Release: Symbols of Love, page 12
“You wanted to be on top, show me why. Fuck me,” he growls, “I want to feel your pussy clenching and milking my cock when you come.” The filthy, beautiful, sexy words, the command in his voice, create a fresh surge of moisture that makes each slide onto his dick feel like an electrically charged dose of pleasure.
After a few more thrusts, I feel the telltale tingling, that high note of pleasure that is more powerful each time I hit it. I can hear our breathing, the loud crash of the waves behind us and the high life music wafting from the hotel’s outdoor restaurant. I move to the beat of the music and it’s like lighting a fuse. My climax starts to flare and my pace falters.
Harry sits up, wraps his arms around me. I let my body sag, leaning against his. My head falls back and I gaze at velvety purple of the early evening sky. It’s close enough to touch and I feel so connected to the world around me, to the man beneath me, and for the first time since I can remember, to myself.
“Yes, that’s it, beautiful,” Harry rasps low in my ear. His breath is hot against my skin right before he bites down on my shoulder.
“I’m coming, oh God. I…” My orgasm runs over me the way waves crash onto the shore – hard, overwhelming, and cleansing. I completely lose my rhythm as I try to catch my breath. Harry’s arms are supporting my weight, his hips in control of our fucking now.
His hips set a furious pace, a desperate stroke that’s mindless and completely primal. The end of my orgasm hooks itself onto the crest of another one and this time when I come, he’s right behind me.
My mouth opens in another scream, a victorious one, that the wind captures and carries off into the night.
He’s talking, his voice thick and gravelly. I feel it more than I hear it. It melds with the rush of blood in my ears and the thundering of my own heart to create a sound I’ve never heard before. One that I know is uniquely ours – and it fills me a euphoric sort of satisfaction to know that I made him feel as good as he made me feel.
Sweat rolls down the side of my face and mingles with the tears my orgasm forced from me. As the clouds start to break in my head and I become aware of my surroundings.
We’re outside. In the open. I’m naked in the arms of a man whose touch brought me to tears. His arms skim my bare back. Disregarding my mind’s increasing unease, my body proves to be its own and arches into him.
“I could stay like this all night.” He says and I realize he’s still inside of me. I lift my hips and he slips out of me. With a sigh, he starts to rise. He puts me on my feet in front of him. I can’t take my eyes off him, his body is so beautiful. My gaze roams over his chest, and my nipples tingle as if the hair there is still rubbing against them. My eyes fall to his hands and watch him pull the condom off his semi hard cock.
Muscle memory takes over. The moment loses the magic that the music and the ocean created. My body tenses and my brain takes over. This is when I leave. I should go.
“It’s a good thing you had that handy,” I joke. I step into my shorts, I turn around and pull my shirt on over my head.
“Indeed. It’s been in my wallet for months, my sister put it there. I was annoyed, but tonight, I’ve never been more grateful for her meddling.” He reaches for me, a big smile on his face and I step away, pretending to look for my shoes.
“Do you want to go find some real food? I’ve worked up an appetite.” He asks, tucking himself back into his jeans.
His words act like a fire hose on any remaining haze from the fantasy I’d let myself indulge in. And old habits, especially ones that have been a survival mechanism for the last few years, die hard. Anxiety sends my pulse up a few notches as my fight or flight instincts kick in.
All I can think about is my exit. I stick my feet back into flip flops and gather my courage before I look back at him.
“I should get home, it’s late and we’re leaving for Accra tomorrow, I think.” I say with a smile that feels lopsided and I’m sure looks more like a grimace. I’m grateful for the dark shadow dusk has created over us.
“I thought you were here for a few more days.” He says, his voice noticeably cooler and wary. My heart kicks against my chest. Fuck! He knows what I’m doing and it’s pissed him off. I take a deep breath and steady myself.
“Oh yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just…a little out of sorts.” My mind is racing, overwhelmed by what’s just happened. I look at him pleadingly.
