I'M FREESTYLING

Prisoner.

By Danielle Brown

MY CONSCIOUSNESS CAME BACK to me like a . I jerked awake from my visit with the sandman, felt the warmth of my lover's hands on my skin. Felt his soft sweet kisses. Felt the wetness of his tongue. I tingled, swelled, felt the thump of my pulse settle between my thighs. 

Cameron's head was resting against my chest. "Hi."

He kissed my naked breasts, played with my belly button. I said, "What time is it?" 

"Just after one."

"How was the drive?"

"Lonely. Kept thinking about how much I wanted to be with you."

He was being sweet. Had driven thirty miles. It had been him and his hand for over two weeks. 

I smiled. 

He looked up to my eyes, shifted, lunged over me, gave me his tongue, slithered between my heat. He eased my panties from around my hips. I opened my legs so damn wide, welcomed him, his hands, fingers. He flicked his thumb across my slit, felt how ready I was for him. His mouth fell down onto my breasts, devoured their softness one at a time. Then his tongue moved up my neck, made it's way to my lips. I reached between his legs, stroked his hardened sex like it was mine to have. His hand touched mine, stroked his own flesh, did that until he swelled, came to full size. 

He climbed to his knees, pulled me his way, gestured for me to open my mouth. I tilted his way, met his thrusts as he pumped, in and out, hard, like he couldn't stop, like it hurt to stop. He lost balance for a moment, my pleasure making him go weak in the knees, smiled. I trailed my wet lips down his length and licked the softness that hung between his thighs. He trembled, swallowed, then lifted my chin, and told me how good my soft lips felt as he slid between them, kissed me. 

I'd missed his taste. Only got to see him twice a month. Because of that bitch. His soon-to-be ex-wife. She had him in court every chance she got. Fucking repeals, legal shit I didn't understand, was always something new. She was afraid, she let him out of sight, he'd never come back to her ass. She was afraid of me. 

Cameron pulled back, gently tugged on my hair. Told me to turn over. I flipped onto my stomach, shoved my ass back to meet his heat. I submitted to him the way a woman should, the way he needed me to. He bobbed against my ass, pressed his hardness against the small of my back, then moved back down, dipped and slid against my wetness, teased me, drove me insane. I moaned, almost screamed, begged for him to enter me. He dug his fingers into my hips, eased inside me, gave me just the tip, moved into me, stretched me, inch by inch, then rode me deep, threw me a tribal, almost violent fuck. Was so deep inside me, slapped my ass, some slaps out of love, some harder, painful. I tingled, threw myself back onto his hardness, gripped the bedpost. Moaned for him to fuck me as I arched into him. Moaned so loud for him to fucking fuck me, keep fucking me just the fucking way he was fucking fucking me. Told him how good he felt inside me. How good he was making me feel. That his dick was so fucking hard. Screamed for him to slap my ass some more. He slapped my ass until it turned red, left an imprint of pleasure on my flesh.

We became one, our energies creating a beautiful symmetry.

Slipping a finger into that tight part of me as he slammed his torso onto my wet back, he said, “You. Like. This. Dick?” 

“Love your dick...love the way you fuck me...fuck me,” I said in a tone barely audible. As if he was hitting me so hard, so good, I couldn’t speak above a whisper, like he had completely fucked the bass from my voice. 

"This. How. You. Like. It. Amber?" 

"Yeah...just like that."  

I felt him growing even harder inside me, felt his entire body shudder. He slowed, pushed my weight away, grunted so damn loud. He clenched his jaw and held his breath, tried to stave off orgasm. He slipped back inside me, took me so slow, controlled his urge to come. Loved when he wanted me like that. Loved when he lost himself inside me. That made me smile so wide, it hurt. 

He tapped my ass. I knew what he wanted. Whenever he was stressed, it was the same routine. I turned onto my knees. On his back, he watched me, the hardness between his legs reaching for the heavens. Watched me stretch my lips over his swollen length, take him as far down my throat as I could. Watched in silence, his gaze tropical. 

