Fighting for Arielle (17 page)

Suddenly, his lips collide with
mine, much like the very first time we kissed.  His lips move with an almost desperate force.  It’s as though he’s searching for something, an answer, with them.  I return each movement with one of my own, and I channel all of my emotions into this kiss and this embrace to show him this is what I want.  He is what I want.  I part my lips and push my tongue into his mouth, searching for his.  I find it, and his is eager to meet mine.  I put my left hand behind his neck and move my right hand down over his wet clothes from his chest to his abs, inch by slow inch.  As my hand descends down his torso, his body reacts with more vigor.  My hand reaches down to massage his erection, which seems to get firmer with every movement of mine.  

He pulls his mouth away from mine and pants, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

I pull his head back down to mine.  “Before today, I didn’t know I could want anything this badly.  My body literally aches for you.”  

He begins kissing and nibbling on my neck like earlier, but this time with more abandon.
 

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” I breathe out.

“Arielle,” McCrary growls into my ear.  

“Yes?” I say in a heavy exhale.
 I half expect him to get his revenge from my teasing him earlier in the rain.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”
 

I smile in jubilation.
 I make a secret promise in my head that I never be such a tease again, but I know I will break it.  Although, for now, I am more than happy to pretend that I will keep my promise if it means having McCrary completely and all to myself.

McCrary slowly and painstakingly removes my clothes and shoes as he has me sit in a chair on his lanai.
 He notices my pierced nipples, and his eyes grow wild with his smile, but he says nothing about them.  He traces down my legs, one at a time, with his hands, followed by his mouth.  I know he does it just to tease me, but I don’t dare complain.  I seem to be oblivious to the fact that we are standing outside of his house, and that I am completely nude, but he is not.  I am too taken in by his touch and his emotion to notice.  

Still seated, he wraps his hands under my thighs and hips and slides me down to the edge of the seat, spreading my legs.
 His tongue moves languorously as he explores all of me.  This is the first time I’ve been splayed in such a way, allowing his tongue to dive so deeply.  He moves his tongue and mouth deftly over my clit and into my moist opening.  I begin to rock my hips slowly, but quickly pick up both speed and intensity as does my breathing.  Feeling my response, he moves his tongue to give me all that I need with each movement.  As I feel pleasure begin to radiate from my core, on its way to becoming ecstasy, McCrary moves his mouth to my inner thighs, and I let out a whimper.  I feel his mouth turn into a smile in response against my skin.  

“What’s wrong?
 You don’t like being teased?”  

He stands up straight above me
, and I relax my body in a large sigh and groan.  

He
places his forehead to mine.  “Lucky for you, I’m not a tease.”

McCrary picks me up as if cradling me and carries me to his bedroom.
 His clothes are still soaked and very cold to the touch, but I don’t care.

I lie on my back on his bed, breathing in his familiar and comforting smell that is housed in his bedding, as he undresses.
 I take advantage of the opportunity to see him undress and watch his every move.  He removes his running shorts, and I am immediately turned on even more than I had been outside.  McCrary climbs onto the bed and positions himself above me so that I am looking up straight into his adoring eyes.  

“I’ve wondered what you would feel like on my cock from the moment we met, but I care much more about you and your needs.
 I don’t want you to feel any regret, confusion, or hurt.  So, I’m going to ask you one more time if this is what you want.  Before you answer me, know that if at any point you get uncomfortable or have second thoughts, just tell me.  Know that it won’t change how I feel about you in any way.  If you say ‘no,’ I will wait for as long as it takes, Arielle.  But if you say ‘yes,’ know that I am going to make love to you in a way that neither of us have ever known- bonding us, connecting our souls, and experiencing unadulterated pleasure like never before.  Last thing before you answer- Are you on birth control?”

I don’t think I can answer fast enough.
 

“Yes.
 Yes.  To both.”  

McCrary smiles the most magnificent smile yet a
nd then connects that smile to mine.  

