And he can do what he wants to me because what he wants to do is what I want to be done.
And as he presses deeper and deeper inside of me, another orgasm comes. And this time he comes with me. Our cries intermingle into one primal chorus.
And as he relaxes, as I feel the complete weight of him on top of me, I think of the yin and the yang.
And in that moment I truly feel whole.
CHAPTER 12
TEN, FIFTEEN, PERHAPS even twenty minutes pass. Or is it years? It’s hard to tell. I’ve lost all sense of time and space. Reality was left tucked away somewhere in my office. This moment, lying in Robert’s bed, is not part of the space-time continuum. He’s beside me; his eyelids are half-mast as he stares up at nothing. Our breathing has only now become steady. He seems mellow, even peaceful, nothing like the man who held me down as he pushed inside of me, his desire as fierce and unrestrained as my own. No, the man by my side is quiet, tender, and maybe a little vulnerable.
Tentatively I let my hand move across his chest. It’s a subdued gesture that speaks of a different kind of intimacy.
He smiles a lazy smile, his eyes still staring up toward the high ceiling. “I’m actually craving a cigarette right now,” he says.
The comment takes me off guard. “You smoke?”
“A long time ago, yes. I haven’t thought about smoking for ages but . . . a cigarette after sex is calming, it brings you back to earth, and after that, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way to earth again without at least one to navigate me.”
“I hate cigarettes. I hate how the scent of the smoke lingers in people’s hair and clings to their clothes for days. My first lover was a smoker. I’ll never be with a man who smokes again.”
“Damn, okay,” he says, the mischievous twinkle returning to his eyes. “How do you feel about cigars?”
I take my pillow and hit him over the head with it. He laughs and tries to fend me off but I straddle him and hit him again and again as he playfully begs for mercy. Finally I toss aside the pillow and grin down at him. His hair is ruffled and he looks so young despite his salt-and-pepper hair . . . almost innocent.
He’s observing me, too, drinking me in. “You’re so free right now. You’re beautiful when you’re free.”
I feel a twinge. I’m not free. Not yet. I haven’t officially ended things with Dave.
But I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to think about this man underneath me with his mussed hair and easy smile.
I lean over and kiss his lips. “You see, if you smoked, I wouldn’t be doing this.”
“That is the best antismoking campaign message I’ve ever heard in my life,” he replies.
“Yes, well the American Cancer Society can have their tactics of fear and guilt. Me?” I lean over and kiss him again, letting it last a little longer, making it just a little more intimate. “I believe in positive reinforcement.”
Robert’s hands move up to my waist as I continue to kiss him, his mouth, his chin, his neck. The sweat from our most recent lovemaking still clings to our skin but I feel him harden against me as my path of kisses continues south.
What I’m feeling . . . it’s unfamiliar—carefree, playful, light. . . . I feel light.
God, have I ever felt light before?
My mouth reaches his hips and I feel his hands in my hair, I feel the radiance of his anticipation.
He said he saw who I was. He said that’s the only thing he wants to see.
I let my tongue flick across the tip of his erection. His breathing is no longer steady.
Yes, Robert Dade does make me feel powerful, vulnerable, light . . . and sometimes a little scared.
But I don’t feel scared now.
My tongue travels to the base and then slowly up, over each ridge. He is at full attention. Looking at him I’m amazed that I was able to welcome the full length of him into my body without even a bit of discomfort.
But there is never any pain when I’m with Robert. Even when he holds me down, when he pulls my hair, presses me into a wall, even when he tells me what I’m not ready to hear, there’s no real pain.
I take him more fully into my mouth, my hand wrapping around the base of his cock while my other hand touches the tender flesh behind it. He groans as I move up and down, tasting him, knowing him.
Nothing about this feels wrong. No distress or conflict. The pleasure doesn’t leave any space for regrets.
I love his taste; I love what I can do to him. I can literally feel him throbbing against my tongue. He leans forward, pulls me up, but I stop him from flipping me over.
“No, no, Mr. Dade, this is my ride now. I make the rules.”
“Is that so?” he breathes, his smile appreciative, caring.