by Calia Read
The ride up his driveway is rough. I jostle around in my seat and grab the handle above my head and hang on.
“You drive up and down this daily?”
“Yep.”
“How does your car even have shocks?”
“It’s just a little bumpy,” Lachlan argues.
I shoot him a look.
“Okay…” he says slowly. “It’s really bumpy. But I’ll get it fixed soon.”
A moment later he parks the car. I stare at the house in front of us. “So this is your house.”
It is small. White paint is chipping on the side. A small porch with just a broom leaning against the side of the house. There’s no grandeur. No over-the-top design. It is the exact opposite of how we grew up.
I couldn’t love it more. It reminds me of the cottage out in the woods.
Lachlan tilts his head, giving me a boyish smile that reminds me of the fifteen-year-old boy I fell in love with. “This is it. Does it meet your expectations?”
My opinion matters to him. And even as a kid it had mattered. That’s what makes Lachlan my safety net—I will always matter to him.
“Of course! I love it.”
We both get out of the car. He goes to the trunk and grabs my bag. “What made you choose this place?” I ask.
He slings my bag over his shoulder and grabs my hand. We walk to his house, side by side. “Small. Surrounded by solitude. What’s not to love?”
We stomp the snow away from our shoes as we walk across the porch. Lachlan unlocks the front door and flips the light on next to the door.
There’s a small entryway that leads directly into the kitchen. Probably one of the smallest kitchens I’ve seen, with old appliances the color of avocado.
He drops his keys on the counter and wordlessly guides me to the living room. It’s the biggest room in the house. There is just a beige rug, with a brown leather couch, chair and end table designed around it and a television in the corner. The last piece of decoration is a dozen boxes shoved against the wall.
I point at the boxes. “I love the way you’ve decorated the place.” Lachlan leans against the wall and grins. “It took me a long time.”
I walk forward, looking at each piece of furniture. “I can tell.”
“Tell me, Interior Decorator Naomi, what would you do differently?”
“Well, for one thing, I would put curtains up.” I point to the bay window. “And they would be lace curtains. I would paint the walls a pale yellow. I would keep the rug you have now. Hang some pictures up. Find some beautiful flowers and I would make sure that the bay window was filled with pillows, so I could relax and stare outdoors any time I wanted.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
For him, yes. But if I lived with him, I would do it myself and I would do it with the biggest smile on my face.
“You’re thinking,” Lachlan says.
I correct him, “I’m imagining.”
“Same thing.”
He walks into the kitchen. I hear cabinets open and close. “I knew you would love this place,” he calls out.
I follow Lachlan. “You did?”
He grabs two plates and fills them up with food.
“Of course,” he says absently. “The realtor showed me the house and when I saw the bay window I remember you talking about that as a kid.”
“So technically this house is half mine,” I tease.
Lachlan hands me my plate. I try to take it away. Lachlan keeps his grip. He won’t let go until I look at him. When I finally do, I see the intense look in his eyes.
“Half yours? It’s all yours.”
I just stare at him. He isn’t lying.
“Come on,” Lachlan says. “Let’s eat in the living room.”
We sit in companionable silence and eat our food.
“Are you excited to be out of there?” he asks.
“I can’t believe it,” I confess. “There’s no 20-minute outside breaks. Or a nurse knocking on your door every hour on the hour. I don’t have to hear the constant sound of voices outside my door, and I don’t have to sleep in that terrible room. Plus, the food is much, much better.”
“Yeah?” he asks with a small grin.
I nod. “Burned meatloaf and runny mac and cheese are about as good as it gets there.”
Lachlan swallows. “Does everyone eat together?”
“Mostly. Unless you’ve done something wrong. Then you eat in your room.”
Beneath his slanted brows, his eyes turn hard. I know I’ve said too much. He’s thinking about Fairfax. I’m thinking about Fairfax and I don’t want to. His house was a place that was free from all the dark things looming over me. It should stay that way.
I want to take my words back and start over. I look down at my food, suddenly not feeling hungry at all. I stand up and walk back to the kitchen, putting my plate on the counter. When I walk back into the living room, Lachlan stares straight at me with confusion. I stare at him for a second before I turn off the lights. Slowly making my way to the large window, I cross my arms and stare outside.
Lachlan’s house sits on a hill. From here, I can see the lights of the city flickering bright. I picture people inside their houses, all relaxed and calm. It puts me at peace. It makes me want to stay right here forever.
“What are you doing?” Lachlan asks.
I tap my nail against the glass. “Looking at the view.”
“With the lights off?”
“It’s the best way to see.”
If I was at Fairfax, I wouldn’t see this picture in front of me and I wouldn’t feel this way. Right now, if I want to, I can reach out and touch and experience the world I’m looking at.
Lachlan scoots his chair back. I hear his footsteps and drawers opening and shutting.
Snick. Snick.
It’s a familiar sound that makes my heart speed up.
It takes only seconds for an amber glow to light the room. I look over my shoulder and see Lachlan holding a match in between his fingers. Not a lighter. But a simple matchbook. Just like the ones we used to light off fireworks.
