Afraid to Love (7 page)

His hands held tight to my breasts, squeezing, massaging, tempting me for more of him. I wiggled my hips as I moved, making sure not one atom of my pleasure was left out.

I was so close to the edge that my limbs were trembling, but I wouldn't stop moving. I refused to stop before I felt the explosion of pleasure deep within my belly.

Mark's hands slid down my sides and grabbed my hips. I let my weight fall onto his hands as he guided me over his manhood again and again. We were both sweating and panting, but breathing wasn't important. We were so close, too close. I slid a hand between my legs and trapped my swollen little nub between two fingers. I applied the slightest bit of pleasure to its slippery peak and threw my head back in pleasure.

“Mark!” I called out.

I was lost to the sensations of my own body, but I could feel Mark bucking up hard into me. His strong thrusts drew out my own dizzying pleasure. I felt him twitch and soon his warm, sticky seed exploded inside of me. I collapsed on top of him panting, and his arms cradled me against his chest.

As I drifted in and out of sleep, exhausted from work and sex, I realized that nothing else mattered. I wanted to be with Mark because when I was with him the craziness of the world made a little more sense.

                                                                      Chapter 8: Mark

I've never been so thankful for insomnia, because that morning it led me right where I wanted to be. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, but I still hadn't finished
The Ebony Heartbreak
. I worked on it every day, but I was constantly rewriting lines. I wanted it to be just as the person I was writing it about.

Charlie had been a hit with the publishers. They had even sent me another check for it. Royalties were coming in and I was on top of the world, or at least my version of it. My agent couldn't wait to get her hands on
The Ebony Heartbreak
, but it was pushing my limits. Words that once flowed from my fingertips trickled to a drop in the bucket most days. I would have lost my mind if Cynthia hadn't been a constant.

My sleep schedule had done a one-eighty to match hers and my dad was always complaining that he could never get in touch with me, but I didn't care. I would spend my nights staring at the screen, typing one difficult word after another, and watching the clock.

We met at the cafe every morning, but usually did breakfast at my place. We'd pick up something or I'd cook. Our jobs stressed us both out, but together we were happy.

“How was work?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat.

“Terrible,” she shook her head, “Two cardiac arrests in one night.”

“Five hundred words,” I told her.

“That's it?” she asked. “There was also another accident, but luckily this drunk hit a tree and not a car load of teenagers.”

“Yep, that's it. I rewrote a bit more too, but it sucks. Not too lucky for the tree though,” I said.

“Maybe not, but better the tree than some poor kid,” Cynthia said.

“Agreed,” I nodded.

“What's for breakfast?” she asked.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Waffles,” she laughed.

“I'll try, but you remember last time I only smoked up the place,” I chuckled.

“I saw Sandra on her way in this morning,” she said.

I bit my lip. Any time Cynthia crossed paths with her ex-coworker it was a bad day. She had never forgiven Sandra for making her feel like a total ass hat.

“She flipped me off,” Cynthia said.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I told her to go eat herself,” Cynthia laughed.

“You shouldn't say stuff like that at work,” I sighed.

“I wasn't on the clock,” she shrugged, “Besides, I don't know if I'm going to be there much longer.”

“Did you find another hospital you liked better?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged.

Another week passed and Cynthia was losing the light she had gained since the first night we made love. Every attempt I made to cheer her up only made things worse.

“Why did you send roses to me at work?” she demanded when she arrived.

“Because they're your favorite,” I told her.

“Maybe, but you don't send roses to the ER,” she sighed.

“At least I didn't send chocolates,” I chuckled, hoping it would make her laugh, too.

“Sometimes I don't think you get how serious my job is, Mark! People's lives depend on me being there, being in the game! I don't get to sit home all damn night and stare at a computer and still have money coming in! I have a real job!”

After she finished tearing me a new asshole and insulting my passion and career, she stormed out and I slammed the door shut behind her. My hands shook with anger and since I wasn't sure what else to do, I sat down at my laptop. My angry fingers danced on the keyboard, finishing the chapter that had proven difficult until now.

