Page 52 of No Place Like You

I feel her hand claw at my back, tugging at the fabric bunching between my shoulders. I draw back to pull my shirt over my head, leaving my bare chest heaving in the space between us. She hurriedly lifts the hem of her own shirt, pulling it over her head and leaving her exposed in her lacy pink bra. Her head rests on the cushions, her wavy hair fanned around her perfect face and the shadows drifting over her skin making her look even more stunning in the morning light streaming in through the windows.

“So beautiful,” I whisper, dropping my face to her jawline and planting small kisses to her warm skin. I trail my knuckles along the inside of her thigh, tickling the elastic hem of her panties and plucking it away from her soft skin. She responds to my strokes with a sharp intake of breath while the languorous, careful touches make her tremble underneath me.

“I just want to feel you,” I say.

She nods, granting me permission. Her breathing becomes more feverish, and I swear I feel like I’ve evaporated into a cloud of bliss. My fingers continue to sweep and brush and tease, pulling her to the edge until she can’t take it any longer. UntilIcan’t take it any longer.

“I don’t want to sound too obsessive,” I groan. “But I’ve missed you.”

She nods again. “Can you touch me already?”

Before the last word leaves her mouth, I move her underwear to the side and push my finger inside of her in one go, meeting zero resistance withhow achingly wet she is. She gasps, her back arching off the couch. I haven’t been ignoring the raging hardness of my dick poking at her stomach, but now, its presence is practically invasive. I feel like I’m going to explode.

She wraps her arm around my neck, pulling me toward her for a deep, lingering kiss. There’re about a hundred different senses swirling around me. The feel of her throbbing around my finger, the scent of her filling my lungs, the taste of her coating my tongue, her soft skin shuddering under my touch. I use my free hand to yank down her bra, exposing a single breast. I bring the peaked nipple to my mouth, and another sharp gasp fills the room.

Her fingers thread through my hair and dig into my skin, causing my scalp to burn like fire. It feels like everything burns, creating this aching pain, reminding me I’ll never get enough of Lucy. No matter what, I will always have this prickling, nagging reminder of how deeply she’s pummeled her way into my heart.

“Dexter,” she gasps. I suck harder, lapping her up while her entire body tenses underneath me. When I add another finger, moving in and out of her in earnest, she bucks against my hand. I curl my fingers, finding that when I do, she whimpers this adorable, needy little cry that makes me want to bury my face into her warm skin. “Yeah, right there,” she whispers. “Ohhhmy god. Keep doing that.” I stroke her, watching her body react and using her gasps and moans to guide me. My thumb presses into her clit, and I all but lose it at the sight of her face. Distorted like she can’t collect herself enough to form a clear thought, with her brow pinched and forehead creased. She sinks her teeth into my shoulder, and I feel like I missed the moment I sold my soul to the devil because there’s no way this is happening right now without some sort of sacrificial ritual.

“Dexter, I’m—oh, fuck.Fuck!” She presses her forehead to my shoulder, right where she left her mark on my flesh, and I feel her ripple around my fingers. She tosses her head back against the cushion, with the long columnof her neck pointed toward the ceiling, and I bury my face into the dip under her jawline.

Just as I pull my hand away and cup the wet heat between her legs, she lifts her head and looks at me with serious eyes, her blown pupils making her already dark eyes look even darker. Her hand moves between us, gliding down my bare stomach. She flicks the buttons to my pants with one quick snap, and her hand slides inside my boxers, reaching for my dick, which feels like it’s made of concrete at this point. She starts to grip me, moving her hand up and down in a way that makes my entire body weak.

“Lucy,” I groan, inhaling the deep scent of her sweet-smelling shampoo.

She continues to stroke me, her thumb running over the stream of precum at my tip, letting it smear over her hand. I start to hear the movements, the slippery friction of her tugging at my orgasm in the most effective way possible. Her breathing grows harsh and hot against my ear before she whispers, “I want you to come on me.”

And that does it. Like a pubescent teenager getting his first handjob and jumping from joy at the thought of it. I let out an embarrassingly strangled grunt that makes me sound so goddamn vulnerable and desperate. We both look down as I come on her stomach, letting the pale, hot liquid pool on her skin, and my groans fill the air between us. I press my forehead to Lucy’s and let a low “fuck” slip through my lips. She angles her mouth to the side, and our noses brush, regaining my attention on her perfect face.

“I’ve really missed you,” I say in an aching whisper, realizing how many moments we’ve missed out on all these years.

“I’ve missed you too.”

26

Lucy

My grandpa had leukemia.It happened when I was nine. I remember Carmen had just finished her sophomore year of college and was finally settling into life as a college student. She told my parents she didn’t know what she wanted to major in, leaving her status as “undeclared.” It wasn’t until she saw the state of my grandfather, sickly and powerless to this illness taking over his body, that she decided she wanted to study medicine. It fueled a passion inside her. She wanted to help people, to learn disease processes and how to cope with this stage of life.

Not all illness is a curse. There can come some sort of shining light from it. A silver lining. Whether it be a calling or a way to bring family together.

He survived, living another five years in remission before the cancer came back and he decided to forgo treatment. He wanted to live his last few months with us, with my mom and her brothers, with my grandma and the rest of his grandbabies. Those last moments, before morphine became his only source of reprieve, were beautiful. We did things for the last time, like bake brownies with my cousins or go watch a movie at the drive-in.The goodbye was bittersweet, knowing he would no longer be suffering and leaving behind a memory I’ll always cherish because it was his time.

I can’t help but think, as I remember my grandpa and our memories with my sisters, how it would be the complete opposite with Dexter and Janet. No amount of time would be enough for them to say a goodbye worth reminiscing. If Janet didn’t survive, those last moments would never be enough for Dexter. He wouldn’t even be able to consider any silver lining, like the relief of knowing her pain and suffering were over or that she’d done everything to fight this cancer. He would only focus on the fact that she’s gone and he’s alone.

“If you call the cafeteria ahead of time, they send over chocolate soft serve,” Janet exclaims in excitement. We’re sitting in Janet’s hospital room, relieved that it’s a private room with a good view of the East River instead of the hectic Manhattan traffic on the other side. A lot of her color is back, the gaunt, grayish tone of her skin having faded away into rosy cheeks and warm skin. Her eyes still have that sunken-in look from lack of sleep, which she blames on the constant interruption at night from round the clock antibiotics.

“Well,” Dexter says, “maybe once you get out of here, you can have some real food. Not any of this mystery meat.”

Janet stabs a small chunk of said mystery meat and savors the taste before she nudges away the rest of her meal tray. “It’s actually not that bad,” she comments. “I’m just getting a little bored.”

“Which means you can finally get some of that rest Dr. Pham was telling you to get,” Dexter comments sternly.

“I know,” she agrees, flattening the sheets resting atop her legs. “But some reading material might be nice.” She flashes an innocent smile at Dexter.

“How about some magazines?” Dexter offers, giving into her silent plea. “I saw some in the gift shop.”

Janet gives a cursory nod, including a small lift of her shoulder, exposing the swollen edge of her chemo port right below her collarbone. “Sure.”

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