“Do you want to eat with me or do you want to go home?” He asks. His tone casual, but each word is weighted with a meaning I understand clearly.
He won’t give me another a chance. If I walk away after what we shared - and we definitely shared something more than a simple fuck - that’ll be it.
So, I have to decide. Right now. I need to weigh my fear of getting carried away and being vulnerable against the chance to enjoy something that was unexpected and amazing. Even if it’s only for a few more days.
I came on vacation to reconnect, to relax and I hadn’t expected any of it to include a handsome, demanding Brit with a dirty mouth who makes want to give him whatever he asks for. But here he is. And I want him.
“I want to eat with you.” I say and his relief is palpable. His shoulders drop a little as the tension rolls off them. His smile returns and he holds his hand out to me. I take it and together, we walk back to the hotel.
13
Harry
My phone beeps, and I force my eyes open. The sun is streaming into my hotel room's window and casts long, soft beams across the bare, beautiful shoulder of the goddess asleep next to me. Last night had been like a dream - a visceral, vivid one. In it, the most beautiful woman in the world bewitched me on a beach at sunset.
I’d brought her home with me afterward and we fucked. Hard and desperate, until neither one of us could move. Our bodies sticky with sweat, our chests heaving, our limbs tangled.
She's lying on her side facing me. I reach out to push the riot of chocolate brown curls that have spilled across her face away. There are copper streaks in it that burn bright in the morning light.
But before I can, I feel the soft scrape of toes tickling the hairs on my shin. My hand tangles in the soft mass of her hair and pushes it away in slow, unhurried strokes. She steals my breath every time I look at her. She’s just so damn lovely. Her eyes are closed and her thick lashes rest on the tops of her cheek bones. Her full, wide mouth is curved into a smile. A deep, gratified sigh escapes her lips when I cup her chin and stroke her cheek with my thumb.
I jerk my hand back, and her eyes pop open.
"You're burning up." I murmur, putting my hand back, this time feeling the light sheen of sweat at her brow.
"I know. I'm sick." She mumbles, "I think it was the food from the beach. You're a heavy sleeper, I got up twice to be sick." She rolls over and groans as if the movement pains her.
"The food? I ate the same thing, I feel fine." I get out of bed and walk quickly to the bathroom. I grab a washcloth and run it under the cold water.
When I get back to her side, she's lying on her back, the flush of fever apparent now. I can see the places on her neck where I sucked hard enough to mark her. The rapid rise of her chest and her compressed lips are signs of the effort she's exerting trying to sit up. My mouth goes dry with worry, but I keep my voice even.
"Hey, let me go downstairs and have them call a doctor." I lay the cool wash cloth on her forehead and she moans, a soft sound of relief.
"Call -" her voice croaks and she stops to clear her throat and lick her lips.
I grab the bottle of water by my bed and sit down, putting it to her mouth so she can sip.
She grabs it from me "I'm not dying. Please. Just call Bambi. She'll know the doctor to call. You can't call any doctor." She says. A twinkle of humor in her eye, despite her labored breathing. This is definitely not food poisoning.
"Okay, I'll call her. Should I use your phone?" I reach for it. She moves so quickly that I don't even realize she has until I see her hand snag the phone from the bedside table.
"I'll call her. And I'll have her come for me. I should probably go back to the house." She says scrolling through her phone.
"Is the electricity back?" I ask her, pointedly.
"It's not off all day, just most of the day." She says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Stay here." I blurt before I can think better of it.
Her eyes shoot to me, they're wide with surprise, but even that can't disguise the heaviness in her lids and the glassiness of their whites.
"I can't. It's okay. I'm sure it's one of those twenty-four-hour stomach bugs." She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and presses the phone to her ear, her back to me as she starts to talk. She's speaking quietly, but vehemently.
I pull on the shorts that I left draped over the chair last night as she starts to speak in a hushed tone. By the time I've pulled my shirt over my head, her head is shaking in disagreement. She uses her free hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder, looking up at the ceiling, frustration fueling the huge sigh that leaves her mouth.
