by Penny Wylder
“Was this really about your family at all? Or are you such a miserable person that you can’t find anyone that actually wants to be with you? Is that it? You have to bribe women into sticking around? Because even with all your money, you’re sad and alone and money is the only solution?”
Pain and rage seep through my pores. I’m barely seeing straight. “You didn’t want money when you were on your knees with my cock in your mouth. Or when you were begging me to make you come. You want me just as bad as I want you.”
“You’re full of shit,” she says, standing and tossing the glass onto the blanket.
“Am I?” I jump to my feet and grab her arm, spinning her back to face me. “What are you willing to bet that if I slide my fingers down your shorts I’ll find that your pussy is already wet for me?”
“I’m not making a bet with you,” she whispers.
My hand dips below the waistband of her shorts and deeper, past the fabric of her thong to where she’s hot and sticky and definitely, definitely wet. “That’s because you would have lost,” I say. “You want me, Ally, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re powerless in this situation. You just don’t know it yet.”
The flash of fear in her eyes is enough to snap me out of it, and for a moment I see myself from the outside. My hand gripping Ally’s arm hard enough that she might have bruises, hand down her shorts, anger on my face. Disgust collapses on top of me with the weight of a thousand pounds and I yank myself away from her, putting distance between us.
I’m him. The thing that I swore that I would never be. But what I just did … how I sounded … it’s all too familiar. Too much like my despicable, controlling father.
The trees are blurs in my vision as I walk away quickly, back to the house. I barely stop to grab what I need, headphones, and my axe, before I find a fallen tree nearby the house, and start hacking it to pieces. I will take every bit of my anger out on this tree, and drive every piece of that man out of me.
None of him is welcome.
9
Ally
Caleb and I don’t speak for the rest of the night, but I watch him through the windows of the house, curious, and nervous and … so many other things at once.
I don’t know what happened at that picnic. Or at least, I have no idea what happened to Caleb. I knew that I was hitting below the belt with everything that I said to him. Knew from the way that he talked about his family that there was some kind of wound there that was still raw. And in that moment, I didn’t care if I hurt him. Not after he hurt me.
But the anger I saw come over him was shocking, and the devastation that clouded his face was equally shocking. I brought out something in him that was unexpected, even to him.
For the rest of the evening he works without stopping. He chops an old dead tree into pieces and stacks the wood against the south wall of the house for firewood. He gets a ladder and cleans out the gutters from the third story. He starts hammering in the new wooden planks to rebuild the front porch.
All things that rich boys don’t often do. And that’s reflected in the plans that he gave me this morning. The documents are far more extensive than I had imagined. The plans he has for restoring the house are … perfect. He wants to update things in a way that respects the integrity of the building without compromising its beauty.
I checked every single thing on his list while he was outside with the sledgehammer, but I couldn’t find anything he’d overlooked.
As I make the guest room bed, I think about what happened at the river more. Was I afraid of him? No. I wasn’t. Even in his anger, I knew that Caleb would never hurt me. But we are both proud people with things that we are hiding, and I think he may be carrying deep secrets. We barely know anything about each other, and the fact that we have chemistry and amazing sex doesn’t exactly make up for that. I’ll give him some time, and when I think he’s calmed down enough and receptive, I’ll apologize.
I have every right to be angry about the photos, but I do understand his reasoning, even if it was a dick move. There’s a wave of shame that I struggle to move through. My grandfather wouldn’t be proud of me for the things that I said to him today. Being cruel to someone, even in response to their wrongdoing, isn’t okay.
And that’s what I did. I knew that I was going to cause him pain and I did it anyway. I need to apologize.
Before he comes inside, I move my things to the guest bedroom. After everything that happened today, I highly doubt that we’ll be sharing a bed for a while. It’s probably for the best.
But as I strip to nothing but a tank top and underwear, and go to bed alone, I miss his warm body next to me. It’s ridiculous. I’ve been sleeping alone for my entire life, and after just one night with Caleb, the bed feels empty.
Geeze, Ally. One night in a man’s arms doesn’t change you that much. I get an extra blanket to make up for the chill, and turn out the light. Everything will be better—clearer—in the morning. It nearly always is.
The darkness is disorienting.
I check my phone, but it’s the middle of the night. Why am I wide awake?
Immediately I’m flooded with the memories of dreams. Hands that skim my body, covered in callouses. They somehow know exactly how to play my body like it’s an instrument for his pleasure. But those aren’t a rich man’s hands. How come I never noticed?
There’s a thump in the darkness, and my heart starts to pound. Is that what woke me? There’s another one, followed by a moan. That’s Caleb. I’m on my feet before I realize it, pushing out of my room and into his.
The barest hint of moonlight shines through the windows, but it’s enough to see that he’s having a nightmare, thrashing on the bed and then curling in on himself. The desperation of the movements, of the sounds that he’s making, pull at my heart. He’s in pain—anyone could see that.
