by S. E. Hall
“It’s okay, I needed to catch up with my girl anyway. Do you want to come in for a minute, say hi to Bennett?”
“Just for a sec,” he whispers in my ear. “I wanna shower, change, eat and make love to you in that order, and sooner rather than later.”
I pull back and place a soft kiss to his lips, more than game with his plan. “Then what are you waiting for? Go give her a hug and get me home. But make sure she meets you in the hall.” I smirk, half-thinking I shouldn’t have warned him.
Chapter 4
~Dane~
“Laney?”
“Back here!” she shouts from the bedroom, then appears, hurrying out to meet me in the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Hey,” I greet her with a deep, slow kiss. “Whatcha hiding?” I glance to the closed door behind us when we break apart, much too soon for my liking.
“My room makeover. You think I’m gonna let you steal all my great ideas?”
“I bet I can guess what color you’re painting it,” I grin, picking up a strand of her paint-splattered hair and rubbing it between my fingers. “I’m glad you changed your mind on the softball yellow. It wouldn’t go with your eyes.”
“Hmpf.” She pushes playfully on my chest. “Are you just here to spy? I thought you had a meeting.”
“I did, but I’d had enough today. I thought I’d come take you furniture shopping. We can start filling the living room, the kitchen,” I shrug, “whatever.”
She slides her arms around my waist and tucks her hands into my back pockets, squeezing my ass. “I was thinking about hitting some garage sales this weekend first. You can get some great deals at them. That’s how I had filled the house for Daddy and me, living on a fixed income. He never knew, really. He’d come home to a nice new shirt, or pair of shoes, or boots, or work gloves, and go on and on like I’d spent way too much on “such a fine present,” and I’d spent a dollar.”
The story is sweet, and so is Laney, taking care of others any way she can…but I can give her better. I can take care of her in the finest ways possible. And what good is money if not to spend it on the woman you love?
“W-we are not getting your furniture at a garage sale,” I sputter like there’s a bad taste in my mouth.
“Don’t be such a snob, Richie Rich,” she rolls her eyes, “lots of stuff you find is very nice. And it’ll save money. You’ve already spent so much. You bought me a house, for crying out loud. I just want to cut costs when possible.”
I take my time, running both my hands through my hair, then down my face, planning my next sentence. “Baby,” I begin, deceptively calm as I let out a deep breath, “who better to spend money on than my favorite person in the world? It makes me happy to do things for you. Please don’t fight me, just let me.”
Relationships are about compromise, I know this. Love is patient, love is kind, blah, blah, blah, but this woman is literally gonna turn me into a saint…or kill me. I’m not sure which will come first.
“Dane,” she purrs, closing the practically nonexistent gap between our bodies and running her hands up my chest, “how about we see what we can find at sales first and then we can buy the rest?”
Ah, she, too, was calculating a compromise.
“I’ll think about it,” I grumble. “I’m starving anyway. Go get cleaned up and we’ll go eat instead.” I pause to slap her butt. “We can sleep at my house tonight since you have no bed.”
“Let’s just go to your house now. I’ll clean up there and cook for you,” she offers.
“I swear, you’d argue with a fence post. Fine, let’s go.” My voice chastises, but I wink, letting her know that I really can’t wait to have her in my space, all to myself.
“Baby, leave the dishes and come to me.” I push back the chair and pat my lap. “Helen can get those tomorrow. I wanna hold you.”
“It’s no trouble; it won’t take me ten minutes.” She glances back over her shoulder and smiles.
“Laney. Come. Here,” I growl at her, so very tempted to get up and go swat her constantly argumentative ass.
“Well,” she drawls saucily, slowly moving to me, swaying her hips temptingly, “since you asked so nicely.”
