A/N: I have this and a couple more chapters after it, that I wrote last
January. I probably won't write any more, but I might as well post what
I've written. So hi everyone. :) And also, I really suck at sex scenes.
Especially straight sex scenes. Wow, this was written a LONG time ago.
LOL.
My eyes opened, seconds later, into darkness, as we were pulled into her apartment. But vision and all other abilities were immediately robbed of me, replaced by sensations far too foreign and intense to be categorized in the five senses. The moments were senses of their own, hitting me like snowflakes-no two ever the same. The taste of her mouth-maple syrup and chocolate and longing... the shivers that trapped me as her nails grazed lightly, tauntingly, along my back... the way her soft, limber body molded to the curves of my own as she leaned into me, pinning me against the wall as one hand reached behind me to flip the lock on the doorknob.
Slowly, she was pulling us toward the center of the room, but it was proving a terrible struggle-she couldn't bear to break the force of the contact between us. We were so, so close, not in inch of space anywhere between our bodies, and the closer we got, the closer we needed to be, and the harder it became to pull away. It was like a drug... like tolerance... even addiction.
And so I took a step forward, closing the space even further. She stumbled backward, letting herself collapse on the couch and pulling me with her. I had no choice but to follow, finding her and a tangle of throw pillows suddenly beneath me. I tossed a handful of the latter across the room, our lips never breaking contact even for a second.
She was so small, I realized-not by watching her, as my eyes refused to open-but simply by touching her. I wanted so badly to stop, to pause everything for a moment and open my eyes and look at her. To find that familiar connection in our eyes that had evolved in the last four hours. But I was so afraid if I did, it would vanish into a dream. I could feel, through the nervousness in her own touch as well, that she was plagued with the same thought.
And so, with this insight, we both began to realize that we had to create a new connection. A kind that we wouldn't fear losing if we were to open our eyes to reality.
Out of nowhere, I felt her hands slide from my back around to my chest, gently prying open those buttons on my shirt she had so carefully fastened only hours before. I leaned back instinctively, eyes still closed... and as I did, she shifted positions beneath me-and I found myself on the floor.
My eyes shot open for the first time, and I looked up. She was still on the couch where I'd left her, peering down at me. Her hair was noticeably more ruffled than I remembered from the hallway, as was the general state of her attire. But what struck me most were her lips-slowly, of their own will, they were moving to form a smile.
Three seconds later, she had dissolved into an all-out fit of giggles.
I abandoned it all-fear, uncertainty, and appropriateness-and reached up over the couch, pulling her down on top of me. She let out a squeak of surprise-she hadn't expected it. And as she landed on top of me, finding her balance... I realized I loved catching her off guard.
She smiled down at me, and for a few seconds, neither of us moved a muscle... and that's when it hit me. She was still here. It wasn't a dream.
Locking her eyes with mine in that way we'd grown so attached to all evening... she slowly sat up, sliding down my chest until she had me trapped... and resumed her work on the buttons. Apparently, location-be it the couch or the floor or the kitchen counter-didn't seem to faze her in the slightest.
She finished the last button and, leaning over me, pushed the shirt's smooth, almost liquid material off my shoulders, before bringing her mouth back to mine. In an instant, I'd rolled us both over into a pile of throw pillows, pinning her beneath me and finding her lips once again. And again, she was caught off guard. But I was learning that she loved it as much as I did. Her hand held the back of my neck, desperately... and while that was more than enough to make me melt, I stopped her.
Gently, I pried her hands away from me, laying them down above her head. She watched my every move, submissive and completely trusting. My fingers began playing with the hem of her tank top, just barely, almost waiting for a signal that I was allowed to go further.
As I began to peel away the fabric, each second exposing another inch of skin, I stopped-realizing I was so close to her that I could feel her heartbeat. And it was racing.
I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask if she was sure about this.
But I didn't have to. We both knew the answer.
I lifted the tank top over her head, dropping it to the floor beside us, and traced delicate patterns across her chest, slowly working my way down. As my lips replaced my hands, I saw her eyes flutter shut, just before lifting her hands to cradle my head, her fingers weaving through my hair. I was becoming more daring with each second, and her trust only encouraged my initiative.
As my soft, winding trail of kisses landed at the top of her pajama pants, my fingers slipped beneath them without a moment of hesitation, slowly pulling them down to her ankles. And, as I did... I discovered, to my surprise, that that was the last piece of clothing I would have to worry about.
I pulled back-just for a moment, knowing I couldn't stand for much longer- to look at her.
God, she was beautiful.
She read my mind-or else it simply came through in my eyes. But she smiled. Just a brief flash of light across her face. Even if it had remained longer, I doubt I would have noticed, for in the next moment, I felt a tug on the zipper of my pants. First one hand, then two, began dexterously freeing me from the leather confines I had come to know so well over the evening. For someone who had been so hell-bent on my buying them, she seemed in an awful hurry to see them go.
Moments later, they were long forgotten in a heap of stray throw pillows, and for the first time, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, between us. It was as though our very last, lingering anxieties had floated to that pile of pillows right along with our clothes.
Our touches were everywhere now-completely liberated, uncompromising, uninhibited. She had somehow escaped from underneath me and rolled over on top, distracting me with a torrid sequence of deep, lingering kisses as her hands wandered further and further down my body, until...
