Page 56 of With This Lie

“I can’t help myself sometimes. I’m just so good.” I lean up and pull my foot from his hands. I shift my body weight and straddle him. I put my arms around his neck and smile down at him.

“That you are,” he says.

He pulls me down closer and pushes the hair from my face. He tucks strands behind my ears and stops. He pauses for a long moment, just staring into my eyes and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he kisses my mouth and I begin to breathe again. He puts his arms around me and kisses me deeper. I’m almost certain I could never tire of kissing him.

I pull back from his lips and our breathing is heavy, our eyelids the same. I can never tell what he’s thinking in these moments but I want to know.

“What are you thinking right now?” I ask.

He rubs his bottom lip with his thumb.

I sit up a little, putting more space between us.

“I’m thinking sad things. I’m thinking I should tell you something,” he says.

“What kind of sad things?” I ask. I can see hesitation in his mannerisms.

“I’m thinking I will miss these lips when they’re gone,” he says, brushing his fingers over my lips as he says it. “I’m thinking I will miss these kisses, the touch of your skin, your warmth. I’m thinking one day they will go. I’m thinking one day I will no longer get to do this with you and it will make me sad.”

I don’t know what to say. His words render me speechless and that doesn’t happen often. I would miss him too. “Will the thing you think you should tell me make me more sad?” I ask.

He shifts under me. “I think it could,” he admits.

“Then don’t tell me,” I say. “I don’t want to know. Not tonight.”

He nods his head slowly. “Can we shower now?” he asks.

I nod back. We stand and I start the shower as I let the drain out to empty the bath. We wash and rinse mostly in silence. We turn to lighter bits of conversation as to not completely drown the evening in sorrow. We get out and dry off, then wrap the towels around us. We never put clothes on after. We simply walk to my bed and take the towel back off. I’m not even sure why we bothered wearing the towels the short distance we did except to soak up any extra moisture on our bodies.

I sit on the edge of the bed and let my towel fall in a c-shape around me. I lie back across my bed and Lucas does the same right next to me. He reaches for my hand and we lie here for a little while, staring up at the ceiling in silence. It’s not awkward though. When silence falls over us it tends to be very comfortable and peaceful. This moment is no different. Our fingers are laced together and his thumb is drawing small circles on the back of mine. I like these moments most about us. These quiet, less obvious moments when we seem to be really connected, even without words or motion.

I feel Lucas shift onto his side and prop himself on his elbow to face me. He lets go of my hand and uses his index finger to trace over my lips. When he finishes, he traces over my chin and down my throat. He traces a line between my breasts and down to my belly button. He traces back up over my left breast and then my right. I know he likes doing this for the way it makes me squirm and arch. My reaction is half the fun for him. I keep my eyes closed while he does this. He traces over my collarbones, down my arms, over my hip bones. He touches everywhere except the place my body begins to crave.

“Lucas?” I whisper.

“Yes?” he answers.

“Can we pretend for just one night we are more than what we are?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Make love to me,” I say.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me deeply again, moving his hands into my hair. His lips kiss my jawline, my neck, my collarbone. His hands run down my back and he steadies himself over me. He pulls his face back from my neck and looks down at me.

“I’ve been making love to you for a while now,” he whispers, and then I feel him pushing his way inside me.

I moan and wrap my arms around his ribs. I dig my fingers into his back. I kiss his chest. His movements are slow, deliberate, intense. I can feel everything. It comes over me in waves and I can’t control my breathing or tongue anymore. I hold onto him tighter as I get closer and he can feel it so he slows down. He doesn’t want me to go yet. He rocks back and forth with me. He kisses me and tucks my hair back as he cradles me. Then he starts again, faster and deeper and I’m climbing again. I feel his mouth on my neck and his breath in my hair. We’re going together now and I feel him release as I do. He slows until he stops. He kisses my forehead and eyelids. He collapses into me and hugs me.

This might be my second favorite part of sex. The after. The cuddling. When your tired bodies are still tangled into each other and both of you are out of breath and everything is warm and slow and glowing. My chest is rising and falling rapidly and his arm is wrapped around my ribs just below my breasts and I know if we stay this way too long we will fall asleep just like this, sideways on the bed without a blanket or pillows.

“We have to move while we still have the willpower,” I say.

“Who says I still have that?” he asks.

I laugh. “Okay, we have to move while one of us has enough to remind the other.”

“Fine, but I want the record to show that I protested.”