I am beyond ready for this
, and I don’t much want to waste time with more foreplay, but McCrary has other ideas.  As he kneads and massages my breasts, I think maybe he was right to touch me a little longer, but I will never admit that aloud.  I use my hands to stroke and massage his solid length, and with each stroke, his hands and mouth become more determined.  McCrary brings his lips to mine and hovers just above them so they are not touching, but the electricity stemming between both sets can still be felt.  I lift my knees up, close to my chest, and guide him to me.  I pick up my head to force his lips to meet mine, and he kisses me passionately.  As we kiss, he slowly pushes his tip into me, and I shudder as rapture fills me from head to toe.  He pushes in deeper until I feel all of him from every part of me.  I am overcome with euphoria, and I feel complete.  My life and my soul feel whole.  This is a feeling people live and die for, and I now know it, as I would do the same.  We look into each other’s eyes and, as many times before, his face says more than a million spoken words could ever convey.  My breath hitches, and I need more.  

Understanding our unspoken language, McCrary slides out some and then back in, picking up speed.
 

“You feel so good, Arielle.
 You truly are perfection.”  

I breathe heavily and move my hips in rhythm with his.
 I want to say something poignant and perfectly articulate- my thoughts and feelings -but all I manage to get out is a moan.  

Responding to the sound, he picks up the pace again and increases the amount of force behind each thrust.
 I begin to moan louder and “McCrary,” escapes from my lips.  I place my hands on his ass and appreciate the firm roundness of his cheeks by digging my fingers in.  

“Harder,” I command.
 

He does just as I order
, and my fervor begins to spill over.

“Come for me, Arielle.”
 McCrary’s chest vibrates against mine as he speaks.  “I want us to finish together.”  

Hearing his voice utter those words is all I need to shift into the reckless abandon of orgasm.
 I moan loudly, calling out his name as he breathes mine.  We leap into the throes of complete and total ecstasy together and, for a moment, we are one.  

Kissing and breathing heavily, we
come down from our apex and lie together, our bodies bonded and souls connected, having just experienced rapture that cannot be equivocated, just as he said.  McCrary places his head on my chest, still panting.  I know he must feel my heart beating out of my chest, but this is exactly where I want him to be.  

“That was beyond incredible,” I say.
 

He lifts his head and smiles a sated smile.
 “I think so too.”  

We kiss
, a little more gently this time, and enjoy every millisecond of the remainder of the night until we are too tired to remain awake.  

I fall asleep in McCrary’s arms again, and
, like the first time I was in his arms, I know I am not the same person I was when I woke up this morning.  My life again will never be as it was prior to today, only this time, I am no longer afraid of what it might become. I know all of the answers lie right here, between these two arms.

McCrary

I
lie in bed in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, with Arielle sleeping and snuggled up to me.  My arm is falling asleep, but I don’t move it.  I don’t want to move it.  I’d rather hug her with a tingly arm than not have her in my arms at all.  I am excited, but a little apprehensive as to what tomorrow may bring.  I hope I made the right decision and didn’t act rashly out of my selfish need to have her.  My ever increasing need to be connected more to her and be with her has made me become slightly dependent on her.  I only hope that it’s a healthy dependence.

Morning rays shine into the windows
, and I haven’t moved from my place on the bed.  I believe I dozed off a few times during the night, but my subconscious wouldn’t allow me to rest for long.  I continually woke up to make sure Arielle didn’t leave or wake up feeling angry.  Each time I would awaken, she would be in the same position, curled against my body and snoring in the most dainty and adorable way.  At least I don’t have to feel bad about being a snorer myself.

After a little while, Arielle begins to stir in the bed.
 Her hair is wild and all over, and I can’t help but love it.  I don’t know that there’s anything about her that I couldn’t love if I tried.  I love everything that makes up her essence of being because all of those tiny traits, behaviors, and thoughts add up to equal Arielle.  

She rolls over and places her hand on my chest and mutters in a dry, raspy voice, “What’s the story, morning glory?”
 

Smoothing her hair with my hand and brushing it toward her shoulders, I kiss the top of her head.
 

“You and your adorableness.”

She curls into me tighter and feeling her skin against mine makes my head rush with heat and desire all over again.  

“If I’m the major headline of the day, then you, my friend, need to subscribe to a more reputable publication.”
 

Even just out of sleep, she is clever and witty, which challenges me to keep up.
 

“I have very good and reputable sources who say you are indeed headline worthy.”

Her body vibrates in amusement.  “I’m going to want the names of those sources.  I need to make sure it’s not an inside job.”

“I cannot reveal my sources,” I say as I caress her exposed back.
 

“I have my ways of making people talk.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute.”  

She begins to trace small circles on my chest
, and I know if I don’t create a diversion now, we will never get out of this bed and my arm may never regain feeling.  Not that I really want to get out of bed, but I decide I would prefer to keep my arm so I can feel her with it later.  