I held onto his thighs, tongue moving with fire, stayed down there a long while, took him into my mouth a thousand times, moved my tongue to that flesh right before his ass, made him ache, worked him, worked him slow, worked him deep, worked him, drove him crazy, made him arch, tremble, stared into his eyes. His legs tensed, eyes closed. I held him as he came. Came hard. He sighed as he lay there, hugging his dick with his hand, his lust around my neck like a string of pearls. Felt his come drip down my breasts. My pussy tightened in an almost painful spasm as he stroked his girth to softness, suffered the most beautiful pain. Loved to watch him stroke himself. Loved the way he pleasured every inch of that thickness.

I wanted to finish. Wanted to come. Wanted a happy ending. But I let my wetness fizzle. Let my heat cool.

I moved from between his legs, shifted, fell down on the bed next to him. Lay in the dampness from his sweat. 

His wetness was around my neck, on my breasts. I lay there, so many thoughts. His come was warm on my skin. He had marked his territory.

He breathed like he was having an asthma attack, sweat running over his face, dripping off his nose like rain.

He opened his eyes and stared at me, at the wetness falling from my breasts like tears. The corners of his lips lifted towards the heavens. I smiled back. In that moment we locked eyes. And, for a moment, I was his wife. We were together and he was happy with me. Not her. Dammit, not her. That bitch thought I was wrong for loving him. Thought I was a whore because I pleased him the way she wished she could. 

Then our moment was over. He walked away, disappeared into the bathroom, turned the shower on, left me with his leftover pleasure, left me. I found a towel, dried my skin. I feel back onto the bed, felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, closed my eyes until I heard Cameron shuffling around. He was on his way out the door, hadn't kissed me goodbye, or told me he loved me, was in a rush. Had to be back in the city by sunrise. I called his name, needed to tell him, needed to get this off my chest. Two months of torture, sixty-one days of going back and forth in my head. Needed to free my mind, my spirit. 

He turned around, stared at me with intensity in his eyes. "What?"

In an instant, I stared into his bright eyes, lost my words. Didn't want to make things worse for him. 

I pulled my lips in, swallowed my emotions, shook my head, said, "Nevermind. Drive safe."

Then he was gone. 

I'D JUST COME FROM THE GYM, was chilling in a booth toward the back in Starbucks. That's when I saw her stroll through the door.

She was a tall woman. Her legs were so long she stood taller than her most men when she wore heels. Had long hair, came past her waist. Dimples when she smiled. Slender woman, in good shape, could pass for my age with the right make-up. 

That's what I knew about her. 

Everything I knew about this woman was from a few pictures her husband carried around in his wallet. They were beautiful. They were my obsession. 

And now she was strutting my way, in five-inch heels that made her move at a slow pace, but with intention, the air fanning her auburn-streaked hair. Passed by tables and heads turned like robots. She walked and women pulled their men closer. 

She looked more beautiful in person. Her skin glowed. Make-up was flawless. Gold hues that complemented her caramel complexion. 

I was in jeans and a gray tee, braless, no makeup, hair a mess. Looked like shit. Wanted so badly to disappear, for her not to notice me. 

We caught eyes. Time slowed. In that moment, I could tell that she knew who I was. I wasn't Cameron's secret. She knew he had a girlfriend, knew that he'd moved on. My picture was in his phone, flashed every time I called, leftover scent was on his clothes when he walked past her in the courthouse.  

The woman who I'd been imagining in my head for months. She was two seconds away. 

I licked my lips, ran my hand through my hair.

She stopped in front of my booth, her heels coming to a screeching halt, black strappy stilettos that were lacquered in silk, the kind of shoe that showed skin, was erotic. She said, "You Amber?" 

A woman that beautiful, it was hard to know where to start. Straight teeth. Modest nose. Brows arched. My eyes were on her shiny lips. "Yeah."