I was beginning to wonder if I had been wrong about Cynthia. Maybe she wasn't the great person I thought she was. Maybe she was just a bitch. I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud, and I felt guilty for even thinking it. I wasn't going to give up on her. If I did, it would only make her think she was right about the world and if I was honest with myself I would have known that I was in too deep to walk away now. The ebony lioness had me mesmerized.

I wasn't expecting to hear from Cynthia the next morning, but she showed up just on time.

“I brought food,” she said and held up the carry out bag like a peace offering.

I waved her in and sat down.

“I'm sorry,” we both said at the same time and laughed.

“Mark,” she said, “you know I love your stuff. I might actually be your biggest fan. I'm just stressed out. Don't send flowers to my work anymore though, please, the place already reminds me of enough of a morgue without having flowers waiting for the tombstones, too.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, “I thought they'd cheer you up.”

“I don't think anything could cheer me up while I'm there,” Cynthia sighed.

“Happiness is a journey, not a destination,” I said quoting one of those silly motivational posters.

“Maybe, but I don't think the emergency room is part of that journey,” she countered.

I thought about what she said while I watched Cynthia set out the food.

“What about the people you save?” I asked.

“We don't save everyone,” she retorted.

“Every person counts,” I tried.

“Yeah, I know,” she nodded.

For a moment, I thought I made her feel better.

“That's why it sucks that I know eight of my patients have died,” she said.

“How many have lived?” I asked.

“No one keeps count of that,” Cynthia said.

“Well, maybe they should,” I grinned.

My stomach was growling, but I pulled Cynthia into my arms anyway. My hunger for her was stronger than any I've ever felt for food. I kissed her neck and picked her up.

“What are you doing?” she laughed.

“I'm going to lay you down and make love to you until you're too giddy to think about work,” I said.

“Oh, really?” she laughed, “That may take a while.”

“I have all day,” I said, and laid her down gently on the bed.

I kissed her again before I started to undress her. Piece by piece, I removed her clothing, revealing her beautiful ebony skin. I kissed each part of her body as I went along.

Cynthia soon lay only in her peach thong smiling up at me. Its color against her skin made me draw in a sharp breath as my dick began to harden. I tucked my thumbs under the waistband and slowly slipped them down her legs and over her feet before tossing them aside with the rest of her discarded clothes.

Cynthia parted her legs and ran her well-manicured fingers over her pussy. My heart thumped against my ribcage as I watched her touch herself and imagined what her slippery folds would feel like under my fingers and tongue.

I laid between her legs and gently parted the lips and kissed her clit. I rolled my tongue over it and she shifted her weight. My tongue pressed against its tip and she let out a soft moan, making my prick twitch. I lapped at her juicy wetness and gently slid a finger inside of her. Her muscles contracted around me and she moaned.

I continued worshiping her until my mind was consumed by my desire for her. I wanted to sink into her and never surface. I tried to pull away from her and sit up, but Cynthia put a hand on the back of my head. She wanted more. Grinning, I returned my attention to her juicy folds.

Cynthia arched her back and entwined her fingers in my short hair.

“Mark!” she gasped, and I knew I had brought her to climax.

Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and pulled me on top of her. Our lips met in a hurried kiss and she wrapped her hand around my dick, squeezing it. My eyelids fluttered as she guided me into her body. I thrust deep into her and let out a groan of pleasure when her long fingernails sank into the flesh of my shoulders and slid down my back.

Her brown eyes were locked to mine as I moved inside of her. Cynthia's soft folds held tightly to my throbbing member as it twitched. Her mouth met mine and I kissed her as I came.

The act itself was over quickly because I was too ready and we were both too tired. I nuzzled my head into Cynthia's breasts and kissed one of her nipples. She gave a tired moan that let me know that she would want to go again after we got some sleep.

“I love you,” I whispered to her.

“Uh-huh,” she said and made some sleep little noise.

