Neighbors (9 page)

Fifteen

Saturday is the busiest day in the ER. We need a revolving door just to take care of the urgent cases. This is the day that Gladys doesn’t sit. She is just as active as I am, tending to the different patients. By the time I get out of work, it’s five o’clock, two hours past my usual shift end. I had called Dylan earlier in the day to let him know.

After I park
in my driveway, I spy another note on my door. It has only four words: “Waiting across the street.”

Without words, he pulls
me inside and up the stairs. I’m so tired I don’t know if I’ll be able to function. We stop in the hallway, in front of the door to the master bedroom. He uses swift hands to slip my clothes off.

“You
look so tempting.” My insides start up.

I look down at my hands, but he lifts my chin with his fingers. We ho
ld each other’s gaze.

“You are,” he insists. Then his pliant,
soft lips find mine. Heat flows through my body and my heart rate increases exponentially. Instead of what I think is coming next he surprises me. I’m not guided into the bedroom as I expect, but led into bathroom. Candlelight bounces off the shiny tiles and soft music is coming from a small radio that’s plugged in near the door. Steam rises from the bathtub. Rose petals float on the surface of the water and it smells fragrant. He doesn’t speak. He holds my hand and helps me to step into the hot, soothing water. I ease down into the bath and tilt my head against the back of the tub.

He pulls
the door closed as he starts to leave. “Where are you going?” I ask.

“
You relax for a little while. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

I extend my hand.
“Join me.”

“I have to order dinner. I h
ope you like Chinese.” He smiles and pulls the door closed. “Relax.” It’s an order, not a request.

I slid
e down and do exactly what he told me to: I relax. A smile stretches across my face when I think about how great he is. Thoughts of all the wonderful moments I’ve experienced with Dylan flood my mind.
Could it only be a week that I’ve known him?
It seems like we’ve been together our whole lives. It’s nothing like I experienced with Greg. Greg would never have drawn a bath for me, or show up at the ER just to kiss me, or made love to me on the staircase…or on the kitchen table…or the hammock in the yard.

Greg was all about how I looked on his arm
, how I behaved at hospital functions, and which colleagues he could impress with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, obedient wife. He never really cared about me, just how everyone else perceived him with me next to him. I guess it’s a compliment to my looks. It’s then that I realize that he only got away with it because I let him.

I force
Greg and the negative memories out of my head and slide further down into the warm water. My eyes close and my shoulders relax.

W
hen the water temperature cools enough to be noticeable, I stand up and wrap myself in one of the oversized beige towels from the back of the door. I pull the plug from the drain and watch the water shrink in the tub. As I comb through my wet hair, I think of how lucky I am to be with Dylan. I miss him.
So do something about it.

Un
sure of what he’s doing at the moment I decide to give him something important to do. But first, I need to get ready. I walk into the bedroom and slip between the covers. As the towel hits the floor, I call his name.

I hear him race up the stairs. He passes the bedroom door and heads toward the bathroom. I sense his confusion when he sees I’m not
there.

“Getting warmer,” I call
in a seductive voice.

“Let me know
when I’m hot,” his tone imitates mine as he creeps in through the door.

“Oh, you’re hot,” I say
. “But, I’ll let you know when you’re closer.” He’s across the room, and my body reacts. The energy that’s flowing through me could light a small town. Deliberate and rapid steps bring him to me. Several emotions stir inside me: desire, need, wantonness. Placing his hands and knees onto the bed he leans close to me. Then he crawls over the top of the blanket. He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Oh no. That won’t
do,” I say. He kisses me again, this time lingering a little longer. “That’s better, but…”

“But?” he asks
.

“But, you’re
wearing too many clothes,” I say in a playful tone.

He fumbles
to get them off. He kisses me again, this time longer than the last.

“Now you’re
on the wrong side of the blanket,” I whisper.

Flingi
ng the covers back, he scrambles to join me under the fluffy blanket. I pull him on top of me and shift my hips until they’re under him in just the position to accept what he has to offer.

He hesitates and looks into my eyes. I
stare back, wondering what he’s thinking. “I just want to tell you that I missed you while you were in the bath,” he says. And my heart rockets to the moon.

I pull his face down to mine and kiss him passionately. His soft lips return the favor. And then we make love.

* * *

I si
t in his tee shirt and my underwear as we eat Chinese take-in. “Will you go with me to the hospital’s dinner dance? I bought tickets to support the cause with every intention of not using them, but I think I’d like to show you off.”

“I don’t dance very well,” he says, looking up from his lo mein.

I laugh. “We don’t have to dance. We’ll just go to mingle for an hour. Then I’ll let you undress me when we get home.”