She sat down, crossed her legs. She had her waist-cut wool coat over her arm, was wearing a black dress, tight, the kind of dress that wasn't suitable for daytime, should have only made appearances in the dark. A dress like that should have been nocturnal. I stared at her breasts. In my mind, obsessed over how perky they were. Wondered what they felt like. Wondered if they felt as soft as mine. Imagined her feeding her breasts to her husband. Thought about him with his tongue over her nipples. I wanted to scream.  

"Look, I'll make this quick. I don't have all fucking day." Her raspy voice knocked me back onto Earth. I looked at her, nodded, couldn't find the words. This was intimidating, the moment that she went from being digital to real. I was trying to be cool, but I was tense, nervous as hell. This was the woman who Cameron had married after three weeks of meeting her and I had been with him for almost nine months, since the inauguration of their split, no ring on my finger, no solid promise of a future together.

She came right out and said, "Stop fucking my husband." Her light eyes were locked on mine. I looked at her and she was beautiful. But when she spoke she turned into a monster. 

Stop fucking my husband. 

As if what Cameron and I had was nothing more than sex, nothing but physical attraction. Fucking. As if we had no real emotional connection, no true feelings. This woman hated me. There was so much anger in her voice. Looking at her up close, I noticed that she had layers of concealer on, didn't want anyone to see the darkness under her eyes, didn't want anybody to know that her life wasn't perfect. Her frown deepened. "If you don't stop fucking my husband—"

My tone was as ugly as hers. "The man doesn't want you. He wants a divorce."

"And let me guess...you think he wants you?" She laughed. The kind of laugh that was condescending, was supposed to intimidate me. "I'm his wife. You're his whore. He doesn't want to marry you. He doesn't want to have children with you. He only wants to fuck you."

I almost told her. Almost opened my mouth and told her the secret that I'd been hiding from the world. I closed, opened my eyes, said, "I'm not a whore." 

I blinked those thoughts away. Wasn't backing down. I looked her dead in the eyes. "You two are separated. I'm not doing anything wrong." It wasn't a legal separation. I knew that. But it was the only argument I could come up with.  

She leaned forward in her seat. Her skin smelled sweet, like lavender and sugar. Breath was fresh as peppermint. She snapped, "This isn't a game, bitch."

I leaned back in my seat. "What's up with the name calling?" 

She looked me up and down. Did that and then made a face. Even when she frowned, she was beautiful. Full eyelashes, high cheekbones and the fullest, prettiest set of lips I'd ever seen, the amalgamation of Rosario Dawson and Julia Roberts, her wide mouth making her more Julia than Rosario. 

I felt body conscious, uncomfortable in my own skin, unattractive. My hormones, the way she was looking at me did that. 

We stared, evaluated, her anxiety, her discomfort hidden behind a firm pokerface, mine for her and the rest of the world to see. She was good at this game. I'd always been too conscious, too neurotic. I hated the situation I was in. This was bullshit. 

"How old are you?"

I don't know why, but I told her the truth. "Twenty-four."

She ran her tongue over her teeth. "So he wanted some young pussy?"

I clenched my jaw. That hit me hard. Wanted to jump up, run the hell out of there as fast as I could.

But wasn't going to do that. Wouldn't let her get that satisfaction.

I made myself smile, said, "Guess he was tired of your old pussy." 

She didn't even blink. My words did nothing to her. "I saw the pictures you sent him on your phone. The naked pictures. Saw the pictures he emailed you—"

My back straightened. "You--you went through his phone, his computer?" 

Those pictures were from months ago. Back when everything was new. Cameron had gone away for business, chasing some important news story. We were long-distance loving for almost a week, sending messages and pictures back and forth. That was before I knew about his wife. Before I knew she existed. And now the bitch was using them to humiliate me. 