“Caleb?”
He thrashes at my voice, struggling against some invisible demon. I crawl onto the bed next to him, avoiding his fight so I can wrap my arms around him. It’s the only thing that I can think to do, an instinct that I don’t bother trying to understand.
“Caleb,” I say his name again softly, trying to keep my voice calm even though he’s moving and struggling.
Suddenly his eyes open, and he rolls, pinning me to the bed with sudden force. It takes him a moment to realize who I am. “Ally,” he says, breathing hard.
“Yeah.”
He sinks down against me, the fight going out of him, but clinging to my body as he rests his head on my chest. His words are softened. Even now, he’s not fully awake. “You have to stay,” he says. “You promised a month. You have to stay with me.”
There’s pain tinging the words. Deep and sharp like a knife. I can feel the way that it cuts at him. “I’m here,” I say gently.
Again, the instinct to comfort him washes over me. I pull his lips to mine, and it unlocks something in him. His hands are too tight, too harsh. This is the unfettered version of Caleb, no inhibitions. He yanks the tank top over my head, mouth falling to my breasts and scraping them with teeth and tongue.
My body responds to his passion with heat of its own. We’re mirrors of each other. Whatever one gives, the other gives back. His feral actions allow me to act on instinct alone. No thinking. No caring about tomorrow morning. I’m so tired of caring. So exhausted of worrying and working, trying to make everything fit into the pieces I’ve set out for my life.
Even last night in the midst of pleasure, we were restrained. Controlled. Not now. This is more than that.
Caleb bites me hard enough to make me gasp, sparks flying through me that are roaring into flame. I bite him back. On his shoulders and jaw, anywhere I can reach. I claw at him to bring him closer, and we roll together on the bed, nearly fighting each other for control. He yanks my panties off my legs and hauls me upwards so I’m sitting on his mouth and impaled by his tongue, hands holding my wrists so I can do nothing but arch my back and scream my pleasure into the night.
I’m pinned to the bed and he slams deep into me, claiming me like he’s trying to possess my soul. He kisses me hard enough to bruise. He fucks me harder than I’ve ever been fucked in my life, and I can’t stop screaming, can’t stop coming. There’s no part of me that isn’t taken.
And when he comes, I come again with him, savoring the heat that he pours into me. I wrap my legs around him and keep him close as he sighs, nearly collapsing on me with his weight.
My heart is racing, and it’s hard to catch my breath, but I hold this man tight. I don’t ever want to let him go. Angry or not, there is something between us that feels bigger than anything in my life. I want to be with him, and let him rest when he has nightmares.
But that’s just it … what causes a man who has everything to feel so lost?
10
Caleb
Things settle quickly into a routine after the nightmare. I apologized in the morning, and she apologized too. We both meant it, and I silently vowed to never let myself get to that point again. Whether it was with Ally or someone else. It wasn’t okay. It was never okay.
I sealed that vow by making slow love to her that morning, the complete opposite of the feral, wild sex of the night before. And we fell asleep together until late in the morning.
The repairs on the house are coming along. I rebuilt the porch in record time because Ally helped me. Surprisingly it was easier to lay down new board than remove all the old rotted boards. Ally told me stories about growing up in the house as we worked. She has so many happy memories of spending time with her mom and grandpa at the Cumberland River. I swear, every other story made me laugh, and part of me couldn’t help feeling jealous I don’t have similar stories to share. She was especially excited telling me about the porch swing she and her grandpa built, and I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would find her a porch swing before the end of the month. Working on the house and knowing that Ally will live here and fill it with even more great memories makes this work even easier.
When we got to reinstalling the wrought iron railing, Ally asked me what made me hold on to it. That’s when I finally explained to her what my business was, she blushed. She’d expected I was a heartless developer when in fact, my focus is on preservation and remodeling.
Ally still isn’t over the embarrassment of having her pictures splashed across the internet, so she’s only gone into her office a couple of times since we got married, preferring to do much of her work from home. When she did go to the office, the house felt too quiet and empty. I missed her. More than I care to admit. When Ally told me what she does for work, I was surprised. I honestly would never have guessed that a woman like her, a woman with so much passion, would be an accountant. She’s so vibrant, it doesn’t make sense. So one night I asked her.
“Why accounting?”
“It’s a good job.”
I smiled. “Of course it is, but you just don’t strike me as someone who’d want to be an accountant.”
“Oh really?” she says, curling up in her chair. “What do I seem like?”
“Like some crazy photographer or artist who wants to travel the world and let the wind take them where it will.”
She smiles. “Well that’s nice of you. But for the record, there are a lot of brilliant, passionate people who also happen to be accountants.”
“I’m sure that there are, but that doesn’t answer the question of why you are one.”
Her face grows serious. “It … was for my grandfather. Even though I was young, I knew that he gave up everything to take care of me after my mom died. Every time I had to ask him for something—even if it was necessary—I felt guilty. Like a burden. But getting this house back, both for me and for him, is my way of paying him back for all those years of support. And love.”
