A Thin Line (17 page)

"No, no, no. Let me..." He guides the fork to my lips. I open my mouth and close them around the stack of pancakes. My taste buds rejoice in the peanut butter and banana flavor as I chew.

I nod and smile, since he's watching me eat. "It's good. Sweet."

"Mmmhmm," he agrees, filling his mouth again. He looks so happy to be eating.

"Thank you for this. Even though you woke me up out of a dead sleep and dragged me to breakfast..."

"I'm trying to show you that I can be nice."

"Oh, that's what this is?"

"Sure. I told you I was nice."

"You have been very nice, lately. Especially to my dad. I really appreciate it."

I'd called my parents on my way out to meet everyone at Prime and Preston was there for his weekly poker game with Dad. I hadn't expected him to keep showing up. I thought it would be something he'd do a few times and then start to miss games and eventually stop coming around. Months later, though, he was still showing up. My dad was still loving it and very much looked forward to it. And it gave my mom a break. She could leave the house, get her hair done, go shopping or out to dinner with her friends. It made a world of difference in her demeanor.

"You don’t realize how much it means to them and how much it's helped."

Preston shrugs, scraping the last of the syrup off of his already empty plate. I hadn't taken two bites of my pancakes yet. "It's no big deal. Once a week I get to kick my feet up, have some fun and talk some shit. Did he tell you he won last night?"

I grin. "No. Did you let him win?"

"Nah. He won, fair and square. Took all my money."  I glance up at him, look him in the eye. He's smiling as he sips his coffee. Then, fleeting and ever so briefly, he winks.

I knew it. My dad sucks at poker. But Preston let him win last night and now we'll never hear the end of it.

When our plates are empty and our cups drained, Preston asks for the check. Before I can offer to split it with him, he slides his card into the envelope and hands it back to the waitress. She runs it and brings it back. He angles his head in the direction of the car parked right outside the window.

"Let's roll.”

It's midday on a beautiful October day. The skies are cloudless and a light breeze occasionally cuts through the heat. I feel free for the first time in a long time. I'm full of my favorite breakfast from my favorite restaurant, and riding in the car next to someone who used to be my favorite person. Someone who could make that list again.

Preston heads back to my apartment and pulls into his usual spot. The luxury machine doesn't make a sound as it idles.

"So what are you doing today?"

He shrugs a shoulder, his gaze intently on me. "I just did the only thing I wanted to accomplish today."

"Oh." I can't help but smile. "And did you enjoy it?"

"Very much. I'd say it was perfect if I could get an answer to my question, though."

I feel like I have very limited time to say the words on the tip of my tongue, before I lose my nerve or change my mind. So I open my mouth and let the words fall out. "You should come up. To my place."

"Is my answer up there?"

I give him a small, mysterious smile. "It will be." 

My heart is beating out of my chest. I don't know how he can't hear it.

I dig my key out of my purse and unlock the door, letting us into my dark, cool apartment. The door closes behind us, something that strikes me as symbolic. It's the first time I've ever invited Preston up to my apartment.  He's barged in uninvited plenty of times but this is the first time I've ever
asked
him to come in.

Preston seems comfortable on my couch. I start to sit next to him, then stand up again. "Did you want anything? Something to drink?"

He laughs and pats the cushion next to him. "Nah. I’m good. Sit down."

I sit. Then scoot a little closer. He offers his hand and I happily slide my palm across his. The feeling is so... familiar. Like time has never passed since I held hands with him. I hear–and feel Preston chuckle.

"Know what this reminds me of?"

"Hmm?"

"The rules our parents had for us hanging out together."

I laugh, remembering the ridiculously stringent guidelines our parents came up with. "Like how we could only be in the kitchen or the living room. And we had to be sitting up or standing. No leaning on each other."

"Hands must be visible at all times," Preston says, reciting from memory. "No laying down. No touchy-feely. Remember how I had to negotiate being able to have an arm around you?"

"Your dad would have a fit if he came into the house and I was there. Even if we were following the rules."

"That's because Ava was giving him gray hair, sneaking around with her boyfriend. Compared to what other kids were doing, we were good."

"Yeah, we were."

"Until I started driving..." Preston grins, rolling his head toward mine.

I giggle. "And your dad found those condoms..."

Preston throws his head back in laughter. "I remember that. Yeah, why were they in the Jeep, Angie? You brought the whole bag?"

"We got a new cleaning lady and I was afraid she'd find them. So I put the bag in the Jeep, but then I forgot about it."

"My dad about had a heart attack. My mom had to calm him down."

"Mine too. Remember, I had to get on birth control after that?"

