I hang back at the edge of the foyer and just gaze at him. He’s bathed in bright light, only mildly tempered by the shading on the glass, and the sight of him takes my breath away. I slowly start picking out other details of the room. He hasn’t been here long. His bag is sitting there where he dumped it and Alan is a creature of perfect order. It would normally be put away. And he’s wearing the type of clothes he travels in—soft jeans, loafers, and a loose, dark silk shirt.
There’s something on his face that puts me instantly on edge. “You’re a day early. Is everything OK? Are you OK?”
Alan runs his fingers through his hair. “Exhausted.” He laughs softly. “But I’m good. Very good.”
My brows hitch up since I don’t know what to think of that. He sounds almost pleased—or is it relieved?—about something. I can’t tell for sure because he does look exhausted, and more, a strange kind of look of almost tired serenity.
“You look really tired, Alan. It makes me feel awful that you did the extra travel to see me.”
He shrugs. “Don’t feel awful. I want to be here. It’s just road fatigue.”
“You look more like roadkill,” I tease and he smiles. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“I traveled back early to take care of something and I think it’s finally OK. That’s why I’m in Malibu and that’s why I’m just sitting here. I’m savoring not having anything left to fuck up my life. And I’m definitely better than OK now that you’re here.”
I smile even though I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about, but he does seem happy.
“I hate missing you, Chrissie.” He crosses the room to me, his eyes unwavering on mine. “I hate leaving you. And I hate not being here with you.”
I should probably ask him what’s stirring this up inside him tonight, this uncharacteristic happiness, but it doesn’t matter. Not now. Maybe never.
“Then take me to bed,” I say. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Suddenly, I’m in his arms and he’s kissing me, all over my face, sloppily, unlike Alan, overly exuberant, confusing and wonderfully so.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
“Let’s be good to each other,” Alan whispers as I am carried from the room.
~~~
I lie on the bed naked. I hear the sound of the Polaroid. I watch the picture drop to the floor.
I stare up at Alan, trying not to let him see how difficult this is for me. “I hate having pictures taken of me. Why are you doing it?”
“I want to preserve how you look today,” he whispers, and his voice is so damn seductive, and the feel of him is all around me, so I don’t even flinch when he takes another one.
Alan slept fifteen hours straight after we made love the first time, and has been Playful Alan ever since. We haven’t eaten and he hardly lets me get out of bed.
I run my fingers through my hair and he smiles wickedly, taking another shot of me.
“Why do you want those?”
He drops the camera and moves up the bed toward me on hands and knees. He kisses my stomach. “I’ve got two more months on the road.” His mouth moves lower to my pelvis. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do it.” His tongue runs up to my navel. “I want a picture …” He’s above me, his mouth close to my ear, “…so when I’m alone thinking of you, I can look at you exactly how you are, and stare at you as I finish thinking of you.”
It takes me a moment to figure out what he just said. Then I flush, embarrassed as I push him away. “God, Alan, you’re obnoxious today. Why are you always you’re most obnoxious when you’re happy? Give me those pictures.”
He laughs, holding my struggling body against the bed as I try to take back from him the little picture squares. “Do you ever think of me in private intimate moments?”
My cheeks go scarlet even though he phrased that well. “I’m not answering.”
“No?”
His eyes are gleaming now and he’s reclined on a hip beside me. “I’ve gotten very good at imagining you and doing this,” he whispers.
My eyes stray and I inhale sharply. I’m more than a little shocked and definitely uncomfortable now. He’s fully erect and stroking it with his hand and enjoying my astounded expression. Alan is passionate and unpredictable in bed…but this? It’s so far beyond his level of nasty with me that I don’t know what to do.
I realize I’m watching and I swallow and look away.
“No, Chrissie, watch me,” he breaths into my ear as his thumb brushes my lip. “I want to imagine you watching me do this when we’re not together.”
My lips part to accommodate my breathing and my gaze moves back to him without my command. His eyes are serious and dark, and they widen as his strokes move quicker. His fingers start to play in my hair as his own breathing changes.
“You don’t know how hard it is for me when we’re not together,” he whispers, and as he moves his hand up and down, I’m getting incredibly hot and shouldn’t. My muscles are pulsing and I’m moistening there.
His tongue swirls around my nipple and my breath hitches in my throat. His mouth drops open as his breathing increases with the slow building movement of his fingers. My teeth sink into my lower lip, every inch of skin scorching and wanting him as I watch him release into his own hand.
A sound snaps me out of the stupor of my unexpectedly vivid arousal. The Polaroid and another square floating to the bed.
“That’s the picture I want. Me watching you want me while I do this.”
And before I can say anything, his hands are gripping my hair, dragging my lips back to his. Frustrated, into his kiss I murmur, “Don’t ever do that again. It’s nasty and unfair.”
Against my mouth, I feel the vibration of his laughter. Then his kisses roam from my neck to my breast, as his hands deftly massage my sex before his mouth replaces his fingers there. I dig my nails into the flesh of his shoulders and moan. My head starts to move on the pillow as Alan, with his tongue and fingers, in record time releases the want in my body he put there.
When my shakes subside and my breathing calms, he lifts his face, staring up at me. “I’m never unfair,” he says on a low seductive whispers.
He covers me with his body, then swirls his tongue in my mouth.
When he pulls back I groan. “That was all out of order. I always want to boff after you do that.”
Alan laughs, amused. “Boff? How come you can say British slang words for sex and not American?”
I make a face and laugh. “Probably because my first was a Brit.”
Alan grins. “Was he any good?”
“I don’t know. He’s the only Brit I’ve ever done.”
He kisses my shoulder. “He better be the only Brit you ever do,” he says, and then the smile leaves his eyes. “It’s getting harder to leave you. Not that it’s ever been easy. But it is getting harder.”
I stare up at him. “It’s getting harder for me, too.”
He pulls me against his body and surrounds me with his arms. “You could go out on the road with me. It’s only two months. It’s not like girls don’t do that.”
I drop my gaze from his and pull away, taking the sheet with me. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
I’m almost out of the bed and his hand stops me. “Christ, that’s not what I meant. I was referring to taking time off from school. I don’t have girls travel with me on the road and there’s no reason you can’t travel with me.”
I stare at him, shaking my head, trying to steady my anger. “I can think of a lot of reasons.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated with me, and then I’m hauled up back against him, back in his arms, back in the bed. “I don’t care what anyone knows or thinks about us. Why do you care so much?”
I don’t want to argue, and I definitely don’t want to ruin the day with this conversation, since it forces me to think of all that will happen and not happen after I graduate. Probably nothing will change with us and that’s the hardest part of knowing my life is changing again; that we will be the same, existing only here, and all other parts of us separate.