Stay a Little Longer Read online

  And what a feeling that was, to finally drink from the cup and relieve his doubts. But he did remember that she had said no to this earlier. He came up for air, regretting the space between their lips, and said, “Wait.”

  She looked delirious—pink cheeks and swollen lips. “What?”

  “That guy you said you were seeing—”

  “Is not here,” she finished, pulling him back in.

  Elan kissed her, then insisted, “I don’t want to get in the middle of things.”

  She held his face with both of her hands. “Elan. You’re the mayor of the gray area. You have always been in the middle of things.”

  “But—”

  “Oh my god, this is like our first night.” She let go of him, groaning in frustration.

  “No, no,” Elan said quickly, “I’m just making sure this is what you want.”

  A line formed on Caty’s forehead, and the ends of her lips turned down.

  “Tell me what you want.” He lowered himself, catching

  her hand before it hit his chest. He wondered how much time they had left but realized that it wouldn’t matter anyway. Elan knew he would never have enough time in the world to tire

  of her.

  Caty’s fingers unbuttoned his shirt, her eyes focused on his, letting him know she wanted this. So he kissed her again, as she demanded, with one hand grabbing her face. She opened her mouth, and his tongue curled against hers. A surge of electricity shot through him, alerting all of his senses.

  Caty broke the kiss and leaned forward, pushing him down on his back. She smiled in that mischievous way of hers as she got on top.

  He grabbed the hem of her shirt, but she voluntarily took it off in a slow, deliberate manner.

  “You’re killing me,” he breathed out. “Right now. You’re killing me.”

  “Already?” She tossed the shirt aside, but he didn’t follow it. He was exploring every inch of her uncovered body with his eyes. With the lights on, her skin looked soft and smooth, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her waist.

  Caty leaned in but didn’t kiss him, not yet. “Listen.”

  Listen? More talking? His hands protested, running across her back, looking for that clasp. He felt her laugh, her lips grazing his cheek.

  “Elan,” she called him again. “I want you to be patient for a little while.”

  Her hands slowly traveled from his chest to his belly, then farther down, until she unbuttoned his pants.

  “Please?” she asked, moving slowly away from his face, her hair leaving a trail. She kissed his neck, then his chest, all the way down to his stomach.

  “Caty, I—”

  She reached that part where he most felt the need. Caty paused, eyes looking up at him, hair falling on her face. Elan reached out, fingers running through her hair, and gripped, holding her hair back for her. Her face lit up.

  With his back hunched, Elan watched as those lips—the very ones he couldn’t tear his eyes away from on that first day—parted and kissed the rest of him.

  How could he ever leave her now?

  The last time they did this, it was a battle. Who would get there first. Tonight, it seemed like a contradictory display of control and submission.

  Caty let him kiss and caress and knead parts of her that wanted to be touched and needed the attention. She was at the mercy of his mouth—teasing, licking, and tasting her, as if she were dripping honey.

  For her part, she was pulling and grabbing hair, scratching and digging at his skin, arms tangled and legs quivering, close to the edge.

  Elan came up to kiss her mouth as she felt his weight on top of her. She moaned, thought how much she loved this part most of all, sharing the warmth of another person, skin grazing skin, breaths colliding.

  She braced herself for it, seeing him reach out to the bedside table, hearing the sound of foil ripping.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, just waiting, dying, chest about to explode, when she heard him call her name.

  She jolted, eyes opened to meet his. He didn’t look as if he’d changed his mind, which was what she feared the most, remembering their last time. His eyes were calm, like a peaceful ocean at dawn. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, and his jaw tightened.

  Then she felt him crash against her in a swift motion.

  She gasped, arching her back as he dropped his head to her neck, pulling and pushing, bodies writhing to find a harmonious pace.

  When he looked back at her, his eyes were darker, brows creased and forehead adorned with beads of sweat. His mouth was a thin line as he increased his pace, sending her stomach and legs quivering until she finally soared to the edge.

  It was flying. No contraptions, her arms like wings, wind caressing her face, her hair wild and free. She felt herself open up as the adrenaline rushed to the tips and ends of her body.

  Caty sensed Elan falling apart seconds later, and she watched him let out a groan as he reached his end.

  She welcomed him back in her arms, like the sea to the shore, cradling him as their chests heaved, rising and falling at the same time.

  She was speechless—breathless—until laughter bubbled up, surprising them both.

  He turned to her, looking so concerned that it kept her laughing. She couldn’t help it.

  “What?” Elan asked, and she laughed even more, seeing that he was flushed, not just because of what they’d done but possibly from embarrassment.

  “Nothing.”

  “You came, right?”

  “Yes, yes,” she smiled. “I came, I saw, I fucking conquered.”

  Elan chuckled under his breath.

  Caty grabbed his cheeks with both of her hands. “You’re

  the killer.”

  She saw a new glint in his eyes—a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and she liked it very much. “Who knew, huh?”

