I was mercifully numb as I went through the motions of getting ready for my mother's stupid fucking beach bash. I put on a nice sundress, some strappy sandals, a bra and everything. Went all-out conservative and checked to make sure my period was gone and ran a brush through my hair, leaving my face bare with the exception of some watermelon lip gloss, and when I came downstairs, my father actually smiled at me.
"Very nice, Isabel," he said, between mouthfuls of brandy, and I managed to smile in return.
"Thanks. We going?"
"Waiting for your mother, as usual," he said, unbuttoning his cream-colored linen sports coat and loosening his tie.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." My mom waltzed out of the first-floor bathroom in a long, pale-peach-colored evening gown. She was beautiful, and always had been. She kissed my cheek, and I sighed a little. I had to become Isabel Adams again. I had to be their daughter again.
The paper lanterns swayed soft and slow, back and forth, on the tropical breeze, and the air was full of the scent and sounds of a beautiful barbecue, large steel trays heavily laden with brilliant vegetables and tender, marinated meats. I was surprised to find myself starving, and I loaded up a plate, wrapping meat and peppers and onions and rice and cheese in a giant flour tortilla. I sat down at a table with my folks, crossing my legs daintily like the rich girl I'd once more be, and devoured the food. I ordered a margarita and a pina colada, and my parents didn't so much as flinch.
I must have eaten too much too fast, because almost as soon as I swallowed the last bite, I had to make a bee-line for the bathroom, and all the pretty colors came up and out and sank to the bottom of the toilet. I flushed and sat down and willed myself not to cry. Not to think about them, any of them, and not to cry. It was for naught. The tears came regardless of my resistance and I drew deep, shaky breaths, trying to remain calm.
I thought through the possibility of staying there, in Mexico, of hitch-hiking to the City. I knew Leon would take me back, live the lie forever, but it wouldn't be fair to either of us, and the lack of sensibility was thankfully fleeting. Splashing some cool water on my eyes to reduce the redness created by crying, I returned to the party, rinsing the sour taste from my mouth with the icy sweetness of my mixed drink. I played the gracious and demure hood ornament for several more hours, then excused myself and went home to bed, knowing that my parents would be partying until six a.m. as long as they had company.
Sleep would not come to me. I tossed and turned, tangling my body in the sheets and sweating in the throbbing stifle of the heat. It was going to be a very long 50-some hours, caught in limbo there under my parents' watchful eye. As I struggled to sleep, I brainstormed, coming up with various ways to evade them, to avoid spending time golfing and sight-seeing for the next two days. I planned several excuses and decided I could fake an illness if the need were to arise.
They say misery loves company, but I was very much alone, and well aware of it. None of my 'friends' in New York would recognize me when I went back. They wouldn't know me physically, and I'd changed inside as much as I had on the outside. I would be going to a new school, though, to an Ivy League college, where I would know no one. The truest friends I'd ever known would be separated from me by thousands of miles.
I would probably lose my virginity to some rich frat boy while I was bombed-out drunk, wake up with an ache between my legs and no recollection of how it had gotten there. I would throw myself into my studies, get straight A's, be a machine, a workaholic, and try to forget the black of Dominic Toretto's eyes, the crease and contour of his muscles as he moved, the way white cotton looked against his skin, and the way his mouth felt on my body.
The sand was still warm from the merciless 18-hour beating it had taken from the sun that day, and it slipped up between my toes as I walked, stripping off my clothes as I went, and dove into the gentle surf. My heart felt so heavy I was sure it would pull me to the bottom and hold me there, and that I would drown. I wasn't in complete opposition to the idea, staying underwater until I saw prickly multicolored stars against the black backdrop of my eyelids, then broke the surface with a ragged gasp/sob that tore up and out of my chest.
It couldn't be over. Not yet. It couldn't end this way. All I could see, all I could hear, all I could feel was Dominic. I just needed to be with him, just a few moments more. Just one more second. Just one more breath. One hour, one night...It couldn't end this way.
I didn't want to cry anymore. I didn't want to hurt anymore. I drew another deep breath and plunged my weary body back down into the tugging oblivion of the waves. The pain was omnipresent, searing, and yet, not physical. I wanted it to end, wanted to have the courage to open my mouth and draw in great lungfuls of saltwater and end it, take control of something I had no control over, put myself out of my misery.
