Grabbing her behind the neck, I crush her to my chest, unable to fight off the urge my lips have to be on hers any longer. Cherries, a bite of whiskey and the tail end of a spicy vermouth. Lily was drinking Manahttans toward the end of the night, and now they’re on my tongue.
I want to drown in her taste.
“Need to taste you,” I husk out.
Her voice is barely audible. “You already are.”
Lifting her from the waist, I deposit her on the bed in a cloud of pink wisp as her dress flies around her.
“I’ve tasted your mouth. Now, I need to taste your sweet pussy.”
My cock hardens impossibly more at my own words, and Lily whimpers as her head hits the mattress with a light thud. I can’t resist unzipping myself, the haze of booze spurring me on, and pushing my dress pants down over my hips. My rigid cock springs free, and I hiss as it makes contact with the air. All the blood in my body seems to zero in on this one appendage, and my hand instinctively reaches down to stroke.
Lily is mesmerized as I jack myself in front of her, my balls tightening with every pull.
“If you aren’t out of that dress in three seconds, I’m going under that skirt and can’t be held responsible if it ends up in shreds on the floor.” My voice is clipped and brute.
She scrambles up, shrugging out of the gown and kicking it off the bed. And then there she is, naked save for a scrap of white lace hiding the lips I want to taste so badly.
Lunging for the bed, I kick away the last of my clothing and rip off her thong, wrapping my meaty arms around her slim waist.
As the lace tears, Lily gasps. “I thought that only happened in books or movies. It didn’t even hurt.”
Striking while her eyes are round and innocent, I lower my head. “No, but this might.”
My teeth clamp around her clit, sucking it in, and she rears up off the bed. “BOWEN!”
I don’t let up. My lips suck at her sensitive nub, stopping only to fuck her deep with my tongue. I feel her shake just seconds after I first tasted her, and by the way her hands are fisting in the sheets, I can tell she is about to come. I’ve studied Lily for years. I was the first boy to kiss her, to feel her body, to take her in a way so intimate and trusting that I’m honored she gave me that gift.
The signs of her orgasm are something I memorized a long time ago, and I plan to see them over and over before this night is through.
“Come for me, baby.” I milk her, giving her everything I’ve got.
Her head thrashes on the bed, and she’s mewling so loudly that I hope the people in the room next to us can hear her.
She’s teetering on the edge, and the moment I press two fingers inside her as I lave my tongue over her clit, she falls. Scratching at my arms and hair, muttering my name, flexing her hips over and over … Lily is a sight to behold. The alcohol has freed her too, from shame and self-consciousness.
I prowl up the bed toward her, not bothering to stop to see if she needs a minute. No, I know she can handle this. I drive right into her, my dick slicking all the way in, right up until my balls nestle between her ass.
“Fuck, baby.” My forehead drops to her shoulder as all of Lily’s limbs latch onto me.
Her legs pretzel around my waist, her arms secure around my neck. She’s holding on in preparation for the storm about to savage her. Because once I pull out again, I’m not stopping until we’re both crying with release.
My retreat is slow, and I savor every sensation as my cock slides from within her. With my throbbing head poised at her entrance once more, I lift my chin to look her in the eyes.
“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I could die right now and have so many regrets about us, but at least I’d be with you.”
Those blue eyes shine in the muted light of the hotel room, and before Lily can say anything else, I slam into her.
This moment is endless. It could be hours or years as I pound into her, begging for both of our climaxes, but I can’t even tell which way is up. All I see is her, the girl I’ve loved for my entire life. The one I’d love for a hundred lifetimes if I was lucky enough.
The realization dawns as my come shoots deep inside her, and I can barely remember my own name, let alone the reasons we shouldn’t be together.
I love Lily. Why should I have to hide a love that goes so far beyond the word, there isn’t even a definition for it?
25
Lily
The two weeks after Presley and Keaton’s wedding goes by in a blur.
