53 Letters For My Lover (26 page)

“Sometimes you just need to take the plunge.” He dives in, and surfaces next to me.

“You always do that.” I shake my head. “Headfirst into everything.”

“And you’re always one toe in, one toe out. Now eat.”

He twirls a forkful of pasta and holds it out for me. I open my mouth, but he teases me with it, letting my tongue reach for it before he gives it to me.

“Mmmm.” I savor the texture of the linguine, coated in thick rich sauce, the tartness of the tomatoes, the sharp, salty cheese. “Good.”

He feeds me, and himself, between nibbles of crusty bread dipped in seasoned olive oil. It doesn’t dawn on me until I’ve had my fill that my top has been riding up, leaving my bottom completely exposed. I tug on the hem, trying to make it to behave.

“Leave it.” His voice is gruff and throaty. “I find it incredibly erotic to catch glimpses of you naked.”

He smiles as color sweeps across my face. “Are you done, Beetroot?”

I nod as he pushes the food away.

“Turn around,” he says. I feel one arm slide over my waist, encircling me from behind. The other plays with my curls as I lean back against him.

We watch clouds float over the shimmering water.

This is as good as it gets, I think. Warm sun above me, strong arms around me.

I glance into the water and freeze. He sees it at the same time. A thin, wispy strand of bright red.

His body goes tense. “Did I hurt you, Shayda?”

“No.” I close my eyes and make a mental calculation.

“It’s the beginning of my cycle,” I say. “I guess this ruins our plans for the weekend.” I start getting out of the pool, but he pulls me back.

“Are you kidding me?” His arms tighten around me. “That’s not what this is about. It doesn’t make one heck of a difference to me.” He nibbles the back of my neck. “Besides, just thinking about not having to use any protection with you is getting me rock hard.” His fingers slide under my tee and circle my breast. “Can I tell you something?” he mumbles against my throat.

“What?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

“True.” He yanks my t-shirt off and brings me skin to skin with his chest. “When we were hiding under that pier, this is all I could think about.”

“I know,” I reply. “And I was praying to this cross.” I touch it again.

“God, Beetroot. You have the most impeccable sense of timing. If you’re not laughing at my penis, you’re reminding me of my grandma’s rosary.”

“What’s wrong with your grandma’s rosary?”

“Nothing. It’s just not the best time to bring up my grandma. She may be out there. You know...watching.”

“You don’t like being watched? Come on, Troy. Let your inner freak out.”

“My inner freak, huh?” His teeth sink into my shoulder and I lose track of my thoughts.

He leads me to the edge of the stairs and sits on the middle one. The water reaches up to my knees.

“Straddle me, Shayda.” His voice is thick as he kicks his boxers off. “One knee here.” He places it by his right hip. “The other here.”

I glance at the tall buildings on either side of us.

“They can’t see.” He suckles my breast. “And if someone’s watching from the water, all they’ll see is this beautiful, golden back, bobbing up and down.” He runs his finger down my spine.

A snapshot of us, entwined like that, floats before me. I press my hips into him as dizzy spirals of longing rush through my body. He lifts me up and lets me sink slowly into him.

“Ahhh.” We gasp at first contact.

It’s bare and raw and more intimate than ever before.

“God, you feel so good.” He throws his head back, sucking in his breath.

I slide lower, but stop midway, unable to take him in any further.

“Easy. Put your hands here.” He guides my palms to the stair above him, placing one on either side of his shoulders. “Now lift yourself, up and down. That’s it, Shayda” He buries his face between my breasts, his hands kneading my flesh in round, circular motions.

I find a slow, rhythmic motion, rising and falling, but I’m still not able to take all of him. He holds my hips still and raises his pelvis, burying himself in me, millimetre by millimetre.

“Ohhh.” I gasp at the fullness, the feeling of complete possession.

“Now move. Up and down, round and round, side to side. Whatever feels good, baby.” His hands slide over my butt, mimicking each motion as he says the words. “Yes. Just like that.”

