It reminded me of the time that my family had been caught in a bad storm coming back from our friend’s cabin in Reeder Bay. Jacob and I had sat on the floor of the boat with our orange life vests secured tightly, hugging buoys as my father had driven the boat through four foot waves, heavy winds, and rain. We had gotten back to the dock before the worst of it. Fierce winds had capsized several boats, docks had been torn to pieces, and neighboring cabins had lost screen doors and roof shingles. Storms could be brutal at the lake, and I prayed that Drew and I made it back before the worst of this storm hit.
We passed Indian Rock, an obvious landmark, alerting us that the cabin was not far. It was hard to see through the thick rain. Drew had trouble mooring the boat as the wind was pulling its bow in different directions, and the waves were threatening to slam us into the dock. I jumped out and helped pull the boat alongside the dock, until it was aligned with the boatlift. Drew needed to get the boat out of the water and up on the lift to avoid damage during the storm. Wind was whipping through my wet hair, rain drenching my clothes and face as the storm roared on around us.
Once the boat was secure, Drew grabbed my hand and pulled me along as we ran up the dock toward his cabin. It took all our strength to run against the heavy wind, each step pushing us back, holding us in place. My heart was pounding in my chest from the exertion, the fear of the storm, and the relief that we had made it back safely.
When we reached the manor, Drew and I charged through the door, securing it behind us. The windows rattled in the wind; the lake was barely visible through the heavy rain. We stood silently still, catching our breath as we watched the storm tear across the bay. My hands were shaking as I struggled to pull the wet, heavy sweatshirt over my head. I felt Drew’s hands on my arms as he helped peel the damp cotton from my body. Once my face was freed from the sweatshirt, I opened my eyes to find myself staring directly into Drew’s, our heavy breaths the only sounds that could be heard over the storm. He pulled me to him as our lips connected urgently. His frantic hands were on my face, in my damp hair—gripping me, pulling me tighter against him. I was defenseless at his touch, my need to feel him in this way outweighing any reservations I may have had.
I hesitated for the briefest of moments when I felt his hands gripping the hem of my T-shirt. I moaned his name, and he pulled away. My eyes opened abruptly to find his intense gaze, melting me in place. “Drew?” I asked softly.
“I don’t care that you’re still married. I don’t care about any of it, Gem. I need to be with you,” he breathed, as if pulling away from me was causing him physical pain.
I whispered his name, but, before I could say anything else, he held his finger over my lips, his gaze piercing my soul as he whispered, “I love you, Gemma.”
Without hesitation, I pulled his mouth to mine and showed him just how much I loved him in that moment. I couldn’t say the words, but I could show him. He continued to undress me. Starting with my T-shirt, my shorts, and then he slowly untied my bikini top, letting it fall to the ground. I felt his hands on my breasts as I peeled his wet shirt off his chest and untied his board shorts.
Drew gripped one of my legs and then the other, placing them around his hips until I was suspended in the air, wrapped around him. He walked to the couch, holding me with his hands on my backside, laying me down gently, his mouth never leaving mine. He hovered over me until I pulled him closer, needing to feel all of him against all of me. Our movements were frantic, overdue, nearly desperate, as our denial dissipated in the heat of the moment. I was on fire, desire building inside me, ready to burst.
He pulled away, sitting back on his heels at my feet. All I could feel was my vigorous breath, the rise and fall of my chest as I watched him—watching me—while he took my foot in his hand and brought it to his lips. He very delicately kissed the inside of my arch, his lips following an invisible trail that led to my ankle, my calf, to the inside of my thigh. My body was tied up in knots, begging for release, silently willing his lips to continue their journey. He stopped and slowly lowered my leg back down to the couch. Hooking his thumbs into the sides of my black bikini bottoms, he pulled them down over my hips, his fingers grazing my skin.
Once that final piece of clothing was thrown to the floor, he crawled over me until our lips met. His mouth moved with mine, slowly and precise, as if he were cataloguing every detail in his memory—exuding more passion than I had ever felt before with just a kiss. My hands were feeling the curvature of his muscles along his back, trying to pull him closer—as if that were possible.
When my body began to plead with him to speed things up, he sucked my lower lip into his mouth and ran his teeth along it, keeping me at bay, escalating my need for him. I was ready to beg for more, craving the feel of him inside me. He pulled his face from mine causing me to open my eyes to look at him. When I did, our gazes locked intensely, stealing my breath. It was then that I finally felt him lower himself inside me, slowly at first until he thrust into me so hard that I gasped—his stare bore into mine as if he could see right into my soul. I felt exposed, vulnerable, as I felt him inside me in every way possible—the deepest way possible. My body, my heart, my soul.
We made love all the while the storm was raging outside, all around us. Nothing stood between us—not the past, not my husband, and certainly not the storm. It was just Drew and me. Together. At last.
Twenty-Four
Drew and I stayed on the couch, wrapped up in each other as we watched the storm move on. It departed just as quickly as it came, leaving a band of colors stretched across the sky in its wake.
