by L. B. Dunbar
Hank’s brow pinches. He showed me his black beauty once, explaining to me all about it in jargon I didn’t understand, but this large piece of machinery is important to him. And powerful looking, like him. I open the driver’s door, flip the seat forward, and climb in the back.
The music in the garage dulls only a little inside the large space, which smells of old leather and forgotten years. My hands smooth over the black interior, feeling the soft, worn material before I slide to one side of the seat and turn to face the open door.
“Why don’t you join me a second?” I peer toward where Hank is leaning—one arm on the doorframe, the other on the roof. “It feels spacious back here.”
I spread my arm along the back of the seat. I slip off my heels while Hank watches me, his eyes following every movement of my hand sliding off one shoe and then the other. Taking another deep breath, I lift one leg, positioning it on the back seat. I shiver as my foot hits the cool leather and at the heat in Hank’s eyes. His quiet ruffles my nerves, but I won’t give up. My coat slips open over my thigh just the right amount to reveal what I’m wearing underneath.
“What the fuck you doing, little lady?” His voice teases, and a growl rolls through his tone. He’s still watching me, not making any attempt to move from the position where he stands.
“It’s a little warm in here.” My eyes don’t leave his as I unloop the belt and unbutton one button at a time. One. Two. Three. Four. I slip the material to the side only the slightest bit and notice Hank run a hand over his face. Two fingers swipe around his mouth and stroke down his neck.
“Middy,” he groans.
“Join me,” I purr, the sound low but pleading. I’m on the verge of thinking he isn’t interested in what I’m offering as he hasn’t moved. My coat slips farther open, exposing the thigh length slip of material hardly containing my breasts and hitched up enough on my hips to reveal the lace covering my lower region. He stares.
“Why are you doing this?” The question stops me, and my eyes sting. Lowering my leg, I press my thighs together. I tug the fallen side of my coat over my shoulder. It’s obvious he isn’t going to act on what I’m offering despite the steely glaze in his eyes. If he has to ask me why, I probably shouldn’t be doing this.
“I guess…I thought…maybe I should just go.” Who knew money would be a breaking point in our relationship? I’m sitting upright when he climbs into the back seat. His presence fills the space.
“Midge, what are you really doing here?”
I’m a total failure if I have to spell it out for him. “I thought I was seducing you, but obviously, it isn’t working. If you don’t want to see me anymore because of the money, just tell me.” I guess I need direct instruction. I don’t want to play games with him.
“I don’t want to.” My head shoots up as I’m scrambling to get my feet back in my heels. I twist to look at my foot, no glass slipper here. My prince crushes me. A finger comes to my chin, turning my face back to his, but I close my eyes. The tears well at my embarrassment. “I mean, I don’t want to not see you. I want to keep seeing you…” His voice drifts, and I’m visibly quaking. I can’t open my eyes, or the tears will leak.
“Are you afraid of me?” My lids crack slowly, and he demands, “Talk to me.”
I don’t know why he keeps asking me these things, begging me not to be frightened of him. I’m petrified of him—how I feel about him, that is. It consumes me most days, but especially today for some reason when I’ve missed him more than I should admit.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I snap. “I’m…I’m…I’m horny.”
The word hangs between us. Mortification fills me as I admit how badly my body wants to get off and get off by him.
“You want me to fuck you, little lady?” His voice lowers to a whisper, and the sinister hint rushes over my skin. I remember questioning once if a voice could make you orgasm, and I’m certain he just did. My knees come together, but in the next instant, I’m being dragged forward to lower my back on the seat. He tugs open my coat, examining the silky material slipping down enough to almost expose one breast and hitching up enough to reveal the thin lace covering my privates.
“You wear this for me?” I nod to answer. The plum-colored ensemble matches my jacket. I don’t own lingerie, but I thought I’d treat myself to treat him. Rough fingers tug the thin lace edge of the top down, releasing two swollen globes to greet his heavy fingers. He squeezes them both, and I gasp. He’s rough, his fingers callused but firm. He pinches both nipples simultaneously, and my back arches.