My eyes drifted open, and she sensed it, releasing my mouth. I opened my mouth to speak, and she placed a finger against my lips.
But she knew. She saw the look in my eyes, and the look in her own eyes reflected in mine. She knew neither of us would be able to last much longer.
Slowly, deliberately, she rolled off me, pulling me on top of her until we were so close, neither of us could move. Her hand crawled up my side, catching my hand along the way, and brought it up to her chest, gently placing it against her heart.
I caught her lips in mine, a final time, as our bodies began tentatively, carefully moving over each other.
I'd barely felt that hint of warmth against my legs before she was pushing me back.
"Wait-"
We watched each other, inches apart-still remarkably close in theory, but for us, seemingly further apart than ever-as our quick, desperate breaths echoed in the room.
"Wait." The word escaped her lips in a quick breath. "We can't..."
I froze. Everything. My hands couldn't move, my eyes couldn't blink. I found myself mentally going through the motions of remembering how to breathe.
Her eyes widened, terrified at my clearly palpable shock... though, honestly could she blame me?
"Oh... baby, no..." she amended quickly. "I mean-we need a..."
...Oh.
OH.
I reached across us, snatching my wallet from the back of my pants and pulling a tiny plastic wrapper from the change pocket. In a record ten seconds, it was unwrapped, prepped, and applied... and when I turned back to her, that urgent, pleading look on her face told me that, clearly, the moment had not been lost.
We fell against each other, magnetized. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as we made contact, and suddenly the room was silent.
Before now, at any kiss or touch or movement, her eyes would fall shut when the intensity grew almost unbearable. But now, as we melted together, it was as though she was terrified to break that direct line between our eyes, for fear of losing me.
I only knew because I suffered from that same irrational fear.
But after a few moments, as our bodies began to settle into a rhythm, a certain faith grew between us, and at last she allowed her eyes to drift closed... confident that I would still be here when she opened them... that I wasn't going to leave her side no matter what.
When I felt secure enough in her trust, I began to take more liberties, allow more aggression to escape. She liked it. Everything I dared to attempt was met with such acceptance, such passionate reciprocation, that it only propelled me further, until there were no more boundaries. No more questions, no more tests of trust, no more uncertainty... and no more restraint.
Her breaths became shorter, ragged, with every step we took. The moments began climbing exponentially, her hands first running gently along my back, and suddenly those crimson-painted nails were gripping at anything and everything, embedding themselves in my skin as her head rolled back against the throw pillows and discarded articles of clothing. Soft, almost inaudible sounds found their way up from the depths of her throat-wordless, incoherent, conceivably in another language for all I knew.
As we grew closer, I leaned in, dropping a kiss at the base of her neck, and that's all it took. She cried out-so briefly I could have imagined it- her back arched and every part of her body wrapped around mine...
And then, the room was still.
As we lay there on the floor in an immaculate silence, bodies entwined in the midst of stray shirts and pants, all I wanted was to ask her what she was thinking. But when I felt her head nestle itself into the crook of my neck, a stray hand lightly stroking my chest... it occurred to me-there was no doubt; our minds were as paralleled as they had been all night.
I looked down, and her head was already tilted upward, watching my every breath, every blink. Her eyes shut as I leaned in, touching my lips to the tip of her nose, her forehead, each of her closed eyelids... covering the remaining few inches my lips had yet to explore before trapping her mouth in mine. But even such a scarce, light bit of contact was too exhausting, and we finally fell back to the floor, pressed against each other.
I drew in a slow, tranquil breath, touching my forehead to hers. "Can I just say... wow."
I felt her smile as her lips brushed against mine... and suddenly realized that, amazing as her smile was to look at, it was even more amazing to feel. Her arm circled around me until her hand rested on my head, and she began to stroke my hair, her voice melting into my ear.
"Are you insanely hot right now?"
I swallowed. Twice. "Um."
Mark... you just slept with her. You're allowed to say yes.
"I, uh... I guess right now I'm more speechless than-"
She was giggling into my shoulder. Why, why was she laughing at me?
"I meant-" she began, "I have a fan in my room."
And all the way back to her room, she was giggling. Hanging all over me and whispering things in my ear and just being shamelessly amused by me in general. We gathered our clothes from the floor in a rush, disappeared behind her bedroom door, dropped them on the floor and fell onto her bed. Her hand escaped mine, briefly, to pull a paper-thin sheet over us, before she nestled against me with a sigh.
The sheet settled into the curves of our bodies, cradling us in the cool, fresh cotton, and for five minutes, neither one of us dared to move.
"Hey," she whispered, one finger stroking my chest. "You wanna talk?"
At this point, I couldn't imagine that saying no to her would result in anything good. "Okay."
"Kay." She rolled over on top of me, pouncing, and rested her chin on top of my chest. "Tell me about Miss Broom Closet."
"What?!"
"Spill. I want to know. It sounds kinky and it might give me some ideas."
She was dreadfully matter-of-fact, and so fucking serious. I laughed. A shocked laugh. A wonderfully shocked laugh, and right then, I almost said it. The words that had been fighting to escape all night without even my awareness. Three words that could change our relationship far more than the night already had.
