Love and Other Words by Christina Lauren
He bent down, licking my neck, my breasts, and then returned to me, greedy lips sucking at mine and then back down over my chest. His hand pressed flat against my stomach and fingers teased at the hem of my underwear.
“Too fast?” he asked, breathing heavily, and I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me from where his mouth explored my breasts.
“No,” I said out loud. It was too slow. Not too fast – too slow. Fire crackled up and down every nerve ending and I wanted more, even if I didn’t know exactly what that was.
“Shit, Macy, I’m… this is insane. Good insane. You feel insane under me.”
I laughed because Elliot’s rare incoherence was strangely reassuring, and then his lips were on my mouth, swallowing my laugh and making it his, his tongue slipping over mine as his hand cupped my breast, squeezed, our sounds muffled by the way we could barely bring ourselves up for air.
His fingers went lower again, slipping over my ribs, across my navel, below the cotton to exactly where I needed them, and he made a strangled sound at the same time that I ground out something unintelligible. His hips shifted over me, seeking the same rhythm as his fingertips gliding across my skin.
In a flash he was moving down, tugging my underwear off, and kissing my belly, hips, and then lower, almost wild with the want that mirrored mine. He shook below me, between my thighs, shoulders trembling under my grip, and I missed his weight on top but whatever he had decided to do with his mouth distracted me from any other coherent thought. It was warm soft suction, hands on my legs, resisting the way they seemed to want to close around his head and the mad sensation of tongue and lips and his gasps of air. He was doing that thing I’d barely let myself imagine.
He moved back up when I started gasping, biting and kissing along my skin, wilder than I would have ever imagined, but then, in the moment, I realized it could never be any other way with us.
“Sorry,” he said. “I wanted to keep going but —” He closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip and groaning as if he was trying to keep himself together.
“It’s okay, come here.” I wanted his weight on me. I wanted to see him hovering over my body and then burn the image into my brain.
“I seriously thought I was going to come,” he added with a laugh against my lips, his mouth still wet from me, and with an urgency behind his touch that made me a little wild.
I pushed ineffectually at his belt and then my fingers remembered function, pulling through loops and undoing one fascinating button at a time, and then my hands felt the bare skin of his flat stomach, his narrow hips, the soft hair on the backs of his thighs as I worked his pants down around his knees.
He was heavy on me, hard and thick against my hip, and I arched to him, wanting to rub across him there.
“I want to,” I began, reaching for him and finding it. My mind turned to mush at the sound he made, at the feeling of him, so warm and hard in my hand. “Do you want to?”
“Have sex?” he asked, head bobbing in a frantic nod, eyes rapt. “Yes. Yes. I do. I do, I do, I do, Macy, but fuck, but I don’t have any protection.”
“Pill,” I gasped as he shifted and I felt him slide across my thigh. Smooth and soft skin over something not at all soft.
Elliot lifted his chin in surprise. “You’re on the pill?”
“It was one of Mom’s rules. Dad put me on in October.”
He reached between us and when he rubbed himself across me I was completely gone. I barely heard him ask, “You sure, Mace? Look at me.”
At the soft pulse of his voice, I moved my gaze from the fascinating place where he was about to be in me to his eyes, which were almost black with hunger but patient and waiting, too.
“Please,” I said. It felt so good. If he kept rubbing over me like that… “I’m sure.”
He looked down and guided himself to the right place before leaning over me and resting his elbows near my shoulders. This felt like the most natural thing in the world: my legs slid up and over his hips, his lips found mine. He moved forward, an inch. Not yet inside but there.
“This is not going to be a marathon,” he groaned. “I’m barely hanging on.”
“I just want to feel you.”
He pushed forward an inch more but stopped when I cried out at the commotion in my body, at the cohesion of sense and stimulation. His eyes were riveted to my face and then rolled back in his head as I used my leg curled around his thigh to pull him quickly – and roughly – all the way inside me.
I bit his shoulder at the sharp stab of pain, his body muffling my cry. Elliot’s hips shifted carefully back, and then in again, and I felt the tearing pleasure/pain of him, over and over as he started moving in earnest, pushing in and pulling out of me again, again, faster.
“You’re okay?” he gasped.
I managed a strangled “Yes.”
“Oh, God, I’m —”
I held him to me, with arms and legs banded around him, my eyes clenched against the tight pinching of it, my heart wanting to keep him inside more than my body needed him out.
“I’m coming,” he gasped, and then shook beneath my hands, his breath held high and tight in his shoulders as he fell.
I felt what it did to him. Felt every single shift inside me.
In an echo somewhere I heard sound, feet, a voice. Desire still echoed through me, ricocheting against the sharp pain between my legs.
