Love and Other Words(68)

“You’re okay?” he gasped.

I managed a strangled “Yes.”

“Oh, God, I’m —”

I held him to me, with arms and legs banded around him, my eyes clenched against the tight pinching of it, my heart wanting to keep him inside more than my body needed him out.

“I’m coming,” he gasped, and then shook beneath my hands, his breath held high and tight in his shoulders as he fell.

I felt what it did to him. Felt every single shift inside me.

In an echo somewhere I heard sound, feet, a voice. Desire still echoed through me, ricocheting against the sharp pain between my legs.

Elliot’s touch was suddenly gone, the entire front of my body was cool without him over me, and I felt oddly, immediately hollow. With a foggy head, I realized he was scrambling back and pulling me up.

“Macy?” Dad called from downstairs. Or underwater, I couldn’t be sure.

Elliot’s face swam into focus above me, his brow damp, eyes wide, lips bright red and still wet from my kisses. “Get up, Mace.”

Jerked into realization, somehow I found my voice, pushing out a hoarse “Yeah, Dad?”

Elliot yanked his pants up and threw his shirt over his head as my own fumbling fingers struggled to jerk on my pants. I paused at the brilliant streak of blood on my thigh, blinking up to Elliot, whose eyes snared with mine as he buttoned his jeans.

“You okay?” he whispered. Footsteps echoed down the long upstairs hallway.

“Yeah.” I stood on weak, shaky legs to find my shirt, tug it on, and shove my bra under a pillow with my foot just as Dad walked in.

He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Elliot, having launched himself onto the pillows in the corner, was reading my worn copy of The Joy Luck Club without his glasses on. His face was red, his breathing uneven. I stood near the door, and realized I had no idea what my hair looked like, but I imagined it could not be good. Elliot had dug his fingers into it, pulled apart my braid, and slid his hands over and into my hair again and again.

My body bucked with the memory.

Dad looked me over and smirked.

“Hey,” I said.

And to his credit, he simply replied, “Hey, guys.”

“What’s up?” I asked, trying not to gasp for air.

“Mace, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but do you think you could be ready to go in an hour? I just had to run into town to get a fax, of all things. We need to get back tonight.” He looked genuinely apologetic.

We have two more nights here, I thought, but even as crushing disappointment spread through me, I nodded brightly. “No problem, Dad.”

He waved to Elliot, who waved back, and then left.

Slowly, I turned. Elliot’s eyes were closed, his hands over his face as he finally gasped for air, no longer needing to appear relaxed.

I moved to him, crawling into his lap, desperately wanting the feel of him against me.

“Holy shit, that was close,” he whispered.

I nodded. I didn’t want to leave. Adrenaline crashed through me, making my limbs shake. I wanted to curl up with him and talk about what we’d just done.

He turned his head, kissing my temple. “You were bleeding. I know it’s… normal, but I just want to be sure: Did I hurt you?”

I looked up at the ceiling, trying to find an answer that felt both true and reassuring. “Not more than I expected.”

His lips found mine. Slow, careful kisses dotted over my mouth, my chin, my cheeks.

“You need to pack,” he said reluctantly, pulling away.

“Yeah.”

He stood, lifting me with him and then put me down. “Email me tonight?”

I nodded. I was still shaking. Because of what we’d done… and because we almost just got caught doing it.

He cupped my face in both hands, searching my eyes. “Was it… okay?”

“Yeah.” I bit back a nervous laugh. “I mean… I definitely want to do it again.” The adrenaline was making me feel speedy and wired.

“Okay.” He nodded frantically. “Okay, so we’ll talk? You’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “You?”

He blew out a controlled breath. “I’m going to go home and take a long shower and relive all but the minute your dad was standing there and I was still sort of hard.”

I leaned against him, my forehead to his chest. “I don’t want to go.”

His lips rested on the crown of my head. “I know.”

“Did we just have sex?” I asked quietly.

With his thumbs, he tilted my face so I’d look up at him. “Yeah. We did.”

He leaned forward, kissed me once, twice, softly on the lips and then a third, deep kiss. Finally he pulled away, kissed the tip of my nose, and ducked out of the closet.

And I thought, as I heard his footsteps jogging down the stairs, how strange and wonderful it was that we had never said I love you. And we hadn’t needed to.

now

sunday, december 31

“

D

espite being born to the same parents, and raised in the same house, Andreas and I could not have been more different,” Elliot says, opening his wedding toast and sliding one hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. He stands at the front of the expanse of tables and flowers and candlelight, a tiny grin working at his mouth.