it. I need you to know it. I do not need you to respond in kind.”
I take his fingers, move them aside, and look into his eyes. “I loved you when we were children together. I loved you when you were growing into a man. I loved you—desperately, agonizingly, achingly loved you—when everyone told me you were not real. It tore me apart. You might say I didn’t need a hospital’s care, that there was nothing wrong with me. But there was. The boy I loved wasn’t real, and I didn’t want to live in a world where he’d never been. I lost something there, some part of my heart and my soul vital for living, and there was a time when I didn’t want to continue.”
His breath catches, pain flooding his eyes.
Before he can speak, I say, “I pushed on, and yes, I found happiness and healing, but part of me was always yours, could never be anyone’s but yours. You have said that you won’t expect me to stay in your world, and you have no idea how much that means to me. But just because you’ll never expect it doesn’t mean I will never consider it. I cannot promise to stay forever, but I can promise I will never leave forever. Not again. No matter what.”
He leans down, and he kisses me, gentle and sweet, until the hunger licks through us again, and then he lifts me up and carries me into the house.
24
Once in William’s bed, we take our time, that initial overwhelming surge of need sated. This is a long, slow exploration, getting to know each other’s bodies and showing our full appreciation for them, culminating in passionate lovemaking that has us both dropping into deep slumber.
I wake from that slumber to kisses on my shoulder, fingers stroking my thighs, and it’s that first night all over again, sleepy caresses and slow kisses and bodies entwining, only this time, ending as it should have, as it has in my fantasies.
More sleep, and then I’m the one who rouses, the one who touches and kisses as lightly as I can, not wanting to wake him, just wanting to luxuriate in the smell and feel of him, in having him there and knowing he’ll stay, that this is not a dream, not a single night’s passion. We have made our commitment, and I have no idea where that will lead, but I’ve found something I spent two decades aching for, and so I can’t help touching, kissing, reassuring myself he’s there and he’s mine.
When he responds, moving against me, burying his head in the crook of my neck, I go still. He lifts his head, one sleepy eye half-open.
“No?” he murmurs.
“I just didn’t mean to wake you.”
A drowsy half smile. “I believe I was only half-sleeping, waiting for the excuse.” His arms go around me, pulling me to him with a light kiss. “Go on back to sleep. I will exercise patience at least until morning.”
I slide my hands down his hips. “I wasn’t saying no. I just didn’t want you to think I’d woken you for more. It has been a strenuous night, and you probably need your—”
His mouth comes to mine, and he pulls me on top of him.
* * *
After that, William falls into exhausted, satiated sleep. And I lie there, wide eyed, my body having clearly mistaken that for wake-up sex and telling me it’s time to rise. After lying there for at least twenty minutes, envying his deep and even breathing, I roll over to see what time it is.
Of course, there’s no bedside clock. No cell phone, either. I remember I left mine out on the lawn . . . in the grass . . . gathering dew. I sigh, push up and pad to the door. When I open it, Pandora is right there, and I falter. I don’t know what I expect—that she’ll attack me for being the cause of that closed door? She just sits and watches me circle past. Then she follows me down the stairs.
I step out the back door and realize I’m naked. Normally, I’m a whole lot more aware of that—even going braless can be uncomfortable. But it isn’t until I step out and get blasted by cold pre-dawn air that my euphoria parts enough for me to realize I’m not wearing anything.
I bolt for our pile of clothing, which causes plenty of uncomfortable bouncing. I pass my ballgown—I’m definitely not “throwing” that on.