It had been two weeks since I had moved with my sons and Chris to California, leaving everything of my past behind. Chris and I agreed that he would be the father to my children, which meant we had to pretend to be married. So far it was in name only, although the look in Chris' eyes told me he was all too willing to change that.
Every night we would tuck the children in bed before going to our separate bedrooms. Each time he would look at me, and I would turn away, closing the door and locking it behind me. The last few nights, though, I had hesitated before turning the lock. Last night I had even gotten back out of bed, and I almost went to his room.
There was no denying it. I missed a man's hands on me, touching me, caressing me. I loved Chris. There are different types of loves, but there was not a way to differentiate my love for Chris. Paul's words haunted me, encouraging me to act on whatever it was Chris and I shared.
Tonight when headed down that long hallway to our rooms, I stopped before the spot where we usually parted. Chris turned to look at me, and I looked down at the floor. I couldn't voice my thoughts. I couldn't acknowledge that we were the creatures the grandmother had seen from the start.
Chris didn't need to hear me speak. He knew what I was thinking, what I wanted. He came to me slowly, daring only to put his arms around me first. I allowed him to gather me closer, and laid my head on his shoulder. He held me like that for a full minute, allowing me to sink into his embrace. He smelled so good, and I turned my face into his neck. I could see the pulse beating at his neck, and I leaned in to lightly brush a kiss there. I heard him groan, and he tilted my face up so he could kiss my lips.
It was a soft, sweet kiss, like the kisses we had given each other when we were little. Then it changed to the kiss I remembered from later years, his lips covered mine fully, his tongue slid in to touch mine. His arms tightened around me so that my body was pressed against his. I could feel his passion, and mine rose in return. My hand came up to caress his face, my fingers playing in his hair.
His hands left my sides to cup my breasts, and I shivered. This was the point where I always stopped him, and he realized this the same time I did.
"Please, Cathy," he whispered against my lips, his thumb brushing my nipple. I kept my eyes closed, somehow thinking it would make what we were doing less wrong. I dropped my hand from his face, but I let him continue. I didn't stop him when his hand went under my robe to touch that place between my thighs. I let out a small gasp, and his fingers gently stroked.
Wordlessly, he urged me into his bedroom. His room was so neatly kept, his bed carefully made and his medical books lining the wall. He pulled me down onto the bed with him, hurriedly undressing me. I wanted to laugh at his exuberance, but he was kissing me before a sound could escape. He rushed to take off his own clothes, and before long we were in his bed, naked as the day we were born. Naked as we had so often used to be around each other. But now we noticed it.
He was hot beside me, urgently pressing against me. We both had experience now, although it seemed to disappear as we moved together, taking us back to that first rushed time in the attic. Then there had been tears, but now there was only blinding pleasure as our love expressed itself in the way we never dared to explore.
When it was over, I lay back in his arms, and experienced the usual conflicting emotions. The shame and guilt that never seemed to leave me, the love I would always feel for him, but also a feeling of contentment. Somehow this wrong act felt incredibly right.
Chris looked at me, trying to read my expression. I studied his own expression and noticed how happy he looked, younger, even. He cupped my face with his hand and kissed me. I placed my hand over his and he said, "You are mine, Cathy. You will always be mine."