Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
But … as I hold him to my body, the bed creaking, the headboard knocking against the wall, I realize, for me, this is everything, and that makes tears escape the corners of my eyes. I miss Daniel. I miss my dad. And right now, I’m drowning in the feeling of Theodore Reed’s naked body pressed to mine, the full warmth of him moving inside of me, the buildup of my orgasm, an orgasm I don’t even need. Just the touch.
“The—ooo!” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath because even something as basic as breathing distracts from this feeling: my body temperature rising and a heavy tingling radiating deep inside, starting right where he’s hitting the most perfect spot over and over. Oh. Dear. God.
“Theo …” his name on my lips drags on forever, like this orgasm. I didn’t need it, but sometimes good things happen when you least expect it. Karma.
The wall takes three more unforgiving collisions with the headboard before Theo collapses on me, releasing the same deep grunt with which he entered me.
The man is not human. I’ve never been manhandled and flipped and fucked so thoroughly in my life. He’s obliterated every emotion I had.
Should I be mad?
Grateful?
I don’t know.
I bet myself he’ll pull out of me and be gone within five seconds. I lose. He waits a full ten seconds before leaving me covered in his sweat. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.
That’s fine because he gathers his clothes from the floor and walks away naked. I declare Theodore’s naked backside to be the eighth wonder of the world.
*
The next morning I wake to a tall glass of water and a white pill on the bedside table. I’ve awoken to flowers, pastries and coffee, even the occasional love note, but never water and a white pill. I slip on my shirt and knickers and carry the glass and pill to the kitchen. Theo’s at the table eating porridge, already dressed in his work jeans and T-shirt.
I face the sink, my back to him. “What’s this pill?”
“Emergency contraception—Plan B.”
My soft laugh sounds more like his grunt as I shake my head, drop the pill down the drain, and drink the glass of water. Did he send off his date with a pill and bottled water before he decided to follow me up the beach? “You’re not worried about STDs?”
“No.”
I nod slowly, letting the echo of his monotone voice settle into my conscience.
“Are you?” His aloof tone does little to make me think he actually cares about my answer.
Am I worried about STDs? “No.” I deposit the glass in the dishwasher and go back upstairs to shower before meditating and breakfast with Yimin.
I suppose I should replay the previous night’s event over in my head, try to make sense of it all, but … it was nothing. And by nothing, I mean the roughest sex, yet best orgasm I’ve ever had, which was only by chance because Theo’s goal was not to pleasure me.
My meditation proves to be more difficult than it’s been in weeks. The physical part of my world has reared its head again, distracting from my real purpose. Yimin doesn’t say much during breakfast, but that’s nothing new. I’m content to eat in silence since I have my thoughts from last night to keep me company.
I miss seeing Theo swimming this morning. Why did he go straight to work before his swim? To avoid me? Does it matter?
My father used to ask me that all the time. When kids in school made fun of my hair, because in spite of my dominant black traits, I navigated through a disastrous blond-home-bleaching-kit phase in school, I’d come home in tears and my father would ask if what those kids thought of me really mattered? Even when I was sad about not having my mum, he asked if it really mattered. Maybe that’s why I’m in search of what does matter in life because my years have been filled with days and nights of … nothingness.
Daniel was my chance to have something that really mattered. Now he’s gone and I’m left with the same introspective question. Does it matter? I don’t think it does. I think I’ve passed a critical point in my life where anything can ever matter again.
I go for a walk along the beach, relishing everything from the cool, gritty sand beneath my feet to gatherings of seagulls awaiting the beachgoers and their picnic scraps sure to litter the shore by midday. I seem to notice everything. Only a couple months ago, I’m certain the sky could have turned green and I wouldn’t have noticed it past my computer screen.
As I approach the house, I spot Theo on a tall ladder, replacing some siding that blew off during the storm a few nights ago.