He’s kneeling, and he spreads my legs so one graces either side of him. He reaches behind his neck and tugs his t-shirt forward in that sexy male way. My hands find his hard abs and climb upward, sculpting over the hills and valley of him. Thick. Solid. Big. He grips each wrist, clutching them both in one hand and positioning them over my head. With his free hand, he wiggles his pants down his hips a bit. Instantly, his hard length springs free. Holding the base of himself, he swipes over my wet heat, the lace saturated with my longing.
“So fucking wet,” he mutters, shoving the lace aside and spreading my slick folds by dragging back and forth torturously through a place ripe, ready, and waiting to swallow him. I love how he loves to watch us join together.
“I’ll fuck you, little lady,” he says a little harshly, a mixture of passion and frustration. I look up at him as he watches how he’s coating his length. My thighs clench, and my clit pulses. Tears fill my eyes again at my intense desire for him to enter me. More.
“Condom,” I whisper, and something in his eyes shifts when his head flips up to face me. He pulls back, fumbling with his back pocket. A wallet falls to the floor. I watch as he rips the foil with his teeth and sheaths himself. Sweet cheese, why is that so sexy? I don’t have time to ponder the thought when his firm hand returns to holding mine hostage above my head. He impales me in one swift thrust. I grunt at the welcome intrusion and wrap both my legs around him. My heels remain on and lock over his ass.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, watching himself enter me.
“I…I can’t do this.” He’s hammering into me, his hand holding my wrists captive, the other balancing under my backside to move me in rhythm with what he needs. He loosens his hold enough to where I can free one hand which drifts to the spot, and I stroke. Then I rub. I swirl harder over the place I know will get me where I need most.
“Holy hell, lady. You are so goddamn hot.” He thrusts hard enough to rock the car. I’m spiraling as he jackhammers into me, and I touch myself. Then I implode. I bite my lip to hold back the explosive sound in my throat.
“Scream,” he demands, and I open, his name a prayer echoing through the classic car and out into the garage. The thumping music drowns under my call. He stills his body, only one part of him pulsing, releasing, jetting off inside me. I feel relief but still wired—weird, actually. It wasn’t enough of him. I could go again. More.
“Feel better?” Hank says as he pulls out of me a little too quickly. I nod, unable to answer.
“Do you know how hot you are like this?”
“Do you know how much I love you?” I counter, the words catch in my throat. Hank kneels between my open thighs. His head shoots up, and he stills. I take a deep breath. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”
“I thought you just wanted to…” My mouth falls open before he finishes, and my heart crashes. This is an off-the-cliff, shattered windshield, flipping vehicle kind of accident. I’m crushed as I scramble to sit upright. Hank envelops me, his lower body between my spread legs. Peppering my sternum with tender kisses and soft suction, his voice groans. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
His head pops up, frightened silver eyes begging me for something I can’t read. I’m numb inside. “I was too rough, baby.” I have no idea what he means. The moment of lust is lost, and we remain naked. Raw. Ripped apart. A shaky hand comes to his cheek as I suddenly know what this is and isn’t. This wasn’t me seducing hi
m but triggering his fears.
“You’re never rough with me,” I say, swiping a palm around his head. My heart still races, caught between running away and the sprint of what we just completed. “You’re a gentle giant with a good soul and a generous heart.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters against my skin, his forehead buried above my breasts. My nose burns, my eyes heating, but I dismiss the potential tears.
“You deserve every inch of me, and I want to give it all to you.” But there’s a ghost in this back seat, and I don’t know how much more of her I can take.
+ + +
The next night, I need another girls’ night out. Hank has an early shift at the crisis center, and it’s just as well. I can’t even look at him the next day. I decide to call Edie. She’s the closet friend I have as most of my prior friends were work colleagues, and the only person I think will understand my predicament.
“Hey, Midge.” Her chipper voice heats my nose, and my eyes sting. I will not cry again, I warn.
“Hey.”