When I’m not at the library working my full-time job, I’m filling in for Presley and teaching classes or helping with admin work at the yoga studio.
With September hitting and the town’s children going back to school, my day job is stressful and packed. We have all kinds of beginning of the year projects planned with the school district, plus I typically meet with all the underprivileged families who are gifted their textbooks and reading material for free from the library. The initiative is one I put together almost two years ago and wanted to.
I’m working around the clock, and you’d think that would be enough, but somehow, my father has roped me back into political appearances. I know I’d told him off at the dinner in Philadelphia, said I’d never go to another one of those again, but …
I’m weak. I love my parents, and I’ve been a part of their machine far longer than I’ve had my own life and my own home. Their game is the one I know, and sometimes, I can’t help but fall back into it. Go to an event, be doted on by my father. Show up at an appearance, see that smile of gratitude and respect on my mom’s face.
And on top of it all, I’m trying to keep up some semblance of a … can I call it a relationship? Well, whatever is happening, Bowen and I have tried to carve out an hour here and there for each other. After the night of drunken wedding sex, which was, gosh …
I blush just thinking about how wild it was.
“What are you smirking at?” Presley asks as I cut up cheese to put on our charcuterie board.
She’s finally back from her and Keaton’s Hawaiian honeymoon, and Penelope begged for a girl’s night the minute I’d had a day to fully sleep and recover from the marathon I’d been sprinting.
We sit around Presley’s dining room table, chatting about the wedding, her honeymoon, what’s been going on in Fawn Hill and everything in between.
“Yeah, what’s so funny?” Penelope accuses.
“Nothing.” I try to clamp my lips shut, but the smile just won’t stop.
Presley tickles my side. “Out with it!”
Here goes nothing. At least Keaton is out on a vet emergency call right now, and not here to witness this.
“Bowen and I … we slept together.” I wring my hands, waiting for the outburst.
“I KNEW IT!” Penelope shouts, jumping up and running around the table in circles.
Presley just smiles and sips her white wine. “It was only a matter of time.”
I know I look guilty now. “Well, we’ve actually been seeing each other. And the wedding wasn’t the … uh, first time.”
“What?” Now Presley is acting like a squawking chicken. “You’ve been having sex with Bowen for how long?”
The two of them are looking at each other like the world has just exploded, or pigs are flying, or … Brad Pitt just showed up in Keaton and Presley’s living room. Now that would be a hoot.
“Sit down.” I laugh, both shy about having this conversation but relieved to get this off my chest.
“I’m sweating.” Penelope huffs out a breath. “This is giving me so much life.”
“All right, are you two going to listen?” I chuckle.
“Yes, spill.” Presley perks up like a good little pupil, all ears.
“Well, it started the night of the meth house fire.”
“When I texted you?” Presley interrupts.
“Yes, I … well, I went over to his house to wait for him. I don’t know why, it was such a stu
pid move, but we ended up spending the night together.”
Presley leans toward Penelope. “Secretly, I schemed that plan in my head. I knew it was a long shot, but now that it actually worked, I think I should go into the matchmaking business or something.”
My jaw dislodges. “You sneaky little … you were trying to get us together?”
“Obviously, I was!” She pumps her fist as if she’s scored a touchdown or a goal.
“If your dating magic is that spot on, maybe you can wish Jake Gyllenhaal into my life?” Penelope pops an olive in her mouth.
“Shut it, let her talk.” Presley slathers spicy jam onto a breadstick while silencing our other best friend, then motions for me to continue.
“Actually, if I’m being honest, it started in the early part of the summer, even before you got engaged. Bowen picked me up on the side of the road after my car broke down, and things just kind of spiraled from there. We kept bumping into each other, and I’m sure part of your diabolical plan included making us best man and maid of honor because it worked.”
Presley looks down, a smirk gracing her lips, all but confirming her meddling. Penelope slaps her on the back in congratulations.
“And then we just … decided to take things slow. We’ve had some talks about the past, about the accident, although there are still things he isn’t willing to tell me. We’ve obviously been sleeping together.”
