Page 75 of After Care

“Raise my voice?” His teeth clenched. “I’m pissed. What else should I do?”

I stared at him. “Maybe tell me what this is.” I waved a hand between us. “Tell me what we have.”

“I love you, Edie, isn’t that enough?” It was. But it wasn’t.

“Where are we going? Is this a relationship? Are we exclusive? I don’t really know what you’re doing when you’re socializing for business. You went to the Grammy’s, for God’s sake.”

“I explained that,” he huffed, exasperated with me. He had explained. The band had been nominated, and the tickets distributed long before I was even a thought to him.

“I didn’t predict you, darlin’”, he had teased, making light of the fact I came into his life after the nomination. It didn’t bother me that I didn’t go, but it was another reminder that he was famous, and I wasn’t anywhere near him. I had no idea what he did at that event amongst the beautiful people, but I could only imagine.

“You did,” I replied, not wishing to argue about something I had no control over. We glared at each other a moment, an impasse of crossed arms and strong wills. “So…”

“So?”

“What are we? Are we a clandestine affair, is that why we didn’t go to your house? Are you hiding me from someone?”

He huffed as his arms flared and then smacked on his jean-clad thighs. “I thought it would be romantic.”

“And it is,” I said, stepping toward him, but realizing our disagreement was ruining it. “But I wanted to see your home. I want to know where you live, so I can envision you there. I want to know how you decorate, where you grocery shop, where you take your runs.” My heart raced as my voice stressed the things I desired to learn about him. His shoulders sagged and his head lowered. His arms returned to cross over his chest. “I’m sorry that I’ve ruined this.” I plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to learn more about you and your real life.”

It was too intimate to want those details. Did he prefer bananas or apples? Potatoes or pasta? Orange juice or water? I lowered my head, a war within my mind of all the mundane things I wanted to know, as if I could capture his history and speed it towards the present, making up for lost time and years of never knowing him. It was a ridiculous thought.

I sensed him walking, and my eyes closed briefly, preparing for him to walk away.

Then another thought occurred. I seemed ungrateful for this weekend, when I wasn’t. He’d flown me here. He’d brought me to this beautiful inn. We were alone. I wanted him…I just wanted a little more of him, the man, not the extravagance. Shaking my head, I realized I made no sense to myself. I was being foolish. I should just live in the moment.

He surprised me when he sat in a chair diagonal from me. His elbows rested on his thighs and his hands cupped together.

“You really want to know those things about me?” His voice lowered, somber and hesitant. Looking up, I saw him staring at his fingers.

“Yes,” I sighed, breathless. His eyes met mine.

“Why?” Startled by the question, I had only one answer.

“Because I love you. That means I want to know everything about you. At least, for me that’s what it means.”

He nodded slowly and sat back in the chair, his arms shifting to the rests. He seemed lost in thought, his mind drifting away, and I worried he wanted to return me to Chicago.

I stood and crossed the short distance, folding to my knees before him. My hands covered his thighs.

“I’m sorry. If you want to send me home, you can.”

“I don’t want to send you home, darlin’,” he said, reaching forward and brushing my growing hair behind my ears. His eyes roamed my face. When he looked at me like that, I felt naked—not undressed, but exposed, like he wanted to see inside my soul, like he questioned who I was, and what I wanted from him.

There was only one way I felt I could reach him. My fingers hesitantly stretched for his belt.

“Edie?” The seriousness of his voice spurred me on. I unclasped the buckle, and he shifted his hips. Next, I slid down the zipper. Tugging at the sides of his jeans, I jostled him like a rag doll. He lifted his hips enough for his pants to free the thick shaft. My mouth watered, and I brushed my fingers up the ridged length, circling the tip with a delicate stroke, and then holding him upright. I rose up on my knees and lowered my lips, swallowing him deep, sucking hard and swirling my tongue. He jolted in my mouth, the wetness increasing the slide. My cheeks hollowed, drawing him deeper, tugging at the firmness as he filled my mouth. I forced back the gag reflex and lowered myself further until he reached the back of my throat. A hand came to the back of my head, and he held me steady. Tangling my tongue over him, I pulled back only to lower rapidly.

He hissed without endearment or my name, his fingers folding into my hair. I opened wider, swallowed deeper, and sucked harder. He pulsed in my mouth without warning, the first jolt surprising me, but I took what he gave. Eventually, his hand stilled on my head, and he gently tugged at my hair. I released him and gazed up at him. He stood, cupping me under my arms and dragging me two steps before we fell to the bed, not speaking the entire time. As we tumbled and then bounced, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close, but far enough so he could see my face.

“I don’t want to send you home, darlin’,” he said in that quiet, low voice he could sometimes have. “I want to make my home with you.”

The words startled me. “What?” The shaky question quietly squeaked.

“I want to take you to my home, but if I did, I’d never want you to leave.” I didn’t believe what he was saying. Not that he wanted to imprison me, nothing like that, but more…was he asking me to move in with him? That was crazy. We’d only know each other six or seven weeks.

“Next time,” he amended. “Next time, we’ll go to my house.” The answer worked for me, as his mouth took mine. His hands skimmed my body, reaching for hems and lowering waists, and any other questions I had about us were lost in the sex. This was my problem. The sex was a thick smog that clouded my decisions.