by Vivian Wood
I have to suppress my look of utter surprise. He takes my blank look as interest. “Roll over. I want to eat you out from behind this time.”
“I—” I start, then clamp my mouth shut. Who am I to tell him that I don’t really expect these things from him?
I roll over, and Charlie starts getting up, slapping my ass with a resounding whack.
Oh lord, what have I signed myself up for?
But soon his clever fingers find my clit, and all thoughts of protest vanish from my mind.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie
I finally roll off of Larkin’s sweaty body, landing with a whoomp on the bed. My heart is racing, I’m struggling to catch my breath, and sweat is pouring off me. The sun is coming up now, it’s beams landing on the evidence of what we’ve done.
Clothes scattered over the floor, half-empty wine glasses, the coverlet thrown off the bed completely.
I look over at Larkin, and she lets out a throaty laugh.
“Don’t even look at me!” she says, throwing her arm over her eyes. “Having sex four times is plenty. I am literally out of stamina.”
I smirk. “But without that fourth time, we wouldn’t know that you could squirt.”
“Omigod, stop,” she says, sheepish. “You know, when I first met you, I thought that your silence was like a puzzle? Well, now I know that it was a gift.”
I chuckle, reaching out to run my hand along the curve of her hip. “Am I too talkative for you now?”
She peeks out from under her arm and sighs. “No. Unless you’re talking about… my bodily emissions. Then I think I have a right to say something.”
I turn onto my side facing her, and she mimics me, backing up into my arms until she makes herself the little spoon. I adjust her hair a bit, moving it away from my nose. I like the way the sunlight catches her hair and makes it look like spun gold.
I like a lot of things about Larkin, truth be told.
I put my arm around her and start to settle in. We’ve been up for hours upon hours now, so it’s nice and natural to settle into a light doze.
When I fall asleep, though, I dream of Britta.
I dream that we’re on vacation, somewhere tropical. Staying in a little wood hut, on a white sand beach. I rise from the bed, pushing aside the mosquito netting, and see that it’s daylight. Britta slumbers on, turned away from me, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow.
I step outside the hut, wearing only my boxer briefs, and stare at the azure waves of the sea. I shade my eyes against the brightness of the sunlight, trying to take it all in.
I smell the salt in the air, feel the warm breeze on my skin. I swear the sound of the waves is some sort of message, but it’s lost to me. There is a tickle in the back of my mind, something I should remember.
But I can’t put my finger on it. Not here, in this paradise. I look back to our hut. Britta should be with me, witnessing all of this. That would really make it memorable, something that we an both tell stories about when we’re old and gray.
I head back into the hut, walking over to the bed. I reach out to Britta, but pause, my fingertips wavering.
Is it odd that she hasn’t moved at all since I was outside? I think I’m just making myself crazy, but when I touch her arm, she’s as cold as ice.
“Britta,” I say, pulling her toward me. “Wake—”
Britta flops over, her blue eyes wide, her face pallid. She looks… she looks… dead.
“Britta!” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders. I yell the first thing that comes to mind. “You can’t be dead! What about Sarah?”
“Charlie,” the waves whisper. “Charlie, wake up…”
And then I open my eyes. I’m disoriented for a minute, trying to remember where I am. Larkin hovers above me, her brow furrowed. She’s naked, and her hand is on my chest.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly.
Suddenly I feel the bile in the back of my throat, that thickening of saliva that indicates I might be sick.
Not again.
I fling myself from the bed, running into the bathroom. I pop the toilet cover up, and stare down at the toilet for several seconds. I don’t puke, but I do rest my head and upper body on the sink for a good long minute.
Eventually I turn on the tap to the sink and rinse my face and my mouth. I look at myself in the mirror above the sink; a stranger looks back at me, dark shadows beneath eerie green eyes, dark hair askew.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
I leave the bathroom and am a little tripped out when I walk back into Larkin’s bedroom. Other than the four-poster bed and the school girlish curtains, it could easily be my room instead.
But there is Larkin, in an oversized white tee shirt, looking very grave. I walk back to the bed, unsure of how to handle her. I grab my boxer briefs and pull them on, then sit down on the bed.
She doesn’t say anything, she just slips her arms around my torso and hugs me. I didn’t even realize that I needed that hug, that kind of unquestioning reassurance, until my eyes start to water.
“Fuck,” I say again, my voice thick with emotion. “Just… fuck!”
Larkin doesn’t respond, she just squeezes me a little tighter. I hang my head for a second, willing myself to overcome my tears. I’ve already cried an ocean’s worth of tears over Britta.
Not only that, but I’m in bed with another woman, a woman that has proven herself to me, over and over again.
When will I stop being upset over Britta’s death? When is enough enough?
When will I be an ordinary human again?
Those questions only make me more upset. When Larkin starts to rub my back in soothing circles, I am forced to take deep breaths and exercise all of my will not to break down and cry in front of her.
At length, I’m able to calm myself down. Larkin is still rubbing my back, and I turn to her. I grasp her wrist and look her in the eyes.
“Thank you,” I say.
