The One In My Heart

“What?” I gasped.

“I want to fuck you bareback. Every inch of me, feeling every inch of you.”

Damn him. Those words made me peak again—violently. At least he joined me this time, his orgasm equally untrammeled.


SO THIS WAS WHAT IT was like to be in bed with him, I thought when I could think again. This was what it was like when the shark had had his way with me.

He stroked my hair. We were on our sides, facing each other, and I had the unsettling sensation that though his face was nearly invisible—the windows were behind him—perhaps he was seeing mine all too clearly.

“Where’s my engagement ring?” My voice held a hint of disapproval, like that of a teacher speaking to a student who couldn’t produce his homework at the beginning of class.

“Give me a sec,” he said, his words drowsy. “You melted my spine and I can’t get out of bed right now.”

“There is no ring, is there? You tricked me into coming here.”

“Would I lie to you?” he mumbled. “Two minutes.”

Half a minute later he was already asleep.


BENNETT’S APARTMENT, LIKE HIS COUNTRY house, was spare and elegant. Uncluttered. Zelda and I weren’t hoarders, exactly, but we had bulging shelves in every room and walls full of framed photographs.

His homes, on the other hand, offered little glimpse into his personal life. The black-and-white botanical prints I passed as I came down the stairs had probably been selected by an interior designer, as well as the candelabra on top of the fireplace, its curves chrome and minimalist.

The opacity of the apartment echoed the opacity of its owner, of whom I knew so much and yet so little.

I sat down on the arm of a padded chair in the living room, feeling alone. The fault was my own: I’d always been anxious to distance myself from him after fantastic sex, for fear that if I didn’t, I’d become too involved for my own good.

But I’d crossed that line long ago, hadn’t I? Still, I’d slipped out like a thief in the night, instead of staying where I was. Where I wanted to be, warmly ensconced in that illusion of intimacy.

The stair light came on. Bennett descended in a white T-shirt and a pair of blue-and-grey-plaid lounge pants. “There you are. For a moment I thought you’d absconded. Are you still hungry?”

The way he filled out the T-shirt. The way the loose lounge pants hung from his narrow hips. The way he stood, his hand on the newel post at the bottom of the steps, his head cocked slightly, the expression on his face halfway between contemplation and inquisitiveness.

Yes, I’m still hungry. For you.

I rubbed the sole of my bare foot against the rug beneath the chair. “Does anyone become less hungry with time?”

He switched on the lights of the living room, then crossed over to the kitchen. I heard him turn on the tap and fill a pot. “What were you doing, sitting there in the dark?”

Thinking about you. And about what’s the matter with me. “I thought you fell asleep.”

There came the soft but unmistakable whoosh of a gas stove being lit. “Please. Give a doctor on his one hundred and fiftieth year of training some credit for being able to wake up in two minutes when he’s promised to do so.”

He came back into the living room and kissed me on my hair. “It’s very, very nice to make love to you, but exhausting it isn’t.”

“Clearly I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not doing me enough—that’s what you’re doing wrong. You should keep at it until you break me.”

I exhaled slowly. He really, really knew how to turn me on with words. “So, how long will it take for the ravioli to be ready?”

“After the water boils, a few minutes,” he answered, sitting down on the other arm of the chair.

“That’ll work.”

He leaned in toward me. I was instantly nervous, afraid that he might kiss me. So I reached out and set my fingertip against his pendant, which happened to be outside the T-shirt. “I’m curious. Is there a story behind this?”

He glanced down for a moment. “Imogene bought it for me when our parents took us to Maui. I used to wear it all the time, including during my time in Spain.”

The thought had never crossed my mind before, but suddenly I had the urge to see old photos of him, albums upon albums, both analog and digital.

“My parents found out about Moira toward the end of that semester. They brought me back home. It was a bad summer, and it got even worse when they discovered that Moira had also come to the city and we were seeing each other behind their backs.