Page 88 of Happy After All

I take it all in. The taste of him, the way my scalp stings. The deep, hollow feeling inside me as I anticipate more. Everything.

He pulls me back. His eyes burn into mine. I reach for a condom, thankful there’s one close enough, and he puts it on as quickly as possible as he drives himself into me. As he tortures both of us with slow, measured thrusts.

I bite his neck. And he loses it. There is no sound. Nothing beyond our bodies, our fractured breathing. My desperate pleas that he give me what I need.

When we shatter, we do it together.

When it’s over, he presses his forehead to mine and kisses me. It’s so different from last time.

He doesn’t turn away from me. He doesn’t leave.

Instead, he gets up off the bed and goes into the bathroom, and I hear the sound of the shower.

I lie there on the foot of the bed. Naked and satisfied. But already hungry for more.

He returns a second later. “Shower?”

I feel a strange rush of euphoria. “Yes please.”

There’s something unintentionally intimate about this. Showering with someone is part of sharing a life with them. But there can be something commonplace about it, and this isn’t commonplace. I’m so aware that I am standing there looking at his naked body. So aware of growing slick and hot from the water. He puts his hands on me, slides them over my curves. I do the same to him, my fingertips tracing the lines of his well-carved muscles.

When he kisses me, it’s deep, his tongue sliding against mine. His body fitting against mine perfectly. I’m pressed against him from my lips down to the floor.

Suddenly, neither of us can take it anymore. Both of our hands reach for the faucet, we turn it off, and we find ourselves in bed again, tearing desperately at a condom packet. I roll it on him, and he’s inside me before I can take my next breath. It’s fast, and furious.

We’re both undone by the time we finish.

“I guess the shower was pointless,” he says, his chest rising and falling heavily with his breath.

I laugh. “I don’t know, I would say it was pretty productive. Even if I’m sweaty again.”

I don’t say it, because it’s a little bit terrifying, but I don’t mind having his sweat on my skin.

I want to bury my face in his chest and inhale the scent of him.

I want him closer. Inside me without a barrier.

This is unhinged thinking, and I know it. This is me being drunk on sex, and on the emotional release of dredging up old trauma.

Maybe that’s what this is. The two of us acting like survivors of a natural disaster engaging in life-affirming fucking.

I find that to be the most comfortable explanation available.

Wehavesurvived three natural disasters. Death is natural. Still, much like a fire burning down your house, it doesn’tfeelnatural.

It feels wrong. It feels too hard.

But this doesn’t.

I’m suddenly drawn back to the moment. To the clock on my nightstand and the time.

“I actually have to go man the front desk so Elise can take Emma to school.”

“Yeah. I have ... you know, deadline.”

I look up at the ceiling. “Right. Those.”

“I pity your hero. Didn’t you leave him unsatisfied?”

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