Page 54 of Frankie and the Fed
What happened between us that day, the way he broke up with me when I was at my weakest, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive it. But now I’m close to understanding. I want to put it behind me, behind us, and try again.
He puts his hands on the hem of my shirt and pulls it up. I raise my hands and allow him to take it off me.
He stops and looks at my recent addition, the one that wasn’t there before. Right on my scar, the words now engraved are “progress, not perfection.”
His fingers flutter over my tattoo, and his gaze meets mine with a questioning look.
“A reminder to myself,” I answer without him asking. “To always move forward, and not to strive for perfection.”
He kisses my scar, runs his tongue over the words, and I shiver.
“In my eyes, you are already perfect.” His mouth claims mine, demanding. His hands cup my breasts, squeezing and crushing.
“God, how I missed you,” he whispers and looks up at me. “Do you want me? Stop me now if you don’t.”
I can only nod. But how will it be now? After the physical and mental injuries both of us hold? The scars on our bodies serve as evidence of everything that happened. And I’m afraid but also excited. I’m not sure I can take this all the way yet, but I think I’m willing to try with him.
When I don’t stop him, Ethan’s mouth is already tasting my neck, then the hills of my breasts above the bra.
“Hold me,” he says and puts my hands on his shoulders. Then he wraps his arms around me and rises, swinging me in the air.
I wrap my legs around him and lock my heels behind his back so as not to fall, but he shows no difficulty in carrying me.
“Which direction?” he half moans, half whispers, and I remember he has never been inside my apartment.
I just point to the bedroom door because my mouth demands to kiss the pleasant hollow between his ear and jaw.
He drops me onto the bed, pulls my pants down impatiently, and then stops. A heavy shadow passes through his eyes. He says nothing. But I see the hesitation.
“Does this bother you? Are you disgusted with me?” I suddenly feel like taking the blanket and wrapping myself in it. I try to move away from him and sit up, but the weight of his body doesn’t allow me. I suddenly feel trapped.
He senses my panic and gently clasps his hands around my forearms.
“No! I’m not disgusted by you. Far from it.” He rubs his pelvis against my underwear so I can feel him. “I just remembered how you were when I found you, and it hurts. It hurts to even think about it.”
I stop my attempts to escape from him and close my eyes. He saw me in the worst place of my life.
“But you survived.” He brings his face closer to mine and kisses me, then he moves down and kisses my neck, my stomach... “You are so strong. You can never disgust me.”
I want to feel him too, and eagerly send my hands to the collar of his shirt to pull it off. When he realizes what I’m doing, he gets up and takes off his shirt and pants, leaving only his boxers.
Now it’s my turn to exhale. The scars on his body are severe. I automatically send my hand to the jagged scar on his shoulder and caress it with my fingertips, hesitating to touch it.
His eyes follow my palm. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He takes my hand and places it on his skin, demanding that I touch him, and I comply. My hand wanders over him as if of its own accord, cherishing the body I once knew. He’s different now, much thinner than before, and the muscles are more prominent. I reach the scar on the side of his stomach and caress it, too. We both carry on our bodies testimony of the horror.
“You’re too skinny.”
“I had no appetite.”
It hurts me to hear that he suffered. We both suffered. “I’ll take care of you from now on.” My hand continues its journey south, under the band of his underwear, and I find him awake and ready for me. He groans when I surround him with my hand, then stroke from bottom to tip and back again.
“I want to taste you. I’ve missed your taste so much.” He spreads my legs and positions himself between them, asking for my approval before removing my underwear.
I’m not wet, and he notices it right away.
“Ayala?” A worried look rises on his face. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop.” The last thing I want now is to stop. It has to work. If it doesn’t work with Ethan, it won’t work with anyone. He is the only one with the power to heal me.
