“I think they’d better,” Jason says, and the hungry look in his eyes says he’s thinking the same thing. My whole body floods with heat and not from the sweltering sun.
He grins and I grin and we take off at a jog down the path and across the parking lot to the RV. Jason tells the guy standing around out front that we’re using the shower, and he’d better kick out anyone working or napping inside.
I don’t know if it’s the overall intimidating nature of Jason barking orders or if it’s obvious by the paint-covered mess that we aren’t to be trifled with.
“It’s empty right now,” the guy says, looking us over. “You’re good.”
Yes, we are.
Eleven
Jason and Emily
The minute the RV door slams behind us, Emily is in my arms, and we’re making out hard against the counter inside the door. I can taste the paint on her lips, but I don’t care. I need her so bad, need to taste her and touch her and feel her needing me back, even if it’s just for sex, just to get off—not that I think she feels that way, even if we are struggling.
For me, it’s neverjustsex with Emily. It’s been like that since the very first time, when we made love on top of the Los Angeles Convention Center. I couldn’t believe my luck, having Emily in my arms. I’d been infatuated with her and jealous as hell of her boyfriend at the time. It felt almost surreal that she wanted me, even though I knew I was probably just a rebound.
I obviously wasn’t, but I still feel the twinge of that pain, wanting to give my whole soul to her, but never knowing when she was going to leave me shattered.The hurt is deeper now—I thought I was into her then, but now I’m in this so deep I’ve sunk to the bottom of the Emily ocean and when she leaves me, I know I’m going to drown.
It should make me feel better, her willingness to fight for us, to do stupid therapy sessions just to have time alone with me.There are no cameras in here, and I think this might be counting as our alone time, and if it is, that’s fine, because I need hernow. I pull off her shirt and she pulls off mine and we throw them on the floor of the RV. We haven’t even made it into the little closet of a bathroom yet, but her hands run up my chest, and I pull her close, running my fingers over the soft skin of her back.
Two years, we’ve been together. We’ve made love hundreds of times, in bedrooms, in tents, in showers, in the woods in broad daylight, under the stars. It seems like some of the shine should have worn off, but Emily excites me more now than she did that first time—the power of how deeply in love with her I am, even if it’s always been mixed in a cocktail of terror and longing.This is what I learned from my father: the people you need don’t always need you back. I think I’ve always been afraid to let the full force of my love for her show, hiding behind this shield of nonchalance, hoping she won’t see how much power she has to break me. It’s all for nothing—she’ll crush me anyway when she goes—but god damn it, I still can’t seem to stop hiding.
Except when we’re making love. I pull her toward the bathroom at the back of the RV, and we stumble over each other, because we can’t take our hands off each other even for a second. I’m ready to scoop her up in my arms and carry her, when suddenly we’re there, and I find the door handle and jerk it open and pull her inside.
To call this a closet is an insult to closets, and there’s barely enough room for both of us to stand, so I boost her up on the sink and pull the door shut behind us. I undo the clasp on her bra, and god, I need my mouth on her skin, need to taste her, can never get enough no matter how many times I do. I kiss down her neck and her collar bone and over the tops of her breasts, then slide her bra all the way off and take her nipple into my mouth.
Emily moans and arches her back against the mirror.There’s this tension that stretches between us, and for now, at least, it’s not the weight of our problems but the pull of how much we need each other. I love how independent Emily is, and I respect the hell out of her, personally and professionally. I’d never known what a turn-on that could be before I met her, but it does come with a side of knowing that she doesn’t need me, not really.That when this ends, she’ll brush herself off like she always does and move on to the next great thing.
Here, though, with her arching in my arms, her hips flexing like she’s begging me for more—here, we’re equals, both of us needing each other in exactly the same way. Which is probably part of why the bedroom’s never been a problem for us.
Emily stands up off the sink, pushing me back into the pressboard wall. And then she’s unbuttoning my shorts and pulling them down and dropping to her knees. I have to move my feet apart to give her space, but I know better than to interrupt Emily when she’s on a mission.
She runs her tongue down the length of me, and then takes me in her mouth, and oh my god, it feels so good.
“Em,” I say, and it comes out sounding dream-like, and I feel like I’m floating.The friction and the pressure are just right, and I press my hands against the fake-wood paneling and then run my fingers through her hair, pulling it free of the ponytail.The ache and the rush are building and building: oh god oh god she’s going to finish me here, but I want to be inside her, want to feel connected with her in the most real way possible, the only way I’m ever sure she’s feeling what I’m feeling at exactly the same time.
I tug on her arms and pull her up against me, and now I’m hard against the button of her jeans, and I need those off and out of the way NOW.
I reach over and turn on the shower.The water comes out hot, and the steam wafts around us as I unbutton her jeans and pull them down with her underwear. I have to kneel sideways next to her as she leans back against the sink, but I don’t care, I just have to be touching her.There’s paint on my fingers from her skin, and probably smeared across my face and through my hair, but I reach into her anyway, and Emily digs her fingers into the edge of the sink and tilts her face up, groaning.
She’s breathtakingly beautiful, my Emily, and it hits me all over again, the sense of how incredibly lucky I am to be the one to be here with her like this, to be allowed to touch her and bring her pleasure and live life alongside her. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m eternally, desperately grateful that it did. Her whole body is taut as I touch her, and I look up at her, watching her, hardening further at the physical, obvious evidence of how much she wants me.
In this moment, I’m safe. She’s not going to leave me, not going to pull away. For the next few minutes I can be absolutely sure of that, and it’s wonderful and glorious and such a relief I feel tears pooling behind my eyes. Emily calls my name, and it makes me feel so loved, and yeah, maybe a little proud of how well I know her body, how I can still make her beg me for more after all this time.
Acurrent of electricity shoots through me as Jason’s hand drops away and his tongue and lips light on me down there. “Oh god,” I say, arching back. Jason’s hand strokes along inside my thigh, and I remember that I haven’t shaved my legs in several days, and I haven’t shaved other parts in much longer. But it’s not like it’s the first time—not even close—that we’ve had sex when I’m not razor-commercial-level smooth.
Jason never seems to mind. He always treats my body like it’s something to be lovingly treasured, to be passionately consumed. It’s been like this from the very beginning.
I’m so turned on, so pulsing with heat and need and building fire, that I know it’s not going to take long for me to come, not with him doing that. “Yes, yes, oh god, yes,” I’m gasping, panting, and the steam from the shower is filling the air around us and he keeps going, and oh my god, yes—
I’m blinded by white, by sparks, my body clenching and shaking as I cry out, as he works me through it. My legs go weak, all my muscles loose in the aftermath, but he holds me as he stands up again, as he presses his forehead close to mine, as we both breathe hard.
“I think we’ve still got to get off some paint,” he says.
I grin at him fiercely, still feeling that fire in my blood. “That’s not the only thing.”
He grins back, and with that, he pulls me into the shower stall with him and closes the door.The shower is small, definitely not meant for two, but we’re close together and the water runs down our bodies and pours through my hair. It runs down my face, too, which makes it hard to keep my eyes open, but he brushes his hands gently down my cheeks, down my shoulders and arms, helping the water as it washes away the paint.
