Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

48/

i only dream about you.

charlie

There’s something heavy draped across my back. A weighted blanket? No. This is much warmer. And breathing? I inhale the scent of oranges and remember where I am. Who I’m with.

Rafael’s large hand is under my T-shirt, his grip firm yet gentle on my breast, and his leg is draped over one of mine, his thigh nestled at my core. He shifts, and the friction of his leg and my underwear has me biting down on my tongue to stifle a moan.

His nose burrows into my neck, and his sleepy morning voice is nothing short of delicious. “I hope I never wake up from this dream.” My now-hardened nipples are sensitive, and when his thumb flicks across one, I do moan. That only seems to spur him on. His leg shifts again, and I feel him behind me. Hard. So hard. And I know I’m slick when his thick thigh moves again, causing the seam of my panties to perfectly rub against my clit. I rock into it, and he groans.

I let out another moan, louder this time, but when I turn my head back slightly to see him, I note his eyes are closed.

Is he sleeping?

I can’t find it in me to care when his hips pump again, seeking the same pleasure I am. I rock my hips again, and he pinches my nipple, making me nearly cry out. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Ride me until you come all over me.” And I do. I writhe and roll my hips on his thigh until my muscles start to tense up, and my orgasm is nearly at my fingertips. “Goddamn it, you’re perfect for me, Charlie. I’ll never want anyone the way I want you. Never.” He bites down on my neck, and I gasp. Loudly. Too loudly. And my orgasm hits so intensely that all I can do is keep riding his leg until both of us are panting. Until I feel a wetness both on my lower back and between my legs. Until I turn my head to see wide, chocolate eyes on me. He kisses me, and I melt further into the bed, into his body.

I should hate that we both have morning breath. I should be bothered by the way my neck is turned back to reach him. But post-orgasm Charlie doesn’t seem to notice anything but the perfection of this moment. The way our mouths know one another so intimately. The way our bodies are starting to, as well. The way my heart swells every time he says my name or shares a tidbit of the way he feels about me.

Needing a full breath, I pull back, and our eyes meet again, his hand slipping out of my shirt in one swift motion. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.” He must see the confusion on my face at his reaction to our kiss and whatever that was before. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. You wanted space and none of this, and I—fuck. I was dreaming, and?—”

“You were dreaming about me.” I don’t ask. I know it was me. It was my name on his lips.

“I always dream about you. I only dream about you.” His steady gaze makes my breath hitch, but I nod in understanding of what he’s just said.

“I think I need, I should…” I shift my body farther from his, and he lets me go, moving his leg off mine. Awkwardness sets in, and it feels like a first for us since we started this strange little agreement of ours. An agreement that feels like it happened so long ago now. An agreement that feels so different from whatever has been growing between us. And that has me rushing out of his bed. “I need to go. I need some time to… I don’t know. I just need to go.”

He nods. His bare chest heaving as he blinks rapidly. “Whatever you need. Will you… will you still come with me on Sunday?”

The birthday.

His family.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly and Rafael nods again, looking away from me this time, and as I turn away to pick up the leggings I tossed off the bed last night, I’m sure I see him wipe at his cheek. But I can’t look back to confirm. I need to move. I need to leave and get my thoughts straight, gather my reckless, illicit feelings, and make some sense of it all.

I gather my things and go. I walk back to my flat, clutching my bag to me like a security blanket. I walk in and sit on the sofa that isn’t mine, watching the sun shining through the balcony doors. And when my phone vibrates next to me, my first thought is that I hope it’s Rafael asking me to come back. Telling me he needs me again.

But no.

As the phone continues vibrating, showing me another man’s name on the screen, I let a tear fall down my face.

It stops.

Then the humming is back, but only once.

I glance down to see five words I wish I could instantly forget.

ROBERT:

I’m coming to Los Angeles.

The little sleep I got was filled with vivid dreams. In the last one, I was standing in my kitchen back in London; Robert’s arms were wrapped around me as he kissed my neck. I flinched and turned around to find Rafael standing there. The one before that was similar. I was in LA, in Rafael’s bed, much like yesterday morning, with his body keeping me warm. When he flipped me over to kiss me good morning, it was Robert’s face I saw.

So now, I probably can’t ever go to sleep again.

I thought about responding to Robert, asking him when he’s coming, but the truth is, I don’t care. He probably has my address because I had my assistant at the firm mail me a couple of things. But it doesn’t matter. Even if he shows up here, I know what I need to say to him.

I spent most of yesterday writing down what I was thinking and feeling, and all I could make sense of in the end was that things between Rafael and I got too muddled.