“Can I ask you something?” Drew asked, as he traced lines on my bare shoulder with his finger. He was behind me, his front pressed against my back as we lay on the couch under the cover of a fleece blanket, watching the dark storm clouds that still hung in the east through the windows.
“I guess so,” I answered hesitantly. I never knew what was going to come out of his mouth. Drew was fearless in that way, always up-front and honest.
He pulled my hair away from my face, and I felt his lips on my ear, distracting me momentarily. “Why corporate law?”
I sighed, relieved at the simplicity of his question. “I like the money and the power and the predictability,” I said instinctively, having been asked this question a number of times over the years.
“Huh,” he said, as his lips trailed down my neck delicately.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, closing my eyes as the feel of his lips ignited fire deep in my core.
“I’m just surprised, that’s all.” His lips paused as he rested his warm cheek against mine, his breath caressing my skin.
“Why’s that?” I asked, trying to focus on our words and ignore my body’s commands. As Drew’s bare flesh pressed against mine, it was hard to think of anything else.
“I guess you never really cared about that stuff before. I always imagined you practicing criminal law and putting away the bad guys. Taking pro bono cases because it was the right thing to do. That kind of stuff.” He brought his hand to my hip and began tracing lines along my sensitive skin.
I could feel his deep voice resonating in his chest as he spoke.
I paused and thought about what he was saying. Seeing the girl who he remembered. I had once wanted to do something that would make a difference, to stand up for what was right. But that girl was lost and in her place was someone different.
“I wanted that too, but there’s something so unpredictable in criminal law. There are too many surprises. I knew that I could work my ass off to try to make a difference, but, in the end, it’s out of my hands. The verdict is rarely the right one. I like feeling in control. I like the power that consumes me when I fight for something bigger than me. Knowing that, no matter the outcome, no one’s life is at stake. I don’t know how to explain it.” It was the first time that I had ever felt the need to defend my career path.
“I get it, Gem. I was just curious,” he said, as he kissed me o
n the cheek and then on my neck again.
I took a deep breath and gave in to my body, knowing what it wanted, what I wanted. His lips found my shoulder as his hand reached around to cup my breast. I turned to face him, wanting—needing—to feel his lips against mine. I kissed him hard and deep as our hands explored the intimate venues that our bodies had to offer. Our conversation was lost to his touch. I was on fire, desperate for more, as desire consumed me.
“Feel free to take control at any time,” he whispered, between breaths.
My mouth turned into a smile. “Smart ass,” I whispered. But when our lips met again, I pushed him down, straddled him, and showed him just how much I liked to be in control. And by his symphony of moans, I could tell that he didn’t have any complaints.
***
An hour later, we showered together, devouring each other again and again. We couldn’t seem to get enough of one another. Our bodies finally demanded sleep, and I drifted away, nestled in Drew’s arms with a lazy grin stretched across my face.
I felt Drew shake my arm gently and looked up to find him standing over me. The room was drenched in darkness; the night had fallen upon us while we slept.
“Come with me,” he whispered and grabbed my hand, pulling me out of bed.
I had the sense to drag the top sheet off the bed and wrap it around me when I noticed that Drew was wearing a pair of loose mesh shorts that hung low on his otherwise bare body. I followed him quietly up the stairs, down the long hallway that led to the sunporch that opened up to the upper balcony. When I stepped into the room, bathed in moonlight, I was awestruck by the paintings that hung on a wire that stretched across the far wall. An easel was posed in the middle of the room holding a blank sheet of paper, ready and waiting.
“Drew,” I breathed out. He turned on an upright lamp in the corner of the room that illuminated his paintings in soft light. There were at least twenty strung up on the wall, all amazing replications of the lake and its beauty. Drew had a gift; he always had. I felt so much emotion in his paintings, like each brushstroke represented something profound. It moved me.
“I turned this room into a studio,” he said, as if he needed to explain.
I moved closer to take in the detail of each painting. “I didn’t know that you still paint.”
“I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it, until I came back,” he said, standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his bare chest.
“You’re amazing,” I said, crossing the room to him. I reached up and wrapped my hands around his neck, letting the sheet fall to the ground as I kissed him tenderly. Drew showing me his work was like looking through a clear window, directly into his soul. I was so grateful and so proud of his talent, and so turned on.
His hands gripped my backside, pulling me closer to him as he kissed me hungrily. He pulled away a moment later, his gaze raking over my nakedness. “You’re so beautiful, Gemma. Let me paint you, like this,” he said, almost a plea.
I had never felt so loved and so wanted as I did in this moment. How could I say no?
“Where do you want me?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little shy and vulnerable.
He bent and picked up the bedsheet that was crumpled on the floor and led me by the hand to the chaise longue that sat in front of the balcony windows. “Here, lie on your side,” he instructed.
I did as he asked, letting him make slight adjustments to my arms and legs.
He weaved the sheet around me, so that only parts of my skin were visible; my breasts he left exposed. My head was propped up with a large square pillow that rested behind me. One arm was draped above my head, my long hair splayed out all around it. My other hand rested across my middle. I felt sensual and beautiful and completely comfortable as Drew sat on a small stool behind the easel and began mixing paint on a small palette.
