by Mimi Flood
He snickered.
“So you were hoping to keep him a secret then? Tell me,” he continued, putting down his brush, challenging me. “Are you upset that he showed up or that I caught you with him?”
“Both?” I attempted honesty, hoping it would fix this. He was right, I should have told him. I felt horrible for my dishonesty. “I hate that he’s here, but I also didn’t see the point of telling you about him because we’re over. Totally. Fucking. Over.”
“You might believe that,” he said, picking up his brush again, “But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s in your house right now.”
A feeling of supreme guilt came over me; I couldn’t stand knowing I had been the cause of his pain. Here I was, chastising my mother for her infidelities when I had two men on the outskirts. I had assumed Devon was a man who was tough as nails, but instead I had clearly affected him. And despite his constant reassurances throughout the day that this was nothing serious, I could tell now, by his obvious fragility, that he’d been lying.
His wounded expression coaxed something out of me—a protectiveness of sorts. I wrapped my arms around his chest, resting my cheek on his back. I felt him still, making my heart flutter, but was relieved when he didn’t pull away.
“He might be over there, but I’m not,” I whispered.
His chest rose and fell with a rapid breath, as he threw his brush down. He turned to face me, my arms not letting go. Following a brief moment of hesitation, a million things running through his eyes, he ran his thumb across my lips. I could feel the wetness of the paint but didn’t care. Immediately, all my worries seemed to melt away. All thoughts of Paul and our drawn-out, tedious relationship vanished.
Urgently, I pulled Devon tightly against me. His lips aggressively parted mine, as my fingers wound themselves into his hair. Slowly, he led me backward. I felt something behind me—the table. Grabbing my hips, he turned me around, bending me over. I could feel his erection against me and in one swift move, he lowered my pants. The combination of being pinned against the table’s hard surface and the emotions coursing through me made it hard for me to catch my breath.
I felt his hand brush gently against my bottom. He hovered, just above the skin’s surface, making soft circles. I gyrated with every move he made, moaning in sync, my heart racing with anticipation. His hands were strong and firm against my bottom and I could feel the roughness of his hard-worked fingers. With a strong and sudden smack, he spanked me. Despite the twinge of pain that shot through me and the surprise of it, I found myself enjoying it. I didn’t know if it was just kink or rather some kind of punishment for pissing him off, but either way, I felt like I needed it—wanted it.
After a few moments, when the sting died down, he spanked me a second time, making me cry out. Still, I wanted more.
He leaned over me and whispered in my ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you.”
And with a swift, forceful thrust, he was in me, pushing my thighs into the table’s edge. The pain of it was almost too much for me to take. Almost.
With one hand, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and held my shoulder with the other. He began to drive himself further and further, harder and harder. I couldn’t control it; I screamed out his name, smacking the table in sheer ecstasy. My nails dug into the wooden surface. I could hear my ass slamming against his hips, the sound propelling my arousal through the roof. Moaning louder than I had ever moaned before—or with anyone for that matter—I pushed into him as hard as I could. I immediately felt myself tighten and convulse, coming undone, groaning a guttural groan that came from somewhere deep inside me.
Exhausted after finding our release, he rested on top of me, kissing my neck. Though I was out of breath, my legs still shaking from my orgasm, I didn’t want to move. Lying satiated, I tried in vain to remember the last time I had enjoyed sex so much. It had always been something to fill a void, literally and figuratively. But these encounters with Devon had brought on a different feeling—a feeling of pure joy and contentment. I had been able to let go completely and to lose myself in the moment, which was filling me with awe and trepidation.
It was scary not being able to resist Devon; the way he could make me forget everything and could take me in with his body. I had never felt so under someone else’s control. No other man had ever awoken such feelings.
“Want to get washed up?” he suggested, stripping naked.
I leaned against the table, watching him. He was truly a sight to behold and yet again showed no signs of shyness, standing naked in front of me. He reached for me, pulled me closer and started removing my clothes. I felt shy but I didn’t feel the need to hide. He smiled and led me to the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He stepped into the tub first, offering his hand to help me in. I sat down slowly, letting my body adjust to the heat of the water. My skin was sensitive, especially in the places where he had spanked me, but as I rested my head against his chest, I felt at ease and let out a long sigh.
“This is all so messed up,” I admitted while he massaged my shoulders. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“About which part exactly?” he whispered, skimming my earlobe with his lips. “Your ex or the other stuff?”
“The other stuff. The ex is the easiest part,” I shook my head. “How can I possibly make the right decision? I’m leaving after…the funeral.”
I let the word hang in the air, hearing its echoes in the room. It had been lingering there all the while but at that moment I was struck with the finality of it. I had not even taken the time to prepare, mentally or emotionally, for laying my grandmother to rest.
I had always hated funerals in general. I hated the feeling of death, of eternally resting in the cold, dark soil. I wished my grandmother had chosen cremation rather than being buried, not that it would have bothered me any less. Still, respecting her wishes and seeing her casket lowered into the ground were two entirely different things.
My breathing became shallow as panic struck me. I could feel myself tense, my eyes blur. I tried to take slow, deep breaths.
