barely thrusting. Slick, flesh on flesh. She wanted him to fill her.
When at last he began to move, her hands went above her head, palm to palm, fingers linked. She gave herself up to the pleasure of him rocking his cock against her. She lost herself in it. She came in slow, rolling waves, aware she was crying out but not caring. So many times they’d had to fuck in silence, careful not to let anyone overhear them, but now in this empty house she let herself give voice to the passion only Heath had ever been able to give her.
Over and over, she rose and crested and dipped; over and over, he took her body higher until she thought she might pass out. Or die. Yes, she could die right now with him making her come. Or maybe she’d already died and this was both heaven and hell, this never-ending climax.
When the shaking of her body eased and she was able to breathe again, Effie opened her eyes. Heath still held himself above her. The cords on his arms stood out. His mouth had parted, slack, but his gaze was sharp and focused on her face. It stabbed her, that look. Penetrating and intense.
Without putting a hand on his cock, he nevertheless managed to find her opening and push inside. She groaned at the way he filled her. She moved to touch him, but he muttered a command for her to stay still. He didn’t move. He stared into her eyes and pressed his lips together.
“Please,” Effie said again. “Heath.”
A low noise like a growl rumbled out of him. He slid out of her almost entirely, then back in. So slow, but not gentle. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers and she licked it away, drowning in the taste of him.
He fucked her that way forever. Each thrust began to sting. She couldn’t come again, it was impossible, but the pain was a pleasure of its own and she rode it the way she’d done the string of earlier climaxes.
Heath drew a series of ragged breaths. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he ducked his head. His arms had begun to shake, but he didn’t lower himself onto her. He fucked harder, desperately. Frustration twisted his expression. Finally, he stopped, pushing upward again on his hands. He shook his head, but when he tried to pull out of her, Effie hooked her heels behind his calves and kept him close.
When she slapped him lightly across the face, Heath shuddered. The next time, she did it harder. His gaze flashed. Angry, but also that other thing, that dark thing that never went away between them. So she did it again, and this time he let out a low shout that got lost inside her mouth as he dived to kiss her. It was brutal, a clash of teeth and slash of tongue. She raked his chest with her nails, and he took her lower lip between his teeth. Then her tongue, biting.
They moved together, rolling, until she was on top. His hands gripped her hips. He thrust upward hard enough to knock her forward, her hands flat on his chest. She kissed him, not kind or sweet or loving. They made war and love at the same time until at last he pounded his cock deep inside her again, crying out. Then he went still.
Breathing hard, Effie uncurled her fingers. She smoothed the crescents her nails had left in his skin and bent to kiss the marks. A few of them overlaid the faint bruises from the last time they’d been together. One or two of them had bled and she took some extra time to soothe them. Then she rolled off him and onto her back beside him.
Heath was silent for a while before he turned onto his side, away from her. Effie had been staring up at the ceiling, cataloging the aches and pains of the aftermath. She waited a second or so before turning to spoon him from behind. Her face pressed the warmth between his shoulder blades.
“You stink,” she told him. “You need a shower.”
Heath didn’t move. He found her hand and tucked it against his chest. Effie nestled her crotch to his ass and breathed him in. She licked his skin. Tangy. She closed her eyes. They would sleep this way, if she wasn’t careful. Tonight she wasn’t sure if she cared.
“Are you going to see him again?”
He meant Mitchell, but he could’ve meant Bill. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to think before she answered. “Yes. If he asks.”
“Will you tell him about me?”
There was so much about Heath to tell, how could she begin to answer that? Effie nipped his shoulder blade instead of a reply. Heath rolled to face her.
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Nothing? Not a word?”
She smiled. “It’s not any of his business, is it?”
“Is he one of your fans?”
At that, she frowned and sat up. “That’s not fair, Heath. You know I don’t fuck around with them.”
“So, how did you meet him, then?”
“LuvFinder.” Effie laughed, embarrassed suddenly in a way she hadn’t been before. “I thought I’d try it.”
Heath snorted. “Better than trolling for dates at bars and insurance conventions, I guess.”
She pinched his nipple hard, until he swatted her hand away. “Shut up.”
“So,” Heath said quietly, “you’re looking for love this time?”
“Isn’t everyone?” She said it nonchalantly, but she knew this admission changed everything. Until recently, she’d only been exploring. Considering her options. Having fun. But lately she had to admit that she was searching for something more—something real. She wasn’t sure she could find it with anyone but Heath, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t worth trying.
“Not everyone,” Heath said. “Some of us have already found all we ever want.”
He ran a fingertip over her cheek then, and along her jaw. He finished by tracing her lips. When she opened them as though to bite him, he didn’t pull away, so she kissed it instead. Then she took his hand and turned it over so she could press a kiss to the inside of his wrist and the scars there.
“I just want something normal,” Effie whispered. A confession. It felt good to say it loud, like prying the last tiny piece of a splinter that had been festering beneath her flesh. “Is that so much to ask for? To be the same as everyone else?”
At that, Heath sat up and got out of bed. With his back to her, he said, “Effie, don’t you know that in a million years you could never be the same as anyone else?”
She watched him gather his clothes and leave her room. She waited until she heard the back door close. Then she went, naked, into the kitchen to lock it.
“My mother says I’m not allowed to see you anymore.” The words come easier than Effie had thought they would. She’d practiced them in front of the mirror at home for an hour, every time stuttering, but now they sound as casual as if she were asking Heath about the weather. “She says it’s not healthy for us.”
Heath stares at her with large, hollowed eyes. He’s been smoking. He stinks of booze. There’s a blossoming bruise on one cheekbone that Effie didn’t put there. She’s sure it came from his father or another kind of fight, not from another girl, but that doesn’t matter. It makes her want to kiss him and also to slap him harder on the other side to make one to match it. It makes her want to hold him close.
Still without a word, Heath pulls a joint from the pocket of his denim jacket. He licks the end and tucks it into the corner of his mouth. The Zippo lighter comes from his jeans pocket, and the sight of it makes her mouth dry. That lighter had been Daddy’s. She hadn’t realized Heath had kept it. All these years later, and seeing it is still...it’s hard.
“Say something,” Effie demands.
Heath shrugs and lights the joint. He offers it to her. She should refuse. She doesn’t even like weed. It makes her sleepy and sometimes anxious. It reminds her of those hazy, blurry