I couldn't do it. Weeping, I crawled back up onto the sand and collapsed. I pulled my knees up to my chest and held them there, lying in that fetal position until I was too weak to cry anymore. Shaking, rubber-limbed, I forced sticky arms and legs back into the tee-shirt and boxers that had been serving as my pajamas and stumbled back into the house, my hair full of sand, shivering from air-drying in the night wind. To this day, I'm not sure how I made it up those stairs, but I did. Sank down onto my bed and was asleep before my bad-addled head hit the pillow.
I have some vague recollection of my mother trying to wake me somewhere near midday the next afternoon, of telling her I was tired, and that she should go away. She must have listened to me, because I didn't wake again until 5 p.m., and the house was silent. Although I'd been sleeping for somewhere close to 16 hours, when I sat up in bed, I was thoroughly awake and completely subdued. I climbed out of bed and flipped through the clothes in my closet. Black leather and red mesh stuck haphazardly in between pale blue cotton, navy rayon, gingham blouses. I ran my fingertips down the length of the pale blue sundress, then closed my hand on the skirt. It was soft, clingy in the chest, easy to move in, the neckline cut low, and it was ankle-length. I tugged it off the hanger and took it into the bathroom with me, along with a white cotton thong and a soft white bra.
I lingered in the shower, letting the grit of the sand stream over my skin and make swirling trails toward the drain, my hair a flat, wet blanket against my back. I looked down at my body and scarcely recognized it as my own. My ribs pressed out against my skin, my hip bones protruding. My legs looked long and slender, and my belly was completely flat. My breasts were half the size they'd been when I had stepped off that plane, and my skin was a deep gold from the sun. I shaved my legs and armpits and bikini line and looked at the blade on the razor longer than I should have before stepping out and toweling off.
I fought a comb through the tangled length of my hair and pulled on my underwear and the dress, and when I looked in the mirror, I liked what I saw. If I lost any more weight, I would be too thin. But at the moment, I had the body of the young dancer Isabel Adams. The body that was irreproachable even in a spandex leotard under the glaring scrutiny of the stage lights.
The air hung heavy with the sweet scent of my lilac shampoo as I crossed the room to stand at the window and stare out at sand and sea.
It wasn't real to me at first, what and whom I saw standing there, down that stretch of beach. Like an oasis, like a mirage, the image of him blurred itself as my mind registered it. Blurred and then became pristine. Hands deep in the pockets of baggy khakis, broad shoulders bared by a white wifebeater, clean-shaven head bowed slightly, staring down or out or both, he stood there.
I couldn't breathe, and, at first, I couldn't move. I stood with a white-knuckled grip on the window, my mouth falling open in silent disbelief. I tried to speak his name, but it would not come, and I backed slowly away from the window, still not quite sure that I'd seen him. As if partially frozen, I took the stairs slowly, with great hesitation, holding the sky-colored cotton up out of the way of my feet, terrified that I was going to open the back doors and look down toward the Toretto villa home and see nothing but what I'd expected to see upon going to my bedroom window-sand and sea.
But he was there. My breaths became tortured and short and fast, and I covered my mouth with both hands, tears pooling in my eyes and spilling over the guardlines of my lower lashes. Letting go of control and rationality, I broke into a run, sobbing out his name as I went.
"Dominic."
He turned and opened his arms to me. In that moment, I knew that I had not been mistaken. He'd come back alone, to be with me. His face dark and pensive as ever, he strode determinedly toward me, and when I reached him, my body hit his so hard that the impact forced the air from my lungs. He never wavered, though, kept his footing and wrapped his arms around me and covered my mouth with his. I was falling fast, seeing stars, losing myself in his kiss, and when he broke contact, I was breathless.
"Come inside," he said, enfolding one of my hands in one of his and leading me toward the back door of the house that was his for another 48 hours.
Inside, everything was naked and antiseptic, every trace of them gone, and he pulled me to a bedroom on the first floor, the one that had served as a guest room, the one where Viri had demanded to know why Letty couldn't get rid of Dominic and Letty had given an honest, wordless answer.