"I thought your dad was going to kill me." He chuckles, then sighs at the memories. "They calmed down though. After a while."

"Well, we had to work, to calm them down. I told my dad I wasn't breaking up with you because he couldn't deal with us having sex."

"Yeah. Me either."

Our conversation lapses into a comfortable silence. It feels less and less odd, as the minutes tick by, to be sitting in my apartment next to a man I have claimed to hate for so long, with my hand tucked into his, reminiscing about the good old days. And maybe allowing myself to hope for some good
new
days.

"So, you really think there's something here?” I motion between his chest and mine. “Between us?"

"The question is, do you?"

Right
. That's the million dollar question. Can I forgive so much, in so little time? Can I forget, set aside a lifetime of hurt and pain in what has felt like no time at all, but I know has been months... years in the making?

I just know that I can't do...
this
... anymore. I can't hate him anymore. I can't be angry anymore. I can't hold on to something that's been completely meaningless for so long because the object of said anger has always been around. I haven't been angry because he slept with Stacey first. I've been angry because I felt special and then I found out that I wasn't... but wasn't I?

Did I really throw so much away over some girl that needed to beat me at something? What did she win, anyway? Preston's reluctant virginity... but not his heart.  After everything she tried to give him, he came to
me
. He shared his heart and soul with
me
. He fell in love with
me
.

And he is still
in love with me. And here. Right now. After all this time and everything we've gone through. I'm overwhelmed at the enormity of that. I can't wrap my brain around it... but I don't want to try right now.

I tilt my head up, so I can see him. The expression on his face is not expectant or sarcastic or even smarmy. He's looking at me. Waiting for me to say something.

Except there aren't words to express what I'm feeling. So I show him, by tipping forward enough that our lips meet. He pulls back for a few seconds, the shock registering on his face, before leaning in and kissing me back. Gentle presses, almost imperceptible swipes of his lips against mine. Feather soft.  My body is responding like clockwork. Like it was yesterday that he last kissed me.

He untangles his hands from mine and shifts so he's facing me. This frees his hands to cradle my chin and pull me forward, his fingers curled up in my hair, his mouth desperately, fiercely assaulting mine. I maintain balance by holding onto his forearms, delighting in feeling the muscles underneath the skin ripple as he moves himself back against the couch cushions and pulls me with him.

I hike up the hem of my dress and straddle him. His mouth, his lips, his tongue refuse to let me rest. He sucks and bites and strokes while his hands wander my waist, my hips and ass, down my thighs and upward again. He caresses the swell of each breast and then gently cups one and then the other, feeling for my nipples. His thumbs find them rock hard, standing at attention. He rubs them gently, bringing a sensation so pleasurable, it makes my entire body sing. I move closer so we are pressed chest to chest, only his hands between us. My hips buck and roll, rocking my clit up against the tip of his erection making itself known through his jeans.

"Mmmmm
fuck
," I moan, willing him to never stop.  He groans in appreciation, dipping his head to suck and bite the skin on my neck and across my shoulders. One hand leaves a breast to push the strap of my dress down. He lays light kisses over the entire area, as if he means to cover every square inch of me. I don't object.

I grab the folds of my dress and begin to pull it up. "Let's get rid of this." He helps me pull it over my head. It lands in the chair next to the couch.

I'm suddenly very aware of sitting in my living room on Preston's lap straddling him–practically sitting on his dick, in fact, nude except for a pair of panties that are barely there in the first place. I move to cover myself, but he grabs my wrists and holds my arms out. 

"Don’t. You are… beautiful." He takes his time, drinking me in from the dip in my neck to my teardrop breasts to my thick waist and wide hips, down each leg alongside his thighs. His eyes move slowly, as if he's trying to memorize me. Again.

He releases my wrists and warm hands crawl my skin again. One finds its way around my back and cups my ass. The other drifts down my midsection, past my navel, under the band of my panties. My eyelids flutter as his fingers find their mark. He presses, then rubs my clit in a strong, steady rhythm. His head tips forward and he captures a nipple in his mouth, moaning along with my rising cries of pleasure.

I am writhing and thrusting against his fingers and despite living in a small apartment with thin walls, I practically scream with wild abandon. "Please... I'm so close..."

"So close to what?" He asks, my nipple still in his mouth.

"I want to come."

"You do, hmm?"

"Yes. Please!"

"You asked nicely and you said please..."

A long, thick finger slips inside me. It isn't long before another joins it and they begin to thrust in and out, driving me even higher. "You're so wet, Angie. For me. Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?"

"I...
hunh
.... fuck!"

