Romance: The Art of my Love: a story of betrayal, desire, love, and marriage (20 page)

In the morning, I put on my nicest new dress. It’s dark blue with long sleeves, little buttons down the front and a full skirt that just reaches my knees. It makes my eyes look the same shade of blue. I pull on my favorite boots, the ones with a wide, sturdy heel. Wearing them I look taller and feel more confident. After a shower, I take my time doing my hair. For Paul, I desperately want to look beautiful, the single most gorgeous woman in the world. The book I bring with me for the airport and the plane turns out to be completely unreadable. I spend two hours on a single page. Don’t even ask me what I read that whole time, because I have no idea.

The plane lands, and the ten minutes it takes before they finally let us off feel like an eternity. I physically itch all over with impatience. Finally, I walk off the plane and away from the gate, and catch sight of Paul. 

What did I say to Eric when he asked me about love? A punch in the stomach? Yes. Right to the solar plexus. It hurts to breathe. I walk over to him as if through a fog. Paul has combed his hair and shaved, and his eyes aren’t as red as they were last time I saw him. He still looks just as thin and disheveled, though. He stares at me as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. Yes. Yes, I’m back. I don’t know if I whisper those words out loud or only pronounce them in my own head. I step up to Paul and hug him tight. He wraps both his arms around me and presses me to his chest. I breathe in his scent (fresh and clean, with no trace of nicotine or alcohol) and hear his heart beating loudly. I can’t live without him. For Paul’s sake I’d slit Rachel’s throat, or anyone’s, if that’s what it took. I am never leaving him again.

Finally, we release our grip, and look each other in the eye.

“I really didn’t think you’d be here. Why aren’t you at work?” I ask.

“I quit,” says Paul, his voice somehow distant and dispassionate.

“When? Why?”

Paul raises one hand as if to ward off my questions.

“Just wait a minute, Emmy. I’ll tell you the whole story. Now that you’re here, we can finally have a decent conversation. Let’s get home first, though, okay?”

Yes. It can wait until we get home. We find the car, and Paul ushers me into the passenger seat. Instead of closing the door, he leans down and kisses me firmly on the mouth. I wrap both arms around his neck and pull him close. Our first kiss leads straight to our second, and then our third. We can’t tear ourselves away from one another. Paul takes my face in his hands and just looks at me. There is joy and tenderness in that gaze. He seems younger.

“I want you so much my legs are buckling under me. I don’t think I can make it home. It’s been such a long wait. I’ve been seeing you everywhere, thinking about you, going crazy.” Paul sighs and buries his face in my hair, and then he runs his hands over my neck and down to my chest. “I want all of you. I want to undress you and kiss you all over. I’m burning up, Emmy.”

His words cut right to my heart. I squeeze my knees tight. I’m having a hard time controlling my body because I want him, too, desperately. We can’t do it in the car, though, can we? Or
can
we? I really can’t wait another second. Paul gives me a quick kiss on the nose and finally shuts the door. He drives us home in record time.

We hold hands and race up the stairs to our apartment, and go inside. The instant the door closes behind us, I’m in Paul’s arms. I kick off my boots, and he kisses me, unbuttoning my dress as fast as he can. My hands grab at every place on his body I can possibly reach. I try to pull his shirt off, but can’t, because Paul’s hands are in my way. He is holding my face again and kissing me so hard and so deeply I run out of air. We pull apart just to catch our breath. I ache with desire for him.

Paul yanks my dress off my shoulders and together we push it down to the floor. Everywhere he touches me, my skin burns hot. Moaning, he sucks at my mouth, and I cry back in response. We are both trembling in anticipation. I fumble with the fastener on his jeans, but then he puts his hands over mine.

“Hold on, be patient, or everything will be finished before it’s begun. I’ve waited for you for so long. At least give me a chance to look at you.” Paul stands still. His gaze sweeps hungrily over every part of my body, now covered only by my bra and panties. Paul slides one bra strap off my shoulder, then lower, and he touches my breast. I start to moan. I’m gone blind and deaf to the world, completely submerged in sensation now, and all I can hear is the beating of my heart, which is nearly ready to burst out of my chest.

