Ann Aguirre - I Want It That Way

“I told myself I’d be cool, but I don’t think that’s possible between us. I want you so much, and it’s been a million years since I touched you. Is it... Are you—”

“Yes,” I said.

Ten seconds later, I was in his arms, and he was pulling my shirt over my head. I unbuttoned his with shaky fingers and smoothed my palms up his chest. With a ragged breath, he kissed me, and I tangled my arms around his neck. My whole body ached for him, and he drew me in with delicious heat and the slow delight of his mouth moving on mine, his tongue, mine, rasp of teeth and the demanding press of his hands.

I fell back, bouncing on the mattress, and then he was on me, moving between my legs. My jeans came off and then my socks, until I was in my bra and panties, and the golden heat in his brown eyes swept me from top to bottom, molten as a touch. He pulled my panties off in a rough motion and lowered his head.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he muttered.

God, Ty was a genius with that mouth. Most guys did this grudgingly, if at all, but he licked and nuzzled, until I came with a tiny scream. My thighs were still quivering when he slid up to kiss me, and I threaded my fingers through his hair. Digging my fingers into his back, I tried to communicate that I wanted more, but his teeth were on my neck, so I could only make sounds. I’d never been noisy during sex before, but usually I worried about someone overhearing. These walls were thick, and I didn’t care if strangers knew Ty was incredible.

“More,” I whispered.

He was trembling, fiercely aroused, when he fumbled for the condom. As he rolled it on, I saw the absolute quality of his desire. “How?” he asked. “How do you do this to me? I’ve gone longer without sex.” My mouth was dry, and I just shook my head, bewildered. “I...I want...”

“Anything.”

“All fours.” His voice washed me in heat.

He came in from behind, wrapping his arms about me. This position might appear to be about power and subjugation, but I felt only exquisitely taken, and that must be what he craved—the sense of owning me, even if he didn’t. Each thrust made me lift my hips and push back until he was frenzied, growling endearments and biting into my shoulder. The friction and pressure were so good, rubbing me just right, and then he added his fingers, stroking me as he fucked. This wasn’t lovemaking; it was hard and frantic, like he couldn’t take me hard enough, deep enough.

“Nadia, I’m— Are you—”

“Come.” I gave him permission to let go, and he did.

He brought me off with his fingers, sensing that I was still thrumming. After, I curled against his chest, breathing hard, while he played with my hair. I turned onto my side, so I could gaze into his face, and I wrapped an arm around him, trailing it down his back in a slow, delicate glide. A perma-smile shaped his mouth, and intermittent shivers underscored how the sex between us just kept getting better.

It’s because he trusts you.

Before, there had been a wall, some portion of Ty kept in reserve, but the door was open now, and the full, unreserved beauty of him staggered me. He was impish, silly even, and adorable in his demands. The night I cuddled him, he’d given some hint, but I could see Sam in him when he plopped his head in my lap and said, “Pet me.”

I did.

The rest of the weekend, we’d eat and make love, play winter sports and get cold, then warm each other up. There would be hot cocoa in our future and more kissing. Plus, I wanted to make use of that tub. But with him smiling up at me, just so, his eyes on fire and full of my reflection, it was fucking impossible that I would ever be happier than this.

As predicted, the rest of the weekend was phenomenal, but all too soon, normal life recalled us. Classes resumed, along with my regular work hours, and Ty became a few words on my phone or a tired voice for a few minutes a night. The Wednesday after we got back, I was supposed to have my first meeting with my new practicum mentor, and I was obsessing over what to wear when someone knocked, such a light tap that I wondered if I’d imagined it.

Until I threw the front door open and found Sam in his pajamas, bright flags of color in his cheeks. “Daddy is sick. And I don’t feel good, either.”

All thoughts of school and work flew out of my head. “Let me get my stuff, then we’ll go. Don’t worry, bud. You did a good job finding me.” Though I was scared shitless at the idea of him leaving his apartment since the door locked behind him. What if I wasn’t home? How sick must Ty be, if he couldn’t get to his phone?

Sam proved how cruddy he felt by not responding to my bud overture. Nor did he ask for any dinosaur jokes. Worried, I followed him downstairs and saw that he’d wedged Mr. O’Beary into the door. So he wouldn’t have been locked out if I didn’t answer. Smart kid. I put my hand on his cheek, and yeah, he was definitely flushed with fever.