His lips found mine again, his hands shoving the stretchy straps of the dress down over my shoulders, baring them to his kiss. My heart was pounding, everything from my waist down a cool, humming tingle of fear mixed with anticipation, and he trailed his mouth off of mine, along my jawline, nipping with gentle lips at the soft, tender skin at the joint of my throat and my shoulder. I could hear my breaths, short little gasps, and his, long and smooth and measured. As he lifted me into his arms to carry me to the bed, I felt the brush of his erection through his jeans against my thigh. I remembered the sight and texture and girth of it and bit my lower lip, closing my eyes, as he laid me back into the soft white of the pillows.
Dominic peeled my dress up and over my head, his movements slow and easy, as if he went too fast, I would back out. Maybe it was true. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I'd been waiting far too long for this and that the room was spinning, and my fingers found the buckle of his belt, but he stopped them.
"Not yet," he rumbled gently, and I nodded, letting my hands fall, one on either side of my head, clenching the pillowcase in two fists as he covered my breasts with his palms and began a slow, circular massage, settling his hips between my legs, my panties and his khakis separating us from each other. The delicious pressure of the heels of his hands with each pass back and forth over my nipples sent intense darts of a scalding, filling phenomenon down the flat of my belly to build and center between my legs.
When I thought I could take his touch no more, he slipped his fingertips up beneath the elastic of my bra and fluttered them against the swollen, blood-filled tips, and it felt so good I thought I was going to cry, my heart in my throat, my entire body trembling. Dominic circled his hands back around to the garment's closure and unhooked it deftly, slipping its straps over my shoulders and discarding it. Cradling my torso in his hands, he dipped his head and tugged one of my nipples into the dark, wet heat of his mouth, pinning it between his lips and rolling his tongue over it. Leaving a damp trail across the valley of my breasts, he dragged his mouth to the other side and repeated the beautiful torture. My hips rocked involuntarily up to meet his, seeking the friction there that I knew would bring me relief, but he took one hip in each hand and pinned me to the mattress, alternating between my left and right breast, switching again and again, and the cotton of the pillowcase grew hot in my grip.
Opening my hands stiffly, I moved them to the velvety prickle of his scalp, and I saw and felt him smile against the sensitive wetness of my skin. Hooking his thumbs underneath the waistline of my underwear, he dragged them down, down to just above my knees, and rolled over off of me, settling beside me and sinking one hand into my hair, the other flattened on the plane of my stomach. I looked at him, asking a thousand silent questions, but he closed his eyes against my interrogation and sought out my mouth as he slipped his hand down, down between my legs. I held that wrist with one hand and fisted my other hand in the front of his shirt, jumping slightly as he began to stroke me.
"Relax," he said, his lips moving against mine, his lids so heavy that his eyes were barely open. "You have to just relax."
His body language conveyed the same message. Although he was impossibly hard, straining against the material of his pants, his movements were slow, almost lazy. His strokes were gentle, his fingertips just barely brushing up and down along between my lips. I let my eyes roll closed as I felt the slight pressure of one of his fingers making its way into my body. I tensed at first, then remembered his words, and forced myself to relax.
"Good girl," he whispered, kissing my mouth first, then my face, my throat, my collarbone, my chin, my mouth... "Relax, now..." He pulled the finger back out of me and pressed another in alongside it. My fingernails dug into his wrist as I felt a sharp twinge, and he moved his mouth over my ear. "Shhh, it's all right." And, in a moment, it was. My body accustomed itself to the intrusion, and Dominic pushed deeper, until he could go no further. I relaxed, let the clench of my muscles subside under the manipulation of his massage, released the murder grip on his wrist.
He began to move, on a mercifully slow rhythm, in and out of me, back and forth, until there was no resistance from my body whatsoever. His hand was slow and practiced, he knew what he was doing, and yet when I opened my eyes and met his gaze, there was uncertainty there. Vulnerability. I wasn't the only one afraid and unsure.
My thong slipped down over my knees and settled around my ankles as I opened myself further to his touch, kissing him almost incessantly, letting my hand trail up from his wrist, along his forearm and over his shoulder, cupping his face and drawing my thumb gently over the satin skin of his eyelid, letting his lashes tickle me, touching his cheek.
