IT TAKES SIX DAYSfor Sam to fully heal and death-trip again.
Costa hands him a bag of pills and says, “Don’t ask. It’ll be fast.”
Sam and I sit together and talk about Toby. We use the wordsseeandvisionabout a hundred times. Then, Sam takes the pills, and I hold him on the couch until he stops breathing, until his body turns into glittering dust and sinks into the cushions and through the floorboards. Although I know he’ll come back, and I know this death isn’t permanent, I cannot help the ache and loss that I feel.
Costa joins me on the couch. “He’s focused and prepared. He’ll surface quickly. This isn’t a trip that he’ll drown in or prolong. His surge will be short, too, I’m guessing.”
“We didn’t bring the sandbag,” I point out.
“So, either I’m getting the shit beat out of me or—”
I smile. “Why don’t you make dinner?”
I want Sam’s surge this time because I also have steam to burn off. The pressure and importance of trying to get this vision power has taken its own kind of toll on me even though it’s hardly comparable to what the boys are going through.
Costa rolls his eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be in the bedroom.”
I go upstairs to our room where I strip off my pants and crawl into the king-sized bed. I’m surprised at how tired I am, so I use Sam’s trip as an excuse to nap. I’m probably only out for a little more than an hour when I’m awoken by Sam pushing up my shirt.
He’s breathy and hot, and I run my fingers through his hair as he travels his mouth over my stomach and to my breasts. I keep my eyes closed and focus on the sensation of his touch, how connected we are when we make love. Sex during his surges amplifies everything I feel for him, and today is the first day we’ve had sex since this tripping with a purpose started.
I arch my back and groan when he pulls down my underwear and moves on top of me. Right now, I don’t want or need a lot of foreplay. I just need Sam inside me. My hands go to his ass when he enters me, and I lift up and pull him hard against me, making both of us let out sounds that I’m sure cut through the music Costa is playing downstairs. I couldn’t care less what he hears right now. That’s how much I’m glued into the chemistry between Sam and me.
His rhythm starts hard and fast, and he pulls out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, over and over until we’re both ready to change the pace. I bend my knees and tuck them under his chest so that he gets even deeper. I love when we do this because Sam keeps himself pressed against me, grinding slowly and lifting his cock up inside me. I finally open my eyes to take in how he looks when he does this.
Only, when I do, he’s not there, except that I feel him. I close my eyes again and then look. I know I’m awake.
Something is massively wrong with me. Again.
“Sam?”
“Baby…” he breathes heatedly.
I reach out into the empty space above me until my hand stops on where I know his chest is. I move my palm up against his skin and feel my way to his shoulder. Then, I touch his face, feel his lips sucking on my fingers. I can feel everything.
I just can’t see him.
Sam is invisible.
“Look down,” I tell him.
He stays inside me, but his pace slows as understanding creeps through him. “Holy…shit.”
“I know,” I say, tightening my muscles around his cock. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Later, I roll him onto his back and feel my way to straddling him. I don’t know where his hands are going to move, when he’s going to take my nipple between his fingers, when he might sit up and rock his hips into me before grabbing my hair by the roots and pulling my head back so that he can kiss my neck and suck on my skin.
It’s only after we’re done—when we’re both sweaty and panting, recovering, and while I’m draped over an invisible Sam—that reality strikes.
“It didn’t work,” Sam says softly.
“It worked for me,” I start. Then, I realize what he means. “Oh. Damn it! The vision power. Why didn’t it work?”
Under me, the skin on his arm begins to show through. I sit up to watch as his form slowly becomes visible. It’s as though long thin strokes individually take their turn over his body, and I’m once again fascinated by the fantastical nature of his powers. Some nonexistent artist is painting him right in front of me.
When he’s fully back, Sam looks over his own body. “So…that was fucked up, huh?”
