Authors: Leisa Rayven
“Well, that’s true.”
Ethan takes my hand, and I don’t miss how Erika sees it and smiles.
“You know,” I say as I lace our fingers together, “if you tried masks now, you’d be much more successful.”
Erika looks at us warmly. “I think you might be right, Miss Taylor.”
Marco orders champagne, and we spend a couple of hours reminiscing about our time at drama school. Apparently, Erika is a cheap date, because after two glasses, she gets a little happy and does impressions of Ethan and me when we first met. Then she does us bickering, complete with silly voices and loaded stares. I laugh more than I have in years.
I’d forgotten all the good times I had at college. For too long, what happened with Ethan eclipsed all the fond memories. Now, I’m glad I can look back and smile.
“It was clear to everyone but the two of you that you’d end up together,” Erika says. “It was certainly clear to me. You two had a serious case of plove.”
“What the fuck is ‘plove’?” Ethan asks. “It sounds like a disease.”
“It’s a mixture of passion and love.”
“Isn’t all love passionate?”
“Not necessarily.” Erika leans back in her chair. You can love something without being passionate about it. Conversely, you can be passionate about things you don’t love. It’s when the two converge that real magic happens.”
She looks down at the table like she’s talking to herself. “It’s the subtle shudder when you hear the other person’s name. The times when you think about their smile and find it impossible to keep a straight face. It’s those small, precious moments you wish they were with you, because nothing means anything until you share it with them. More than passion and love alone, it’s that internal alchemy that makes them a part of you.”
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “You two were lucky. You ended up together. It doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes you meet the person who alters you forever, and for one reason or another, they don’t become a part of your life. The problem is you never forget them.”
She lifts her glass to us. “You’ve both fought for your happiness. Enjoy it. You deserve it.”
Under the table, Ethan squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. I guess we’d never considered Erika’s private life before. She’d always seemed so untouchable. Maybe that’s because someone once touched her, and she never recovered.
I can totally relate.
Before we leaves, we talk with Erika about possible dates for the master classes. Then we hug her and Marco and say good-night.
Our taxi ride back to Ethan’s place is quiet. We hold hands. I lean on his shoulder. He strokes my fingers and stares out the window.
I guess we are lucky. Our ending could have been very different. If Ethan hadn’t had his epiphany in a hospital bed in France, we might have never seen each other again. It took him making the first move to put us on the path of healing and redemption. So I guess even though he had a major hand in breaking us, he was also the architect behind putting us back together.
It makes me sad to think Erika didn’t get that chance. I guess a lot of people don’t.
When we get back to Ethan’s apartment, he silently leads me into the bedroom and just looks at me for a long time before kissing me gently. It still amazes me how he can leave me breathless by simply brushing his lips against mine. His hands are warm on my face as he tilts my head, and steals even more of my breath with soft sweep of his tongue.
We take our time removing each other’s clothes. The concept of fucking has been forgotten. This isn’t about fitting body parts together. It’s about the two of us needing to be joined. Sharing that incredible sense of rightness we only get with each other.
No one else has ever controlled my pleasure with such instinctual ease as Ethan, and no one ever will.
Erika called it “internal alchemy,” and I guess she’s right. It’s not like Ethan does anything different than the other men I’ve had. It’s just that his skin speaks to mine on a different frequency. The pulse of his blood powers the tempo of mine.
We kiss for a long time before he lays me down and presses himself against me. So warm. Hot in places. Soft lips. Flexing muscles under heated skin. He murmurs things as he moves his mouth over me. Tells me how beautiful I am. How much he loves me. How grateful he is to have me.
It’s all foreplay. Every groan-tinged word. He doesn’t even know how sexy he is. Not just his body but his stained-glass heart. All the pieces of his past and present welded into place. Cracked and imperfect, but beautiful nonetheless.
My heart must look the same to him.
“I need you,” he says as his lips graze my breast. “Always.”