She's naked and I marvel at her body. Last night, we were together in the dark and she's always covered up. With the sun brightening the room, I realize this view of her bare back is the most of her body I've ever seen. Her back is strong, elegant- from the delicate bones of her shoulders to the knobs of her spine.
She has a tattoo in the middle of her back. In that spot where no one can reach, no matter how limber. I peer at it, unable to decipher what it is. Some sort of symbol. An outline of an "X" with something on the inside.
I take a step toward her, wanting to get a closer look at it. Even though I move silently, my bare feet on the hardwood floor, her head whips around to look at me. Her eyes narrow, her gaze intensifies and I stop my approach. Satisfied that I'm staying where I am, she turns back around to continue talking. I join her on the bed and she stiffens slightly when she feels the mattress dip under my weight, but she doesn't turn around.
"I can't." She grits out, frowning and rubs her temples with her thumb and middle finger.
I trail my fingers over her tattoo, tracing it with lightly. She jumps a little but then sags into my touch. She doesn't turn around.
"If you don't come for me, I'll come home myself." She threatens, but her voice is weak and lacks any real force.
I press a kiss to the slope of her shoulder, right where it meets her neck. The heat of her skin reminding me that despite her show of strength, she's not well. Her hand reaches to grasp my head, her fingers sift through my hair. I continue kissing, tasting, and nipping her.
She hums her approval and lets out a heavy sigh.
Her hand falls from my hair, but from exhaustion and not because she wants to.
I grasp her shoulders and gently force her back down. She doesn't put up a fight and her eyes are closed by the time she nestles into the pillow.
“Bambi! You're crazy. I'm calling your mother." She laughs, but it’s weak and appears to sap all of her strength
She yawns, and opens her eyes to slits to look up at me. Her hand comes up to stroke my face, an absentminded, tender touch that surprises me. When I turn my head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her eyes widen, trained on her hand as if she doesn't recognize it. She pulls it abruptly away from my face and closes her eyes again.
"Fine. But only until later. I'm tired. I'll take a quick nap and when I wake up, I'll call you again and next time no arguing."
"Whatever. Bye." She drops her phone as if she doesn't have the strength to hold it.
"Can I just take a nap here?" She asks, nestling deeper into the bed, her eyes closed. "Bambi said she'll call the doctor to come here, but his clinic doesn't open until ten." She yawns, a huge gaping yawn and shivers slightly. I pull the sheets up her to neck.
"Yes, rest. But before you do, I'm running down to the pharmacy in the lobby to get you some paracetamol for your fever.” She groans and turns over, pulling the pillow over her head as if to block out my voice.
I walk back to the bed and yank the pillow away.
"Ohmigod," she mumbles into the mattress, "are you a sadist? Leave me alone."
I look at her, eyes narrowed as realization dawns. "Are you taking your malaria tablets?"
"No. They give my nightmares." She says, face still pressed into the mattress.
"Um. Okay. But you still have to take them. You said you were sick after we fell asleep. What do you mean sick?"
When she doesn't respond, I poke her shoulder with my forefinger.
"Please, my stomach hurts, everything hurts. I just need to sleep." She groans, again.
I relent. It’s obvious she’s really unwell.
"Listen, sleep, but when you wake up, I'm taking you to the Sanford Clinic unless Bambi has a doctor to recommend. Kojo said that's where he goes for medical attention when he's in Cape Coast and recommended it to me."
"Okay. Fine." She concedes, the lines between her eyebrows, the pucker of lips reminding me that I need to get her something to help her get comfortable.
"I'll go get your medicine and then I'll let you sleep. I've got a breakfast meeting in about thirty minutes. But I'll be back."
I grab my phone and walk out of the room, googling "Is Malaria contagious?" as I go.
14
Lilly
"Mom, I'm fine." I say for the third time.
"Fine is not defined by being hospitalized with Malaria, Lillian. Why didn't you take the pills? You think you're immune to everything. God. What am I going to do with you?” She moans as if she's the aggrieved person.