“How is the sex?” Penelope interrupts as if this is the most important part of the conversation.
I tip my chin and give her an admonishing look.
She shrugs her shoulders innocently. “What? Is this girl talk or not? You haven’t fucked the man since you were seventeen, and he is a man. A firefighting man. It’s gotta be fantastic? Is it fantastic?”
I have to laugh at her, she’s incorrigible. But I nod. “I can confirm that it’s fantastic.”
She fans her face. “Oh, girl, tell me more.”
“No, tell us about the relationship.” Presley glares at the horn-dog at the table.
“Well … I don’t even know that I can call it that? We haven’t had that talk yet although I know where I want it to go. I don’t know, it’s just been so long and I know there is still so much to talk about between us and I can’t … my head is just a mess.”
“Do you still love him?” Presley asks.
“Of course, I do. That’s never been the problem. The issue is that for ten years, he’s ignored me. He left me while I was still in the hospital and has never told me why. Even now, he doesn’t want to talk about it, and he barely wants me telling people. And before you ask, no, Bowen hasn’t explicitly said not to tell anyone. But we only spend time with each other in the privacy of our own homes. In the months we’ve been taking it slow, he hasn’t asked me out to dinner once, or dropped by the library unannounced, or gone to the movies together … or anything. I feel like a booty call or a secret mistress.”
“And that’s why you’re telling us now. Because you know that it can’t continue like this.” Penelope nods, knowing me better than I know myself. “You’ve waited too long to get him back, so you want it to last. But, Lil … not like this. If he is going to pull some fuckboy bullshit with you, you have to end it.”
She’s harsh, but she’s right.
“All right, hold on. Before we go Carrie Underwood on his tires, can we make some sane suggestions?” Presley smirks at Penelope and then turns to me. “Talk to him about it. Tell him how you’re feeling.”
“I already have. I’ve tried …”
“But if you’re not happy with how he’s responding, then don’t put up with it. You’ve waited this long for Bowen to come around, and if it’s not in the right way, you still have nothing to lose. That might be mean, but you deserve answers. And if he isn’t willing to give them, then you can survive it. You’ve gone through it once and come out stronger. You’re a different woman than the girl who lost him back then. Show him that.”
They’re both right. Even if we’ve been getting to know each other again, even if every moment of passion and fleeting happiness is worth it right now, eventually the doubts will crowd my thoughts. I won’t be able to move past our history if Bowen doesn’t give me the real reason he wasn’t there after the accident. And a relationship can’t be built on lies. It shouldn’t be, and that’s what we’re doing right now. Putting a Band-Aid over the bullet hole, a temporary hold on a wound that is only growing bigger each time we ignore it.
“Why do these girls’ nights always turn into gossiping about boys?” I joke, wanting to change the subject.
They’ve given me more to think about than I can process right now, and I want to chew it over when I’m alone.
“Because what else do we have to talk about? The fact that Mrs. Murtins, the high school gym teacher, is definitely banging the new math teacher who just moved here from Lancaster?”
“Penelope, I swear, you’re the locomotive of the Fawn Hill Rumor Train.” Presley giggles. “But, is it really true?”
“Without a doubt, it is. Or so I heard.”
“The new math teacher is really nice. He came in to check out some books on World War II for personal reading,” I inform them, taking a long sip of my wine now that my relationship discussion is off the table.
“Hot, too. See? Another potential suitor for you to match me up with.” Penelope hits Presley in the arm.
“I’ll get right on that.” She rolls her eyes.
“So, how was the honeymoon?” I ask. “Any babies made?”
Presley coughs on a salted cashew. “Absolutely not. I am so not ready for that. Not with a new business, a new husband, and trying to find a new house.”
Her and Keaton’s house search has been dismal. Neither can agree on what they want, only that they don’t want to stay in Keaton’s bachelor pad.
“Yeah, please take your time. You have all the time in the world to have a baby, and then they take it all.”
