As soon as he has my panties off and I have his jeans unbuttoned, he takes me against the wall. It’s not gentle. I don’t want it to be. It’s heavy thrusts and strangled moans full of seven days of longing.
Neither of us lasts very long. I cry out first. He follows a few thrusts later. We cling to each other as we shudder and sigh. When we’re both boneless, we stagger to the bedroom. The rest of our clothes come off on the way, and the second time is less hurried but no less passionate.
After the third time, we both fall asleep within seconds.
The fourth time is hours later in the shower. He washes me very thoroughly. Everywhere. With his tongue.
We never make it to dinner.
He makes vague noises about a fifth time, but I’m exhausted. Instead, we lie in bed and watch movies. He strokes my back while I draw patterns on his chest. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so content or relaxed. Maybe not ever.
It feels so right, I want to cry.
“Ethan?”
“Hmm?”
“If you want, and if you only do it when we’re in private because I don’t want people at work giving us crap . . .” I take a deep breath. “You can call me your girlfriend.”
He stops stroking. “Don’t mess with me, Cassie. If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He stares at me for a full five seconds. “You’re serious?”
“I am. Is that okay?”
His face twitches. “Yeah. That’s okay. Very okay. Extremely fucking okay. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
He gets out of bed and goes into the living room. Then I hear him open the doors onto the balcony and scream, “CASSIE TAYLOR IS MY GIRLFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!”
I hear the doors close before he calmly comes and crawls back into bed.
He clears his throat and says, “So, good. That’s settled. You’re my girlfriend. Which makes me your . . . ?”
I sigh. “You know what it makes you.”
“No, I’m not sure. What’s the word?”
“You’re my . . .”
“Yes . . .?” He’s nearly vibrating with expectation.
“Do you really need me to say it?”
“Only if you want to make me the happiest man in the world. No pressure.”
I shake my head and get up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I go and open the balcony doors while praying no one can see me. Being naked in front of random strangers isn’t my idea of good time.
“ETHAN HOLT IS MY BOYFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!”
I fist pump to no one in particular and scamper back inside.
When I jump back into bed, Ethan pounces on me. Within a second, he has me pinned to the mattress and is lying between my legs, conspicuously and impressively hard.
“That was, hands-down, the sexiest goddamn thing you’ve ever said.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He practically growls when he says, “Fuck, yes.”
Without any more discussion, we go for round five, and it’s more amazing than the other four put together.
*
A week later, Ethan stands behind me and fiddles with his hair in the bathroom mirror. This is the third time he’s done it. Marco made him get it cut last week, so it’s a little shorter than usual. He hates it. I think it’s sexy. So is his nervousness.
He finally gives up and sits on the bed while I finish my makeup.
“What do I call them?” he asks. “I mean, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’ seems wrong, considering they’re no longer married.”
“Then call them Leo and Judy.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think that’s a little disrespectful?”
“I call your mom and dad Maggie and Charles.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, my girlfriend’s so rude.”
I laugh and walk over to him. “You didn’t mind so much this afternoon.”
I stand between his legs, and he runs his hands up my ribcage then palms my breasts. “Yeah, well, I’ve never done that particular thing on that part of your body before. It was hot. Plus, you were kind of insistent that’s what you wanted. Also hot.”
“Well, considering I now have a boyfriend eager to fulfill my every sexual whim, I may have come up with some things I want to try.”
“Really? Like what?”
I lean down and graze my lips over his. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” he says as he pulls me onto his lap. “And speaking of which, if you do that thing with your finger again without warning me or using appropriate lubrication, you’re going to be in trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“The kind where I spank the hell out of your gorgeous ass ’til you can’t sit down.”
“Ooh! That’s one of the things I want to try.”
He groans and pulls me against his now-impressive erection. “Fuck me, woman. Do your parents know you’re pure evil wrapped in sex?”
“No. And if you want to make it through this dinner alive, I’d suggest you not mention me and sex in the same sentence in front of my father. He has many guns and probably thinks I’m still a virgin.”
“What would he do if he knew I took your virginity?”
“I’m not sure, but I suspect it would involve your balls and some sort of crushing device.”
I kiss him and climb off to finish my makeup. He stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“What happened afterward with us was screwed up,” he says quietly, “but the actual first time . . . Was it okay?”
I lean back into his chest. “Even though you bailed on us a few weeks later, my memories of that night are . . .” I smile as a shiver of pleasure runs up my spine. “I can’t even tell you how incredible that night was. I’ve never regretted you being my first.”
He leans his chin on my shoulder and looks at me in the mirror. “It was the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Despite freaking out over how much I felt for you.”
I turn around so I can put my arms around his neck. “Yes, you were talented at the freakouts back then.”
“Yeah, I thought I was over all that. And yet, knowing I’m going to be meeting your parents in a few minutes brings it all back to me.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“What if they don’t like me?”
