For now, I have him.
That’s all I want.
Eighteen
“Lose the halo, don’t need to resist. A lick of the lips and my grip on your hips.”
– Sick, Sick, Sick
I know what it’s like to start sleeping with someone and immediately lose yourself to them. I know that’s a thing I do. I crave them, lust after them, obsess over them until I finally have them, and then I can’t stop having them. I give myself over, mind, body, soul, like a junkie, exchanging myself for a high that I never want to come down from.
But while I’m like that, Max is not.
Don’t get me wrong. The man fucked me all morning long until my body physically couldn’t take it anymore. He knows what I like, knows what he likes, and he’s extremely skilled at getting us both there.
But by the time afternoon rolled around, he knew we needed some fresh air and something to eat. Neither of us had even eaten dinner last night, thanks to all the dark dealings at Rose’s bar, so we were both starving by the time we finally left the hotel.
And once we were done having lunch, he grabbed my hand and led me out on the streets to see the rest of the city. No matter where we went, whether it was the Voodoo Museum, a Vampire Café, Café du Monde, he was always finding some way to keep us connected. Hand in my back pocket, fingers resting at the small of my back, arm linked with mine. The constant contact was a pretty good substitute for not being back at the hotel and rolling around in the sheets together. I mean, considering.
“Ever seen Gwar?” Max asks me.
We’re standing outside the House of Blues and I’m sucking back on a to-go Bloody Mary, watching a horse and carriage trot past. “I’m sorry, Gwar? Isn’t the lead singer dead?”
Max shrugs. “I was dead.”
I give him a steady look. “Oh, come on.”
“They’re in costume. I’m sure they’ve continued on with new members.”
I sigh. “I don’t even know what they sound like, but I know I won’t like it.”
“You dragged me to a rave.”
“Yeah. And we barely stayed. And you got to make out with me.”
He gives me a lazy grin. “That I did.”
He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me right up to him, kissing me deeply. He tastes like the wine we had for lunch and it makes me feel drunk on my feet.
Or maybe that’s all the drinks I’ve had.
“See, now you can make out with me all the time,” I tell him, smiling against his lips. “And, you know, you can fuck my brains out too.”
He growls, holding me tighter, his eyes glinting. “Don’t make me take you back to the room. I want to show you my city tonight.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Blasphemy,” he says. “Come on. Show starts in a few hours and I’m hungry all over again.”
So we go to this restaurant he recommended that serves the best gumbo and fried okra, order a bottle of expensive wine, and even though I’m still a horny mess on the inside, I have to admit it’s nice to be on a date with him. Like, a real date. I don’t have to worry about touching him inappropriately or gazing at him for too long (okay, so I never really worried about those things to begin with). I know he’s not going home tonight with anyone else but me.
It feels so damn good.
The happiness just wants to burst out of me.
But it’s held back, too.
Because last night still lingers on my mind, as does our fight this morning.
The things he said, the things he felt, that I felt too.
I know he’s in a lot of pain, that he’s empty, that he’s close to giving up, that even as I look at him now, his eyes going soft as he catches my gaze, that he can’t run away from the darkness.
I want to pretend that sleeping with Max fixed him. I’d like to think I have a magic pussy, capable of putting him back together.
I know that’s not the case.
And I know pretending it is would only do us harm. So, as happy as I am, as much as this feels right, so right, enough to make a skeptic like me to start believing in destiny, I know that we aren’t out of the woods yet.
In fact, I think we’re in the middle of the woods right now.
We’re just having sex at the same time.
When we’re done with our lovely dinner, both of us pretty drunk having ordered yet another bottle of wine, we head to the House of Blues. We’re already a little late, but at least there’s no line.
And the moment we get inside, the sound rattling my fillings, I have a feeling we didn’t miss much.