There was no pressure and no pain now, only a jittery nervousness and a full, achy need, and he drew his fingers out of me, rubbing my inner thighs gently for a moment before he sat up. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched him rid himself of the white tank, baring the bronze beauty of his chiseled chest to my eyes. He knelt before me, between my knees, and this time, when I reached to unbuckle his belt, he didn't stop me. With shaking hands, I worked the button through the hole, knowing what was dying to be in the open air, waiting behind that zipper.
I couldn't catch my breath, couldn't make myself do it, and when I met his gaze with a silent plea, he smiled, almost shyly, glancing down at my hands and covering them with his own. He eased my fingers away from his zipper and dragged it down for me, its gentle rasping filling the loaded silence of the bedroom. Dominic brought my hands back up to his body then, to his hips, and guided them into his blue plaid boxing shorts. Together, we slid the boxers down, over his hips, over his thighs, and when his cock sprang free, he issued a growling, grateful groan. My hands were trembling, pinned beneath his on his thighs, and he slid them upward, my fingertips bumping along the ridges of his abs and cresting the curves of his large pecs and finally stopping at his shoulders.
"Hold onto me," he whispered, and I obeyed, closing my eyes as he tugged my panties free of my feet and pushed his khakis the rest of the way down and off. His muscles shifted and moved beneath my hands as he did all of this, and he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, opening it and withdrawing a small gold square packet. Trojan Magnum.
Jesus. It's really going to happen.
I was terrified and ecstatic, my mouth dry. I watched him roll the clear condom back over the head of him, down the length of the shaft. I felt dizzy, and my heart was racing, so fast I couldn't count the beats. I tried to focus on his face, but I couldn't seem to keep from staring at It. There was no way in hell It would fit inside of me. And if he managed somehow to get It in, it was going to hurt like mad. Still, I wanted this. I wanted it to be him. I wanted it to be now. And I trusted him. He knew what he was doing. Jesus, that thing was huge...
"Isabel," he said softly, tilting my face up to his with one knuckle beneath my chin. "Keep your eyes on mine." I nodded, could feel that all the color had drained from my face. "You sure about this?" he asked, and I nodded again, without hesitation. "Me too." Dominic pressed his mouth to mine for a lingering moment, not invasive, almost chaste. "It's gonna be all right. I love you." My heart contracted at the way those words tumbled off his tongue and hung in the air, and I found his lips again for a deeper kiss.
"I love you, too."
He eased down on top of me, supporting his weight on one elbow while his other hand drifted down my body to the apex of my thighs, stroking me gently, briefly, slipping his fingers in and out of me a few times.
"Just try to relax," he whispered, taking his cock in his hand and glancing down momentarily to the place where our bodies met. He anchored his eyes on mine, then, and kissed me, and I felt the nudge of his head against the very root of my sensation, felt him stroking me with it, gently, back and forth, wetting himself with the lubrication my body had provided, accustoming me to the feel of it, the thickness and heat of it through the condom. I tightened my grip on his shoulders as I felt him guide his head down from my clit to the entrance to my body. My eyes raped his face, drinking in the intense expression of concentration, his brow furrowed. His features softened, then, and he smiled with a warmth that spread through my body.
"Okay," he said, brushing his lips against mine, and, with those powerful hips, he pushed forward, firm but slow, and my breath caught in my throat, hands clamped on his skin, narrowly resisting the urge to tell him to stop, to drop one hand down and remove the origin of the agony from my body. He paused, distracting me with a kiss and murmuring something against my lips, but I didn't catch whatever it was he said, hearing him as if underwater. He was still then, only about an inch inside of me, until the pain gave way to a steady pulse, and then he pushed further, his hands holding my hips steady, his eyes holding mine until I broke his gaze, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. It felt as if I were being torn apart, as if he was ripping through my body. He was going very slowly, being very gentle, and yet whatever I had steeled myself for, this was worse. Something inside of me pinched and gave way, and I felt a wet, heated rush, as if I were bleeding.