I rest my forehead on his as we rock to an age-old rhythm. He tilts his head back and kisses me. And kisses me. A crazy yearning-churning-burning builds up inside. I press harder into him, trying to relieve the coiled up tension.

“Lean back and rub against me here.” He presses his hand down on my pubic bone and keeps the pressure going.

I shift until I feel the hot, hard length of him pushing up against the front of my inner wall.

“That’s it,” he groans as I start to move, trailing up and down that part of me.

“Ahhh.” I gasp each time the tip of his shaft hits a particular spot. “What’s that?” I ask breathlessly.

“Your g-spot.” He fixes an intense gaze on me. “Keeping going.”

“Nnnnh...I feel like I’m going to pee.”

“Don’t stop.” His voice is rough and urgent. “Bear down on it.”

“I can’t...” The pressure is intense.

He takes over, pushing against me, hard and fast, while his thumb strokes my clit, side to side.

The tension builds unbearably, almost painful in intensity. Every muscle in my body tightens before I burst like a balloon, gushing around him. The contractions come in dizzying waves of pleasure, radiating from my lower belly to my thighs, my calves, my toes, my nipples. I tilt my head back, arching my back, weeping uncontrollably as it rolls through me.

A muffled groan escapes him. He explodes in convulsive release, his fingers digging deep into my hip bones. He buries his face between my breasts, carrying my weight as I collapse against him. Faint pulses still run through me, keeping me from slipping into complete exhaustion.

“Fuck!” he says, when his breathing returns to normal.

He moves plastered tendrils away from my face.

“Troy?” I murmur, my eyes still closed.

“Mmmm?”

“I think I peed in your pool.”

I feel the laughter bubble up in his chest.

“That wasn’t pee.”

“I know. I read Cosmo. Occasionally.” I link my arms around his neck. “I just never thought the whole squirting thing would happen to me.”

“Well, you’re learning by leaps and bounds today, aren’t you?” He shifts and pulls out, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Something’s different, Shayda. What is it?”

My throat clenches. I hide my face in the crook of his neck and sigh.

I’m finally facing up to my feelings for him.

“We have this one weekend,” I say. “Let’s leave everything else behind.”

August 5th, 2000 (2)

“Where are we going
?” I ask.

“Wherever the road takes us.” He keeps one hand on the steering, the other on my thigh.

We stop at a drugstore outside of town. He follows me into the feminine hygiene section.

“Seriously?” I ask, thinking how comical he looks against daintily arranged boxes of Tampax and Midol and Canesten.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he replies.

“Put that down.” I smack his hand.

“Evie’s Extra Vinegar Douche. Shouldn’t this be in the fish and chips aisle?”

“Would you just go buy a newspaper or gum or something?” I hiss. “I can’t be seen with you.”

“Who are we going to run into here?”

“You never know.”

“Hey. I know exactly where we should go.” He pauses and peers over my shoulder. “Gentle glide tampons? And these have wings. There’s some serious aeronautic shit got going on here, Beetroot.”

I turn around and glare at him.

It’s late afternoon by
the time we get off the highway.

“Hamilton?” I ask as he takes the exit.

“There are a whole bunch of cool vintage stores here.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a vintage kind of guy.”

“It’s not for me,” he says enigmatically.

We park outside a cluttered shop with wind chimes on the door.

“Welcome to Ken & Judy’s.” A ruddy complexioned man with a grey beard and kind eyes greets us. “The trinkets are here, gizmos there, thingamabobs in the back and the whatchamacallits over here. Anything else, just let me know.”

“You have any wigs?” asks Troy.

“Sure.” He points to the back. “My wife will meet you there.”

“What do we need wigs for?” I ask as we weave our way through over-stocked racks.

“You said we can’t be seen together. So pick a disguise, Beetroot, because we’re not staying in this weekend.”

Worn velvet curtains drape off an area labeled ‘WIGS’ in a barely legible scrawl.