He smirks at me mischievously. His eyes glow brightly from the flame. There is enough heat in his eyes to make me swallow loudly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Playing with fire.” He jerks his wrist and the fire dies out. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.” His deep voice is closer and my heart starts to speed up. “Remember you used to always blow the matches out?”
“I remember,” I say softly.
I look at the open living room and in the dark I picture all the furniture gone. The wood floor drops out and is replaced with fresh, green grass. Two young people appear. Their heads are bent, backs bowed as they huddle together. Their lips move rapidly. I can’t hear them. And I don’t need to. Their words are seared into my brain. I watch with rapt attention as the boy says, “I got one more firework. Wanna light up the sky?” He holds a match in between them.
And the girl nods and smiles at him. Her heart shines in her eyes. He hands her the match. She takes it.
I close my eyes. When they open, Lachlan has a lit match in his hands. The boy and girl are gone. Furniture is back in place. Those two people have evolved. That girl can now act out her feelings. And that guy still smirks at her but his eyes are white hot.
Something settles deep inside me. It spreads throughout me, making my blood hum, and my body tingle. Lachlan keeps walking until I’m pressed up against the window. The cold glass on my back and his body warming me from the front. I tilt my head back to look at him. He lifts a single brow, daring me not to touch him. That’s the last thing I see before he blows out the match.
I know this is a little game that was meant to lighten the mood, but now a sexual tension has filled the room. I know Lachlan isn’t done and I know he won’t be done until I’m practically a puddle on the floor.
His cheek brushes against mine. I hear the match drag against a coarse surface. My hands
curl into fists against my thighs. My fingernails sink into my palms, creating crescent moon indents.
The match is the one thing keeping us separated. It lights up his features. His lips are sensuous and his eyes are brilliant. The stubble on his face looks almost golden.
“You’re perfect,” I say very quietly.
Lachlan tilts his head and smirks. “No, I’m not. It’s just the lighting.”
“You are,” I insist.
He brushes his hand across my throat. My pulse jumps wildly against my skin.
“You wanna know how you look right now?”
I nod.
I thought he would blow out the match, but he doesn’t. He brings the match close to my face, going over every feature slowly.
“Your eyes are bright. The fire almost makes them look violet. Your cheeks are red. And all that blonde hair looks golden”—his hand drags through my hair—“hanging around your shoulders. And your lips are wet and slightly parted.” A single finger grazes my lip. “If I move my face just an inch closer, I could suck on that bottom lip…” And right when I think he’s going to do just that, the room goes black.
His hand drops from my face. The two of us are quiet. Both of us breathing rapidly.
“This is my last match,” he says in a sexy whisper. “Do you want me to light it?”
My breath comes out shaky. “Yes.”
The match drags across the matchbox slowly. And then there’s an amber glow. Lachlan holds the flame between us. “Hold it, Naomi.”
The flame travels downward, racing toward his fingertips. He still holds it, waiting patiently for me to respond. He’d let the fire reach his fingers. He’d take the pain for me.
My hand shakes as it reaches out. Lachlan’s eyes go half-mast the minute I grip the match.
“Now take a breath and blow it out,” he says gruffly.
He’s not asking me to blow out the flame. Lachlan wants me to blow out the pain, tears and destruction from my life. And more than anything, I want to do the same thing. So I lean my face closer to the flame. I look Lachlan in the eye, and with one big gust, I blow the flame out.
The room goes dark.
The match drops to the floor.
The sound echoes around the room. I stand perfectly still, breathing rapidly. The room may be dark but the fire hasn’t died. It’s just transferred to my body. It spreads throughout my veins. It suffocates my fears. My insecurities. My sadness.
I find myself shifting closer.
And then I feel his lips touch mine. His mouth moves so slowly. My eyes close. Lachlan’s hands gently rest against my neck. His tongue glides along my lips. My lips part. His thumbs brush against my throat.
This kiss is gentle yet firm.
This kiss demands to be felt.
This kiss makes up for all the time lost that I’ll never get back.
He moves back an inch. I can’t see his face, but I can feel his eyes on me. “Let me touch you,” he says.
I’d do anything he asks of me. I tell him yes and before I’ve even finished speaking, he reaches out and hooks his index fingers through my belt loops. He doesn’t stop guiding me forward until our bodies are touching. I feel his fingers encircle my wrist. I spread my hand, palm up, waiting for his hand to lace with mine, but his lips made contact with my palm, moving to my wrist, where my pulse pounds against my skin. His fingers move up my arm and grip my elbows. He guides my hands to his neck.
I’ve grown confident underneath his touch and I kiss him. I kiss him knowing that he is the best kind of therapy I will ever have.
Lachlan guides us across the room. We move down the hallway and through a doorway. Out of the corner of my eye I see a large bed. I sit on the edge and raise my eyes to his. He reaches behind his back and grips a handful of his shirt and pulls it over his head.
It was a brisk action and yet my hands jerk at my sides, wanting to reach out and touch him. Lust simmers in my stomach. My fingers curl around the sheets as I carefully look at him. Everything I want is right in front of me.
Light comes in through the window, casting his skin in a blue hue. Highlights the tendons that travel up his arms and his powerful biceps. I can make out the contours of his stomach, and the sharp muscled V that disappears underneath his jeans. He could wrap himself around me and I would disappear from sight.
