a good, long kiss.
"What are you doing here?" she finally says, the words nearly bubbling over with giddiness.
"What you do mean what am I doing here?" I ask, grinning. "You think I was just passing through and happened upon your law school graduation?"
"We did agree," she points out, but she's obviously not angry.
"It's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. And I couldn't stand the thought of missing this."
"How did you even get a ticket?"
"Marisol," I say. "Do you seriously think I couldn't get a ticket to a law school graduation?"
She rolls her eyes at me, but she's still smiling.
"Sorry, I forgot you were a big shot who's very important and super famous."
I bought the ticket from Craigslist for $200, but I'm not tipping my hand about that now.
"Terribly famous and probably one of the only people to secretly turn up at a law school graduation in disguise," I say, and kiss her again. "You should get back to your family."
"Thanks for coming," she says, looking up at me, her big brown eyes so sincere that it twists my heart.
"Even though we agreed I wouldn't?"
She laughs softly.
"Yeah," she says.
"I wasn't about to miss it. I'm proud of you. I love you. Go before we get caught and I have to explain all this."
One more kiss.
"I love you, too," she says, and then she's gone.
I start the fire when Marisol texts me that her parents are back home, and what am I up to?
I tell her to come over.
In front of the fireplace there's a vase of two dozen roses on the coffee table and a bottle of sparkling apple cider in an ice bucket next to two champagne glasses. Part of me thinks I'm overdoing it, that she probably just wants to brush her teeth and fall into my bed, but it's already there.
Since I got out of rehab, things have been... strangely normal. The first few days there were paparazzi outside my door all the time, but it seems as if they've finally given up. None of them had any idea what to make of the signed contract combined with the fact that Marisol and I clearly spent quite a bit of time together, so they mostly decided that the "fake girlfriend" story was itself a fake and gave up.
Things are largely as they were. She hasn't technically taken me back, and I'm still on probation with her, but functionally it's close to the same as it was.