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When we’re like this, it’s hard to believe there is anything that can tear us apart.
But there is.
If I allow it.
I’m unable to stop my body from moving, from taking the pleasure, and she’s not helping, squeezing me inside of her. She tenses, trying to delay the inevitable, but I can feel her going, and then she confirms it, her words urgent.
“Together,” I command. She locks down every muscle around me as I fight to remain composed, both physically and emotionally, my eyes stinging, my body shaking violently.
“I’m there, Jesse.” She shakes with me, and I see she’s gone past the point of return, her hands grappling at my back, her cry high-pitched. It doesn’t take much effort to join her. A few thrusts. A yell. A grind. Every muscle gives, and I fall onto her, breathless, as I come again, as hard as I did before, but this time inside of her.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
“Mouth,” I counter, with no scorn at all. I’m too beat. “Do you think you will ever stop swearing?” It physically hurts hearing such vulgar language coming from the perfect mouth of the perfect woman. Ironic, really, since she’s far from perfect. She swears, she drinks, she wears inappropriate clothing. So, yeah, she’s far from perfect. And yet perfectly perfect for me.
“I only swear when you challenge me or pleasure me.”
Lovehow she pushes it back onto me. Although, I admit, she’s probably right. My shoulder blades pull in, tensing, when her dainty finger glides across my back, and I smile when I figure out that she’s spelling something.
Fuck.
I ease up and take my finger to her chest, writing “mouth” across her skin. Then I indulge in her boobs, kissing one nipple, then the other, before latching on with my teeth, looking up at her in warning.
She giggles, freezing, holding her breath, enduring the bite, and I hum, licking some life back into it, the hard pebble against my soft tongue blissful. She relaxes, and after I’ve played with her boobs a little longer, indulging myself, I glance up and see she’s settled, her eyes closed, happy to leave me to lavish her chest with my mouth. But as I work around in circles, I notice her smooth skin becoming bumpy. Cold.
“You’re shivering. Let me get you inside.” I lift a fraction, but I’m hauled back down, and I laugh at her insatiable need to have me all over her. Shame that doesn’t apply during working hours. “Comfy?”
“Hmmm.”
“Bed.” I stand and lift her into my arms, carrying her to the bedroom, and as soon as I climb in beside her, she’s crawling onto me, snuggling deeply. I hold her, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the calming sounds of her breathing changing as she drifts off. This. In our home, in our bed, Ava asleep in my arms, snug, warm, peaceful. It’s one of my most favorite places to be. The quiet, the calm, the sense of overwhelming love. It’s also a place I’m coming to hate.
Because when I close my eyes, I might not like what I dream. Ghosts. All pointing their fingers at me.
Guilty.
I never appreciated how incredibly hard it is to simply talk. Just talk, tell, explain, beg for mercy. But exposing that side of me, all of my depravities, outright confessing my unforgivable sins to the woman I love? It would be as good as handing her a gun and telling her to put a bullet in me. Offering up endless reasons to walk away. Why would I do that? I know I’m not good enough for her. I know I don’t deserve her. I know she could do better than me. I feel like the serpent in the garden of Eden. Like I don’t belong. Like I’m taking something good and ruining it.
My mouth falls to her head buried in my chest. “I love you,” I whisper, like it’s the answer for all things.
But sadly, love ruins more than it heals.
I have firsthand experience of that.
28
My sleep was broken.It’s as if my mind has accelerated into self-preservation mode. Protection. Every time I drifted off, the ghosts came, circling the corners of my conscience, threatening to infiltrate my dreams, and I would wake up with a start. Every hour I found a reason to get up. To use the toilet. To put Ava’s phone on charge. To put mine on charge. To check my messages. To get myself some water.
To talk myself out of effectively trapping Ava into being with me.
By 6:00 a.m. I’m out of things to do and I’ve failed miserably in my attempts to call off my plan. I have had endless opportunities to right my wrongs. Stop taking her pills. Confess. I’ve taken none. I look around the kitchen from where I’m sitting on a stool at the island, waiting for Jake to appear and throw some hard-to-hear words at me. But none come. Perhaps he’s out of sarcasm and jokes.
Perhaps he’s given up on me.
“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” I say to thin air, hoping to maybe prompt him from his grave. I know he’ll think it’s a terrible idea. I’d like the opportunity to explain why it’s the best idea. I know deep down no ring will secure what I have with Ava. But our vows will mean everything, and she’ll know that. She’s a fairy-tale girl. Wholesome, traditional. Just as my previous marriage trapped me, Ava’s would free me.Because I love her.She makes me want the fairy tale too, and I’ll do whatever it takes to give it to her.
I get up and pull my phone off charge, dialing Mikael. Warn him away. Threaten him. Blackmail him. I have to dosomething. It goes to voicemail, so I hang up and dial again. I get his voicemail again.God damn it.I end the call and dial yet again, and when it goes to voicemail this time, I talk, despite knowing I should keep my mouth well shut. “I don’t know what your fucking game is with Ava, what you’re trying to prove, but I’ll be dead before I let her get on a plane to Sweden. Find yourself another interior designer, Van Der Haus. I won’t ask again.” I cut the call, squeezing my hand around my phone with a force I’m sure could crack the screen. “Fuck.” I slam it down and push the ball of my hand into my forehead. If I could take that call back, I would. I’ve just given him exactly what he wants, and it’s a sign of my state of mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I slump down on my stool, rest my elbow on the marble and my head in my hand, slowly turning my phone in circles. I should be looking forward to today. Iamlooking forward to today.
Focus on today.I swoop my phone up and dial Zoe. I’m a little surprised when she answers, and even more surprised that she sounds wide awake. “Did you bum dial me?”