"Is that supposed to happen?" The voice that left my throat was not my own. It didn't sound like me, and I didn't feel my lips moving. Yet the words had to be mine, and I had to have spoken out loud, because Dominic responded with a nod and a kiss on the cheek.
"Yes." He answered barely above a whisper, yet his voice was rough and rocky, with a combination of concentration and concern and need. He was still, then, again, ceased movement and waited for me to recover, kissing me, letting one hand travel my torso, thumb and forefinger plucking gently at my nipples, then tracing my jaw and cupping my face as the tip of his tongue danced against mine. There was a fiery intensity in his black eyes, as if he had so much to tell me, so much to ask me, and yet was unable to manage a single word. Once again, the searing pain ebbed away to a dull throb. As he pressed forth again, I wondered how he knew my body so well, how he could tell when I was ready for more.
That push was excruciating, and I had to bite back a cry of pain. I felt a nudge deep, deep inside of me, a nudge that I now know was his head bumping against my cervix, and I was completely full of him, no leeway anywhere. My hips, my pubic bone, every muscle surrounding him, everything straining to accommodate, to make more room, but there was no room. I was stretched to every limit, and I squirmed beneath him. It was uncomfortable, the pain acute, but he immobilized me, holding my hips in both hands and keeping me still.
"It's all right," he managed huskily. "I'm in all the way now." His words filled me with reassurance. He was in all the way. The worst was over. And this feeling would fade, just like before. So I was still, and I waited, and gradually, like before, the discomfort lessened, became tolerable, and when I could breathe again, Dominic began to make love to me.
I slid my hands down over his shoulders to hold his upper arms, and he smiled, his teeth brilliantly white against the golden brown of his face. I captured that beautiful mouth with my own and rocked my hips tentatively on his cautious rhythm, his gleaming obsidian eyes gauging my reaction, full of awe and love so raw I could taste it. There was still pain, but I was able to disregard it, distract myself from it with the wonder of this, the beauty of him, and I thanked God silently for giving me another chance at this and giving me the courage to take it.
My hands roamed his back, my fingertips dancing down the valley of his spine, cupping his buttocks almost shyly, feeling the muscles flex beneath my hands, and he was breathing hard now, glistening with sweat. Dominic let his forehead fall to my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck.
"I love you, Izzie," he hissed, his breath hot on my throat.
"I love you, too."
"I love you," he grunted, and I closed my eyes. There was a tension in him now, an urgency, the in-and-out drag of him along the inside of me still gentle, but firmer, faster. "I love you," he whispered. I opened my mouth to respond again, but the words were lost to both of us as his hips jerked up to meet mine, powerfully, bucking rhythmless through his orgasm, and I just held onto him, sore and satisfied and overwhelmed.
There was blood on him and smeared on my inner thighs, a small, shockingly red spot on the sheets beneath us when he rolled free of me. I put two and two together and realized that the pinching tear and the ensuing bleeding had been the rupture of my hymen, the popping of my cherry, and the realization sent a shiver through me. Dominic was gasping for breath as he pulled me into his arms and held me against the sweatslick wall of rock that was his chest.
I started to cry without really knowing why, not happy and not sad, just completely bewildered. Dominic seemed to understand, because he didn't question my tears, just tightened his hold on me and kissed the top of my head, burying his face in my hair. He kept me close like that for a long while, then eased away from me and peeled the condom free of his now-harmless cock.
He got to his feet beside the bed without speaking and padded barefoot across the bedroom to the adjacent bath, running hot water into the large porcelain tub. I watched Dom as he stood and watched the bathtub fill, a naked god of a man, his entire body creased with muscle, long, strong legs speckled with a covering of coarse black hair. The fact that he had just been a part of me, inside of me, sent a jolt through my torso. I had a sudden urge to pinch myself, to see if I was dreaming, but the throbbing contusion between my legs was convincing enough. This was real.
Dom returned to the bed and scooped me effortlessly into his arms, cradling me against his chest like a small child. He set me down in the water and climbed in behind me, settling with one leg on either side of me, and I leaned back against his chest and closed my eyes as he washed me, his hands moving over my body, painfully gentle, rubbing at my skin everywhere, cleansing away the sticky evidence of what had just happened between my thighs. Finally, his hands stopped, his fingers laced through mine, and he spoke.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I said softly.