"...Mark?"
"Um." I snapped back to reality; it's hard to stay distracted for long when there is a Mimi snuggled on top of you, tracing light finger-patterns all over your body, except for the parts that could actually be exposed in public. "Her dad was the rabbi. She taught me to tango. One day we just... what?!"
Giggles had taken over, not surprisingly, as she rolled off me and buried her face in a pillow. "Seriously? You know how to tango?"
"Kinda."
She leaned in closer, her sweet breath warm against my face-and a flash of memory from the rush of passion only minutes before began flooding my senses. "What else did she teach you?"
I grinned wickedly. "How to use my tongue for things you wouldn't believe."
God, she was so much better than I was at taking a line like that. I would have tripped over something, blushed, knocked over the nearest item I could reach, or be rendered speechless (or some embarrassing combo of all five). But she only smiled. There was a brief moment of impressed shock-eyes widening, a little blushing, all that good stuff-but she recovered so quickly it almost ruined the effect.
"I meant," she whispered slowly, her lips trailing down my neck, "in terms of dancing."
I gulped. Of... course she did.
Her head disappeared under the sheet, lowering her path of kisses until she was completely out of sight. "But," she offered, head suddenly reappearing as she crawled back on top of me, "maybe I wouldn't mind a demonstration..."
"Oh, God," I sighed. "It's been years. Last time was like, Christmas Eve with Joanne. I don't even know how-"
Her mouth silenced me, assaulting my own briefly, intensely, before pulling away. "I wasn't talking about dancing this time."
I blinked. That is all.
She winked. "Did she teach you salsa?"
Hmm. If I said yes, she'd make me demonstrate. But if I said... "No..."
"Ooh! I'll teach you!"
Yeah. That.
She scrambled across the bed, growing quickly tangled in the comforter, and promptly toppled over the side of the bed, dragging it with her as she tumbled into a heap on the floor. I watched the lump of bedclothes scuttle across the floor, and, almost magician-style, she emerged moments later in a loose red halter top and black lace underwear, which I could only assume she thought counted as modest apparel.
Hurling the comforter back onto the bed, she tossed me a huge black t- shirt. "Put this on," she instructed, gesturing to her window. "I don't have curtains yet, and Mr. Litman's a horny old bastard."
My eyes darted nervously in the implied direction of Mr. Litman, half- watching as she leaned over her dresser to light a candle. Of course, when my mind processed the fact that she was actually *leaning over* to light the candle... I was doing a hell of a lot more than half-watching.
Within the same blend of sudden moments, a muted glow from the coconut candle filled the room, and the first sizzling notes erupted from her stereo.
She laughed at me as I stood beside her, straight and tall and unflinchingly nervous. "We're gonna have to get a bit closer," she told me over the music, sliding her hand beneath my shirt and pulling me against her. "Like this."
I stumbled over a pile of undergarments on the floor. "I've never, uh-"
"Don't talk."
And so I didn't. I relaxed into her arms, allowing her to drag us across the tiny space of her bedroom, hindered only by such junk on the floor as bottles of nail polish and empty CD cases-none of which I could have possibly noticed at that moment, or the moment I tripped over one such aforementioned item and fell backwards into the stereo.
The music disappeared, replaced only by the crackling of broken CD cases beneath us. Even the candle had given up, leaving us in the cool, silent intimacy of the shadows. Mimi was by my side instantly-which, considering we'd been rather glued together before, wasn't all that surprising.
"You okay?"
I nodded vaguely. "What's that sound?"
Instead of the typical automated response of 'What sound?', she actually stopped to listen, and even in the darkness, I could see her eyes light up. "That's Mr. Litman. I told you he's crazy. He plays his CDs every Saturday night."
I nodded at her solemnly. "That... *is* crazy. How dare he?"
"Smartass," she hissed, whacking the sleeve of my t-shirt. "He doesn't even play it for anyone, just himself. Leaves his window open and blasts Celine Dion to the whole goddamn neighborhood."
Apparently she just wasn't seeing it.
"Hey," I whispered, taking her hand in mine and pulling us both to our feet. "Dance with me."
She raised an eyebrow. "To 'My Heart Will Go On'? What are we, twelve?!"
Slowly, I stepped through the darkness and brought us together, our lips inches apart. "We can afford to be twelve for one night, can't we?"
Somehow our closeness had hypnotized her, and she nodded, that sparkle in her gaze latching onto some vague connection in mine. Her eyes closed and she fell against me, one hand sliding around my back to pull me closer; the other reaching up to my cheek, guiding my lips to hers.
I was suddenly terrified. Her kisses were growing quickly addicting, and her lips seemed to fit to the shape of my own more perfectly each time. And somewhere with every kiss, there was that distant contemplation, forced to the farthest part of my thoughts, resonating my greatest fear.
*You only have one night.*
I heard my name-not even heard, but felt; a languidly exhaled syllable, barely traveling through the darkness, but enough to make me weak in the knees.
I held her just a little tighter-as though every word that passed between us now was only trying to pull us apart. We parted, just enough to see into one another's eyes, and even then, we were so close it would have been easier to taste one another's souls than to see into them.