  He leaned forward to kiss her again—no, bite her lip—and by the looks of it, he did.

  twelve

  Caty’s eyes opened, and it was like waking up to remembering something she’d forgotten. Locking the doors. Turning off the faucet. Closing the windows.

  She lay on her side, afraid to look over and find the other side of the bed empty. He probably would’ve left by now.

  When she turned, her heart sunk. The other side of the bed was smoothed out, a stark contrast to the way it had been last night. She was alone. She didn’t get any pleasure from knowing she’d been right in the first place, knowing she’d wind up alone.

  She heard a sound like water was running in the bathroom.

  Did we leave the faucet on? She sat up in bed, blinked, and kicked off the sheets. Then she found the shirt he’d been wearing last night lying on the floor, so she put it on to cover herself momentarily and headed to the bathroom. She peeked through the slightly open door and then simply pushed it back.

  There was his back, and his face reflected in the mirror. His eyes widened when he spotted her, his hand still holding a toothbrush.

  Elan was in the bathroom. Brushing his teeth.

  He took his eyes off her to spit in the sink, gurgle, and wipe his face with a towel. His hair was wet, which meant he’d already taken a shower and he was getting ready to leave her.

  She remained at the door, her hips leaning on the frame, watching him as he laid his palms on the sink. He looked at her through the mirror. “Hi. Good morning.”

  “I thought you’d left.”

  He bowed his head.

  “Are you still leaving?” she asked. Something awful was growing in the pit of her stomach—butterflies: tiny, fluttering wisps of hope and expectation.

  She took a step closer, then another. When she reached him, she saw that he was holding his breath, as if to stop himself from saying anything.

  Caty’s hand snaked around him, and she res
ted her head on his shoulder. She heard him exhale. Loud.

  It can’t be good.

  Her fingers spread to his stomach and rested on his tensed muscles. She lifted her chin up to his shoulder and looked at their reflections in the mirror. She smiled at the image, both of them rumpled comfortably, like a couple who normally shared their space together.

  Maybe if we lived in the same city. Maybe, she thought, then pulled away.

  He laid his hand on top of hers and pulled her back in. “I’m sorry.”

  She pressed a kiss on his shoulder and stepped back. “I’ll get dressed.”

  But he didn’t let go of her hand. He pulled her in and lodged her between him and the sink. “I’ve had this shirt for a while, but it didn’t look as good on me as it does on you.”

  She smiled and bowed her head a little bit, feeling her cheeks get warm. “I’d come closer if I didn’t have morning breath.”

  He looked at her funny and lowered his head to peek at her face. He tipped her chin up and kissed her, quickly, the way couples do normally before rushing to work or leaving each other for five minutes.

  “You’re good,” he confirmed.

  She laughed, smacking her lips. “Minty.”

  “Hotel toothpaste.” He leaned back and let her jump on the sink, even gave her a little boost so she could sit down. “I wasn’t just gonna leave you.”

  She nodded. What else could she say? He caught her eye and smiled.

  “You seriously thought I was gonna do that?”

  “Well, I . . .” She’d done it to him the last time, hadn’t she? She thought it would be easier to just get up and leave, to avoid the awkward goodbyes. This time wouldn’t be too awkward, she imagined, but it would be difficult. The look he gave her convinced her that the more they stayed together, the harder it would be to part.

  But she was going to take it as it was. She and Elan had been together for a day. She supposed she just had to make it count.

  Elan could see that she was shutting down right before his eyes. She was hesitating, stopping herself from smiling—avoiding him again. He hated it, because he had less time to convince her to open up again, to be the girl he’d been with just a couple of hours ago, the girl who threw caution to the wind and believed in him, in this.

  He leaned closer and rested his chin on her shoulder, staring at his reflection behind her in the mirror. He watched her head lean toward him and knew he had to keep trying.

  Elan felt her arms snake around him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

  “Yeah. We have time.”

  She rested her head on his chest, breathing in and out before asking, “Do you need help packing?”

  “I’m mostly okay.” He didn’t have a lot of stuff, just the clothes from last night, including the shirt she was wearing now, which he didn’t mind.

  Caty pulled away first and gazed up at him with a look he couldn’t quite grab, but he thought it had a hint of resignation. “Oh, right. I should get out of this.”

  He tilted his head. “Or you can keep it.”

  She chuckled, pushing him a little to the side so she could get off the sink. “What, like something to remember you by?”

  “No,” he said immediately, frowning. Something to remember him by? Like it was a fucking souvenir, a nice memento from a vacation before they went back to real life. “Just something to keep.”

  Caty played with the hem of his shirt.

  Real life. He couldn’t help but think of it now, how it would all go back to what it was. Her, in New York. Him, in Manila. Her, seeing this man she told him about while he . . .

  Elan bit his lip and shook his head slowly. That had bothered him last night, but he hadn’t let it get to him. It was eating him up now.

  “Or something to lose?” she said, heading back to bed. She pulled the shirt over her head without even bothering to unbutton it. She looked over her shoulder at him and threw the shirt back.

