Page 80 of Lotus

Eyes on the woman beside me, I can’t think of anything else I’d prefer to watch. I don’t think I can tell her that, so I turn my attention to the television screen, lit up with the Netflix application. “I suppose we could watchThe Parent Trap,” I suggest. “I was a bit disappointed we didn’t view it last week. You appeared to be excited.”

Sydney shifts beside me, pulling her feet up by the ankles. “It wasn’t the right time. The movie is special to me.”

“How so?” I wonder, curiously.

She picks at her polka-dotted sock, her demeanor shifting. “It was the movie we never got to see.”

I blink, processing her statement. Sydney is focused on her sock, black with white dots, her fingernail snagging on a piece of fuzz. She’s avoiding my stare, the mood heavy and suffocating. Scooting towards her even more, our bodies pressed together, I reach for her occupied hand, cradling her fingers in my palm. “We had plans to see it before I was… taken?”

A quick nod, followed by a shaky inhale. “We talked about it that morning, window to window, without a care in the world. We had no idea everything was about to change.”

“Syd…”

“I refused to watch it over the years,” she tells me. “It’s just a silly kid movie, but… it reminded me so much of everything that never came to be.”

I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, feeling the tension dissipate. “We can watch it now.”

Sydney turns to me, eyes shimmering like crystals, and bobs her head. “I’d like that.”

The movie bursts to life on the screen as Sydney’s head falls against my shoulder, our hands intertwining. It’s an entertaining film that holds my interest, but it’s hard to be entirely focused when the woman I adore is melted into me like she simply belongs there. We don’t speak about the kiss at her parents’ house, nor the implication of such an act, and I’m comfortable with the silence for now. I don’t need answers or titles when Sydney is curled into me, warm and buzzing—she is enough.

Halfway through our viewing, Sydney straightens beside me, rolling her neck and massaging the nape with her palm.

I glance her way, watching as her muscles twitch and tense. “Do you need a release?” I wonder aloud.

Sydney jerks her head towards me, eyes widening. “What?”

I must have used the wrong word, so I clear my throat. “The tension in your neck. You look uncomfortable. I can… help. If you’d like.”

“Oh.” Her lips part, still glossy from the lip balm she applied a short while ago. “Sure.”

“Come between my legs.”

Sydney coughs into her fist, a flush creeping into the apples of her cheeks. It appears I’ve misspoken—again. But she doesn’t question me this time and stands from the couch, resituating herself between my thighs. She’s tentative in her movements, peeking over her shoulder as her bottom lands on the very edge of the sofa cushion. Her heat and proximity prompt a lump to form in my throat, a tingle washing over me. My hands are fisting the fabric of my jeans as I shift back, putting a little more space between us.

“I’ve had this kink in my neck ever since I woke up this morning,” Sydney mutters, tipping her head forward slightly. “I think it’s from the painting I’m working on. I get so stiff and focused.”

“That could be,” I nod, lifting my hands from my hips and bringing them to her shoulders. I splay my fingers, my thumbs pressing firmly into the stem of her neck, circling the area that’s bothering her. “Is this enough pressure?”

Sydney makes a soft squeaky sound, her body relaxing. “That’s wonderful.”

The noise she makes, coupled with her closeness, has a noticeable, physical effect on me. My heartbeat is increasing, my body warming. I skim my hands a bit lower, massaging the muscles in her back, watching her head loll from side to side. My hands case up her spine, my thumbs tending to her with circular motions as she sags against me.

“Feels so good,” she whispers.

My jaw is tense from gnashing my teeth together. The scent of her hair, like a fragrant meadow, is tickling my nose while she leans into my chest. This is supposed to feel good for her—so, why doIseem to be enjoying it? It’s an innocent massage.

I curl my fingers around her upper arms, squeezing gently, sliding them back up to her shoulders, then her neck. “I like the way you feel in my hands,” I mutter, unsure if that’s something I should say. My words kiss her ear, and a few wispy strands of hair dance along her temple.

She squirms between my legs, her hip caressing the quickly forming bulge in my pants. If she notices, she’s unbothered. “I like the way your hands feel on me.”

Her words come out in a single breath. There is a charge between us, a current of heat, erotic and unabashed. My body has never surrendered to another human before—not quite like this. Our kiss filters through my memories, gasoline on fire.

Sydney continues to move, either on instinct or on purpose. I am unsure, but I’m far too tethered to his moment, to these feelings, to question her motives.

Instead, I move my hands over her back, her arms, her neck, and even dip down her chest until my fingertips graze the swell of her breasts. I glance over her shoulder, realizing I can see down her loose fitting, V-neck t-shirt. I swallow, quickly averting my eyes, deciding that is not a sight meant for me. “Syd,” I murmur. I’m about to tell her that perhaps I should stop touching her, perhaps this is becoming inappropriate, perhaps I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling from a mere neck rub…

But Sydney twirls her hips against my erection, causing my own hips to jerk forward as a groan passes through my lips.

---