Slowly, barely even a movement at all-she shook her head.
"There's so much I want to say to you right now."
My heart raced. I swallowed. I blinked. If I kept this up, verbal ability might escape me altogether.
"Say it," I whispered, tracing a finger along her cheek. "...I might say it back."
The words were there, out in the open, breaking the silence the darkness seemed to hold so well, before either of us could realize their weight. I'd made an assumption. A rash, bold one. But the shock in her face clearly told me it was the right one. And now we were trapped.
Her hands pressed into my back. "Stay with me tonight."
I nodded. I couldn't have survived it any other way. And, in synchronous steps, we found our way back to the bed, collapsing in each other's embrace.
Across the room, the glaring red numbers of her digital clock traveled from '3:48' to '4:06' in what felt like mere seconds. The precious, escaping minutes were spent slowly, deliberately, as we freed each other from our second round of clothing. Exhaustion led us into a silent intimacy-deep, slow-motion kisses and uninhibited touches, carrying little of the frantic desperation from earlier in the night. 4:06 and fatigue both caught up with us, as we finally settled into a position that wouldn't compromise the closeness we craved: her, curled up against a pillow, and me, pressed against her bare back, my arms wrapped around her waist.
"Meems...?" I ventured.
"Mmm."
Don't, Mark. Don't ask. You don't want the answer. Don't be a masochist. You know what she's going to say... don't do it don't do it don't do it...
I pulled her closer. "What happens tomor-"
"No." She rolled over, facing me, brushing away the hair that had fallen across my forehead as she lowered her eyes. "Please," she whispered into my chest, dropping kisses in between breaths. "Don't. Not yet."
I nodded. "Then... what happens now?"
"Now..." She inhaled a shaky breath, trying her hardest to find strength enough for an answer, and buried her face against me, hiding from the inevitable morning beyond our control... that morning that was slowly tainting the night. "Now we wait."
And we waited.
"Are you asleep?" I asked lamely.
"Of course not."
"It's 4:18."
"Jesus Christ, you're watching the clock," she sighed. "Don't. Stuff it in the drawer."
I closed my eyes briefly, long enough to at least partly honor her request. "I can't help it."
"Fine."
And instead of reaching across me and plopping it into the drawer herself, she merely rolled over and fixated her own eyes on the harsh red numbers. The effect-sadly, bitterly intentional-was less than comforting. Her eyes were locked to the same object as mine; the same moment-devouring object that was slowly, steadily, taking away our night. But the warmth was gone. She'd shifted entirely across the bed, clutching a pillow, taking the majority of the bedclothes with her.
Me and my fucking stubbornness.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Silence.
I inched my way across to her, shocked to find that the gesture had become almost instinctive, as had my need to be close to her. And suddenly, I wanted to just... *say* that. To tell her I needed to be close to her. That the clock didn't fucking matter. That there didn't have to be a 'tomorrow'. That this didn't have to end... not here, not ever.
But one should always be wary of admitting things to others that you only just admitted to yourself.
"Mimi..."
For a second, maybe even a whole second, I thought it might not be a mistake. I touched her shoulder, and she didn't pull away. I gently ran my fingers along her arm, her side, eventually tracing abstract designs across her back. It wasn't until I finally wrapped my arms around her that I felt her trembling beneath my touch.
She was crying.
"Oh, God, I'm sor-"
That was it. Perhaps we would have been spared the outburst if I'd kept my mouth shut, or if I'd shoved the clock off the nightstand in the first place, or if she hadn't kissed me on the rooftop that night. But we hadn't done any of these things... and, as I was beginning to realize, for every action (or lack thereof), there is an equal and opposite-
She sprung up in bed, snatching the clock and hurling it across the room before collapsing against a pile of pillows, face buried in her hands.
This time, she let me hold her.
And, seeing as there was no more clock, I have no idea how long we lay there, shedding silent tears and holding onto each other and both knowing, for the first time simultaneously, that this was all we would ever have.
At last, she pulled herself up, her body weakened from tears and exhaustion, and lured me into her gaze. I knew there was more... I could tell from her heartbeat, beating so closely to my own, that this wasn't simply another longing glance.
But nothing could have prepared me.
"I love you."
She'd said it so many times before. To me, to everyone. Not like this. She didn't even say it like this to Roger...
Oh my God.
Roger.
Somehow, some ridiculous escape mechanism forced me to see through those liquid, chocolate-colored eyes, begging for something I couldn't even identify. Forced me not to hear the words that had shattered the room's stillness.
"I-" I stumbled. "But-Roger... you're..."
"That doesn't matter. Just know that right here, now, tonight... I love you."
My mouth opened to speak, but I had no idea what I would have said even if I'd been able to form some kind of sentence.
She inched closer, her eyes pleading-those intense, ardent eyes I was trying so fruitlessly not to see at that moment. "Don't forget that."
"I..."
And I would have said it. If her finger hadn't pressed softly against my lips, if her eyes hadn't broken the connection right then for the thousandth time that night, if it weren't for my fear of throwing out words that would only make this harder for us both...
I spent another undefined, clock-less amount of time holding her, staring at the ceiling and feeling her warm breath against my neck, before those words found their way past my fear and up to my lips.