If it were me, I’d be having babies the minute the ring was on my finger. But, that was just me. It had always been my dream to have a big family, to be a mama. I couldn’t wait to enjoy all that came along with having children. And not so secretly, I hoped those children were with Bowen.
“What about that house out in the boonies?” Penelope asks.
“We live in the boonies, by the way. Most people would consider Fawn Hill way out there, coming from the city. But, no, it was too … I don’t know. I just know when I find it, I’ll know it’s the right house. Kind of like the man. The one. Ya know?”
“I do know.” Penelope nods, doing that quiet thing she’s done lately. Way more than usual, at least.
“And Ryan got back to New York okay? It was really nice to finally meet her.”
And I’m being honest when I say that. She’s even more of a spitfire than Penelope, and that’s saying something. Her flair for fashion, speaking her mind, telling people off and the ability to read almost anyone, even Bowen, is paired with a kind heart and this innate knack for listening.
“Yeah, she was there for a minute but now I think she’s in Brussels. Or maybe it’s Calgary? I can never keep track of her world travels. But yes, she’s amazing. I’m so glad you guys got to meet her.”
Penelope snorts. “Yeah, I think Forrest was happy he got to meet her, too.”
Do I detect an edge of bitterness in my best friend’s voice?
Presley speaks before I can say anything. “That he was. But he’s so not Ryan’s type. She may be loud, obnoxious and opinionated herself, but she never dates guys that closely matched to her personality. She and Forrest are too similar. They’d kill each other before the first date was over.”
“Funny, that’s sometimes how I feel about Forrest, too.”
The words slip out of my mouth before I have time to gather them back, and Penelope and Presley’s eyes widen, stunned.
I shrug. “What? He’s always annoyed me. In a loveable, little brother kind of way.”
And then the
y dissolve into hysterics.
Presley coughs as she tries to talk over her laughter. “Lily Grantham, I didn’t know you had a mean bone in your body. I kind of like seeing this side of you.”
26
Lily
“So, Presley and Keaton had a nice wedding day?”
My mother sits down at her kitchen table where I’m nursing a cup of tea.
“They did. It was beautiful.” I smile, remembering how happy they’d looked as they’d swayed during their first dance.
“I bumped into Dierdra at the grocery store last week, and she said it was lovely.” There is a hint of something in her voice that I can’t place, and I don’t like it.
Maybe she’s bitter that she and Dad weren’t invited, though I have no clue why they’d be aggravated about that. They were never close with the Nash family even when I was dating Bowen back in high school. And after the accident, things were even more icy. It’s not like I’d brought Presley around my parents that much, and she had no obligation to invite them just because I was her maid of honor.
But … I wouldn’t put it past my father to be salty that someone in Fawn Hill didn’t invite the resident senator to their wedding, even if they were barely acquaintances.
“That’s great.” I sip my tea, not giving another inch to wedding talk.
My parents’ kitchen was overkill as was everything in their house. Growing up, we lived in a very different home, one I loved and cherished as a child. My childhood home was a three-bedroom ranch right off Main Street. It had shag carpeting and a rooster patterned backsplash in the kitchen. Out back, there had been an old, rusty jungle gym left by the previous owners, and the pipes would freeze every winter. Dad fixed everything by hand and even built a vanity for my mother in her bathroom. My bedroom was pink and I had a canopy bed, and the floors were littered with Barbies, Polly Pockets, and books.
This house? It’s a model home for entertaining. Neutral everything, granite everything, shiny tile floors, and top-of-the-line appliances. It felt as warm as a hotel, and my mother employed one of the local cleaning ladies to come in once a week to maintain it. It was cavernous for just the two of them and compared to all the other homes in Fawn Hill; it was obnoxious. They’d knocked down the previous home on the lot and built this McMansion. Of course, there were other large homes in Fawn Hill, but they fit the landscape. My parent’s home just looked like a politician’s Stepford dream.
Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two Page 12
