When I see Ben lunge for River, I’m relieved that Caleb stops him and River heads back to the car. As the door opens I hear Ben yelling, “Dahl, don’t leave!” My trembling intensifies at hearing his voice again and the tears are flowing from my eyes like a heavy rainstorm. I try to blink back the confusion.
The door slamming startles me from my emotional turmoil. He’s angry. His body is tense and he pounds his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck, f**k, f**k.” The sound echoes between us. Keeping his head bowed for a few seconds, he looks up at the ceiling before looking at me. “Are you okay?” His tone fails in its attempt at normalcy.
Nodding is all I can do. My limbs are limp and a broken sound escapes my lips. Studying me, he reaches over and moves the strand of hair that has fallen into my face away from my eyes. Pulling my chin up, he wipes my tears away, but says nothing and neither do I. I don’t even know what I would say . . . I don’t even know how I feel other than that I might explode—cry, scream, might even laugh.
I can’t imagine how he feels right now. I hear the rhythm of his breathing and feel his hands trembling. The tips of fingers on my face are warm and loving and I lean into them.
My eyes are focused on him and I jump when there’s a rap on my window. It’s Grace checking on me. River lowers the window, but I keep my eyes on him. Her words fade in and out as I focus on his face—the one constant in my life right now. Telling her he’ll call her in the morning; he closes the window even though she’s still talking. No more words are spoken as he starts the car. When the car accelerates with a quick jerk, I rest my head against the glass window and allow myself to fade back into unconsciousness.
“Let me get you some water,” River says in the most somber tone I’ve ever heard him use, when I wake up groggy at home on the sofa. He stops to turn the fireplace on and then heads for the kitchen. From where I’m sitting, I can see him standing at the sink. He puts both palms over his eyes and holds them there for a short while. Then he fills a glass with water and gulps it down before refilling it and bringing it to me. I rub the glass against my forehead, but it’s not cold enough to numb the turmoil swelling in my soul. I watch him as he sits next to me on the couch. He takes my ringing phone from his pocket and turns it off. Then he takes out his own phone, turns it on, and moves his finger around on the screen before speaking to me.
The pain of my sore body is a welcome distraction from the pain of seeing Ben alive. I wish it would overcome me and mask the emotion I’m not sure I should be feeling. Is Ben really alive? How? Why? I have so many questions, but I’m not sure I’m prepared to learn the answers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he says calmly. Almost too calmly . . . he sounds detached, like he’s talking but not listening to his own words.
“No! No, I don’t. Not now! And stop talking to me that way.”
He flinches. “I’m not talking to you in any way.”
“River, I’m sorry. I’m just so confused right now.”
My tears turn into near-hysterics and he pulls me to him. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready.” Then he kisses my head and just holds me.
After what seems like hours, my crying wanes. I’m drained, depleted of all emotion. I don’t even have enough energy to cry anymore; I don’t have any more tears left to shed. Looking up into his conflicted face, I know it’s a reflection of my own. “I love you. This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper, feeling strongly that he needs to know this.
“It changes everything, Dahlia.”
I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice neutral but contempt flares at the edges of his words. His tone is despondent, disconnected, and I can’t even fathom what he thinks about Ben being alive. He needs time to process this, just like me. But right now I think we both need to push it aside. Neither one of us is in the right frame of mind to discuss the impact Ben will have on our lives.
Just wanting to feel something other than pain or despair, I crush my lips to his, needing to let him know, to feel, how much I love him. He returns my kiss, but when I move to straddle him and start to lift his shirt, he gently pushes me back. He stares at me.
“No, Dahlia, not now. I can’t right now,” he whispers in a broken tone.
“River, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
He shakes his head and pulls me to him. He turns the TV on and lays us down on the couch, tucking my head under his chin. He starts to watch a boxing match and rubs my back. I eventually nod off.
But it’s all waiting for me when I wake up a little while later. I’m lying against the back of the sofa and River is facing me with his arms and legs bracketing my body. While looking at him, everything comes rushing back. Why we fell asleep out here. What happened wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. Ben. He’s alive. He really was at Grace’s, touching me, speaking to me.
With all of the questions pounding through my mind, I really can’t even understand how any of this is possible. What was he talking about—he did it for me? Did what? One minute I’m running off to Las Vegas to marry the man of my dreams . . . the next minute the man I spent most of my life with, the man whom I thought was dead—is back.
The flickering blue light from the TV and the flame from the fireplace are the only lights in the room. I look at River and wonder how this will affect us. He’s twitching in his sleep and I rest my hand over his heart to feel the steady beat. I can feel the warmth of his skin under his thin T-shirt and I want him—I want to touch him, to connect with him.
Leaning into him, I softly kiss his jaw as I run my hand up his chest. He instantly responds as his arms, already wrapped around me, tighten.
In his ear I whisper, “River.”
He shifts slightly so that I am lying on top of him and his eyes open. “You okay, beautiful?” he asks as his green eyes flicker and then meet mine.
I nod and trace my tongue around the seam of his lips. He places his hand on my head and pulls it down to his chest, clutching me close to him, like he wants to hold me forever.