I had never felt more naked in my life. Never felt that exposed. She'd saw what I looked like, saw my imperfections, saw what I tried to hide from the world underneath my clothes, my stretch marks, the cellulite on my thighs, the dimples in my booty, she'd seen all of that. I wondered what she looked like underneath her tight black dress. Wondered if she looked as perfect, if she had stretch marks like me. 

She spoke again. "It's over. Whatever you two have going on, it's over."

She grabbed her purse, straightened out her dress, and stormed away from my table. My eyes dropped to her ass as she threw on her coat, tightened the waist strap. If I had an ass like that, I would've ruled the whole goddamn world.  

MY CELL TO MY EAR, I SNAPPED, "You better control that bitch."

I was around the corner from Starbucks, heading towards the Subway, speed walking, bumping past everyone, moving like I owned the streets. It was cold. Down to twenty-eight degrees, windchill making it feel closer to ten. Watched my breath in front of me while I waited for a response. 

I hadn't spoken to Cameron since he left that morning. He sounded concerned. "What happened?"

I went off, "Swear to God, if that bitch ever talks to me like that again...swear...you better keep that bitch away from me."

"Amber, wait...okay, slow down...talk to me."

My hormones out of my control, I was on edge, moody, blew out air, said, "Your wife attacked me."

"Lisa hit you?"

"No. She came up to me in Starbucks...cursed me out...told me...told me to stop fucking you."

His end went silent. I could still hear his footsteps, could still hear the people in the background. He came back, said, "Look, can't talk right now. I'll call you later. Where are you?"

"Just left Starbucks."

"Stay there. I'll meet you. Give me twenty minutes."

I didn't think, just said, "Cameron, I'm pregnant." 

I was tired of the restless nights, tired of the back and forth, the mind-wrestling. I was tired of it all. Felt so relieved. So fucking relieved.  

Reality brought back his voice, it's harshness. "What?" 

He was calm. That told me he was still in a public place, hadn't moved somewhere people couldn't hear. 

I licked my lips, took a deep breath. "I said, I'm...pregnant." 

He was quiet. Didn't say anything for what seemed like forever. Thought maybe I'd lost reception, looked at my phone, saw the icon that told me my service was fine. Then, "You sure?" 

Some idiot on a skateboard cut me off. I flipped him the finger, cursed him, brought my phone back to my mouth, snapped, "What the fuck—you think I'd just make this shit up?" 

Cameron hated when I cursed at him. He paused, blew out air. "Weren't you taking the pill?" 

"That's all you have to say?" 

"I didn't mean to...was just asking."

"I tell you I'm pregnant and that's all you have to say to me?"

"Dammit, Amber. You want me to pretend like this is a fairy-tale and smile and...fucking...tell you that everything is going to be fine? You know my situation." 

"Not asking you to do that." 

"Then what do you want me to do?" 

I didn't like his tone. Hated when he did this to me. Hated when he played innocent and tried to turn the shit on me. "I don't need you to do shit for me. I’m pregnant and the child is yours. Just wanted to let you know...before...I'm getting an abortion tomorrow." I paused. "There’s nothing you need to do to help. Nothing you can say to...make me change my mind. My sister's gonna take me." Didn’t know what else to say. Could feel my hands trembling.

I wasn't lying. The part about pulling the plug. I was serious. No way I could bring a life into this craziness.

I hung up and about-faced without stopping, my anger and frustration giving me tunnel vision, ran right into a man in a white tee and jeans. He had been on his cell, head down, not watching where he was headed either, maybe sending a text or updating his Twitter. 

My stride had made us collide full force, my nose to his solid abdomen, his phone to the asphalt. Felt the blood rush to my face, cursed, then felt his hand slide around my waist to catch my balance. 

His voice was soft, polite. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

I held my nose, nodded. 

"I wasn't looking...I'm sorry...is it broke? I'll pay you for it if it's broke..." I said as I watched him bend down to pick up his Blackberry. People pushed and shoved their way past us, as if we weren't there. I wanted to not be there, wanted to run away from this world. 

