Cauchemar by Alexandra Grigorescu

overnight, and you can’t expect it to. It’s going to take time, and you’ll always miss her. But I promise that the sting of it, the feeling that you can’t bear it, will fade. You just have to take it one step at a time, and the first of those is a bit more rest. Come on, I’ll take the couch.”
    Hannah smoothed the red dress over her thighs. Looking around the apartment, at the photographs, the greeting cards, and the water-stained magazines, she realized she felt comfortable. At ease. She took a deep breath.
    Callum sat down on the couch. “What is it?”
    â€œI’m not tired anymore,” she said, holding his gaze.
    â€œIt’s really too bad,” he said.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œThat we met like we did. The things I would do, otherwise.”
    Hannah’s breath sped up. The sense of being on the verge of something inevitable was almost pleasurable. “What would you do?” she asked in a small voice.
    His face was an anchor, holding the spinning room in place. She saw desire in his dilated eyes, and unexpectedly, it made her feel powerful. “I’d like to say that I’d hold your hand, make you breakfast, pick up a handful of wildflowers,” he said, smiling. “And truth is, I’d like that. But those are daytime things, and we can still rightly call this night.”
    â€œAnd what would you do, with this rightly called bit of night?”
    â€œI’d lay you down,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious. He leaned in over her and his tongue touched her like a butterfly’s, tracing nectar along the inside of her arm toward her shoulders.
    She’d so rarely allowed anyone to come this close to her, because she’d learned early that after the initial burst of pleasure came pain, and doubt, and regret.
    She hesitated but didn’t move away.
    He slid down the straps of her dress. She moved instinctively to cover herself but he blocked her gently. His tongue flicked along her clavicle, down the subtle dip between her breasts.
    â€œI think I’d let you,” she said.
    He pulled away to strip off his jeans, smiling, and she felt rudderless on the plush couch. He tugged at the bottom of her dress and she felt it slide down from beneath her. Inch by inch, her body was revealed, its hills and valleys. A terrain she hadn’t had cause to examine for years was suddenly exposed. She sought his eyes for some sign of how she measured up, but they moved up and down her legs, her belly, and her shoulders like he was sating some thirst.
    Slowly, he ran his hand over the pale peach cotton of her underwear. “Is this okay?” he breathed.
    â€œI don’t do this,” she said. “I haven’t done this in a very long time. But yes.” She studied his body in the faint light. When she was seventeen, she’d had a brief flirtation with a boy from town. Toby, whose skin glistened in his parents’ bed. His full lips and precious smile, his brown eyes peering expectantly up at her from between her thighs. That was before his parents had discovered them kissing in their boat. His mother’s face had changed from confusion to anger to pure fury in seconds, and she’d chased Hannah down the street in bare feet. “You stay away from our boy!” she’d screamed. That was before Mae had discovered the condoms, and sat heavily, speechless, in a chair. Mae’s arms crossed so tightly over her chest that her shoulders seemed to tremble with effort.
    Hannah’s legs wrapped loosely around Callum’s waist. He pressed his thumb into her, and it felt firm and as sure as ringing a doorbell. Slowly, he pulled out his finger and licked it.
    And then he moved into position and thrust, with a humming growl that elucidated every blues riff she’d ever heard. It rose to a fever pitch as she dug her short nails into his back. He answered by hoisting forward, his hand fitting against her neck. She