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I could hardly believe she was real.
“I drove twenty miles over the limit all the way to Eugene,” I say.
She drops her forehead onto mine. “You idiot.”
“I knew as soon as you came through the door, I’d ruin it. There wasn’t any way not to ruin it, and it made me so fucking angry, so that’s what you ended up seeing when you did come outside. How angry I was at the world for making me and you impossible.”
“We’re not impossible.” She tilts her hips into me. “We’re right here.”
I smooth my hands over her ass. “I should’ve just told you how bad I wanted you. How I wanted you in the truck on the way from the airport. At the funeral home in that family room with the door locked. How I couldn’t stop thinking how you’d bite your wrist if I bent you over the back of the couch. Bite my shoulder if I lifted you up against the inside of the bathroom door.”
Her pupils are huge. “You looked at me sometimes like … but you wouldn’t talk to me.”
“I felt so black. So dark. And it wasn’t right, you know? It was sick to want you like that, to want some quick fuck when you were trying to help me.”
“Maybe it would have made you feel better.”
“It would have made me feel like complete shit. And that sounded good, too—getting something I wanted that much, then getting punished for it.”
She kisses me. Sinks down onto me, grinds herself against me, licks over my lip, and bites it. “What do you want?” she whispers.
This time it’s a taunt. A tease.
This is all I want. Just this.
This is the only thing I ever wanted for myself.
“Let your hair down,” I say. She unwraps the elastic she’s got it bundled up in. It falls down over her back and shoulders, and I gather it in my hands. “It’s so long.”
“I’ve been thinking of cutting it.”
“I like your hair.”
“You want me to leave it long?”
“I’ll buy you some pearl combs.”
She smiles, resting her hands on my shoulders.
I lift the hair away from her neck and kiss where it makes her shiver. Kiss her throat. Cup her breasts.
She feels so good against me. I’m too full, and touching her helps—just the weight of her pushing my thighs down, the sight of her bare tits and her skin, her big brown eyes right on me. “What else do you want?” This time when she asks, it feels bigger, and my throat gets full and tight because I don’t have any way to know.
Other guys my age—they’ve been figuring out the answer to that question for years. They’ve got interests and hobbies and talents and goals. They’ve got fantasies, ambitions, resentment when the world doesn’t fall at their feet.
I have no idea what I want, not beyond this moment, but this moment is expanding around us. This moment is endless. It ripples out, broadening with every movement of her hips as she rises and settles, rocking against my thighs.
“I want you to look at me,” I tell her.
/> She brushes her lips over mine. “I’m looking at you.”
“Right at me,” I say, gathering up her hair again, brushing the feathered ends up and down her shoulder blades, the column of her spine, making her arch and shiver. “The whole time.”
Her smile is shy, her cheek warm against the back of my hand. “ ‘The whole time’ implies duration.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
That smile. “Duration of what?”
