When he finally inches his lips away and forces us both to breathe, he nuzzles against me. Then he does that magic with his hand. Wriggling his fingers around inside of me and making me sound in ways I haven’t before him. After,wayafter I’ve absolutely lost my mind a few times, when I’m still wildly turned on, I try to usher him on top of me. But he gently rolls me onto my back and lifts my leg, angling me forward just a bit and moving his chest against my back.
“It’s my favorite position.” His voice and words are so soft and sweet. “I get to cradle you this way.”
When Dave is inside of me, breathing hard against my neck, I clasp on to the pillow, then reach back and grab him, relishing every minute that he’s with me like this. As he’s beginning to lose his breath, his guttural, intoxicating sounds capture me, just before he tightens and then shudders against my body.
It’s obviously impossible that there is a life this full of constant bliss, peace. One of such relaxation and fulfillment forever, but it sure would be amazing.
Dave drifts off easily, and I’d like to, but I can’t rest until I pull up a video. I have to watch this Prince Super Bowl that he talked about.
And so I do. About ten times. Entirely mesmerized by every second.
Then I go down a rabbit hole of interviews with people who worked that event, who talked about how crazy, and insane, and dangerous, and beautiful it was. There was clearly some kind of magic in the air that night. Magic that Prince had created. That he had asked for.
The hard rain that delivered magic.
Chapter 21
Imiraculously wake before nightfall, feeling better and more grounded than I have in so long.
When I open a can of cat food, there’s a yowl from the bathroom that stuns me. And when I set a plate of food outside of Whiska Hargitay’s bed, he meows again and comes out of his cave. I lift my hand and hold out a finger, as per the million video recommendations, and this damn cat finally rubs a chin against my finger and lifts a tail. A lifted cat butt is so cute. I’m allowed to stroke his cute nose one time, and then I have to whip my hand away when he lashes out with claws. Yes, I know I was pushing it, but it’s a really good step, and I am walking on air when Whiska retreats to his pillowy cube.
Dave wakes up. He has taken a few days off, only after Anj and I pressured him, and I’m glad he’s finally gotten some sleep. Staying in bed all day sounds horrible, and I did it for too long. But it’s actually healing. Shutting down is okay. Dave needs that now. He’s exhausted. Been drowning himself in work. Escaping something.
Maybe escaping in me, as I have been in him? More importantly, we are healing each other. We can do both at the same time, which is beautiful.
While I try to entice him with yummy bedside Nespresso, Dave shakes his head. “Come back to bed.”
It’s an impossible invite to resist. So, I crawl into his hold, his heat. And I let myself drown in the way he demands that we explore each other.
I think it’s a day later when we emerge from our lust and when we are nearly too drained to function that Dave pulls me from the bed, both of us half dressed.
“Showers? And food?” he asks.
“Agreed.”
“My aunt’s tapas place, yes?”
“I might faint if she’s got white anchovies. Those are impossible to find.”
“Please don’t faint. But she does.”
I step toward the bathroom. “I know you said showers, but can we make it just one shower? You know, just to conserve water?”
Dave nods as he lowers his sweats. “I think that’s the responsible thing to do.”
Our shower does not conserve water. There is a lot of shampooing and conditioning and body washing that is not necessary.
Our drive north is fun, full of music and hand-holding. But he is solemn for a bit after we park.
“My uncle loved her so much. Sort of a Patrick and Katrina love, I suspect.”
“So, we’ll honor that,” I say.
My jaw about drops when we enter, and David exchanges a few words in Spanish with his aunt.
He shrugs. “I learned a few phrases.”
She hugs me, so he must have said more.
