Deanna Roy - Forever Loved

“We’re a team this time. Life is just as hard as it was at the other two star parties, but this time we’re in it together.”

I squeezed her shoulders. “We are.”

Her breath puffed against my cheek. “It’s the last night before everything could change.”

“Nothing’s going to change.”

“If that boy belongs to you.”

“He doesn’t.”

She hesitated, then said, “I saw how much you cared about him.”

“I worry about what will happen to them. Her family was not kind about her situation. Tijuana isn’t an easy place to survive.”

She fell silent again, and the weight of her unasked questions pressed down on us like the stars.

“I think I see Delta,” I said.

Corabelle turned her head to look up. “I don’t remember which stars to compare it to.”

“Zeta, Epsilon, and Delta form a triangle off Cepheus,” I said. “Zeta is the corner of the house.”

“Hey! You have been paying attention!”

“Delta is the one farthest away.”

“It’s in between the other two in brightness.”

“3.9 then.”

“You know this?” Corabelle turned her face back to me.

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad a student in high school.” I smiled at her.

She nestled into my neck, her nose cold. “Classic underachiever.”

I borrowed a line from Jenny. “I have to keep everyone’s expectations low.”

“Mine are sky high.”

I took one of her hands in mine. “You’re the only one I aim to please.”

Her body tensed, but before I could ask her what was wrong, she asked, “How many times did you see her?”

“Rosa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not really sure.”

“A lot then.”

“For a while.”

“When was the last time you were…with her?”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean talking.”

She didn’t answer.

I sighed. “Are you sure you want to go into this?”

“I want to know what I’m up against.”

I drew her in even closer, each curve of her body pressed against mine. “I don’t keep track of these things. All I know is that once I saw you again, nothing else mattered. I don’t want to see her again. I don’t plan to see her again. I’m anxious for all this to be behind us so I don’t have to even think about it.”

“She loves you, Gavin.”

“She thinks she does. I’m just a meal ticket.”

“That boy doesn’t see you that way.”

I lifted her chin so she could look at me. “I totally understand why you would be worried. But nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to come between us again.”

She watched me with quiet eyes, fearful and deep. I felt overcome with the need to keep her as close to me as possible, to never let anything hurt her again. I bent in close to kiss her. I always communicated to her best this way, able to pour into her all the things I felt without having to fumble with words.

Her arms came around my head, and she responded in earnest. I realized I had not gotten a chance to kiss her those other nights on the roof, when I wanted to, and now the chance had come, and I let it unfurl, holding her as tight as I dared, delving into her soft, warm mouth like a dying man.

She gasped, and I pulled away, afraid I had pushed her too hard, that breathing was still too much, but she whispered, “Please take me to your place.” And so I stood up, helping her rise to standing, and we raced away from the stars and the students and the TA and the cold uncaring sea.

Gavin was so careful with me, so good.

I’d never been more happy to see his weight benches, his listing bookcases, and the scattered possessions that were all uniquely his.

He made a show of carrying me through the living room, as though I were frail, but I let him. The sensation of floating through his apartment, carried in the cradle of his arms, helped the world fall away. I could forget Rosa and her little boy, the lab room, the test results we expected tomorrow. My parents disappeared, and the hospital, the suction tubes, and the unending stream of nurses.

He laid me carefully across the bed, removing my shoes and wrapping me in a blanket. He reached inside the bundle of cloth for the snap to my jeans, easing them down without letting the chill touch my skin.

“You’re going to keep those socks on,” he whispered. “Not going to let you get cold.”

“That’s sexy.”

“But it is.”

His hands moved to the hem of my sweater, pushing it up. When my belly recoiled from the chill of his fingers, he withdrew, rubbing his palms on his jeans, then returning. “Better?” he asked.

I nodded, inhaling sharply when his hands grazed the cups of my bra as he lifted the soft wool over my chest. I wanted him to move swiftly, but he kept things slow, intent on his purpose. He tugged my elbow down and out of the first sleeve, then the second, and pulled the sweater over my head.

