"Don't say that. I am fine." I mutter and look away from his shimmering eyes.
He grips my face harder in his palms and pulls my eyes back to his. "No, you are not." He moves in to kiss me, and a jolt of panic shoots through me, but I let all my worries disappear when he surrounds me with his warmth, his mouth moving over mine with precision; smooth and slowly, he kisses me without pressure. He must think me a fragile butterfly because he waits for my moan of approval before he wraps his hand behind my head.
It's warm here.
It's safe.
It's peaceful.
Yet, my heart doesn't beat as fast as I want it to; my pulse doesn't hammer in my veins, but at least my feminine parts below tingle, responding to the sensation of his skin on mine.
He pulls away and gently lowers me to the grass. A sense of uneasiness keeps me rigid beneath him.
"No one can see, Emily. It's fine," he whispers above me.
Of courseI know that. I am aware that no one visits the lake often. It's a place we have claimed for our meetings; a place he tagged 'home'. It is serene, as it should be.
Why can't I trust him enough to just let him have all of me?Two years and I still pause whenever we get intimate. It's not like we aren't compatible? Or are we?
I can't pin-point what’s the matter with having Mike above me. Just like our relationship, sex between us is sweet and simple. No additional kinks, no extravagant foreplay or vulgar words to spice it up.
I never complain.
I know it's horrible of me to do it, but—I sometimes fake my orgasms with him.
Mike is unbuttoning my top. It's a Victorian style shirt, something I had gotten from eBay just for him. Underneath I am wearing matching pink underwear, lace only, because Maya says it's sexy when I wear it. Mike breathes my name as my olive-colored skinis now revealed to him. He kisses a path from my navel up to the lace bra.
Then he pauses when I unconsciously flinch.
"Emily?" he questions. Like a woman released from a trance, I draw in a sharp breath and jerk to look down at him through lowered lids. "Talk to me. Tell me what you want." It sounds like a plea, and it almost brings tears to my eyes.
He loves me, and he is truly worried. I can go ahead and accept that Emily Smithson is a horrible person, because instead of telling Mike all the things I wish for him to do to me in my mind, I put on a pretend smile and draw his head up to mine. "Nothing, I just missed you," I say.
He smiles above my lips. "I missed you more, pumpkin." Like that, all thoughts of exploring my body leave his mind. He lays next to me with my shirt hanging open. We spoon on the grass and gaze upon the stars together. He starts talking about his plans to get a bigger apartment, so I can move in with him. He doesn't want me living in hisshitholewhere water leaks from the roof.
Shithole or not, everyone knows that Mike's through a lot and deserves so much better.
I tell him not to let it bother him. We still have so much time to live and spend together.
These may be the best moments of my life.
Nothing else matters, as long as I get to experience this serenity with Mike.
Carl
When I step into the residence, the entire place seems deserted. It has been this way since we lost our mother.
The living room has become an exhibition that no man acknowledges, except the cleaner who comes in occasionally to wipe the dust off the sofa, dust the windows, and replace the flowerpots on the stands. When she is done, she rings a bell for the chauffeur, who hands over her daily payment and then a macabre silence settles over the entire place again.
It's not depressing to see it this way. It's depressing to imagine the five of us gathering as a fucking family to talk shit about making everything better.
I recall the last time we did that. Someone lost his temper, and at the end of the day, nothing was achieved.
That person is me. I still can't stand their immature schemes.
I head into my room, calling for Gregory, our chauffeur, to fill me in on all the activities that have taken place since I left.
He is not a spy; I'll liken it more to loyalty, since in the past, I was the one who hired him to serve the residence—picked him outoff the streets and showed him that life could be better for him as long as he didn't give up.