Page 50 of Bad At Love

DP had a vague memory of Chaaru helping him undress, and herding him to the bathroom. Exhausted, they’d tumbled into the bed together, hands clasped. Neither could bear to let go of that minimal contact, he remembered thinking, sinking into the soft mattress.

Not that sharing the bed had remained purely romantic. But it had been real in a way DP had never known. The warmth of her body against his, their breaths syncing, she filled the void he had known most of his life.

They’d fought over the duvet—she kept kicking it off while DP’s feet turned ice cold. Bumped into each other outside the bathroom later. She’d given him a close-mouthed kiss because he’d been a good boy and remembered to put the seat down. And, in the morning, they’d fought over how her habit of spreading her stuff untidily, all the way to his sink, resulted in her misplacing her ear studs.

The awkwardness he’d dreadedafterthe poem and everything it revealed hadn’t materialized. He’d wanted,needed,her to see herself through his words. Especially the soft-hearted innocent she’d been once and how bright she had made his world.

He was glad he’d given her the last piece of his truth. Glad that his love for her would always be a part of her heart, whether she wanted him beyond this week or not.

He was no Zen guru to think heartbreak wouldn’t hurt or that this week hadn’t already irrevocably changed him. It had, but he’d never imagined he’d have these few days with her. And he’d been through enough loss in life to recognize the bounty he’d been granted.

* * *

When he returnedto the suite around three that afternoon, everything was dark and quiet. The soft, droning tones of the white noise Chaaru played on her phone to fall asleep, greeted his ears. Instantly, his muscles tightened, anticipating the simple pleasure of climbing into bed and gathering her to him.

After living alone all his adult life, and never sharing this kind of intimacy with a partner, all her little quirks should have felt strange, even jarring. Yet in only a week’s time, he was used to the color and sounds she brought to his world.

White noise meant she was trying to sleep.

Loud pop music meant she was cleaning or getting ready.

Soft meditative instrumental music meant she was getting her stretches in or relaxing with a cup of coffee.

He walked past the small sitting lounge to the open bedroom door. Slowly, hoping the door didn’t whine, he slid into the room. With the drapes closed to block out the strong midday sun, the room was cozy and cool. But not so dark that he couldn’t see her on the bed.

With the white down comforter pushed off, her torso clad in sheer red lace was an enticing contrast. Hair spread out like a halo, a slight sheen of sweat coated her upper lip. Fighting the urge to lick it off, he moved on light feet and turned up the AC. Running a hand over the hair standing erect on his forearm, he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Lotion bottles, lipstick tubes, hair brushes, scrunchies and a box of tissues lay scattered across the marble sink area. Like little soldiers advancing into war, intent on taking over his side too.

A folded note caught his attention. Anticipation strummed through him as he grabbed it with shaking fingers.

‘Wake me up with your cock

Miss the beast already.

Only a little more than you.’

Laughter bubbled up his chest. He’d missed her all morning too. Only catching glimpses of her here and there as she and the rest of the women piled into Mona’s suite to help her get ready for the ceremony that was about to start in two hours.

Two hours...and he couldn’t waste a single moment.

Palming his rough cheek, he took his shaving kit out. The razor fell to the marble floor with a rattle that had nothing on his breath rushing through his ears. If he shaved in this state, he’d probably cut himself. From under the sink, he pulled out the small cardboard bag from the adult store and unpacked a couple of things.

He stripped, went through his two-minute shower routine, liberally applied cream all over, put on fresh boxers and went back to the bedroom. To find that Chaaru had kicked off the sheets a little more. Just enough for him to see the big, red, glittering plastic bow she’d tacked on top of her red panties. Lust pummeled him, and he felt as shaky as a virgin teenager wondering where to start.

She was a gift waiting to be unwrapped,his gift,and he was going to lose himself in every fold and curve.

He slid into the bed and scooted towards her. Hands above her, knees to the side, she slept with an innocence and fragility she didn’t let anyone else see.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he leaned forward and skimmed his mouth along her bare arm. She was like silk he wanted to drape all over himself.

Grabbing the remote, he turned on the soft ceiling lights and they sprinkled a golden glow over her skin. The world was shut out and he had her all to himself.

Even his dreams hadn’t been this good. The texture of the soft comforter against his damp skin, the scent of jasmine in his nostrils, the relentless whir of the air-conditioning unit, and Chaaru laid out like a feast, he felt stimulated on every level.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered her name, urging her to wake up. He trailed a path down her body, nuzzling every inch he uncovered. The round raised patch of skin on her upper arm, which he knew was from a vaccination shot in India. The uneven skin color on the side of her neck where she thought she had age-lines. The smooth valley between her breasts.

For now, he denied the invitation of her plump nipples standing erect beneath the flimsy lace. Under one breast, to his delight, he found a tiny tattoo of a bird in mid-flight. Then the thick curve of her belly. The scar from giving birth.

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