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I’ve clawed her thighs while I brought her to the edge. At first it shocks me seeing the red marks lingering on her flesh. I’m as harsh with her as she’s been with me. I never thought I was that ruthless. Peach sees them, too, and I wonder what she thinks.
“You haven’t seen the last of this,” she vows quietly. I shudder as she says it, wondering exactly what she means.
The sheets feel cool to me as we lie side by side on top of them. For a long time I think we’re both too shocked to say a word.
“So?” Peach finally says. She jerks me from a little nap.
“So what?” I reply.
“So how’s your ass?”
I feel a gentle happy warmth. “Just fine,” I tell her.
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” I admit.
“Shucks,” she says, “I was hoping for lots of nasty marks, and you’re not being able to sit down for a week.” She mocks me with her disappointed look.
“Is that real? The marks? You really hurt me a lot. If you’d left marks, I might not have had so much fun.”
“Fun? It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Peach says. “I’ll have to remember that for next time, and hurt you more.”
“Next time?” I question. “I wasn’t sure that was in the plans.”
“And why not?”
“I’m chicken.”
“You certainly are, but not forever, if I have anything to say about it.”
“I’m sorry I kept those things from you. They were really unimportant.”
“Well, you paid, just as you will pay again. It’s too bad that you have such rules for your life. I can lie more easily than you and not be ashamed of myself. You’re just too damned honest.”
“So, you lie to me?” I ask.
“Not really, but I may not tell you the whole truth about everything. I don’t see things in black and white the way you do, just lots of shaded colors.”
She twists a finger through my hair; now and again she strokes my face as it rests against her belly. She’s both soft and firm there, the perfect cushion for my head. I like lying here, close to the pulsing center of her body. I love the way she smells after sex.
I would start with her again, but I’m exhausted. Being punished isn’t easy; it takes a lot out of both of us. Though what we’re left with is a curious peace, the kind that only comes when you go through something savage with someone and come out together laughing; there’s still a hint of fear residing in your belly, and you know you don’t want to go back to that cruel place again… even though you likely will.
“We have to clean this mess, Peach,” I tell her.
“Tomorrow,” she says.
“We were going to leave tonight,” I remind her.
“Not now,” she says adamantly.
Two hours pass, bathed in the light of a setting sun and its grayness, I’m reminded of the reason we’re leaving until September and my impatience starts again. I wish we were leaving tonight, but it’s too late when the bags are not yet packed, and our clothes and food and everything else lie strewn everywhere. It’ll will wait for tomorrow. I think of a thousand things that we need to do, while I see Peach sleeping peacefully. I let her sleep, while I get up and begin to work.
Chapter Five
The road north winds along through California countryside, through hills that are dry and parched by May. They were green in the spring. But now, early June, they’re golden, dotted with stunning oaks, which populate vistas as easygoing as the occasional cattle and sheep that graze lazily beside them.
I have my hand on Peach’s thigh as we drive. The wind whips our hair. The air is warm but not searing today. I’m thankful for fresh breezes, the ocean working in our favor with its mild blanket of winds. The haze of the city is gone by the time we are beyond Ventura. This fine day clears out the oppression in my head, so I can breathe freely again. For a while I rest my head against the back of the seat and let myself be soothed.