Elliot’s touch was suddenly gone, the entire front of my body was cool without him over me, and I felt oddly, immediately hollow. With a foggy head, I realized he was scrambling back and pulling me up.
“Macy?” Dad called from downstairs. Or underwater, I couldn’t be sure.
Elliot’s face swam into focus above me, his brow damp, eyes wide, lips bright red and still wet from my kisses. “Get up, Mace.”
Jerked into realization, somehow I found my voice, pushing out a hoarse “Yeah, Dad?”
Elliot yanked his pants up and threw his shirt over his head as my own fumbling fingers struggled to jerk on my pants. I paused at the brilliant streak of blood on my thigh, blinking up to Elliot, whose eyes snared with mine as he buttoned his jeans.
“You okay?” he whispered. Footsteps echoed down the long upstairs hallway.
“Yeah.” I stood on weak, shaky legs to find my shirt, tug it on, and shove my bra under a pillow with my foot just as Dad walked in.
He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Elliot, having launched himself onto the pillows in the corner, was reading my worn copy of The Joy Luck Club without his glasses on. His face was red, his breathing uneven. I stood near the door, and realized I had no idea what my hair looked like, but I imagined it could not be good. Elliot had dug his fingers into it, pulled apart my braid, and slid his hands over and into my hair again and again.
My body bucked with the memory.
Dad looked me over and smirked.
“Hey,” I said.
And to his credit, he simply replied, “Hey, guys.”
“What’s up?” I asked, trying not to gasp for air.
“Mace, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but do you think you could be ready to go in an hour? I just had to run into town to get a fax, of all things. We need to get back tonight.” He looked genuinely apologetic.
We have two more nights here, I thought, but even as crushing disappointment spread through me, I nodded brightly. “No problem, Dad.”
He waved to Elliot, who waved back, and then left.
Slowly, I turned. Elliot’s eyes were closed, his hands over his face as he finally gasped for air, no longer needing to appear relaxed.
I moved to him, crawling into his lap, desperately wanting the feel of him against me.
“Holy shit, that was close,” he whispered.
I nodded. I didn’t want to leave. Adrenaline crashed through me, making my limbs shake. I wanted to curl up with him and talk about what we’d just done.
He turned his head, kissing my temple. “You were bleeding. I know it’s… normal, but
I looked up at the ceiling, trying to find an answer that felt both true and reassuring. “Not more than I expected.”
His lips found mine. Slow, careful kisses dotted over my mouth, my chin, my cheeks.
“You need to pack,” he said reluctantly, pulling away.
“Yeah.”
He stood, lifting me with him and then put me down. “Email me tonight?”
I nodded. I was still shaking. Because of what we’d done… and because we almost just got caught doing it.
He cupped my face in both hands, searching my eyes. “Was it… okay?”
“Yeah.” I bit back a nervous laugh. “I mean… I definitely want to do it again.” The adrenaline was making me feel speedy and wired.
“Okay.” He nodded frantically. “Okay, so we’ll talk? You’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “You?”
He blew out a controlled breath. “I’m going to go home and take a long shower and relive all but the minute your dad was standing there and I was still sort of hard.”
I leaned against him, my forehead to his chest. “I don’t want to go.”
His lips rested on the crown of my head. “I know.”
“Did we just have sex?” I asked quietly.
With his thumbs, he tilted my face so I’d look up at him. “Yeah. We did.”
He leaned forward, kissed me once, twice, softly on the lips and then a third, deep kiss. Finally he pulled away, kissed the tip of my nose, and ducked out of the closet.
And I thought, as I heard his footsteps jogging down the stairs, how strange and wonderful it was that we had never said I love you. And we hadn’t needed to.
now
sunday, december 31
“
D
espite being born to the same parents, and raised in the same house, Andreas and I could not have been more different,” Elliot says, opening his wedding toast and sliding one hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. He stands at the front of the expanse of tables and flowers and candlelight, a tiny grin working at his mouth.
“I was studious, he was…” Elliot scratches his eyebrow. “Well, he was athletic.”
The guests laugh knowingly.
“I was obsessive, he was slovenly.” Another appreciative rumble. “I learned Latin; he primarily communicated in grunts and frowns.” At this, I join in the genuine laughter. “But anyone who knows us knows we have one important thing in common.” Elliot glances briefly down to me, sidelong, almost as if he can’t help himself, and then back over to Andreas. “When we love, we love for good.”
An emotional murmur ripples across the room, and my heart dissolves into a puddle of warm honey.
