Heights of Desire by Mara White Page A

“I think you came here to fuck me.”
    I open my mouth to respond and Jaylee leans forward and inserts a piece of pineapple into it before I can speak.
    “Suck,” he commands.
    I do as I’m told. The fruit is stunningly sweet and acidic. It makes me squint. He releases the fruit into my mouth and deliberately licks the juice off his thumb and forefinger. He takes a large bite of pineapple himself and his face breaks into his irresistible smile. Juice runs down his chin and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He’s playing with me, toying with my overwrought emotions.
    “Come with me,” Jaylee says with the quick upward nod of his chin. He takes my hand and pulls me towards the bedroom.
     
    Jaylee’s mother and grandmother share the bedroom and his sister, Janinie, has a smaller bedroom that is accessible only by passing first through the larger one. Jaylee tells me that he sleeps on the couch in the living room. The idea of him not having a bed makes me feel sad and protective of him. I want to buy him a bed. I want to invite him to live at my house where he could have his own room.
    “Don’t looked so shocked,” he says. “It’s comfortable. I’m used to it.”
    The bed in the larger bedroom is made up and covered with a crocheted afghan in bright colors. The entire room is impeccably neat. A large poster hangs behind the headboard that depicts footprints in the sand along the ocean and the caption reads ‘Siempre Contigo.’
    Jaylee pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me. The electricity of his touch runs through me and I can feel my own heart pounding against his chest. I want him to lead me; I want him to take control. I’m not confident enough in my decision to be intimate with him to be able to initiate anything.
    “Did you do what I said the night we went dancing?” he asks.
    Do I tell him the truth? How is it that he makes me feel like I’m cheating on him with my own husband? Aside from the finger slip in the New Jersey parking lot, Jaylee and I have primarily acted as friends.
    “No, I didn’t,” I say. “But I wasn’t thinking about you while I did it. I mean, I didn’t pretend. It seemed more fair that way. . .” I feel his body tense as I’m talking. He doesn’t like my answer.
    Jaylee’s chest is moving up and down visibly as he tries to control his breathing. He lets go of me and balls his fists at his sides. His usually soft yellow eyes flash rage and machismo. He looks as if he wants to hit me.
    “Fair?” he says. “What the fuck is fair about any of this? I haven’t fucked anyone in three months. Since the day we met, I never even looked at another woman. And you’re fucking married. How is that fair?”
    Okay. I guess this is a fight? We’re fighting. We’re barely friends and we’re definitely not lovers, but we’re having a fight. Our eyes meet and the connection is fierce and the pull unyielding. Maybe I’m ruining his life too; maybe we’re destroying one another. After only three – four encounters, we’re already making each other miserable and insane. I can’t tear my eyes away from his face. I feel the need to push it further. I want him to react.
    “I never asked you to restrain yourself from sex for me. Go fuck whomever you want! Why do you care if I have sex with Robert or not? You’re not my boyfriend. You’ve never even kissed me!” I yell the last part to let him know that I’m insulted.
    “I didn’t know if you wanted me,” he counters.
    “Jesus, Jaylee, you’re all I think about!” I say.
     
    A shadow of surprise crosses his face and then he lunges at me like an animal on the attack. His body crashes into mine with such force that I am knocked back against the dresser and perfume bottles and figurines go flying. I hear something break as it hits the floor. Jaylee grabs my face with both hands and kisses me with an aggression that borders on violence. His teeth bite into my lower lip and I can taste the salty metal of