With an eye to how unsteady he was on his feet, and her own inhibitions at half mast, Andi said, "No, thank you and you can turn around now."
She definitely timed that wrong, as he got a good look at the behind he had swatted earlier. It didn't look the least bit pink for his aborted efforts.
He was humbly thankful to notice that the tiny pink panties that were supposedly covering her bottom were doing a woefully inadequate job.
It was a little more awkward to get her sore ankle under the covers, so he helped her with that. His touch was gentle and confident, until he was able to bring the covers up under her arms.
"Are you relatively comfortable? How's the temp in here? What do you usually keep your house at?"
"Sixty-five during the day and sixty at night."
He nodded. "Same as us—me. I'll turn it down, then. Let me get you some more Motrin and a big glass of water and then we can both turn in."
"Be careful," she called after him. "Don't trip or anything. Can't afford to have you incapacitated or we'll be stuck here till Mud Season!"
He brought the painkillers to her and put the water on her nightstand when she'd taken them. "Sleep well. If you need anything in the night or if you feel the need to get up at all, call me, I'll help you. I don't want you to fall again, either."
*****
She didn't know what it was. Most probably the fact that she hadn't had quite as much as he had, or something else, but Andi found herself entirely unable to get to sleep once he'd put her to bed. Even if it had been completely perfunctory and about as sexless as it could have been in the circumstances, she couldn't sleep.
He was out like a light. She could see him in the glow of the nightlights they had strategically scattered about the big room. Stretched out on the couch, he was so tall that his legs, practically from the knee down, hung out over the far arm, making her feel just that much guiltier about being
there. If she wasn't here, he'd be in his own big, warm bed, not cramped up on their old, too tiny for him couch.
She tried to convince herself that she should be asleep, but it got her nowhere. It felt so strange to be here with him. She'd rarely ever been here with Liz, and never overnight. This was their romantic getaway together, and now she was lying in their bed.
It felt more and more wrong, every single thing about being here, but most particularly, how perpetually wet she was around him, especially here and now. This was more time than they had spent in close proximity with each other ever in the time they'd known each other—she'd seen to that.
No need to tempt fate.
Maybe she needed to back off, back away from him, to stop hovering over him like she thought Liz might have liked her to do. Perhaps she was bothering him, like she had to be now, and he was just too polite to say anything to her.
She did know that she wasn't going to get in his face for quite a while after they finally got out of here.
Andi lay there for a long while, watching the snow fall through the trees in the moonlight, every cell in her body aching for him in so many different ways. Then she heard it.
She thought it must've come from outside at first, but then it got louder and stronger and became more rhythmic.
And, suddenly, there was no doubt as to where it was coming from, nor what its originations were.
It was him.
He was sobbing brokenheartedly, the way you only could when you were truly drunk—with no shame, no filter, no nothing. Just bawling.
There was no way that she could let him cry like that all alone, regardless of how she knew she should. He was in pain, and she was his friend—sort of anyway—and she felt she needed to do everything she could to help him through this horrible experience.
So she got up and hopped to him, making her way with relative ease from nightstand to bureau to plant stand and finally to the couch where they had spent such a terrible, wonderful night laughing and drinking and remembering together.
"Rory?" she whispered, standing next to the couch.
His body was still heaving with sobs, and he showed no signs of
noticing that she was even there.
So Andi leaned further down, wrapping her arms around him as best she could, which was extremely clumsily.
At first, there was no reaction at all. She wondered if she might as well just have stayed in bed.
But she persisted, rubbing his back as he lay on his side facing the back of the couch. She held him as closely and as tightly as his position allowed.
"Liz?" she heard him ask in a slurred tone. She wasn't surprised that he had assumed that that was who she was.
"Rory?"
"Come to bed, honey. I miss your warmth."
"No, Rory, that's not a good idea. It's Andi, not Liz. I need to…"
Before she knew what was happening, before she had a chance to register a complaint, she found herself beneath him, under the blanket, with him surging powerfully against panties that weren't going to hold up under such an assault.
"No, baby, I need you. It's been so long, baby. I've missed you so."
Dear God. His mouth found hers and she was even more lost than she'd known she would be before he'd kissed her. This was exactly why she had done her level best to keep her distance from this man. She'd known that he could make her melt in his arms with little to no effort—and he was making a concerted one now.
Only for the wrong woman.
"Didn't you say just last night that you were mine to do with as I pleased?" he asked, sounding much more sober than he had earlier. "I want you beneath me. I never feel better than when I'm inside you, and you told me then that you feel the same way. You said that you never feel more feminine, more wanted, more loved than when I'm stretching you wide around me."
He was already between her legs, spreading them wide around him.
Her protests were weak, even to her own ears, rife with the combination of too much bad whiskey and too many years spent craving just this from him.
"Rory, no. It's not—" she whispered.
