You can blame and you can hide
behind what is wrong and what is right.
Life is the choices we make
I hope you'll awake before it's too late
behind what is wrong and what is right.
Life is the choices we make
I hope you'll awake before it's too late
(lyrics from ‘Last Time’ Within Temptation)
Cupid’s a heartless angel
With cruel composure
Don’t say that you aim to please
Don’t say that you love
(lyrics from “Cupid” Spinnerette)
Carefully easing Max’s sleek European sports car up to the front steps of the mobile home that no longer looks like it could possibly be home to anyone but maybe a family of rats and put it into park. I’m sort of surprised to have gotten all the way to the trailer park. I’d somehow expected to be pulled over and dragged out of the car by the cops, certain that I don’t look like the kind of person who could possibly be driving this nice of a car. I’d have bussed it if I could have figured out how to get all of the cleaning equipment I’m sure I’ll need to get this disaster area back into some kind of saleable condition which is what I’m going to have to do to pay for my mother’s mounting hospital bills.
Sliding off the soft black leather and putting my sneaker clad feet on the cracked pavement, I look around to see blinds and curtains twitching all over the trailer park. Great, with my luck the car will be stripped, on blocks and burned out by the time I finish cleaning the bathroom.
Dragging a broom and mop from the back seat, I go around to the back of the car, the nape of my neck itching from all the eyes on me. Popping the trunk I grab the box of cleaning liquids, soaps, waxes and powders I’ve borrowed from Max’s house, most of which look like they’ve never even been opened, and head up the few steps to the front door where I stand staring at the lock, wondering how I’m going to get my key out of my pocket.
“Shit!” Looking down at the box I’m holding in both hands, and then at the mop I have stuck under one arm and the broom under the other, I realize I’m going to have to drop all of this in order to get to my key; great planning on my part obviously.
“Here, let me.” I feel the broom handle slide from beneath my arm and then the handle of the mop follows and only then can I turn to see my rescuer, as if I really needed to see his face to know to whom that voice belongs, even though I am surprised to hear his voice. Even though we’ve been living side by side, we’ve been avoiding running into one another. Even when the newspaper comes in the morning, I’ve been waiting until Kris picks his up before I even go downstairs.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling more than just relief as I look into his expressive dark eyes, still not sure now that his hands and mine are full just how I’m going to get my key out of my pocket, especially when the urge to ask him to slide his hand into the front pocket of my jeans makes things low in my body clench.
“I saw you packing all that shit into Max’s car,” he replies, wrapping his fingers around both handles and reaching out towards me for the box. I look at his arm and down at the box and I can feel that I’m making a face. Kris just tips his head to one side and smiles and then reaches more insistently, wiggling his fingers at me until I place the box carefully in the crook of his arm, watching his tat flex as he curls his arm protectively around it. “I couldn’t, in all good conscience, let you do this on your own.”
Turning back to the door, I dig into my pocket and pull out my key, slipping it into the lock. Pushing the door open, I wince as a repugnant smell wafts out.
“Fuuuuck!” I immediately cover my face and step back.
“See?” Kris laughs as I scramble backwards, away from the stench that warns me that we’re probably going to find at least one maggot infested carcass of something definitely bigger than a rat. “No one should have to face that alone.”
As we drop the last two garbage bags outside, we both wipe our foreheads and stand there, staring at one another with these strange smiles on our faces. It honestly hadn’t been the reason I’d followed her here but this reminds me of one of those team building exercises they always have us do in training camp and it definitely feels like we’ve, at the very least, overcome the awkwardness that’s had us doing that avoidance dance over the last week.
“Thanks,” she says finally, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the hot summer sun. “I really don’t think I’d have been able to get that done without help.”
“Hey, tu et moi, sommes amis, remember?” I grin, reaching over for her hand, intending to just give it a quick squeeze, but as soon as my hand is around hers’ something changes in both of our expressions and I don’t let go, like I can’t.
Her eyes slowly open and the expression she’s wearing, that only a moment ago had been one of relief and contentment, now appears pained and confused and I don’t need a mirror to know that the expression I’m wearing is much like the one a dog wears when it’s not sure if it’s about to be kicked. She looks down at our joined hands and then up at me and I know what she’s going to say before she even opens her full lips to give me that speech about how we can’t do this and I so desperately don’t want to hear it that I do the one thing I know is the wrong thing to do. I pull her to me and kiss her hard and fast, pressing her against the side of the mobile home so that she can clearly feel that my body doesn’t care even if my mind does know that it’s wrong.