“You okay, honey?”
“I don’t think so.” A tear slips as I recall how I wanted to climb Hank like a tree, nearly begging him for sex, and then he pigeonholes me in the same category as his former lover because I want him.
“Want to meet for a drink?”
“Yeah, but I need to take Liam to baseball first.” It’s my turn for carpool. I drive there, and another mom drives back. For one teeny-tiny moment, I curse my lack of freedom. I can’t do as I please because I’m a mother. Then recalling I am a mother, I curse my wanton behavior.
“I’ll come to you bearing gifts of wine,” Edie suggests. “We’ll make it a girls’ night in.”
An hour later, Edie arrives with Ivy. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind as the conflict in my heart involves the young woman’s mother. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see her, but I can’t speak as freely in front of Ivy about her mom. I mean no disrespect to the dead, but I can’t keep fighting her memory.
“Hey,” they say in unison, holding up wine bottles as I open the front door. For a moment, I sense a Bad Moms scene happening in my living, but then I realize this isn’t a PTA meeting. Following me to the kitchen, they each take a seat on the island stools, and I stand opposite them to pour our glasses.
“To friendship,” Ivy says.
“To love.” Edie winks.
We clink glasses, and while they sip, I drink. The whole glass goes down before I take a breath.
“Oh, boy,” Ivy whispers.
“What happened?” Edie exhales, watching me with knowing eyes. Ivy covers her mouth with loose fingers and stares at me.
“It’s Hank, isn’t it?” Edie’s eyes examine my face. “What did he do?”
Ivy’s eyes weigh on my cheek, almost as if she recognizes in me some distant agitation of her mother with the same man. I don’t know that I can speak what’s on my mind, and I remain silent a beat.
“It’s my mother, isn’t it?” Ivy’s delicate fingers fall to the counter. Her lids close a second, and I glance over at Edie. Immediately, Edie’s hand rubs her niece’s back. “No, honey. No.” When she looks up at me, she realizes she’s lying. I’m sorry, she mouths, understanding I needed her and not Ivy tonight. I open my mouth to speak but stop myself. Then try again.
“It isn’t your mother directly,” I begin. “It’s more Hank and his inability to let her go. I feel like I’m constantly measured up to her.” That isn’t exactly true. Kit was fabulous, famous, and disturbing in her relationship with Hank. I don’t want to be those things, but I can’t combat their reckless affairs.
“Don’t. Please don’t feel that way,” Ivy begs with water-filled eyes.
“I can’t help it. I don’t want to be jealous of them.” Second-guessing my statement, I retract. “Actually, I’m not. I don’t understand the scope of their relationship, but it sounds like it was unhealthy.” I can’t describe the trigger I seem to set off when I want sex with Hank. He somehow interprets it as that’s all I want and misses out on my feelings for him.
“It was.” Ivy nods. “My mother…she used him, abused him. She even wrote a song about it. She’d call him to get what she wanted from him physically or to get her high, and then throw him to the side. Yet he always came back to her.” My mouth hangs open at the abruptness of her words. “I’m not saying Hank was all innocent, though. Hank is a decent man but was so stupid when it came to my mom. It wasn’t like they had many secrets, either. She didn’t always have to tell me things for me to know what she was doing and how she treated him. It’s one reason I’m tough on Gage and refused to go out with him at first. I didn’t want that kind of relationship…one that fulfilled lust instead of love.”
“Don’t you think your mother loved him, though?” Kit had to have feelings for Hank. Why else would she have relied on him for almost two decades? I don’t believe she was so heartless. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with her daughter, but I need to speak with someone. I’m losing my mind, and my heart, over this man.
“I believe she did, but she was so bitter about my dad taking his own life and leaving her behind with a toddler that she refused to attach herself to anyone permanently after that. She always said it was for the protection of Lawson and me, but how did it help us?” Ivy looks at Edie.
“Hank was in a rough spot,” I offer, suddenly defending him with uncertainty.