“Relax,” Devon said, stroking his hands up and down my arms. “It’s going to be alright.”
“Is it?” I asked, doubt seeping into my words. If anyone knew about the sadness I was feeling it was him. He had lost both parents in one night. Compared to that, the death of my grandmother after a long, well-lived life wasn’t really the same. “How did you do it?”
“With my parents?” His voice was low.
“Sorry, never mind, you don’t need to answer that,” I regretted bringing it up.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, kissing my head. “It’s hard, Elle, no doubt about that. Actually, I don’t think the word hard does it justice. It’s like everything you thought was good and right suddenly feels wrong, upside-down. And then once you come to grips with their death—which you don’t ever, really—then you have to put them in a box and never see their face again. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.”
I swallowed hard, the depth of his sorrow hitting me.
“You seem to have dealt with it reasonably well.”
“I had to, for Valerie,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s what life gives you and you have to find a way to get through it. If not for yourself, then for the others around you—the ones who need and love you.”
I thought of my parents and realized I hadn’t spoken to them about all of this. I had been so wrapped in my own world I hadn’t even taken the time to see what they thought or how they felt. I had let my anger against my mother take over and was now starting to see how this entire situation was affecting them. I had been so selfish—I should have talked to them.
“My parents. My dad...”
“They’ll be fine, Elle,” Devon reassured me as if reading my thoughts, “With whatever you decide to do.”
“How can you know that for sure?”
“Because whatever you decide, so
long as you’re doing it for the right reasons and so long as it makes you happy, then they’ll have to accept that.”
His logic was simplistic, to say the least, and I highly doubted it would be that easy, but he did have a point. I needed to figure out what I would do with the business and soon. Tomorrow would be filled with inquisitive people, all wanting to know the future of the Williams’ Family Orchards.
“Shit,” I said, sitting straight up. “I’m going to have to say something, aren’t I? At the service. I didn’t even think about that.”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Devon said, nonchalantly. “I am sure people will understand if you don’t. They know it’s harder on you.”
“You can’t say that. It has no right to be harder on me.”
The nagging voice in my head was back, reminding me of all the reasons why I had failed my grandmother, why I should be ashamed of the granddaughter I had become. Surely, I owed her more. The guilt was permeating my each and every thought. It flooded me with all the possible choices I would have to face. No matter what I did to distract myself from them, it was foolish to think they would disappear. Devon shifted a little bringing me back to the moment. Wrapped comfortably in his embrace, another issue popped up in my brain.
“What are we doing here, Devon?”
“Taking a bath isn’t that obvious?” he said, laughing. His hand rubbed my stomach and started wandering a little lower.
“Be serious,” I snapped, stopping his hand. “This can’t work.”
He sighed. “Nothing is happening, Elle. We’re just having fun.”
“That’s not all that’s going on here and you know it. Don’t pretend with me.” I felt him breathe in. “I’m officially your boss now. I don’t live here and I’m definitely not moving back.”
“Why do you hate it here so much?”
“I don’t hate it, but my life’s in the city,” I answered as vaguely as I could. I knew the answer to his question was far too complex to delve into at that moment.
“Alright,” he replied doubtfully. “So we don’t live in the same town, that’s not exactly a huge issue. Montreal isn’t that far.”
“It isn’t, but it’s far enough for me. I don’t do long distance.”
“I wouldn’t say an hour’s drive is long distance.”
“Fine,” I was getting annoyed that he was being so persistent. “Jokes aside,” I added, fearing he would be sarcastic again, “Could you handle taking orders from me?”
“So, is that your decision, then?” he asked, changing the subject. “You’re keeping the Orchards?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? She wanted me to take care of it. I have to.”
He paused. “Right. Then that’s that. This will end here. No big deal.”
His assertive response shut me down and, unsure what else I could say, I leaned back against his chest. Though he was acting like this was merely some weekend fling, nothing serious, I knew there was more between us than he was letting on. Something profound had been ignited between the two of us and there was definitely no turning back. I knew as well as he did that business or not, what we had started was intense, passionate and there was no running or hiding from it.
“Devon, be honest, if I were your boss, could we really just be friends?”
“Elle...”
“Please, answer me.”
He reached his hand down lower and the feeling sent shivers all over my warm body.
“Just friends? Probably, not. No.”
I turned to face him, seeing his playful grin. He raised his hand to my cheek, and I kissed his fingers. I couldn’t deny the feelings that were growing inside of me and from my side anyhow, I knew they would soon develop into something much, much more than physical. Hell, if I was being brutally honest with myself, they already had.
His emerald eyes looked deep into mine, searching, longing. Remembering how I had hurt him earlier, the memory broke my heart and I knew that if I let things continue I would probably have to hurt him all over again one day. And we both didn’t deserve that.
I kissed him as passionately as I could and stepped out of the bath.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, holding my hand tightly.
“I have to go.”
“Elle, I was kidding. If you want us to be friends, co-workers, whatever, I’ll do it. You can stay here tonight. I’ll even give you my bed.”