I had to tell her.
"Mimi..."
Far too busy collecting my courage, I didn't even notice the silence until it was too late.
She was asleep.
My eyes opened, seconds later, into darkness, as we were pulled into her apartment. But vision and all other abilities were immediately robbed of me, replaced by sensations far too foreign and intense to be categorized in the five senses. The moments were senses of their own, hitting me like snowflakes-no two ever the same. The taste of her mouth-maple syrup and chocolate and longing... the shivers that trapped me as her nails grazed lightly, tauntingly, along my back... the way her soft, limber body molded to the curves of my own as she leaned into me, pinning me against the wall as one hand reached behind me to flip the lock on the doorknob.
Slowly, she was pulling us toward the center of the room, but it was proving a terrible struggle-she couldn't bear to break the force of the contact between us. We were so, so close, not in inch of space anywhere between our bodies, and the closer we got, the closer we needed to be, and the harder it became to pull away. It was like a drug... like tolerance... even addiction.
And so I took a step forward, closing the space even further. She stumbled backward, letting herself collapse on the couch and pulling me with her. I had no choice but to follow, finding her and a tangle of throw pillows suddenly beneath me. I tossed a handful of the latter across the room, our lips never breaking contact even for a second.
She was so small, I realized-not by watching her, as my eyes refused to open-but simply by touching her. I wanted so badly to stop, to pause everything for a moment and open my eyes and look at her. To find that familiar connection in our eyes that had evolved in the last four hours. But I was so afraid if I did, it would vanish into a dream. I could feel, through the nervousness in her own touch as well, that she was plagued with the same thought.
And so, with this insight, we both began to realize that we had to create a new connection. A kind that we wouldn't fear losing if we were to open our eyes to reality.
Out of nowhere, I felt her hands slide from my back around to my chest, gently prying open those buttons on my shirt she had so carefully fastened only hours before. I leaned back instinctively, eyes still closed... and as I did, she shifted positions beneath me-and I found myself on the floor.
My eyes shot open for the first time, and I looked up. She was still on the couch where I'd left her, peering down at me. Her hair was noticeably more ruffled than I remembered from the hallway, as was the general state of her attire. But what struck me most were her lips-slowly, of their own will, they were moving to form a smile.
Three seconds later, she had dissolved into an all-out fit of giggles.
I abandoned it all-fear, uncertainty, and appropriateness-and reached up over the couch, pulling her down on top of me. She let out a squeak of surprise-she hadn't expected it. And as she landed on top of me, finding her balance... I realized I loved catching her off guard.
She smiled down at me, and for a few seconds, neither of us moved a muscle... and that's when it hit me. She was still here. It wasn't a dream.
Locking her eyes with mine in that way we'd grown so attached to all evening... she slowly sat up, sliding down my chest until she had me trapped... and resumed her work on the buttons. Apparently, location-be it the couch or the floor or the kitchen counter-didn't seem to faze her in the slightest.
She finished the last button and, leaning over me, pushed the shirt's smooth, almost liquid material off my shoulders, before bringing her mouth back to mine. In an instant, I'd rolled us both over into a pile of throw pillows, pinning her beneath me and finding her lips once again. And again, she was caught off guard. But I was learning that she loved it as much as I did. Her hand held the back of my neck, desperately... and while that was more than enough to make me melt, I stopped her.
Gently, I pried her hands away from me, laying them down above her head. She watched my every move, submissive and completely trusting. My fingers began playing with the hem of her tank top, just barely, almost waiting for a signal that I was allowed to go further.
As I began to peel away the fabric, each second exposing another inch of skin, I stopped-realizing I was so close to her that I could feel her heartbeat. And it was racing.
I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask if she was sure about this.
But I didn't have to. We both knew the answer.
I lifted the tank top over her head, dropping it to the floor beside us, and traced delicate patterns across her chest, slowly working my way down. As my lips replaced my hands, I saw her eyes flutter shut, just before lifting her hands to cradle my head, her fingers weaving through my hair. I was becoming more daring with each second, and her trust only encouraged my initiative.
As my soft, winding trail of kisses landed at the top of her pajama pants, my fingers slipped beneath them without a moment of hesitation, slowly pulling them down to her ankles. And, as I did... I discovered, to my surprise, that that was the last piece of clothing I would have to worry about.
I pulled back-just for a moment, knowing I couldn't stand for much longer- to look at her.
God, she was beautiful.
She read my mind-or else it simply came through in my eyes. But she smiled. Just a brief flash of light across her face. Even if it had remained longer, I doubt I would have noticed, for in the next moment, I felt a tug on the zipper of my pants. First one hand, then two, began dexterously freeing me from the leather confines I had come to know so well over the evening. For someone who had been so hell-bent on my buying them, she seemed in an awful hurry to see them go.
Moments later, they were long forgotten in a heap of stray throw pillows, and for the first time, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, between us. It was as though our very last, lingering anxieties had floated to that pile of pillows right along with our clothes.
Our touches were everywhere now-completely liberated, uncompromising, uninhibited. She had somehow escaped from underneath me and rolled over on top, distracting me with a torrid sequence of deep, lingering kisses as her hands wandered further and further down my body, until...
