You Have Me

A little slice of life as I ease back into writing more regularly.

*****

It wasn't a tremendous surprise the first time we had sex. As a matter of fact, I remember thinking it had probably been fated to happen, even if I didn't really believe in fate, but I remember thinking, "Of course," as he moved inside of me in harsh thrusts and pulled on my hair and looked at me as if he wasn't sure whether to kiss me or strangle me. If things like fate and God were real, then somewhere my name was linked with Colin's and it was always meant to happen like this. I was almost certain that if there were other dimensions and some part of us existed in those, too, then those versions of ourselves found each other, sweaty and furious and needy in the back of a car like we had.

When Amanda found out, she'd choked on her own spit for nearly ten minutes. She worked with the two of us and had watched us circle around each other for months. She was the only person I told, and that was partly because I expected her to be as grimly resigned as I was about the whole thing. She tugged me to her chest, instead, and whispered, "Are you all right?" and I'd said, "Sure," kind of surprised by her reaction, but then I realized that tears were running down my cheeks and maybe I wasn't so all right, after all.

No, what was really the surprise was that it wasn't just the once. It wasn't even just several times. It happened a couple of times a month until suddenly it was a weekly thing, part of a habit. Almost daily, in fact.

He didn't seem startled by any of it. He took each new development with the same begrudging acceptance I had felt during our first encounter. He didn't get any nicer to me--he barely spoke to me, really--and we certainly never spent time together in which we weren't working or fucking, but I viewed what we had as a strange sort of relationship that I didn't want to examine too closely.

I wasn't sure what he made of the whole thing. Obviously, the sex was outstanding, but it was also apparent that he wasn't enamored with me. He thought I was spoiled, capricious and kind of stupid. I knew this because he told me, and although I'd stormed out of his apartment after that particular argument, I showed up again the next time he texted me, taking him deep in my throat, letting him come all over my face.

I kept expecting it to end. At night, back in my own apartment, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining different ways it would go down. By morning, I would have myself half-convinced I could live without him, but then he would text me or I'd see him at his desk, forehead scrunched in concentration, and everything would go sideways again.

Tonight, however, I was certain it was over. He had been aloof at work, even more aloof than usual, and it wasn't as if he were working on some tough case that was making him edgy. I caught him watching me a few times, a blank and indecipherable look on his face.

His apartment door was unlocked but I knocked on it anyway because it pissed him off.

He told me so once, after his fingers were sticky from me and I was still panting from what he'd done. "You can just come in next time."

I'd put my hand to my heart because it felt like it might pulse right out of my chest. It had been a particularly exceptional orgasm."What are you talking about?"

"My apartment. I leave the door open for you when you come so I don't have to get up."

That fit what I knew about Colin.

Now, he opened the door with a glare. "I left it unlocked," he said, like he always said.

I pushed past him and caught his cat running into his bedroom. He or she wasn't enamored with me, either. I didn't know its name, mostly because I had asked Colin the first time I'd come over and he'd huffed and asked, "Why do you need to know my cat's name?"

An open bottle of cabernet was on his coffee table and he'd already taken the liberty of pouring some into two glasses. I chose one and kicked off my shoes so that I could get comfortable on his couch.

"Your leg is going to fall asleep if you sit like that."

I took a sip of wine and rolled my eyes. "What do you care?"

He sank down beside me and raised his eyebrows. "You do it every time you come here, and every time you whine about your leg for five hours."

Sighing, I turned my body so that I faced him and straightened my legs out, letting my feet fall into his lap. He didn't look impressed, but he didn't tell me to move them, either.

"You going to tell me why you were weird today?" I asked as casually as I could, unable to bear the silence for more than a few minutes.

His eyebrows lifted again. He loved to do that; it was the only expression his face actually made. "Weird? How was I weird?"

"You just were. You brooded more than usual, for starters, and then you ordered a salad at lunch."

His face broke out into a rare smile, the one I loved and hated to see. "You're such a psycho."

"Mm. You kept staring at me, too, but not, you know, with heat, or anything."