“But if she told him the truth, he might not have been.” Ivy’s faith in Hank endears me to her. She isn’t speaking ill of her mother; she’s just confused by her mother’s decisions.
“Did something happen?” Edie asks me hesitantly.
I chuckle humorlessly, preparing to laugh at myself because what else can I do. I don’t think I have any tears left. “I thought I was apologizing for hurting his feelings. Seducing him actually.” I pause, closing my eyes. “This is so embarrassing.” The comfort of Edie’s hand covers mine, and my lids flip open. Sympathy fills hers.
“I think I only confused the issue. He says he loves me, and I love him, but there is definitely something between us.”
“I’m sorry,” Ivy offers, and instantly, I’m asking why. “My mother messed him up. He wasn’t innocent in the games they played, but if she had committed to him, he wouldn’t have reacted as he did.”
He told me of the affairs they had. The one-night stands to spite the other. The late-night booty calls. The distance between them afterward. A thought comes to me, and I’m hesitant to ask. I’m afraid of the answer.
“Hank’s always asking me not to be afraid of him. Do you know…did something happen?” I swallow, concerned for the answer, feeling the roughness of his fingerprints on my wrists but knowing in my heart he would never hurt me.
“They were a violent couple, so to speak. My mother defined diva behind the scenes. It was one way to protect her heart and keep the band on track to the top of the charts. She’d yell at him, throw things at him. He’d throw things in response but never at her. There were rumors he hit her once, and Uncle Tommy lost his shit. It broke Hank, and my mother admitted it was all gossip. Honestly, Hank is just too soft for that. The media, Mom said. They want a story. She was diagnosed with cancer shortly after that, and a new focus began. She refused to let Hank near her, propagating an undertone of the forgotten story. I like to think she just wanted her immediate family close, but the band was her family just as much as blood was. She pulled into herself, holed up at her house, and only let Tommy and me take care of her needs. I never wanted to believe spite or jealousy forced Hank away but knowing the truth of Lawson proves what lengths my mother went to keep him at a distance.”
“You knew?” I question. Edie looks surprised as well.
“Like I said, we didn’t have many secrets between us. I loved my mother. She was all I had for years. Her and the band, but that doesn’t mean I agreed with everything she did.”
“Why didn’t you tell Hank sooner?” The question seems irrelevan
t and also none of my business. I’m holding up a hand to apologize for the inquiry when she continues.
“I tried once, but in my grief and with my own issues at twenty, I didn’t pursue what I knew. Hank disappeared after my mother’s funeral. I heard he was pretty bad off, and I figured he didn’t need this new revelation to push him over the edge. Life got in the way after that, and it never occurred to me until recently.”
I couldn’t fault her. It wasn’t her responsibility to share her mother’s secrets. I also can understand her protection of Hank. From what he told me, life was rough, yet he was fragile. My heart softens to his blight. I can’t imagine loving someone so intensely, but I imagine the chase was another addiction.
“Did Hank ever get to say goodbye to your mother? Or tell his side of the story to anyone?”
“He talked to Tommy and Denton, their other band member, but Uncle Tommy was too wrapped up in Mom, and Denton was over Hank’s tirades. Denton Chance was finished with the band’s shenanigans before they even officially split. As for saying goodbye, I don’t think Mom ever let Hank close enough. She didn’t even want me there most days.”
My heart breaks in more ways than one for Hank. Unfounded speculations. Lacking closure. No wonder he’s broken. Their whole relationship was an emotionally abusive clusterfuck.
“That’s not true,” Edie interjects, her hand returning to rub Ivy’s back. A silent moment passes between them, and I don’t ask for an explanation.
“Let’s not talk about them anymore.” I offer a weak smile. “Tell me about Tommy, and what’s going on with Gage?”
I swore I wouldn’t be jealous as Edie fills me in on the sweetness of her husband. The wine flows and my stress lifts a little to hear of the goodness of one man toward his wife. I’d like to keep the faith of love in our forties. Edie’s interrupted by a text from said husband, and I turn to Ivy.