At first I had a hard time keeping a straight face—a smile threatening to erupt at any moment, but then I would look at Drew’s face, and a sense of calm and peace would wash over me. He was so beautiful, his serious features visible from the moonlight that spilled in from outside. His eyebrows were pulled in tight in deep concentration, and he just barely bit down on his lower lip with his teeth. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers along his lips, releasing them, to feel his skin beneath my touch.
He was completely silent for a long time, and I wondered how long I would lie like this, how long it would take for him to complete this painting. My gaze never left his face, and, every now and then, our gazes would connect, causing my breath to still as I felt my heart pound in my chest. A slow burn was brewing inside me, the silent ecstasy escalating with each minute that passed by.
It felt like an hour before he finally put down his brush and moved toward me. I felt my breath hitch as he knelt down beside me. I was on fire, ready to burst from the anticipation.
He ran his hand along my hair, grazing my hand that rested above my head. Slowly, sensually, he leaned down and sucked my lower lip into his mouth, gently biting down with his teeth. I lay still, unable to move, barely breathing. His hands gripped the sides of my face as he moved his tongue into my mouth and kissed me deeply. I could feel it everywhere, my body thrumming at his touch.
When he finally pulled back, looking into my eyes with such intensity, I whispered into the space between us, “Did you get what you needed?”
“Almost,” he breathed, running his hand along my bare leg that was slightly bent above the other. He started at my ankle and worked his way up to my thigh before his hand slid behind me and cupped my backside tightly, his gaze raking over every inch of my exposed skin. He stood and removed his shorts, letting them fall to the ground, and then slid in next to me on the chaise, pulling me closer to him.
I was ready for him, the buildup burning through my core, begging for release. He rolled me onto my back, pulling both of my arms above my head and held them there in his hand, gently, while his other hand pulled my left thigh up against his shoulder. He moved his hand to the cushion beneath us and rested his weight against it while he thrust into me, hard, his gaze penetrating me as much as his body, never wavering. My eyes blinked closed as I called out his name on a breath.
“Look at me, Gemma,” he demanded.
I forced open my eyes as he held me captive with his fiery gaze and his body’s demands. I felt my body explode with such intensity that it almost hurt, just moments before Drew found his own release, his gaze piercing me so deep that I could feel it in my soul.
Without a moment to recover, he pressed his lips against mine, fervently, releasing my arms in his grip to caress my face. I brought my leg down to rest beside his and ran my fingers through his hair, pouring myself into his kiss—giving him back everything that he had given me in that moment. As open as we were with each other, I couldn’t help but feel that Drew was holding back, withdrawn, but the intensity in the room—in his gaze—felt like he had torn down the invisible wall around him, allowing me to see inside, to see all of him. In return I wanted him to feel all of me, now, in this very moment—so there was no room left for him to doubt how I felt about him.
Moments later, while we were enjoying the bliss, I asked him if I could see the painting.
“No,” he teased.
I started to wiggle out from underneath him, and he wrestled me in place. When I finally broke free, I moved toward the easel, but he pulled the sheet that was still tangled around my body. I fell to the ground, laughing, as he rolled off the chaise and tackled me.
“I said no,” he said, trying to rein in his laughter. “You always were a defiant little thing.”
“Pleeease,” I begged, nearly breathless from his weight that was crushing my lungs. I leaned up and kissed him on the lips, gently at first, but then I wrapped my hands around his neck and deepened the kiss until I felt him surrender. His body relaxed on top of mine and I slowly rolled him to the side until our positions were reversed. I could feel his need spring to life underneath me, and I knew that I had him righ
t where I wanted him.
I continued to kiss him until he was rendered useless under my touch before making my move. I rolled to the side and broke free from his grasp all in the same moment, and lunged toward the easel. His hand caught my ankle, and I fell to the ground once again. When I looked up, I could see the painting from where I was sprawled out on the rug. I was instantly mesmerized, taken in by the beauty of the girl on the paper—all from Drew’s hand.
“Oh, my God. Drew,” I said, unable to break my focus away from the painting. I felt him release my ankle, and I stood slowly, captivated. He had captured every detail, every shadow, the way the moonlight struck my skin. But it was my face, mainly my eyes, that held me. It was as if he could see right through me—every fear, every dream, every loss, every desire. It was all there in my eyes. I was touched at the way he saw me; the beauty that I couldn’t see in myself was here, written through his eyes with the stroke of his hand.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, still in awe at how well he knew me, how much of me was in this painting.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, coming up behind me, wrapping his arms around me while we both admired his talent. I felt his lips brush along my bare shoulder, and I shivered as my eyes filled with tears—overcome by him, the girl in the painting, this moment.
***
Days drifted into the next, and we had hardly gotten out of bed. We spent hours naked, loving every inch of one another. Drew was insatiable. And I couldn’t complain.
At night we would cuddle in the warmth of a bonfire on the beach in front of Drew’s cabin, admiring the blanket of stars above us. It was as if we could see every star in the galaxy from here. I loved getting lost in the vast canvas of night sky, imagining all the possibilities for my future.
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