She had never returned those three little words to me and every time she didn't it stung.

I woke up and reached out for Cynthia, but her spot in the bed was cold. Sighing, I sat up and stretched. I hated when she left without telling me.

“Mornin'!” Cynthia's voice reached my ears from some foggy place in the waking world.

“Good morning,” I said, looking around for her.

She was sitting in front of my laptop and I almost asked her what the hell she was doing. I'm a writer and that means my laptop is my life. I don't share it and no one is supposed to touch it or even look at it too hard.

“What's up?” I asked, trying to not sound too alarmed.

“Just sending an email,” she shrugged.

“An email?” I asked.

“To work,” she said.

“I thought you were off tonight?” I asked.

“I am, and after I finish this e-mail, I won't be going back,” she said.

“What?” I demanded.

“I can't do it anymore. I can't stand it, Mark!” she shouted.

“Why are you shouting at me?” I asked.

“I'm not!” she said. “It's just never going to work, Mark! I can't stand watching people die in the ER and I'm not going back to working with Sandra and all those white people who hate me!”

“They don't hate you, Cynthia! Don't you see it's all in your fucking head?” I shouted.

“You don't get it! You've never understood, and I've tried to tell you, Mark!” she yelled.

“No, you don't get it, Cynthia!” I yelled, finally losing my cool.

I knew I should have shut up, because it didn't matter what I said. This fight was going to be blamed on me.

“I love you, damn it to hell! Cynthia, I love you, but I can't stand here and watch you throw everything away! No one is in your way but your damn self!” I yelled at her.

My hands were shaking and I felt lightheaded. She had chosen to be blind!  She had chosen to live her life in the dark. I had failed her!

“Fuck off, Mark! Just fuck off!” she shouted. “I'm done! I'm done with the hospital and I'm done with you!” She dressed as she shouted at me. “You're never going to understand! Never! I've tried so fucking hard, Mark! Do you think I don't love you? I fucking love you! Alright, there you go, Mark! I love you, but it's just not going to work!”

Cynthia stormed out, carrying her purse and her shoes under her arm. I slipped my boxers on and chased after her, but she ignored every plea I made. She wouldn't speak to me or even look at me as she got into her car and drove away.

Feeling defeated, I went back to my apartment and did what I always did when the world was on the brink of destruction: I wrote. I wrote until the story was done and I printed it out without stopping to edit it. My agent expected to be the first to see it, but that honor wasn't destined to be hers. No, that honor was going to go to the woman who had just ripped my heart out and ate it.
 

                                                                      Chapter 9: Cynthia

When I got home, I was pissed as hell. I wish I could say that I was pissed at Mark, but I was more pissed at myself. Why did I allow myself to get so close to him? How could I have been so stupid?

I didn't send in my resignation letter, but over the next few weeks work became intolerable. I was arguing with my coworkers over every little thing. They put my every action under a microscope and nothing I did impressed them, not that I wanted to impress them. I just wanted them to leave me alone and let me do my damn job. I avoided any place that I might run into Mark and he didn't seem to be trying to find me either. For that I was thankful.

Sometimes, when I sat in my big empty house eating, I missed him, but I told myself that it was only because I wasn't used to living alone. I went from living with Daddy to living in a dorm full of people. I didn't miss Mark. I just missed having people around, but where was I better off with the people? If the world was against you, it was better to be alone. At least then you knew where you stood.

The doorbell sounded and startled me from my thoughts.

“Who the hell is that?” I snapped, walking into the living room.

I opened the door to see a rather tall mail man holding a large envelope under one arm and his signature tracker in his other hand.

“I have a package for you,” he said with a grin.

“I didn't order anything,” I said.

“Well, someone sent you a present,” he chuckled. “Just sign here and you can find out.”

I rolled my eyes and signed his computer. He handed me the package and I sighed. It didn't have a return address and it felt like a bunch of papers. It reminded me of the package I had received when Daddy died. I studied the envelope and remembered that day. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the memory.