by Anthology
I pull away from him and this time he lets me go. “I don’t want you to treasure me. I want you to fuck me!”
I immediately regret my outburst. His face shuts down, that handsome, beautiful face I’ve painted from memory countless times. And then painted over just as many.
Hot tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away before they can fall. Surely this will be the time he’ll leave and never come back.
But after a moment, he nods and rises from the bench, slowly moving away, out of the light, putting some space between us. “Why can’t you admit you need me?”
Need him? I don’t need him. And I can prove it. I can turn and walk away from him and never look back. My happiness will never again depend on a man.
But I don’t turn and I don’t run away. Instead, I reach for his hand and lace our fingers together. What is an hour or so spent in a soft bed instead of the hard ground? It will be another first for us.
Besides, I’m curious what the vacation home of a concert musician looks like. Does he bring the same passion to his home that he brings to music? That he brings to me?
“Okay,” I say softly, hesitantly. “I’ll go to your house with you.” Am I doing the right thing? Even as I am wondering this, his dark eyes light up and his laugh lines crinkle and I can’t help but smile back.
The moon is a thin crescent tonight, not much more than a hook to hang a dream. But I’m past the age of dreaming.
“Come,” he says and tugs on my hand.
“My sandals!” I’d dropped them somewhere. Was it before or after he arrived? I can’t remember. We search in the darkness for a few minutes, laughing as we reach for shadows on the grass and sand, only to find stones or a forgotten Frisbee.
“Never mind,” he says finally and scoops me up into his arms. My surprised laugh comes out on a gasp.
“But I love those sandals!” I cry out in jest. I’m too overwhelmed by his gesture to really care.
“We’ll come back tomorrow and find them in the daylight.”
We’ve never been together in the daylight. Tomorrow won’t be any different. But I don’t tell him that, I simply wrap my arms around his neck and allow myself to enjoy the foolishly romantic moment. The twinkling stars above seem to laugh at me, but for the span of a heartbeat, I don’t care.
Chapter Two
He carries me to his nearby car. A large dark sedan. I’ve never paid attention to makes and models, but I recognize luxury. I sink into the soft leather seat as he sets me down, then he sneaks a kiss, hot and hungry, before he buckles me in and closes the door. I shiver, suddenly feeling more nervous than I’d ever been with him. Those butterflies I thought I’d left behind as a teenager flutter in my stomach.
He climbs in beside me and starts the car. The vibration of the engine buzzes through my body, starting with my bare feet on the carpeted floor and shooting up to my bare ass on the warm leather seat. Rich classical music floods the car. Of course he would have an incredible sound system.
“I love this piece.” I try to keep my voice light and my mind off the fact that we are actually going to his place. That I’ll be getting a glimpse of him that I’ve never wanted to see. That the more I know about him, the harder it will be to say goodbye.
He stops with his hand on the gearshift. I feel him staring at me although his face is merely a play of shadows. “I thought you didn’t listen to classical music.”
“I bought the CD, all right?” The moment he left on tour. “This piece is my favorite.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Why did I buy the CD? Or why is this my favorite?”
“Both, I guess.”
“I bought the CD because I wanted to hear you play,” I admit. And listening to his music soothed my lonely days as I painted sunsets and gardens and Alan. “I love the passion in this piece. It lights a fire under my skin.” I pause and swallow to moisten my suddenly dry mouth. “Like you do.”
He combs his fingers through my hair and pulls my head to him. When his lips crush mine, they feed the fire burning within me. His mouth is hot and insistent, demanding from me the same passion.
Passion has never been my problem.
He drags his tongue along my lips. I open my mouth to his unspoken request and he plunges inside, probing and stroking and licking. A moan escapes from deep in my throat and I feel, more than hear, his answering groan.
He still holds the back of my head with one hand, a warm weight holding me in place as he continues to devour my mouth with his wet tongue. He finds one of my breasts with his other hand, squeezing, kneading. I love the way the long fingers grasp my eager flesh. My nipple pricks into his palm through the thin fabric and he rubs it around and around. Oh God, sparks shoot through my body like a log thrown on a fire. I can’t help but arch my back and press my breast harder into his hand, which isn’t an easy thing to do while I’m leaning across the center console and sucking on his tongue.
I grasp his strong shoulders to steady myself. Pressure is building between my legs, hot and pulsing. Rocking my hips does nothing to relieve the hot throbbing.