She whimpers into my mouth and part of my brain tells me that she’s probably trying to say no, but the other part of my brain brings up one of those images I’ve played over and over in my head over the summer of my body moving over hers’, reminding me of when she bit down on her bottom lip to try and stifle a cry of passion as our bodies joined together and that part of my brain wins as my hand slides down to the small of her back. Feeling her skin under my hand, it’s almost fevered to the touch where she’s tied her t-shirt up and the sweat is trickling down her back.
“No, no, we can’t,” she whimpers as I unlatch my mouth from hers’ only long enough to let her see in my eyes that I’m far past the point of being able to stop and even as she says it, her fingers are clawing at my t-shirt, pulling and pushing it up over my chest. I shudder as the palms of her hands press up over my nipples as I yank my shirt off, not caring where it goes as toss it away in my eagerness to get back to kissing her, to touching her.
“We can because this is something we both want,” I growl as I press my mouth over hers, reaching for her tongue with mine as I lift her off of her feet and march her back into the mostly now empty trailer that used to be her home, heading for the nearest bedroom and its naked mattress on the floor.
Putting her on her feet next to the sagging and slightly stained mattress, I reach to pull her t-shirt up over her head but she crosses her arms protectively in front of her and turns her face away.
“This is wrong,” she says in a tight voice as she shakes her head, her chin almost pressed to her chest as I reach forward to cup her face in my hand, lifting her gaze to mine even as she tries to avoid my eyes.
“If it’s wrong, why does it feel so right every time I touch you?” I ask, my voice thick and hoarse with emotions I know I shouldn’t be feeling. “If it’s wrong, why do you watch me from the kitchen window every morning when I go for a run?” Her gaze flicks to mine and it’s easy for me to read the panic in her eyes. “If it’s so wrong, why does your heart flutter when I touch you?” I add more softly, placing my hand over her heart, feeling it beating frantically, like a wild animal struggling against bars of a newly locked cage.
“It doesn’t matter,” she insists weakly and unconvincingly, trying to turn her face from mine, though I won’t let her.
“It does matter,” I advise her, pressing my fingers into the pale flesh of her cheek harder than I mean to, watching the indentations under my fingers turn red. “You matter to me. I….” The words I want to say die in my mouth as she turns her dark eyes up to meet mine and shakes her head as emphatically as she can considering the grip I have on her face.
“You don’t…you don’t love me and I…I can’t…I won’t love you,” she sniffs, sounding even less convincing and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest as a fat, silvery tear slides down her cheek and onto my thumb.
I don’t know if the sob comes from me or from him, but as his mouth covers mine and the taste of his lips mixes with the salt of my own tears, I feel my heart break and more than just a little. The pain should stop me from wrapping my arms around his back, from gripping his strong wide shoulders and pressing myself to him, but it doesn’t. Neither does knowing that letting him kiss me this way, letting him gently lower me onto my old stained mattress is only going to make me fall more in love with him, will only make it harder to pretend that I’m not.
Knowing that this will be the only time, the last time, should make us desperate, should make our movements frantic but it doesn’t. Instead it seems like every moment, every touch is made in slow motion. It’s almost like an out of body experience, like I’m watching him kiss his way down my neck, over my collarbone until he presses my t-shirt up over my breasts and his lips gently surround my nipple, sucking it into his mouth until I can’t breathe, my fingers digging into his long, soft hair.
When he peels me legs out of my jeans, that action seems to take forever and it’s like my entire body has become a lead weight, incapable of movement on its own so that he has to lift my legs and manipulate my feet in order to pull them off and then he just kneels there, over me and stares. I feel like I’m stoned, like I’m watching him through a miasma of some kind of liquid, like I’m on shrooms or ‘x’ or something or maybe I’m just trying to pretend like it’s not really me doing this.
The few days growth that he’s sporting on his usually baby smooth cheeks makes me shiver as he rubs his cheek on the oh-so-sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He looks up at me with those depthless dark chocolate eyes of his and then runs his tongue slowly but firmly up the cleft of my pussy, right over the thin, satin fabric of my panties.
