"Ian, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to start my new year with you, Baby," he says and my resolve weakens. Of course, I want to start my new year with him too, but having him sober might have made it a bit more meaningful. I'm betting he's downed a fifth of whiskey. After yesterday, I can't imagine him coming here without some severe alterations to his blood chemistry.
"That seems a little at odds with what you told me yesterday," I say frostily.
He scrambles up then and comes to stand in front of me. His head hanging, he puts his hands on my hips. "You know why I said all of those things yesterday, don't you?"
"Yes, Ian. You said them because you fucked up once, however many years ago, and now you have to live the rest of your life in purgatory. I get it," I say the last bit with sarcasm, because I really don't get it. I understand it must be hard to forgive oneself for something as intense as rape and murder, but he's been seeing a therapist for years. How long does it take?
"Baby, you make it seem like I want this life. I don't want this life. I want a life with you. I want a life with you where we make pretty little babies," he says and begins to nibble my earlobe.
"Then why aren't you willing to try and have that life?" I ask.
"Because Kel, I'm fucked up! Don't you see? It's a crazy circle! I can't have you because I'm fucked up and I'm fucked up because I can't have you!" he says this as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.
Of course, his logic doesn't hold; he's not fucked up because he can't have me. He's fucked up because he can't let go of what he did in Iraq. But there's no point arguing when he's this drunk.
"Alright Ian, you need to sleep this off. It's late, so why don't you get in bed and we can talk about this in the morning," I say.
"I say yes to bed!" Ian proclaims happily and quickly begins to take off his clothes. I watch the show appreciatively. His body is glorious!
When he reaches for his boxer briefs, I still his hand. "Leave those on, buddy."
He smiles over at me, "Right, yeah, okay." He climbs into my bed, landing face first on the pillows. I consider sleeping on the couch for a moment, but it really is more like a love seat than a couch and this may be the only time in my life I'll be able to sleep beside Ian and I don't want to pass it up.
I crawl in beside him and pull the covers up over us. I lay on my side, staring at Ian. His breathing is slow and steady and I wonder if he's actually passed out, or simply fallen asleep. It doesn't matter, so I close my eyes and fall back to sleep listening to his breathing.
I'm dancing on the deck of a ship. The music is slow and rhythmic and my hips sway back and forth in time. It's an arousing dance and I'm getting turned on. I turn around and see I have an audience. They appear to be all men but I can't see their faces. Slowly, one comes forward, his pace matching the timing of the music. He stops right in front of me and I can see it's Ian. Without a word, he lifts my dress over my head and lays me down on the deck, immediately filling me with his cock. I cry out, and he thrusts again, strong and hard and my arousal builds quickly. I'm approaching my climax and he begins speaking to me. "That's it Baby, you can do it. Come for me Sweetheart. I want to feel you come." He keeps up a steady stream of encouragement but I'm focusing more and more on my body, the feel of him inside me, the building pressure at my core.
Suddenly my eyes fly open and reality hits me; I'm in my bed, not on a boat, and it isn't Ian's cock in me, but his fingers. He is encouraging me though, and I am about to come. His thumb is working my clit; it feels fantastic and hearing him coo in my ear is too much. I come quick and hard, my body jerking as my orgasm breaks. He keeps pumping his fingers until I put my hand on his wrist, signaling him to stop.
He rolls over onto his back and begins loudly licking his fingers. Without thinking, I push my pants the rest of the way off and then straddle him, pulling his erection free from his underwear and impaling myself on him. I'm hot, and wet, and I take him all the way in on the first stroke. I stop at the bottom and allow myself to adjust to his significant girth. He feels amazing and I open my eyes to look at him, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.
He looks absolutely terrified. He's gone perfectly still - I'm not even sure he's breathing.
"Ian," I say, leaning forward and touching his face. He doesn't move. "Ian babe, what's wrong? Ian, what's happening?"
He doesn't say anything, he just begins shaking his head vehemently back and forth on the pillow. Soon his entire body is shaking. I begin to freak out myself and quickly scramble off to kneel beside him, stroking his face and calling his name.
As soon as I'm off, he begins to breath again and his shaking lessens. Soon his eyes refocus and he finds mine. As our gazes lock, it hits me.
"You haven't been inside a woman since it happened, have you?" I ask on a whisper.
He shakes his head no, still hyperventilating a little bit.
"Oh my god, Ian, I am so sorry! I shouldn't have done that! I'm so sorry, Baby, please, please forgive me," I'm crying now, hiding my face in my hands. He didn't want that; he didn't want to fuck me and I forced myself on him.
I jump off the bed, grabbing my pants and run into the bathroom. With the door closed, I slide down it, folding myself around my knees and try to pull myself together. I can't believe I just did that to him. He's going to hate me. I hate me.
It takes me about ten minutes to finally stop crying. I stand up and pull my pants on. I splash some water over my face and dry it in the dark. Quietly, I re-enter my room and see Ian curled up on his side on the bed. I can't stand the thought of being near him, of how that might affect him, so I pull the throw off the back of my couch and curl up into a ball and fall into a troubled sleep.
The next time I awake it's morning and I'm back in my bed. Ian is asleep on his back beside me, one hand thrown up above his head, the other hand resting on his belly. He's still shirtless, and I can see he's sporting some morning wood. The instant my mind goes there, I blanche. I still can't believe I climbed on top of him last night. What the fuck was I thinking?
"Morning Kel," Ian says in a sleepy, extremely sexy, voice.
I look up and see him looking down at me. "Hey," I say, propping myself up on one arm. "How do you feel?"
"Like crap," he says.
I nod, "I bet. You were pretty toasted. What do you remember?" A surge of hope courses through me; perhaps he was so drunk he won't remember what I did.
"I remember everything," he says evenly.
I can't decide what to do. Do I bring it up? Do I apologize? He thinks he remembers everything, but maybe he doesn't. What if I apologize and he doesn't know what for and then I have to explain what I did?
"You can stop freaking out, I'm alright," he says. My eyes fly to his and he does look calm and unflustered. "It took me by surprise is all. I … I wasn't expecting … Well, I wasn't expecting to feel you around my cock and it startled me."
"I know, I'm so sorry Ian! I can't believe -" I rush into a tumbled apology but he cuts me off.
"Stop!" he says sitting up and placing his hand on my arm. "Really, just stop. It's alright. I was the one who initiated everything. You were asleep, and I should have left you alone, but I couldn't stop thinking about making you come. I'm kinda obsessed by the thought," he admits sheepishly.
"By what thought?" I ask, confused.
"The thought of making you come," he says. "I think about it all the time. With my hand, with my mouth, with a vibrator. In the pub, in my truck, on the beach. In my head you've climaxed just about everywhere in Santa Monica." He laughs a little at this and I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. He grows serious, "I'm sorry, Kelli, I shouldn't have come here last night. I was drunk, I was hurting, and I really wanted to be with you. But I know I can't lead you on like this." He shrugs then, "I just don't know how to stay away from you."
I'm at a complete loss for what to say.
He gets up then, climbing over the top of me to get out of the bed. He grabs his clothes off the floor and starts to put them on. My mind is racing, thinking of ways to try and get him to stay. What can I say? How do I make him stay with me just a few moments longer?
Then I snap back to reality. I don't make him stay a few moments longer. I let him go. He needs to go. He doesn't want to be with me. I need to let him go. It's January 1st - the beginning of a new year. The Year of Kelli! I'm going to find a different job, I'm going to volunteer more, I'm going to exercise and eat well. I'm going to change my life one day at a time until I'm happy.