It was a kind of communication I wasn't familiar with. But I found I really liked.
"We're clear," I said after a second, when I trusted my voice again.
"You want to keep this up?"
Hell yes I did. I felt like I owed it to myself to explore it, to feel the things he made me feel, not just physically either. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe it was dangerous for me in many ways. But I didn't care. For once in my life, I wanted to say to hell with the consequences and jump off the cliff. "Yes."
"You gonna stop trying to act like you can fool me with the stiff-upper-lip act? 'Cause, babe, if you haven't figured it out by now, you can't fucking fool me. And you aren't going to impress me with your ability to repress yourself. So if we fuck and you need to cry or laugh or snuggle up or take a bath and some space from me, say it. Okay?" I felt my head nodding, not quite able to form words while I battled the strange warm feeling I felt blooming in my belly and spreading outward until it seemed to unfold over my entire chest. "So what do you need right now?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. I wasn't used to being asked. The men I had been with had never been deliberately inconsiderate about sex, but they hadn't gone out of their way to ask what I might need from them after. If anything, they tended to get rid of the condom then go to sleep. Which, as I thought about it, was really sad.
He shrugged a little. "You need space? Want me to leave?"
"No," I said, a little too quickly, almost a bit frantically.
He noticed too because, well, he noticed everything. His lips tipped up a little. "Alright," he said, rolling onto his back and reaching for me, hauling me up and onto his chest. "How about this? This good?"
Good wasn't the right word. The second I settled onto his chest and felt his arm wrap around me, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my ear, his skin warm, his body a comforting kind of safe, I knew I was in trouble. Because he and the feelings I was having around him spelled out just that in bright, bold, unavoidable letters.
And as I felt him start to stroke his fingers through my drying hair, I had the strong knowledge that he was going to hurt me more than anyone else ever had before.
But I somehow forced those thoughts away enough to relax.
Without thinking it was possible, I drifted off to sleep.THIRTEENPrueI woke up alone and disoriented. I shot up, realizing I was completely naked in an unfamiliar room, the sun streaming in through the sheer-covered windows. Then it slowly came back to me: the hot tub, Byron, the cabana, the sex, the snuggling after. I had passed out on him! More than that, but he had sneaked out without me having noticed. I reached out and touched the spot next to me, finding it cool. He had been gone for a while.
I didn't bother looking around seeing as there was literally nowhere for him to hide out.
I sat up, immediately going toward the cabinet where the towels were stacked and wrapping one around my naked body, noticing soreness in places I hadn't been sore in a long time, or ever. When I turned, I noticed a colorful pile on the small counter in the kitchenette. I walked over to find my still-damp clothes from the night before, neatly folded. But beside them, a pile of dry, fresh clothes. My clothes. From my closet. There was a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a white button-up, bra, panties, and a pair of white flats. I reached for them, saying a silent prayer that Byron was the one to bring them in instead of farming the task out. How the hell had I slept through someone coming and going?
Dressed, I wrapped up my wet clothes in the towel and made my way back toward the house, feeling off-kilter because I had no idea what time of day it was and if anyone was milling around to see me doing my sort-of walk of shame. I went in the back door and slipped right into the laundry room, putting my clothes and towel in a basket because the machines were already in use. I moved back into the hall, ducking into the kitchen and finding Ella there, steadily chopping something for, I presumed, lunch. A glance at the clock on the stove told me it was after ten.
Ten.
I never slept to ten. Ever.
"You feeling alright, sweetheart?" Ella asked, her back to me as I moved toward the coffee pot.
"Ah, yeah..." I said, unsure why she was asking.