“Take it off,” he urges, his lips running across the back of my neck.
Reaching behind me, I feebly fumble around with the clasp and release it. My chest relaxes and my breath finally hitches. Now I’m anxious. It’s been so long. Two years, specifically. I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that I don’t want to say no. The sexual tension between us has been building up ever since the Yankees game, from the moment Tyler mentioned Derek Jeter and home runs. And I think, Maybe this is it. Maybe our home run is here. Maybe it’s time. I have been waiting, always too awkward to bring it up, having assumed that Tyler had forgotten about the deal we made, and now that the moment has arrived I’m suddenly terrified. It feels like our first time all over again. And so I might be terrified and I might be nauseous, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want this.
Numbly, I push my bra onto the floor and close my eyes. I’m so glad I’m not facing him. I don’t think I’d be able to meet his gaze right now. He doesn’t say anything, though. We just sit in silence for a moment, and then I feel the tips of his fingers against my skin. Softly, he traces patterns on my back.
I say nothing either, mostly because I don’t think I’m capable of stringing a decent sentence together right now, and I sit still, my eyes resting on the candle in front of me. Tyler moves for a second but quickly falls back into his position behind me, and I hear the clicking of a pen lid as he pops it off. I want to turn around or at least glance back at him to see what he’s doing, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t want me to look.
Suddenly, he presses the tip of the pen to my back and the ink feels strange against my skin. For a moment or two, I almost feel like giggling at the feeling. I avoid the temptation to move and I allow Tyler to write whatever it is he’s writing. The pen tip swirls against my skin and the sensation of curves and dots forming is fascinating as he marks words on my body, an entire string of them.
“Done,” Tyler announces, sounding satisfied. “Eden.”
“Tyler?”
“Turn around,” he orders again. His voice is completely hushed and I can feel the intensity of his eyes on me.
Now I’m shaking a little. Not because I’m nervous, but because I know it’s wrong to turn around. I know it’s unfaithful to Dean. I know. That’s the worst part about this. I know this is wrong and I know it’s unfaithful, yet I do it anyway. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn my body around to face Tyler directly, and by the time I stop moving my pulse really is racing and my heart really is pounding like hell. Slowly, I open my eyes.
Tyler’s gazing at me, his glowing eyes analyzing my body. They rest on my breasts for several long seconds, and then they drift back up to meet mine. “ ‘The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or daughter of thy mother, whether she be born at home, or born abroad, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover,’ ” Tyler murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine, forever smoldering. “Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse nine.”
I’m surprised at myself for remaining there, unflinching and without feeling the natural reflex to cover my chest. Instead, I just play with my fingers in my lap as I raise my eyebrows at him.
His lips quirk up into a devious grin, revealing the tips of his teeth. His entire face is still glowing. “In other words,” he says, “I am most definitely going to hell.”
“Did you go to church or something?” I ask, holding back laughter. I never in my entire life believed that one day Tyler would be quoting the Bible. Even if it is with sarcasm.
“Googled it,” Tyler deadpans. “I was making sure that I can’t end up in jail for any of this and the good news is that I can’t.”
I do let out a laugh now, grinning back at him as he chuckles along with me, and I realize that I don’t even mind that we’re missing the fireworks. We missed them two years ago and we’re missing them again now, but it’s okay. Having intimate moments with Tyler is always much better, and as I think about this, a shiver shoots down my spine. Never do I think I’ll be able to get over any of these moments. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get over Tyler, either. Thankfully, I no longer have to.
It’s only then, while I’m laughing, that I catch sight of the pen Tyler has used lying on the sheets. Reaching for it, I grasp it between my fingers and I hold it up to the light. It’s permanent marker.