One to Love (One to Hold 4)

Slayde

Being apart from Kenny was the most acute, self-inflicted torture I’d ever experienced. In a period of just a few weeks, she’d become the light in my otherwise bleak existence. If the ocean were my living room, she was my sun and moon.

Tuesday, she’d been confused. Wednesday, she was pissed. I was in the pit of hell.

She was completely justified, and it only made me want her even more. If I thought distancing myself from her would give me clarity, I was an idiot. It only clouded my mind and made me think of nothing but having her back in my arms.

I’d close my eyes, and I’d see her deep violet hair. I’d throw an arm over my head, and I’d feel the curve of her breast against my mouth. I’d shove my head under the pillow, and I could see her ass, small and round, her hips perked and waiting for me to slide inside as she made those little noises begging for more.

FUCK! Yes. Torture.

This morning when she asked me to kiss her in the gym, the floodgates opened and satisfaction filled every crack in my broken insides. I consumed those lips, tasting her sweet mint flavor, dying a little bit because I knew I’d have to tell her everything at some point, and God only knew how that would end.

At the same time, after what I’d seen in her hand, maybe there was hope for me? If she were carrying a secret that big, maybe nothing I might say would send her running? It was impossible to know until we talked.

Last night I was back in heaven, wrapped in her arms. In only three days, I’d missed her like snow in the wintertime or flowers in spring. I sought out every part of her body to cover with my mouth as she twisted in the sheets and laughed, catching my cheeks and kissing me every chance she got. Finally, we slept, happy and satiated.

Tonight we were headed to Mariska’s for dinner. For a moment, I sat in the old rusted-out Ford in front of Kenny’s apartment. Her place was also small, but it was a hundred times ni

cer than my piece of shit studio, beach living room notwithstanding.

I’d looked at her door and thought about her inside getting ready. Occasionally, she’d hum some song while she did her hair. She was like a little bird..., which stirred old feelings of guilt. I wanted none of that tonight.

Hopping out, I went quickly to the door, but she had it open before I even knocked.

“I thought that was you.” She flew out in a swirl of black and violet.

I caught her in my arms and pulled her close against my chest, covering her small mouth with mine and sweeping my tongue in to find hers. Damn, I could keep her here all night.

Her hair was up in a high ponytail, but the ends hung down to the center of her back. She wore a black leotard-looking top with a deep blue patterned skirt that hung to the ground. I knew she had on some of those giant shoes underneath because her eyes were just at kissing level on me. When she was barefoot, her head rested perfectly in the center of my chest. I couldn’t decide which height I loved more.

“You are very exotic.” I let her twirl under my arm before coming to rest against me. Her skirt swirled and landed around us.

“Thanks,” she laughed, stretching her chin up and kissing my neck. I caught it in my hand, steadying her as I kissed her full on the mouth.

“Umm...” she sighed once I released her. “We’d better go. Mariska hates when I’m late.”

She followed me to the truck, but I stopped before we got in. “We can take your car if you prefer—”

“What! No way—I love your old truck.” She scooted closer under my arm. “It has character.”

“We should give it a name.”

“You’re right!” She bobbed her head, and her hair danced around her shoulders. I couldn’t help a smile. “Henry.”

“Henry Ford?”

“It’s not very original is it.” Her perky nose wrinkled, and I laughed.

“Works for me.”

* * *

Mariska met us at the door dressed similarly to Kenny. “Welcome! Come in!”

The two hugged and as Kenny went inside, her friend leaned forward, whispering. “I’m reading your future tonight, Mr. Batman.”

“I don’t think Batman uses Mister.”