His eyes widen
. “Mmmmm, I like that. I’m in.”

I laugh again. “Thanks.”

After dinner, we watch television on the couch. He strokes my hair as I nuzzle against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. My mental Rolodex flips through the few relationships I’ve had and I can’t come up with any that have made me feel the way I do when I’m with Dylan. I think about how happy he makes me. And the sex…

“I never knew sex could be so wonderful,” I say.
I surprise myself.
I can’t believe you said that out loud.

He’s staring
at me now. “You mean I wasn’t good before?”

I
giggle. “No, I don’t mean you. I meant
before
you.”

“So, no one else
ever…satisfied you?”

I think about it.
Although I had only slept with two people—the guy I dated for a year before Greg, and Greg. Neither one of them seemed as interested in me and what I wanted as they did themselves. “No, they didn’t. Greg was only interested in a trophy wife. He wanted to receive pleasure, not giving any. And I don’t mean sexually. That he got from other women. He didn’t care what I thought or felt, as long as everyone else thought we were a perfect couple. He needed the façade so he could hide all of his dirty little secrets.” I sat up and turned to face him. ‘You,” I put my hand on his forearm. I look into his eyes and it’s as if he can see into my soul. “You make love to my mind and my body. You make me feel…sexy, wanted, whole.”

He kisses
me. “You are sexy. And I definitely want you, all the time. Can’t you tell?”

“No
one ever made me feel this way.”

Despite the
dark color of his eyes, they sparkle. As if he reads my mind, he kisses me again, and again, and again. It’s tender and comforting…and electric.

He laces his hand
s through my hair. His mouth is on me. I tug his sweatpants down and off his legs. I wiggle my panties off and pull him on top of me, and he’s inside me before I can even breathe. I groan as he fills me. His muscles flex as he pushes in and out of me. I can’t get enough of him as my hips reach up to meet his. The feeling is arousing, filling, intoxicating.

His breathing is ragged.
He stops. “No. I don’t want to come yet.”

But I need him. I force my hips up to his. “Please,” I beg. “I need you.”

He looks into my eyes. They win him and he moves, slowly at first. But then he picks up speed infinitesimally as he impels me. The sensation radiates through me. Our rhythm increases. My grip tightens on his arms. He thrusts once more and then he stills as his orgasm mixes with mine.

We lie on the couch, in ea
ch other’s embrace for moments…minutes…an hour. I don’t know. I’m reeling from the incredible things Dylan makes me feel, physically and mentally.

“Come, let’s go to sleep,” Dylan says. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs. He tucks me under the covers then climbs into the be
d behind me. His arms circle my waist and we fall asleep.

Sixteen

The next day, my whole body is
sore when I wake. I scoot across the street to change into my ‘paint clothes.’ Although there are no messages on my machine, I give Tracy a quick call.

“Hey, girl. What’s going on?” she says, her voice woven with sleep.

“Just wanted you to know that I’m going to be at Dylan’s all day. I’m helping him paint his dinning room. If you need me call my cell, okay? How’d the singles thing go last night?”

“What a waste of time. If this is what the world has to offer as far as eligible bachelors then I’m going to join a convent.” She laughed. I laughed too.

“You’ll find someone, Trace. Just give it some time.” Listen to me giving advice about dating. She laughed again, which was the response I was looking for.

I hang up and head across the street.

“What are you dressed for?” Dylan asks when I come back into his house.

“I’m going to help you paint the dinning room.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got the rest of the house done. The dining room can wait. I want to spend every minute with you.”

“You will be with me; we’ll just be painting.”

Three hours later, the dining room is complete and we eat pizza for lunch on the floor in the newly painted room. Dylan starts to arrange the furniture when I remember Greg’s idea. With a slight dip of the brush into the paint can, I walk toward Dylan.

“Did I miss a spot?” he asks
.

“No, I just want to mark what’s mine.”

His eyebrows furl. I lift the brush and stroke his butt with the paint-loaded brush.

“Oh, does t
hat belong to you now?” he asks.

“Yes, it does.” I offer a suggestive grin.

“Then I claim this.” He picks up a brush and drags it across my breasts.

Dipping the brush
into the paint can again I make a big ‘x’ in the crotch of his jeans. “Mine.”

He move
s close to me with his brush, but drops it into the paint tray. His large brown eyes sparkle. I loosen the grip on my brush and he takes it from my hands, dropping it next to his. He grabs me suddenly and pulls me close. His tongue forces my lips apart.

