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"You see? All better." She says, all breathy. God, she hates the way her voice comes out but there's nothing she can do about it.
She feels him lifting his head from her shoulder. And she feels her already see-through shirt becoming pellucid from the dampness he created.
He slowly tilts his head. And he looks ethereal. She could swear that he's not real. No one can look this good. Not even her first love.
She can't move away. She knows she has to but she just.. can't. She has done all the friendly help that she needed to do. She should just go back downstairs and finish writing her thank you notes.
But the way he is looking at her now –the way sunlight strikes his face, turning his eyes impossibly green, his lips parted and pink, his hair wet in the exact way she had always found romantic– leaves her unable to look away. She's unmoored from herself, no longer fully in her body.
"Thank you." He whispers to her. Holding her gaze just like the way she's holding his. Mesmerized.
She can't even bring herself care to look like she doesn't want him. Because Belly believes that this kind of yearning isn't something you can hide. It could never be.
And if it was. If she could hide this, she wouldn't even want to. The force that they have between each other is something to be proud of because she knows damn well it's the rarest shit ever. And something that's this rare should only be celebrated.
Wow, she hasn't been this honest with herself for... a while. And it feels good. So Belly obviously tells herself to continue this honesty. Because it's the right thing to do.
"Sure," she says when she remembers she has to give him an answer. She swallows a mouthful of saliva.
They keep on looking at each other. And Belly can't help but feel a little surprised. Like does he feel what she feels right now? Does he still love me?
Her gaze drops to his lips. They look incredibly soft. And for once, just for once after years. Belly decides to let go. Let go of the pretending. Let go of holding herself back.
She looks back into his eyes, only to find that his are still on hers. Her lashes flutter as they fall back into their intense eye contact –the kind of eye contact thirteen-year-old Belly once begged for, the kind sixteen-year-old Belly experienced countless times, and the kind seventeen-year-old Belly missed with her lungs.
"Belly," he breathes.
"Yeah?" She tries to focus on whatever he is about to say to her, a knit appears between her brows.
"Can you help me up? I'm gonna go take a nap." He says and she suddenly has the urge to find the best excuse to keep him close to her.
So she comes up with; "You lost a lot of blood. I feel like you shouldn't be sleeping." Her gaze goes between his eyes and lips. She wants to soak in the way he looks.
"That's for concussions." He blinks.
She does something like a nod. "Okay."
And then,
just as Conrad leans in a little closer –maybe to go to bed as he said just a moment ago or to do thing that she had yearned for longer than she had let herself believe– his hand grips her shoulder tighter as he let's out a breath that makes her feel even warmer than she was. She closes the tiniest distance that was in between them.
They kiss. After over four years.
Finally! Finally! Finally!
Well it's actually her kissing him and him just standing there, utterly still. She doesn't know if it's because he's shocked or doesn't want to kiss her at all.
But after a few seconds later he kisses her back and all her thoughts leave her body immediately. He tastes even different than she has remembered, more salty. Which only makes sense because he was just in the ocean.
He kisses the same, almost. But maybe a little bit firmer. And the first thought that Belly can form since they had started to kiss is that;
She has missed this. Him.
She had missed him the way ruins miss the lives that once filled them, the way the ocean misses the shore when the tides pull away, the way the sky misses the sun during the dark.
It did not matter that the moon was there to spread its own kind of borrowed light, taking the sun’s place in quiet imitation. A back up. The moon could never be the sun –could never give the sky what it truly wanted, could never give the same warmth, could never feel real. It was only a substitute, a pale echo of what was needed, a shadow cast by the absence of the real thing. Like a joker dressed up as a king.
She feels so many emotions all at once that she could cry, die or just do the easier thing and fuck him right here in this very bath tub.
He pulls back after God knows how long later. "Wait, fuck- Belly,"
"Yeah, that." She murmurs, her eyes half-open and pulls him back to her lips from his neck. She looses herself in the kiss. In him. Everything is to much.
She feels tears pricking up in her eyes and she doesn't want him to feel them –he can't know that this kiss means a lot more to her than just a resolution of some sort of sexual tension, not yet– so this time she pulls back.
She starts to kiss down his jaw then his throat. He lets out a softer groan than he did when she was helping him. "Belly, you should-"
She hushes him by pressing her index finger firmly on his lips. "Conrad, I want this. I need this. Let me take your pain away. Please." All of the words come out of her mouth a little breathy but she doesn't care. She gives him the most genuine and pleading look she has ever given anyone.
He looks like he's having one of the most intense debates he has ever head inside of his head. She feels her heartbeat rush as she watches him think. Her hands never leaving his hair but staying utterly still.
Ten seconds or ten minutes or even a decade passes. She's not sure.
And then he pulls her back in. She sighs heavily against his lips, letting go of a breath she didn't even realize she was holding.
And this time the kiss feels even better. Their tongues clash. The sounds of their mouths moving against each other and the heavy breaths they inhale fills the room.
She feels like she's escaping a cage she has spent so long in.
One of his hands move to her upper thigh as the other moves from her shoulder to the side of her neck.