When she’s near enough, I reach out and tug on her hand, pulling her to me. “Why must you always torture me?” I groan against her neck, nipping lightly. “So sassy.” I turn her to face away from me and lift her onto my lap. “Feel what it does to me? I think that’s exactly why you do it.” I move her silky hair to the side and off her neck, nuzzling my face there, placing intermittent kisses along her shoulder. “Talk to me, tell me everything I missed today,” I mumble as I now pull her shirt down those smooth, tan shoulders, giving myself more bare skin to taste.
“Nothing really,” she turns her head back to look at me, “why? What’s going on with you?”
How do I tell her, without sounding like a psycho, that I want to know every facet of her every day? If she laughed, I want to know what was funny. I want to know what she ate, what she wore, who she saw. I want to connect with her on a youthful, carefree level. She needs to know I can relate, that I like to have fun, too. I miss her when we’re apart and want to recreate every moment when we’re together. I’m busy all day, but that’s all it is—busy. Not engaged, not interested, and far from impassioned; I go through the motions to keep my father’s passion afloat, to secure a future for my brother and his children, perhaps my own children, but only if it’s what they want to do. More often than not, I feel like the stuffy businessman who shows up late to catch a few half-hearted laughs with the Crew, a complete outsider way too old for his age.
“Hey, you,” she cups my cheek, her thumb skimming my jaw whisper soft, “tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Be here with me. Let me help you solve your problems.”
I don’t answer with words, unable to find the right ones just yet, but rather run my fingers from her shoulders down her arms, eyes solely focused on their trail. Several times I do this, still in silence, taking every nuance of her skin. I take my time, memorizing every small freckle placed here and there before finally taking her hands and lifting them, pulling her arms straight up in the air.
“Keep them there,” my voice rumbles, my first words in several minutes, and then pull her shirt up and off in one swift move. “Wrap them around my neck,” I direct in a heated breath on her neck.
She curls her arms back and finds my neck, twirling her fingers in the longer hairs at the nape, lying her head back against my chest.
“Love you so much, Laney.” I nip along her shoulder, pressing myself into her from behind. “I’ll always love you, my beautiful angel. You save me every day.”
“You’re scaring me,” she whispers, and I feel her trembling under my ministrations. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Again, I have no verbal answer to give her, not one that would make sense to her, anyway. I don’t know what triggers it, or obviously I’d work on stopping it, but sometimes…sometimes I get lost in my own headspace, feeling like I live in one world and her in another; and I don’t like it. I need to reaffirm my connection to her, and I need it now.
I turn us, draped around each other, and walk us to the large window that offers a view of the backyard and the lurking storm I can hear rumbling closer and closer. A flash of lightning streaks across the dark sky, making my hair stand on end. The storm outside should know it’s met its match, because the force here on the inside is unbeatable, the current between Laney and I one to be reckoned with.
I knew it the moment I first saw her. Something instinctual told me that together, we’d be magnificent. Until you’ve felt it, it sounds cliché. All you can do is pity the skeptics who haven’t ever experienced it—I should know, I was one until that night.
God bless my brother for picking that school, that dorm.
“You’re a part of me now, Laney, there’s no going back. No one and nothing exists before us, or after us,” my hand spreads wide across her stomach, �
��all that remains is our forever.”
“Forever,” she murmurs, earning an answering groan from deep within me, my other hand now flicking open her bra and drawing it down her arms, gripping a bare breast in my palm.
I love her breasts, not too big, not too small, high and tight with nipples that respond eagerly. She bows back, pushing herself against me as she lays a hand flat against the window, an outline of steamy fog instantly forming around it. My free hand rubs circles lower and lower down her stomach until I can take no more and release her breast, using both hands to unfasten, then yank down, her pants.
“Even when I’m not with you, I feel you. Do you feel me? When we’re apart,” I use one finger to trace her spine, “do you long for me? Think of me touching you? Can you close your eyes and see us, as one, in your mind?” My question is a sultry rumble I can’t disguise in between bites to her earlobe and jawline. My hands have returned to her boobs, squeezing greedily in between tweaks to each nipple.