"I'm only in the hospital because I'm dehydrated. I'm not dying. I'll be out in a couple of days." My head throbs though I don't know if it's from the malaria or the constant phone calls from my parents and sisters, each of them scolding me for not taking my medicine. Each of them threatening to come to Ghana. They're empty threats. Platitudes and pretend. They're not coming all the way here. They didn't fly the three hours it would have taken to get to Miami when they knew something was seriously wrong with me. They’re not flying across the Atlantic Ocean now because I'm a little sick. My headache intensifies.
"Fine. But call me later, let me know you're okay. I don't trust hospitals in Ghana." She sighs, the weariness in her tone makes me feel guilty. I always feel guilty when I talk to my mother.
"Okay. You don't trust hospitals anywhere." I look out of the glass louvered windows, relics from a different era and gaze out into the beautifully manicured courtyard of the hospital. A sudden wave of fatigue overtakes me and I yawn.
"Oh, you're tired my baby. Get some sleep." Her tone is cooing and it grates at me. "Please make sure they have mosquito netting on the hospital windows." She adds quickly, as if she's afraid I'll hang up before she can finish.
"Okay mom. I'll make sure. If they don't I'll find a way to make sure they put some up, just for me." I say dryly.
"I'll attribute your rudeness to your illness and fatigue Lillian Adjoa Hassan." She uses my full name and I want to laugh, although I know she meant for me to feel contrite. I feel a pang of loneliness when I realize how little she really knows me.
"Okay, mom. I love you. I'll call you later." I hang up before she can respond. If she complains, I'll blame it on the poor connection.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and quell the pounding in my head.
I've been here for three days. I only called my family yesterday when I could talk without throwing up.
Harry had been right. It was malaria and a bad enough case that I need intravenous antibiotics and hydration. I haven't eaten since I got here. I can't hold anything down.
The doctor keeps telling me I'm lucky my symptoms manifested while I was here. “They don't know how to treat Malaria in America. You might have died." He’s said every time he's come into my room and I'm showing improvement.
I was scared when I woke up that morning in Harry's hotel room. The second time, I woke up. The sun was casting long shadows across the room and I knew it was late in the afternoon. My head felt like it was being crushed in a vice and my nausea brought me to my knees. Harry had been working at the desk in the other room of his suite and I could hear the furious clacking of keys on his keyboard. I'd tried to take myself to the bathroom without disturbing him. I'd failed miserably.
The world had pitched sideways when I stood up and I'd thrown up all over his hotel room floor.
I close my eyes, speeding past the memory of him finding me on my hands and knees, covered in vomit. And how he'd not missed a beat helping me up, putting me in the shower.
Even now, I can feel his hands running over me as he washed me, dried me. He even stopped to put lotion on me when I told him that I couldn't bear to get dressed without it.
Porsha had arranged for me to see a Dr. Halm. She came and insisted on taking me to the hospital herself and I’m glad she did – I almost checked in under my real name. I also thanked God that in Ghana, if you have cash to pay, they don’t care about your ID. I was able to check in under the name Emma Scott. Kojo and Harry brought me here and I was too weak to protest the entourage.
I've been in the hospital since. Bored out of my mind. But Porhsa's been here almost every day. She had to leave today, she's already missed the first two days of lectures in order to stay with me. But now that I'm clearly out of the woods, she has to go back.
"How's the patient?" Harry's deep voice interrupts my daydream. The butterflies that live inside me only come to life when they hear his voice; they spread their wings. When I turn my head from the window to look at him, they take flight. I don't even know who I am anymore. I've never been so happy to see anyone. And Harry, who turns every head, who is kind and demanding and persistent, only has eyes for me.
For me.
"I'm fine. I was talking to my mother. What do you have there?" I smile and point at the small, white plastic bags dandling from his hand. The aroma wafting from them answers the question for me. My mouth waters instantly as I smell the spicy, slightly charred scent of the rice and beans dish that I told him yesterday was my favorite thing to eat while I was in Ghana.
