Read Online The Longest Night by Andria Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andria Williams
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going back now; no more grudge. She had punched through the wall even as he tried to build it.
He smiled at her and said, “You’re a lot of work for me, you know.”
This was how
she
felt, but she didn’t want to get into it. She smiled and got to her knees, kissing him. “Am I worth it?” she asked.
His kiss was a good enough answer. She slid onto his lap and he reached one hand behind her head to unclip her hair; it fell around their faces like a curtain. With a quiet whisk of fabric he pulled her cotton belt from its loops and started in on the buttons down the front, cursing happily because there were quite a few. The cloak of her hair gave a blind-like illusion of shelter but of course they were on the patio in their flat backyard, which looked innocently out onto the other flat backyards, where presumably neighbors did not take off all their clothes and roll around on early summer nights.
“People can see us,” Paul said.
“Where?” she asked, looking around. “There’s no one out here. Everyone’s asleep.”
“Let’s hope so,” he said. He stared at her a moment and then laughed. She leaned back, her arms around his neck, drinking it in. She loved when Paul was happy. She hadn’t truly realized, until they were married and living together, what a sealed-up person he was. He could spend hours in a silent house without turning on the radio or asking a question. But his reserve had always made her feel as if he were her hidden treasure, strange and rare: the secret sign, the cracked geode. Whatever strange majesty was in him was known to her alone.
There was a small rustle somewhere and he paused, but Nat kept him on track with a quick pop of the clasps at the back of her bra. She always undid these for him; poor soul, each time it was as if he had never encountered such a web of mystery.
It was an unforeseen thrill to be naked to the wind from the waist up, and she found herself energized, helping his shirt over his head, liberating him from his slacks. He seemed nearly dazed with trepidation and delight.
“Am I worth it?” she said again. “Say I am or I’m going to run out across that yard right now.” Before he could answer she hopped to her feet, pulled her dress and panties down around her ankles, and looped them over his shoulders like a boxer’s towel, yanking them in so he’d kiss her. He did. Then he gaped at her, which was exactly what she wanted. The concrete patio and then the cool, wet grass passed under her feet, and she trotted out to the picket fence, tagged it, and sauntered back. She felt lithe and lovely in the moonlight. She knew she was all he wanted to see. Her hair swayed down her back and she put a little wiggle in her step, laughing, and he was laughing, too, from where he crouched on the patio, her underpants draped jauntily over his shoulder. He seemed not to realize they were there.
“Get down here, Natalie Collier,” he said, pulling her to the cement. She could feel the happiness throbbing from him and the fact that she had put it there, that she could create such fulfillment in another person, was intoxicating. Paul shushed her, gripping the back of her head, and when they were done she ran her fingers up his arm, over and over, from his elbow to the smoothness of his shoulder, where her teeth had left a small wreath. His heart beat right into her chest.
—
W HEN N AT AWOKE, pale bars of light striped the carpet near her face. She sat up, her ribs aching from another night on the floor. Out the back window to the yard she could see the grayish morning sky, the watery efforts of the sun. It was early. Her daughters’ feet shuffled just outside the bedroom door, and she knew they’d burst in any moment if she didn’t get to them first.
Paul lay beside her, looking somehow both childlike and masculine in his sleep: shorn army hair and angular face, utterly peaceful expression. She leaned over and kissed him, pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, and
He smiled at her and said, “You’re a lot of work for me, you know.”
This was how
she
felt, but she didn’t want to get into it. She smiled and got to her knees, kissing him. “Am I worth it?” she asked.
His kiss was a good enough answer. She slid onto his lap and he reached one hand behind her head to unclip her hair; it fell around their faces like a curtain. With a quiet whisk of fabric he pulled her cotton belt from its loops and started in on the buttons down the front, cursing happily because there were quite a few. The cloak of her hair gave a blind-like illusion of shelter but of course they were on the patio in their flat backyard, which looked innocently out onto the other flat backyards, where presumably neighbors did not take off all their clothes and roll around on early summer nights.
“People can see us,” Paul said.
“Where?” she asked, looking around. “There’s no one out here. Everyone’s asleep.”
“Let’s hope so,” he said. He stared at her a moment and then laughed. She leaned back, her arms around his neck, drinking it in. She loved when Paul was happy. She hadn’t truly realized, until they were married and living together, what a sealed-up person he was. He could spend hours in a silent house without turning on the radio or asking a question. But his reserve had always made her feel as if he were her hidden treasure, strange and rare: the secret sign, the cracked geode. Whatever strange majesty was in him was known to her alone.
There was a small rustle somewhere and he paused, but Nat kept him on track with a quick pop of the clasps at the back of her bra. She always undid these for him; poor soul, each time it was as if he had never encountered such a web of mystery.
It was an unforeseen thrill to be naked to the wind from the waist up, and she found herself energized, helping his shirt over his head, liberating him from his slacks. He seemed nearly dazed with trepidation and delight.
“Am I worth it?” she said again. “Say I am or I’m going to run out across that yard right now.” Before he could answer she hopped to her feet, pulled her dress and panties down around her ankles, and looped them over his shoulders like a boxer’s towel, yanking them in so he’d kiss her. He did. Then he gaped at her, which was exactly what she wanted. The concrete patio and then the cool, wet grass passed under her feet, and she trotted out to the picket fence, tagged it, and sauntered back. She felt lithe and lovely in the moonlight. She knew she was all he wanted to see. Her hair swayed down her back and she put a little wiggle in her step, laughing, and he was laughing, too, from where he crouched on the patio, her underpants draped jauntily over his shoulder. He seemed not to realize they were there.
“Get down here, Natalie Collier,” he said, pulling her to the cement. She could feel the happiness throbbing from him and the fact that she had put it there, that she could create such fulfillment in another person, was intoxicating. Paul shushed her, gripping the back of her head, and when they were done she ran her fingers up his arm, over and over, from his elbow to the smoothness of his shoulder, where her teeth had left a small wreath. His heart beat right into her chest.
—
W HEN N AT AWOKE, pale bars of light striped the carpet near her face. She sat up, her ribs aching from another night on the floor. Out the back window to the yard she could see the grayish morning sky, the watery efforts of the sun. It was early. Her daughters’ feet shuffled just outside the bedroom door, and she knew they’d burst in any moment if she didn’t get to them first.
Paul lay beside her, looking somehow both childlike and masculine in his sleep: shorn army hair and angular face, utterly peaceful expression. She leaned over and kissed him, pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, and
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