Don’t leave me. What if you leave?
“Is it still raining?” I moved away from her to look out the window. “Should we go back out?”
“Do you want to go back out?”
I could hear my heart beating in my ears. She stood very still with her hands clasped in front of her.
“Why don’t you show me where you used to sleep?” she said. “Do you still have a room here?”
I shook my head, grimacing. “It’s a guest room now. But you can see it if you like.”
I showed her around the rest of the place, which was exactly what needed to happen so I could regain control of my shit. Not much had been done since I was here last. The place was protected as an estate of historical interest. They couldn’t gut it and remodel. Even something as trivial as new faucet handles had to be approved. I explained all this to Chere as she stared up at the ceilings and walls. When we got to the guest room—my old room—she walked over to the window.
“I want to see your view. Did you look out here and daydream as a boy? Does everything look the same as it used to?”
I joined her, standing close to her and breathing in her scent. I put my arms around her and looked out the window where I had indeed daydreamed as a tormented boy. Back then, I would have done anything for attention and approval. Once, in a really dark hour, I’d sat on the sill and considered jumping to make my parents sorry. I imagined them mourning over my twisted, broken body, but I hadn’t jumped, because I was too afraid of the pain.
“I was a horrible kid,” I murmured against her ear. “I grew into a horrible adult.”
“You’re not horrible,” she said, laughing softly. “Just a little rough around the edges.” She turned to me and took my face between her hands. “You’re wonderful. I love you.”
And as I looked into her eyes, I realized everything I’d gone through was okay, because it had brought me here, to this moment, to her. I didn’t trust my voice, or I would have told her how desperately I loved her. Instead I kissed her, turning away from my boyhood view. The kiss deepened to a grasping embrace and then an attack. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Don’t leave me.
“Come here,” I said. “Come with me.”
I led her out to the center of the living room where my parents had held court with their rich friends and their rich endeavors, and tugged her down with me to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked as I slid a hand beneath her waistband.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to defile you on my parents’ living room floor.”
I popped her button and slid down her zipper. She stared up at me and lifted her hips so I could yank down her jeans. I held her gaze for a moment as I shoved fingers into her pussy and found her wet and ready.
“This floor is really…” She bit her lip. “It’s really hard.”
“I’m really hard, too.”
I tried to cradle her as I shoved down my pants and positioned myself between her thighs. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable, but when was she ever comfortable when we had sex? I groaned as I shoved inside her. Her warmth enveloped me and we were connected again. I was inside her and she was around me and Jesus Christ, I was so in love with her. This room was full of bad memories, but this would be a good one. I grasped her closer and wrapped my arms around her so I wouldn’t bruise her as I fucked her across the floor.
“You’re mine,” I whispered. “I want you. I always want you.”
“I want you too.”
Her hips bucked up to meet my thrusts, and pretty soon the hard floor didn’t matter, or the slipcovered furniture, or the fact that this was the room where my parents had always come to get away from me.
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“More?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I arched over her, driving in her hard, squeezing and pinching her, caressing her wherever I could reach. When she was close to orgasm, I grabbed her arms and yanked them over her head, and buried my face against her neck. I urged her on with dirty, filthy words until she came with a series of urgent gasps.
I held off a little longer, because it was so delicious to hold her writhing body here on the floor of this awful place. It was weirdly necessary to take her here in this room, in this house with so much sadness. Maybe that was why I’d brought her here. I didn’t know, and by the time I started climbing toward orgasm, I didn’t care. I gazed down at her and thought about the poem I’d mentally composed earlier. I’d have to write it down for her. You trembled under me as I fucked you in that bleak, black house…