Beautiful Elixir

by Addison Moore

  Her eyes connect with mine, sharper, more aware of what I’m asking her to do, to sacrifice.

  “Yes,” she hisses it out like a threat. “I want this, Caleb.” She glares at me a moment for breaking her—for making her do my bidding when she is the most vulnerable to me. Her fingers coil around the hair at the back of my neck, painfully so, until she’s pulling me closer, my lips hard over her cheek. “I want this, Caleb. Is that what you want to hear? Is this how I should work for it?”

  My mouth collapses over hers, my tongue diving in, forcing her to taste herself, sweet and bitter rolled into one. Her mouth struggles to twist away, but I won’t let it. Kennedy gives, and her mouth expands, welcoming me, taking in the foreign intrusion until her tongue willfully mingles with mine. Her hand glides down my back until she’s pulling me in deeper, longer, faster, harder—her nails hooking into my skin. I press in once again and then lose it. My hands grip down over her shoulders, and I give her a horrific squeeze straight to the bone. A roaring groan rips through me as I come for weeks, my dick throbs into her body like a serpent roused to life. Never before have I felt such nirvana—felt such ecstasy.

  So this is what it’s all about, I want to say as if I had never slept with a woman before. In a way it’s true. Kennedy has taken an eraser and reduced all of those girls who preceded her to dust. They were gone, evicted from the tomes of my carnal desires. They never happened. This was the only time that really mattered, her taste the only one I’ll remember. Kennedy and I had crossed that threshold that we strived to reach for so long. I couldn’t have dreamed it better. There was no way to predict how explosive this just proved to be. This was the universe apologizing in a grand manner for all of the bullshit it’s put me through—us through. This was the big bang, literally.

  A silent laugh huffs through me.

  “What’s so funny?” Her cool hands slap over my chest.

  “This. Us. The fact you’re real and under me right now where you have always belonged.”

  “Not the blow-up doll you’re used, to, huh?” She reaches up and takes a bite of my bottom lip.

  “Let’s see.” I give her thigh a light tap. “My blow-up doll appreciates a good spanking.”

  “Oh, yeah? My vibrator appreciates a good second round right about now.”

  A pained laugh pumps through me as I grow soft inside her.

  “I need a few minutes, but the good news is I’m rechargeable. Think of all the money you’ll save in batteries alone?”

  “Think of all the hot air you’ll conserve with me around.” She glides her thigh over mine, moist with perspiration.

  Our eyes remain locked for a few solid seconds before falling into another long, drawn out kiss where minutes melt into hours, and our hearts beat fast and hard over one another as if it were the very first time our lips ever met.

  She pulls back, cinching her arms around my neck, and I grab for a throw and pull it over us. I doubt we’ll make it to the bed for a while. Outside the voices rise in the night as Reese and Ace’s anniversary party rages on.

  “So when were you going to tell me?” Kennedy asks, outlining my lips with her finger. The act is so sweet I want to be still and soak in the sensation.

  “Tell you what?” Then it hits me. What a dumb fuck I am. She’s waiting for a proclamation of my feelings not a weather report. “Hey.” I pull her over me, her head lying lazily over my shoulder as she readjusts to look up at me. “Do you know that not one other girl has done to me what you have? I was made for you. You’re mine, my special girl. You’re all I think about—I want to spend every moment with you. I want to go through life and experience it all with you right by my side. There’s not another day I want to spend without you.” I tuck my finger under her chin and bear into her beautiful gray eyes. “I love you, Kennedy Slade. You have my whole heart. I gave it to you years ago right here on this mountain.” My heart races like the wind, my bones quake at the amount of balls it took to say that. I have never said those words to a woman before. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I said those words to family. I love you is not a line I abuse or toss around liberally. “I don’t say those words unless I mean them. And I mean them more than you’ll ever know.”

  Her lips part as she takes a ragged breath. “That was, um—very flattering.” Her cheeks darken a shade.

  She’s not going to say it. I try not to blush myself. Even though I wasn’t prepared to say it, I’m even less prepared not to hear it back.