“Hello,” says a big, busty woman in a sing-song voice. She ties one curtain back and turns on the switch.

I gasp. It’s like being hit with a giant spotlight. The back wall is covered with a high voltage vanity mirror. The counter overflows with mannequin heads sporting all kinds of wigs—red, blond, long, short. Old-word perfume bottles with atomizers and ornate tassels sit on gilded trays.

“I’m Judy,” says the lady, dusting off a cushioned stool with gold legs. “Which one of you is looking for a wig?”

I pick up a headful of tresses and hold them against Troy. “I think the ringlets would look fabulous on him.”

“Hmmm.” Judy stands back and surveys him. “With his bone structure, he’d be absolutely dazzling in the Farrah Fawcett.”

Troy takes a step back. “I’ll...uh...leave you ladies to it.” He ducks under the curtain and beats a hasty retreat.

“How long have you two been married?” asks Judy, after we stop laughing.

I glance at my ring. “Not too long.”

“He
is
dazzling. You make the perfect pair.” She smiles. “So what kind of wig are you looking for?”

We go through the options and settle on a sleek, chin-length bob with straight bangs.

“Very chic,” says Judy. “And I love the red undertones on you.”

“Can I leave it on?” I ask, turning one way and then another in the mirror.

“Of course,” she replies. “Do you need any clothes?” she asks as we step out of the little room.

“As a matter of fact, I do. This trip was so last minute, I didn’t have time to pack.”

“Well.” Judy rubs her hands. “I have just the right stuff for you.”

In the end, she sets me up with a hand-picked wardrobe for the entire weekend. I come out of the dressing room in a cream, grecian jumpsuit with a gathered waist and flared legs.

“Oh yes!” she exclaims. “And try these.” She brings me a pair of strappy gold sandals. “Boy, is he ever going to do an about take when he gets a load of you.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“I’ll go get him.”

She returns alone. “He’s next door, looking at some cottage rentals for the weekend,” she says, as we walk to the counter.

“Thanks for all your help.” I hand her my credit card.

“Your husband’s already looked after that.” She hands me my bags. “Stop staring, Ken,” she says without looking at him.

“You look smashing, love.” Ken smiles at me. “My Judy has a magic touch.” He gives his wife a big squeeze. “Yes, indeed. Magic.”

We turn at the sound of wind chimes as Troy enters the store.

“Is she ready to go?” he asks, walking right past me.

“Ready and waiting,” says Judy.

“Well, I got the cottage.” He swings the keys before her. “The one Ken recommended. They said...”

He stops mid-sentence and goes very still, like he’s just felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. Then he swings around.

“Beetroot?” he asks, looking like he’s been punched in the gut. “Bloody hell!”

He scans me from head to toe. The blunt cut of the wig accentuates my cheek bones and the bangs draw attention to the almond shape of my eyes. With the high, cinched waist, my legs look like they go on for miles. The soft, creamy fabric accentuates all the right places and brings out the golden hue of my skin.

“Damn! Come here, you.” He pulls me in and gives me a big kiss. “And so the butterfly emerges.”

I bask in the warmth of his embrace, my heart bursting with something I can only identify as silly, absurd happiness.

“Is this everything?” he asks, taking the bags from me.

I nod.

“Enjoy the cottage.” Ken and Judy wave as we leave the store.

“That was so much fun,” I exclaim, as we put the bags in the trunk. “I can’t wait to show you what I—”

He cuts me off with a passionate kiss, slamming me hard against the car.

“I fucking love you,” he chants with hot breath in my ear, before claiming my lips again.

Cars honk as they drive by. A man passes by with his dog. Somewhere, a jackhammer is drilling the pavement. Wind chimes tinkle in the breeze. The soft whirring of pigeon wings. A kid laughs at us. And there, in the bustle of mid-town, our lips cling in silence, until the edges of our bodies melt, until my mouth knows the taste of his soul.

When we finally come up for air, I open my mouth, but he silences me.