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I look at her. She looks at me and we share a moment. I wouldn’t mind sharing a moment alone with her right about now.
“Young love,” Olivia sings. “I met Paul at a business conference, and let me tell you, this man told me he would never marry again, but here we are.”
“A man will do anything for the woman he loves,” I say, because I’m a walking testimony to that. Every move I made since those college years without Quintessa was done to put me closer and closer to her. I didn’t know at the time how I would get her, but I knew I had to try. And she’s all mine, sitting here, tearing up this shrimp like it’s her first meal today.
She hardly made it inside the house and I was tugging at her blouse. We leave a trail of shoes and clothes as we ascend the stairs kissing, then crashing onto the bed. Her hands tighten around my back. The way she moves her body transfixes me. I’m drowning in love with her and it feels so good.
My heart races as I move back and forth, slowly, teasingly, giving her my love in small increments, affording her the opportunity to handle it – get her bearings and catch everything I throw at her.
While I’m buried in her essence, I feel her legs lock around me – nearly sends me to nirvana. I stop to look at her, relishing in her beautiful features. I kiss her lips, her nose, her cheeks and whisper, “My sweet angel. You’ve always been that to me, baby. Always been my girl. Always been mine.”
“Essex…” she hums. Cries. Whimpers.
“Yes,” I say against her lips. “I’m here. Take me with you, baby.”
She sings.
Bites her lip.
Agonizes.
Whimpers.
She clinches me, oh, she clinches me.
And we both clamor for each other and relish in this attraction.
This love.
This craziness.
This desire.
Her hips fly off the bed, matching my desperation. That’s when I feel the first tremors hit her body – when her cheeks turned a shade. When her eyes rolled back and closed. When she holds on to me so tight, I can hardly move.
Her moans gradually mature to screams.
I’m right there with her.
“Tessie!”
“Stewart!”
Dizzy with desire, I stop to look at her after she’s made a Freudian slip for the ages. She’s panting, smiling – looks like she was even crying. And she doesn’t realize she called me Stewart. And while I know that’s who I am – I’m far fromhimnow. I’m not Stewart. All this time, I haven’t been Stewart for her, so why am I Stewart tonight?
I stop moving. My body goes still.
“Essex, what’s wrong?” she asks.
I don’t answer quickly. I’m confused in my own mind, not knowing what to make of this.
“Essex?”
“I’m fine,” I respond, disconnecting myself from her.
“No, you’re not. What’s wrong? What’s happening?” she asks, her chest moving in and out quickly.
“I got a cramp in my leg,” I say. “I need some water.”
I get off the bed in a hurry, grab my robe and jog downstairs, but not for water. I need air. I go outside, walk to the beach and stand there listening to the water. I’m not sure why this is hitting me the way that it is, but from the way I see it, if she wants Stewart, why did I build this life for myself? For us? What exactly is happening right now?