  Kennedy scoots up until we’re a breath away. “But what I was wondering is when were you going to tell me that you set up a polygraph for Keith?” Her lashes flutter so quick I can feel the breeze against my cheek.

  “That.” I swallow back all errant thoughts and let out a deep sigh. “He came into my office and played the bleeding victim. I was sick of listening to him cry, so I told him I’d pay for the damn thing. The results should be in early this week. ” I land a kiss to her temple. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Those things are never wrong.”

  A thick silence fills the space between us. Kennedy runs her fingers over my chest in a loose circle, her nails slowly carving into my flesh.

  “What if it is wrong? I’m starting to think Keith is a sociopath. He can get out of anything.”

  My hand slips down her thigh, and I give a dull smile at how right this feels with her. How we should have been doing this all along.

  “He’s not getting out of this one.” I offer another kiss, this time to her cheek. “Keith Stearns landed himself in the electric chair, and that polygraph has lit the switch. His lies, his truths, whatever road he chooses to travel, are simply going to prove your innocence.”

  My hard on rouses to life once again, as I pull her over me. Kennedy’s dark hair falls like a curtain, like silk rain over my face, and I writhe beneath it in pleasure.

  “Keith is crafty. He’s a lunatic, Caleb.”

  I reach down and navigate my way back inside her body.

  “Let me help you forget about everybody else. There’s only one thing we need to focus on right now.” My fingers press into her hips as I slowly impale her, pushing my way to the tip of her existence. “Tonight is all about us.”

  * * *

  Kennedy and I forget about the rest of the world all weekend. She spends the night, and I make her breakfast, French toast and bacon, hot coffee in bed. We cover every inch of that cabin with our lovemaking, christening it as ours, primal in the truest sense. This is animal, unkempt, rumpled hair sex that spans three glorious days and leaves us both looking as if we belong in the Stone Age.

  Sunday night, Kennedy lures me into a bath, and I have the pleasure of bathing her with my tongue. But Monday rears its ugly head and kicks me out of bed and back into my office. I have Zoey parcel out my day, putting the light stuff first then leaving the heavy-hitting, migraine-inducing crap for me to tackle later this afternoon. I’ll take as much home as I can just to spend some extra time with Kennedy. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. I don’t see why not. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, there’s no going back to the way things were.

  “Can I come in?” Zoey is halfway to my desk when she asks.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  She scuttles forward with a large manila envelope in hand.

  “Just some mail.” She plops it on my desk before taking a seat on the edge. “Hey, I’ve been cleaning out the boathouse—that place is smaller than a thimble.” She pulls on a strand of creamy blonde hair. “Anyway, I have a bunch of records, you know, old school stuff, real vinyl that I’m looking to get rid of—mostly 70s and 80s crap. My parents had a huge collection—that’s with my brother. I picked up a few here and there at garage sales and thrift stores, you know, to feel that connection with them but”—she shrugs—“I might have overdone it. There’s just no more room. You up for any?”

  “Hell, yes,” I say with a smile. I can’t stop smiling. I haven’t stopped grinning like an idiot from the moment I stepped o
ut of that cabin this morning. Kennedy made me breakfast. She tried hard to replicate the French toast extravaganza that I prepared the day before and set off the fire alarms on two different floors. She’s so damn cute, thus the nonstop grinning. “I’d love to check out what you have. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.”

  “Great! Stop by anytime. I’ll be home after work all this week. I’ve got five milk crates worth. Make sure you have a lot of room in your trunk. You’re going to need it.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be picking up all that many.” I give a playful wink. The world is new again, and I want everyone to feel this right along with me. Nothing or no one can pull me off this cloud. I’ve waited four long years, and I’ve finally graduated with a degree in Kennedy Sciences. I’ve figured her out. We’ve figured each other out. We completed each other like a puzzle—the last pieces are the best fit.