He reaches up and pulls the elastic hair band
from my ponytail. Bouncy blonde curls fall around my shoulders. Dexterous fingers comb through my locks. My body comes alive. Pressing his shoulders, he understands that I want him on the floor. I stand over him, a foot on either side of his hips, and pull off my shirt. His eyes widen and I continue to undress, quickly removing my shorts. I’m in just my bra and panties. His breathing accelerates as his eyes drink me in. Flinging a leg over him, I sit across his waist, straddling his hips. I lean over. He doesn’t resist my kisses. His arms pull me close to him I feel his readiness against me and I know that he wants what I do.

My hands skim his chest. I feel his muscles through his shirt. I lift the fabric from the hem and help him pull it over his head. With my fingertips I make swirling patterns on his now naked chest. Continuing the journey downward, I pull
open the button of his paint-splattered jeans. Tugging at them, I drag both his pants and briefs over his legs. He springs free and I offer him a mischievous smile.

“Now this is what I call a work of art,” I say. He smiles.

His hands caress my back and work their way up to unclasp my bra. His palms cup my breasts. Skillful thumbs and forefingers roll my nipples. They pucker and elongate at his touch. The sensation registers deep in my groin. I arch my back, pushing my breasts further into his hands. I feel him growing underneath me.

Slowly,
I stand above him, looking down. I slide my underwear down my legs. His eyes never leave mine. His smile widens as I lower myself onto him until he’s buried deep inside me. I groan loudly. It’s deep and filling.

I
hold his arms to steady myself and lift up, then ease down.

“Again,” he says and it excites me to know that he likes what I’m doing. I lift up again and ease down. He moans and I’m fueled. “More,” he says. My heart is pumping and I do it again. He moans. “Faster,” he begs. And I oblige.
His hips move up to meet mine and a fast rhythm begins.

My body quickens. I’m building.
Soon my body is all sensation. His hips gyrate up to meet mine. I’m at the crest, and then… he stops.

He lifts me off him and
gets behind me. I’m on my stomach on the tarp. He pulls my hips so that I’m forced on my knees. One hand is on my shoulder, keeping me steady. The other is on my hip. I feel his impressive length as he impels me.

“Oh,” I gasp. And he
pulls back slowly.

“Oh, Melissa,” he says, and his voice is sexy, hot, sensuous. 

I claw at the paint tarp beneath me as he pushes deep inside me. He pulls back slowly and rams me again. My body quickens and I’m building again. Faster and faster his hips crash into me. I need release. He pulls back and I know it’s coming. It’s only seconds but I need it. I push back as he rocks forward, and I can’t hold back. My body convulses and I come around him. Dylan’s hips continue two, three times. He thrusts once more and surrenders.

He pulls out and lie
s on his side on the tarp beside me. We stay motionless until our breathing calms.

“I like t
he way you paint,” he says. I’m still panting but offer a smile. He kisses me with soft, warm lips.

When my breathing slows, I say
, “I’m going to grab some new clothes. These got ruined when you painted me.”

His eyes widen.
“You painted me first,” he protests, as he gets dressed.

“That’s because I had
to mark what was mine.” I give him a peck on the lips and pick up the clothes that had been painted and quickly put them on. “Be right back.”

I walk
across the street with a spring in my step, but slacken my approach when I notice Greg’s car parked on the street in front of my house. It deflates my mood. I look more closely and see that he’s sitting in the car.
What does he want?
I walk by him and pretend not to see him. He gets out of the car. “Mel. Mel. Wait up.”

My shoulders drop and my lungs push out a sigh.
“What do you want, Greg?”

“I thought you might change your mind
about the barbecue.” He follows me up the porch to the door.

“Why would you thi
nk that, Greg?” I open the door and turn once inside. I use my body to take up the doorway to make sure he remains on the threshold.

He gives me
the same expression he uses to pick up women; a half crooked grin with one arched eyebrow. “I don’t know. You seemed happy that I asked the other day.”

“You’re delusional, Greg. I don’t want to go anywhere with you. What happened to Sandra? I thought she was going with you.”

“She’s a bit…sore today. I took her out for dinner last night and well…” His dirty smirk repulses me.

“Greg, I don’t want to hear about y
our conquests. Go away.” I try to close the door but he stops it with his arm.

“Mel, let me in. We’ll talk about this.”

“I’m not interested in anything you do or say anymore, Greg. We’re done. The ink on the divorce papers should be dry. Go find some woman who will give you what you want. Not that being married stopped you before.” I try a second time to close the door. Again he stops it.

Anger washes
over his face. “Mel, you know I never meant to hurt you. It’s just that…I can’t control myself.” I feel my face morph into what must be a look of disbelief.
Is he kidding?

