Page 108 of Ridin' Free
In.
“You come to me.”
Out.
“You feel sad?”
In.
“You come to me.”
Out.
“You feel weak?”
In.
“You come to me.”
I couldn’t catch my breath. Though, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was on the brink of utter euphoria or if it was because what I felt for him was too big to fit inside my heart.
“You fuckin’ come to me, baby.”
On his next thrust, I felt myself starting to come apart. I clung to the back of his neck, locking my legs behind his hips, and moaned as I held on for dear life.
“Hell, yes,” he grunted.
He jerked his hips faster, harder, and my orgasm ripped through me, my body tingling from the crown of my head to the tip of my toes. I knew he found his release when he grabbed hold of one of my thighs and squeezed, grunting as he buried himself deep. He pulled out halfway, filled me once more, and then tenderly began to stroke my thigh as we both worked to catch our breath.
It was only when he lifted his head away from mine and grazed the back of his knuckles down my cheek that I realized I was crying. Again.
“I’m sofuckingtired of crying,” I whimpered.
Instantly, his eyes were bright with his amusement. Benson chuckled, held the side of my face and murmured, “There she is—my Ali-Mae.”
THREE YEARS LATER
My first year in therapy,I swear I cried every session. It happened a lot less frequently these days, and it was always a relief to get to the end of an hour and feel lighter as opposed to emotionally ravaged and exhausted.
“I think this bi-weekly schedule is going well,” said Dr. Redford as she set aside her tablet and pen. “I’d like to continue with this cadence for the next couple of months. We’ll discuss your progress and if we need to make any further adjustments then. Sound good?”
I nodded, drawing in a deep breath as I rested my hands on my bare knees. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
Dr. Jennifer Redford was exceptional at her job. It wasn’t simply that she was a good listener. I went through two other therapists who weregood listenersbut not at all helpful before Ifound her. We’d been seeing each other for nearly two and a half years, and I’d come to trust her in ways that changed my life.
“Ali, before you go—can I ask one more question?” she inquired as she stood.
She was a tall, slender woman with curly, dark brown hair streaked with gray. I wondered if it was the burden of patients like me who caused her hair to lose its pigment. She couldn’t have been much older than Ben. Then again, he was starting to sprout some gray hairs that had me convinced he was only going to get hotter the older he got.
I grabbed my purse as I joined her on my feet, looping the strap over my shoulder as I replied, “Sure.”
She smiled then jerked her chin my direction. “You two ever going to have a wedding?”
“Oh…” I coughed out a laugh, lifting my hand as I reflexively spun the three-carat, princess cut, solitaire engagement ring I’d been wearing for the last two years.
Dr. Redford knew Benson neverofficiallyasked me to marry him. One morning, I woke up, and the ring was just…there. I’d been wearing it ever since. The only time I took it off was when I was gardening or doing the dishes. I understood it was a symbol, but I always considered it more a statement than a promise. Moreover, it wasn’t a statement meant for me but everyone else.
Our promises were far more permanent and the statements held therein bigger than a diamond could ever convey.