  “If it’s one thing I’ve learned, counselor”—she hops off my desk and traces her finger along my jaw—“it’s never say never. Life is funny. It can turn on a dime.” She heads for the door. “I thought I’d have my parents forever, and now all I have is a pile of old records. They don’t fill that hole like I thought they would. I really hope you take them all.” Zoey leaves the room, clicking the door shut behind her. I wish I could say her depressing soliloquy didn’t affect me, but my heart breaks to hear her talk that way. Maybe I will take those crates, filled with scratched vinyl, off her hands. Kennedy and I can put them on as background like some love-struck soundtrack. A wry smile comes and goes as I flip over the manila envelope Zoey landed before me.

  Harwood Polygraphs.

  I’m impressed and slightly thrown off course. Warren Senior mentioned the firm he used was old school from the snail mail generation, and, after what’s happened to Kennedy, I’m starting to think there’s something to that whole eschewing technology thing.

  I rip right through it and slip the small stack of papers into my hand, examining them with a bored anticipation.

  Computerized polygraph report by John Harwood.

  Confidential Polygraph Examination Report for Keith R. Stearns

  The above named subject has undergone a polygraph analysis. Equipment utilized in this exam included blood pressure monitoring, skin response, heart rate, and respiratory rhythms.

  I skip to the next page. Reason for examination. Next page: Keith Stearns voluntary statements. I peruse over it. Poor kid is shouting his innocence from the top of the mountain, literally. Next page: Results

  Do you now or have you ever thought negatively of Kennedy Slade? (Answer; No) RESPONSE INCONCLUSIVE

  Since the time of your relationship collapse have you taken vengeful measures against Kennedy Slade to make it appear that she is willfully harming your character? (Answer; No) TRUTHFUL RESPONSE

  Did you upload any videos of yourself and Kennedy Slade engaging in sexual activity? (Answer; No) TRUTHFUL RESPONSE

  “Shit.” I thumb through question after question, each silly little prank Kennedy suggested that Keith pulled on himself to make her look bad. He’s clean as a fucking whistle.

  My phone rings, and I turn it over. The number is unknown, but I can feel the gravity of it pulling me to answer so I do.

  “Hello?” I bark into the receiver without meaning to.

  “David Stokes. Are you in your office? If not, you’ve got a nice little treat waiting for you. It’s blonde and thin and says everything I was hoping it’d say. I’m guessing it’s not your kind of sweet talk, though.”

  “I’m looking at it right now.”

  “Good. I guess there’s just one more thing to do before we bow out of this cage fight. Have your client take a polygraph.”

  “No way.” My chest pumps rabid. What the hell did I say that for?

  Friendly laughter emits from the other end. “It’s okay. We both know she’s guilty. There’s not a damn thing you can do about that one. We all get them—the delusional client who doesn’t know how deep they’re in. It’s best we get it over with though. I’ve set it up for tomorrow. They’re coming to you. Second verse same as the first. You know the drill. If you need to reschedule, you have until Friday. I want this shit cleared up and my client’s good name restored before we need to get dirty in the ring, if you know what I mean.”

  We hang up, and I fall into a trance while staring at the findings.

  Kennedy can’t be guilty.

  That conversation we had between love making sessions comes back to me. She was worried that Keith would somehow ace the exam of a lifetime, and I was quick to comfort her the only way I knew how, by shooting down that ridiculous notion.

  When he walked in I was so sure he was lying through his teeth.

  Kennedy wouldn’t lie. Would she?

  Zoey’s refrain from earlier comes back to me.

  Never say never.

  * * *

  After work, I text Kennedy and let her know I’ll be a few minutes. I’ve circled the lake twice now and I’m half tempted to jump into the Poison Barrel for some much needed relief but dread the idea of heading back to the cabin smelling of liquor.

  She texts back. Hanging with my girls tonight. Let me know when you’re ready to climb in bed, and I’ll be there to warm it.

  A dull smile comes and goes.

  Maybe I will have that drink, and if I run into Kennedy, even better. We can hit the whiskey together. That should make all of this bullshit go away.

  The sun is still high enough to qualify as afternoon, golden, turning that sad shade of pumpkin before it blanches the granite blue and dips down behind the mountain.