"With heat?" He was still smiling. It was disconcerting.

"You know what I mean." I poured us more cabernet.

One of his hands clasped my ankle and I tried not to get too distracted by the gentle circles his thumb made on the bone. "I think you're reading too many trashy novels these days."

"We can't all read books about middle-aged men who need to find themselves, or whatever weird shit you read."

He snorted, which was an even rarer thing for him to do than laughing, and shook his head at me. "Honestly, Miller, you're such a psycho. Kindly shut up."

That was another thing about Colin--he almost never called me Jessica. It was always "Miller".

"I can shut up," I promised, putting my glass on the coffee table. "I would prefer if you didn't, though."

And then I adjusted how I was sitting and leaned down to work on his cock.

*****

"Harder," I whispered.

He pounded into me, and though the filing cabinet behind me weighed more than both of us together, I had a fleeting thought that we might move it with our frantic fucking. A forceful thrust where I needed it chased away any rational thought. He bit my neck and I scratched up his covered back. We hadn't had time or the opportunity to undress. Our coworkers were just outside the thin door, and I was certain they could hear harsh panting and whispers. The thought only made me more desperate for him.

He leaned back and we met eyes while he picked up the pace and intensity. It felt like he was trying to fuck into the deepest part of me, like he wanted to bury himself inside me so I would always carry him under my skin. Funny he didn't know he was already there.

He swelled inside me and I tightened down on him. We were both close, each of our bodies daring the other to come first.

"Fuck," he hissed.

"Shh." I kissed him, taking his groans and partially formulated words into my mouth.

I imagined for a moment what we might look from above. My panties were dangling from one ankle. A heel had fallen off somewhere under the desk. He had my legs wrapped around his waist, and he was clutching one thigh. His finger imprints wouldn't leave my skin for days. My hands gripped his ass, fucking loving the feel of it clenching and knowing the strength he was using to drive in and out of my body. He began grinding deep inside my pussy, knowing how much I loved it. There was no choice but to take it, to know I would come first and lose our game. I wouldn't want to lose to anyone but him.

The orgasm was swift and deadly. It spread over my body just like he did, climbing up from my toes to my head. My pussy went insane on his cock, wetly and hungrily tightening around him.

I kissed him as best as I could while he wildly chased his own orgasm. "Use me," I breathed. "I'm yours."

He swelled even larger and then I felt the warm rush of his cum inside me. It felt like it would never stop. Only when it was finished did he pull away, his eyes riveted between my legs at the undoubtedly pink and wet mess I was.

"I want to do this all day, every day," he said, looking at me with the kind of tired satisfaction that comes from nearly coming your brains out. And something else. Something almost soft. Delicate. Then I blinked and it was gone. "It makes me stupid. I want you so fucking bad. Want you to come again."

I still shook a little from my orgasm. "Promise?"

His fingers slid down my face. "I promise it all."

*****

"Love is just an illusion, I swear to fucking God!"

Sara had been dumped rather brutally on her birthday by a guy she believed was "the one", so I allowed the dramatics and patted her shoulder. She had shown up at my apartment just as I was leaving to go to Colin's and I couldn't turn her away. We called up Amanda, too, and proceeded to get wasted. Well, Sara and Amanda were on their way to getting wasted, for sure.

"I'm with you," Amanda said. She topped off our vodka and then plopped down on Sara's lap. "The kind of love you're talking about, anyway."

"Don't you think, Jess?" Sara blew her nose and then looked at me. "Don't you think it's, like, some weird misfiring of brain synapses or something? A leftover evolution thing?" Amanda snickered and Sara gave her the finger. "Sorry I'm not some fucking brainiac, Amanda," she spat, which made Amanda full out laugh at her. "Anyway, answer me."

For some reason, I thought of Colin's smile.

I drank some vodka. "I'm not philosophizing about this tonight."

Amanda stopped laughing at Sara and eyed me shrewdly. "Has someone made you think it's real, then?

"No," I said. "I just don't think it's worth talking about. Even if it is made up, we think it's real, which kind of makes it real. You know?"