My eyes drifted open, and she sensed it, releasing my mouth. I opened my mouth to speak, and she placed a finger against my lips.
But she knew. She saw the look in my eyes, and the look in her own eyes reflected in mine. She knew neither of us would be able to last much longer.
Slowly, deliberately, she rolled off me, pulling me on top of her until we were so close, neither of us could move. Her hand crawled up my side, catching my hand along the way, and brought it up to her chest, gently placing it against her heart.
I caught her lips in mine, a final time, as our bodies began tentatively, carefully moving over each other.
I'd barely felt that hint of warmth against my legs before she was pushing me back.
"Wait-"
We watched each other, inches apart-still remarkably close in theory, but for us, seemingly further apart than ever-as our quick, desperate breaths echoed in the room.
"Wait." The word escaped her lips in a quick breath. "We can't..."
I froze. Everything. My hands couldn't move, my eyes couldn't blink. I found myself mentally going through the motions of remembering how to breathe.
Her eyes widened, terrified at my clearly palpable shock... though, honestly could she blame me?
"Oh... baby, no..." she amended quickly. "I mean-we need a..."
...Oh.
OH.
I reached across us, snatching my wallet from the back of my pants and pulling a tiny plastic wrapper from the change pocket. In a record ten seconds, it was unwrapped, prepped, and applied... and when I turned back to her, that urgent, pleading look on her face told me that, clearly, the moment had not been lost.
We fell against each other, magnetized. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as we made contact, and suddenly the room was silent.
Before now, at any kiss or touch or movement, her eyes would fall shut when the intensity grew almost unbearable. But now, as we melted together, it was as though she was terrified to break that direct line between our eyes, for fear of losing me.
I only knew because I suffered from that same irrational fear.
But after a few moments, as our bodies began to settle into a rhythm, a certain faith grew between us, and at last she allowed her eyes to drift closed... confident that I would still be here when she opened them... that I wasn't going to leave her side no matter what.
When I felt secure enough in her trust, I began to take more liberties, allow more aggression to escape. She liked it. Everything I dared to attempt was met with such acceptance, such passionate reciprocation, that it only propelled me further, until there were no more boundaries. No more questions, no more tests of trust, no more uncertainty... and no more restraint.
Her breaths became shorter, ragged, with every step we took. The moments began climbing exponentially, her hands first running gently along my back, and suddenly those crimson-painted nails were gripping at anything and everything, embedding themselves in my skin as her head rolled back against the throw pillows and discarded articles of clothing. Soft, almost inaudible sounds found their way up from the depths of her throat-wordless, incoherent, conceivably in another language for all I knew.
As we grew closer, I leaned in, dropping a kiss at the base of her neck, and that's all it took. She cried out-so briefly I could have imagined it- her back arched and every part of her body wrapped around mine...
And then, the room was still.
As we lay there on the floor in an immaculate silence, bodies entwined in the midst of stray shirts and pants, all I wanted was to ask her what she was thinking. But when I felt her head nestle itself into the crook of my neck, a stray hand lightly stroking my chest... it occurred to me-there was no doubt; our minds were as paralleled as they had been all night.
I looked down, and her head was already tilted upward, watching my every breath, every blink. Her eyes shut as I leaned in, touching my lips to the tip of her nose, her forehead, each of her closed eyelids... covering the remaining few inches my lips had yet to explore before trapping her mouth in mine. But even such a scarce, light bit of contact was too exhausting, and we finally fell back to the floor, pressed against each other.
I drew in a slow, tranquil breath, touching my forehead to hers. "Can I just say... wow."
I felt her smile as her lips brushed against mine... and suddenly realized that, amazing as her smile was to look at, it was even more amazing to feel. Her arm circled around me until her hand rested on my head, and she began to stroke my hair, her voice melting into my ear.
"Are you insanely hot right now?"
I swallowed. Twice. "Um."
Mark... you just slept with her. You're allowed to say yes.
"I, uh... I guess right now I'm more speechless than-"
She was giggling into my shoulder. Why, why was she laughing at me?
"I meant-" she began, "I have a fan in my room."
And all the way back to her room, she was giggling. Hanging all over me and whispering things in my ear and just being shamelessly amused by me in general. We gathered our clothes from the floor in a rush, disappeared behind her bedroom door, dropped them on the floor and fell onto her bed. Her hand escaped mine, briefly, to pull a paper-thin sheet over us, before she nestled against me with a sigh.
The sheet settled into the curves of our bodies, cradling us in the cool, fresh cotton, and for five minutes, neither one of us dared to move.
"Hey," she whispered, one finger stroking my chest. "You wanna talk?"
At this point, I couldn't imagine that saying no to her would result in anything good. "Okay."
"Kay." She rolled over on top of me, pouncing, and rested her chin on top of my chest. "Tell me about Miss Broom Closet."
"What?!"
"Spill. I want to know. It sounds kinky and it might give me some ideas."
She was dreadfully matter-of-fact, and so fucking serious. I laughed. A shocked laugh. A wonderfully shocked laugh, and right then, I almost said it. The words that had been fighting to escape all night without even my awareness. Three words that could change our relationship far more than the night already had.
"...Mark?"
