A More Deserving Blackness (21 page)

             
“Better?”

             
I don’t nod, because he already knows.  The only thing affecting my breathing now is desire for him.

             
He leans down, kissing me sweetly once, and then again, light touches that make me shiver.  When he straightens, still hugging me against him, he tilts his head to look over my shoulders at the endless stalks of corn. 

             
“So.  You don’t happen to know the way out of here, do you?”

             
I burst out a laugh and Logan takes my hand, weaving our fingers firmly together and choosing a direction at random.  Unhurried, we start walking, the darkness a concealing fog around us.  We manage to find our way easily back out of the maze, the crunching of the dried grasses and broken stalks beneath our boots the only sounds above the boisterous chirping of the crickets. 

             
Logan glances down at me.  “I told her about you,” he says casually.  “My shrink.”

             
I know he can’t see my expression, but he answers as if he had.

             
“Not a lot.  Told her I met this beautiful girl at school; that she doesn’t ever talk.  That she’s the only thing that’s ever been able to help me sleep.”

             
. . . oh. 

             
All I can hear is that he just called me beautiful, but then . . .

             
“Told her I’m trying to help you if I can, but I don’t really know how.”

             
He doesn’t have to know how.  He doesn’t have to know or do anything but be him, here, with me.  That’s enough.  More than anything else.

             
“And she told me that not speaking is a way to deal with strong feelings of anxiety, that (she called it selective mutism) is a natural response to significant trauma.”

             
My spine stiffens, an automatic reaction, and I know he feels it too.

             
Significant trauma.  Yes.  I guess that’s as good an explanation as any.  And though I can feel him looking at me in the chilly darkness, I don’t respond.  I can’t tell him that.  He knows enough – too much - already, without me saying a word. 

             
Logan leads us back to the car.  It’s the only one left in the secluded, unlit parking lot; the orchard long since closed down.  There are no outside lights to illuminate our path and the night is thick and flawless; near perfect, total blackness.  I shiver in the cold and tighten my hold on his hand.

             
When we reach the shadow of his car, Logan presses the button to release the trunk and lets go of my hand just long enough to pull a thick blanket from inside and slam the trunk closed.  Then he leads us behind the dark outline of the buildings, out across the grassy field where long, dry grasses scrape at our boots.  We walk to somewhere in the middle when Logan stops, spreading the blanket at our feet.

             
“Believe it or not, I didn’t bring you out here just to lose you in a corn maze.” 

             
He drops down onto the blanket and pulls me down between his bent knees, leaning back on his hands as I settle against his chest.  The autumn night air would be chilly without his body, warm and solid at my back, and I snuggle into him.  On either side of my hips are his raised knees, encased in tight, dark denim, and I can’t help but rub my hands over the firm stretch of his thighs, needing to touch him.

             
“Look up,” he whispers.

             
Resting my head back against his shoulder, I do.

             
It’s staggering.  The sky is transformed.  Out here, without the deadening haze of suburban lights, the stars have multiplied by the hundreds against a deeper, more deserving blackness.  The inky night sky is bursting with them, extravagant and boastful.

             
It’s absolutely beautiful.

             
“Like it?”

             
I love it.  More than that, I love that he’s sharing it with me. 

             
I don’t think about it, I just twist in his arms, turning to face him.  Logan watches me silently as I push up, kneeling between his legs.  The blanket is soft but cold against my shins and I lay my hands on his chest for balance, holding his gaze as I lift my right knee, sliding it over his leg.  He lets me, lowering it down to the ground.  I do the same with the other, slowly hooking it over his leg until I settle down onto his hips.  I’m straddling him, my dress hiked up on my pale thighs, and he’s motionless, drinking me in.

             
My eyes flick to his lips and I lean forward, palms against his chest, just touching my mouth to his. He kisses me back restrainedly, holding himself back.  He’s still leaning back on his hands, not touching me, letting me do as I wish.  It’s thrilling and infuriating at the same time and I let my hands slide up over his shoulders, stabbing my fingers into his hair as I deepen the kiss.  He groans into my mouth, angling his head, grinding his mouth into mine, but he still isn’t touching me.

             
And I need him to.  I need his hands on me, need to lose myself in the feel of his touch, lose myself in him. 

             
I grab his wrists, yanking his hands from the ground.  He lets me guide them, placing them on my hips over the bunched fabric of my dress.  Logan’s eyes are black in the darkness as I look back up at him, my heart racing.  His lips are parted and his hair is mussed from my hands and I grab the front of his shirt and drag him back to my mouth.

             
And that’s when he finally loses his control.

             
His fingers bite into my hips, yanking me down at the same time he thrusts himself firmly up, crushing our bodies together.  Through the thin strip of my underwear I can feel the swollen shape of him beneath his jeans, pressing hard against me.  I moan and he does it again, still watching me as he grinds our hips together, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing between my legs so I’m fighting to keep my eyes open, breathing in short, shallow pants.

             
I want him.  Ferociously.