“You want something to eat?
 It is Sunday, you know.”

“You know me so well,” she says
, sitting up, smiling, and exposing her bare chest.  “Except, it does seem a little excessive to eat Shells and Cheese first thing in the morning, so I will opt for a more traditional breakfast food.”

She stands up and stretches.
 Seeing her bare body first thing when I wake up is very tempting, but I push on.  

“You?
 Opting for ‘traditional?’  I never would have pegged you for that kind of girl.”  

“I do what I can,” she laughs.
 “But some things just can’t be avoided.  That being said, I call dibs on the bathroom.  Or invoke the tradition of ‘ladies first.’  See?  Sometimes it’s just not worth it to rock the boat.”

W
e eat a light breakfast of fruit and cereal- Arielle’s lighter than mine -and we talk about our plan for the day.  It’s still raining intermittently, which prompts us to begin the question game Arielle proposed yesterday.  We each take a few minutes to ourselves to think of and write down questions.  I have so many, but one of the rules is that it has to be a generic question that both of us can answer, so no “How did you get into burlesque?” or “Why a tortoise?”  As the day and game progresses, and we think of other questions, we can put them in the mix.  

Arielle suggests we put the questions in a hat.
 She goes into my closet and selects a hat from which to draw the questions.  She skips over my many baseball caps and selects an everyday uniform hat of mine.  She insists it’s because it’s flat on the top and won’t fall over.  I suspect it’s really because she likes that it has shiny gold adornment as she seems to have a penchant for all things bright, colorful, and shiny.  

Arielle aptly names it the “Hat-O-Questions.”
 Originally, she wanted to call it the “Cool White Hat of Getting to Know You Queries,” but we compromised on the shorter title.

Arielle insists that I draw a question first since she thought of the game.
 I think it’s fair since she will have to answer first anyway.  

“
Who or what is your favorite singer/band?
” I read aloud.

Arielle’s face lights up and I can see the wheels turning in her head.
 

“Too many to name.
 I love pop and dance music, but indie music is really what speaks to me.  I have an unhealthy obsession with The Avett Brothers.  I love love love Mumford and Sons and the Kings of Leon.  I also love The Head and the Heart, Florence + The Machine, and Lord Huron.  Oh!  And I can’t get enough of Cold Specks.  Cold Specks and The Avett Brothers have helped me through many a tearful night.”  

I can see she wants to continue, but she stops herself.
 

“How about you?”

I ponder my response for a moment.  

“I don’t know that I have a favorite favorite.
 I love all genres of music, but I guess I would have to say that I am drawn to classics.  I love Sam Cooke and Otis Redding.  But, I’m also a child of the 80’s and 90’s, so I love Pearl Jam, Guns n’ Roses, and U2.  You know, the usuals.”

Arielle nods in agreement.
 

”Oooo...I love oldies too!
 I love Creedence Clearwater Revival and Simon and Garfunkle and Fleetwood Mac.  I love me some Lindsey Buckingham.  And Dave Grohl does no wrong in my eyes.  And- I think you catch my drift.  I will stop talking now.”

I don’t mind her talking.
 She’s cute when she rambles.  

Arielle draws a question and reads it, trying to sound serious.
 “
What instrument(s) do you play, and when/why did you start playing?
”

I know this question is one of hers that she’s been dying to have me answer.
 

“Violin, viola, cello, bass- pretty much anything stringed.
 I began playing the violin when I was six or seven.  My mother insisted that my brothers and I all play an instrument of some kind as well as speak a foreign language.  I also play the piano. I don’t know how long I’ve played, but I know I learned from watching my mother.”

She stares at me intently.
 

“Do you play the banjo?”

“No, but I could probably pick it up fairly quickly.”

Arielle claps her hands together.
 “That would be so insanely hot.  I love guys who play the banjo.  Well, I’ve never known one, but I’ve always fantasized about knowing a man who plays it and having their little banjo playing babies.”  

Only Arielle Abbott would have the banjo as her instrument of choice.
 

“Is that what you meant with ‘unhealthy obsession’ with the Avett Brothers?”
 

I turn my head and look at her through the sides of my eyes.

She puts her hands over her mouth and rocks her body slightly.  “You caught me!”

 
She continues laughing, but answers in turn.  

