Page 71 of Finders Keepers
He strokes my sides as I reach between us to unzip his fly. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants and boxers down just enough to free his erection. The way his head falls back as I wrap my hand around his length is the most satisfying thing I’ve ever seen. Helets out an incredibly hot moan as I stroke him. “Take me however you need me, Nina. Please, I just need to be inside you.”
“Maybe I’m trying to make you lose our competition,” I say. “Remember. Whoever comes last this time.” I position myself over him, lining us up, and carefully, gradually sink down onto his cock.
“Holy—” Quentin says as I let out a sound that I’m pretty sure rivals the one I made when he drove us really fast down Carmichael Chapel Road. Fully seated, I experiment with a few different movements, up and down, back and forth, circling my hips until I find the right pattern that has us both breathing heavier and unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure that are thankfully drowned out by the continued thundering of the fireworks display.
His hand slips between us, his thumb working in time with my movements, not giving me a chance to think about anything else, to get lost in thoughts of anything other than him and the pleasure steadily building low in my core. He moves so deliciously, so precisely. As if he wants nothing more than to find the exact frequencies I operate at and tune himself to where I am.
“Darling Nina,” he says. “Smart Nina. Wet, tight, incredible Nina.” I whimper as he whispers the words into my ear. “Funny Nina. Competitive Nina.” He kisses me much more softly than I’m expecting. “Delicious Nina. Did you know that every single version of you…” His free hand reaches into my hair and directs my attention to his face. “Is the perfect one? Because they’re all justyou. My Nina.”
HisNina.
Maybe that’s who I’ve been all along.
I kiss him again, deeper this time, and find that there are still traces of me on his tongue.
“I’m…I’m so close,” I sob into his shoulder.
“Me too.”
“You first.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
I let out a moan that’s equal parts frustration and pleasure. “Quentin, I swear to god. You better—”
His lips capture the rest of my protest. “Together,” he says then. “I want…us together.”
That could have many meanings, but regardless of which one or ones he intends, it contains something potent enough to send me over the edge at that exact instant. I’m unaware of what I’m saying, what sounds I’m making. The only thing I can latch onto is the pulsing, rippling heat as he stills deep inside me. The trembling of his body and the slow loosening of mine. The sweetest, softest kiss at the corner of my mouth and the nonstop explosions have reached a crescendo, leaving behind the faintest smell of smoke drifting over from the river and a satisfied, quiet peace that mirrors itself in my heart.
FORM C—8
Text of Interview (Unedited)
VIII
I feel you might need more convincing on the topic of fear. [AA: Interviewer attempted to redirect subject of the interview here, but informant put fingers in his ears and sang until interviewer stopped speaking.]
Are you quite done fussing at me now? Good. You are worse than my instructors at the École des Beaux-Arts—“Monsieur Fontaine, the assignment is a theater, not a factory!” But what is a factory if not a theater for industry?
As I was saying, fear is simply love wrapped up in an ugly bow. Think about the times you have thought you felt afraid. I would bet everything I own that, if you are honest with yourself, every moment of supposed fear is, beneath it, simply an instinct to retain what you love and value in this world—your wife, your son, your home, your intellect, your very ability to draw breath. These are the things I presume you value, Mr. Aaron.
Yes, fear is simply a shorthand representation of all the things you love and want to keep. Which is why you can tell a lot about a man by what he believes he fears.
32
The silence lastsonly a moment before we hear distant clapping now that the fireworks show is over. Quentin and I stare at each other, eyes wide, me still straddling him.
“We should…” he starts.
“Yes. Before anyone…” I add.
My dismount isn’t exactly graceful, and there’s a bit of awkward laughter as we try to figure out how to handle cleanup. I wind up getting my underwear back and slip them on again.
“Ready to go,” I say.
“Hold on.” Quentin looks at me for a long time, lips parting as if he wants to say something. But instead he kisses me again, long and slow. “Neen…” he mutters against my lips. “I need—” His words cut out and his eyes squint against a sudden beam of light directed at his face.
“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice says from a few yards outside the folly’s entrance. I turn and find a security guard shining his flashlight on us. “Break it up, you two. This ain’t no hanky-panky spot.”