             
Logan is breathing heavily as he stills his hips, ignoring my soft sound of frustration as he moves his hands over me, atop my dress, his fingers grazing my waist, the juncture of my thighs, the swell of my butt.  His hands are impossibly warm as he draws them down, letting them skim over the bare skin of my thighs.  Then he pushes them slowly up, under the fabric of my skirt.  He slides them higher, massaging my legs, and I can feel myself writhing, seeking his touch.  His fingertips barely graze the edges of my underwear, his thumbs between my thighs and my legs fall open, inviting him.

             
I’m throbbing with need for him when he finally drags the pad of one thumb, torturously slow, over that painful ache, and my head falls back, my hair cascading down over my butt as I cry out.  I grip his shoulders desperately and he does it again, languidly pulling his thumb over me atop the thin cotton of my underwear, and I think I might die from how good it feels.  My heart is slamming violently and I’m squirming against his hand, straining for more, mindless with need. 

             
I’m taut and trembling above him, my thighs squeezing his hips when he suddenly shifts, slipping his thumb beneath that last barrier of cloth and sliding it over where I’m wet and waiting for him.  Suddenly he’s rubbing in quick, tight circles against my heat and the hard throbbing under his touch coils and tightens and shatters. 

             
I come in a wild, moaning rush.

             
Logan watches me come, watches the orgasm rake over me, watches as I finally collapse against his chest, shaking and gulping for air.  His arms come around me, massaging over my back, letting me recover as he watches the sky.  When I can breathe again he presses a warm kiss to my hair and lays his cheek on my head.

             
“I love you.”

             
I still in his arms.  Under my ear I can hear his heartbeat thrumming steadily, and I close my eyes under the crush of pain. 

             
I love him.  Of course I love him.  I love him and I need him and I can’t breathe right when I’m away from him and isn’t that what love is? 

             
He’s everything. 

             
And I’m so broken I can’t even tell him.

             
“Hey.”  He hunches down to look at me, cupping my face when I resist and lifting it under his gaze.  And with the zealous light of the stars overhead there’s no way he can’t see the tears on my cheeks.

             
“What’s wrong?”

             
I shake my head.  More tears fall. 

             
I love you. 

             
But he can’t hear me.

             
I grab his head and kiss him.  Frantically.  Logan falls back onto one hand, catching himself on the blanket, and I press against him, following him back.  He wraps his free arm around me, clutching me against him, obviously sensing my urgency but not questioning it.  He just lets his head fall back a little, lets himself be kissed as the muscles in my arms tremor, clinging to him, like any moment he might be torn away from my grasp. 

             
When I finally pull back he considers me quietly before wiping away the wetness on my cheeks for the second time that night. 

             
Logan opens his mouth to say something else but then his eyes shift and widen.

             
“Holy shit.  Bree, look.”  But I don’t move fast enough so he does it for me, gripping my shoulders and turning me, pointing up at the sky.  “Make a wish.”

             
Tearing down across the twinkling night sky is a fizzing ball of glaring white, silent and electric and beautiful. 

             
A shooting star.

             
And then it’s gone.

             
I stare out at the night where the blackness has reclaimed its infinite field, the meteor already disappeared, and I’m utterly amazed.  When Logan leans over to see my reaction he chuckles at what he must find in my expression and readjusts me so I’m sitting between his knees again, his arms wrapped around my shoulders.

             
“Finally,” he whispers, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

             
Logan holds me like this as we watch for more meteors, but no more come.  The night is getting colder and when I shiver against him he pulls me in tighter, pressing the insides of his thighs against my legs, warming me with his body.  I curl up in his arms and I don’t want to leave.  I want to sit underneath this vast, elusive sky with him forever, but I know I can’t.

             
When I shiver again, Logan squeezes me closer for just a second before pushing to his feet, kissing the side of my neck like he’s as reluctant as I am to let this night end.  He helps me up and grabs the blanket, shaking it out and slinging it over his arm as we make our way back to the car.  He holds my hand, what I can see of his face impassive, and I wonder what he’s thinking about.

             
The dome light hurts my eyes when I slip into the seat and I grab the rose and my phone, checking quickly to see if there are any messages from Trish.  There aren’t. 

             
Logan starts up the car and backs from the spot, all silent, but I can feel him watching me while I twirl the white flower between my fingers. 

             
I’m a coward.

             
We’re back on the main road, Logan driving with one hand on the bottom of the wheel and one resting on his thigh, when he speaks.

             
“You ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

             
I’m sorry
.

             
He glances over at the phone, squinting a little in the dark interior.  “For
what?”

             
I tried to call to you.  In the maze.  I couldn’t do it.

             
His gaze trials back to the road as he answers, the headlights from an oncoming car blinding across his face.  “I know.  It’s okay.”

             
You shouldn’t love me
.  But I don’t type it.

             
“Since I know this was your first one, I should probably remind you that the sharing of one’s wish upon a shooting star is strictly forbidden.”

             
I stare at him in mock horror.
I’d never disappoint your mother like that.

             
He laughs and shakes his head.  “She’d already be disappointed I had you out there all night in the cold.  Didn’t I give you a coat?”