Page 43 of Strum Me

“What was that?” he asks me. He’s so close, we’re inhaling each other’s breath and it’s just too hard to brush away his questions. Truth is, by now I’ve had time to calm down and I can’t help asking myself the same question. What came over me?

“I don’t…” I start, then trail off.

“Did I do something?” he asks, the crinkles at the sides of his eyes showing his concern.

“No! I just…I told you I was tired and you just kept haranguing me.”

He opens his mouth, and seems to change his mind on what he wants to say.

“Do you…do you want me to just keep my distance? Because I can’t tell, Butter. I can’t tell what you want. Do you want me to just not talk to you at all? Because I don’t want that. But if it’ll make things easier for you, I will. But you have to know it’s not what I want.”

The fitting room is too small to be having this conversation. I can’t think with his body pressed against me. His breath, warm and sweet like the orange Tic Tacs that he still insists on eating even though he’s an adult now. His fingers inadvertently touch me every time he makes a gesture, I know he’s not deliberately meaning to caress me, but each time it feels like he’s trying to manipulate my thoughts into wanting to touch him back, caress him back, pull his shirt so his chest curves against every curve of mine.

This fitting room is both heaven and hell at once.

He moves the side of his index finger to brush down the side of my face, and it takes everything I have not to stretch up on my tiptoes and kiss him. Press my lips against his and tell him how much I’ve missed him. How I wish we could always be this way, locked away from the world with nothing but our thoughts to dictate what we do. But I can’t forget what he did, and I can’t let myself be hurt like that by him again. This time I have too much to lose.

“Brad… I…I just can’t…”

“Why? Not why eight years ago. I want to know why not now?”

“Because it’s just too hard. You wouldn’t want the kind of life you’d have to have if we were together.”

“Oh, Butter, oh sweet girl, you are so wrong about that.”

He pulls me hard against him, his legs slightly bending to bring his face down closer to mine.

“I want you so bad I can’t even function. It’s a good thing that breathing happens automatically. My brain is so completely saturated by you, there’s no room for anything else. Not even the simplest of things. My day is filled with thoughts of making you laugh, making you smile. My nights are spent dreaming of making you moan, of making you come.”

I close my eyes, and for a moment, let myself enjoy his words. The sudden sexual nature of them makes my mouth water. He reaches for my hand and I keep my eyes closed, wondering what he’s doing. My fingers curl against his mouth, and suddenly I feel his lips close around my index finger, and the inside of his mouth is warm and soft. I feel the pit of my stomach burst alight and my entire body feels … wet. Fluid. Like honey.

“Wha… what are you doing?” I stammer.

“I wanted to taste you. All of you. From your lips, to your nipples, to your stomach, to your sweet little clit. But I don’t know what you want yet, so I thought I’d start with your finger.”

“My finger?”

“This is the finger you use to play with your pussy, isn’t it?”

The use of such an intimate word blindsides me, and my eyes fly open, along with my mouth. He takes the opportunity of my shock and presses his mouth down hard against mine.

Suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, and that Tic Tac taste is exploding like sweet orange Fanta bombs in my own mouth. His arms are around my waist, fingers digging into my back as he pulls me closer and closer. My hips are crushed against his, and there’s no question that he wants me. At least his body wants me. And it thrills me to feel him so aroused and know I’m the reason, and makes me want him. Want him even more than he wants me. Want more than just to have my finger in his mouth. More than the kiss that we’re having. I want him and everything that he has to give me.

“Oh Brad…” I moan as he pulls his mouth away purely out of need for breath. He looks at me as he pants, his hands coming up to hold my face between them.

“God, baby, can’t you see what you do to me? Can’t you feel it? Can you really say that it’s one-sided?”

I lay a hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall with his fast breaths. “Brad, I…no, it’s not one-sided, it’s…”

BRRRRRINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!

A loud phone ringtone echoes off the walls of the small fitting room, making us both jump.

“Shit,” I curse, reaching into my bag.

“Is that you?”

“Yes…sorry, I have to see who it is.”

“It’s fine.” He lets go of me as I pull the phone from my pocket.

I stare down at it for a moment, not recognizing the number.

“Hello?” I ask, wondering who it could be.

“Hello, is this Ms. Emily Butter?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“My name is Sandra, I’m calling from King’s College Hospital. It’s about Ben.”

And then everything goes black.