Good Intentions (Welcome to Paradise) (Volume 2) (16 page)

Putting my feet up on the counter, I keep my knees together until his gaze trails down. Parting my legs, I give him a nice view as I touch myself. I’ve never done this in front of anyone else and definitely never imagined I would be doing this so comfortably in front of someone watching me so intently.

His eyes are focused on my small movements as I tease him while teasing myself. My mouth opens as the feeling intensifies, my eyelids becoming heavy with lust from watching him enjoy the show. I lean my head back against the mirror, closing my eyes and blocking out every thought I have except for one—Evan. Knowing this is a bad substitute for him, I still need more, so I slip a finger inside. But I need friction and one finger isn’t going to do it, so I add another.

A moan frees itself from deep within as I start to lose myself in the sensation. I’m ripped from my fantasy only to have it replaced by him in the flesh. He pulls me off the counter and spins me around to face the mirror, encouraging me to bend forward. When I do, I look into the mirror and see him ready, condom in place. Positioning himself, our eyes connect in the reflection, and then he enters me—confident, strong, and steadfast.

From this angle, it’s all so overwhelming and my eyes flutter closed. Though he’s not rough, he’s not gentle either. I rest my weight on my forearms as he pushes in then pulls out, each thrust given with passion and ease. One of his hands rests on my back as the other holds my hips in place.

“Look up. Look at me,” he says between jagged breaths.

I open my eyes as his hands slide up and around to my breasts and he takes hold, picking up his rhythm again. He squeezes and I push back into him with this new leverage, eliciting a moan from both of us and slam back again as he thrusts forward.

“Touch yourself again,” he says.

“Uh huh,” I hum, staggering for control.

After stabilizing my body with my other arm, I touch myself, but this time going right for my most sensitive spot. When I open my eyes, I see his are dark, taking me in and I lick my lips.

“I like that.” His voice is a bit hoarse, affected by our activity.

Slowly, seductively, and yet innocently, I lick my bottom lip again, then dig into it with my top teeth until it hurts, the pain mixing with the pleasure he’s giving me.

Evan stops thrusting, his tongue licking his own lips as he watches my mouth. He slams into me and groans, “Oh fuck, I’m not gonna last.”

His eyes shut tight as his orgasm overcomes him. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the feeling of this, of him, of Evan invading my every sense as he continues moving inside me. I’m too blissed out to scream when I’m swallowed by desire. I can’t speak or say anything remotely comprehensible, but I manage a few audible moans and then collapse onto the counter top.

His body rests lightly on top of mine, my breasts pressed against the cool marble top. I lay my cheek against it hoping to slow my speeding heart and stabilize my breathing. His stubble covered cheek rests against my back for a moment trying to steady his own breathing.

“So, you want to be a psych major?” I ask, picking up our conversation where we left off earlier with a giggle.

He chuckles which reverberates against my body. “I thought I would start using my skills for good instead of evil.”

We both laugh together as he helps me up, disposing of the condom at the same time. He turns the faucet on warm and grabs for a washcloth that sits neatly on the shelf under the counter. He wets it, and asks, “May I?”

I nod, surprised by the sweet gesture, and part my legs. He rubs the terry cloth softly along my inner thighs then strokes upward—cleaning me, caring for me.

He wipes himself off, tosses the washcloth on the side of the tub and carries me back into the bedroom. Setting me down on the bed with my head on the pillow, he runs to retrieve the earlier offending sheet and blanket, covering me up and tucking me in. He slips underneath without disturbing the covers protecting me from the chilly air conditioning.

I roll onto my side and he does the same so we face each other in the moonlight.

“I think our foundation is solid.”

I give him a small smile and say, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose. “Like the Rock of Gibraltar.”

“Rock solid.”

“I love you, Mallory.”

“I love you, too.”

Time is elusive. I can’t count on it any longer. Ever since Mallory came into my life it is either racing by or crawling; sometimes it even stands still. I’ve lived the life of unpredictability for so long that I don’t recognize a lot of what my life has become, which is disappointing.

I need to make some changes and I think the first is to weigh the pros and cons of the job in New York. Even if I’m too lazy to write them down, I should at least take a tally in my head. I also need to talk to Mallory about it. Over the last two weeks, since the party, we are inseparable. Apart from work, we spend every minute together, almost to the point of ridiculousness. But we like where we are right now. Actually,
we love it
. This is how it should’ve been from the beginning.

We spend the next two weeks talking, laughing, sharing, and exploring each other. We don’t fight. There aren’t even tiny moments of irritation. We’re happy. It is as simple as that. It seems that all of the hurdles that once stood in our way have been jumped and left in the past.

We don’t talk about my mother. I wanted to on several occasions, but I’m not willing to give away any second of happiness with Mallory to deal with that issue. So, I don’t. I greedily hoard her all to myself and can tell she’s doing the same with me.

I’ve discovered what true beauty is, especially when I see Mallory first thing in the morning—sleepy eyes, lips barely parted, and snuggled into my side—I realize I’ve never known it at all. She is pure beauty and awe in my eyes, but I feel her splendor in the way she is with me as well. She expresses her love so openly through touches, whispers, her giggles, and blushes. I try my best to make her feel how she makes me feel.

