And then I heard him get on his knees, and my legs were spread apart. Oh, I knew what was coming next, but the combination of his warm lips and the chill of the ice cube on my most sensitive of areas made me bite the pillow to muffle a scream.
He couldn’t say anything because his mouth was otherwise occupied, but I did get a little tap on the ass as my second warning.
But how was I supposed to be quiet under such treatment? I’d like to see him try, if he’d let me.
Fin didn’t allow me to touch him when we were having sex. He took me from behind, so I barely saw him. During more quiet moments, I often thought about what those things meant. Right now, my thoughts centered to the area between my legs that he tormented with his mouth and the ice.
The first ice cube finally melted, and he waited before getting another, blowing on my skin.
“You like that? I thought you might.” And then a finger that had been chilling in the bowl of ice slid inside me and I actually did scream. It was unavoidable.
The finger was removed, and I waited for him to say something. But instead of a smack, his hand (the one that hadn’t just been inside me) stroked down my back again.
“So lovely. Beautiful, beautiful girl.” His voice was hushed, and I thought he might be smiling. “I want you so much I can barely stand it. You make me feel things I didn’t think someone like me could feel. I … I don’t know what to do about it.” I was frozen, caught in the heat of the moment, but breathlessly waiting for him to say more. These moments were so few, and I wouldn’t have that many of them before he left. The telltale crinkle of a condom packet let me know what was coming next.
“But I know that I’m going to fuck you now, and I’m not going to be gentle. You know what to do if you want me to stop. Agreed?” I nodded and heard the tear of a condom packet and then the zip of his pants.
He slammed into me so hard that the couch moved, and I hoped it didn’t scratch the floor. He pulled out slowly and thrust again, and I knew that he was right. This wasn’t going to be gentle. It was as if he was angry at his little moment of weakness and was going to punish both of us for it.
My fingers gripped the pillow so hard that I was afraid I’d tear it. The assault continued, vicious and intense. But I welcomed each stroke and even pushed backward to meet him. The pleasure was accompanied by pain, but the two mingled together and surrounded me, and before I knew it, I climaxed, my back arching and my world spinning into oblivion.
He grunted as he kept up the punishing pace for a few more strokes and groaned with the arrival of his own orgasm.
Fin lay across my back, his chest heaving, shirt sticking to the sweat on my skin. I was pretty worn out myself. Sex with Fin was always a workout and never boring.
He kissed the back of my neck and then continued, all the way down my back.
“Thank you,” he said, standing up.
“You’re welcome?” It sounded like a question.
Fin was quiet after we finished. Usually we talked, but he just said he was going to take a shower and headed to my bathroom and shut the door. I slowly got myself up from the couch. My thighs were sore, and I knew I was going to have bruises on my backside from Fin.
I cleaned up the water and disposed of the rest of the ice. Fin had left the ice cube tray out, and I refilled it and put it back in the freezer. Realizing I was still naked, I went and put my clothes back on, wondering how long Fin was going to be in the shower.
Then there was the little matter of the Scrabble tiles, which I had to pick up on my hands and knees, and I was sure I didn’t get all of them.
It was late, and I should have been getting to bed because I had a full day tomorrow, but I didn’t feel the least bit tired. I was keyed up and almost … waiting for something to happen.
Standing in the kitchen, I looked for something to occupy me while I waited for Fin. Food. We needed food. A midnight snack was in order.
Searching my cupboards, I realized quickly that I really needed to go grocery shopping. I had pretty much nothing, except for a container of cinnamon rolls I found in the back of my freezer. Perfect.
By the time Fin emerged, fully-dressed in a cotton shirt and jeans, I had my portable grill all ready to go.
“Are you gonna make me a burger?” he asked, coming and standing next to me, but still with a few feet of space between us. I wanted him to kiss me, but I didn’t say anything.
“Nope. I saw this thing online. We’re having cinnamon roll waffles.”
“Sounds interesting. Smells incredible,” he said as I placed the cinnamon rolls on the grill.
“Well, you’re supposed to use a waffle iron, but I don’t have one of those, and this is pretty much the same thing, right?” He opened his mouth to say something and then changed his mind.
“Sure. They’re pretty much the same.”
His hair was still wet from the shower, and little droplets fell onto his shirt. I allowed myself a brief ogle. The corners of his mouth lifted in a quick smile.
“How long do you cook them for?” he asked, interrupting my staring. Damn, he was distracting.
“Uh, I don’t know. Until they’re done?” I guessed I could look up the recipe online, but how hard could it be?
He laughed a little. “That sounds about right. Anything I can do to help?” Things had somehow gotten awkward, and I didn’t know what to do to fix it and get things back on the easy ground we had when we went on dates.
“Um, sure. If you want to maybe make some tea or something?” He’d been in my place before, so he knew where things generally were. In silence, he started gathering cups and filling the kettle and picking through my teabag collection.
The smell of cinnamon floated through the air and I couldn’t help but inhale deeply and sigh.
