chapter Six
David takes off his black work boots, and slides into bed next to me. His feet extend beyond mine, but our eyes are even. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight against his bare chest. He doesn’t let me go, but he pushes himself up toward my headboard, so his chin rests on the top of my head. My face sinks into his neck, and I start to cry. Relief swirls through me.
“I know all about a*sholes like him, Emma,” he murmurs. And I openly sob against his body. I feel sad for David. Sad that he has to know this about me. Sad about what he heard. Sad that he knows how damaged I am. I do not want his pity.
I don’t know how long I cry, but it is a cathartic, religious experience. When I finally stop, he remains frozen. I know he isn’t asleep because I can feel him swallow from time to time. But he is so still, I am afraid to move. I don’t want him to release me because I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know what he will do next. I am just so tired. I close my eyes.
* * *
I wake up to soft light outside my window. How long have I been asleep? Is it morning or evening? I glance at my alarm clock, and it says 7:30 p.m. F*ck. I slept the entire afternoon. Then I remember why I was so tired, and the memory of Michael’s hand on me makes me feel sick inside. David is gone, and I think to myself that he is probably never coming back, that Carl will have to hire someone else to finish my kitchen. I feel beat up.
But I am not sad about Michael anymore. Instead, I am furious that he came here to try to scare me. To do God knows what to me. My hate for that man crawls through me again, burning and scarring. It was splendid, though, to watch David ruffle him. I don’t think I have ever seen anything so satisfying in my life.
As I climb out of bed, I realize that I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since the breakfast bar and sugared coffee this morning. I wonder how I will navigate my kitchen floor if it is still covered in glop.
I stop in the bathroom for a pee. “Oh, man,” I sigh as I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are bloated and raw, and my eyeliner and mascara are smudged across my freckled cheeks. I quickly wash my face and rub some lotion around my eyes. I swipe on some ChapStick because my lips are puffed up like a harlot’s. I look like hell.
When I get to the end of the hallway, I see three massive boxes sitting in my living room. On top of them are two sections of blue countertop. There is also a large toolbox sitting there and a plastic briefcase-like thing with black clasps holding it shut. I forgot about the delivery. Shit, did I actually sleep through all this? If this kind of noise didn’t wake me, then it’s no surprise that I missed David’s knock this morning. Suddenly I regret yelling at him about it.
I can see that he’s left all his tools here, and it makes me sigh with relief. It looks as if he is coming back to finish the kitchen after all, and that makes me feel very, very happy. I owe him one hell of a thank you.
Then I notice something sitting on the table. I walk over and see two water bottles and a pizza box with a note on top. I pick it up and read.
Emma—
Shit, girl, you do sleep like a f*cking rock.
I’m glad you didn’t wake when my cell phone rang,
or when I got out of bed,
or when the door buzzer sounded,
or when we unloaded the delivery,
or when I went upstairs three times to get my tools,
or when the pizza delivery guy came.
But I’m especially glad you didn’t wake when I went back into your room and tried on all your panties—because that would have been embarrassing for us both. (They are pretty hot, by the way...but not so much on me.)
I figured you would be hungry when you woke up, and you can’t walk on the kitchen floor until tomorrow, so I took yet another liberty and ordered a pizza. You’ll notice my half is already gone. I thought you might not be reading this until tomorrow—you were pretty f*cking tired.
And just so you know, I’m not coming by tomorrow because I have other plans, but my cell is 230-693-2261. I want you to call or text me if you need anything at any time. And DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LET ANYONE INTO THIS APARTMENT BUILDING WITHOUT KNOWING WHO IT IS FIRST! Use your peephole for Christ-sake!
And promise me you’ll be especially careful if it is some other guy wearing a tool belt.
Good night (or good morning?), Emma.
David
Jesus. I read it again because I can’t believe his words. For whatever reason—or maybe a bunch of them—I am wearing a shit-eating grin when I finish. He isn’t completely freaked out about the Michael thing. And, I’m pretty damned sure that this is flirting and not mocking. Was that what he was doing this whole time, and I was just too busy being angry to see it? God, I hope he is kidding about seeing my panties.
