Page 69 of Summer After Summer

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.”

“Hey, no …” Fred touches my chin with his finger. “Look at me.”

I let him turn my head. What does he see as he stares at me so intensely? My hair’s a mess, and my face is slack from the deep drugged sleep I was in. My body is still half in the dream, about to climax with Fred bringing me there, and now here he is, that same finger on my face, close enough to smell his sweat.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“Are you happy to see me?”

“Fred.”

“Just tell me. Tell me you didn’t forget me.”

The idea that I could forget him is so ridiculous I don’t know what to say. I can’t speak, and each second that goes by, I watch an ocean of feelings cross his face, from hope to disappointment to resignation. And that’s what breaks me. I can’t stand the thought of him being resigned to anything about me.

So, I do the only thing I can to express what I’m feeling.

I kiss him.

Not the sweet kiss of five years ago, but hard and hungry, my hands in his hair, pulling his body to me, the kisses of my dream. He meets me kiss for kiss, his hands on my hips, pulling me up and into his lap. I wrap my legs around him and press my chest to his, feeling a flood of memories, and half believing this is still an illusion, that any moment now I’ll wake up for real and all of this will be gone.

Fred will be gone.

But in the meantime, Fred’s murmuring in my ear, narrating how I feel under his hands. His voice is deep and husky, his breath hot on my skin when his mouth leaves mine to kiss my neck. He leans back and raises my arms above my head, then removes my top. He takes my breast in his mouth and I arch back, my hands threaded through his hair, holding him in place. His tongue makes slow circles around my nipple as he sucks on it, then nibbles gently, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

I lean away, and we tumble backward onto the bed. My rib shouts in protest. “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?” Fred asks above me, his voice gentle, his face creased in concern.

“Just my rib.”

“I’ll be gentler.”

“Please don’t.”

Fred groans and then his mouth is on mine again, his hands everywhere. He undoes my shorts and dips his fingers into my underwear. I arch up to meet his palm, letting it cup me and feel how wet I am. His finger slides inside me easily, and I cry out. He moves it in and out slowly, and my God, my God, none of those fumbling boys at college ever came close to this.

I reach for the fly of his pants, and he pulls his shirt over his head, then takes his pants off quickly, leaving only his boxers. He lies down next to me. We’re both breathing heavily, our mouths wet, our tongues intertwined. His fingers are still inside me, his thumb on my clit.

He pulls back, out of breath. “I didn’t come here for this.”

I pull him to me again, and I can feel him hard between my legs. I grind my hips into his, and he moans in my ear.

“I meant, I don’t have anything.”

“Oh.” I pull back. “I’m on the pill, but hold on …” I disentangle from him and search around the floor for my purse. Somewhere in there is a two-pack of condoms. I blush at the thought of why I have them, my stupid hook-up guy at college, then banish him. After this, no matter what, that guy is never touching me again.

I fish around in the purse until I find it. I hold it up like a prize. “We’re covered.”

Fred smiles and beckons me with his hand. “You’re beautiful.”

“That’s what all the guys say.” He frowns. “I didn’t mean …”

“It’s okay, come here.”

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