“No need,” she says, shaking her head.
“There is a need, though.” I reach out and cup her cheek, leaning in. Our mouths meet, her lips soft and warm, mine firm and needy.
When we part, she leans her forehead against mine, looking down.
“You were calling her name in your sleep,” she says, her voice sorrowful.
Shit. I was afraid of that.
“I dreamt that I found her dead,” I reply. Honesty might not be the best thing at this moment, but it’s all I have.
Larkin pulls back, looking up at me. “But you didn’t, did you?”
I shake my head. “No. I couldn’t even…” I stop and suck in a breath. “Her mother had to identify her body at the morgue.”
She nods, looking down at her hands in her lap.
“Is this… was this a mistake?” she asks, her voice breaking on the last word.
The last thing I want is for Larkin to be hurt because of me. She’s everything that is good. She’s the sunshine, and I am the dark, brooding moon.
“No,” I say, tipping her head up with two fingers. There are tears in her eyes, which breaks my fucking heart all over again. “Please don’t think that.”
A single tear breaks away and rolls down her face. When she speaks, she is hoarse, her voice filled with tears.
“What do you want from me?” she asks, knotting her hands in her lap. She looks at me with those brandy-colored eyes, searching my face.
I want to promise her things. I want to say that if she’ll just be patient, I’ll be able to find my way. I want to kiss her, and tell her everything is fine, that I am fine.
But I don’t want to give her false hope. What if I’m broken? What if I wake every time she sleeps next to me with my wife’s name on my lips?
What if I’m so far from all right that I don’t even know how to begin to sort myself out?
So instead, I stick with the truth. It really is all I have to offer her right now. I take a deep breath.
“I’m afraid,” I admit. “Of so m
uch. Sometimes, it feels like I’m afraid of everything. I just… I feel like I’ve already had one great love of my life. I loved Britta so much, and then she was taken from me. That makes me think that I don’t get to… I don’t get to try again. It seems selfish to even think about dating again.”
I look her in the eyes and clear my throat, which has gone thick with emotions again. “Every time I flirt with you, every kiss we’ve shared… they make me afraid. Because I’ve loved unreservedly once, and it left me a husk of a man. And you… you’re not the kind of girl that someone can ask to wait. I’m afraid to even ask, because I’m not even sure if time and patience will… will fix me.”
Larkin surprises me then, by hugging me, flinging her arms around my neck. She’s crying now, I can hear it, can feel her tears when they hit my shoulders. I cry too, salty tears tracking their way down my face.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs through her tears. “It’s going to be okay.”
I pull back and wipe my tears with the back of my hand.
“How can you say that? How can any of us know that?” I say, anger seeping into my words.
She takes my hand, lacing her dainty fingers with my bigger ones. She smiles a little. She shrugs. “I just know. And if you want me to wait for you, I will.”
“I don’t want anyone to need to wait for me,” I say, shaking my head.
“And yet, I will.” She wipes away her tears, exhaling.
“Is that really going to be okay with you?” I ask, reaching out to brush back a strand of her hair.
“For now? I will take you in whatever form I can,” she says.
I kiss her again, thankful. She’s giving me time. And I don’t want space. I can’t get enough of her, it seems.
But there is definitely a dark cloud hanging over me still, even as we fall onto the bed together.
It’s waiting. For me to fail, for me to lash out, for me to miss Britta so damn bad and not be able to tell Larkin about it.
Just waiting.
Chapter Nineteen
Larkin
Chapter Nineteen
I’m sprawled out on the living room floor, planning out the next special day at the library, which is going to celebrate Charlotte’s Web. It’s late at night. Normally I would be in bed by now, but I’m waiting on what could be referred to as a booty call.
Just thinking about it makes me blush.
Three months ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed that I would be this person. I would never have thought in million years that I would have a dirty little secret like this one. But then I met Charlie, and all the things I thought went right out the window.
I try to focus on my task, which I have spread out in a mess of papers. I have my idea sticky notes arranged around a diagram of the library. There’s a note for each of six stations, where kids can learn a fun fact and do an activity.
As I try to decide where to place the ‘Make Paper Machè Spiders’ sticky note, there’s a knock on my front door. That must be Charlie.
I stand and straighten my denim dress as I hustle to open the door. Charlie is there, leaning in the doorway, making my pulse race with his brooding expression.
I reach out and grab him by the hand, pulling him inside. He kicks the door shut, grabbing my hips and kissing me with a chuckle.
“Is she finally asleep?” I ask, biting my lip as he kisses my neck. His stubble rubs against the delicate skin at my pulse, tickling me.
“Yep,” he says, tugging at the top button of my dress. “I’ve got her on the baby monitor, in my back pocket. I’ve been waiting for hours, thinking about you sitting over here. You’re my reward for patience, I think.”
I giggle and pull down the zipper on his hoodie, drawing up his shirt to give my fingers access to his abs, the vee of muscle at his hips.
It’s been almost a month since we first had sex, and we’ve used almost every excuse to secretly have sex. Whenever Sarah isn’t looking, or she’s being watched by Rosa and Dale, you can be sure that we are hooking up.