Sara looked at me for a moment with drunken thoughtfulness. "You're not really a brainiac, either, huh?"

"Shut up."

She took a drink. "It just seems more like a choice than anything else. You find someone you're compatible with and then you have to choose them every day until you get sick of them."

"That's a pretty depressing way to look at it," Amanda said, tilting her head. "Or romantic. I haven't decided yet."

"Romantic?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, I mean... I'd rather someone choose to love me than just be mindlessly compelled to."

"They can choose to fall out of love with you, then," I pointed out, and Sara nodded. "I can't remember ever choosing to love any of the losers from my past. If I could choose, I would have better taste."

Amanda shrugged. "Maybe that wasn't real love, obviously, because it didn't last and neither of you chose to keep at it."

"This is giving me a headache," I said. "It's also not making sense anymore."

"I guess what I mean to say is," Amanda began, chugging the rest of her vodka before continuing, "the whole falling in love thing might be kind of out of our hands, but the staying in love part is a choice. And I actually think that's romantic. I've decided."

Sara's eyes welled with tears again. "It kind of is. But that means that Ryan chose not to love me anymore."

"Oh, whatever," Amanda sighed. "He was a dick."

They went on talking for a few minutes, but all I could think about was choosing to go to Colin's apartment every night. I didn't love him, that was for sure. I loved men with a dirty sense of humor and an easy smile, who flattered me often and indulged me, even when I was nonsensical. I didn't love Colin. I hardly knew Colin.

Maybe if I kept telling myself I would believe it. Could you love someone you hardly knew?

"You look like you're thinking hard, Jessica," Amanda said, bringing back my attention.

"I am," I agreed. I handed her my empty glass and gestured toward the vodka. "Pour me more and fix that, please."

*****

"You haven't been around for a bit." Colin touched my bare hip and I felt a flare of excitement, even though we had just finished a very athletic bout of sex.

I didn't answer. I didn't know how to tell him that the conversation I'd had with my friends had freaked me out. He wouldn't have understood. We laid in bed for a few minutes, staring at nothing and letting our bodies cool, until he spoke again.

"Is your friend okay?"

I looked at him and was surprised to find he was already looking at me. "What?"

"You said your friend had an emergency. That's why you couldn't come over."

I looked away. "Yeah, she's fine now."

"What was the emergency?"

My head turned and our eyes met. "You're being talkative today." He lifted his hand and pushed his thumb into my lower lip. I sighed and moved closer to him, letting one of my legs rest on top of his. "She had a bad breakup."

"Sucks."

"I guess. He was an asshole. She can do better."

"Sometimes assholes are okay," Colin said. "Depends on the type of asshole."

I was amused and sat up to look down at him so I could see his face. "There are types?"

"Yep," he said, reaching to rub my nipple. I held back a gasp. "All different kinds."

Maybe it was the way he was looking at me, or that he was stoking that ever-burning fire inside of me by caressing my breasts, or that I was tired of swallowing down all the words I wanted to say. "What are we doing here, Colin?"

He looked like he might speak for a moment. Then he tugged me down and dragged me up his chest, squeezing my upper arms when the gasp I'd been fighting came from my mouth. He kissed me deeply, the kind of kiss I thought about when xeroxing or shopping for groceries, the kind that got me wet in all kinds of inappropriate locations.

"Right now," he said, wrapping his fist around my long blonde hair, "we're fucking."

I let his touches chase away the aching of my heart and told myself it was enough.

*****

My mother died on a Tuesday. It wasn't sudden--she had been sick for a while--but it still felt sudden to me. My father called me and told me to rush to the hospital, but I was too late. I was able to be with her for a few minutes before they wheeled her away to wherever they brought bodies. The basement? I remember thinking about how she hated being alone. Now she would be alone on cold metal, and eventually in a grave.