“Get in bed. I’ll bring you some juice and medicine, okay?”

When he nodded, a coughing fit swept over him. Flu, maybe, or bronchitis. I found OJ in the fridge, so I poured a glass of that and then I turned up a bottle of general-symptom children’s Tylenol, so I checked his age and poured the right amount into the plastic cup. Sam was curled up with Mr. O’Beary when I came in, covers pulled up to his chin.

I put the juice down and gave him the medicine, which he drank obediently, though he made a horrendous face. “Tastes like evil.”

“Worse than broccoli?”

Soberly, he nodded. “Can I have soup later? My throat hurts.”

“No problem. You have to stay in bed, though, or you won’t get better. I bet you’ll be sleepy soon. Do you want a story?”

“Will you?” His eyes were irresistible.

So I read to him in a soft voice, and before I was half done, he winked out. I tiptoed out and went to check on Ty, who was still in bed. I doubted he’d ever failed to wake when Sam came to poke him, so no wonder the kid came upstairs. He’d kicked his covers off, and he was sweating profusely, his cheeks hot with the same fever as Sam. I remembered how he’d thrown himself into tobogganing, staying out long after I gave up and retired to the lodge.

First I sponged him off and fixed his covers. Then I got some Nyquil from the cabinet and pestered him until he roused enough to swallow it. But he didn’t seem to register who I was, just moaned, rolled over and went back to sleep. To take care of them, I had to clear my day, though. I had a twinge in calling in to work so soon after my first missed day. Hopefully, Mrs. Keller didn’t take it for an imminent disciplinary problem. I faked being sick and she said it was better for me to stay home. Hurdle one, overcome. The next problem was my practicum.

I didn’t have the woman’s phone number, so I sent an email.

Dear Ms. Roberts: I woke up this morning with a fever. Sorry I can’t make our meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you Friday.

While this might impact her impression, I’d never leave Sam and Ty when they needed me. One last thing to do. While Ty’s work number was in his cell phone, I couldn’t really call in for him. So I went to his studio and swirled the mouse to wake up the computer. No password. I opened his mail account, searched for “Bill” and was relieved when a few emails popped up with the company info in the man’s signature. I read a few emails between them to get an idea of Ty’s tone with his boss. Then I typed,

Bill, sorry I can’t make it to work today. Sam’s sick and my throat’s on fire. I figure you’d rather I contain the germs. Back as soon as I can. Ty.

A few minutes later, a reply popped up.

No problem, kid. Feel better.

Whew. I felt like I’d just completed an undercover mission. Relieved, I went into the kitchen to see about the soup Sam wanted. There was chicken in the freezer and I found noodles in the cupboard. Carrots, celery and onion completed the recipe, and I quietly set the chicken to boiling. I didn’t have much else to do, so I took a nap on the sofa while waiting for the chicken to fall off the bone and for the water to turn into stock.

At eleven, I checked on them, but they were both still asleep. I’d wake them when the soup was ready. I strained the broth, then added the vegetables. Half an hour later, the noodles went in, and I had homemade soup. I made a tray for Sam and carried it to his room with some herbal tea and toast. He was awake, but in bed, like I’d asked.

“I went to the bathroom,” he told me. “But I got back in. I have to rest.”

“Good job. Hungry?”

“A little. Throat still hurts.”

“Maybe the soup will help. Eat it and I’ll get you a scoop of ice cream, okay?”

Sam brightened. “Deal.”

Hopefully, they had some. If not, I’d get my stash from the freezer. I chatted with him as he ate, pretending to tickle Mr. O’Beary. They did, in fact, have some vanilla ice cream, so Sam ate that with a gleeful expression. He seemed to be feeling somewhat better, but to make sure he rested more, I read to him until he fell asleep. Finally. I was worried about Ty, too, but I knew he’d prefer me to look after Sam while he couldn’t. Yet he hadn’t eaten anything since I’d been here, and I had no idea what fluids he had the night before. He might be getting dehydrated.

So I made a tray for him next, same menu as Sam, and I carried it into his room. He didn’t seem quite as feverish, and when I sat down on the bed, his eyes opened. Ty almost spilled his lunch trying to shove me aside in panic. “Sam!”