  I drive the outer rim of the lake, opposite the cabin, opposite most cabins, nothing but campsites and boathouses out this way. Zoey and her vinyl proposition comes to mind. I think I’ll take her up on it as I park up near the boathouse she’s staying in. I’ve dropped her off a time or two when her engine was giving her trouble. I spot her car near the back, parked cockeyed as if she arrived home in a rage. Can’t blame her. I have no clue why she quit school. I’m not sure I should pry either. I’d hate to send her the wrong message especially since she’s interested in more than gifting me her old record collection. She’s hinted at it more than a time or two.

  Zoey pops her head out the door and flags her arms, jumping up and down as if I reached the finish line in some long, drawn out race, and, judging by her enthusiasm, I won.

  “You’re here!” She continues to jump like an exuberant schoolgirl. I frown at my own analysis as I get out of the car. “I left my canoe down by the water. Can I borrow your big, strong muscles to help me hoist it back up? I’d hate for the tide to pull it in. Gavin would kill me.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Zoey skips ahead, bubbling with laughter, and it’s not until we hit the waterline do I note the hint of vodka trailing behind her. It looks as if Zoey had a few troubles of her own she needed to drown out.

  She stops abruptly just shy of the marsh and spins toward me, her mouth still panting out a laugh. Zoey whips her T-shirt right off before I can process it—no bra, just two fleshy eyes staring back at me. Her fingers dig into her cutoffs, and, holy shit, she’s naked as a jaybird—minus the feathers.

  How the hell did I land in this vagina trap again?

  “You dropped something.” The manufactured smile glides from my face. “Seriously. Let’s get back.” I spin in the opposite direction, regretting ever falling for her vinyl record line. “Here, I’ll turn around while you get yourself together.” I bet there are no crates. And where the hell is Gavin when you need him? I pull out my phone to shoot him a text just as she lands on my back like a spider monkey.

  “Zoey,” I shout, reprimanding her for almost snapping my spine. “Whoa.” I twist into her and carefully try to help her dismount without copping a feel. My hand glides over the side of her tit, too late. Shit.

  “I’m sorry.” She wheezes. “I’m just”—she shoves her forearm to her nose, and her laughter turns to tears—“it’s just
been a crap day all around.”

  I give a quick glance across the lake and thankfully can’t see the cabin—any cabin across the lake for that matter. We’re well secluded by the marsh, and the thicket just beyond that, but anyone with a view behind us can see us plain as day.

  “Let’s get you back, and you can tell me all about it.” I help her gather her clothes. Her T-shirt is long enough to touch past her bottom, so she leaves it at that. I spot her canoe in the bushes, far from any hint of water outside of dew.

  Should’ve known.

  We head back to her boathouse. It’s the size of a thumbtack—just one tiny bed and microscopic kitchen, the end. I’m assuming there’s a toilet behind door number one. I snap a robe off her bed, wrap it around her body, and Zoey dutifully climbs beneath the covers.

  “They’re all in the corner.” She leans her head against the wall, her eyes dull with defeat.

  I glance over and spot all five crates, present and accounted for, stacked with battered, well-worn covers.

  She gives a hard sniff. “Today would have been my mother’s fifty-eighth birthday.”

  “Zoey, I’m sorry. Let me get Gavin over here. You shouldn’t be alone.” I send out a text before she can protest.

  “Take the records. Get them out of here right now.” There’s a faraway look in her eyes. Zoey is lost in some desolate, mean place that forces your head underwater and makes you breathe in the horrible hurt of the past, the horror of a barren future. I’ve been there. Not quite in the same way, but I have.

  One by one, I haul all five crates to the car, three in the trunk and two situated on the passenger’s side. Zoey was right. I should have made room.

  Gavin and Demi pull up and jump out of his truck.

  “What happened? Is she okay?” Demi is rife with worry.

  “She needs someone.”

  Demi rushes in, but Gavin gives a puzzled look to the loot I’m ready to haul away. They’re both dressed to the nines, a rarity for Gavin, the lake’s favorite lumberjack. They must have been out enjoying a nice dinner. That’s all I want to do with Kennedy right now. Enjoy a good meal, enjoy her company without the shadow of doubt creeping up in the back of my mind.