Falling Ash

by Douglas, A. T.

  He turns and kisses the top of my head. “Ash Nolan has a nice ring to it.”

  “Ash Nolan,” I repeat slowly, testing Silas’ theory for myself. I’m not convinced. “Hey, you never told me your last name.”

  “You never asked.”

  It feels like I need to argue this point, but I think he’s actually right. “Well, I’m asking now.”

  “Say the words,” he demands playfully.

  I nestle up against his shoulder and arm just a little bit more. “Please tell me your last name, Silas,” I implore.

  “Hawthorne.”

  His automatic response surprises me. I thought I’d have to fight a little harder to get it out of him. “Silas Hawthorne,” I say, evaluating his name in the same way. “Your name has a better ring to it than mine.”

  I can feel the slight shrug in his shoulders when he responds, “It’s just a name that was given to me, nothing more.”

  “It’s a good name,” I argue, my thoughts inevitably turning to what a man traditionally does with his last name. “You think you’ll ever have a Mrs. Hawthorne?”

  Silas’ grip on my hand instantly tightens to the point of causing stinging pain in the blisters on the inside of my fingers and palm despite the layer of protective gauze over them.

  “Silas,” I say calmly as I remove my head from his shoulder and lean forward to try to ease the pressure, but his grip only tightens more. “Silas!” I cry out as the stinging sensation turns into sharp pain.

  My exclamation is enough to cause him to instantly release me. I retract my hand and clutch it to my chest, adrenaline pumping through me as the pain decreases and settles into a dull ache.

  “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Everything’s fine.”

  He looks at me with terror and confusion in his eyes, fighting some internal battle or facing some deep-seated fear. I worry that he’s lost to it, that his rage will return and that he’ll escalate back to physical violence to channel it away, but his expression quickly softens and normalizes. He returns to reality, guilt and frustration written all over his features.

  “There’s more I need to tell you,” he says painfully, “not about you or your brother, but solely about me.” He moves his hand to reach out for me, then thinks better of it and abandons the effort. “I’ve said and done enough for today.”

  I nod and lean my head back against his shoulder, trying to show him it’s okay. “I understand.”

  The world outside of the windows is engulfed in darkness. I don’t know how late it is, but I’m more than ready to get some sleep.

  “Can we try out this bed tonight?” I ask, rubbing a hand over the soft comforter that’s beckoning me to leave the conscious world.

  Some of the life comes back into Silas’ eyes at my suggestion. “Of course. I’ve been looking forward to this.” He gets up and scoops me into his arms before I even have a chance to move. “The bed in the guest bedroom just isn’t the same.”

  He sets me down at the pillows at the top of the bed and turns on a small light attached to the wall above the nightstand. He begins removing pieces of clothing as he walks across the room and is down to his boxer briefs by the time he gets to the light switch by the door to turn off the main light.

  As comfortable as I am in the soft cotton of my clothes right now, skin-to-skin with Silas sounds much better, so I begin the overly complicated process of trying to remove my shirt without messing up the gauze still wrapped around my hands and wrists. When he gets to the bed, Silas helps me pull it the rest of the way off, then continues his efforts to help me get out of my lounge pants.

  As I lie down on my side and let my cheek hit the pillow, I quickly realize just how right Silas is about this bed compared to the one downstairs. It’s softer but doesn’t envelope me completely. It’s more spacious, though we won’t necessarily be taking advantage of that feature tonight or perhaps any night.

  Silas turns off the small light on the wall above the nightstand before he slips into bed behind me. I feel his bare chest connect with my back before the rest of his body conforms to me. He encircles my midsection with his arm like he’s done many times before, but his touch feels a little different this time, like he needs this connection more than I do.

  “Goodnight, Silas Hawthorne,” I whisper drowsily, well on my way to blissful unconsciousness already.

  “Goodnight, Ash Nolan,” he replies, and I smile at hearing my family’s name.

  I smile knowing another Nolan will be here soon.

  26

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” Silas admonishes me from his position just outside the bathroom doorway in the guest bedroom.

  Despite his protest, I continue my effort to scrub the inside of the sink, determined to make this bathroom as clean as possible before Jake arrives. “I had a full day of rest yesterday,” I argue. “I need something to do, or I’ll go crazy waiting for Jake to get here.”

  “You need to let your hands heal.”

  “I’m wearing gloves. It’s fine.” Internally I know it’s not fine. I’ve been pushing through the pain of putting continuous pressure on my callused and blistered skin, but I’m not going to tell him that.

  He releases a sigh, giving me a small moment of victory in this battle, but then I hear him approach me from behind. I glance up to the mirror above the vanity only to catch a glimpse of the playful, but determined look in his reflection before his arms encircle me. Laughter erupts from my chest as I try to fend off his attempts to grab for the yellow rubber gloves that go halfway up my forearms. He does finally get hold of them at their openings and yanks them downward, pulling them inside-out from my hands before they fall to the floor.

  I’m still laughing as we both begin to settle down from our playful skirmish. Despite accomplishing his goal, Silas keeps his arms wrapped around me from behind, his hands coming to rest at the level of my hips where my shirt is riding up a bit from my previous struggle. The tips of a few of his fingers graze my bare skin, and suddenly the touch we’re sharing from our innocent fun turns more sensual.