Lifting my head, I kiss his neck. I hear his breathing pick up, but once again he pulls me close and hugs me. I push myself back up so we’re face-to-face. “River, I want you.”
He closes his eyes and when he reopens them, he combs his fingers through my hair then pauses to cradle my head with both hands. He sighs as his forehead meets mine. I kiss the very corner of his lips and his mouth opens to welcome me. Our tongues entwine and I close my eyes as I slide my hands down his sides. I want to mold my body against his, showing him how much I truly love him. I need to show him for him and for me.
He tears his lips from mine as he places his hands on my shoulders and lifts me off of him slightly. “Dahlia, we should probably talk . . .”
But I cut off his words. I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel his love. I suck on his bottom lip for a long moment and then run my tongue down his neck. Pressing my lips against his smooth skin, I wedge my knees between his legs and a small moan escapes his throat. I kneel and he spreads his legs wider. I study his long lean body that I have come to know so well and feel myself shiver in anticipation. My eyes lock on the elastic of his boxers peeking from under the waistband of his jeans. A hint of his toned abs shows from where his shirt has lifted and I want to lick what’s under that black band.
I pull my shirt off and toss it to the ground, keeping my eyes in line with his. Biting down on my bottom lip, my fingers slide over the lace of my bra and I feel my ni**les harden. He’s watching me in a way that makes me want to keep doing what I’ve started. My hands travel down my body and instead of unbuttoning my jeans, I slide my palms down the front of them. Stopping, I push against the spot at the bottom of my zipper. His lips part and his breath hitches. I bite down harder on my bottom lip and take this to the next level.
Unbuttoning my jeans, I pull them down. Leaning back so my head rests on the sofa arm, I shimmy out of them. I lay there in my underwear and his scrutiny overcomes me. The look on his face is enough for me to see this through.
I push my feet under his thighs and he strokes his hands up my calves. His chest rises and falls rapidly. Every one of my senses comes alive as I watch him watch me through heavily lidded eyes. When my fingers find their way inside the lace of my panties, he rises to his elbows. He surprises me when he says, “Take them off.” His voice is commanding, edged with need.
Sliding the lace down, I pull my feet together and he grabs my panties, throwing them to the floor. I tuck my feet back under his thighs and this time move them a little further up and he groans again. Dangling my hands between my legs my fingers make contact with my slick flesh and I imagine they are his fingers touching me. A small moan escapes my lips and I throw my head back.
Before I do what I’ve never done in front of another person, he unzips his jeans and sits up. Moving swiftly, his lean, hard body is on top of mine, his elbows on either side of my arms. A low deep growl vibrates against my lips. “That’s only for me. I’m the only one who gets to make you moan.”
The press of our bodies together sends me into a state of desperation. My breath comes in short, harsh pants and I reach out to tangle my hands in his already-messy hair. His h*ps grind into mine and I can feel what I can’t wait to have. His breathing is labored and his heart beats fast with desire. He nips my lower lip and then pulls back to look at me. The flames of the fire are still glowing, making his slight smile light up. Wanting his mouth back on me, I pull his lips to mine. When he jets his tongue in and out of my mouth, I want to drink him in—savor the feel and taste of his mouth on mine to have for always.
“I need you,” he says as he positions himself between my legs.
“I need you, too,” I manage, rubbing myself against him.
Gripping his h*ps I urge him to take me and he does. He enters me, fills me, and as he slides deeper it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. With it my confusion melts away and we both get lost in the moment. He pulls back, almost withdrawing completely, and I tremble with need all the way to my core. He pushes back inside me and as he moves faster, I clamp my legs around his and grind my h*ps into him. His eyes close as he maintains the fast rhythm.
I can feel my own pleasure building and I’m craving the release. I close my eyes and rock upward. Our mouths connect hungrily as our pace quickens. My muscles begin to tighten and I know it won’t be long. I am so close.
His tongue circles the shell of my ear. “Say you’re mine,” he breathes. The vibration of his voice and the sound of his words send a shudder through my body and I swear it makes my cheeks and lips quiver.
“I am. You know I am,” I tell him and I roll my h*ps to mimic his movement.
His breath is warm against my cheek. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, River.”
Within seconds his hands slide down to my h*ps and he takes complete control. I throw my arms over my head and clutch the sofa trying to block out everything but this, the here and now.
“Dahlia, let go,” his voice shakes as he speaks.
Taking a deep breath I do just that—I finally feel what I have needed to feel since we got home. A muffled sound lodges in my throat and then I call out his name as he pushes me over the edge into pure bliss. “Oh God, River!” I shout as I come hard, waves of pleasure rippling through me.
As if that was the signal he was waiting for, River groans and thrusts deeply one final time before I feel the warmth of him filling me deep inside. He collapses on me and lays his head on my chest, whispering, “I love you. You’re . . .”
His words trail off as he rolls against the back of the couch and tightens his hold on me. After a few minutes, he stands and takes my hand, leading me to our bedroom, where we crawl into bed and find each other immediately. I’m completely wrapped in his body, our arms and legs entangled as tight as they can be, my face buried in his chest. I’m so warm, so comfortable; it’s where I always want to be.