Dad was speaking to someone, a doctor or a nurse, but I stood there blinking at a mounted hand sanitizer dispenser. Losing your mother is a lonely, frightening thing. I had never been more aware I was an adult, a lonely adult, than at that moment. To know I would never speak to her was an angry, devastated pang in my chest and stomach. I hadn't cried yet and I couldn't understand it. I should have been wailing like the baby she brought into the world thirty-two years ago. I was inside, but I needed to cry. I needed to scream.

Someone approached me. I looked up and Colin was there. "How did you know?" I heard myself asking.

He didn't reach for me or hug. He stood before me, his heavy stare comforting me more than any touch. He also didn't answer me; I assumed that the office receptionist told him.

"Why did you come?"

His thumb pressed below my eye. I was finally crying. "Don't be stupid," he said.

*****

I saw him at the bookstore one evening. He didn't notice me. He stood in front of my favorite author, touching the spines of her novels with his fingertips.

*****

When we reached the year mark and more and more of my friends were settling down with partners, I decided I couldn't wait anymore. Somewhere along the line I had fallen in love with Colin and it was getting harder and harder to tell myself I wasn't.

And I knew Colin. I did. I might not have known how he preferred his steak, or if he liked the beach, or if he wanted to get married to someone and have kids, but I knew he sang in the shower when he thought I couldn't hear him. I knew that he talked in his sleep. I knew he was afraid of lightning, though he tried to hide it. I knew there was a deep vulnerability and kindness inside of him that he tried to cover with stoicism.

I loved every part of him and I wanted to be with him. I wasn't going to tell him. It would change everything. I knew he couldn't love me back. He told me once he wasn't meant for love or relationships, and I read between the lines to understand he would never allow himself to be open to one. He had a rough childhood with absent, borderline abusive parents. He couldn't risk loving and depending on someone again.

I got all of that. I wouldn't push him. I would take the parts of himself he offered as the gifts they were.

Colin walked into my place that night almost angry. He barely let me speak before he had me bent over the couch. My leggings and panties were dragged down my thighs and then he shocked me--he spanked me hard on my left cheek. It wasn't the first time we indulged in a little spanking, but he had done so lightly enough that I told him twice he could hit me harder. And now, unprompted, he was.

"You've been teasing me all goddamn day knowing I couldn't do anything about it because I was so busy." He spanked me again. "You're such a slut at work, did you know that? With your fucking dresses and heels, watching me all day like you're hungry for it." He pulled my head back with a fist in my hair when I didn't answer. "Answer me."

"Yes," I choked. "Yes, I am."

"Say it. Say you're a hungry slut." He spanked me harder and faster. My ass burned under his hand.

"I'm a h--" I broke off at a particularly brutal smack. "I'm a hungry... hungry slut."

He stopped spanking me. The zip of his fly lowering made my pussy tighten. I felt his bare cock against my enflamed ass, sliding against the smooth skin and catching between my cheeks. "I'm going to fuck your ass one day soon, since you're always teasing me with it. Would you like that?"

My cheeks burned even as I said, "Yes."

He pushed it through and up my clenched cheeks and dropped down over my back, groaning into my hair. "I want you every day."

"Me too."

"No, Jessica. You're not hearing me. I want

you

every day. All of you. Do you like music? I never know how to ask. What to ask. I'm not a warm person like you."

"What?"

"I want you. What don't you understand?"

And then he was pushing hard and deep inside, fucking me fast and cruel right away, and all I could understand was I was going to come soon. The spanking obviously had done something, just like his words. What had he meant? I couldn't let myself hope. Just feel.

I hoped anyway.

He felt it, the approaching orgasm that was going to devastate me, and ground roughly into me. "I'm gonna come," he warned, "right inside you. Can't hold back."

"Please. Please. Colin."

We came at the same time, a rarity. It was so good. My pussy couldn't stop fluttering around him, and he wouldn't stop fucking me through it. When we were both done but trembling, he rested his head against my collarbone.

"I meant it. I want you."

I wrapped my arms around him and smiled at the ceiling. "You have me."

Thanks to D for unending support and to bebop3 for agreeing to look this over. All mistakes are mine! Hope you enjoyed.