MICHELLE
He’s still here. I can’t believe it, but Cal is still here. Not only that, but he’s in my bed, in my home, and under my sheets. His body is wrapped around mine, and I can feel every bit of air he expels tickling the back of my ear.
If I could keep this moment in my mind forever, I would. I have had men stay over, long time boyfriends who have even shared this space with me for extended periods of time. But I have never felt so safe, so at peace. And with all that has happened over the past two days, or the past month or so, I still cannot believe the connection he and I share.
The morning light trickles into the bedroom as I reach over and turn the clock sitting on the side table to face me. It’s nearly ten in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I slept that long or that well. As Cal continues to sleep, his rhythmic snoring practically rattling me awake, I wiggle myself out of his grasp and walk naked down the hall to the bathroom.
The shower shoots on, and I sit on the side of the vintage claw foot tub waiting for the water to heat up. Everything in this bathroom reminds me of Erin and her eclectic taste from the mixed matched towels to the subway tile floor she always loved. On a day like today, I’d normally find her in here, completing her marathon of a beauty routine as I try to push her out to get to the bathroom. But the halls and rooms of the house are silent today – except for Cal in my bedroom.
I step inside slowly as I wait for my body to adjust to the heat. When I’m ready, I dip the tip of my head in first, followed by my chest and the rest of my body. I lean my hair back, sinking it in the water as the sound of water pounds at my ears. I turn and grab the bar of soap, taking in a long whiff of the lavender scent. As I press it against my body, I start to return to normal.
After last night, I was in some dream world, some foggy haze of what had gone on. And with Cal and I fooling around like that, it was easy to take my mind off of everything I couldn’t process it. But as I touch the soap to my scars, the bruises, the bandages still stuck to my body by dried blood, I am remembering it all. Every bit. Every ounce of fear. It floods back to me.
I turn towards the faucet and shut my eyes. The water pushing down on me calms me, keeps me from going over the edge. I grab onto the wall for balance, but I am almost instantly pulled away. A large, calloused hand grabs at my hips and pulls me gently backwards. My back rests on Cal’s smooth, bare chest.
I shiver a bit as I lift my hand to touch his face. He leans down and whispers gently into my ear, “Did I scare you? You’re shaking.”
“No, no. You don’t scare me.” I mean every word.
I feel his face change as he speaks into my wet hair, “Good. Good.”
Our two bodies rock back and forth, swaying at the hips. I can feel his erection growing against my leg, and I find myself smiling over it. He still wants me. I push back even more, giving him more of the skin to skin contact. His hand moves from my hair, down to my neck and the line of my arm. He pops the little beads of water forming on my prickled skin as he makes a roadmap to my hand holding the soap.
Cal takes it from me and begins to take over where I left off. He starts at my shoulders, softly massaging the soap into my skin until a nice white froth begins to form. He then moves down my back, dancing over the curve of my skin and the tip of my hips. As he dips between the back of my thighs, he uses his foot to pull my legs apart. I lift my arms above my head and he moves around to the front of me.
His hands guide the frothy soap away from my badly bruised torso, instead moving quite deliberately to my chest. The sensation of his hands and the warm water leave me shaking when he begins to softly massage into my breasts. My nipples instantly go hard as every touch threatens to send me over the edge.
I lean back and lift my head upwards, kissing the black and brown stubble of his three-day-old stubble. I nibble on the side of his lip, trying to distract him, but he has already honed in on my body. He is making sure he doesn’t miss an inch of me with the soap. His fingers slip over my nipples, taking them between the spaces of his knuckles. As he massages the full flesh of my tits, the knuckles twist and pull at the tiny mounds. And I struggle to keep myself from screaming out from the thin line that is pleasure and pain.