  Relaxing my body into Silas’ hold, I turn my head to the side so that it rests against his chest while I guide his hand up under my shirt to my breast. He grasps me fully and begins massaging me as his other hand slips down under the bands of my cotton shorts and underwear. My breath catches as he finds my clit and rubs it in gentle circles, teasing me with his subtle touch that triggers a fiery heat to rise within my core.

  With each movement of his hand there, I can feel myself getting more wet for him at the same time that it feels like there’s fire burning between my legs. When his fingers venture to my opening but don’t go in, I groan involuntarily at my desperation for him to be inside me.

  Silas’ reaction is swift as his touch leaves me only long enough to turn me around within his hold to face him. I see my own burning desire reflected back at me in his needy olive green eyes just before he lifts me onto the counter of the vanity and pulls my shirt over my head in the same continuous motion.

  Before I can even react, his hands are on my sides and his mouth is on my breast as he devours me, latching on and sucking my nipple with such force that I scream out from both pleasure and surprise. It’s not long before his hands work their way down low on my hips, desperate to undress me. He tugs at the hems of my shorts and underwear, and I gladly readjust my position to help him remove the remaining clothing from my body.

  When I’m fully naked on the counter, his mouth leaves my breast so he can pull his shirt off. His eyes are wide with need as he unbuttons his jeans and shoves them and his boxer briefs to the floor, freeing his erection as he now stands naked before me.

  There’s no moment of hesitation, no thoughts of doubt or concern. He spreads my legs and grabs my ass and enters me completely, instantly fulfilling my desperate need for penetration. I grasp his broad shoulders and hold on as he pumps himself inside me, his hands pulling my lower body toward him with each thrust to reach the maximum possible penetr
ation.

  He groans loudly as his movements become even quicker. When I dare to lean back enough to look down at his cock moving in and out of me, I lose it completely. With a sharp gasp, I dig my fingers into his shoulders and let my body be consumed with the overwhelming pleasure of orgasm.

  The waves of it continue to flow through me as Silas whispers desperately into my ear, “I want to fuck you bare all the way to the end.” He growls in frustration as he holds me tighter and thrusts himself deeper into me. “I want to come inside you.”

  My heart races as he voices his indecision about this simple choice that has complicated consequences. In the seconds that he continues, a flash of debate rushes through my mind whether or not to trust him to pull out. I want what he wants, but I know we can’t have it. We can’t take that chance.

  I’m about to push him away just as his movements slow considerably. It quickly becomes clear he’s not going to pull out and empty himself all over me again. He’s giving up this time.

  “No,” I say firmly before slipping down from the counter. “I’m giving you what you want because I want it, too.” I lower myself to my knees on the stone floor and grasp the base of his wet cock in my hand. “I just have something different in mind.”

  The final word barely leaves my lips before I enclose them over the tip of his cock. It’s strangely exhilarating to taste myself on him as my tongue follows down his shaft and I take him into my mouth fully, causing a groan to emerge from deep within his chest.

  “Ash,” he breathes out as his hands find the back of my hair, following the movement of my head back and forth as I take him into my mouth and back out again. My tongue massages the bottom of his shaft and his tip as my lips move along his smooth skin at a steady pace.

  Encircling the base of his cock between my forefinger and thumb, I stroke him up and down in unison with my mouth while moans reverberate from where I’m taking him deep within my throat. I suck him harder and increase my pace until his body begins to quiver and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep vertical.

  I know he’s close to orgasm, but the uncertainty and anticipation of when it will happen makes me alive with nervous excitement. He cries out just as his cock pulses against my tongue and lips, and suddenly he’s coming inside my mouth, shooting out to the back of my throat. He returns his other hand to the back of my head and quickly takes over, and now instead of me sucking his thick and pulsing cock, he’s thrusting himself rapidly in and out of my mouth while holding my head firmly in place. He fucks me bare like this all the way to the end just like he wanted.

  When his movements finally slow and his groans and cries subside, he looks down at me and slowly pulls his cock out of my mouth. I swallow his cum and smile at the satisfied and pleasured look on his face as he helps me to stand.

  He pulls me against his rapidly rising and falling chest and holds me close to him. Even over the sound of our shared heavy breathing, I can hear the wild thumping of his heart within his chest.

  We remain in silence for a long moment until he finally whispers, “You really are perfect for me.”

  I smile, accepting that this is where fate has led me, finally okay with acknowledging he’s right. “We give each other exactly what we need.” Tilting my head slightly, I peer up at him and state the truth of the situation. “You saved me. You’ve given me a life here.”

  He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you accepted it, that you accepted me.”

  “We’re two broken people. The gaps and jagged edges help us fit together nicely.”

  “You have no jagged edges,” he argues, pulling back from me to slide his hands to the curves of my hips as he looks me over from my breasts down past my waist.

  Regardless of the number of times he’s already seen me bare like this, I still can’t help blushing when his eyes devour my naked body. I’ll have to get more used to this. I have a feeling I’m going to be naked with Silas a lot going forward.