Words, complete sentences aren't happening. I'm on the verge of exploding or imploding or whatever it's called when you fall to absolute pieces, and it's all I can do to not pass out or hyperventilate.  My nails sink into the skin of his shoulders and I rock my hips and ride his fingers until I feel my core pulsing, tightening and convulsing around him.

Preston's lips claim mine again. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life, wildly, passionately kissing him. I feel us moving, but my eyes are closed and I am lost in the throes of my climax. Fabric and cushion press against my back and I realize that he has moved me off of his lap and laid me down on the couch.

When I open my eyes, he is hovering and smiling. Grinning, actually, like the cat that caught the canary. I smile back, stroking his face, delighting in being able to touch him.

"What?" I finally ask. He shakes his head, then bends to kiss me.  I feel fingers near my hips, around my thighs, pulling at my panties. I lift my body so he could pull them off. When they clear my feet he breaks the kiss and sits up. With a snap of a button and whir of a zipper, his jeans are being pushed down his hips. With them go a pair of black boxer briefs. His dick is stiff, jutting out, pointing nearly north.

My mouth is dry.

He looks the same... but different. Familiar, but now thicker and longer, glistening with his arousal. He removes his t-shirt, letting it drop to the floor. I'm now free to run my hands over every inch of his body, a task that I intend to perform and complete, relishing every moment.

I reach for him. I need to feel his skin against mine, his chest press against my breasts, his hardness against my belly. My thighs open to make room for him and for a few minutes, we lay there, enjoying the feeling of being together.

"Any second thoughts, so far?"

"Not one," I say, shaking my head. "How about you?"

"Nope," he answers quickly. "Though, I regret not coming to this conclusion sooner. We could have had this much fun all along."

I laugh. "Not even six months ago I cursed your name and made you promise to get out of my life after this wedding."

He tips his head side to side while staring at something off in the distance. "Yeah," he finally says, coming back to me.  "And I agreed. So maybe neither of us would have been ready."

"And now we suddenly are? I mean.... what are we doing, Preston?"

He dips his head to kiss me again. When he pulls back, he says, "We're letting things happen and hoping for the best. How's that?"

I nod and tighten my arms around him. "Sounds good to me."

We kiss again, this time less passionate and manic. More slow and sensuous and romantic. I'm fully aware of him rubbing and teasing, sliding up and down and around me but not entering. I lift my hips and put myself directly in his path. I catch his gaze and send him a pleading look.

He answers my plea with a full, forceful thrust. My eyes slam shut and an "Oh God, yes!" falls from my mouth as he fills me. 

"Fuck, Angie..."

My mouth hangs open in sheer pleasure. I am full, fuller than I can ever remember feeling with him. I hold onto his forearms and open my legs as wide as possible, welcoming every thrust with a loud, throaty moan. He matches my sounds with a grunt and answers the bucking of my hips with more thrusts. Our noises, our breathing, even the sound of skin slapping against skin is so sexy. I'm on the verge of another orgasm, but I'm willing myself to wait for him.

It doesn't take long for him to reach the recognizable point of no return. His breathing takes a turn toward the erratic and his steady rhythm turns into a wild flurry of pumping, pushing himself deeper into me as his climax overtakes him. He breaks a sweat, drops of which land on me. I savor those droplets of effort and pleasure.

"Come with me," he growls into my ear, while madly hunching his hips into mine.

A hand snakes between us and with a few flicks of his fingertip on my clit, my back arches and I scream his name as orgasm thunders through my body from the top of my head to the curl of my toes. I feel him, hear him groaning deeply as his thrusts slow and then stop. His hips jerk through the aftershocks. He pants, trying to catch his breath.

I grab him by the cheeks and pull his face down to mine and kiss him, working my tongue around his mouth. I taste the saltiness of sweat. And peanut butter and coffee.

My legs lock around him. I feel him begin to relax, his body sinking onto mine.

After a few minutes, I can form words again. "Wow," is the first one that falls out.

"Wow would be right," he responds, his head nestled on my shoulder.

"That was way more amazing than I remember."

"That's a good thing. Right?" I feel him smile against my skin.

"Preston?"

He lifts his head, catches my eyes and smiles. "Yes."

"Why are we on the couch?"

I start laughing and he joins in later. I feel his belly bouncing against mine, the harder he laughs. He moves to sit up and happens to glance down at the couch underneath us.

"Oh, shit... Angie..."

I sit up, trying to see what he's looking at. I must be still be drunk from orgasm, because I shrug off the spot on the fabric. "If I was worried about the couch, we would have never had sex here." I pat him on the arm, then rub reassuringly. "I'll take care of it later."