"Panties?" he asked, tucking the tip of his big finger into the hem.
"You know you're not allowed panties around me. You're going to have to be spanked for this, my love, and you know it. Were you trying to get me to tan
your little hide?" he asked, and suddenly she found herself atop of him instead, held in place by those big hands of his on her hips. Her now somehow bare crotch had landed directly on top of the long, thick length of him where it lay along her groove, not penetrating her but keeping her intimately open around him.
And then he raised one hand, caught her throat in his other hand and began to spank her bare ass—and it was absolutely nothing like what she'd experienced a few hours ago.
This hurt, with a capital H! Each swat set a different spot on her cheeks afire, and he kept smacking the same areas over and over again as she was forced to rub herself along the length of him. Her body was having to battle over which would be supreme—the way her butt was being singed or how much her clit ached from the way his cock was being purposefully rubbed over it.
Granted, none of her completely uncoordinated attempts to extricate herself got her anywhere.
And his hold on her throat, Liz had never mentioned anything like that, but it made her feel instantly even more submissive than she'd imagined she'd naturally be to him! It slid her immediately into subspace, even though he exerted no pressure there at all. He simply held his big hand cupped around her neck while he spanked her and arched himself against her.
Still, she had to continue to try to get him to come to his senses and let her go.
Didn't she?
Yes, she had to at least try.
"Rory, it's me. Andi. Not Liz. I'm not Liz. It's Andi," she repeated more loudly and vehemently, although he didn't seem to hear her. He was too caught up in what he was doing, in his own memories and his own needs to process what she was saying.
"Shhh. I know you want me inside you, baby. Give me just a
sec—"
Andi struggled mightily with him and with herself, knowing that this wasn't right. But then he shifted suddenly again and she was beneath him before she could do anything to prevent it. She felt the broad tip of his cock pressing against her entrance as he ripped her panties away, his hands on her hips, holding her in position for his invasion.
She tried one last time to get him to snap out of his dream or fantasy or whatever it was, yelling, as loudly as she could, "Rory! It's Andi—you
have to stop!"
She got through to him. She knew she did.
But not in time.
All of it happened so quickly, both of their inhibitions lowered so much by the alcohol, needing him and wanting him so badly for so long, those particularly private, revealing cards held so close to her chest that they were worn and ragged and not up to the test, apparently.
In one powerful stroke, he was fully inside her having taken every bit of what she had to offer him before his body went rigid above her. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. She felt him come to full sobriety all at once and heard him whisper a stricken, "Andi?"
Chapter IV
Before she could answer him, she felt him surging within her, hips flexing. "Andi, I can't… I'm sorry—too late—"
And then it was. His big body shook and shuddered over her, the thick arms that held him just above her shaking with his failed effort to stop himself from doing that which he could no longer prevent.
His anguished cry was a mixture of ecstasy, anger and frustration all at the same time. His hot breath rained down on her as she lay there quietly beneath him, neither encouraging nor discouraging him any longer.
Still panting heavily, he groaned as his body continued to surge much less powerfully against her. "Oh. My. Fuckin. God."
Rory never swore.
"Son of a fucking bitch, Andi—" He moved off her all at once, leaving her lying there as he reached to pull the blanket over the exposed lower half of her body. He walked to the furthest point away from her he could get and still be inside, rubbing his hands over his face as he did so.
For her part, Andi wasn't still for long. She got up and immediately began searching for her panties. Finding them where he'd discarded them carelessly on the floor, she discovered they were beyond repair, beyond use.
Suddenly, it became imperative to her that she be dressed. Making her way to the bed, she found her clothes piled at the end of it and donned them quickly in silence as he stood there, trying not to watch her from across the room.
But she could feel his eyes on her.
While, at the same time, she could feel him dripping from her onto the crotch of her pants.
Rory couldn't believe what had just happened; what he had allowed to happen. That she bore absolutely no guilt in regards to it he had no doubt. It was all on him, every everlasting unforgivable, totally blissful second of it was his fault and his alone.
He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a step towards where she had sunk onto the bed, staring kind of blindly at the floor after having gotten fully dressed. He was surprised she hadn't gotten into her parka, too, as a last ditch defense against him. "Listen, Andi," he began, and just then, they both heard the loudest gust of wind yet swirling around the house, sounding like a freight train was going to barrel through at any minute.
And they were plunged into pitch blackness.
The cabin that Liz's family, and now Rory alone, owned was the only house at the end of a long fire road in a small clearing deep in the woods. It was wonderful out there. Absolutely, utterly quiet and cool on hot summer nights, with no light pollution whatsoever except that which they generated themselves. There was a big deck off the back door that ran the width of the house. A big telescope that Liz had gotten cheap from the school had been permanently mounted on the deck, and they sometimes threw small parties when there were meteor showers because the view of them was so completely unobstructed.
