"I've dreamed about making you come over and over, havin' you so well fucked under me that you can hardly move. I never imagined it'd be so damn easy."

My hips jerked back in response to his voice, his words, and the divine sensations his cock drove into me.

Picking up the pace, he coaxed one last sweet orgasm from me, turning every bone in my body to warm jelly, before letting go himself.

"Fuck! Kenna!" he bellowed, his cock jerking madly as he flooded me.

After collapsing on top of me, he rolled to the side, pulling me with him. Still lodged deep within me, he cradled me close, his pounding heart reverberating through my back. Turning my face up toward his, he sweetly kissed me.

"Ain't nothin' better than makin' you come apart," he murmured.

"I had no idea it could be this way," I confessed. "Never in my wildest dreams."

"Me neither," he admitted. "I think I like makin' you come more than comin' myself."

That made me laugh. "Yeah, well, you do a hell of a job of it."

"I try."

"Phil!" I squeaked in horror as he strode into the bathroom.

"Yeah, Baby Girl," he said, not sounding the least bit concerned.

"I'm peeing!" I hissed, feeling myself go red.

He stopped and looked at me. "Yeah? And?"

"Uh...a little privacy?"

Cocking an eyebrow, he replied with, "Seriously, you have no problem with me shoving my face in it, but you freak out if I see you pissin'?"

Bastard, I thought. He's got a point.

Giving him what I hoped was a mutinous glare, I kept my mouth shut and finished my business. Phil began flipping the faucets open on the tub, and then he rummaged around in the cabinets.

"What are you looking for?" I asked, wiping myself while he had his back turned.

"Uh, bath soap..."

"What, like bubble bath?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you usually have some lying around?" I laughed. I seriously can't picture that.

"I wouldn't know. I got a tub, so maybe Danielle thought I'd need some..." He located a bottle on one of the shelves and pulled it out. He read the label out loud, "Soothing Lavender Bath and Body Wash." Popping the top, he took a whiff and pulled a that's-not-so-bad face.

I wasn't a particular fan of lavender but whatever.

He moved to the tub and squirted a large stream of the stuff in it. Within moments, the whole bathroom reeked of lavender, and bubbles were frothing up in alarming quantities.

"Might've used too much, there, dude," I snorted.

"Shut your piehole," he grunted.

Making me get in first, he then got in, sliding to the opposite side of the tub.

"I want to ask you somethin'."

"Sure," I said.

"Are you Hindu or some other type of yoga-practicin' religion?"

"Um, no. Why?"

"'Cause sometimes you call on gods, like in the plural sense. But sometimes, only one. I'm just curious."

"Oh. Yeah, my parents raised us with the belief that souls watch over those of us existing on this plane. Mom called them gods-not so much as a deity type of deal, but as souls who have lived so many lifetimes that they've become enlightened beings. They're not what created us, but they sort of evolved into...more than what we are now-more knowledgeable, wise, and compassionate."

"So you believe in a god?" he asked.

"Like, one Supreme Being?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, but I don't think It wastes Its time with the petty bullshit that happens here on this plane. That's what the gods are for."

"So, you think these gods are reincarnated souls who became so enlightened that they've become godlike and help to guide humanity?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I replied, giving him a warm smile.

"Huh," he grunted, his expression one of contemplation.

"Why? What do you believe?"

"I'm really not too sure, to be honest. Neither of my parents were ever particularly religious. I think if my dad ever was, he certainly wasn't after my mother died."

"Do you believe in one Supreme Being?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. I've seen and experienced things that can only be explained by what I guess I would consider divine means."

"Like what?"

He looked me square in the eyes. "The night we found each other. It was surreal for me. When I saw you, it was like...I can't even describe it really. I knew you. I knew who you were to me, what you are to me. I recognized you. And the next time, before we left the States, when I was on stage..." His gaze became unfocused, and I sensed he was seeing it all over again. "I heard you in my head."

"Really? What did I say?"

"'I honor the place in you where Spirit lives-"

Filled with such love and faith as he said this, in more of a reflex, I pressed my palms together before my heart above the stinky lavender bubbles, "I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Truth, of Light, of Peace. When you are in that place within you, and I am in that place within me-"

"Then, we are One," he finished. His features were blank, unreadable, as though he weren't sure of himself and didn't want me to know. "Did you really say that to me?"

"I did. It's what's meant by Namaste."

His chest rose and fell a bit faster. "And it doesn't freak you out a little?"

"No. I had a similar connection with my mother. I wanted you to hear me. I could only hope that you had."

"You let me go. You told me to go-or...I felt it. I don't know."

"I also told you I'd wait for you."

"Yeah," he breathed. "Why did you let me go though? I was ready...I was ready for you, Kenna. Weren't you ready for me?"

"You were about to leave on your first world tour," I said. "I didn't want to hold you back from that. I think if we had started a relationship before you left, it might have ruined things. I didn't know when you were coming back...if you'd ever come back really. I wanted you to experience everything you could without feeling as though you'd have to explain yourself to me." Or break my heart.