“Anyway, I began taki
ng piano lessons at the age of eight.  My older sister took lessons and played well, so my mom asked me if I wanted to learn.  I’m gung-ho for learning anything new, so I did.  I hated practicing though.  That’s it.  I was more into dancing and singing.”

It’s my turn to draw again.
 

“
What’s something on your bucket list?
”

Arielle wrinkles her nose, which I find to be incredibly cute.
 

“Let me preface this by saying, I don’t have a ‘bucket list.’
 I don’t like the way that sounds.  It’s as if you check off things on a list, and life is done, complete,
poof!
over, and you can now die happy.  I have a ‘List of Things I Wish to Experience.’”

“How is that any different?” I ask, dubious as it just sounds like semantics to me.

She looks at me and takes an accusatory tone.  “It’s very different.  There’s always something new to learn or experience, and as we go through life, our activities and desires shift and change, always evolving.  Thus, my list is all encompassing and ever changing.  But, to answer your question, I’ve always wanted to receive a love letter, and not one that you get in grade school with the ‘check yes or no’ boxes.  I’m talking a true, bona fide love letter, like the ones you see in museums from the Civil War era or from which movies are based.  Ones that have withstood the test of time and the direst of circumstances- hand carried across continents and oceans because those words are so meaningful and important, people sacrifice life and limb to deliver the message.”  She gently puts her lips together and turns to them upward into a smile.  “Also, I want it to be full of cliché and sweet nothings.”

I’m impressed with her beautiful and eloquent response.
 She truly does think about things thoroughly.  

I think of my bucket list, whic
h wasn’t much until recently.  “Well, after yesterday, I had to come up with a new one.”

“What did you check off your list yesterday?”
She looks confused.

“Kissing you in the rain.”

We pause the game to repeat some of yesterday’s events.  I guess she really appreciated my answer, and she showed me how much so.  

***

A
fter a shower and dinner, the day is winding down, and like every Sunday evening, I wish I could slow time down.  I wish Sunday could last forever, and she didn’t have to return back to her apartment.  Not only do I miss her when she’s gone, I’m beginning to miss Swanks too.  He’s quiet, but he does bring a certain positive vibe with him, and I’ve gotten so used to hearing his feet click across the floor.  Sometimes, I think I hear it during the week when he’s not here.

We sit outside on the lanai to enjoy the sunset and stretch out our time together.
 I bring my hat out with me.

“I think
it’s time to draw from the Hat-O-Questions, and I believe it’s your turn to draw,” I say, reaching over, grabbing my hat with an ever growing mound of slips of paper with questions scribbled on them.  

Holding the hat out with my left hand, Ari plunges her right hand in, stirs around a bit
, and pulls one out gripped between her thumb and pointer.  I place the hat to the side as she unfolds the sliver of paper and clears her throat.

“
What is your biggest pet peeve?
”  

She looks at me with her lips slightly pursed
, and I know she is probably curious about this one.

“Bad drivers.
 Can’t stand them.  Pick a lane.  Get over if you’re going to get over.  It’s not rocket science.”

I throw my hands up in frustration.
 I really cannot stand bad drivers.  

“That’s so you,” she says
, shaking her head in a scolding manner.

“What about you, Miss ‘I Love Everyone?’
 What annoys you?”  

I fold my arms across my chest and sit back into my chair, waiting for her to reveal something that bothers her.

She furrows her brow and looks toward the ceiling in thought for a moment, then takes a deep breath, continuing with her eyes cast upward.  

“This is really random, but…
when obituaries say he or she ‘loved to laugh.’  I mean, who doesn’t love to laugh?  Like someone is just feeling tortured and miserable because they’re laughing?  Come on.  It’s cheesy and ridiculous, and if anyone puts it in my obituary, says it in my eulogy, or puts it on my tombstone, I will come back and haunt them in the worst of ways.”  

There’s nothing random about Arielle, and that’s what makes me love her.

“Remind me to leave a binder of directions on things to do and not do for future generations as not to upset your spirit,” I say with sarcasm.

She drops her eyes to me and smiles.
 “That’s a great idea.  While you’re at it, make sure you note that I don’t want some sort of sad funeral, and I don’t want to be dressed in a drab, old lady outfit.  I don’t care what age I am.  I demand a party with dancing and fun music and cool lights.  Also, I demand to be buried in an awesome sequined and fringed dress.”  She’s bouncing up and down when she gets to the last part of her directions.