  He caught the shirt by reflex and tossed it out of the way. “You have all the best ideas.”

  She giggled as he scooped her up and laid her back in bed. He crawled on top of her, kissed his way up, and stopped to look her in the eyes.

  “Hi,” Caty whispered.

  Elan kissed her hello. It went on and on—the longest hello he’d ever said. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to kiss her goodbye. His ears were ringing as he kissed her senseless, and he could feel her pull him in closer with every start.

  “Hey,” she managed in between, “honey.” Not yet, not yet. “Your phone.” Elan sucked on her lip, and she leaned forward before grabbing his face. “I love what you’re doing, but the ringing is driving me mad.”

  Ringing?

  Then he heard the startling, loud rings in the background.

  “It could be important,” she added.

  Elan leaped out of bed to find the phone and stop the annoying sound that filled the room. He grabbed the phone off the table, turned it off without even looking at it, and chucked it to the side.

  He was back in bed in mere seconds, back to where he’d been.

  “You know . . .” Caty started.

  For a minute, he thought that maybe throwing his phone looked like a childish tantrum, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care anymore. She had her legs wrapped around his hips, and that mattered.

  “That whole temper thing could work for you.”

  His brows furrowed.

  She nodded to the phone. “That was cute.”

  “Just cute?” Elan laid his palm on her lower belly and let his thumb graze down. Her hips buckled at the touch, and that gave him pleasure.

  “That was hot.” She unlocked her legs from his hips and spread them for him like an invitation, approval.

  “How’d you like it this time?” he asked, lips grazing her hip bone.

  “Slow.” She wriggled in his hands, and her breath turned ragged. “Like we’ve got the whole day.”

  He saw the worry that skipped across her face, as if she regretted saying the words, but he kissed her before she could take it all back.

  They never had enough time, but he would give this to her. Not as a parting gift but as a reason, a way, to convince her he was worth coming back to every time.

  thirteen

  They had some time.

  Enough to say their goodbyes before the hotel doorman hailed a cab to take Elan to JFK. He kissed the top of her head while she wrapped her arms around him for the last time.

  They had time. Not enough, never enough, but enough to matter.

  They always had that.

  Caty was on her way back home to her brownstone apartment in Bed-Stuy when she suddenly regretted not inviting Elan over so he could see where she actually lived, what it meant when she talked about the scenes she saw at her window.

  At the front steps, she saw Lucian with his boyfriend, Jimmy, and friend Val. Lucian was statuesque—towering at six feet three with golden-blond hair. Jimmy was shorter and rounder, absolutely warm and lovable looking.

  Lucian hooted at the sight of her. “Walk of shame, walk of shame!”

  She laughed and answered, “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” Val said. Val was younger than she was, a skinny boy who transformed into a Vivien Leigh replica at night. “Where’s your lover from last night?”

  Caty smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Val rolled his eyes. “Sure. Hey, is that a hickey?”

  Caty lifted her shirt to cover her collarbone, then turned to Lucian. “How was last night? Sorry, I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  “Splendid,” Lucian answered. “We’re on our way up to the apartment—Val was just leaving.”

  Val agreed and a
ir-kissed everyone before heading out.

  Caty’s shoulders sagged when Jimmy put an arm around her. “How you doin’, love?”

  They climbed up to their unit. Jimmy was the cook in the household, so he went straight to the kitchen to make breakfast for all.

  Lucian sat at one end of the couch while Caty took the other.

  “How was last night?”

  Last night—the words made her want to lie down on the floor and weep.

  “Oh, babe.” Lucian clicked his tongue and pulled her in, aware that she seemed about to slide down the couch and drop on the floor. “I can’t tell if you had the best or the worst night.”

  She couldn’t decide either. She was convinced that it should be the former, but she was feeling the latter.

  “Did you get to talk about your . . . arrangement?”

  “Yes, but we got distracted.”

  Lucian arched his eyebrows. “So you had a splendid night indeed.”

  “I told him I was seeing someone.”

  “Are you? That grimy boy from the hipster coffee shop?”

  “No,” she cried. “God, not him. But there’s always someone to see.”

  “Ah,” Lucian nodded. Caty knew he had something on his mind, but he was holding back. “And what did he say about you seeing someone else?”

  She shrugged. “Does it matter? We slept together anyway.”

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  “He said,” Caty heaved a sigh, “that he’s patient.”

  Lucian snorted, pulling back to look at her face to check if she was serious. “Yeah? But is that enough?”

  She scratched her cheek.

  “Let me tell you one thing,” Lucian paused. He took a moment before saying, “I’m no expert . . .”

  But Lucian had Jimmy, and that was success in Caty’s book. Jimmy was wonderful—loving and accepting, committed to Lucian, and he made the best cinnamon French toast.

  “I’ve always thought that for a relationship to begin, one person had to be braver than the other.”

  “Just one?”

  Lucian nodded. “Someone has to dive in first. It’s never the two of you, together. It’s nice to think of it that way, but there’s always someone who lays out all the cards first.”