Page 45 of Alone With You in the Ether

He paused. “Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“Doing you a favor.”

Fuck it. She leaned her ear against the bathtub, letting her fingers continue their wandering.

“Aren’t you?”

“It’s not much of a favor. You’re doing most of the work, and I’m really not a very good party guest.”

God, no, he’d be a disaster. “You’ll be fine.”

“Careful,” he warned. “This is nearly a conversation.”

He was probably stoned, wasn’t he?

“Aldo.”

“Regan?”

Even if he wasn’t, he’d like it, she thought. Everyone did. I’m naked. I’m touching myself. I was thinking about you before, I’m thinking about you now, I’m going to come like this, thinking of you.

Men loved that. They were so fucking easy. The whole thing was so tragically primal.

“I’m glad you’re going with me,” she said, withering.

“I’m glad you asked me to. Logistically speaking, of course.”

Speaking of.

“We should probably hang up,” she said, closing her eyes.

She heard him take another drag.

“We don’t have to talk,” he said, exhaling again.

Perfect, she thought.

“Okay,” she said.

By now she’d established the pace of his breathing; three pulses in, two or so out. In, out, with measured entrancement. She paced herself on his rhythm, seeing as her own had been lost to other pursuits.

She came after the pattern of ten more breaths; heart thudding, lip caught between her teeth to strangle the implication of sound.

“Aldo.” It slipped out like a whispered sigh, half-unsaid; more a breath than anything, flooding through her bonelessly.

If he’d heard it, or anything else, he didn’t comment.

“Tea would be nice,” he said eventually, “if you want. Instead of coffee.”

Logistics. She closed her eyes again.

“Do you want any cream or sugar? Lemon? Honey?”

“Just tea, please.” She heard the sound of him rising to his feet. “I’ll let you go.”

That old reflex never died; the little pang of Don’t go, just stay. Settle over me like the tide, cover me like a blanket, wrap around me like the sun.

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