Walk on Water (30 page)

“Do they still make that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with good authority.

But I was too embarrassed to tell him how I had spent more than twenty years—some of them married—stopping at department store fragrance counters just to be sure.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded Luke.

He turned on his side now, repositioning his legs, and resting on his elbow to gaze down at me, his eyes heavy with arousal. Really—must he also have such luscious lashes too?

“You could smell like the
Pine-Sol
lady as far as I’m concerned,” he said gently slipping a finger into my swelling cavern.

I gasped. His smile became luminous.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

“What question?” I replied breathlessly while he stroked my clit, and I squeezed his fingers with my burning walls.

Soon I was being carried out to sea in currents of pleasure that seemed to drown me. I struggled to swim to shore, to hold back, but like Poseidon, Luke ruled the waves. He overtook my body, claiming it with his hands, his mouth, his breath. At last there was no choice but to surrender, to drown in the rapture he gave me, flooding his face with my own hot surge.

When I was resting on the beach once more, wrapped in Luke’s arms, my body trembling only a little, I remembered again how desperately I wanted to give him this feeling too. How I wanted to know his whole body. And it was
whole
in every way that mattered. It was only that he kept me away from a part of it. I yearned for us to try, to go out to sea together, to walk on the warm water and sink into the divine waves. When it was possible, why should we never have that experience again? Because it would be
different
? What if
different
was perhaps even more?

Tentatively I moved my fingers across the imaginary borderline, barely touching the thick crinkly hair between Luke’s legs. His breathing changed and he caught my hand, bringing it back to his chest and holding it there.

“Luke—”

“It’s no good, Rachel.”

“But you can feel it,” I said, my head still resting on his shoulder. “I know you can.”

“Not the way you think. Not really.”

“You said manual stimulation could—”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s you, Luke. It’s still you.”

Sighing, he let me go, pulling away a little. I sat up, folding my arms across my bare breasts. I had gone too far, reminding him of his limitations and ruining the bliss we had just shared. Luke’s eyes were closed. His flaccid penis lay between his flaccid legs. I had asked for too much again. Why must I always be so greedy? I trembled once more but not for good reasons, and I searched frantically through my professional brain files for the right words to say, to back us out of this situation before there was irreparable harm.

“I thought I was satisfying you,” Luke said.

See. Harm.
I had screwed up.

“You do,” I told him urgently. “Oh Luke, you do. But I want to satisfy you too.”

It’s not you, it’s me
I nearly said, and I would have meant it. Luke looked at me.

“You do, Rachel,” he said. “Why won’t you believe me? Why won’t you ever believe me?”

I shivered suddenly. Luke reached for me pulling me close. His bare arms were warm. I nestled against him gratefully.

“I believe you, Luke,” I pleaded quietly. “I do. I just want us not to hold back anything that’s all. I can’t treat your body like half of it isn’t here. I don’t want to. I want to know all of you.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Is that so wrong?” I begged to know.

“I should have known you’d do this to me,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Never mind.” He breathed deeply. “Go get me some water.”

I rose up to meet his eyes.

“Go,” he said slapping me on the rump. “We don’t have all night.”

In a flash I returned to the bed with a small glass of water and watched Luke pop one of those
little blue pills
into his mouth, which as it turns out he kept in the nightstand drawer next to the bed. He had obviously taken them before, probably with Stephanie-the-teacher. So why would he be so reluctant with me? In any case, for a lot men, the pills really did work. I had done my research. I handed Luke the glass of water and waited attentively to take it back when he was done.

“Relax, Rachel,” he advised with a lop-sided grin. “It’s not like pumping a tire—although they do have something that works like that too. With the pills you have to wait a while.”

“Oh,” I replied embarrassed. “I-I know. Forty-five minutes to an hour.”

Luke arched a brow quizzically.

“Know the generic name too?” he asked as he set the empty glass down on the nightstand.

Sildenafil citrate.
But I was quiet. Luke smiled.

“I told you Rachel, I like it that you do your homework.”

Crawling back into bed, I snuggled up against him again.

“So I’m assuming,” added Luke. “You also know this could be a flop…so to speak.”

“It can’t be,” I replied, slipping my arm around his waist and pressing my cheek against his chest.

“And you’ll have to be on top,” Luke informed me. “You okay with that?”

“Sure,” I answered easily.

“You didn’t used to be.”

“I changed too.”

“Okay,” Luke laughed a little.

But he should see how much I had changed. Moving to kneel before him on the bed, I bent down and softly brought my lips to his penis, gently running my tongue around the circumcised crown, before taking first the tip and then the shaft into my mouth. I tasted him, savored him, felt his manhood move against my tongue, felt it grow firmer. When I met Luke’s eyes again they were languid deep brown pools. Maybe he had felt it. Perhaps he had only seen it. But no matter how he had liked it.

“What happened to my good girl?” Luke asked in a voice husky now.

Smiling at him I gently spread his legs apart so that I could sit between them. Bending my knees, I placed my feet on either side of his hips and scooted up to him so that our genitals were touching. Putting my arms around his neck I pressed myself against him as he stroked my back. I reached down between us and began slowly caressing his growing erection, pressing its hardening head against my swollen, wet, waiting labia.

“In a hurry?” Luke breathed into my ear.

Yes.
Twenty years was a very long time.