I give him a reassuring kiss. “They will.”
“What if they don’t like my food?”
Another kiss. “You’ve made vegan crap actually taste good. My mother may hit on you.”
“What if I randomly say ‘fuck’ or ‘sex’? Or ‘my God, you two made a gorgeous daughter, and let me tell you, she’s an animal in the sack’?”
“Just don’t.”
“Well, okay then.”
There’s a knock at the door, and he practically jumps away from me.
I laugh. “Ethan, chill.”
He rolls his neck and it cracks loudly. “I’m fine. I’m good. Operation Impress Your Parents is a go. Let’s do this.”
We head down the hallway, and he veers off into the kitchen. When I open the door, I hug my parents fiercely. I don’t get to see them very often, so every visit is precious.
“Come in,” I say and lead them down to the living room. Ethan comes in awkwardly, hands in pockets.
“Mom, Dad . . . this is Ethan.”
He steps forward and extends his hand. “Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Taylor . . . it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Cassie’s told me a lot about you.”
Mom and Dad shake his hand in turn, but I don’t miss how Dad narrows his eyes. It’s to be expected, I guess.
For the most part, I think dinner goes well. Ethan tries way too hard, but
my mom adores him. He is very charming.
He even manages to get Dad to talk about football for a while, so I guess that’s a good sign.
After dinner, Mom and I do the dishes as an excuse to leave the boys alone to talk. Surprisingly, Ethan has a lot to say, but I can’t make it out from the kitchen.
Whatever it is, it makes my Dad happy, because just before he and Mom leave, he shakes Ethan’s hand with both of his. He hardly ever does that. It’s like his version of a man-hug.
When I ask Ethan about it, he says that it’s between the men-folk.
Whatever it was, he seems relieved it’s over. I am, too.
Ethan’s the first man I’ve ever introduced to my parents. I’m hoping he’ll also be the last.
*
There’s a dull thud as Ethan pushes me up against the dressing room wall and tugs at the zipper on my costume.
“Hey,” I say, “you’re not allowed to do that anymore, remember? Karen has banned you from undressing me.”
“Karen’s a killjoy.”
“She’s in charge of costumes, and you’ve ripped three zippers this week alone.”
“Then she should make them stronger.”
“Or you should wait until I’m out of my costume before getting horny.”
“Impossible. I’m horny all the time. It just happens to be worse after I’ve been kissing you all night onstage.”
He tugs impatiently at the zipper, and sure enough it rips.
“Shit.”
“I told you.”
“I’ll buy Karen another bunch of flowers.”
He pulls the top of the dress down and starts kissing my chest. I’m trying not to groan when there’s a loud rap on the door.
In a second he’s released me and passed me my robe. I slip it on as I yell, “Just a second!”
Ethan sits on the couch and tries to look nonchalant. I gesture to his erection, and he crosses his legs and drops his hands in his lap.
I open the door to find Marco, who quickly appraises the situation.
“You two realize everyone in the building knows what goes on in here after the curtain comes down, right? And Karen has made a voodoo doll of you, Ethan, which she sticks with pins every time you damage a costume. It now looks like a porcupine.”
Ethan chuckles.
Marco frowns. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny.”
“I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“Yeah, we get that a lot.”
“Well, when you’ve quite finished molesting each other, please come to the lobby bar. I have someone who wants to say hello.”
“Can you give us fifteen minutes?” Ethan asks. “I wasn’t anywhere near finished molesting her.”
Marco sighs. “You have five minutes. And make sure Karen is stocked up on Valium before telling her you’ve ruined another costume. I saw her talking to a burly Italian man the other day. I can’t say for certain she wasn’t taking out a hit on you.”
Ethan laughs as Marco closes the door. As soon as it’s shut he’s on his feet and grabbing at my robe. He really does become a clumsy neanderthal when he’s horny.
“Stop,” I say and slap his hands away. “This robe is silk.”
“I know. I bought it for you.”
“Yes, and I love it, so stop trying to shred it.” I pull it off and carefully remove the rest of my costume.
He watches with hungry eyes. “Now?” he asks, his voice low.
“You have sixty seconds,” I say, and the words are barely out of my mouth before he’s kissing me.
Despite his obvious impatience, I love how rough he is when he’s desperate for me. It feeds my ego. Not to mention my lust.
He goes to work on my neck. “Oh, God. Okay, so . . . maybe ninety seconds, but that’s it.”
“Please shut up and put your hand in my pants.”
“Hell, yes.”
I yank down his zipper. Then we have a frantic two minutes of giving each as much pleasure as possible without getting naked. He’s not good at keeping quiet. I’m not much better. No wonder everyone in the theater knows about us.
When things start getting too steamy, we grunt in frustration and step away from each other. It’s not easy. We tidy up and pull on our street clothes in frustrated silence, and just before we head out the door, he pins me to it and lays his weight against me.
