Karen made herself scarce, so the two of us get to spend the day together. After I agreed to stay she seemed to relax a little and the silence became easier to handle. She doesn't say much, but I know she probably doesn't know where to start. It's not like she has a lot of material to make small talk - she's essentially been a recluse for two years.
Eventually, she leads me back inside and heads over to the fridge. "I was going to have Karen bring dinner over," she says, assessing the empty shelves inside.
"Can I take you out?"
"I guess we could do that."
"I need a shower first," I tell her, realizing that I probably smell.
"Come on," she says, leading me back through her room. "Use mine. There's nothing in the guest room right now - Brie took everything with her."
She hands me a towel and smiles a little as she shuts the door. I shower quickly, realizing that I'm starving. How long has it been since I've eaten? Also, I'm fucking exhausted, but there's no way I'm going to let her retreat from me. Getting her to dress up and go out feels like a victory. I stand in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around my waist, pulling out my razor. I haven't shaved in days. She opens the door and watches me for a second, smiling shyly. She's in a stunning white dress and sandals, her blonde waves flowing everywhere. Without a word, she jumps up in front of me on the sink and takes the razor from me, using her other hand to smear shaving cream all over my face.
"You used to do this all the time," I remind her, doing my best to keep still, my hand resting on her thigh. She nods, focused on my face as I stand between her legs, her lips slightly parted as she works. Satisfied, she grabs a towel and wipes my face gently, then puts her hands on my cheeks and pulls me in for a kiss.
My hands slide up her thighs a little when I break the kiss, and she closes her eyes and exhales, concentrating. I realize it's probably been forever since anyone has touched her, even in a platonic sense. She's always been so physical - she's probably been dying without someone around to hug her or even sit next to her. My hands continue their journey over her hips and up her sides. She stays completely still, letting my hands wander up her arms, her breath catching when I pull her into a hug and bury my face in her hair. I try not to react to the way her fingers feel as they trace my skin, but it doesn't work. Her head falls back to give me access and I plant a series of soft kisses down her throat before I stop and wrap my arms around her again, continuously stroking her arms, back and shoulders. Once I feel like she's relaxed, I kiss her cheek and step back.
"Let me get dressed, okay?"
She looks at me, slightly surprised, nodding absently. I'd give anything to know what's going on in her pretty head. She makes no move to get down, but I offer her my hand and she hops to her feet, turning to the mirror to put on her make up while I get dressed.
I finish before her and watch her put on her make up for a minute before she notices. "You're being weird."
"Sorry," I say, shrugging and taking a seat on the edge of the tub, watching her face in the mirror. "Do you have somewhere you want to go, or should I try to figure that out?"
"I know where to go," she says, finishing her lipstick. She turns to me and holds her hand out. "Come on."
She leads me down the stairs and out into the street, and I'm struck by the simplicity of her life here. There is no security. There are no assistants or autograph seekers. There are no limos or jets or anything. For the first time since probably 1975, it's the two of us, walking down a street, and no one pays a lick of attention.
We duck into this tiny restaurant at the end of the block and the hostess smiles at her before seating us. Stevie says something in Italian to our waiter as he comes to the table, and he disappears.
"That was so hot."
"I've had to learn a thing or two," she says, blushing a little. Her knee touches mine beneath the table, and it isn't lost on me that we have barely broken contact since we left the house.
By the end of dinner, she's holding my hand under the table, a little giggly after three glasses of wine. I see the Stevie I know returning, if only in flashes. "I want to take you home," I tell her, hoping I'm reading her right. She smiles and nods at me, and I signal to the server that we're ready to go.
She grabs my arm as we leave, clinging to me as we walk back to the house. I playfully throw her over my shoulder and bring her upstairs, running to the bedroom and tossing her on the bed. Her long blonde hair is fanned out behind her, her eyes sparkling as she giggles, looking up at me. She reaches her arms out, and I let her pull me down on top of her, returning her kiss passionately. She's already pulling on my shirt and I remove it, quickly indicating that I'd like her to do the same. She raises her arms up and lets me toss her dress to the side, and I stare at her underwear clad body for a minute. Yesterday I had no idea where she was. Today, I'm in Venice, about to make love to her.
"Lindsey?" Her voice brings me back, and she's looking at me impatiently. "Take off your pants."
She doesn't have to tell me twice. I toss them aside quickly, kneeling between her thighs completely naked. She removes her bra before I get a chance to, so I quickly pull her underwear off and run my hands down her body. She arches her back, her nipples peaked, her fingers pinching them and eliciting a moan. "Oh, God," I hear myself say, staring at the scene in front of me.
She opens her eyes and gives me another look, waiting. "Lindsey, fuck me." Her voice is raw and needy, and I realize I have no interest in trying to take it slow either. I grab her hands and pin them beside her head, watching her face as I enter her. Tears start to stream down her face, but she's meeting my thrusts earnestly and gripping my arms tightly.
I pause for a second she quickly opens her eyes and whimpers in disappointment. "Are you okay, baby?"
She nods and wiggles her hips. "Don't stop."
I start moving again, thrusting deeper, kissing tears from her cheeks and eyes. I know the only other person she's been with in the past 20 years is John, and she's working through a mess of emotions I can't even begin to understand. I release her hands and tangle my fingers in her hair, watching her expressions closely. She finally meets my eyes and all of her pain and loneliness and frustration and love and anger and everything else she's feeling are right there on the surface.
"Jesus, Steph," I say, breathless, realizing that I started crying at some point as well. She's biting her lip in concentration, and I can feel that she's close as the muscles in her stomach tense up. I wrap her in my arms as she comes, somewhat caught off guard when she buries her face in my neck and starts to sob. "You're okay."
"I love you so much," she says, her hot tears falling onto my chest as she plants frantic kisses down my neck and collarbone. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I'm so sorry."
Her word are becoming disconnected and nonsensical, and I cry right along with her, trying to calm her. "I love you, too. You're here now. We're okay."
She finally composes herself and clings to me, her breath slightly shaky. She's silent now, likely exhausted. "I knew you'd find me."
"I always will," I assure her, kissing her hair. Suddenly the lack of sleep and jet lag and raw emotion of the day are too much, and I feel myself start to drift off.
"Lindsey, sleep. I know you're tired. We can talk tomorrow."
"Okay," I mumble, tightening my grip on her, subconsciously ensuring that she'll be there when I wake up.