Shit! As if I’m not fucked already. There’s no denying, no hiding how much I want him. My eyes squeeze tight as his teeth close gently around the nub of my clit through the fabric of my panties and it’s his name alone that I breathe out as the first wave of pleasure rips through me, making my thighs shake and my fingers claw at the bare mattress.
I’m still trying to breathe through the orgasm as he pushes the satin and lace aside and digs his tongue deep into my entrance, his hands pressing down on my thighs, forcing them further apart as he sucks and licks his way back up to my clit before sucking it into his mouth and humming, making me shriek and writhe helplessly.
“Say you want me,” he whispers, sliding two fingers into me and pressing up against my g-spot, causing me to lift my hips off of the mattress and press myself down against his hand. “Dire que vous voulez que cette.” Rolling my head back and forth, I bite down on my bottom lip. I won’t. My body might be consenting but I tell myself that if I don’t say it out loud, if I don’t verbalize it then I can deny it later. “Say it,” he whispers hoarsely his free hand rubbing at the huge, painful looking bulge in his jeans. “Me dis que tu veux que je l’intérieur de toi.”
“Ne pleur pas,” I whisper as I kiss away her tears, tasting the salt on my tongue. “Je t’aime, je t’adore.”
“No,” she shakes her head and then presses her lips up against mine to silence me while her I feel the calves of her legs running up the backs of my legs. I feel her breasts pressing softly against my chest. Her rigid nipples feel like pebbles as they rub against my skin.
“Je ne pourrai jamais tu mentir, même si tu me demandes,” I tell her as we move slowly together, our bodies parting and meeting in a slow rocking motion that’s so good, it’s almost painful. Our lips meet and our tongues dance in the same unhurried rhythm.
“Say my name,” she whispers as I kiss my way along the sharp line of her jaw and down along the curve of her arched neck.
“Becky,” I breathe into her ear, licking around its edge and biting down on the soft lobe from which her large silver hoop earrings usually swing.
“No, say my whole name. I love the way you say it,” she sighs, her fingers digging into my scalp as I pull her hips off of the mattress so I can push myself deeper into her warm, wet centre.
“Rebecca,” I whisper, my accent making the ‘r’ in her name roll. Her pussy tightens around my cock and I gasp, pressing my forehead against hers’. “Rebecca, je t’aime,” I repeat and she sighs and the entire length of her body presses against mine, lifting us off of the mattress.
“Again,” she insists breathlessly, her nails digging into the back of my neck. “Say it again.”
“Rebecca, je t’aime tellement,” I moan into her neck as I press my dick into her, balls deep, clenching my teeth as I try to stave off the orgasm, wanting to bring her again, wanting to feel her fall apart in my arms. I need to hear her scream my name. No muffling it this time with a kiss, or by biting into my shoulder. I want to hear it loud and clear. “Is it good bébé? Do you feel what I feel?”
“So close,” she whimpers, her fingers kneading into my back. “So fucking close.”
“Then cum for me mon ange triste, Laissez-vous aller.” Using my hold on her hips as leverage I begin to make short but deep thrusts until I feel that wave inside her, the flutter of her muscles around my cock that tells me she’s more than close and then I slam into her, hard. Once, twice and then she throws her head back and I feel her nails dig into my back, tearing at my skin as she says it, a sound that’s as satisfying to my ears as any choir of angels.
I wake in the dark, my body chilled, the smell of sex and sweat lingering in the air and I'm alone. The space where her body had been curled against mine is empty, except for a note. I look down at the folded scrap of paper and cringe. I don't even really need to read it to know what it says and my hands tremble as I reach for it.
Sitting up, I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the near dark. The only light is spilling from a small window behind me so that I have to sit kind of sideways and hold the note up to let the yellow light from the streetlamp outside fall on the scrawled letters that look so stark against the white background.
You are the sweetest, best man I have ever met but you are way too good for someone like me. I'd only break your heart and ruin your life. Please forget me and find someone who deserves someone as good as you. I think I'll always love you but I'd never forgive myself if you loved me back. I'll always remember this and hold this memory close to my heart but this can't ever happen again. Please don't try.