  “What is it?” I finally have to ask him when he won’t take his eyes off of my bare form.

  He grins. “You’re nice to look at.”

  I try to shove his solid chest in a mock-upset response, but he barely moves. “I’m getting dressed now,” I declare, stepping toward the doorway into the bedroom, but Silas catches me by the waist and pulls me to him again, crashing his lips against mine as he devours me with his mouth this time.

  My lips respond with equal force. My tongue is just as curious as his. Our bodies press against each other as we connect in this other way over and over again, and by the time there’s a mutual, silent decision between us to bring our kisses to a close, we’re both breathing hard and fast again.

  When I finally break away from Silas, I can see the hungry need still present on his face, and I’m sure I share a similar expression. I take advantage of the opportunity to check out his naked form the same way he was looking at me before, and I can see his cock is already hard again.

  We need to put clothes on right now.

  It takes all the restraint I have to walk out that doorway and not glance back behind me. I open the dresser drawer that still has my clothes in it and pick out some khaki shorts, clean underwear, and a white camisole. As I’m reluctantly pulling on the clothes, I hear the shower turn on in the bathroom and have to refrain from looking in there because it’s too tempting to join Silas beneath the water to connect our lips and bodies again.

  I focus instead on other things, like the fact that there’s no reason for our clothes to be in this dresser anymore. It’s time to free up the space for Jake to use when he gets here, so I gather up as much of the clothes from the open drawer as I can carry and take them out of the bedroom to bring them upstairs.

  As I’m exiting the doorway, I catch a glimpse of the first closed door on my left in the hallway, a room I haven’t visited since my first days in this house. A lot has changed since the last time I was in that room. I can’t help wondering how different I’ll feel in there now that I’m in a good place with Silas and I know Jake is alive and coming home to me. I’m drawn inside, barely able to turn the doorknob with the stack of clothes in my arms, but I manage to get the door open.

  The sleek black piano against the far wall initially grabs my attention, but I quickly begin to search for what I’m really looking for in here. When my eyes find the black violin case tucked away in the corner on the floor, I set down the clothes in a disorderly pile on the black leather couch and walk over to it.

  A momentary feeling of panic sweeps through me when I grasp the handle of the case, my mind vividly recalling when I latched on to the hard plastic handle of my own violin case and held on for dear life while the two men beat me and tried to pry it away from me during my attack in Boston last year. I push through the feeling, though, and carefully set the case down on the piano bench.

  My heart races as I unlock the latches and open the case to reveal the precious violin inside. It could be the ugliest and roughest instrument in the world and I’d still worship it with my eyes like I am right now. Luckily this one is beautifully crafted with its aged dark wood and ornately-carved scroll.

  I pull out the bow first, turning the screw at the bottom to tighten the horsehairs that serve as the bow’s strings. After digging in the small storage compartments inside the case, I find a small golden block of rosin and draw the bow hairs over it a few times to make them grip the violin strings better.

  Still holding the bow in my right hand, I undo the Velcro strap over the neck of the violin and take the instrument in my left hand, reuniting myself with a part of me I thought was lost forever. My entire arm shakes slightly as I lift the violin to a playing position, bringing it to my shoulder and placing my chin against the chinrest.

  I’m ready to draw the bow against the strings, but find I’m absolutely terrified to try it. I have serious doubts that my left fingers can even grip and turn the tuning pegs, let alone actually apply the pressure needed to crea
te any notes against the fingerboard. Any sound I manage to get out of this instrument will be nothing like the beautiful music I created before I was injured. No matter how hard I try to rehab my hand, I’ll never reach the height I achieved back in college just before I was attacked.

  Taking the bow in my right hand, I find perfect placement of my fingers at the bottom of it as if it were only yesterday that I was living my dream of becoming a concert violinist. I hesitantly place the bow hairs on the open A string and move my left hand to the appropriate tuning peg. It takes some effort, but I manage to get a good enough grip on it with my forefinger and thumb to loosen the peg. I slowly draw the bow against the string at the same time I adjust the peg, repeating the process of loosening and tightening it a couple of times until my trained ears find the perfect pitch, indicating the string is properly in tune.

  After tuning the remaining strings and adjusting them all one more time, my body freezes as I realize I don’t know what to play. The repertoire of music tucked away in the depths of my mind is boundless, yet I don’t feel like trying to play something from the past. It’s time to create something new, to let the wide range of emotions within me from the last nine months translate into music that expresses exactly who I am.

  With a deep breath, I draw the bow across the open D string, producing a vivid sound that floods into the silence of the room. My ring finger collapses down onto the string, barely applying the necessary pressure to create my desired note as I force the bow upward with my right hand. My middle finger is next, then my forefinger, hitting each note created by the bow against the string as the slow and somber music comes to life and fills the room.

  Tears of joy and disbelief seep from my eyes as I continue on to the A string, my fingers managing to form notes there, too. I get ambitious and try to play with vibrato, moving my finger the smallest amount back and forth while it compresses the string to slightly vary the pitch. The resulting sound is more expressive, like the instrument is singing for me instead of mechanically playing the notes.