He was on top, deep inside me, my legs were wrapped around his hips, my hands sliding up and down his back and our mouths were touching when his hands came to either side of my face and he demanded, “Say it again.” My eyes focused on his and I whispered, “Please, Mace, harder.”
He grinned and touched his lips to mine then said, “Not that, babe.”
Oh.
Hel .
Al right. Whatever.
Both my hands slid into his hair to cup his head before I breathed, “I love you.”
I watched as his eyes closed, like they were moving in slow motion then he shoved his face in my neck and started moving again.
This time harder.
* * * * *
After, I left Mace facedown in bed, eyes shut but I knew he wasn’t asleep. I got up, pul ed on my underwear, cutoffs and a tank and went to my guitar. I sat in the armchair, rested the guitar on my knee and started to play.
Then I started to sing to Mace and what I sang to Mace was another song that said it al between us, a kickass power bal ad, Journey’s “Open Arms”.
After the first verse, I lifted my head and saw Mace was up, stil mostly on his bel y but now twisted slightly and up on an elbow.
His eyes were on me.
I kept on singing and this time, I sang the chorus directly to him.
Then with effort, I tore my eyes from him, looked back down at my guitar and kept singing.
My head lifted again when the song became about the lover coming back, I caught Mace’s eyes and I sang that part and the chorus to him as his eyes stayed locked with mine.
I finished singing, dipped my face down to stare at my hands again and mindlessly kept strumming some of the chords to the song.
Mace kept watching me, I knew it, I felt it and I had to admit I loved it.
“What kind of music did Caitlin like?” I asked softly, stil watching my hands moving.
“Tchaikovsky,” Mace answered immediately.
I lifted my head and smiled at him.
“I don’t know any Tchaikovsky,” I told him.
He shook his head, his lips turned up in a smal grin and I watched him, opening al my sensors to see where his head was at and sensing he was okay (and hoping I was right).
“Do you think she would have liked me?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Mace answered, again immediately.
My heart did what was becoming a familiar settle.
“Do you think she’d like me with you?” I went on.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk about her.”
“It’s gettin’ easier.”