Paul moves his hand lower until it is clamped over my pussy.

“You’re all wet, Emmy,” he whispers, moving the thin strip of fabric aside and slipping one finger inside of me. My climax is so close already that if I don’t stop him, I’m going to come before he does. I don’t want to do it alone. I’ve been doing it alone for way too long. This time I want to find my pleasure right along with him.

“Paul. I need you to fuck me. I need you, now,” I beg him. He doesn’t need much convincing. Paul pulls down both his jeans and his boxers in one smooth movement, and then he picks me up, pulls my underwear farther to the side, and settles me down right on his cock. Now my back is against the wall, and he is moving, slowly. I wrap my legs around his back. His lips kiss and caress my neck and shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m going to last long, sorry,” Paul whispers, penetrating deeper and deeper into me with every thrust. I mean to tell him not to worry, that I’m almost there, too, but it’s too hard to speak with the world swimming before my eyes. Paul withdraws from me almost completely, and the sense of loss makes me groan out loud. Then he drives back in and fills me up again. I’m no longer breathing. He is moving faster now, and even deeper than before, deeper inside me all the time. The blood pounds in my ears. When the pleasure finally explodes inside me, I scream. Paul comes almost simultaneously. I hear him moan. Then he is still, his face buried in my hair, panting hard. I can feel his heart beating. Or is that my heart?

Gradually, our breathing evens out, and Paul sets me down on the floor. I take off the rest of my clothes and head for the shower, and Paul joins me there.

“I couldn’t wait any more,” Paul says, as if apologizing, and he kisses me on the forehead.

“Me neither,” I answer. “I really wanted us to come together.”

“Your wish is my command,” Paul smiles. It’s that same, carefree smile I remember seeing before my trip to Seattle. “Next time, we should do it more slowly. I want to enjoy the whole process.”

“Oh yeah?” I whisper into his shoulder. “Ready for the next time already?”

“Yeah, I planned it all out. I want lots of next times. All in a row. Have you had enough of a rest?”

I giggle and finish toweling off quickly. Paul grabs me up again and carries me to our bed. I feel like clay in his hands. He can have his way with me. 

“You’ve lost weight,” I murmur, running my hands over his back a few times.

“Yeah, not much appetite lately.” Paul is already kissing my left breast and caressing it. “Not much appetite, not much sleep. That’s all your fault.” Paul moves over to my right breast. “Look how nice and tasty you are, Emmy! I was starting to think I had just dreamed all of this, but now here you are, with me!” Paul is kissing my stomach now. He flicks his tongue into my navel, then heads lower and lower. “And what do we have here?”  He separates my thighs and slowly runs his tongue through the folds between my legs. “Was I too rough with you, last time? Do you forgive me?”

Everything inside me swoons a little when I hear how gentle his voice sounds. Why oh why did I torture us both for so long?

“No, no! It was great, it was wonderful! I even liked that last time.” I’m nearly sobbing, overwhelmed with sensation. “I’m so sorry, Paul. I’m sick of living without you.”

“Silly girl. I forgave you for everything a long time ago. You were the one who couldn’t forgive me. Actually, I couldn’t forgive myself,” says Paul, lifting his head to look at me. “Now do you understand that we are meant to be together? No matter what happens?”

I gaze back at him happily without taking my hands off his body – his neck, his shoulders, his face. He is so strong, muscular, and smooth to the touch. On top of all that, he’s fully erect again, ready for battle. Later we can talk and I’ll tell him everything, but right now we have more important things to do!

I pull Paul toward me and then roll him over so he’s lying on his back. I kiss him hungrily, dozens of little kisses, tracing downward along his body. Those familiar red splotches are coloring his cheeks and he is breathing hard. There is so much naked passion in his eyes that I shiver in anticipation. Paul’s hands glide over my shoulders, my back, and my spine. The feeling of his rough hands caressing me is incredibly arousing. I lean forward to kiss his lips, then sit myself down on him and tense all the muscles inside me.

Paul groans, and complains, “Fuck, Emmy, it’s going to be over too quickly again!”