“Yes! Yes, Dane!” Her breath fogs the glass in front of me, temporarily distorting my view of nature’s upset outside.
One finger now seeks out her sweet spot, tracing that which pulses for me, circling her wettest point. “You are mine and I am yours. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you, Laney. Keep you safe, keep you happy, keep you with me. Only with you do I feel whole. Do I love you right, Laney?”
I clasps the hand at her side and lift it, placing it flat against the window to join the first, then shift slightly to stand directly behind her. My hands skim the outline of her body, molding over those delicious curves excruciatingly slow, teasing her hips with a squeeze before slinking to the insides of her thighs.
“Just right, babe, just right,” she answers, trying to turn to me.
I stop her with a firm tightening on her hips, keeping her back to me.
“Dane,” she begs, “let me love you.”
Without acknowledging her plea, my hands begin their up and down survey of her body again. I could pick her out of a lineup by touch alone; every line, dip, bump and curve has been seared into my brain.
“I love your body, Laney. So soft and feminine, yet hard and perfect in all the right places, just made for me. Feel how you fit my hands,” I grunt, fitting both cheeks of her ass, by far my favorite part of her body, in my hold. “I have to know I live in your heart, your soul, Laney, like you do mine. That nothing can touch us, we are unbreakable.”
Her head falls forward, forehead meeting the steamy window, and she moans through her shuddering as my hands knead her ass, spreading it apart for one digit to tease the part of her I’ve yet to take. We are so far from that point, or so I thought, but the sinful noises coming from her as I tease her there…me thinks she doth not protest too much.
“I need you,” I say, mouth open, wet along her back, “need to feel close to you right now.”
“Take me,” she shamelessly cries, pushing that glorious ass harder against me.
“Don’t move your hands,” I pull down my zipper, “and don’t argue, for once.” Now the rest of my clothing finds the floor. “Be my good girl,” I croon in her ear.
“Yours,” she moans.
So freaking sexy.
The more I talk, the deeper my voice, the stricter my direction, the more she responds. She was made for me.
“Bend.” I push only slightly on her back and she bends like a double-jointed sex goddess, yearning to be taken there; the place where we are both whole. I push on the bend of her back once more, just to really stir her up. “Get that sexy ass up in the air, baby.”
I ease into her slowly and hold her hips still to keep her from thrashing back against me like I know she so desperately wants to. “You always feel so right, Laney,” I manage on a pant, “so tight around me. Squeeze me, baby.” I am now the beggar, and my knees damn near buckle under me as she clenches her inner muscles around my dick just the way I like. Squeeze, release, squeeze, squeeze, release… “Fuck yes, Laney, wanna stay here forever.” I thrust manically now. “I wanna stay in you forever.”
“Harder!” she screams, trying again to counter my thrusts, but unable since my lock on her hips is a death grip. I hear her growl in frustration.
Lying against her back now and releasing one of my hands from her hip, I use it to join her faltering grip on the window, holding us steady. Our slick, sweaty skin glides together and feels so damn right. “I love you, baby girl, always you, you and me.” I can’t help but tell her again and again; sometimes the love, passion and adoration I feel for this woman is too much to hold inside, unspoken.
“Yes,” she wails as I feel my orgasm approaching.
One thing I know for sure, because Laney told me very blatantly, is that it’s 30% physical and 70% mental for her. She loves it when I talk, not only dirty, but also tender words telling her how perfect she is or how much I love her; I gotta work for her to join me in coming. It’s never gonna happen just because I tell her it’s time; one directive simply doesn’t work, no matter what voice I use. Her G-spot remains somewhat elusive, challenging me as though it’s moving around in there to a different place every time, but we’ll get there, and I’m ecstatic about the practice it will take. For now, her clit is her hot spot, but it isn’t a hair trigger. I have to touch it just right, at the right time, for the right amount of time. That I have mastered. And honestly, it turns me on like nothing ever has or could to take the time and effort needed to please Laney. She’s no easy or fake lay—when she comes, I feel like a king.
