Chapter 174: Foppa XIII—I Adore You
It was late in the morning, and Peter didn’t know exactly what time it was. He lay under the thick, down comforter where it was warm and soft. She was still asleep, her cheek on the pillow, her arm underneath it. She had no make-up on; her black hair was a little tangled and tossed around her shoulders. She was in the state she hated to be in, and that she hated him to see. He knew that too.
He wished he could make her believe that he didn’t need her to be dressed, combed and made up so fastidiously at every second. He liked the way she looked out of the shower, or in the early mornings. He liked seeing the reality of her beauty, without all the decorations and accessories.
That was odd for him, because normally, he preferred a woman to be dolled up. In the past he had never liked women who were plainly dressed or seemed to take no amount of time in preparing themselves. Josefina, however, made his pulse race, especially when she was clean and natural. What did that mean?
“I adore you,” he whispered. He felt shy for saying it, almost embarrassed. He knew he felt different about her right at that moment then he had two weeks ago for her. Before, she was erotic, gorgeous, powerful, a Gypsy goddess. Now, he couldn’t help but look at her and see her as the one who had some piece of him growing inside her, however brief that it was. Now he saw how fragile she had been, how vulnerable she could be and he wanted to hold her to his body and make her feel secure.
He had abandoned her when she had needed him the most and what’s more he had not realized how important that was until it was too late. She didn’t blame him, but he felt the guilt. If he had stayed or called, or given her some sort of assurance would things have been different?
He had spent hours on the internet, searching for answers. She was healthy and strong, why did it have to happen? Stress, extreme stress could trigger such a tragedy, and he felt shame. He didn’t look anymore after that, he didn’t want to know.
Sometimes she held the bear he had given her, running her fingers through its honey colored fur. Peter would have thought that she would want to get rid of it, distance herself from the memory. She kept the bear next to the bed and he knew that as her back faced him, she was looking at it.
He wanted to know what she was thinking about as she looked at it. He didn’t have the courage to ask her. What if she wanted to try again and have another one. Could he say yes? If he did, could she carry it through?
They hadn’t made love since before it happened. Strange as it was, it wasn’t the primary concern on his mind. He felt content just watching her as she slept or feeling her fingers in his hand. He felt fulfilled just seeing her smile at him or hearing her laugh.
“I adore you,” he whispered again.
Did she know that? What would she do if she knew that?
He sighed and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back, sinking into his pillow. He could feel the heat from her body, her smooth leg. He needed to get up and moving, it was getting late, and he was hungry.
“You awake?”
Peter opened his eyes and looked at Jo and saw her luminous, brown gaze. How could he have ever left her? How could he have doubted how he felt for her?
“Morning,” he whispered.
She sighed and stretched, and he watched the outlines of her body move within the T-shirt she had slept in. It was one of his favorite old shirts, at first he had been miffed when she had initially adopted it, but he was fast realizing that he loved watching her in it. He liked the way she seemed so cozy in it and sprawled on the couch in it with a bag of baked potato chips on her tummy as she flipped through channels on the television.
That was another thing! He was seeing her unfold before his eyes as a real woman. Before, he couldn’t let a moment pass without pawing at her, tasting her, and finding some way to get her to squeal in pleasure. Now he was finding that she loved to yell at the characters in soap operas, read novels that had muscled men ripping the bodices off their shoulders on the covers. She wore chic reading glasses when she looked over papers and looked at him above the frames when he interrupted her.
He loved the way she proclaimed her ultimate right to eat ice cream straight from the carton and put it back in the freezer but at the same time she became irate when he left the toilet seat up or drank orange juice from the carton or milk from the gallon. He loved the way she spoke Spanish when she talked with her family on the phone and sometimes she lost her temper with them, and she would let fly a string of furious words in a language that was foreign and gorgeous to his ear.
Was this how she was during the day? It made him feel ashamed all over again. All this time he had been coaxing her into a continuous sexual frenzy and he had never once thought that perhaps she had a life of her own. How tired must she have been sometimes, and just hadn’t the heart to push him away?
“Morning,” she said and she yawned. “What time is it? I’m starving!”
Peter smiled. “So am I.”
She blinked. “Why did you let me sleep so late then?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe because I was sleeping so late.”
She sat up and slumped forward. “Are you leaving today?”
Peter sat up, feeling guilty, and he ran his hand over her back. “Yeah,
this afternoon we have a flight to
Please don’t be mad! He thought, Please be OK with it.
“
“Yeah,” Peter said. He was relieved to see her smile.
“I guess I’ll have to watch it this time, just so I don’t miss anything,” she said.
“We have a couple hours still,” he said. “I bet we could go out and grab some breakfast.”
She smiled. “Sure, I need a shower though. I get cranky if I miss my morning shower.”
Yes, Peter thought, you do.
“You go first then,” he said. “I can wait.”
The smile Jo gave him at that moment stopped his heart and quickened his blood. When was the last time he had seen her look at him that way? He smiled back at her, unsure if he was reading what she was sending him.
She grabbed his hand and slid off the bed, pulling him with her. “We can both take one, right?”
The T-shirt hit the floor before they were even in the bathroom, her hands pulled off his boxers as he turned on the hot water and Peter thought he would have a heart attack at that moment. She squealed and he growled playfully when he turned around and grabbed her in a hug, pulling her into the shower, feeling her naked skin against his, realizing how much he had missed her.
Her mouth found his in a kiss that they had not shared in so long. Peter felt awed, overpowered with desire and addicted when she pulled her mouth from his and giggling she lathered her hands with soap and began to rub it over his chest, his shoulders.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered to her but he didn’t know if she heard him so he kissed her again, nibbling at her lip as her hands trailed over his belly, over his thighs and between them to… “Oh yes!”
At her touch, rubbing, tickling, massaging him he kissed her hard and pressed her against the tiles, his own hands exploring her body, over her soaked skin. He closed his eyes almost at the edge when she let go of him and draped her arms over his shoulders, lifting one of her legs around his waist, giving him the permission he wanted, was waiting for.
Jo’s voice was abrupt and startled when he pushed into her, returning to that sweet, trembling place that he had missed, had been craving. He nuzzled her neck and then suddenly, he was out of her. She had pushed him off.
“Jo?” he asked in confusion, and she closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t. I thought I could but I can’t.”
Peter swallowed and she covered her face with her hands and he could see her trembling, hear her sobbing.
“I’m sorry!” she sobbed.
Peter felt the pain in himself and he hugged her, pulling her to his body and they both slid to the marble floor of the bathtub. He pulled her legs over his lap and kissed the top of her head.
“It’s OK, honey,” he whispered, not knowing if it would really be or not. “Don’t rush anything, I can wait, we’re not going anywhere. Don’t force yourself.”
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