"Don't worry about it." He smiled. I looked into his eyes and they seemed to be sparkling back at me. Then, "You sure you're okay? You almost fell." His accent caught me off guard that time. Thoughts jumbled, hadn't noticed it before. He was staggering, exotic, had brown skin, black wavy hair like he had roots in India and a lilt that told me he had migrated from straight across the Atlantic.

"I'm fine...I just...I'm okay, thanks."

I started to hurry away from him, felt his hand cover mine. His hands were soft. "You're beautiful, you know. You have that look. You stand out."

I took my hand back, thanked him, tried to leave, needed to be alone, needed to get my head together. But that man in the white tee and jeans stopped me again. "Wait...I want to do business with you."

I told him, "Not interested." 

"Serious. Straight business."

"Not interested." 

"Damn, you're not even gonna ask what type of business it is before you say no?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

"What's your name?"

I thought quick, gave him my club name.

He said,"My name's Mark. I'm a photographer. I need a model for a project I'm working on right now. And you—"

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but I'm not a model." I hated men like him. Thought just because he could afford a decent enough camera and knew the basics of Photoshop that he was a legit photographer. Hated those bullshit airbrushed images of half-naked women in stilettos and long weaves. The shit wasn't art. Was a man's pedestrian attempt to make chump change while he get a glance at some ass. He just wanted to fuck me.  

I walked away from that man, leaving him standing there in the middle of that rush-hour sidewalk traffic calling after me. Didn't care, wasn't exactly in a man-friendly mood. Not after what Cameron had said to me. Felt vibrations from behind. Pulled out my cell from my back pocket, saw a man with a chiseled jaw and green eyes light up my screen. Saw a man smiling, teeth so white. Saw that bright green box. The red one. Eyes went back and forth between those primary and secondary hues. Green. Red. Saw that smile. Green. Red. Eyes went back to green. I cursed. 

I snapped, "What, Cameron?" 

"I'm sorry...about what I said. Didn't mean to say that to you."

I sighed.

"Don't get the abortion." He sounded out of breath. I heard static, commotion, like he was running. I turned, glanced over my shoulder and saw Cameron coming toward me at a fast pace, saw him dodge a woman pushing a baby stroller, an elderly foreign couple holding hands and taking up most of the sidewalk, started moving as fast as I could, became a mouse moving away from a cat. 

"Cameron, stop. There’s nothing you can do." 

"Don't say that. Don't tell me that shit."

He was still behind me. Chasing after me. "I'm getting an abortion tomorrow. End of story." 

"You don't care what I think?" 

"You just made it pretty clear what you think. You don't want this baby. This isn't a fairy-tale." 

"I didn't mean that. I was...was...wasn't expecting this. You telling me that you're pregnant...that wasn't easy." 

"What? You think this shit's easy for me?" 

"Didn't say that. Look....just...wait up...let's talk about this."

"Cameron, go home." 

"I want you to have my baby. Want to have a child with you. Don't kill my child." 

I breathed, walked faster. "You don’t have to do anything.” 

"I want to do something. I want you to keep the baby." 

"I tell you I'm pregnant. You ask me am I sure...was I taking the pill. That doesn't sound like a man who wants a baby." 

"Told you. I was surprised. Wasn't thinking." 

"Why should I believe you now? How do I know that tomorrow you won't wake up and change your mind, tell me you don't want anything to do with this baby? How do I know, say I have this baby, that couple years down the road you won't disappear? How, Cameron?" 

There was commotion. Silence. Then, "You already made the appointment. Why did you even tell me?" 

I looked back at him again, saw him sweating, that wetness rolling down his forehead. "Stop running after me, Cameron." 

"Please, Amber, at least if you're gonna...let me help." 

"I don't need your money."

"Will you just stop...talk to me."

"I have to go.” 

He said, “Don’t hang up.” 

