Page 102 of Free to Live
Even as one of his hands raises to cup my heart, he agrees, “Me too.”
Joe begins to make love to me slowly, tenderly, despite our erotic position. His hands are free to roam my body, and they do. They never stop long enough in one place to make me fly over the edge but hover enough to keep me there.
We stay this way for a long time until my body is quivering from the slightest breath of air. I’m rocking myself forward and back to get the friction I need against his almost motionless cock when he whispers in my ear, “Take us over, my love.” He pinches my clit and holds it.
His cock is barely moving, but between the pressure of his fingers and the pressure inside, my walls start shaking with the intensity of my orgasm. I cry out, clutching his upper thighs.
Joe is right behind me. His cock releases in spurts, warm and wet. He pulls his hands from me to brace them on the bed. Giving himself a little more purchase, he pushes inside me as hard as he can, grinding deep before wrapping me tightly in his arms.
Slowly, we collapse against the bed, Joe softening inside me. My eyelids are fluttering shut when I hear his drowsy “I love you. I’ll always love you, Mary.” Joe’s arms loosen around me but don’t completely let me go, as he drifts into sleep.
But I’m now wide-awake.
Mary? Oh my God.
My heart’s pounding as I lie there until Joe’s body relaxes enough so I can slip him from mine without pain. My lip begins trembling, but I bite down hard enough to draw blood.
I have to do anything to stop the horrible pain from bursting out of my mouth.
Long minutes later, illuminated by the clock on the side of the bed in glowing red lights, Joe feels for the ring on my hand, kisses my shoulder, and rolls over to get comfortable. All while sleeping.
Meanwhile, I slowly slide off the bed bleeding not just from my lip, but from my heart. I stand by the bed trembling. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed by what we did. Wildly, I look around for something to cover myself up with, but I don’t see my bag.
Get it together, Holly.First things first, a bathroom. There’s an attached master. Stepping through, I close the door behind me before turning on the lights. There! My bag is sitting next to the master tub. Walking directly to it, I grab out clothes willy-nilly and slide them on. My hands are shaking. I grab them and start wringing them together to calm myself down. My fingers, unaccustomed to wearing rings, catch on the engagement ring Joe slid on a few hours before.
My fingers hover over it.
I want to go home. I need to be at home while I try to make sense of all this.
And I can’t be wearing the ring of a man who’s still in love with his dead fiancée.
Tugging gently, I pull off the ring. Tears fall hot and fast on my burning cheeks. Spying the ring box on the corner of the vanity, I put the ring in safely before laying it on the counter. Digging in my purse, I jab myself with a pen while I’m searching for my keys.
I find them, and I’m about to turn out the light when I realize I can’t leave like this. He has to know why. I grab the pen and a scrap of paper. After hastily scribbling a note, I slip it under the ring box before slinging my camera backpack and weekender over my shoulder.
Backlit by the bathroom light, Joe’s still out. His cheeks still have little dimples marking them as if he’s having dreams he never wants to be out of.
I wish I could be that person, I think achingly. On that thought, I blindly cross to the bedroom door.
And escape.
57
Holly
Stumbling out of Brett’s family cottage, I’m unable to form a coherent thought. One thing ricochets through my mind over and over again.
It’s not me who he loves. I’m just a substitute.
I wish I could go back to being the person I was before I met him. Someone who could deflect men as inconsequential and move on. Not now.
For the last seventeen years, I survived thinking maybe it was divine intervention I managed to survive. That my shot missed for a reason. I escaped dying then, but ultimately, I just put myself on a path where I decided to drag out my pain instead.
Back then, I had nothing to live for. Now, the blow is so severe I think death might be easier on my heart.
Reaching my car, I fumble with my key fob before managing to get the lock undone. Sliding behind the driver’s seat, I roar out of the driveway, blinded by my tears.
Driving toward the highway, I feel the hole in my heart grow bigger with every tear that falls down my face. I have hours to go to make it home. I want to talk to someone about as much as I wanted to slide his ring off my finger, but I’d be an idiot not to tell someone I’m driving back to Collyer in the middle of the night.