“That smells so good,” I said. “It’s weird to be having these late at night. Feels forbidden.” I wiggled my eyebrows and Fin smiled, but he was distracted.
Most of the time, I treated Fin with caution, but it was late and I was tired, and he was going to be gone in a few days, so I had to take my chances.
“Okay, what’s wrong? Are you mad about losing at Scrabble?” I leaned my back against the counter and crossed my arms. He stopped staring at the kettle and looked up at me. His eyes flashed with anger for a brief moment before he shoved it aside.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit. I call bullshit. Something changed while we were having sex. Something is going on in your head and we’re going to talk about it. No running away.” Well, he could run. There was nothing to stop him from actually leaving my apartment and going back to his, but I hoped he wouldn’t do that to me. Again.
His jaw clenched, and his hands became fists. I waited to see what he was going to do next.
“Marisol.” Just my name.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
I shook my head. “Too bad. I just had sex with you. I let you take me on my own couch and barely made a sound. What other girl would let you do that? One that you didn’t pay?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I really wanted to reel them back in. Especially the last few.
I expected him to freak out and yell at me, but he didn’t. He just looked down, nodded and said, “Those are probably burning.”
The cinnamon roll waffles were a little dark, but they tasted fine. Fin stayed to eat them, sitting across from me at the table in silence. I sipped my tea.
“I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time. I smiled and he laughed a little bit.
“I didn’t mean to be mean about the paying for sex thing. I can’t ask you to tell me those things only to throw them back in your face. But I was frustrated. You want me to give you everything, but then shut down when I want to get to know you. Can’t have it both ways, Fin.”
He set his fork down and looked across the table at me. “You’re right. You’re so right, Mari.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. B
lowing out a breath, he started talking.
“I’ve told you that you’re the first girl I’ve wanted to date. That is true. I want you, and I also want to date you. I want to ravage your body but hear you laugh and know what you look like when you wake up every morning. I want everything. That’s … that’s never happened to me. It scares me. A lot. Because if I care about you this much, then you have the power to hurt me. To break me. And I can’t take it again.”
I swallowed and took a sip of tea to calm myself.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll try not to,” I said. “And, like I’ve said, you can heal from a broken heart. People mend them all the time.” That wasn’t exactly true, but I wanted to make a point. “What happened to you?”
This time he smiled. “I already gave you a secret, Mari. But I guess you can have another.”
“Two in one night?”
He nodded. “Sure. But I need to ask you one thing. I need you to not feel sorry for me. Can you do that for me? This one’s a little morbid.”
“Yes, I can do that.” I agreed, but we’d have to wait and see. I hadn’t heard the story yet. Something told me this one wouldn’t be about sex.
He leaned forward and braced his arms on the table. “I tried to hang myself when I was ten. The first time, anyway. There were a few more unsuccessful attempts throughout the years.” He rubbed his wrists and I wondered if there were scars there. I’d never noticed any, but I hadn’t been looking for them.
“Why?” I asked, my voice the barest hint of a whisper.
“A lot of reasons. I suffered from extreme depression when I was younger. I’ve … I’ve learned how to deal with it somewhat since then. Through various means, including controlling what happens in terms of sex. Having control makes me feel safe.” That made sense. I could understand how someone could be like him, but I wanted to know what led him there. And who he’d been before.
“Sometimes I wonder what a shrink would think of me. I’ve been to therapy before, but it wasn’t a good fit for me. I wasn’t committed to it. You have to want it. I preferred to work out my frustrations in the boardroom and the bedroom. So, here we are.” He granted me a brief smile and then leaned back in his chair again.
“Here we are,” I said.
“I told you it was going to be morbid.” He definitely did. Fin stared at my face, and I tried not to betray any emotion, but it wasn’t easy. All I wanted to do was get up, wrap my arms around him, and hold him for a while. Trying to hang himself at age ten? I’d been running around and scraping my knees and dreaming about getting a horse.
“Stop. You promised you wouldn’t,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“What am I doing?”
“You’re looking at me like you’re feeling sorry for me.” I didn’t mean to.
“No, I’m not looking at you any special way,” I said.
“Yes you are, and that was why I didn’t want to tell you.” He pushed himself from the table and started pacing around the apartment, agitated.
“This is why I don’t tell people things, Marisol. Because then I get that face and I know that you’ve changed how you feel about me, and now you’ve lost respect for me. It’s why I don’t have relationships. They always turn out this way. Always, always.” He kept muttering the word, and I could tell he had drawn inward, to himself and the battle inside.
I got up slowly, so I didn’t make much noise and walked toward him.
“Fin,” I said, trying to get him to look at me.
His head snapped up, but it took a moment for his eyes to focus on my face.
“I’m not feeling sorry for you. I just … to imagine that you could be that depressed that you’d consider taking your own life makes me so, so sad. It makes me hurt, because I can’t imagine you hurting that much. I care about you. Can’t you see that?” As I spoke I took a few steps closer and tentatively put my arms around his neck. He stiffened at first, but then relaxed, sagging into me.