I pull him closer, but it’s not enough. I run my hands down his back. Feel the muscles as he shifts and grinds.
Finally, he pushes inside and oh … there’s nothing else.
Nothing.
No one.
Just this. The perfect slide of him.
“Cassie … God Oh, God…”
I can’t talk. Words are pointless, anyway. As if this could be described. I could speak every language in the world and still not have enough words to express how I feel about this man.
I settle for kissing him. I make noises around his tongue. He does the same around mine. We both know exactly what we’re saying:
This is precious. This is love. This is something I’ll never take for granted, because I know how it feels to be without it.
We’re not quiet as we wind each other tighter. We sigh and grunt with the intensity of it. Quiet really isn’t an option with feelings this big.
As I crest, I tell him I love him and moan his name. Repeat it, over and over again. Get louder as he increases his pace and stop breathing when I’m as high as I can go. I almost scream it when I snap and fly. He carries me though all the layers of pleasure. I float for so long, I feel dizzy. Then he’s crying out my name, and his movements are erratic. Hips move back and forth to the rhythm of his orgasm. Staccato and unsteady. He’s tense and still for what seems like minutes, then heavy relief hits, and he sinks down and wraps me in all of him.
We hold each other and breathe. Dazed. Ecstatic. More in love with each other than we ever thought possible.
As the fog lifts, our hearts slow. Fingers stroke subconsciously. He rolls off and pulls me to his side until my head is on his shoulder, my hand over his heart.
I trace patterns. I think they’re random, but when I become lucid, I realize they’re words.
Ethan. Love. Ethan. Mine. Always.
He’s tracing patterns, too. Also words. I’m dozing off, but I recognize some of them.
Cassie. Beautiful. Mine. Need. Love.
Then he traces two words that make me stop breathing. When he traces them again, I’m wide awake.
On the third time I feel the tension in him. He’s wondering if I’ve understood. His expression says he hopes I have, and he watches me, desperate for an answer.
I push up on my elbow and look at him. I’m blinking too fast, but I can’t help it. The naked vulnerability in his expression makes me well up.
He gazes at me and brings a single finger to my chest. Then he traces the words one more time and finishes by uttering the world’s softest, “Please.”
My eyes spill over. My throat is so tight with emotion, I can barely get out my whispered, “Yes.”
I kiss him and repeat it, just to make sure he understands. “Yes.”
He sighs in relief as I kiss all over his face and neck. “Yes, yes, yes.”
His eyes spill, too. So relieved. So happy. So beautiful.
We celebrate by making love again, and I know without a doubt, I’ve made the right decision.
I think about how I was six months ago and marvel over where I am today. It’s hard to believe.
I don’t think I ever fully understood before what a profound ability humans have to change, especially with the right motivation. We’re capable of remarkable evolution. Not just physically, but mentally.
Emotionally.
Although some of us get lost in the labyrinth of our own insecurities, it’s possible to find our way out. Ethan’s proof of that. I guess, in my prouder moments, I am, too. Neither of us is perfect, that’s for sure, but when we’re together, our deficiencies are complemented by the other’s strengths.
When I look at Ethan now, I don’t just see the damaged young man who hurt me in a misguided attempt to protect me. I see the man who struggled against the doubt and darkness inside himself and fought with all his might to change. And there’s something about his immense determination to be more than he was that makes him more beautiful to me than ever. There’s compassion in him now, not only for others, but especially for me. He’s known the loss and defeat I’ve felt. He’s walked in my shoes. And I’ve walked in his.
I have no doubt we’ll continue to fight and grow, and I have no illusions that the rest of our journey is going to be smooth, but I do know that whatever burdens we encounter will be halved because we’re together. As a couple, we have more than enough strength to achieve whatever we desire and fortunately for us, we’ve never desired anything as much as one another.
That’s where our future lies.
Together.
Writing our own unconventional and dramatic love story, one page at a time.
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Fall 2015