I sit down and set to work on the pizza. It is cold but delicious. Rather than open a bottle of water, I get up and hunt in one of the kitchen boxes for a bottle of wine and the corkscrew. After a brief search, I find both. I fetch David’s coffee mug and pour out the dregs, rinsing it out in the bathroom sink and smiling at myself in the mirror.
Back at the table, I pour myself a hearty mug of wine and pick up my phone. I press the text messaging icon and type in David’s cell phone number.
Emma here. Thx for the pizza...and the rescue.
I press Send and go back to my wine and pizza. Before I can even take another sip, my phone buzzes.
U r welcome. U ok?
Yes. U?
Of course. That bastard is your stepdad?
Sadly, yes.
I wanted to beat the f*ck out of him.
I wanted you to beat the f*ck out of him.
Next time.
Please.
R u eating?
Yes. And drinking.
What?
Wine. In your mug.
Excellent.
What r u doing?
Hanging with friends.
Where?
Upstairs.
Have fun.
Lemme know if you need anything, anytime Emma. I mean it.
Ok.
I’ll call u tomorrow about Monday.
Me and my panties will b waiting.
I cannot believe what I just typed. Several seconds go by before my phone buzzes again.
I hope they r the light blue ones with the black lace...
Shit. I think maybe he did see my panties. I run back to my bedroom and open my underwear drawer. I can’t tell if they have been disturbed or not, but on top of the pile are a pair of light blue panties with black lace trim. This should piss me off. This should make my skin burn. This should make me want to punch him in the face. But it doesn’t.
Next thing I know, I am standing by my dresser quickly taking off all my clothes. I pull the light blue panties out of the drawer and slide them up my legs. Then I put on the matching bra and plump my breasts into the cups. I go to my closet to find my favorite dark green dress and drop it down over my head, smoothing it over my hips. I am not going to wear shoes. Then I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth and hair. I hastily put on eyeliner and mascara and more ChapStick. I raise my eyebrows at my reflection and wonder what the hell I am doing.
Before I can think any more about it, I am going upstairs in my bare feet. Two floors up. Right above mine. When I get to his door, I stop. Seriously, Emma. What the f*ck are you doing? You’re nuts.
And then I hear the music coming out of his apartment. It is pounding and warped, and it sounds far more like “David music” than what I heard earlier. I don’t hear any voices, though, but maybe that’s because of the music. I take a deep breath and knock on the door. I wait, but no one answers, so I knock again, a little louder this time. Still, no answer.
He came into my apartment this morning without my permission, so I decide to do the same to him. I put my hand on the knob and twist.
The door opens. I look inside, but there is no one there. He’s got two brown sofas, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. There is a lamp on a table in the corner, but other than that, the room is dark. The music is coming from down the hall, and it isn’t as loud as I thought. I close the door behind me and walk in. As I head down the hallway, I can hear people talking. They are in the bedroom, and the door is open. I can only hear male voices...maybe a half dozen or so, and one of them is definitely David’s. I can’t understand what they are saying, but it is clear that they are having a good time. I stand just outside his open door. It’s dark in the hallway, and there is only a bedside lamp on in his room. The five of them are sitting around the room, one on the bed and the rest on various chairs, and all but the one on the bed has his back to me. David is sitting in a wooden chair with his feet up on the end of the bed. I lean against the doorjamb and cross my arms over my chest. The music is loud but not so loud that they can’t hear each other talking. It takes a moment for the one on the bed to see me there, but once he does, he doesn’t look away.
“David,” he says, raising his chin in my direction, “you’ve got a guest.”
They all turn to look at me. I am looking right at David, and I can see that he is shocked as hell. His feet drop off the bed as his upper body turns towards me.
“Emma,” he says. Everyone else is quiet.
I drop my arms and walk toward him slowly, keeping my eyes on his. When I reach his chair, I hike my dress up over my hips and raise my leg over his thighs. I stand straddling him for a second before I sit down in his lap, snug against his body and looking right into his eyes. I slowly run my hand across his shoulder and up the side of his neck, curling my fingers into his hair. Then I put my mouth on his.
