Falling Under Read Online Free PDF Page B

dinner, we decide to watch a DVD, and I let her choose. We wind up watching Pet Sematary for the eleventh time, and for the eleventh time I will have nightmares. When she leaves, the house is far too empty.
    I turn on all the lights, the radio, the TV, and pace. Mon- sters in every corner. I can’t escape my own head, can’t stand to be with myself, won’t be able to sleep.
    Erik answers on the first ring.
    I decide to call a cab so I don’t have to drive at night.
    Parking will be impossible to find anyway, I reason.
    The taxi driver is uncommunicative, unfriendly, possibly hostile. He probably hates his job, hates Toronto, hates women. Maybe he’s not a real taxi driver, doesn’t even have a driver’s license, has somebody stuffed in his trunk, is high on crack or painkillers, plans to take us to the Scarborough Bluffs and drive right off the edge. Maybe next time I’ll drive myself. If there is a next time.
    Twenty minutes later I stand outside Erik’s door and take a minute to compose myself. I knock and he opens. I look at him and the ride over is forgotten. Long, powerful legs, wide shoulders, and dark eyes that seem to know all the sad ugly secrets of the universe. I could stare at him for hours. Forever.
    “Let me guess,” he says. “You’ve baked me cookies and are here to declare your undying love.”
    “Funny,” I say.
    “Hysterical,” he says, but he doesn’t laugh. I look away.
    “I didn’t expect you again so soon,” he says. “You must need it bad.”
    Ah, that’s better. I look back up at him and smile. “Up yours.”
    “Well, if that’s what you want.”
    I laugh, let my coat slide off me. He takes two strides for- ward, closing the distance between us, and soon his lips are burning mine. When our mouths part, we are breathing fast. I bring my teeth to his lower lip and bite, just hard enough to make him flinch.
    “Bitch,” he says, softly. “Cocksucking motherfucker,” I say. He laughs.
    My hands go to the buttons of his shirt and he presses his hips to mine.
    “Careful,” he says. “I might decide to be nice.”
    He brings his fingertips to my cheek, and trails them down, passing my jaw line, then my neck, my collarbone. My mouth hovers centimeters from his and then I shove him back. He slams into the doorframe and grunts in pain.
    “Go ahead and try,” I say.
    His hand whips out, grabs my hair, and this time I am trapped before he puts his lips on mine.
    He slides down me, lifts my sweater just far enough for his tongue and teeth to find the skin of my belly. My eyes close and I shudder.
    Suddenly I’m airborne over Erik’s shoulder, then flying backward and down, onto his bed. He crawls on top of me, his shirt half open, and slides his hands up over my sweater.
    “Take this off,” he says. “Make me.”
    I buck my hips and we tumble. Off the bed, we kiss and swear and yank at each other’s clothing. Face down, shirt- less, moaning, I feel the floor, cold against my hot skin. He strips my jeans off and I roll to my back, naked but for the bra around my waist. I tug at his shirt and the fabric rips.
    “You’re rough on my wardrobe.” He tosses the shirt aside and stares at me. “Rough on my everything.”
    “What?”
    He looks away, but not before I see something in his eyes. Something I don’t want to see. It’s only a moment, a flash, and then his usual look is back and we can both pretend I imagined the other.
    “Nothing. Forget it,” he says. I’ll certainly try.
    He pulls the shirt off, throws it on the floor behind him and stands up. I watch his hands. They move to his belt buckle, and then the belt, thick, black, and leather, comes free of its loops. I swallow, then slide my eyes up his body and settle on his face. He keeps hold of the belt, unbuttons his pants, slides them down, and steps out of them.
    “Nice cock.” “No talking.”
    He moves to stand over me, one foot on either side of my thighs. The leather tip of the belt snakes its way up the