He kisses her top lip messily. The way his mouth moves against hers at this very moment feels incredibly familiar. She can't recall if this is a thing he has ever did –kiss her this careless, messy.
After a while, when neither of them can take it anymore, Belly decides to do something she doesn't know if is bad, mad or wise.
But she does it anyway.
She parts their lips to talk; "Can you move your leg?" He nods. Not even asking the reason for it. Trusting her completely.
"Okay, good. Just- let me help you." She helps him shift until both of his legs are hanging out of the tub. He's still sitting, hands on either side of hips.
Belly steps out of the tub and kneels in front of Conrad. She takes her half-damp top off then her bra. Giving Conrad a sight that she knows he missed.
He traces his tongue between his lips and swallows deeply. She places her hands on his shoulders, caressing them gently and starts to leave open mouthed, wet kisses all over his torso.
She can hear the way how his breathing becomes more ragged as she gets closer to where she plans to stay a while. The place he needs her the most.
She doesn't want to be a tease but she also can't help the fact that she wants to spend a life time kissing and licking his abs either. So after a while spending some time there she finally tugs her fingers to the waistband of his green swim trunks and he helps her to pull them down by lifting his hips.
She tosses them aside and looks at him, hungrily. She clenches around nothing as she studies the way he looks right now. Naked, hovering over her, leaking, waiting for her to take him to her mouth.
So she does. Starting off with leaving tender kisses to his leaking tip as her hands grip his thighs.
His hand goes to her cheek, caressing her cheek bone. He looks at her in a way that feels holy. She has caught him looking at her affectionately during the summer but not like this. This is different.
This Conrad is different.
This Conrad looks at her like the way eighteen year-old Conrad looked at her right there in front of that fire place as she let him have the most intimate parts of her.
His face tells her a story as she takes him deeper in her mouth. The kind of a story that might end in the best possible way if every stars were aligned correctly. And she wants them to align correctly. She wants it so bad that she feels the tears she has sent back trying to creep their way up to her eyes.
So she shifts her focus to something different. Something physical. Like the fact that he's bigger than she remembers him to be –not that she has many experiences blowing him when they were dating to remember the shape and feel of him exactly– or like the fact that he's louder than the first and the last time she got to have him in her mouth all those years ago in that night in winter.
And in the very long list of Isabel Conklin's list of things she had missed about having sex with Conrad Fisher –which is quite the long one– there's one thing that is definitely somewhere in her top five; those little helpless sounds.
And she will do anything to hear them. Such as, trying to take him all the way in, playing with his balls and hollowing her cheeks to the point where he has no choice but to cry out her name.
She feels utterly proud of herself. Because she's the reason why Conrad is groaning deeply now. Not the almost too deep cut that he has on his leg. Which she can't even feel sad anymore because it is the reason why they are here. Like this.
Then his hand goes to the back of her neck, grounding. She looks at him under her eyelashes and whimpers, knowing that the sound sends vibrations through him.
His grip tightens and starts to help her move faster and Belly loves the feel of it. The fact that he's finally having the control even if he doesn't have it all.
His other hand goes down to play with her nipple. She moans, her eyes closing for a second. Even though she had been blowing him for the last a few minutes this is the actual first time where he's touching her.
She sucks even harder, licks even firmer, squeezes even tighter. Feeling more encouraged all of a sudden.
And it doesn't take too long before he's spilling warm down her throat. He keeps his eyes locked on her as he does. Like she's something that might sweep away any moment now.
The feeling is so overwhelming that Belly feels like she's going to die.
Instead.
"Conrad," She breathes his name loud enough to echo as her eyes flutter open. She wakes with her cunt pulsing, her sheets kicked down to her ankles and her mind confused.
The feeling stays with her during the day.
Not the pulsing feeling between her legs. She had taken care of that after she washed her face in the morning –she slide two fingers into herself as she replayed every single detail she had remembered about the dream.
But the confusion stays with her.
She keeps seeing visions of the dream during the day. Recalling things that they never did. The messy top lip kiss, the hands that wondered everywhere, the gazes that burn like sun and especially one the thoughts that appeared in her head during her dream she remembers clear as day.
She misses him like sky misses sun during the dark.
It's crazy she tells herself. It was all in her head. The way they kept their gazes on each other like a vow they would uphold. The way he squeezed her thigh as a way to claim. None of them actually happened.
They hadn't touched each other's skin. It was only in her head.
So how come she feels guilty as sin?
She knows the reason deep down.
She loves him. Not just with a part of her –like she had told herself in Christmas– but with all of her. He makes her feel everything. Doesn't matter dream or not.
He still haunts her after years, so stunningly. Makes her long for their trysts.
She knows what she wants and what she has to do.
She needs to free herself from the cage she once felt just fine in. Just like the way she did in her dream.
But with a more noble way. Your actions talk not your thoughts. Don't say anything to Conrad till you get this over with Jere. She thinks.
She takes her ring of her finger and puts it on the night stand. Then she texts Jere.
We need to talk.
She lets out a labored breath after hitting send.
She doesn't know exactly what to say. It doesn't even matter. He's gonna crucify her anyway.
There's one thing she's knows deep in her bones.
She will never not love him.
So that's why she chooses him and her
...Religiously