“You can do whatever you want,” he says, his voice not quite steady. “I’m all yours.”
My hand reaches out like it has a mind of its own. I touch the side of his pec before my eyes drift south. I’ve touched him like this before. But it never gets old. I always find something new and fascinating when I touch Lachlan.
I watch Lachlan suck in a breath. I move down his stomach. His skin tightens and the outline of abs appears. My blood roars through my veins as my fingers drift down to his jeans hanging low on his hips.
I feel courageous and lean forward, my teeth grazing the skin above his jeans. My fingers find the button to his jeans. His eyes are hot, watching every single thing I do. I pull his jeans down and then his boxers. I wrap my hand around his cock. It’s thrilling how when I touch him, I have all the control. He closes his eyes. His mouth opens.
He mutters a curse and his hands reach up and grip the back of my head, holding me in place.
“Naomi,” he groans. “Slow down.”
“What if I don’t want to slow down?”
I know I should savor every touch, kiss and bite. When I’m back at Fairfax I’ll have this memory to hang onto. But I’m so far past the slow down option, it’s now a distant memory. It’s been too long since I’ve had Lachlan all to myself.
Mine, mine, mine, I chant in my mind.
My hand tightens around him. He sucks in a sharp breath.
“If you don’t stop,” Lachlan pants. “This will all be over way too quickly.”
I want him inside of me. I want him to fuck me. That’s the ultimate goal. That’s the only reason I let go of him.
I lean back and take off my shirt. It drops onto the bed and I wait expectantly. But Lachlan doesn’t touch me. He is frozen, with only his eyes sweeping me from head to toe.
“What are you thinking?” I breathe.
My body is perfectly still but I have to stop myself from pulling him to me.
“I’m thinking,” he says slowly as he looms over me so I’m forced to tilt my head back to look at him. “I’d do anything with you… for you… to you.” He leans down; his eyes level with mine. “I’m thinking you have me under a spell.”
He kisses my open mouth. I breathe through my nose as he unzips my pants. We break apart only for a second. Pants come off. My underwear quickly follows. All that’s left is my bra. A small scrap of material. The look in Lachlan’s eyes shows he wants it gone. I reach my arms behind my back to unhook it. Lachlan beats me to it. He rises onto his knees. I tilt my head back to watch him. My bra comes undone in seconds. He keeps his eyes on mine as he slowly pulls the straps down my arms. The cold air touches my breasts. My nipples harden. I smile faintly as I watch Lachlan take me in. I move across the bed. Lachlan follows me. When my head touches the pillow he dips his head. Lips circle around an areola slowly before they wrap around my nipple. My back arches as my hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. I forgot this is how it is with Lachlan. I forgot how my body can go from cold to on fire within seconds. I forgot how he knows just how to touch me, kiss me, hold me in a way that drives me crazy.
He switches between both breasts and I’m panting.
“I’ve fucking missed you,” he groans against my skin. He’s still touching me, as if he’s afraid I’m going to disappear. “I’ve missed all of you.”
His lips move away from my breast and drift down.
I keep my eyes open and watch him. The temptation to close my eyes is there, but I want to be wide awake for this. I want to watch everything.
His head drifts further down my body. His hands tighten against my hips imperceptibly.
I feel
his breath against my stomach. I move restlessly against the sheets. Teeth scrape against the curve of my hip. By this point I’m trembling. Lachlan stops and lifts his head.
“Do you want me to keep touching you?” he asks, his voice a low growl.
“Why ask me that?” I pant. “You know I do.”
“When I touch you, I want you to always remember it comes from me and no one else.” His fingers drift over my hips, across my inner thighs. “I want you to never forget me.”
He leans in, his lips inches away, but he doesn’t move. He hasn’t even started and I’m already trembling.
Lachlan leans in and kisses me in between my legs. Even though I’ve been bracing myself for him to touch me, my back arches up off the bed. It’s impossible to stay perfectly still. As his mouth moves over me, he watches me the whole time. But I can’t keep his gaze. My eyes close and my head falls back.
My hands curl into fists. I want to grab him. I want to tilt my hips this way and that, to find the perfect angle, but I know he’s building me up. His tongue moves in one quick sweep upward. I gasp. My body jerks. He hits the perfect spot at the perfect time. It is almost vicious what he’s doing to me. My legs keep moving against the sheets. One leg is angled outward. The other curves around his shoulder. I’ll find any way to get closer to him.
Up and down his tongue brushes against me, driving me into a complete frenzy. I try to keep up with him for as long as I can. This uncontrollable feeling sweeps through me. My blood roars in my veins, feeling like tiny pinpricks moving underneath my skin, and my control breaks in half.
I grab the back of Lachlan’s head, my fingers curling into his hair. I move my hips, finding my rhythm. It creates a friction that makes me hook my legs over his shoulders.
His hands curve around my thighs, fingers tighten and he presses me closer to his mouth.
Every muscle in my body tightens. I’m tingling everywhere. My hips lift up. Lachlan holds on, his mouth quickly moving against my skin.