“Oh, Marisol,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t want to tell you that.”
“I know,” I said, resting my head on his chest.
“I’m not weak,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m not weak,” he repeated, emphasizing each word.
“I know, I know.” I rubbed my hands up and down his back and he let me hold him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to do that tonight. Or ever,” he said after we moved to the couch. We were still entwined, our fingers twisted together and my head resting on his chest.
“It’s okay. We don’t seem to be following the normal couple patterns anyway. And who wants to be normal? I’d rather be abnormal,” I said, tipping my head up to look into his eyes.
“I like your kind of abnormal. Mine is … something else. Aren’t you afraid?”
I sat up. “Of what?”
“Of me. And don’t just shake your head and tell me what you think I want to hear.” His hands clutched mine, hard.
I had to think for a minute to find the right words. To explain something that was, well, a little hard to put into words.
“I’m not afraid of you, exactly. I’m afraid of the way I feel about you, and how fast this is happening, and I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when you leave, and yes, you scare me. You do. But not for the reasons you think. I just … I just want to be with you, and we only have a few days left to do that. So let’s make the most of them.” I smiled and waited for him to digest what I’d said.
“You scare me, too,” he finally said.
“Will you stay?” I asked a while later. “Please stay with me.”
He exhaled, ruffling my hair. “I don’t know, Mari. It’s been … kind of an intense night. I don’t know if I should. I don’t know if I can.” He shifted and I moved away from him, despite wanting to cling to him like a barnacle and force him to stay.
“I’ll sleep on the floor. Or the couch. And it’s already tomorrow. So really, you’re only staying with me today.” I was going to pay dearly for staying up this late with him, but I could sleep later.
“I’m not really that tired,” he said. “So sleep isn’t really a problem. You can have the bed, I’m sure you’re exhausted.” He was pulling away from me again.
“If you’re not comfortable staying, you can go if you want.”
The inner struggle was evident on his face. “No, I want to stay. I do. I’m not going to run again.” He sat back and pulled me toward him.
“Are you sure?” Funny that we could have such intimate moments but were skittish about something like spending the night.
“Yes. I’m sure. No more running. But I’m sure you have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t want to keep you up.”
“No, it’s okay. I can power nap during the day.” I tried to swallow a yawn and failed.
“I’m not going to bed, even if you leave,” I said, getting to my feet. “But I am going to need some coffee. You want any? French vanilla creamer?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine, thank you.” I went to the kitchen and started the coffee. Fin got up from the couch and stood in front of my photographs, and I was reminded of the first time he came to my place, just a short time ago.
“I really love this picture. It’s got so much life in it,” he said, pointing to the one with the little girl in the park. “She reminds me of you. I can picture you this way. Free.”
“Well, my parents didn’t really like me running around. They were all ‘children should be seen and not heard.’ Well, at least my mother was. My dad was more lenient.” Talking about my parents wasn’t easy, but at least it got the conversation ball rolling.
“My parents didn’t like me running around either,” he said in a flat voice, and I knew there was much more to that story. Reading between the lines, I was sure that some form of abuse had taken place in his home. What kind and to what degree, I didn’t know. But it had happened.
The coffee ready, I poured two cups and then added
the French vanilla creamer. I didn’t care that he’d said he didn’t want coffee. He was getting it anyway.
He still had his eyes locked on the photograph, as if he was in a trance.
“Fin?” He jumped and almost crashed into me. Good thing I wasn’t standing close enough for him to bump and spill the coffee.
“I brought you some anyway.” I handed him the cup and he wrapped his hands around it, as if he was cold.
“Thanks.”
“You here with me? Or are you somewhere far away?” He blinked a few times and then sipped the coffee.
“I’m back. Just lost in the moment, I guess.” His smile reached his eyes this time and we sat back on the couch together.
He’d shared something from his childhood, so I felt like it was my turn. I tried to think of something he’d relate to. “I remember once, when I was seven, my parents were having this huge dinner party. Well, they were always having them, but this one was huge because some famous politician was coming or something. I don’t even remember who. So, of course, I was told to stay in my room and amuse myself and not make any noise. And, of course, I waited until the party started and then snuck out of my room and hid at the top of the stairs and watched them. I was so mad at them for making me miss it. Everyone was all dressed up and draped in diamonds and pearls, and their hair was perfect and I just remember thinking, ‘someday I want to look like that.’ And here I am, and the thought of having to sit through the mindless small talk of those parties and pretend to be nice to people I don’t know and don’t care about makes me want to hurl.” I almost said “kill myself,” but was able to pull it back before it came out.
I meant the story to be a funny childhood anecdote, but it turned into something else.
“And I’m sorry about that story. Didn’t meant to take things to a less-than-happy place again.” I sipped my coffee, which was now at the perfect drinking temperature.