The blanket loosened on my shoulders, and he tucked it back in. I no longer felt cold at all, heat spreading through me as he stood at the end of the bed and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. I still had not gotten used to the changes in him from when he was a teen. His chest was broad and hard, his arms thick with muscle. When he bent to untie his boots, the corded expanse of his back shifted with every movement. I couldn’t take it any longer and twisted around so that I knelt on the bed, extracting a hand from the blankets to run it along his spine, feeling each indentation of sinew and bone.

He grinned up at me, that wicked expression that I’d known since I was small and had haunted my nights during the years we were apart. When he kicked off the boots and started to unbutton his jeans, I pushed him aside, grasping the waistband myself and jerking it open one-handed. The zipper came down with a quiet hiss.

I couldn’t stand it anymore and let the blanket fall, tugging on his jeans and peeling them down. He was erect inside the thin fabric of his boxers, and I ran my hand along it, feeling the pulsing throb.

He kicked the jeans off and pressed me down again, insisting on keeping the blanket in place. I pulled one end open and drew him inside it, creating a cocoon around us, soft and dark. He rolled farther onto the bed, lying over me, his lips covering mine. His hips pressed into me and I thrust upward to meet him, reaching between us to get rid of the boxers.

He was hot in my hands, and I wanted to make him crazy, to feel as desperate as I did. I worked the shaft with my fingers, pressing into the tip, reveling in the slippery wetness that meant he was as needy as me.

He reached beneath me to unhook my bra and shoved it out of his way, taking a breast into his mouth with a hunger that shocked me into another level of urgency. I did not want to wait. I could not bear another minute without him inside me. I let go of him and pressed against his back, driving my hips into him.

Gavin grasped the edge of my panties and eased them down. I reached for him, wanting to thrust us together, but he shifted away, driving first one, then two fingers inside me. I arched up, crying out, and he braced my back with one hand, helping me hold position without strain. His mouth left my nipple and it puckered in the cold until he folded me close against him.

I didn’t think I could take any more, his fingers fluttering against me, the pleasure spreading out but intensifying my need. He kissed me again, and my tongue lashed into him, frenzied, aching. His mouth trailed along my jaw, my collarbone, along the curve of a breast again, and heading down. I clutched his shoulders, unable to wait, wanting him now, stopping his descent. He understood and shifted over me.

I wanted to weep with relief as he slid inside, spreading everything open like a flower blooming. Emotion crashed over me. I did not want to let him go. I could not bear any space between us, any distance at all.

He braced himself on his elbows and cradled my head in his hands. His strokes slowed down, deep and drawn out. His lips caressed my forehead. The light from a streetlamp outside cast a feeble glow across his shoulders as the muscles shifted. I felt a round of weeping coming on and tried to stop it, not wanting to trigger any coughing or difficulty breathing. But something was changing between us, and I was so afraid of tomorrow, the test, what would happen if the boy was his. How I would manage, knowing Gavin’s son was alive and well but there might be no others, the only child of ours turning to dust in a powder-blue coffin in the ground.

“Shhh, shhhh,” he said, rubbing his thumbs along my cheeks where I had failed to stanch the tears.

The harder I tried to hold in the sobs, the more determined they were to come out.

“Hey,” Gavin said. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

I wanted to believe him. I tried to imagine every scenario and work through it. The disappointed Rosa, turning away after the test was negative. The exuberant version, if she was right. Gavin’s expression, relief or shock. My own reaction, stalwart or embarrassingly overwrought.

“You’re thinking,” Gavin said, his body moving more steadily now, with more purpose. “No thinking. Let it go.”

He released my head and propped higher on his arms, biceps bulging as he worked faster. I gasped with the change of pressure and intensity, and seeing I was engaged again, he reached for my knee, lifting it up and giving himself the leverage to work even harder and faster.

I clutched his ribs, the pleasure radiating out from where we were joined. He took it another step, resting my ankle on his shoulder, and his freed hand returned to the folds between us, pressing into the already hot nub.