Page 37 of Ripped

My orgasm is almost an afterthought, just pleasure surging through nerves that are already overloaded. I don’t scream. I don’t sob. I think I’m smiling into the pillow as I ride the wave.

Above me, Connor comes too. He sinks deep into me and his whole-body contracts around me. It’s wonderful. I love it. I want to stay like this forever.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CONNOR

It’s late by the time our legs are strong enough to hold us. I try to convince Donnie to order takeout, but he’s insistent about cooking. It’s quinoa this time, with some chicken that’s been marinating in the fridge.

I’m sitting at the island, pretending to work on my laptop when I’m really watching Donnie move around the kitchen. He looks like he’s dancing, floating from the sink to the cutting board to the stove and back. He holds a knife like it’s an extension of his arm. Every movement is fluid and graceful.

I want to set up cameras and try to capture the way he cooks on film. The way he glides. The sharp chops of the knife against the cutting board, the confident scrape as he scoops up the veggies and dumps them into a bowl. The excited sizzle when he drops the chicken into the hot oil. The curl of steam rising from the pan.

I’m not sure I could do it justice. I desperately want to try.

Donnie tends to play with his wedding ring. It isn’t the first time I’ve noticed him twirling it around and around. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It makes me think of Roger. Did he ever sit here watching Donnie cook? I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to.

What else did he and Donnie do together? What was he like? This man who Donnie shared a life with, who Donnie loved. I want to know. I want to… I don’t know, see how I measure up or something.

“What was Roger like?” I ask, before I lose my nerve. We’re both kinda buzzed from the sex earlier and if I don’t ask now, I might not have the courage to do it later. “If you don’t mind me asking about him.”

Donnie looks surprised, but not upset. He flattens his left hand on the counter and the ring gives off a dull clink when it makes contact with the hard surface.

“I don’t mind,” he says, then stares into the distance for a moment. “Roger was a force of nature. Once he decided to do something, nothing could stop him and he wouldn’t quit until he got what he wanted. It… got pretty annoying sometimes.”

Donnie laughs, his eyes crinkling at the edges, like he’s remembering a particularly annoying incident. He pulls out plates and scoops steaming mounds of quinoa onto each.

“He was funny. Always the life of the party. Also, a workaholic. Always staying late at the office and then bringing work home. We turned one of the bedrooms into a home office for him…” He trails off.

Ah, shit. I need to tell him. “Actually,” I say, heat rising up my neck and onto my cheeks. “I kinda stumbled onto it.”

Donnie turns to me like he might not have heard what I said. “Roger’s office?”

I nod.

He ducks his head and turns away. My heart aches for him.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. I wasn’t thinking and opened the door and… I didn’t touch anything, I swear.” God, I feel fucking awful.

Donnie smiles sadly while carrying the plates over to the table. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be embarrassed.”

“Why?” I bring over the cutlery and Donnie grabs our drinks.

“It’s been almost four years,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “And… I have a closet full of his clothes, too.”

The ache in my chest grows deeper.

“I should have sorted through all his things ages ago. It’s just…” He pokes at the chicken on his plate. “This sounds stupid. His things were all I had left of him and… it felt like the only way I could keep a piece of him with me.”

“That’s not stupid.”

“I know they’re just things.” Donnie’s voice is thick with emotion now and I hate that I’ve ruined our evening. “I know I’ll still remember him without them. But the longer I put it off, the harder it was to do it.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.” Let’s rewind the last five minutes and I’ll start over again with something less fraught.

“It’s okay.” Donnie sniffles and finally looks at me. His eyes are glassy, but his smile is more nostalgic than sad. “I should have forced myself to clean his things out ages ago. I just need to… force myself to do it.”

“I…” Am probably overstepping my bounds, but I don’t like how lonely Donnie sounds right now. “… can help. If you want.”

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