"Um." I snapped back to reality; it's hard to stay distracted for long when there is a Mimi snuggled on top of you, tracing light finger-patterns all over your body, except for the parts that could actually be exposed in public. "Her dad was the rabbi. She taught me to tango. One day we just... what?!"
Giggles had taken over, not surprisingly, as she rolled off me and buried her face in a pillow. "Seriously? You know how to tango?"
"Kinda."
She leaned in closer, her sweet breath warm against my face-and a flash of memory from the rush of passion only minutes before began flooding my senses. "What else did she teach you?"
I grinned wickedly. "How to use my tongue for things you wouldn't believe."
God, she was so much better than I was at taking a line like that. I would have tripped over something, blushed, knocked over the nearest item I could reach, or be rendered speechless (or some embarrassing combo of all five). But she only smiled. There was a brief moment of impressed shock-eyes widening, a little blushing, all that good stuff-but she recovered so quickly it almost ruined the effect.
"I meant," she whispered slowly, her lips trailing down my neck, "in terms of dancing."
I gulped. Of... course she did.
Her head disappeared under the sheet, lowering her path of kisses until she was completely out of sight. "But," she offered, head suddenly reappearing as she crawled back on top of me, "maybe I wouldn't mind a demonstration..."
"Oh, God," I sighed. "It's been years. Last time was like, Christmas Eve with Joanne. I don't even know how-"
Her mouth silenced me, assaulting my own briefly, intensely, before pulling away. "I wasn't talking about dancing this time."
I blinked. That is all.
She winked. "Did she teach you salsa?"
Hmm. If I said yes, she'd make me demonstrate. But if I said... "No..."
"Ooh! I'll teach you!"
Yeah. That.
She scrambled across the bed, growing quickly tangled in the comforter, and promptly toppled over the side of the bed, dragging it with her as she tumbled into a heap on the floor. I watched the lump of bedclothes scuttle across the floor, and, almost magician-style, she emerged moments later in a loose red halter top and black lace underwear, which I could only assume she thought counted as modest apparel.
Hurling the comforter back onto the bed, she tossed me a huge black t- shirt. "Put this on," she instructed, gesturing to her window. "I don't have curtains yet, and Mr. Litman's a horny old bastard."
My eyes darted nervously in the implied direction of Mr. Litman, half- watching as she leaned over her dresser to light a candle. Of course, when my mind processed the fact that she was actually *leaning over* to light the candle... I was doing a hell of a lot more than half-watching.
Within the same blend of sudden moments, a muted glow from the coconut candle filled the room, and the first sizzling notes erupted from her stereo.
She laughed at me as I stood beside her, straight and tall and unflinchingly nervous. "We're gonna have to get a bit closer," she told me over the music, sliding her hand beneath my shirt and pulling me against her. "Like this."
I stumbled over a pile of undergarments on the floor. "I've never, uh-"
"Don't talk."
And so I didn't. I relaxed into her arms, allowing her to drag us across the tiny space of her bedroom, hindered only by such junk on the floor as bottles of nail polish and empty CD cases-none of which I could have possibly noticed at that moment, or the moment I tripped over one such aforementioned item and fell backwards into the stereo.
The music disappeared, replaced only by the crackling of broken CD cases beneath us. Even the candle had given up, leaving us in the cool, silent intimacy of the shadows. Mimi was by my side instantly-which, considering we'd been rather glued together before, wasn't all that surprising.
"You okay?"
I nodded vaguely. "What's that sound?"
Instead of the typical automated response of 'What sound?', she actually stopped to listen, and even in the darkness, I could see her eyes light up. "That's Mr. Litman. I told you he's crazy. He plays his CDs every Saturday night."
I nodded at her solemnly. "That... *is* crazy. How dare he?"
"Smartass," she hissed, whacking the sleeve of my t-shirt. "He doesn't even play it for anyone, just himself. Leaves his window open and blasts Celine Dion to the whole goddamn neighborhood."
Apparently she just wasn't seeing it.
"Hey," I whispered, taking her hand in mine and pulling us both to our feet. "Dance with me."
She raised an eyebrow. "To 'My Heart Will Go On'? What are we, twelve?!"
Slowly, I stepped through the darkness and brought us together, our lips inches apart. "We can afford to be twelve for one night, can't we?"
Somehow our closeness had hypnotized her, and she nodded, that sparkle in her gaze latching onto some vague connection in mine. Her eyes closed and she fell against me, one hand sliding around my back to pull me closer; the other reaching up to my cheek, guiding my lips to hers.
I was suddenly terrified. Her kisses were growing quickly addicting, and her lips seemed to fit to the shape of my own more perfectly each time. And somewhere with every kiss, there was that distant contemplation, forced to the farthest part of my thoughts, resonating my greatest fear.
*You only have one night.*
I heard my name-not even heard, but felt; a languidly exhaled syllable, barely traveling through the darkness, but enough to make me weak in the knees.
I held her just a little tighter-as though every word that passed between us now was only trying to pull us apart. We parted, just enough to see into one another's eyes, and even then, we were so close it would have been easier to taste one another's souls than to see into them.
Slowly, barely even a movement at all-she shook her head.
"There's so much I want to say to you right now."