"Sit in the tub awhile, you won't be so stiff." His voice moved over me like a living presence, and I nodded.
"Aright."
"You leave tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Stay with me until you go?"
"Yes."
Dom and I ate at the cabana. We hardly said anything at all, but there were volumes spoken in our silence, each of us reliving what had transpired between us late that afternoon. The sky was overcast, so the blackness was thick and absolute, not a star in sight. When we finished, Dominic asked them to box up our uneaten fruit and paid for the food and I left a tip and we returned to our little sanctuary, the first-floor guestroom in a dead, empty house that had once been overflowing with life.
We both stood silently for a moment and stared at the spot of red at the center of the bed, then Dom stepped forward and stripped the sheets off the bed, throwing them into a white heap in a corner and pulling me back down onto the bare mattress with him. He went down on me, his mouth all gentle tugging and licking and lapping, building me up until there was nothing to do but break back down. I came hard and long with my hands splayed on the back of his head. I tried to return the favor, but he just wrapped me in his arms, saying,
"Wait."
So I waited, a few hours more, both of us lying in almost utter silence, and then Dominic undressed me again, sitting back on his heels and feasting for a moment on my naked form. I felt good about my body, felt confident in what he was seeing, and it was a good feeling. He reached then for the Styrofoam box on the nightstand, flipping open the lid with his thumbs and then setting it down on the bed beside me. He lifted out a slice of watermelon and straddled my hips, one knee on either side of me. Bracing himself with one fist next to my ribcage and holding the fruit in his free hand, he leaned over me and took a bite. It was impossibly juicy, almost overripe, and several sweet droplets fell free of his lips and splashed against the unsuspecting flat of my belly. I gasped at the cool impact, but was grinning by the time he took the second bite, this time dribbling the juice down over my breasts. Sitting back on my knees, he took a third bite and let the pale pink liquid drip into the dark, curly hair between my legs.
Returning the watermelon to the box, Dominic proceeded to clean up his mess, dragging his tongue lazily over my body to catch what he had spilled, lapping up the sugary stickiness the watermelon had left there. When finally his mouth reached mine, he tasted of the fruit, and I was aching for him against my better judgment. He was painstakingly gentle, though, as we made love for the second time, my sore, stiff muscles relenting to the irresistible coercion of his practiced ministrations.
It wasn't nearly as difficult as it had been the last time for him to get inside of me, and he was slow and easy as ever, my body warming to this lovemaking idea, my nipples growing hard and dragging across his chest as he moved within me, the temperate stroke of his hand keeping in sync with the stroke of his hips and deftly coaxing an orgasm from my exhausted body. I watched him come, loving the passion and torment in his face as he swallowed his way silently through his release.
In the morning, when I got up to pee, I could scarcely walk. I stood bent over at the side of the bed, my legs refusing to straighten, my inner thighs and my ass knotted beyond belief, my entire body screaming at me, and I panicked.
"Take it easy," Dom said groggily. "Just go slow, you'll be all right." I drew strength and from his words, and, lo and behold, he was right. Again. I managed to stand up and limp to the toilet and back. When I'd hauled myself up into the bed, Dominic ordered me to lie down on my stomach, and with large, dark hands, he rubbed the demons out of me, loosened the clenched muscles, from my neck to my shoulders, down my back, my ass, the insides of my thighs, my calves, my feet.
When he finished, he turned me over and lay down on top of me again, licking and suckling lazily at my nipples, and I felt the reluctant awakening between my legs. We had no condoms left, and he hesitated, asking if it was all right, if I was on something. I nodded and wrapped my hand around the base of him, tugging him toward me, guiding him home. I was as wet as I'd ever been in my life, and all he'd done is drag his tongue back and forth a few times. This time, when he sank down into me, there was only a sharp twinge and a sensation of intense fullness. I pushed on his shoulder, and he rolled us so that I was sitting astride him, staring down into his face. He was so exquisitely beautiful, so unearthly perfect. I was breathless looking at him. For a moment, I didn't move, my hands splayed on his pecs, full of him, just looking at him, memorizing him, knowing that my departure was looming before us, in the not-distant-enough future.