"We could've stayed in touch. We could've at least spoken with each other." He sounded like he was getting pissed. "I've thought about you day in and day out for the last six years."

"I've thought about you, too," I told him, my voice soothing. "All the time. It's why I worked so damn hard-to pass the time until I would see you again."

He was so angry. He turned his gaze out the window to watch the black clouds and torrents of rain.

"Phil?"

"Yeah?"

Just yeah. No Baby Girl.

"What is it exactly that's making you so angry right now?"

"You let me go! It was so easy for you! If I could've heard your voice, gotten to speak to you, gotten to know you, then maybe I wouldn't have..."

He looked back into my eyes, and it was almost as though he hated me. I could feel it burning in my chest. Maybe it was just an echo of his own anger, but I started to feel like I didn't need to sit here and take this shit.

Yeah, I'd let him go to live the life of a rock star, unencumbered, but the motherfucker had still left.

How dare he sit there and lay all the blame at my feet!

"I wanted you to be free, Phil. I wanted you to go and have the time of your life with your best friends. I wanted you to be able to do what you wanted to do, when you wanted to do it, without having any obligations to a backwater nobody."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "First of all, you're not some backwater nobody. You're my whole goddamn world, and if you ever refer to yourself like that again, I'm gonna fuckin' lose my shit. And second, I was never free. It got to the point that I would do anythin' and everythin' to escape the memory of you, but I'd still wake up the next day with you on both my fuckin' brains."

"Well, what do you want from me then?" I snapped. "You want me to apologize for my lack of presence in your life screwing with your head?"

"I don't know!" he shouted.

"Right," I huffed. "Well, let me know when you do." I stood.

"Where are you going?" he snapped, sliding forward and grabbing my wrist.

"I don't need to sit here and take this crap! It's not like I was having the greatest time of my life while you were gone seeing the whole world, living your dream! Let go of me!"

Instead, he snaked his other arm around my waist and pulled me back down into the water, into his arms, until I was sitting sideways on his lap.

"I'll never let you go, Kenna," he said.

Snagging a fistful of my hair, he slammed his mouth on mine. It was hot, passionate, and fueled with a blazing sense of pain.

Pulling back, breathing harshly, he told me, "I don't want to fight with you, Baby Girl. I didn't mean to..."

Relaxing in his arms, I rested my head against his shoulder.

I think I just met a demon wearing my face. And I don't have the first clue as to how to exorcise it. I don't even know how he can think this way...unless it makes it easier for him to live with himself by blaming me for whatever fucked-up-ness he's so ashamed of.

Lightning flashed, tearing through the sky, and it was followed closely by furious thunder. The bathwater had grown cool.

"I'm fuckin' starvin'," he announced as we dried off.

"Me, too. What should we make?"

"Whatever you want," he replied. "I can order delivery if you don't feel like makin' somethin'."

"No, I prefer cooking," I told him. "There's a lot of food in this house. We should also check on Jason and make sure Sheri hasn't accidentally poisoned him."

Checking his phone, he found four missed calls from her.

"Hey, Sheri. You called?" he said into the phone. He was standing next to the bed in a pair of well-worn faded beige Dickies shorts-unbuttoned, no underwear, and displaying all sorts of pubic goodness. He looked at me and rolled his eyes at something she said. "Yeah, she's talkin' 'bout makin' some food now. Give us, like, ten minutes and come over, okay?"

Hanging up, his eyes met mine. "Jason had the leftover chili and mashed potatoes from last night for breakfast, and she tried to make some of that juice you made yesterday, but she thinks she might've used too much ginger. I guess he had the shits after he drank it."

"Well, it's not like that's a bad thing," I told him. "Vicodin can stop up the intestines a bit."

"You wanna make him some food?" he asked lightly, giving me the option of saying no if I really didn't want to.

Admittedly, I was still a bit miffed at Phil but not enough to make Jason suffer through Sheri's culinary mishaps. Plus, the memory of Phil lifting his friend into his arms came to mind and warmed my heart, making the irritation from earlier reluctantly melt a little. It was hard to stay mad at him after that.

"I don't mind."

The first thing I did was make Jason a strawberry-banana smoothie, which Sheri delivered like a scantily clad nurse.

I fried up the pork chops we hadn't eaten on Saturday because we had been too naked to be bothered with making food. Boiling up some fusilli, I made a lemon-cream sauce with garlic and sauteed spinach in the leftover fat from the chops. There was enough for all three of us to have a decent meal and enough pasta for Jason to have a huge lunch.

"Holy shit, that smells incredible," said Phil as he brought back Jason's smoothie glass. He had followed Sheri to check on him and visit.

"Good. I was aiming for that," I replied.

Phil copped a squat at the bar. A few minutes later, Sheri slunk in, taking the seat next to him so that she could face me in the kitchen.