Page 69 of Falling Slowly
It shouldn’t have been that good. Not in those circumstances. It was a miracle.
After a moment of catching my breath, I found my voice, deep and a little broken. “Charlie, that was the best I’ve ever had. Ever.”
His reply floated back to me across the enclosed, dark space, whisper soft. “Me, too. But I also can’t remember ever having sex before. Sudden memory loss. Come here.” He pulled me against his chest, still inside me.
I’d done it. There was no going back. I’d officially had sex with Charlie Wilde and might possibly live to tell the tale.
“I wish I could see you. I need to see you.” He shifted underneath me and found his phone from somewhere. Its light hit my eyes like a camera flash and I blinked, blinded, until he turned it to the side.
There he was. Charlie. A goofy smile on his face, eyes soft and gentle as his gaze found me and stayed. “You look happy,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you were happy.”
“I’m happy,” I said to my own surprise.
“You don’t regret this.” It sounded a little like a question, but only a little.
“No.” I smiled. “Not yet.”
There are moments in life you want to pause at. Not when you’re there, but later, when you find out what comes next. Later, I discovered that was the moment I wanted to pause. My heart full, my body still tender and brain beautifully offline as I stared into his eyes. I would have stayed there forever.
But life’s not that kind. Eventually, I lifted myself enough for him to pull out. It felt slippery between my legs. Too slippery. My heart jumped to my throat as I ran my hand across the condom. “It’s broken, Charlie. The condom’s broken.”
He tensed underneath me, pushing up to lean on his elbows and point the flashlight down his body. The condom had torn in half, spilling its contents across his thighs. He removed what was left of it and unzipped the hammock to toss it outside.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”
“How could you have noticed? If anything, it’s my fault.”
“Why?”
“My condom.”
I sighed. “Okay, it’s no one’s fault. But what do we do?”
This was why I didn’t date or take risks. There were always consequences.
“It’s so unfair!” I crawled away from him, curling up between his stretched-out legs, putting the hammock out of balance. We bobbed up and down. The lines creaked, tightening on the trees.
“Bess, please come back here. We can’t afford to rip the hammock in half.”
“We can’t afford to rip a condom in half!” I sobbed. “I can’t afford another kid.”
There was another creak, and the hammock nudged down an inch.
“Please, Bess. Come here. Now!”
My survival instinct won, and I slid back on top of him. He’d tucked his waning erection back into his underwear, but it still nuzzled between my legs, perking up as soon as we made contact. I tried to shuffle to his side, but he locked his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest, like we’d been before. “It’ll be fine.”
He sounded too calm. Soothing. Either he didn’t understand the risk, or he was willing to say anything to stop me from breaking the hammock and putting us both in danger. That made sense.
“I’ll get the pill. What is it? The one you can take after, to make sure I don’t get pregnant.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Of course I do. I can’t risk… I can’t afford…”
“I can.”
I tried to shake my head, but ended up rubbing my cheek against his thermal shirt. “Oh, Charlie.” It came out like a deep sigh. A prayer. Nothing was left of my earlier contempt. Only wonder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, but I appreciate it.”