"What, Cameron? What?"

I waited for his voice to come through on my end, his silence louder than the eccentric Noho crowd that was suffocating me. 

"Have to go." I hung up, turned my cell off, didn't want to talk to him anymore, didn't want to talk to anyone. I went home, took my frustration, my anger, my hormones into my bathroom, undressed, turned on the shower water. Adjusted the tap so that mostly hot water fell. Let that steam rise and suffocate me.  

I needed time alone. To relax. Think. Wanted so badly to leave this world.  

"Hey." His voice shook me out of my peace. I had left the bathroom door open, didn't hear him come in. He pulled the shower curtain back and I opened my eyes, saw him standing in front of me in his navy slacks, shirt halfway unbuttoned. I jumped, looked around and saw that his shoes were on the floor over by the sink, his cuff links on the counter. I looked back at him, wondered how long he had been here. 

"You scared me."

"Didn't mean to."

I turned the faucet off. "Didn't hear you come in. Didn't know you were coming over."

"I can leave."

"You're here now."

He wrapped his hands around my waist, rubbed them over my flat belly, said, "How's my baby?"

I pushed his hands away. "Fine. It's fine."

"You should be taking it easy. Why'd you run away from me like that? You could've hurt the baby."

I sighed, tightened my lips. "Cameron, I'm only nine weeks pregnant."

"What's that mean?" 

"Just...means you don't have to worry so much...means there's still time...still have options."

He moved closer to me. "You're not gonna kill my baby are you?" He kissed my neck. I shivered, let him taste my skin. "Amber, please don't kill my child. We can make this work."

I turned to him. "How? You're still married...I'm barely bringing in a decent paycheck every month...this apartment is too damn small for...a family...a baby...whatever."

I stopped for a moment to breathe, to collect my thoughts, didn't know what the hell I was saying, had lost myself at married. Cameron stood right over me. He was naked, had stripped down to nothing, his bare flesh so close to mine. 

He smiled, looked directly into my eyes, then down to my breasts. I couldn't hide my excitement. My nipples ached, were erect, pointing his way. I needed orgasm. Kept bitting my bottom lip, moving my hand up to my hair, my neck, unable to stay at ease. 

He still made me nervous. 

Made my heart pound against my breasts. Hated that he knew me so well. He knew my daddy issues, my history with no-good men, that he wasn't the first married man I'd slept with, that my father had left me and my momma to play house with a younger woman, how much that affected me, how much that hurt, that I'd slit both my wrists when I was sixteen, wanted to end my life, wanted to drown in that tub of blood water, leave and never come back. No one else knew that shit about me. Not any of the other men I shared a bed with, not the few I gave a piece of my heart. None of my girlfriends. He did and I hated it. Knew just the words to say, exactly how to smile at me, made me melt, made the pain shrivel and die.

Hated that that bitch knew more about him than I did. Hated that he was so afraid to let me in.  

He had me against the tiled wall, smothered me with his sex, so much heat between us.

He kissed my neck. Made me quiver. 

I turned the faucet, made lukewarm water flow onto my sweaty flesh like rain from the heavens, needed to cool off. For a moment that coolness made me moan, gave me pleasure, numbed the madness I was feeling. Then he touched me. Slid his fingertips down the sides of my waist. Those small traces of his love made me soften. I became a cloud. With every touch a new hunger grew between my legs, made me ache, created a never-ending wetness. He touched me and magic happened. 

He moved his face closer to mine and I felt my heart skip a beat, then could feel it racing. He put his hand to my face, held me in the most gentle way, soft hands made my defenses go away, made me melt faster than butter under the sun. He kissed me slow. So slow, made me want him even more. Sucked my tongue. Made the fire between my legs grow. After every long kiss, he planted a smaller one, like a signature. I touched him, ran my hand over his chest. Felt the way his heart was beating, felt myself losing control. His hands slipped down, ran over the curve of my ass, then slid up my back, pulled my body onto his. He held me. 

