Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

His eyes regard me, still revealing nothing. Then he reaches forward and takes my face in his hands. Brings his lips down on mine. They are soft and hard at the same time. His tongue slips into my mouth and my response is instantaneous. My whole body arches into him, and I can feel his hardness through his slacks. He pulls back. His eyes look half hooded in pleasure, and sexy as hell.

"Upstairs okay?" he asks me.

I think if he hadn't asked, had just assumed and tried to take me up into the bed that I only ever shared with Matt, my answer would have been no. Part of me still feels like I should say no.

"Yes, please," I answer.

He gathers me into his arms in a single motion, carrying me like I'm a feather. I put my face against his neck and smell the smell of man. My longing intensifies at this. It has been missed, that scent. I want to feel someone else's skin against mine. I want to not be alone. I want to feel beautiful.

We get into the bedroom, and he lays me down, gentle. He proceeds to undress as I watch. And, boy, it's worth watching, my body tells me. He's well-built without being overmuscular, the physique of a dancer. He has chest hair, which I find sexy, but not too much. Just right. When he slips off his pants, followed by his boxers, I gasp. Not at his cock--though I sure can't miss it. I gasp at the sight of a man, naked in front of me again. I feel an energy building inside me, a kind of formless wave, roaring toward some internal shore. He comes over to me, sits down, and moves a hand to unbutton my blouse. I feel the doubts come again. "Tommy, I--the scars . . . they aren't just on my face."

"Shhh . . ." he says to me, his fingers continuing to unbutton. He has strong hands, I notice. Callused in places, soft in others. Tender and rough, like him.

He opens my shirt, sits me up to pull it off, and then removes my bra. He lays me back and looks at me. My fear disappears when I see the expression on his face. No revulsion, no pity. All I see is that awe men can have at times when you stand naked in front of them. That kind of

"Really? All for me?" look.

He bends forward and kisses me again, and I feel his chest against mine. My nipples harden, turning into pulsing sunbursts of sensation. He kisses my chin, then moves down my neck, to my chest. When he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, I arch and cry out. Jesus Christ, I think. Is that what months without sex will do to you? I grab his head and start speaking unintelligible things to him, feeling an urgency build. He continues kissing me, going from nipple to nipple, making me groan and mewl, while his hands undo my slacks and pull the zipper down. He sits up on his knees to pull them off me, taking my panties with them, and then pauses for a moment, looking down at me, slacks bunched up in one hand. His eyes are dusky, his face partly shadowed, and the look he's giving me is pure desire. Here I am, I think. Naked in front of a more than handsome man. And he wants me bad. Scars and all. Tears come into my eyes. Tommy looks concerned. "You okay?" he asks.

I smile up at him. "Oh yeah," I say, tears running down my face. "Just happy. You made me feel sexy."

"You are sexy. God, Smoky." He reaches a finger out and traces the scars on my face. Moves down, circling around the ones on my chest, my belly. "You think these make you ugly." He shakes his head. "To me, they reveal character. They show strength, and survival, and not getting beat. They show that you're a fighter. That you'll fight for life, to the death." His hand comes back up to my face. "They're not defects on the package, Smoky. They're proof of what was always there."

I reach my arms out to him.

"Come down here and show me that you feel that way. Show me all night long."

He does. It goes on for hours, a mix of the dark and the divine, and perception turns into a blend of unbearable emotions combined with sensation. I am insatiable, and I keep demanding, and he keeps providing, until the end, when the world recedes first to a dot, and then explodes into a near-blinding display that has me screaming in pleasure at the top of my lungs.

"Window rattling," Matt used to call it.

The sweetest pain of all is the lack of guilt. Because I know that if Matt is watching, he is happy. That he is telling me, a whisper in my ear: Get on with your life. You're still among the living. As I fall asleep I realize that I know I will not dream tonight. The dreams aren't finished yet, but the past and the present are learning to live with each other. The present has hated the past, and the past has been an enemy of the future. Perhaps soon, the past will just be the past again.

Sleep claims me, and it is not a retreat, but a comfort.

W HEN I WAKEin the morning, I feel satisfied and sore. Like I slaked a thirst. Tommy isn't here, but when I cock an ear, I hear him downstairs. I stretch, feeling every muscle, and then bound out of bed. I shower, regretful at having to wash his smell off me but feeling refreshed afterward. Great sex can be that way. Like a good marathon run. A shower always feels better if you get really dirty first. I luxuriate in this feeling for a moment and then get dressed and head downstairs, finding Tommy in the kitchen.

He looks the same as he did before we went to bed, not a wrinkle in his suit. He is fully awake and alert. He has brewed coffee, and he gives me a cup.

"Thanks," I say.

"Are you going to be leaving soon?"

"In about a half hour. I need to make a call first."

"Let me know." He regards me for a moment, sphinxlike, until a smile plays on the edge of his lips.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Just thinking about last night."

I look at him. "It was great," I say, quiet.

"Yeah." He cocks his head. "You know, you never asked me if I was seeing anyone already."

"I figured if you were, last night wouldn't have happened. Was I wrong?"

"Nope."

I look down at my coffee cup. "Listen, Tommy, I want to say something about last night. About what you said. About not being sure if it would go anywhere or not. I want you to know I meant what I told you. If it doesn't go anywhere, it really will be okay. But . . ."

"But if it does, that's okay too," he replies. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yeah."

"Good. 'Cause I feel the same way." He reaches out a hand, strokes my hair. I lean into it for a second. "I mean that, Smoky. You're a hell of a woman. And I've always thought that."

"Thanks." I smile at him. "So what do we call it? 'A one-night stand with potential' ?"

He drops his hand, laughs. "I like that. Let me know when you're ready to go."

I nod and walk away, feeling not just good, but something even more important: comfortable. However it goes, neither Tommy nor I will have to regret last night. Thank God.

I go back upstairs, nursing my coffee like it's the elixir of life. Which, with the hours I've been keeping, isn't far from the truth. It's only eight-thirty, but I feel certain that Elaina is an early riser. I dial the number.

Elaina answers. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Smoky. Sorry about last night. How is she?"

"She seems happy. She's still not talking, but she smiles a lot."

"How is she doing at night?"

Silence. "She was screaming in her sleep last night. I woke her up and cuddled her. She was fine after that."

"Ah, jeez. I'm sorry, Elaina." I feel parent's guilt at this. While I was howling at the moon, Bonnie was screaming at the past. "You have no idea how thankful I am for this."

"She's a child who's been hurt and needs help, Smoky. That's never a burden in our home, and never will be." Her words are simple factual statements, meant from the heart. "Do you want to speak to her?"

My heart skips a beat. I realize that I do. Very much. "Please."