The unspoken rule is that Sarah can’t see any public displays of affection. That would make us an item, somehow.
So we have been as discreet as we know how, sneaking around late at night and early in the morning.
Charlie unbuttons the top three buttons, then gives up and hauls me up over his shoulder.
“Charlie!” I squawk.
“It’s your fault,” he says, carrying me over to the couch. “Your dress frustrates me.”
He tosses me down, and sinks down on top of me.
“Why?” I ask, smiling when he buries his face between my breasts. I feel the slow trickle of wetness start between my legs. It’s always like this with him. I just can’t help but be turned on.
“You shouldn’t even wear clothes,” he says while he undoes the rest of the buttons, then starts to pull the dress over my head.
I’m left bare, no bra or panties. I was expecting him. The look on his face is almost comical, just short of a little boy who got what he wanted on Christmas morning.
Charlie buries his face in the space between my breasts again, pushing them both toward his mouth. He takes his time with each one, kissing and licking it, running his tongue over the nipple. He even uses his teeth, setting me on edge and making me ridiculously horny.
All the while, my hands roam over his body, feeling different muscle groups flex. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my pussy against the outline of his cock through his jeans.
He knows just how to make me crazy this way. He makes this sound deep in his chest, while his mouth is on my breasts. It’s a rumble, or a growl maybe. I just can’t get enough of it.
He pulls back. “I want you to ride my mouth, Larkin.”
I turn red all over. “I don’t know, Charlie…”
“Yes. Come on, try it. I think you’ll like it,” he says. I look in his eyes, green as a verdant garden, and burning with lust.
“I’m embarrassed,” I admit.
“Don’t be,” he says. “I am a hundred percent certain that you will look amazing sitting on my face. Think about it: your hair tossed back, your breasts thrusting out, a book of pleasure on your face…”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth, but he’s already getting off of me and laying down on the floor. I guess I’m doing this, then.
One thing I know is that Charlie will never laugh at me or make me feel awkward on purpose. As we spend more and more time together, that becomes readily apparent.
I move off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling beside his head.
“Ready?” I ask hesitantly.
He nods, caressing my thigh with a smirk. “Extremely ready.”
I maneuver myself over his face, straddling him. I have never felt so awkward in my life, but Charlie’s hands come up to the tops of my thighs, gently pushing me down.
I spread my thighs a little wider, biting my lip. I feel the warmth of his breath just before he kisses the inside of my thighs. I’m super self conscious but also very, very turned on.
I can feel my pussy growing wet as he kisses upward toward my mound. It makes me squeamish, but at the same time, I bite my lip and think of how hot he’ll look after. Wiping my juices from his face after I come all over it?
Yeah, that makes me fucking hot.
He presses the tops of my thighs down further until I fully rest on his face. At the same time he kisses my aching clit, ever so lightly. I moan.
“Oh god,” I say as he kisses it again, increasing the pressure a little.
I bite my lip, unsure what to do with my hands. I run my hands over my body, ending up enjoying the sensation of cupping my own breasts. I lean my head to the side, groaning at the stimulation of Charlie slowly licking my clit.
I pull on both my nipples at once, and buck against his wicked tongue a couple of times. I keep imagining him after I come all over his face, which makes me crazy.
He shifts for a second, moving his arm. His big hand splays out over one ass cheek, then he coax
es me back down to his mouth. Charlie does figure eights with his tongue over my clit, the hand on my ass trailing lower and lower, teasing the cleft of my ass.
He closes his lips over my clit and sucks, which makes me cry out. At the same time, he slips a probing fingertip just to the pucker of my ass.
I’m so shocked, I don’t even know what to do. I freeze up, even though Charlie sucks harder on my clit. I feel myself blossoming like a flower, a feeling of fullness growing low in my body.
He feels me lock up, and pulls back. “Are you okay?”
I go red as a beet. “Yeah… but I feel like you should get off, too.”
He kisses my inner thigh. “I can, if you want to turn around. You can suck me off and you can still ride my face.”
How… dirty.
I nod, awkwardly repositioning myself. When I am facing his cock though, I have something to do. My fingers unbutton his jeans, pushing down his boxer briefs to reveal his long, hard, perfect cock.
As Charlie closes his lips over my clit again, I take his cock in my fist. He groans, which is eminently satisfying. I strain to wrap my lips around his tip, which is too far away for much else.
I mmmmm at the male taste of him, salty and bitter earthy in my mouth. His
I try to concentrate on his cock, wetting my lips and covering my teeth with my tongue. I try not to worry about what Charlie is doing, try not to focus on every single stroke of his tongue.
It’s very difficult, though. I run my tongue around his cock and carefully pump my fist up and down his length. I can feel my inner spring winding up, becoming taut. I am aware of his clever finger slipping down to my ass again, penetrating it with just the tip.
Fuck, I think, it actually feels good. He works his whole finger in, and I am suddenly overcome with the sensation of fullness. The knowledge that I’m going to come is very distracting.
I pause and raise my head, eliciting a pained groan from him. “I’m close,” I whisper.
