I look at the beautiful piece, the black, delicate lace of the balcony bra hanging from the fingertips of both of my hands by the straps. “It’s gorgeous.”
“And the knickers?” He reaches for them and holds them up, showing me. They’re low-rise lace Brazilian briefs with a pretty gold charm in the center of the waistband.
“Love them,” I confirm.
I can sense his relief, and I conclude that Jack has never bought underwear for a woman before. The notion fills me with satisfaction. I don’t care if it doesn’t fit, or the style doesn’t suit me. Jack bought them for me. “And now this.” He pulls a small box from behind his back and holds it out to me.
I bite my lip as I look down at it. “Is it a special occasion?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the box.
“It’s been four months since I found you drunk in a bar and licked you.”
I quickly look up at him. “It is?” I’m not sure why I sound so shocked. It’s flown by, yes, but I feel like it’s so much longer than that. I feel like I’ve known him forever. “And I wasn’t drunk.”
He chuckles, his gray eyes twinkling. “Of course you weren’t. Open.” He thrusts the box toward me and I take it, just as gingerly as I accepted the bag containing the underwear.
“I didn’t get you a gift,” I say, feeling a little guilty.
“You are my gift, Annie.” He reaches over and slides his hand onto my cheek.
My heart melts and I throw myself into his arms, unable to resist the urge to cuddle him tightly. “Thank you.”
He laughs lightly, holding me as he pushes his lips to the back of my head. “You don’t know what it is yet. You might hate it.”
“I won’t hate it,” I argue, letting him detach me and push me back to my side of the couch. I pull the ribbon tie and slowly open the box, blinking when shards of sparkling light shoot out from within. A small hitch of air catches in my throat as I take in the bracelet. It’s glistening against the black velvet cushion, and in the center there are two small diamond-encrusted words. One says “Me” and the other says “You.” The two words are separated by a tiny heart. I press my lips together as I stare at it, not wanting to cry all over him. I feel a little overwhelmed.
“It’s platinum and diamonds,” he says quietly.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, running the pad of my finger the length of the precious metal.
“I’ve had the fastener reinforced with a safety catch.” He points to the small clip that secures it. “So you never lose it.” Slowly and carefully, he drapes the bracelet over my right wrist and fastens it. It’s a perfect fit, not too loose and not too tight, with just enough room to slip two fingers between my skin and the platinum. Something comes to me, and I look up at him. “You were measuring my wrist,” I say, not meaning to sound accusing. “Last week when we lay in bed, you kept circling my wrist with your fingers.”
He holds his hand up, the tip of his middle finger meeting the tip of his thumb, forming a circle. “About two inches smaller than this.”
“Sneaky,” I exclaim, going in for another cuddle. “I love it.”
“Me and you, Annie,” he whispers, constricting me in his arms. “Me and you.”
The happy tears I was holding back win and a few stream down my cheeks, splashing his shoulder. I hope he doesn’t feel them, but when he starts pushing me out of his embrace, I fear that he has. I have no time to brush them away, especially when he’s holding my wrists. I drop my eyes in a vain attempt to hide my face.
“Why are you upset?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
“I’m just so happy,” I confess, shaking my head, mad with myself. Because now my mind is going into overdrive, venturing into places that I always promise myself I won’t go. If I’m this happy settling for just a piece of him, then imagine how happy I would be if I had all of him. Yet I still can’t bring myself to ask him when that will be possible. I don’t want to put pressure on him. I’m dancing between two very fine lines, both of them blurred. Everything is so distorted and my mind confused. I’m not sure what is best for who and when.
This is exactly why I try not to think about it. It dampens my mood and has my mind going around in circles. I never ask about Stephanie or his home life. I don’t want to know, and I know Jack doesn’t want me to, either. All I know is that Jack works ridiculous hours and he never stops smiling when we’re together. What happens when we’re not together isn’t something I can bring myself to think about.
He takes my chin and lifts, forcing me to look at him. Then he leans over and rests his lips on mine. “Go put your new underwear on,” he orders. I smile on the inside, grateful for his intervention. I don’t get him for nearly enough time. The last thing I want to do when I do have him is talk about the crappiness of our situation. It’s easy like this. Our own private happiness that no one can destroy with judgments and devastation. Or suicide attempts.
Gathering up my new underwear, I give him a peck on the cheek and make my way back through the bedroom to the bathroom. The space is overrun with black marble and the huge tub, which is filled with steaming, bubbly water, has a television embedded into the wall at the end. We’re having a bath. Jack’s naked, wet skin all over mine. I shiver with anticipation as I strip down and slip my new bra and knickers on, finding they fit like a glove. Music suddenly begins in the bathroom, and I smile, listening to the intro of Klangkarussell’s “Sonnentanz.”
“Fuck me,” Jack breathes, appearing in the mirror behind me. His eyes are like saucers. “Your arse looks fucking amazing.”
I thrust my bum out cheekily and yelp when he slaps me clean across my left cheek. “Ouch!” I’m grabbed, whirled around, and thrust up against the mirror. My hair is yanked, my lips attacked. I meld into his body pushed up against mine, spreading my legs when his knee comes up and nudges between my thighs. I’m lifted up by my waist, my back sliding across the mirror with ease, the slight condensation coating the glass creating a slippery friction.
Jack’s kiss is relentless and hungry, his moans and growls desperate. My fancy knickers are yanked to the side, he levels up, and he pounds into me unforgivingly, pushing me up the mirror on a grunt. My hands go straight to his hair and grip, knowing I’m going to need the support. The feel of him buried to the hilt inside me sends my world spinning wildly. He’s too desperate to take it slowly. I am, too. I kiss him hard and he lets loose, smashing into me on constant shouts. I bite at his lips, pull at his hair, and scream on every hard pound. We’re loud and frenzied, fervent and messy. The depths he’s achieving are both pleasurable and painful. I throw my head back and shout at the ceiling, feeling his fingers claw into the backs of my thighs harshly. My back is repeatedly hitting the mirror, my skin squeaking across the glass when he withdraws, before crashing forward violently again and again. I close my eyes and focus on seizing my orgasm, feeling the pressure collecting fast.