But now, in the middle of the night, with no electricity, the darkness was absolute.
It got into your eyes, into your very soul.
And it terrified Andi to no end.
She had always been afraid of the dark as a kid and had never grown out of it as an adult. She couldn't put her foot on any one particular incident in her young life that might have accounted for its pathology, but she knew she was as afraid of it now and would be on her deathbed just as much as she always had been as a little girl. She had nightlights all over her house, and usually slept with a lamp or the TV on in her room.
She could feel the fear building up in her as she sat there, eyes painfully wide open, trying to glean anything, anything at all, from them but there was nothing to be had. There was just a wide, gaping maw of blackness in front of her, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to tamp down her terror for long.
The wail was already building in her lungs, battling to get out as she sat, shaking fit to rattle her brain out of her head.
She had already descended so far into her own pit of despair that it didn't even register to her that he had begun to move as soon as the darkness had descended. Electrical outages here weren't all that uncommon although they didn't usually visit here during the winter. He knew that was going to pose a bit of a problem, but they'd deal with one thing at a time. As a result of having to stumble around in the house before with no light, Rory knew his way around the furniture pretty well. He made his way to the kitchen, where their emergency supplies were kept, hunkering down in front of the cupboard just as he began to hear it.
Something was keening horribly; it was an inhuman sound. Some
kind of wild animal must be close to the cabin and was railing against the storm or something. He did his best to ignore it as he continued to get out the things they needed—first and foremost, a flashlight.
As soon as he finished piling things on the counter, he stood back up again and realized that the wail wasn't coming from outside but rather from the bedroom—from Andi. He felt as if someone had socked him hard in the solar plexus. All of the air left his lungs, and he began to feel nauseous, gulping hard, certain that he, that what he'd done to her, was the cause of her misery.
He didn't even notice that turning on the flashlight lowered the volume of her cry. He was so intent on doing something, anything, to try to alleviate his guilt and what were probably her concerns that he was going to attack her and force himself on her again, or something of the sort that he would never, ever have allowed to happen if he had been sober and not missing Liz so.
It didn't help matters that he knew she was, essentially, already half afraid of him, or wary of him or whatever it was. That just added yet another layer of guilt.
Liz had told him that he had a soothing voice. He had been able to get her to sleep when she experienced an infrequent bout of insomnia merely by talking to her. Okay, well, talking to her after he'd brought her to multiple mind bending orgasms, but still. It was something to try.
"I'm just gonna get the oil lamps lit and put them around the place,"
he said. Stories weren't his forte, and he figured that narrating what he was doing to try to help their situation was, hopefully, soothing her and informing her at the same time. "They'll give us light as well as a bit of warmth.
"We've got lots of lovely snow to melt for water, so that's not a problem, and there are always a couple of gallons of water under the sink for flushing the commode, so that's taken care of, too. We might have to eat cold food out of a can, but at least we have plenty of food to eat."
He didn't add that that was thanks to Liz.
He moved around the place, putting out two lamps being careful not to go near her to do so, lest his proximity upset her more, holding the flashlight at the same time. "There."
His eyes darted to her occasionally, but she wasn't looking at him.
Seeing her sitting there on the edge of the bed all huddled in on herself just made him feel like that much more of a horrible person than he
already did,
but he felt the need to check on her, regardless of how it made him feel.
She was, after all, the injured party here.
He should have pulled out as soon as he realized who she was.
But he physically couldn't.
He should have used his truck to bring her back to her place or to the ER as soon as he got her texts and went to find her. He should have told her after his wife had been gone for a few months that he appreciated it, but he didn't need her checking up on him any more, that he was fine and she didn't have to bother.
But he couldn't.
She was the closest person to Liz on the planet other than him.
Being with her almost helped him feel as if they were just waiting for her to get home, or he was planning something special for her that he needed Andi's help with…
She helped him feel less alone in the world in a way no one else could.
And he liked her.
He liked her more than he knew he should while he was with his wife, and now that Liz was gone, that just seemed even more terrible than the feelings Andi had stirred in him when Liz was alive.
If he had to be baldly honest with himself, and he always tried to be, he was horrified to realize that part of the reason that he was unable to withdraw from Andi was because his desire for her—not for Liz, but for her
—had risen within him, just as swiftly and surely as it ever had for Liz.
He wanted to fuck her, and he knew that that was all sorts of wrong.
The actual act was dissatisfying as hell, despite his inevitable culmination.
And that was as close as he would probably ever get to doing so.
He wrenched his mind away from such treacherous thoughts and onto the matters at hand, realizing that there was really only one, something that, in the summer, they hadn't really had to worry about.
No electricity meant no heat.
And in these temperatures, with that wind howling murderously outside, the temperature inside the cabin was going to get very cold, very quickly, despite the upgrades he'd made to the insulation and the windows.
The Substitute Wife Page 4
