Strangers: A Novel(90)
I look around. It’s a five-star hotel, the furnishings are tasteful and expensive—but not particularly memorable. “No. I’m sorry.”
He nods, as though that was the response he had expected. “Of course not. I shouldn’t have asked you. It’s just—it looks very similar to our hotel on Antigua; even the lighting is the same.” He gestures toward the funnel-shaped lamps on the walls, which cast their warm light over the cream-colored carpet. “Back then you said those things looked like torch holders.”
Something inside my rib cage tightens. Torch holders, that was the first thought I’d had when I saw the designer lights upon walking in. Except that, in my mind, I’d only just thought of it now.
“I proposed to you on that vacation. Beneath one of the most beautiful and tacky palm trees I could find. We had just done a cocktail class at the beach bar together, and you’d single-handedly broken five bottles of rum because you were absolutely hell-bent on throwing them around like the barkeeper. We had our first fight too because at some point you decided to go off and explore by yourself, without telling me. I was out of my mind with worry, and you simply couldn’t understand why.”
I can see how vivid the memories are for Erik, while none of the things he describes ring a bell with me, not even a little.
“It was ours, all of it. Our life, our story. Sometimes we’d only have to look at each other to know what the other was thinking. When you tell me now that you’re starting to fall in love with me, I know that’s wonderful, but…”
This time, I’m the one who doesn’t let him finish. It hurts me to see him grieving for our shared past, but I can’t change that—I can only share the here and now with him, that’s all we have. Who knows for how much longer.
I rest my forehead against his. “Our life,” I say, “is this, right here.” My lips brush against his, as if by instinct, very softly. A touch like a whisper, but it suddenly makes me aware how much I’ve been longing for him. Longing to be as close to him again as on that one precious afternoon.
For what feels like an eternity, the kiss is mine alone. My tongue tentatively moving forward; my hands stroking over Erik’s shoulders, his neck, his hair. He doesn’t move, as though he’s waiting to see whether there’s anything else hidden behind my attempt to get closer to him. As though he has to stay alert and be prepared for anything.
Gradually, though, the tension starts to leave his body. His hands glide down my back, around my waist; then he pulls me so close to him that I almost gasp for air.
I bury my face in his neck, begin to open the buttons of his shirt, breathing in his scent, which for me is the most familiar thing about him.
“Joanna.” He holds me, like he has to make sure I don’t slip away. “I’ve missed you so much.”
As I strip the shirt off of his shoulders, he stands up, pulls me up with him and over to the bed. This time, our kiss is no longer a playful way of getting closer, but a prelude, making it clear that we both know and both want what’s about to come.
Erik’s hands beneath my shirt, on my skin. I barely notice him undressing me, little by little, I only feel his lips, his hands, his tongue. With every touch it becomes harder and harder to think, but one thing becomes utterly clear: this man must know me. He knows exactly where and how to touch me to make me lose control. I’m the only person in the room for whom this is new.
For a while, I still try to resist letting go, try to be stronger than the sensations Erik is awakening within me. With his lips and then, oh so softly, biting gently against my neck. With his hands on my breasts. I feel him pressing against me, feel how aroused he is. And all of a sudden I want nothing more than to feel him on me. Inside me.
He notices my agitation. He straightens up a little and looks at me.
“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him toward me, but he shakes his head with a smile. His hand glides down from my breast over my stomach, where it lingers briefly, and then between my legs.
I feel his touch throughout my entire body, like an electric shock; my breathing sounds like sobbing; Erik kisses me as though he wants to comfort me, while his hand does the exact opposite, more and more, stopping only at the point when my entire being is pure desire, a scream for more; at the point where I’ve long since lost control.
“I love you so much,” he whispers. Strokes my face. Looks me directly in the eyes as he lies on top of me and slowly pushes inside me.
It’s like flying, going up and up, a little bit more with each of his movements. I feel my body trembling in his arms, everything in me just anticipation now, a silent plea for him not to stop now, to please never stop again.
And then it’s like the world is shattering into pieces and me with it; I hear myself screaming as Erik grabs me tighter, holds me; the first and the second time.
Only then does he seek his own rhythm. Harder, quicker. Giving up all consideration and control, his body tenses, his fingers dig into my shoulders, and he groans my name. Screams it out, as though he is afraid of losing me again.
But he won’t. Never again.
* * *
Afterward, we lie there intertwined, my head on his chest. I gently stroke the spot where I can feel his heart beating. And I suddenly know that I’ve done it before, on more than one occasion. I don’t know when or where. But I’m sure that I’m not wrong.