“We’ll keep doing it till we’re able to do it slowly,” I tell him reassuringly. Then I start to move. His eyes gleam with desire and delight. His hands are covering my breasts. Now I can’t control myself. The tension in that place below my stomach grows stronger, I squeeze again, and I shatter into a thousand pieces. Seconds later I feel Paul quake with his own orgasm. I collapse onto his chest. That kind of climax demands some recovery time. Paul whispers something and strokes my head. I can’t quite make out his words. My eyes close of their own accord, and I fall asleep.

When I wake up, Paul is not next to me, but there are delicious bacon-and-egg smells drifting through the bedroom. I pull on one of Paul’s t-shirts and wander into the kitchen. Paul turns to me. “My appetite is back, with a vengeance.” He laughs happily and points to a plate overflowing with an enormous king-sized omelet.

“Mine is, too!” I take an empty plate and reach it out to him expectantly. He shares like a gentleman. For a while, we just chow down without talking.

Finally I can’t delay my questions any longer. “Why did you quit your job?”

“Because I found a new one,” Paul answers, “in Vancouver.” He says those words completely matter-of-factly and casts a serious look my way. “I already have a plane ticket, one way. If you hadn’t come down today, we would have seen each other a week from now.”

I’m dumbfounded at his news. Then Paul goes on. “I’m going to be teaching there, too, but only part time, because they also want me to write for a television series that’s just been accepted for production.” Paul laughs again when he sees the astonishment on my face. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to jinx it, for one thing. They only approved the pilot last week and everything is really still being negotiated. The other reason is that I wasn’t sure you’d think it was all that important or interesting.”

Once I come back to my senses, I run off to find my purse.

“I have a surprise for you, too.” I take out the tiny box and bring it back to Paul. “Here. I want you to wear this from now on. This way all your students will know that you’re mine. Nobody else’s. I am never going to give you up. I love you.”

There. I said the words, and the ceiling isn’t falling down on my head, there’s no thunder booming, and the orchestra isn’t playing any loud, threatening music. Paul is holding very still. He takes the box from me and opens it.  My fingers dart in to pick up the ring inside, and I tell him, as calmly as I can, “Give me your hand.”

He obediently reaches out his left hand, and I slide the ring onto his finger. As luck would have it, the fit is perfect.

“There. Don’t ever take it off.” I look him right in the eye. “I don’t want us to ever be apart again. Not ever.”

The omelet has gone cold, but I think it’s the best one I’ve ever eaten, once we get back to the table.

“It turns out Rachel was the one who set things up for me in Seattle and Vancouver.” I was done eating now, so I was getting some coffee ready. “I can’t figure out why she did it.”

“Sounds familiar. I owe John for my latest career success, too. He sent my screenplay to an agent he knows, and that guy is negotiating right now to sell it. The same agent suggested I write the pilot episode for that TV series. This whole time, day and night, I’ve been sitting here working like crazy. Sleep was eluding me anyway.”

Wow. Rachel had found ways to help me, and John had done the same for Paul. What on earth for?

“Do you think they expect us to be grateful? For taking such good care of us, I mean?” I ask.

“Even if they expect it, they won’t get it,” Paul says sternly. “He should just be happy I haven’t gone and kicked his ass for all these Machiavellian intrigues.”

“You wouldn’t do that. Kicking ass is way out of character for you.”

“Sure I would.” Paul frowns and walks over to the window. “It’s just that I had a finger in the pie, too. While he was fucking my wife, I was fucking his. In that kind of situation, it’s not easy to play the innocent victim.” Paul shrugs.

“Tom told me how well you’ve been doing.  The guy in Seattle was pleased with your mural and the new job in the gallery is working out for you, too. I don’t know what I would have done without Tom. Do you realize I started to be jealous of you?” Paul chuckles sadly. “I was used to always having you right here by my side. Every evening you’d tell me your news. Then you left. I know you needed to do it,” he says, stopping me when I start to object. “Think about it, though. You’re smart and beautiful and you were miles and miles away from me. The men probably came at you from all directions.”