Sassafras, Part 32


Rick


Joan moved even closer and put her arms around me. I felt her hair brushing against my face. Her fingers were gently caressing my neck, pressing my face against her shoulder. I held on to her, trying to hold it together, but felt the tears start to fall onto the soft blue fabric of her sweater.

It felt like I was drowning. I was crying, shaking and breathing in big gulps of air. Joan kept telling me it would be okay, stroking my hair, and kissing the side of my face, my ear, my neck. When I stopped shaking we sat holding each other. I felt her cheek pressing against mine, her breath warm on my neck. I kissed her cheek, and smelled her perfume. She turned and looked at me for a second, then leaned forward and kissed me. I felt a surge of energy run through me. I can still remember every detail, where her hands were, where my hands were, how soft her cheek felt. I touched her face, felt her jaw move as she kissed me. I ran my fingers through her hair, around her ear. I could feel her arms wrapped around me, pulling me even tighter. I wanted to stay like that forever. She kissed me, and it felt like fire.

I could have kissed her all night long. Well, not really. I wanted her. No, I needed her. I kept remembering what it had felt like when I slipped my fingers inside her blouse and touched her bra. I wondered what color it was, wanted to unbutton her blouse and watch it slide off her shoulders, revealing what? Pink, red, black? I slid my hand down to her breast, at first barely touching it, then I felt her move, pressing against my hand. I pushed her back and stretched out next to her on the edge of the couch, running my hands over her body, feeling her soft, downy blouse, the silky fabric of her skirt. I felt her hands exploring me, too, and her mouth left a trail of kisses across my face, my neck. She wrapped her leg around me, pulling me closer. It felt so good I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if it was real, but I knew I didn’t want it to stop.

When I started pulling her skirt up her thigh I felt her tense up. She pulled my hand away. “Don’t,” she moaned. “Stop.”

Oh please, God, not now. I kissed her, and ran my hand through her hair. “If you want to stop,” I said, “I need to leave. I can’t stay. Not like this.”

I kissed her again, but she pushed me away. “Get up,” she whispered and started to sit up. I didn’t know what to think. Maybe I had been moving too fast for her, but she had been moving just as fast. I could tell by the way her body moved, the way she touched me, wrapped herself around me, that it had felt as good to her as it did to me. I wanted to hold her down and kiss her again, but I was afraid to touch her. I sat up and watched as she got up and walked to the door.

This couldn’t be happening I thought as I stood and picked my coat up off the recliner Bill had stumbled over. While I put it on I saw her frowning, looking from me to the door and back again. I get the message, I thought. You don’t have to draw me a picture. She walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck, stretched up and kissed me. Now you’re just being mean, I thought, until I felt her hands move, pushing my coat off my shoulders. “I was just locking the door,” she whispered in my ear as she pushed my coat down my arms. I felt it fall to the floor, then she slid her hand in mine, turned and started to walk away. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. I could see she was starting to unbutton her blouse as she walked. Right before she flipped off the light I saw the picture of her in New York. Even in the photo she was smiling at me.

It took a second for it to sink in that she wasn’t walking me to the door, she was walking me to her bedroom. When she reached for the doorknob her blouse slid off one shoulder, and I could see a dark blue strap. She walked into the room and started to slip her blouse off her other shoulder. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her back against me. I slipped the strap of her bra off her shoulder, wrapped my arms around her and started kissing her neck while my hands roamed across her abdomen, her shoulders, her breasts. I felt the small plastic clasp of her bra between her breasts and unhooked it, watched it join her blouse on the floor. She leaned back against me and I felt her start to tremble in my arms. I turned her face toward me and kissed her. She reached up and curled her fingers around my neck, pulling me closer and stretching up as far as she could, then turned and wrapped both arms around me. She pushed me back against the door and started unbuttoning my shirt while I felt for the zipper on her skirt.

I can’t begin to explain how it felt to be with her, to feel her move beneath me. There just aren’t words to describe how it felt when she looked at me, when she touched me. It was dark, and quiet except for our breathing and moaning. I could smell her perfume, the shampoo she had used, the scent of her makeup, but underneath it all I could smell her, delicious and intoxicating. Her scent filled my mind, blocking out everything else. I couldn’t see or think or remember anything but her. My entire world was lying beneath me, with green eyes and hair that felt like silk and smelled like strawberries.

When we were both exhausted we lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms. I couldn’t stop thinking how perfect my life had become. I looked at her, and realized I would do anything for her. Whatever she wanted, she would get. Whatever she asked, I would do. I was completely under her spell, and I had never felt happier in my life.

And then I looked her in the eyes and lied to her. If I could go back in time and change just one thing in my entire life, I would change that one moment. Maybe if I had told her the truth instead of trying to protect her things would have been different.

She had been lying next to me with her head on my shoulder, watching her fingers explore the hair on my chest. When she was satisfied with the state of my chest hair she moved her hand up and began running her thumb along the edge of my jaw. I brushed her hair back and kissed her. She looked up at me, and asked if there was anything else I hadn’t told her. I thought of what she would do if I told her I thought Sneider had killed her sister, about working for Boyd, that if I wasn’t careful I would end up like Santos.

“No, Babe, you know everything about me. There aren’t any more skeletons in my closet,” I said and kissed her again. She sighed contentedly and snuggled back down in my arms. I stared at the ceiling and prayed I hadn’t just made a big mistake.