“I don’t think I’ll get much sleep as it is, but I need to be alone.” Right now, he was a distraction—though an incredibly gorgeous and pleasant one—and I needed clarity. “I’m sorry for coming over. I only wanted to clear the air.”
“Hey, come on, don’t go,” he pleaded.
There wasn’t an ounce of me that didn’t want to step back into the warm water and lie with him. I fought off the desire and shook my head. I knew I had to leave.
“I’m sorry, but I have to,” I said, wrapping myself in a towel.
Picking up my clothes from the studio’s floor, I got dressed quickly, expecting him to come in and stop me. When he didn’t, I left with a pang of disappointment in my chest.
It was for the best, I reminded myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The house seemed quiet as I walked up to it, but still, I didn’t take a chance and went in from the back. I was opening the patio door when I heard someone clear their throat.
“Dad? What are you doing up so late?” He was barely visible in the darkness.
“I could ask the same of you,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I took the seat next to him, wrapping myself in the blanket I found on the chair. A cold front had definitely crept in during the last few hours, turning the warm weather of late into a chilly evening.
“I had to get out of there,” I said, not knowing what else I could say without telling him too much. I figured he didn’t really need to know more. “Dinner was a little too much for me.”
“Ellie, you know I understand how you feel, but you’re not going to hold a grudge against your mother forever, are you?”
I sighed. I was much too tired to hash up this topic once again with my dad. “I don’t know. Hopefully not.”
“She feels awful for what she did. You must know that.”
“I’m sure she feels awful, Dad. Who wouldn’t feel shitty after getting caught cheating? I’m not sure I can forgive her. Not like you did.”
“It took time for me to find the capacity to forgive her. It wasn’t easy or something I took lightly.”
“Are you sure? Because it didn’t seem that way. You just turned the other cheek and let her come home like it was nothing. Like she’d done nothing.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened. But you were too young anyhow. There’s a lot you were protected from.”
I shook my head, wishing I’d gone straight to bed. “Why does everyone feel the need to protect me from everything? I feel like everyone keeps lying to me.”
“Alright, that’s fair. Then, what would you have done, if you’d been in my shoes.”
“I would have been mad, infuriated. I would have told her to fuck off. I would have said that if we weren’t good enough for her, she didn’t deserve to come back home.”
“If we weren’t good enough? Is that how you feel? That she cheated on both of us?”
“In a way, yes,” I replied, barely more than a whisper.
He nodded, slowly, stroking his chin as he did when he was deep in thought.
I needed to put an end to this before it went any further than it had to, or worse, before my dams crumbled and my brave exterior vanished. “But you know what? It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. What matters is whether or not you’re happy. And if you are, then who am I to judge?”
I assumed that was it for our conversation. Knowing my father and his usual reserve when talking about his feelings, I didn’t see the need to press on. Yet, I couldn’t hide my surprise when he turned to me and sp
oke.
“Ellie, do you know what your grandmother told me when she found out about the affair? She told me about a man named Robert. She used to call him Bob.”
My breath caught and I knew what he was about to say—my assumption had been right.
“She told me how they had been friends, very good friends, for years. She’d known him nearly as long as she’d known your grandfather.” His eyes shot across the lake, something like anger flashing through them. He continued. “She admitted to me that there had been more between them than friendship, not for long, but for a little while when I was a kid. Anyway, she admitted she’d been unfaithful and it broke my heart. I’d never known, never had any doubt in my mind that she and my dad were nothing but incredibly happy together.”
My mind was racing, trying to wrap itself around the idea of my grandmother being unfaithful. I suddenly felt like the ground my perception of her was built on had shifted and crumbled. I had supposed there was a chance she’d dated Bob, but that was after my grandfather had died, not while he was alive. I couldn’t grasp how she could have done it and how Bob had been her lover.
“You must have hated her,” I replied, imagining my father’s anger when hearing this heart-breaking revelation.
He took a breath and leaned closer, as if what he was about to say was crucial, then he smiled. “Maybe a little at first, but it faded. She made me understand why she had done it.”
I looked at him, unsure how someone could validate such a betrayal of another’s trust.
“The way she saw it, she wasn’t happy in her relationship. There was a void and though she didn’t know what it was at the time, she knew something important was missing. She had to go out and find it.”
I tilted my head, skeptically. “She didn’t have to go out and find it. That’s what people say so they don’t feel as guilty for what they’ve done. There’s always a way out.”
“Maybe. It’s easy to think that now,” he conceded. “But you have to remember, at the time she told me this, I was in the same situation she had been. At the time, I could understand what she meant. It was partly my fault.” I rolled my eyes, which he saw and acknowledged. “I know it’s hard to believe but in a marriage, sometimes you drift from one another and you don’t even see it happening. Your grandmother was right—it was my fault. I didn’t admit that to her then, of course. The more I thought about it, and once I let my anger dissipate, I could see how your mother wasn’t happy at home. I was guilty of making her promises when we first met, even when we got married, that I never kept. Sadly, had I been more observant at the time, then maybe I would have seen it before it happened.”