I squeezed my thighs together, tightened my muscles, felt that familiar pain, that rawness that came from a man's eager quest for pleasure. Felt the way he had stretched me, the aching from his hard thrusts against my walls. Crossed that thin line between pain and pleasure.

He felt my energy, said,  "I'm sorry about the other day. Are you sore?"

I leaned his way, breathed onto his neck. "A little."

Our bodies melted together. We kissed. His hand in my hair, I pulled away from him, trying to take control, trying so damn hard to do the right thing. Desire changed things, made everything wrong seem right. Orgasm amplified that evil. 

Cameron went down on his knees. I held my breath, almost suffocated. Couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten down on his knees to please me. He took my leg over his shoulder, kissed my inner thighs, rubbed his soft lips his against mine, gave me his warm tongue, just the tip, played with me, was gasoline to my fire, then buried his tongue inside me, flicked against my spot so good, then pulled back, kissed me, sucked me, kept teasing me, tormenting me toward orgasm.

I closed my eyes, felt him. My breathing quickened, lips tightened, spasms shot through me, made me tremble, legs weakened. He held me to keep me from falling.

I needed this sweet release, was tense, needed to free my body of this stress, so many built up emotions, needed Cameron to bring me to that place where thoughts and pain didn't exist, only pleasure, grabbed the back of his head, braced myself for what had been building up, making my heart throb against my ribs, my breasts reach for the heavens. 

Then. The thought of Lisa. That bitch invaded my pleasure, my peace. Legs wide, Cameron's head between their thickness, I felt like a whore, like the woman Lisa thought I was. Felt her eyes on me, remembered the way she'd looked me over in Starbucks. The way she frowned at me. The look of disgust in her eyes. 

And it stopped. The vibrations, the tingles, they all stopped. I shuddered, lost my rhythm. Was damn close. My fist covered my heat, fingers unraveled to touch my swollen lips, tried to salvage the orgasm I'd been so close to. 

It was gone. My pleasure had threatened, then run away from me. 

Cameron looked up at me. His voice was deep, frustration on his tongue. "What happened?"

I wasn't here. Was so far away from being here. 

He looked down, away from my eyes. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. 

I told him, "It wasn't you."

We stood there, both wet and naked, water dripping down his brown skin like a waterfall. I turned away from his stare. He came up behind me, touched my shoulder with his hand. "What's going on?"

I sighed, said, "Your wife is still in love with you."

I could feel his body tense. "She wants to take every fucking dime I have...wants to see me suffer...that's not love, Amber."

"She wants you back, doing all she can to have your time, doing that the only way you'll let her. She doesn't want a divorce."

My mind was pacing. So many thoughts, I struggled with my words.

"Maybe you should talk to her, try to work things out...talk and see how you feel."

He firmed his tone. "It's over between me and Lisa."

"She's your wife...when you love someone..."

His voice was low, intense. "Amber, I don't love Lisa."

He took my hand, lifted it from my side, kissed my fore and middle fingers. Pressed his weight against me. He put his hand on my neck, held me in the sweetest way. 

"It's just me and you."

"Can't stop thinking about her."

"Forget Lisa exists."

"It's not that easy. She's your wife."

"Ex wife." He said that in a frustrated voice, made sure I heard him. 

Silence magnified the awkwardness of this moment.

I said, "You two are still married."

"Divorce will be finalized next month."

"You've been saying that for almost a year."

"I know."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Silence.

"Didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not mad...just want you to hear me."

"You're the one who brought it up."

"I know, Amber."

He breathed, rubbed his temples.

"Amber. I want to have this baby with you."

Between our words, there was a moment of silence. He was stressed from work. She was driving him crazy. He called me up and I came running to his rescue. He said he needed to talk, just wanted to hear my voice. I was there. He cooked. Wine. Conversation. More wine. Then we were on the couch. Touching.