He stands up and tells me to go bend over the bed. I rest my face against the mattress, my legs are apart, and once again, I am ass up in my heels. Then he is inside me, lithe and swift. In and out. His hands latch on to my waist, and he pulls me towards him in tempo with his own movement. I cling to the covers, trying to hold myself in place, trying to keep a tangible grip on reality. I am almost there...again. He slides one hand around my hip and down between my legs. Over and over his fingers move in those small circles while he is pushing into me. I am undone. Unfurling like a motherfucking flag on the Fourth of July.
“Fuck, Emma,” he says as my body shudders with satisfaction. His voice sounds taut and throaty.
When my body calms, I crawl forward on the bed, releasing him from inside me, and turn around to face him. I kneel, looking at him and thinking about how powerful he makes me feel. About how much confidence his touch gives me. I tug him forward by his shoulders and kiss him hard. I reach down and latch on to him, stroking him firmly. He is slippery, and my hand glides back and forth, over and over, while we kiss. Part of me wants to play his game, to taunt him as he taunted me, but I can’t. I want to make him come. I want to make him happy. I want to show him the power he gives me. In a second I am on the floor, kneeling in front of him with my back against the bed. I take him into my mouth; he is sweet because of me. I suck him and stroke him and he grips the back of my head, holding me there, on him. Around him.
“Emma,” he says again, and I know he is telling me that he is ready. But I don’t stop, I don’t move away. I keep my mouth on him, and he pushes himself into me deeper, nearly too far. He exhales harshly and stiffens.
The parade is over. And I am smiling inside.
He stands in front of me for a few minutes, breathing heavily. I am still kneeling on the floor, but I am sitting on my haunches now, my eyes aimed at the floor. Then I feel his hand on my face. It is cold against my hot skin. I press my cheek into it and look up at him. His face looks serious, somber even. I wonder what he is thinking.
“Why so serious?” I ask with a smile, not sure I want to know the answer.
“You know what kills me, Emma?” Uh-oh.
“What?”
“Knowing that you’ve done this before. With someone else.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t with anyone that mattered, that’s for sure.” And that is the truth. No one has ever made me feel this way before, and I sure-as-shit have never wanted someone like this before. I’m not telling him that, though, not yet anyway. We haven’t even known each other a week, for Christ’s sake.
“And do I?”
I smile up at him. That is all I am giving him—and it is probably too much—but it makes him grin a little, and because of it, I know that I matter, too.
“Well, then,” he says, “let’s go. I still have something I want to show you.” Oh, yes. That.
* * *
Twenty minutes later we pull into a gravel parking lot off the side of the road. It is not somewhere I have been before, but I haven’t lived here very long, so, frankly, there are lots of places I have never been. I saw the entrance sign to Addison Park a mile or so ago, and I am now aware that it is the largest of the county’s parks. When we pull into the lot, I begin to wonder if he is taking me somewhere to teach me how to use the gun. It’s nearly dark outside, though, and I can’t imagine myself shooting the gun in the light, let alone in the dark.
We get out of the car, and David pops the trunk. He grabs a cooler and a pair of flashlights, and he heads down a small gravel path on the side of the parking lot. He hands me one of the flashlights on his way.
“David,” I say, “you do know that I’m wearing heels, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Wait a sec.” He puts down the cooler, walks back to the car, and pops the trunk open again. Out of it he pulls a pair of shit kickers and hands them to me. “Here, you can wear these.” Really?
Since I don’t want to ruin my favorite shoes, I dutifully take them off and toss them into the trunk. The boots are way too big, and I stumble along the trail behind him, my flashlight wavering through the dark. He doesn’t walk for long, though, thank goodness, and about fifteen minutes later, he stops. We are at the tree line now, and there is a pile of huge rocks next to us. He clambers up the rocks and reaches down to help me do the same. It’s tough going in my skirt, but, since I know no one else is here, I hike it up so my legs can stretch farther. I wish it were light enough for me to see his face.
When we get to the top of the rock pile, he stops. And once I am no longer worried about tripping over my own feet, I raise my head and draw in a quick breath. There is just enough light left for me to see the drop-off in front of us. The ledge is pretty sheer, and it is definitely not a place where I want to lose my balance. But out in front, below the cliff, stretches the entire city. The grid of the streets is laid out in lights. There are barges on the river, cars cruising the roads, and buildings of all shapes and sizes. From here, the city looks so handsome, so active. I love it, and I am grateful to David for showing it to me.