His Fire Inside

“Yes, it concerned me because it’s happened twice in a week.”

“I get it. Let me take a listen to your heart. Breathe normally for me, there you go.” He keeps the stethoscope in the middle of my chest for a solid minute, then he moves it. “Okay, deep breath.” I follow his instructions. He moves it again. “Another deep breath for me.” Nodding, he looks through my file. “You been doing anything different, upping the intensity of your workout, finally add meditation like I’ve been suggesting, trying out yoga or something?”

Shaking my head, “Nothing different really.” His eyes narrow. “Okay, I have been working less. Actually leaving at normal hours and only up late for important meetings, not just because I feel like I have to work.”

“Okay, well then I’m well aware that you are gung ho for tests and catching things early, but there aren’t too many things low blood pressure on a normal day could be. I’m going to say stop taking your blood pressure medication. I think we could be good going thirty days, but we can do two weeks to see if you need to go back on, as it will take about a week to get out of your system. Check your blood pressure once a day, keep a log, and if it stays low after more than a week give me a call. We can look deeper, but I really think this is just a good thing.”

There’s a knock on the door before the nurse comes back. I’m holding my breath. With all the good things Mom and Olivia were baking, I had given in and eaten sweets several times to make them happy. Only the A1c comes back still very low, only a point up from my last visit. I shake my head. How can it be when I had pieces of cake, cookies, banana bread, things I always considered off-limits? It wasn’t a weekly thing, but maybe every other week. All that sugar, and it only caused a one-point difference.

It wasn’t until Otis clapped me on the back and told me to have a good day that I realized I was fine. I was in perfect health. All the fears I’d had for the appointment were for nothing.

As great as the news was, I haven’t yet completely processed it. And now before I have a chance to, Olivia’s talking about when she’s gone.

I fight with the voice in my head. All the other tests came back excellent, from my cholesterol to my A1c. Dad at fifty-two, his father at fifty-three; hell that gave us at least a decade together. Some people never get that long with each other. It would be less than my parents had. The voice called me greedy and selfish: I was sentencing her to a lifetime of sadness. Maybe if she were bubbleheaded and free she’d take it in stride, but no, she was like Mom.

Olivia felt things deeply; they became a part of her soul, imprinted for better or worse. If I took us further, managed to give and put a ring on her finger, give her a child or three...god, I could see her with a little girl giggling with a smile to match her mother and big brown eyes. Stop, if you did it Olivia would be shackled to it all, not free to try and move on and make a new and different life for herself. She was doing the right thing, leaving after the contract was over, and I needed to let her.

Sometimes being cruel to be kind felt like just being cruel.

***

Olivia

When Rourke gets home he’s quiet, reserved. He’s right about Cheryl’s steadfast refusal for anyone to go with her. She gives in on taking the cell phone she hates, then goes to bed early so she can leave before traffic gets started tomorrow. Once Cheryl goes to bed, Rourke claims he has work to do in the study. I’m trying not to freak out over the way Rourke is acting, but it’s not easy. I can’t get into a book or television so I give up and go for another swim. I’ve gotten out of the habit of swimming at night since I usually spent time in the pool during the day. I also haven’t needed the stress relief as much.

I put my hair in a bun, then put the plastic cap over it to keep it from getting wet. Since Cheryl rarely gets up and I’m too lazy to go looking for the tankini I hate anyway, I strip, then dive into the deep end. To work off my stress I do laps until I’m sore then float for a while, losing track of time as I wonder what is going on with Rourke.

I’m so lost in my thoughts there is no warning before strong arms come around me, pulling me tight against Rourke’s hard body. Oh thank god, is my last thought as his mouth goes down to the place where my shoulder and neck meet. Teeth graze lightly before nipping the skin; velvet soft, his tongue roams over the spot, then he sucks almost as if to soothe but quickly it stings. An arm tightens around me with one hand tugging painfully on an aching nipple, whil

e his other hand teases my slit. I tremble in reaction, in welcome—it’s been weeks since he was rough.

Only I’m wrong: Rourke isn’t rough, he’s savage. His teeth sink deep before he sucks again at the spot. My body’s response is a flood of wet heat, wanting to be owned, to be consumed by him. For me to melt into Rourke until there is nothing between us, until we become one. “Mine,” he growls in my ear. His chest rumbles along my naked back. Words are hard to form; I can only nod as I moan. “Mine.” Feral.

Desperate to placate him, I nod again. “Yours, only yours.” I moan as I try to turn in his arms. He holds me tighter, walking me toward the shallow end. The further we go the less strength my legs have, until I stumble as we attempt to go up the stairs. Rourke’s hold is so tight we fall as one across the second and third stair. I gasp as without breaking his hold, Rourke’s cock slams deep inside me.

His thrusts are fast, furious, fierce, driving me mindless. “Yours, yours,” I murmur again, feeding his need. He moans with every word, and I clench around him deep inside. “Yours,” I whisper. His growl of my name slams into my chest, breaking down every wall, clutching my heart in his hands. My climax plunges me into the depths of a swirling ocean, cutting me away from Rourke, and I cry out my fear. Arms tighten around me as he moans his own climax; the hot, wet result of him coming deep inside me burns into me, tethering me to him as the pleasure becomes gentle waves.

For a long time there are no words. We don’t move. Both of us still on our knees, his arms around me until my arms give out. I whisper an apology. When he pulls out I moan, weepy from the loss of him. Seconds later I’m in his arms, and his mouth comes down on me, sucking deep on my tongue. We stand under the outside shower, letting the water run over us; he doesn’t let me go. As he puts me down on the bed, he follows me down.

This time he makes love to me slowly, sweetly, with such gentle care I blink back tears in my eyes. His mouth comes down on mine as I come. “Mine,” he whispers. “Yours,” I exhale into him. Long after the trembling has died from our bodies, I still don’t let him go, refusing every time he tries to move. It’s how I fall asleep, with him inside me, all around me, every breath I take, the only way I want to fall asleep ever again.

17

Olivia

I wake up alone to an empty house at a little after nine. There’s a note from Cheryl, giving the address for her sister’s house and her sister’s phone number. Nothing from Rourke, not that I expected anything. I know I’ll be stressed until I do or don’t get a call from him this afternoon. In the mirror my neck is as bad as I feared it would be. My stomach flips a half dozen times remembering last night, what it meant.

After breakfast, listlessly, I stick our sheets in the washer then pull out the spare sheets because I’m pretty sure I won’t be in the mood to put these back on once they go through the machine. There are three sheet sets that fit the huge bed, which is a California king. All of them are white. In a fit of boredom I decide to go buy new sheets and another comforter that isn’t quite as heavy. Even though Cheryl keeps the house at a cool seventy all year long, Rourke gives off a ton of heat at night when he holds me.

I buy two new sheet sets, one in a bright yellow and the other in soft blue. Both will match the two different duvet covers I bought to go over the comforter. One duvet cover is a checked pattern of blue and yellow, and the other is a diamond pattern of gray and yellow. I also buy a few throw pillows, sometimes I like to come into the room to read during the day, and I like lots of pillows.

When my phone goes off with Rourke’s ringtone, I cry with relief. I have to take a deep breath before I answer. “Hey.”

“Hey, how are you today? Are you feeling okay?” His concern is clear.

“I’m good. I had to borrow one of your mom’s scarves when I went shopping today because I’m not good enough with makeup to hide my neck.”

“Sorry.” Funny, he doesn’t sound sorry. “Where did you go shopping?”