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Twenty-Three
Stumbling inside our king room, we hang on to each other for balance. Totally drunk on each other’s kiss. The lyrics from “Paradise City” still playing in my head from the drive back to the motel—please take me home! His mouth comes for mine again but then stops short.
“What?” I say, nearly breathless.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, and his momentary hesitation actually makes me want him more.
“Yes,” I say.
“But you’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not. I was just pretending to make it harder for you to talk to me.”
“You really did make it hard for me,” Nick says low in my ear, and kisses my neck. I surrender to his touch, my eyes rolling back. “I thought you didn’t want to share a bed tonight.” Last night, I needed him in my bed for survival. And tonight is no different.
I smirk, tugging my lip with my teeth. “You know, for a guy who’s about to get laid, you have a lot of objections.”
“We’re on tour. What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t ask?”
“Even Jerry and Elaine had sex sometimes. Now shut up and kiss me,” I say, tearing off my glasses. Let’s see if Nick’s as good in bed as he is onstage. My body’s in desperate need of a pro. And I get the feeling I won’t have to fake anything.
Without hesitation this time, Nick takes my face into his hands and pulls me in for a good one. The kind you imprint in your memory and replay on a cold, lonely night. In the warm hotel light, we wrestle with each other’s clothes, flinging them from one side of the room to the other, as if we’re competing for who can toss the farthest. All the while making sure our lips don’t separate for more than a second. Damn, it feels good to touch a man’s bare back. Nick really is hard in all the right places.
Soon, we’re fully prepared beneath the sheets. Two comedians intertwined. My body calls to him and he responds well... at first. The moment I relax, feeling like he speaks my body’s cryptic language, my sexual buzz begins to wane. I close my eyes and kiss him again, reminding myself of how much I’ve wanted him. How turned on I got when he simply lay next to me.
A small peak of pleasure emerges but fizzles out like a single tiny firework. This makes no sense. I’ve been deprived of intimacy for so long. And Nick is so sexy and funny. I really like him. Why am I not getting off like gangbusters? I let out a decent moan to encourage myself and him.
Leaving a trail of kisses along my neck, he whispers, “Are you close?”
“Uhh, maybe,” I say, trying to make it sound like a yes. He seems to take the hint and switches positions, getting his hands involved now. Okay, here we go. I think I can get into this.
“How’s that?” he asks, staring down at my naked body.
“Good,” I say, but it’s quickly downgraded to pretty good. All right, let’s be real, I’ve never actually gotten there on the bottom and this doesn’t seem very promising. I push him down onto the mattress and climb on top.
“There’s my little cowgirl,” he says with that sexy smile spread across his face. Yeehaw!
Our hips find a common rhythm and it’s good. Really good. Just not good enough. Is it him or is it me? Is it us?
“Hold still,” I say, trying to salvage it. Who am I kidding? I haven’t been able to get there in years. This is as futile as looking for the ocean in the middle of the desert. So much for Nick being the one who could change that. It pains me to say it, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll have to fake it.
Rolling out a finale of cries and moans, I give a performance Meg Ryan would be proud of.