“Tell me, Laney,” I suck on her back, “tell me you love me. Tell the fucking people in Georgia who you belong to,” I hiss, plowing into her with vigor, raw and needy, coming from somewhere deep inside me that needs to know I have her.
“I love you, Dane, love you,” she pants out, tensing around me, ready.
I reach around to her clit and press down with just the right amount of pressure, swirling it two or three times, before pinching it gently. That starts her off, one deep, continuous moan escaping her as I feel the hot, extra moisture.
”Keep going baby, with me,” I switch from a pinch to rubbing again, knowing she’ll ride it out while I come if I don’t stop. The squeezing from inside her becomes one constant vice grip around my dick now and I let myself go with a guttural roar that comes from deep in my chest.
I stare at the ceiling as we lay in bed, counting the time between thunder and lightning in my head. She’s naked beside me, making that little puffing noise she does as she falls asleep. With one arm thrown across her middle, I know she’s still actually awake by the rhythm of her breathing. She has four rhythms: asleep, falling asleep, dreaming well and dreaming badly. Not that I stay awake sometimes just to look at her, watch her in peace, drinking in every flinch of her eyelids or twitch of her nose.
I wait patiently for either sleep to take us both completely or for my mind to decide what to do about my discontent. Our bodies are touching; I never allow, even in my deepest state of rest, that connection to be lost…but right now it feels like there are miles between us.
“How do you measure success?” I randomly blurt out quietly, perhaps part of me hoping she doesn’t hear me.
“Well, that depends,” she comes right back.
I knew she wasn’t sleeping. I knew she felt it too, that something in the air. So of course she was primed and ready to dive right in to the conversation once I dared to start it.
“I can’t speak for yours, or anyone else’s success as a whole, but I can tell you how I measure my own.” She turns her body and nestles in closer to me, curling her arm around my waist and snuggling into my neck.
“How?” I ask as I kiss the top of her head.
“If I know I left 200% of myself with it, I succeeded. Softball, school, an exam, a friendship, anything really. As long as when I walk away, I know I couldn’t have tried any harder, given any more of myself to it, and I truly believe what I did was right, then I was successful.” She lifts her head and looks up at me.
“Why do you ask?”
“I feel out of sorts, and I’m not giving my all if I don’t have passion for it, right?”
Her body tenses in my arms, speaking to me without words.
“I’m talking about my job, angel. You,” I lift her chin higher and kiss her lips, “are more than my passion. You’re my existence.”
“Then what is it, babe?”
“I want to be young with you. I want to experience college and this whole stage of life with you. I’m too young to play CEO all day, right?”
“If you’re unhappy, then yes, you should change things. But what do you do with the company? And what would you do all day?”
I haven’t ironed out all the exact details yet, but I’m going to. I stroke her back, finding solace in the feel of her soft skin on mine. “I’ll appoint a CEO and be the silent owner or something. I don’t know exactly how it will work, but I’ll make it work. And I could go to school, with you.”
“To study business?” She giggles, tugging on my nipple with an impish grin.
I swat her ass playfully. “No, smartass, I was thinking something in music.”
She raises herself up, nudging me to lay flat on my stomach. I comply and she climbs on top of my back, straddling my waist and starting in on an intense shoulder massage.
“You’ll figure it out,” she declares confidently. “I know you will. And I will be right beside you.”
“Laney?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” I sigh, her magic hands digging into the tight, stressed muscles in my shoulders and lulling me close to sleep.
“For?”
“For supporting me. For not telling me I’m being stupid or irresponsible. I was really worried you’d think that.”
“Babe, your life is yours to do with what you want, not what’s thrust upon you. I don’t think your father would want you unhappy. And it’s not like you’re letting the company go to pot. You’re coming up with a plan.” She leans down and places kisses where her fingers touched, wet, open-mouth kisses that soothe even the tensest of muscles. “I’m proud of you. Plus, it’s sexy when you take control.”