He didn't hurry me, remained perfectly motionless, just watched me watch him, and then, finally, a slow smile spread across my face and I began to roll my hips, his hands holding my hips, just touching, not guiding. I was in control. One hand drifted up off my hip, his palm bumping my breast, and settled with its fingertips splayed across my cheek. He traced my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, staring softly up at me from beneath hooded lids. I groaned. God, he was magnificent.
I wanted to give him everything I had for him, every tempestuous emotion that had torn through me and been stifled since the first time I'd lain eyes on him. I wanted him to know that the love so clearly displayed on his features was not one-sided.
I wanted to show him that I wasn't just a baby, that I'd been dying to be his lover. So I rode him, slowly at first, and then without reservation, bending at the waist and falling forward against him, and he slipped his hands up to cradle my ribcage, pulling my chest to his face, sucking and biting at my nipples. It was a different kind of sex than what we'd had the first two times, and my emotions jigsawed between intimidation, awe, and empowerment. I felt weak in the knees, felt a weary soreness and yet also felt the coiling reaction of my lower belly to the friction of my clit against the base of him, and I could tell by the quickening of his breath that he was close, as well. I ached with exhaustion, but I had to finish this, couldn't stop, was almost there.
We came at the same time, a mutual implosion, my body contracting violently against him, and a soft cry escaped my lips as he lunged up into me. I covered his mouth with mine as we wound down, and he wrapped his arms around me so tightly that it hurt, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.
I headed out into the kitchen to get a drink of water and noticed for the first time that Dominic had brought the Polaroid camera back with him. It lay, discarded and forgotten, on the counter. I got my water and headed back with it, into the bedroom. He grinned when he saw me with it, and I watched him come at me through the viewfinder, snapping a picture of him. He tried to snatch the camera away from him, but I jerked it out of his reach.
"Don't," I said. "Please?"
I'd taken photography in school, knew how to take a damn good picture, but there was little to nothing that I could do with this camera. I took pictures of his face, his belly, his hands, his feet. I stood with my back to his front and held the camera out before us and snapped a couple pictures of the two of us together, then let him take one just of me. I watched him tear it down to size and slip it into the secret compartment in his wallet and wondered if Letty would eventually find it and know that I had supremely fucked her over. He looked up at me and smiled, chasing the thought from my head, and I returned his smile. My hair was hanging in my eyes, and he walked slowly up to me and brushed it aside, tucking it behind my ear. I glanced down at the wallet he held, at the picture sleeves. I pulled the little slip of photos out of the wallet, and he watched me flip through them.
The first picture was of Letty, sticking out her tongue.
"What is she here, fifteen?" I asked, and he chuckled.
"Sixteen, I think." I flipped to the next shot. Two little kids in a faded department-store wallet print, a little girl with long black hair in barrettes and a red corduroy jumper and a little boy with messy black curls and a big grin in Oshkosh bibs and old-school Nikes. "Me and Mia," he said, before I had to ask, and I smiled softly. "I'm gonna miss her. But she should go to school, long as she can. Make something of herself."
"She'll be able to visit," I said, touching the little boy's face. "You were a gorgeous kid."
"Devilishly handsome," he growled, and waggled his eyebrows, and I cracked up. "Just like my dad. And Mia looks just like Mom did."
"Both of your parents dead now?"
"Yeah," he nodded, the corners of his mouth drooping down out of their smile. "For years now. Mom first, then Dad. So I take care of Mia."
I reached up and touched the side of his face, wishing I could kiss the melancholy stress away.
"Who takes care of you?"
"For now?" He kissed my mouth. "You. After this, I'm on my own again." He shrugged. "Let used to take care of me. We'll see what happens."
"It's looking good again, the two of you," I said, swallowing hard, and he stretched out on the bed.
"We'll see what happens," he repeated.
Dominic fell asleep while I was looking through the Polaroids, and I took one last picture, of him lying there, his beautiful brown face against the white of the pillow. Then, lying down next to him, I let consciousness slip away.
I blinked, bleary-eyed, at the clock on the bedroom wall.