The next morning Luke was up early as usual. His clock radio read 5:27 a.m. and he was already up and in the bathroom, showering, shaving, and all the other things he needed to do to get ready for work. I should be doing the same, or at least getting dressed so I could go home and get ready for work myself. Maybe someday I could be audacious enough to bring an overnight bag when I was going to spend the night. Now the clock read 5:30. Rolling out of bed I gathered my clothes. My toothbrush was in Luke’s bathroom and he expected his privacy, so my teeth would have to wait.

By the time I joined him in the kitchen he had prepared a cup of coffee for me and turned on
National Public Radio.

“Scrambled eggs, okay?” he asked.

I could surely get used to this.

“Sounds great,” I happily replied.

“Why don’t you make us some toast?” he suggested.

Might I have a million mornings like this, I marveled, with Luke scrambling eggs for us, dressed in a pair of suit slacks and an undershirt? How many years was a million mornings? Was that like forever? The toast popped up and buttering the two slices I placed one on each of our plates with the eggs. Then I brought the plates to the table.

“There’s cranberry juice in the fridge,” said Luke.

“You want some?” I asked.

“No, I’m good. Thought you might.”

“No, coffee’s fine.”

I bowed my head and offered a silent quick grace, and when I looked up as usual Luke was waiting respectfully. I smiled at him appreciatively. Now we were lovers completely. Last night I had explored his whole body, his
whole
body.

We mostly ate our breakfast without conversation, letting the radio voices fill the space. I liked that about him too, that silence could be comfortable between us, that if I went
wow
or something about some news item, he would generally have a good idea about what I was thinking and maybe even agree. When we both finished eating I carried the plates and forks to the dishwasher.

“Luke,” I said with my back to him.

“Yeah, babe?” he answered.

I loved his voice so much, the way he called me
babe
. It felt familiar, comfortable.

“So the pop-over,” I just had to ask. “It’s okay with you?”

When Luke didn’t answer right away I became a little fearful but I turned to face him anyway. I’d understand if he said no. I wouldn’t push him about it. But it was different between us, wasn’t it? What he had admitted to Mommy. What we had done last night. Yet we hadn’t made it exclusive—not officially. Brian was history, but that didn’t mean Stephanie was. And there might even be others. I wasn’t the only woman in the world who could appreciate Luke’s most
magnificent
assets, no matter what our mothers believed.

“It’s totally okay,” Luke said.

Relieved, I smiled. In the words of Lucas,
that must mean something
.

“Does it bother you that I can’t?” he asked.

“Can’t what?” I asked back before the meaning dawned on me a millisecond later.

“Pop over?” Luke smiled crookedly.

The
seventeen steps
. They were still there. A great concrete barrier between him and my home. He shifted his weight in the chair.

“I wish you could see my place,” I said.

“And meet Tony-the-Tiger and Agatha,” he added.

According to the radio announcer, Stemmons Freeway was backed up due to an accident involving a tractor-trailer.

“Your mom has a point, Rachel,” Luke reminded me. “A lot of the time, it won’t be easy with me.”

It was seven o’clock. I’d have to hurry and I might still be late, but I had learned a long time ago not to schedule appointments before nine-thirty. Dallas traffic could be unpredictable for everybody.

“Okay,” I conceded going to him. “A point. Maybe.” Climbing into his lap I put my arms around his neck. “But my darling, you’ve got game.”

Luke smiled.

“You sure you’re not just lowering the rim?” he asked.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to,” I replied.

.

TWENTY-EIGHT

W
hen the microwave finally beeped, Corrine gave a cheer, a sarcastic one of course, since she was highly annoyed with me for taking so long to heat my glazed chicken with rice and vegetables.

“I told you to stop putting them in the freezer,” she complained. “It takes too long that way.”

“The directions say ‘keep frozen’, Corrine,” was my rebuttal.

“Learn to live dangerously, Rae. You’ll have more fun.”

Or so she believed, I thought. And maybe—just maybe—I believed it too.

Corrine and I were having our
Lean Cuisine
dinners together in her office. With the holiday season in full gear, we were in the middle of a calorie extravaganza. It seemed like every day there was some kind of decadent treat in the break-room, not to mention the homemade edible individual gifts that kept appearing on our desks from a host of well-meaning Santas. Added to all of that were the holiday parties, impromptu get-togethers, Christmas programs and pageants, and shopping, all of which left very little time for the gym. All in all a lot of waist bands were going to be in big trouble come January. At least having
Lean Cuisine
meals whenever you could was one heroic attempt to stave off disaster.

But I had never been happier. I had always been the type to sing along with the ubiquitous carols of the season even in public places, but these days I was singing loud enough to garner curious glances from passersby. I supposed there could be such a thing as having too much
Christmas spirit
. Oh well. Being in love could be a wonderful thing, especially at Christmastime.

My evolving relationship with Luke (I still didn’t know what to call myself and it was too awkward to ask him) meant that I got to invite him to some of my social functions and he invited me to some of his. Yes, I would carry out my secret reconnaissance to make sure the venues were accessible for him first, but once we arrived at an event, Luke would handle himself flawlessly despite his
four-foot perspective
. He was so handsome and charming that a number of my friends and co-workers actually confessed envy, and that had never happened before with my dates. It was kind of nice going from
Oh you came by yourself
, to
He’s nice,
to
Oh my God, girl, he’s cute!
Twenty years later, and after everything he’d been through, Lucas Sterling could still elevate your social status by his mere association. Whatever I was
to
him, it was absolutely fantastic being
with
him.

“Your long lost love, huh?” Melinda,
the fashionista,
had whispered to me during our office Christmas party.

“Did Corrine say something?” I had asked Melinda, embarrassed and delighted at the same time.