Friday, December 02, 2016

Chapter 46: (Un)invited

I stopped short of the kitchen, realizing now that it wasn't Greyson. I felt as though I were in the hotel again, preparing to open the door and let Liam in. Let him in, quite literally, in a number of ways. I hadn't let him in this time, but here he was. In my house. In my kitchen. Playing the role of the man in my life. Uninvited. Right?


Somewhere between my falling asleep Thanksgiving night and waking up Friday morning, the two men quite literally switched places. How dare he presume, I would dare to think in anger... but which he did I mean?

For the last few months, it's been Greyson who's been with me, working mainly -- but also making me laugh, cajoling me into having a pizza with him, and keeping me company. It's with him I've been having conversations, taking road trips.  It was texting with him, about superficial and innocuous topics, that made nights less lonely.

It crossed my mind to turn around and walk out the door, to leave my own house, get in my car, and drive to where I might find the life I keep thinking I need. There isn't much I'd miss; I own so little of true value.

I'm going to kiss you.

And what has it gotten me? My hands went to my face, what was, no... what am I doing? Replicating my mother's life? Living down to Aunt Geenie's predictions? What sort of woman am I?

But make no mistake, readers, I'll walk in there and fall into his arms. When he touches me, every thought I have will vanish except for the thought of needing him. I'll shiver as he re-acquaints himself with my body, his hands going to my waist, to that curve he so loves. I'll find myself arching and my body language inviting him and every move will be honest. I'll find it hard to catch my breath again -- especially when he kisses me, his tongue mating with mine.

Sometimes I want to ask about us. About his actual, real, legitimate intentions.  Sometimes I can't help but worry myself into headaches, coming up with thoughts that one of us is using the other or that one of us is losing interest. Who's doing what varies. Sometimes it's me. Sometimes it's him.

I can't put this off. I can't run away. I have to go in, don't I?

And so I turned the corner and walked into my kitchen and saw him... and stopped, finding my hand resting on the kitchen counter so near an empty vase... if I threw it, how badly would it hurt him? He's coming toward me, so fast it seems, too fast to take in, one second he's at the table and the next he's holding me, his mouth on mine, his tongue plunging in and claiming and mine responding they tangle then hinting at what's to come later and my hands are on his face to feel where his beard once was my fingers are in his hair.... he's all over me and I'm responding and I'm on the table, under him... tangling....