My heart raced. I swallowed. I blinked. If I kept this up, verbal ability might escape me altogether.
"Say it," I whispered, tracing a finger along her cheek. "...I might say it back."
The words were there, out in the open, breaking the silence the darkness seemed to hold so well, before either of us could realize their weight. I'd made an assumption. A rash, bold one. But the shock in her face clearly told me it was the right one. And now we were trapped.
Her hands pressed into my back. "Stay with me tonight."
I nodded. I couldn't have survived it any other way. And, in synchronous steps, we found our way back to the bed, collapsing in each other's embrace.
Across the room, the glaring red numbers of her digital clock traveled from '3:48' to '4:06' in what felt like mere seconds. The precious, escaping minutes were spent slowly, deliberately, as we freed each other from our second round of clothing. Exhaustion led us into a silent intimacy-deep, slow-motion kisses and uninhibited touches, carrying little of the frantic desperation from earlier in the night. 4:06 and fatigue both caught up with us, as we finally settled into a position that wouldn't compromise the closeness we craved: her, curled up against a pillow, and me, pressed against her bare back, my arms wrapped around her waist.
"Meems...?" I ventured.
"Mmm."
Don't, Mark. Don't ask. You don't want the answer. Don't be a masochist. You know what she's going to say... don't do it don't do it don't do it...
I pulled her closer. "What happens tomor-"
"No." She rolled over, facing me, brushing away the hair that had fallen across my forehead as she lowered her eyes. "Please," she whispered into my chest, dropping kisses in between breaths. "Don't. Not yet."
I nodded. "Then... what happens now?"
"Now..." She inhaled a shaky breath, trying her hardest to find strength enough for an answer, and buried her face against me, hiding from the inevitable morning beyond our control... that morning that was slowly tainting the night. "Now we wait."
And we waited.
"Are you asleep?" I asked lamely.
"Of course not."
"It's 4:18."
"Jesus Christ, you're watching the clock," she sighed. "Don't. Stuff it in the drawer."
I closed my eyes briefly, long enough to at least partly honor her request. "I can't help it."
"Fine."
And instead of reaching across me and plopping it into the drawer herself, she merely rolled over and fixated her own eyes on the harsh red numbers. The effect-sadly, bitterly intentional-was less than comforting. Her eyes were locked to the same object as mine; the same moment-devouring object that was slowly, steadily, taking away our night. But the warmth was gone. She'd shifted entirely across the bed, clutching a pillow, taking the majority of the bedclothes with her.
Me and my fucking stubbornness.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Silence.
I inched my way across to her, shocked to find that the gesture had become almost instinctive, as had my need to be close to her. And suddenly, I wanted to just... *say* that. To tell her I needed to be close to her. That the clock didn't fucking matter. That there didn't have to be a 'tomorrow'. That this didn't have to end... not here, not ever.
But one should always be wary of admitting things to others that you only just admitted to yourself.
"Mimi..."
For a second, maybe even a whole second, I thought it might not be a mistake. I touched her shoulder, and she didn't pull away. I gently ran my fingers along her arm, her side, eventually tracing abstract designs across her back. It wasn't until I finally wrapped my arms around her that I felt her trembling beneath my touch.
She was crying.
"Oh, God, I'm sor-"
That was it. Perhaps we would have been spared the outburst if I'd kept my mouth shut, or if I'd shoved the clock off the nightstand in the first place, or if she hadn't kissed me on the rooftop that night. But we hadn't done any of these things... and, as I was beginning to realize, for every action (or lack thereof), there is an equal and opposite-
She sprung up in bed, snatching the clock and hurling it across the room before collapsing against a pile of pillows, face buried in her hands.
This time, she let me hold her.
And, seeing as there was no more clock, I have no idea how long we lay there, shedding silent tears and holding onto each other and both knowing, for the first time simultaneously, that this was all we would ever have.
At last, she pulled herself up, her body weakened from tears and exhaustion, and lured me into her gaze. I knew there was more... I could tell from her heartbeat, beating so closely to my own, that this wasn't simply another longing glance.
But nothing could have prepared me.
"I love you."
She'd said it so many times before. To me, to everyone. Not like this. She didn't even say it like this to Roger...
Oh my God.
Roger.
Somehow, some ridiculous escape mechanism forced me to see through those liquid, chocolate-colored eyes, begging for something I couldn't even identify. Forced me not to hear the words that had shattered the room's stillness.
"I-" I stumbled. "But-Roger... you're..."
"That doesn't matter. Just know that right here, now, tonight... I love you."
My mouth opened to speak, but I had no idea what I would have said even if I'd been able to form some kind of sentence.
She inched closer, her eyes pleading-those intense, ardent eyes I was trying so fruitlessly not to see at that moment. "Don't forget that."
"I..."
And I would have said it. If her finger hadn't pressed softly against my lips, if her eyes hadn't broken the connection right then for the thousandth time that night, if it weren't for my fear of throwing out words that would only make this harder for us both...
I spent another undefined, clock-less amount of time holding her, staring at the ceiling and feeling her warm breath against my neck, before those words found their way past my fear and up to my lips.
I had to tell her.
"Mimi..."
Far too busy collecting my courage, I didn't even notice the silence until it was too late.
She was asleep.