But nothing takes away that nagging feeling that has moved into the back of my head and set up camp—her impending departure. Although I have concerns over whether I should take this job in New York or not, I push them to the back, right next to thoughts of her departure, and focus on our time together.

Today, I have big plans. I’m spending the day with Ms. Chart. We grocery shop and she’s showing me how to make lasagna from scratch in the main kitchen. She said this would impress Mallory, so I’m making the effort to learn for both of us . It’s not a monumental step, but it is a little one toward my independence from the life of luxury I’ve led thus far. One thing I am positive of is that once I’m back in school and then after graduation, my parents aren’t going to gift me a private chef. So this little lesson into the culinary world will come in handy.

Mallory arrives at my house at exactly 6:48 p.m. I’ve been counting the minutes for the last hour. They’ve been dragging except for the time I spent with Ms. Chart.

When Sunny drops her off on the lower portion of the driveway, I greet her by wrapping my arms around her waist and holding her to me. “I missed you,” I say and kiss her forehead because I like to, but she also really likes it, so I do it often.

“I missed you, too. It’s kind of getting out of hand—”

“What is?”

“I just don’t like being away from you. All I think about all day at work is how much I wish I was with you instead or thinking about what you’re doing at that moment. It’s silly really,” she says, looking up at me, her hands resting on my upper arms.

“That makes me feel a little less insane because I do the same exact thing all day. Come on. I have a surprise for you.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Why is that the first question people ask when someone says they have a surprise for them? You know the answer to that.”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise then?”

“Ding ding ding!”

We walk around to the table by the pool and she stops, causing me to also stop. “Did you,” she starts, but goes quiet then starts again, “did you do all this for me?”

I turn back to the table and smile, proud as a peacock.

“A romantic dinner for two? This is stunning, Evan,” she says, squeezing my hand.

“So are you, baby.” I take her over, pulling her chair out and tucking her neatly up to the table. I pour each of us a glass of Chianti and then dish out the salad.

“Let me serve you tonight,” she says, “You went to so much trouble for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“No, that won’t do at all. I’m here to wine and dine you tonight.”

“But you already own my heart.”

I narrow my eyes at her playfully, and pout a bit. “Will you please let me do this for you?”

She agrees to let me handle the night. As usual, our conversation is easy. I find myself analyzing, maybe even over-analyzing her every little move: the way she eats, the way her smile envelops her face when she laughs from the gut, the way she blinks slower when we talk more intimately, and the way her hands move with such purpose, but sometimes give her uncertainty away.

“You haven’t been treated well by past boyfriends, have you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“You already know I was cheated on.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

She looks down and rolls a cherry tomato around on her plate before stabbing it. “Evan, I don’t want to waste our time together talking about stuff that doesn’t matter.” She feeds herself the tomato while watching me as she chews.

“Okay,” I say, not wanting to upset her. It’s clear I’ll need to treat her special so she carries that with her back to school. I want her loaded and bogged down with happy memories from this summer and I’m hoping they can override all the bad ones she’s collected.

“I was thinking I could visit you in Colorado… if you want”

She sets her fork down and smiles. “Really?”

Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine and look her in the eyes. “For purely selfish reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” she says, giggling. “But I can live with that.”

We enjoy the leisurely meal and she can’t get over that I had made this all by myself. It was under Ms. Chart’s direction, but my hands had done all the work. After letting our meal settle, we walk the beach, hand in hand.

“Evan, I have two weeks left…” she starts, but pauses before continuing again, “…I know we don’t like to talk about it, but I feel like we need to.”

I stand in front of her holding both her hands and say, “Then we should talk about it.”

“I don’t know how things will be when I leave. How we’ll be or what will happen to us.” She steps closer, hugging me, taking a long breath before adding, “I’m scared for us.”

After taking a deep breath, I nod because I feel the same.

The sincerity softens her expression in the moonlight. “You told me once that we were more than just a summer of fun. Do you still believe that?”

As I look down into her soulful eyes, worry creases her brow. “I don’t think you understand how much I love you, Mallory. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. I don’t even allow myself to think about you leaving because my heart hurts and my mind goes into some kind of freakish negative overdrive thinking about every possible thing that can hurt us or separate us.”

Feeling the weight of my fears tumbling down over me, I let her go and walk into the water until it drifts up to my ankles before flowing back out again. I squat down staring beyond the break point for a minute before returning to her. “Am I enough? I need to know. If I’m not with you in Colorado, are you willing to try this long distance thing?”

She slides her hands up my chest and around my neck pulling me to her. “Oh, Evan, we’re so worried about getting our hearts broken that we didn’t realize that’s how the other feels. I’m more than willing to lay my heart on the line for you. I already have. I don’t think it will be easy, but I think we can make it.”

Her warmth is all I need and she knows this, so she kisses me. I open my mouth even though I know our conversation is not over.

She stops, tilts her head to the side, and asks, “When we say things like ‘make it’, what are we trying to achieve?”

We stroll back to the house, needing the time to think about what that means, what we mean. One thing that I’ve always loved when talking to Mallory is that she’s also a great listener and usually only asks questions she really wants to know the answer to. And I want to give her a meaningful one.