“I want to meet him,” I say suddenly, and Ally’s eyebrows rise into her hairline. “He sounds like an amazing man.”
“I’ll … I’ll think about it,” she say.
It’s only then that I realize what I said. I’m not supposed to be interested in Ally in that way. I’m not supposed to intrude on her life. Because in just a short time, we’re going our separate ways.
She’s shared stories about him with me, and he sounds great. Like the perfect, hilarious grandparent that everyone wishes they had. It reminds me of my relationship with my own grandfather, and I desperately wish that he were still alive so that Ally could meet him.
At first, I was determined to keep my own past from Ally—she’d already gotten enough of the picture. In agreeing to this deal, she knows that my family is withholding my inheritance and we don’t really talk to each other. She doesn’t need to know that my father is an abusive, controlling bastard, and that in spite of myself, I’m still desperate for the approval and love that he never gave me. I know I’ll never get that from him but getting my inheritance and making a clean break from him, that’s second best and something I can live with.
So I paint a rosier picture for her. The more fun parts of being a rich kid. Christmases in exotic locations and great experiences skiing in the Alps and snorkeling in the Caribbean. I tell her the things she already assumes, and I laugh along with her over tales of wrecked brand new cars and wild parties at my parents’ mansion.
Lying in bed with Ally at the end of the day is my favorite thing. The moon shines through the window and casts light over her beautiful face. She’s looking at me as if she wants to ask me a question. I put down my phone and turn to her.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You have a particular look on your face.”
“You don’t actually talk about your parents that much. Do you miss them? All the stories you tell me, you talk about Ellen.”
Ellen was my nanny, and after my grandfather died, she was one of the only bright spots in my life. “I…it was better when it was just the two of us,” I said.
Slowly, Ally reaches over and brushes my hair off my forehead. “Will you tell me? I know you’ve been holding back. I feel like you know everything about me now, but you’re still such a mystery to me.”
I can’t help myself. If I’m going to talk about this, then I need to have her in my arms. I pull her against my body and hold her close. The words are soft at first, but once they start, they come out in a torrent.
“My father…is a bastard. Cruel and hard. If I wasn’t perfect, or if I looked at him the wrong way, or sometimes just my presence, that was enough of an excuse for him to beat the hell out of me.”
Ally stiffens, but I don’t stop speaking. “My mother is a good person, but she’s so deep and so lost, that I can’t trust her anymore. She would leave me alone with him so that he wouldn’t turn on her. And even though she knows what he is, and I’ve offered to get her out countless times, she stays with him.
“My grandfather’s money is the last true tie I have to them. And once I have that, my father doesn’t have any power over me anymore. I can come and go as I please, have a relationship with my mother without him trying to force me to do anything.”
I roll over her suddenly, needing her to feel all of me when I say this. “That’s why I’m so sorry for what happened at that picnic, Ally. I sounded exactly like him. And I never want to be like him. I don’t want my children to grow up in fear.”
It strikes me for the first time that I actually want children. Desperately. I’ve never actually allowed myself to think like that, but here with Ally, suddenly that feels real. A life I never imagined before is painted in front of my eyes. All the excitement and opportunities that I had, and all the love and support that Ally had. Along with a woman who’s just as desperate for all those things as a mother.
“Caleb,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past.”
Her hands stroke down my shoulders. “That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt. And you’re not like him,” she tells me. “You’re not. Any child you have will be lucky to have you as a father.”
“I wasn’t careful, that night. With the nightmare,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m on birth control,” she said. “Though you’ve been making me so tired that I’ve forgotten a couple of day this week. But you’ve used condoms the rest of time. I’m sure we’re fine.”
The surprise burst of disappointment by the idea that she likely isn’t pregnant throws me off. I want Ally to be pregnant? And I realize that yeah, I do. When I imagine that perfect life in the future, it isn’t some anonymous woman by my side. It’s her. And that scares the hell out of me.
Sitting on the back porch, overlooking the river, sipping drinks that I’ve made for the two of us, it’s heaven. The loveseat is more than big enough for the two of us, but right now, it seems way too big. And once again, Ally is wearing a very simple dress that looks so totally sexy on her it’s incredible. Sitting here with her is as close to perfect as life can get.
I put my drink on the table and grab hers, too.
“I was drinking that.”
“It can’t wait until you finish it,” I tell her, pulling her into my lap.
It’s like a déjà vu of the first day that we met, only this time, I’m not just working with raw chemistry. I know how her body responds to mine. I know that she shivers when I run my fingers across her ribs, and that she moans when I kiss the underside of her jaw.
I don’t waste time before I slip my hand between her legs, teasing her through the fabric of her panties. “This is the wrong couch for this, isn’t it?” she asks with bated breath.
“I can carry you inside if you like, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re getting fucked.”