“Just so you know, when we get back to my place, I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name so loudly the neighbors call the cops.”
“What if I make you scream my name first?”
“Even better.” We kiss once more then head out.
When we reach the bar, we see a familiar dark-haired lady.
“Erika!”
She opens her arms as we approach, and Ethan and I hug her. “Ethan. Cassie. It’s good to see you two. You were both wonderful tonight.”
“You saw the show?”
“Yes. I loved it. I even brought a group of first years from The Grove. I think seeing two of our alumni up there provided a great deal of motivation. They can see where all their hard work may lead one day.”
“I wish we could have met them,” Ethan says.
“Well, perhaps you will. I was hoping to convince you both to come to the school next term to give some master classes.”
“I’m guessing you’d like me to impart my wisdom about working with masks,” Ethan says with a smile.
Erika laughs. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘working with masks’ or ‘failing miserably with masks’?”
“Hey,” Ethan says. “I failed brilliantly. In the history of The Grove, no one has failed masks more spectacularly than I did.”
“Well, that’s true.”
Ethan takes my hand, and I don’t miss how Erika sees it and smiles.
“You know,” I say as I lace our fingers together, “if you tried masks now, you’d be much more successful.”
Erika looks at us warmly. “I think you might be right, Miss Taylor.”
Marco orders champagne, and we spend a couple of hours reminiscing about our time at drama school. Apparently, Erika is a cheap date, because after two glasses, she gets a little happy and does impressions of Ethan and me when we first met. Then she does us bickering, complete with silly voices and loaded stares. I laugh more than I have in years.
I’d forgotten all the good times I had at college. For too long, what happened with Ethan eclipsed all the fond memories. Now I’m glad I can look back and smile.
“It was clear to everyone but the two of you that you’d end up together,” Erika says. “It was certainly clear to me. You two had a serious case of plove.”
“What the fuck is ‘plove’?” Ethan asks. “It sounds like a disease.”
“It’s a mixture of passion and love.”
“Isn’t all love passionate?”
“Not necessarily.” Erika leans back in her chair. “You can love something without being passionate about it. Conversely, you can be passionate about things you don’t love. It’s when the two converge that real magic happens.”
She looks down at the table like she’s talking to herself. “It’s the subtle shudder when you hear the other person’s name. The times when you think about their smile and find it impossible to keep a straight face. It’s those small, precious moments you wish they were with you, because nothing means anything until you share it with them. More than passion and love alone, it’s that internal alchemy that makes them a part of you.”
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “You two were lucky, you ended up together. It doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes you meet the person who alters you forever, and for one reason or another, they don’t become a part of your life. The problem is, you never forget them.”
She sh
akes her head like she’s shaking away a memory then lifts her glass to us. “You’ve both fought for your happiness. Enjoy it. You deserve it.”
Under the table, Ethan squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. I guess we’d never considered Erika’s private life before. She’d always seemed so untouchable. Maybe that’s because someone once touched her, and she never recovered.
I can totally relate.
Before we leave, we talk with Erika about possible dates for the master classes. Then we hug her and Marco and say goodnight.
Our taxi ride back to Ethan’s place is quiet. We hold hands. I lean on his shoulder. He strokes my fingers and stares out the window.
I guess we are lucky. Our ending could have been very different. If Ethan hadn’t had his epiphany in a hospital bed in France, we may have never seen each other again. It took him making the first move to put us on the path of healing and redemption. So I guess even though he had a major hand in breaking us, he was also behind putting us back together.
It makes me sad to think Erika didn’t get that chance. I guess a lot of people don’t.
When we get back to Ethan’s apartment, he silently leads me into the bedroom before kissing me gently. It still amazes me how he can leave me breathless by simply brushing his lips against mine. His hands are warm on my face as he tilts my head, and he steals even more of my breath with the soft sweep of his tongue.
We take our time removing each other’s clothes. The concept of fucking has been forgotten. This isn’t about fitting body parts together. It’s about the two of us needing to be joined. Sharing that incredible sense of rightness we only get with each other.
No one else has ever controlled my pleasure with such instinctual ease as Ethan, and no one ever will.
Erika called it “internal alchemy,” and I guess she’s right. It’s not like Ethan does anything different from the other men I’ve had. It’s just that his skin speaks to mine on a different frequency. The pulse of his blood powers the tempo of mine.
We kiss for a long time before he lays me down and presses himself against me. So warm. Hot in places. Soft lips. Flexing muscles under heated skin. He murmurs things as he moves his mouth over me. Tells me how beautiful I am. How much he loves me. How grateful he is to have me.
It’s all foreplay. Every groan-tinged word. He doesn’t even know how sexy he is. Not just his body but his stained-glass heart. All the pieces of his past and present welded into place. Cracked and imperfect, but beautiful nonetheless.