“Andreas met Else when he was twenty-eight. Sure, he’d had girlfriends before, but nothing like this. He walked into Mom and Dad’s house one Saturday and looked physically windblown. Eyes wide, mouth agape, Andreas had lost the ability to speak in his normal, very basic vocabulary.” Laughter rises up again, jubilant. “He brought her home for dinner, and you would think he’d invited the queen of England.” Elliot smiled at his mother. “He nagged Mom about what she’d cook. He nagged Dad about not having the Niners game on the whole time. He nagged me about not doing something weird like quoting Kafka or performing magic tricks with my green beans. For a man who’d never voluntarily cleaned his own bedroom, this meticulous behavior was notable.”
My smile spreads wide across my face; a giddy, lovesick fault line.
“And he’s been as attentive, and loyal, and devoted for each day since. For four years I’ve watched you fall more deeply in love. To say that Else is well-suited for Andreas is an understatement. Apparently she loves meatheads.” Laughter. “And apparently she also liked us well enough.”
Elliot lifts his glass, smiling warmly down at his brother and new sister-in-law. “Else, welcome to our family. I can’t promise that it will ever be quiet, but I can promise that you will never be so loved as when you come home to us.”
Cheers ring out, glasses clink. Elliot bends to hug them both, and then returns to his seat beside me.
Beneath the table, he takes my hand. His is shaking.
“That was awesome,” I tell him.
He bends, smiling as he takes a bite of his salmon with his free hand. “Yeah?”
I lean over, press my lips to his cheek. His skin is warm and a little rough now, like the mildest sandpaper. It’s all I can do to not bare my teeth and bite him the tiniest bit. “Yeah.”
When my lips come away from him, they’ve left twin petals of lipstick. I reach up, reluctantly smearing it away with my thumb. I sort of liked it there. Elliot continues to eat, smiling at me as I fuss over him, and never in my entire life have I felt so blissfully like someone’s wife.
The feeling is bubbly, like being drunk from a shot – the way it warms the path from throat to stomach. But here, everything feels warm. I pull his hand in mine closer, onto my lap, high on my thigh. He pauses with his fork en route to his mouth, sending me a sly smile, but then takes the bite and chews, leaning to his left to listen when Andreas taps his shoulder.
The music begins for the first dance, and Andreas and Else stand, moving out into the center of the room, dancing solo for only a few bars before the DJ calls everyone out. And then Miss Dina and Mr. Nick are out there, and then Else’s parents, too. Elliot looks over at me, eyebrow raised in obvious question… and here we go.
He leads me to a spot near the center of the dance floor, pulling me with an arm around my waist until I’m right up against him: chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips to hips.
We sway. We’re not even really dancing. But our proximity sets my body on fire, and I can feel what it does to him, too. Right up against me, he’s half-hard, his posture exposing the hunger he feels.
I want closer, too. With one hand clasped in his, the other on his shoulder slides around his neck, then – slowly – into his hair. Elliot tucks our joined hands against his chest and then bends, pressing his cheek to mine.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry that I can’t help my body’s reaction to you.”
“It’s okay.” I count out fifteen heartbeats before I’m able to add, “I love you, too.”
He reacts to this with a tiny catch in his breath, a slight tremor in his shoulders – it’s the first time he’s ever heard me say it.
“You do?”
My cheek rubs along his when I nod. “I always have. You know that.”
His lips are close enough to my ear that they brush against the shell when he asks, “Then why did you leave me?”
“I was hurt,” I tell him. “And then I was broken.”
Now he reacts. His feet come to a stop on the floor. “What broke you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
He pulls back, eyes flickering between mine as if there might be different messages communicated there. “Do you want to leave?”
I don’t know. I do want to leave… but not to talk.
“Whenever you can,” I say. “Later is fine.”
“Where?”
Anywhere. All I know is that I need to be alone with him. Need to in this restless, straining way. I want to be alone with him.
I want him.
“I don’t care where we go.” I slide my other hand up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. Elliot’s breath catches when he realizes what I’m doing: pulling him down to kiss me.
His lips come over mine in a fever, hands moving to cup my face, to hold me close as if my kiss is a delicate, fleeting thing.
His kiss is an aching prayer; devotion pours from him. He sucks my bottom lip, my top, tilting his head for more, and deeper, before I pull back, reminding him with a tiny flicker of my eyes where we are and just how many people have noticed.
Elliot doesn’t care about them. He takes my hand, leading me down the steps from the lit dance floor and into the gardens.
Our shoes swis
Deeper down the trail we go, into blackness, where all I hear is the buzzing of insects and the ripple of wind through the leaves. The voices disappear into the light behind us.
then
sunday, december 31
eleven years ago
D
ad materialized at my side, holding a flute of champagne for him and a flute of what smelled suspiciously like ginger ale for me.