"That the right time, Dom?" I asked, and I felt him nod in response. "My parents are probably having a heart attack."
"One more time," he said, and I didn't think twice before agreeing to his request, soreness be damned.
"One more time."
I think my body'd had more than enough of his intrusion, but we took our time, went as slow and easy as the first time, and once he was all the way into me, he lay there, kissing me, and waited. That fourth round lasted perhaps three and a half minutes. I think he was as tired as I was, as worn out and emotionally exhausted. My body fit him like a glove, holding tight to him, and I wrapped my arms and legs around him as well, pulling him into a full-body embrace. He whispered softly in my ear that he loved me.
Dominic.
Again.
I said goodbye to Dominic again, in the empty living room of that house. There were no tears. I think we were both grateful that we'd been given this opportunity. That things had come together. We just stood, our bodies pressed together, no Letty, no Leon, no eyes on us, able to bid one another farewell properly. Honestly.
"I'll never forget it," he said, and I sighed softly. "Not one second."
"Me either," I sighed.
"And I'll never regret it, either," he continued. "Sometimes right and wrong just isn't written in black and white. Sometimes you just have to do things that are in between."
"I won't regret it. It was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be you."
"I couldn't let you go back and...I couldn't let it be someone else."
"I know. I'm glad you didn't. It was beautiful, Dominic. Thank you."
Dominic shook his head, dragging his lips along my cheek and rocking me slowly back and forth.
"No. Thank you."
I was quiet for a moment, my eyes closed, reliving the past twenty hours or so, seeing his face above me, feeling him inside of me. I'd had as much of him as he could possibly give, and it had been wonderful. I felt strange, older, stronger, wiser. Not just from the sundry minutes I'd spent losing my virginity, but from all the minutes of that long, gorgeous summer amassed. I'd learned so much. I'd lived so much.
I'd loved so much. And now I had to let it go.
I pulled back away from Dominic and pressed my mouth softly to his.
"You're a good man, Dom. And you're gonna do just fine."
His smile was sad.
"You think so?"
"I know so. You were made for it."
His hands traveled down my back to cup my ass, and he hoisted me up for another short kiss, and then another, and finally a deep, sad, goodbye kiss. He set me down and ran his fingers through my hair, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
"Go, Isabel."
So I went. I went home to my parents, who were frantic and had convinced themselves that I'd run off to Mexico City with the hooligan Leon and would not be heard from again. I endured their panicked reprimand calmly and wondered if they could see, plain as the nose on my face, that I was no longer pure. That the great secret of the world had been revealed to me. That I was a different person entirely than the one who had accompanied them to Mexico in the first place.
They'd packed my things, and the driver had loaded everything into the Lexus already. I stepped into the simple brown sandals they'd saved out for me and tried not to show my limp as I made my way out to the car. I stole a glance back down at Dom's place, but there was only emptiness. He was nowhere in sight. Gone. Gone to me.
The driver was named Jorge Luis Gonzalez. He told us his entire life story in accent-saturated English for the first half of the trip to the airport and spent the second half interrogating us. Getting an air of icy superiority from my parents, the man turned his questions to me.
"Is this your first trip to Mexico, muchacha?"
"No," I said. "I've been here several times."
"Going to come back next year?"
"Maybe." I rubbed my eyes. I was exhausted and I ached all over. "I don't think so."
"Why not? Didn' "t enjoy your stay?"
"Oh, no. That's not it. I'll be away at school. I'm sure I'll be busy." I watched the cars whiz past, the traffic suddenly thick as pea soup as we entered the airport parking lot and Jorge Luis Gonzalez headed slowly toward the front doors. Curbside service.
"So you had a good time then? Liked your summer?"
I swallowed and squinted at him in the rearview mirror. His eyes were old, milky, bluish. I wondered if he could really see well enough to be driving a $60,000.00 car. Yet his gaze was wise, unassuming. It was as if he could see right through me.
"It was strange," I said quietly. My parents were no longer paying any attention to the conversation as Jorge Luis Gonzalez parked before the main doors.
"Many summers are." He licked his flaky bottom lip before continuing. "People come here one way, leave another. Not unusual for strange things to happen, people to become something other than what it is they are, big changes to come, en verano."