“Greg, go find a woman who believes your bullshit. I’m done with you. You
were not the man I thought I married. Or maybe I didn’t really know you. Before we got married, you cared about me. You treated me with respect and you were gentle. You wanted
me
. After the rings were on our fingers you told me you didn’t want to touch me because you didn’t want kids and you were afraid I’d get pregnant. We didn’t talk about contraception. We never even discussed children. You never thought about what I wanted. You only cared that having them would make me ‘fat and unattractive.’ Those were your words. You said you wanted your wife to be thin and pretty all of the time. A showpiece. Someone everyone else would admire and envy you for having.”

I suck in a breath
and think about Dylan; how different he is from Greg. The way he treats me, the way I feel when I’m with him, how he is all I want. “And, while we’re on the topic, you never felt the importance of making sure I was satisfied – in my mind or in the bedroom. It was all about you, Greg. Maybe that was my fault. I let you get away with everything. Who knows how long that would have gone on? But, then I caught you cheating on me. I don’t even know how many other women you slept with before I found out, when I made my whole world you. Well, now you’re free to pursue what you want. Go have a good time. Don’t worry about me. I’ve moved on.” 

Heat rises in my face. I know my blood pressure
is way up. Not wanting to continue, I slam the door, turn the lock, and run into the bathroom for some tissues. I was never good with confrontation and I had just let Greg have it—big time. It was a long time over due, but I feel good that I finally told him how I feel. Tears stream down my face but they’re of triumph not defeat.

There’s a pounding on
the door. “Go away,” I yell as I walk into the living room. Dabbing my eyes, I stand in the center of the living room with only the door between us. He’s yelling my name. “Mel. Melissa, please open the door.” I exhale in relief when the banging stops. My shoulders drop and my body starts to relax. Remembering my original goal, I turn so that I can change my clothes and get back to Dylan.

A
loud crash makes me scream as the door forces open. Fragments of wood splinter out into the living room. My eyes widen when I notice it’s hanging from the hinges. Greg is in the doorway, fists clenched at his sides, his eyebrows are dipped low on his forehead. His stance reminds me of a cartoon bull with steam blowing out of its nostrils. He steps toward me with a slow, deliberate pace.

My mouth drops
open as he gets closer. Keeping my eyes on his, I back up inch by inch until I’m against the wall outside of the kitchen. His eyes bore into me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Panic fills me.

“Greg
, you have to leave.” My voice is shaky. “I’m going to call the police.” But he’s walking toward me.

Before I know it
, he clutches my shoulder. I attempt to pull away, but he grips the fabric on my shirt and it rips. Forcing my arms between his body and mine does little to stop him. He grips my other shoulder and pushes his body onto me. His mouth is on mine. I twist my head, resisting his kiss. It angers him more.

He
throws me down on the floor. I land on my butt. The sting of the floor causes adrenaline to surge through my veins.

“Is this what you want, Mel? You want me to fuck you on the floor, like your new boyfriend does?”

Using my legs, I try to scramble away, but he bends over and takes hold of my left foot. He yanks me close to him. The carpet burns my elbows. He lowers himself so that he’s kneeling over me, my leg still in his grip. With his other hand, he unbuttons his pants. “You used to love it when I fucked you, Mel.”

Using my free foot, I kick
at him. Tightening the grip on the foot he has hold of he stops fumbling with his pants long enough to capture the leg that’s kicking. He puts them together and places my feet between his thighs. His hand returns to its chore as he unzipped his pants. He shifts them down low enough so that they’re below his hipbone.

“I don’t want
you, Greg,” I say, hoping he sees I’m not afraid of him.

He looks
at me, rage in his eyes. “I don’t care, Mel. I’m going to fuck you whether you want me to or not. It seems you like it a little rough these days. That wasn’t the case when we were married. Maybe you’d rather I paint you.”

My eyes widen.

“Yeah, that was quite a little show you put on.”

I’m dumbfounded. “How?”

“I’ve been watching you through his windows, Mel. I saw your little paint fight.” He yanks my shorts down to reveal my lacy pink underwear. He stops to look at them. “You always wore nice lingerie.” He grips the front and rips them from my body. The elastic cuts into my skin as they tear. He throws them behind him.

“
I know you’re nice and ready. I am, too.” He reaches into his pants and takes out what he proudly uses on every girl he encounters. He strokes himself with the hand that isn’t holding my hip down. He leans into me, pushing his weight onto me. He’s heavy. I can’t move. I struggle to get away, making it difficult for him to enter me. The warm skin of his erection presses against the inside of my thigh. Before I can scream, he has his mouth on mine. I pound his back with my fists as he shifts his weight, hoping for entry.