He kisses me back immediately, pushing his tongue into my mouth and holding me by my hips. I slowly push my pelvis against him, and he moves his hands down to my ass and then along my bare legs to my knees. He pulls his mouth away from mine and, looking into my eyes, shouts, “Get the f*ck out!” But I know he is not talking to me.
I have no idea if everyone leaves, and frankly, right now I don’t give a f*ck if they all stay. My eyes are on David. He puts his mouth back on mine, and I can taste his skin and his lips and his tongue. They taste of confidence and control. I curve into him again. This time he pushes back against me, and I feel him through his jeans. His hands move up my sides and slip softly across my neck to the back of my head. The movement sends a shiver down my spine and my entire body echoes. I feel a hint of a smile in his kiss, so I grind my hips against him again and then pull my mouth away from his. I lift off his shirt, and he begins to kiss my neck, tugging my hair gently to the side. A bead of lust runs through me, dashing through my brain and steeling my confidence. David pulls my dress up over my head and drops it on the floor. Then he unhooks my bra and slides the straps down my arms, looking at my breasts and then at my eyes. I tilt my head back, arching my spine and wordlessly begging him to touch me everywhere. I am completely exposed, but somehow, it feels right. The risk feels right.
“Emma,” he says again, as his hands slide across my body, running up my stomach and over my breasts. The fire under my skin dances and burns. He pulls me back to him and kisses me again. It is deep and purposeful.
When the kiss ends, I push his hands off me playfully and get off his lap. The music is still playing, and I see a wicked grin of belated recognition cross his lips as he looks down at the light blue panties. I drop to my knees in front of him, open his button, and pull down his zipper. His eyes are filled with surprise and anticipation and need. He is hard, and he pushes himself against my hand. I bend down and put my mouth over him, sucking hard. He continues to rock his hips forward slowly and rhythmically, forcing himself deeper into my mouth each time he moves. I can hear him breathing. I can hear his want. With each exhale, the rush of air sends a small murmur of pleasure out through his parted lips. The sound of it makes my body sing.
I can tell he is getting close, but I stop because I want more. I stand back up. He sits forward and grabs me by the hips, pulling me straight toward him. He hooks his fingers into the black lace border of my panties and slides them down, sprinkling small kisses across my lower stomach as he does. With each one of those kisses, a morsel of my self-doubt disintegrates. Everything inside me is awash with nervous energy because a man I hardly know stood up for me. A man I hardly know showed me that I am worth something. Showed me that I am worth fighting for. I straddle his lap again. He still has his jeans on and the added friction feels delicious against my skin.
He grips my waist and pushes himself into me. Our eyes align, and we kiss, his pace quickening as I curve my hips into him. I am nearly ready to burst as his hips rise hard and slow, again and again.
My mouth is just outside his ear, and I am breathing in stops and starts. When I come, my exhale releases a soft sigh, and I can feel his body tense beneath mine. My breath is heavy now, my eyes closed, and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs. He holds me there as he quietly whispers my name against my neck.
“Again,” I say.
A second later he is standing up, gripping me by my ass. I wrap my legs around his hips. He is looking at me, still inside me, and I am sick with want. My body is vibrating with it. David walks to the wall and pushes me against it. I’m pinned there, my back sliding up and down the wall with each thrust, my arms wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. He lowers his mouth to mine, and as our tongues tangle again, his pace intensifies. He tilts my hips forward. It is deeper now, and I can feel his every movement. F*ck.
“David,” I whisper. “Go.” He continues pushing into me until I shatter in waves around him. The last few remaining morsels of self-doubt have not only disintegrated, they have imploded. All because of him. I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is my breath. His face is against my neck, his lips on my skin, and on his last push into me, his breath stutters. I hear both wonder and reverence in the sound.
David leans into me for a moment until our bodies steady. Then, with his hands still on my hips and my legs around him, he carries me back over to the chair and sets me down. I sit there with my head bowed and my hands on my knees, still breathing roughly. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look up. His bare feet and his black jeans are in front of me, and I hear his zipper close. A second later he is kneeling on the floor before me, pushing himself between my open legs and laying his head on my lap. His arms are spread out and hanging off the sides of my hips.
The phoenix is stretched out over my lap, rising and falling as he breathes.