Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Eleven

I sat up in bed at three in the morning, phone in hand with the camera on, clothes on the floor. It was just a damn camera. Hell, I've even used it to take pictures for Alastair before. But this time I was terrified. Why was this so different?

Oh, right: because I was producing time-traveling porn.

If I knew anything about history—a weird, oddly specific section of history—I might be able to answer the question of when the first picture of a penis was taken. When mine popped up in 1916, it might be the first, for all I knew. I swallowed that thought and, gritting my teeth, lay down and snapped a picture.

The flash lit up the darkness. I turn the camera to see the result and instantly cringe.

Oh God. This was a terrible, terrible idea.

I deleted the picture right away.

Okay, um... maybe I should turn on all the lights? I flicked on the lamp and the overhead light and took another one.

Yikes.

I left the lamp on and turned off the ceiling fan light. The dimmer light gave a nice glow... but my body just didn't want to be photogenic. No matter what angle I tried, I looked strange and pale and lumpy.

Before I knew it, it was four o'clock in the morning. I was going to get absolutely zero sleep, and I had school in the morning. I took a deep breath and start deleting all the pictures, staring at each one as they went into the little electronic trash bin.

And then I got an idea.

I reached for the stack of Alastair's letters that I kept handy-dandy on my nightstand. The second-to-last one, the one where he stated outright that he lusts for me, was on top. I reread it and felt, again, the longing that coursed through his words. Even his handwriting lost its composure—it seemed like it was reaching towards me with its hasty dashes and smudged dots.

I needed to give him the feeling of this letter, in photographic form.

I turned off the light for added realism. I tossed and turned until my hair looked how it would if I was writhing with pleasure underneath him. I bit my lips until they felt swollen, as if I'd been kissing him for hours. Maybe if, when I turned on the light again to take the picture, I could use a filter to soften it, or maybe make it black and white, kind of old-school sexy.

I closed my eyes, then, and tried to relax. I breathed deeply, trying to disappear deep inside of myself, find that part of me that most yearned for him. Those feelings would help me take a perfect picture for him.

But as I lay there, I felt a strange shiver of air around me. Suddenly I was somewhere else.

A foot away from me, my bed sank with weight.

My bare arm touched bare skin.

There was a gasp. It wasn't mine.

The darkness filled up with two sets of breaths and our skin, where touched, went white hot. I sat up. A hand slipped around the inside of my elbow. Real. Solid. Soft.

"Max?" he whispered, his voice low and quivering.

He was here.

"Alastair? How—how long do we have?" I murmured.

"I don't know. A few minutes, perhaps."

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to talk all night, about anything and everything. I want to show him my laptop. I want to show him our new car and Douglas and I want him to meet my mom and stay until tomorrow so we can go out and discover the world. Just a few minutes? I swallow my tears.

Alastair moved closer. His hand slid around my waist, stroking my skin and creating goosebumps over every inch of me. He was so warm.

"Can I turn on the light?" I whispered.

I felt him nod. "I want to see you."

I fumbled for the switch on my lamp and saw him for the first time—a tall, broad man, with a beautiful chiseled face and that glossy black hair, lying in my bed. He smiled at me slowly, a savoury thing that spread over his whole face. He had dimples, front teeth that overlapped, a beauty mark by his left eye, five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw. An interesting face I wanted to spend years memorizing.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered around the lump forming in my throat.

He pulled me gently back to the bed, until my head touched the pillow again. He touched my face, ran his fingertips over my cheeks, my jaw, my lips. I realized I was holding my breath.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, yourself," he said. The light from my lamp twinkled in his smiling eyes.

We were so close. If I were to push my lips out just a bit, they would touch his.

So I did, because time wasn't on our side.

It was incredible, feeling his full lips against mine, his facial hair rasping against my skin. The kiss was innocent only for a moment before my arms were around him and he was pushing my lips apart and rolling me underneath him. His weight on top of me was so real. He wore pyjama bottoms, but I could feel the press of his erection against my hip. Real.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered.

I was, but I turn off the part of my brain that wanted to ask questions. I didn't need it right now. I turned on the part that wanted him.

"I'm ready," I said.

He kissed me again, hot, rough, wet. My hands tangled in his hair. It was so soft it slipped out of my grasp and drove me crazy. He pushed off me for just long enough to tug off his pants and unleash himself. He grabbed me and held us in his hand, together.

"I wish we had the time to take this slowly," he said, "but in the interest of time..."

He stroked us hard, with a purpose, holding me the whole time. I wanted to scream as the pleasure mounted to its peak, but the whole goddamn house was silent and had to stay that way. Alastair held me as we wound down, shuddering and moaning in each other's ears.

"Stay," I whispered, touching his face. "Stay, stay, stay."

He kissed me again, his lips earthquaking. I kept my eyes open so I could memorize every inch of him.

"Always," he says.

And then I blinked, and like a trick of the light, there was nothing. Nothing more in my arms, nothing more in my bed.

Nothing.

Just me and my own sharp breaths and leftover shudders, the sheet coming off the mattress and the blankets pushed to the floor.

No Alastair.

All the pleasure drained from my body and I was left with an empty-gut feeling of devastation.

He was gone. Gone.

I picked up my phone and took a picture of myself with that word on my face.