The fire is now a conflagration. I tear my mouth away from his to gasp for air. My pulse is roaring, feeding the fire. Or is the fire feeding it? I want to feel his skin, so I pull the linen shirt from his khaki shorts. I slip my hand underneath. His skin is hot and sweat-slicked. He must be on fire as well. With this much heat, the car could explode at any minute.
Then he drops his hand from my breast and falls back into his seat. “No,” he gasps. “I’m not taking you in the car like a horny teenager.”
I fall back into my own seat, gasping for breath, secretly thrilled I make him feel like a teenager too.
“Only a few minutes,” he says and pulls into the street.
I know he doesn’t live far. He told me he’d taken a drive up the lake road when he first bought his vacation house, just to take a look around. He said when he saw me walking along the beach at sunset he never drove any further.
What did we recognize in each other that first night? Loneliness? Need? I remember a full moon shining on the water that night when he walked up to me. He smelled so good. He stood beside me on the sand and we watched the ripples in the water make the moonlight wave. I don’t think we even spoke that first night.
It was almost like a dream. Our breathing grew heavier as we stood there, side by side. My body began to burn, as it still does now when I’m with him. Did I make the first move that night, one tiny step to the side, so that our shoulders touched? So that our bodies touched for the first time. I like to think we did it simultaneously. Like when our sweaty hands clasped and we walked together toward the shadows behind the boathouse to tear each other’s clothes off and come together for the first time.
I think about that night as we silently drive down the dark street, past small cottages and huge summer homes and even larger condominiums. The lake community has exploded since I followed a dream here out of college fifteen years ago.
But I don’t want my memories to go back that far, so I reach over and cup his crotch with my hand. His sharp intake of breath matches the jerk of his cock as it tries to lunge for my hand. I take pity on the pressure in his pants and ease down his zipper.
“Caroline?” His voice is no more than a strangled groan.
I don’t answer him. I silently release his straining cock from the silky boxers. It springs eagerly into my waiting hand. I love his cock, love the weight of it in my hand. The skin is hot and smooth beneath my fingers. I love the salty taste and I lean over to run my tongue up the length of it.
“God, Caroline!” He drops one hand onto my head and grips my hair. But he doesn’t pull me away.
“Don’t crash the car.” I quickly unbuckle my seat belt and get up on my knees in the seat so I can lean across the console. My head barely fits between his body and the steering wheel and he moves his seat back a little so I have more room. I lick him first, with long strokes that make him slick and wet, and I w
ish I could see more than shadows from the glow of the dashboard.
I finally take him into my mouth, sinking down onto his hard length. I hold on to the base of his cock with one hand and the console with the other. Before long, I have a good rhythm going, taking him deep in my throat as we glide through the darkness. The music surrounding us swells and surges, urging me on. His fingers tighten in my hair and his hand rides my head, like I’m riding his cock. One minute hard and fast, as the music speeds up and crescendos. The next minute oh-so slow and teasing. I don’t want this night to end in the front seat, either.
The car begins to slow and then he lets go of my head and gasps, “We’re here.”
I let go of him with a moist pop, and as he turns into a driveway, I tuck him back in and raise the zipper. Then I sit back in my seat and stare out the windshield to the mansion rising up before me. No, it isn’t actually a mansion, but compared to the little cottage a block from the lake where I live year-round, this huge lakefront home might as well be.
So some musicians, a concert musician with a solo album at least, make a lot more money than a painter who’s had a few gallery showings, but is never going to take the world by storm. Although I love my little cottage, a homey place that is mine and no one else’s, I can’t help but feel a burst of envy gazing up at the broad expanse of windows. I don’t like the feeling one bit.
He opens the car door for me and I realize I never even noticed when he left the driver’s seat, I was so spellbound by the house. I’m still staring at the stone and glass contemporary when he says my name. There’s a bit of command in his voice and I turn my attention away from the house and look at him. He holds out his hand to help me from the car, but I can’t move.
“This was a bad idea. Take me back.”
“What’s wrong?” He crouches down beside the car to look me in the face and I don’t want to see his concerned expression.
I point to the house. “This. Everything. It was supposed to be anonymous.”
“What was?” He takes my hand and strokes it with his long, talented fingers. My body betrays me by coming alive again, my skin so sensitive the brush of the evening air makes my nerve endings prickle. I’m sure he intends his soft caresses to calm me, but they simply stoke the flames even higher. And fire up my frustration.
“Us. Sex. I don’t want to know that this is your house. I don’t want to know anything about you except you fuck like…like…” I’m breathing as hard as when he kissed me and I can’t find the right words to say.
“Like what, Caroline?”
“Like a dream. Like a fucking dream. But you won’t let it stay a dream, will you? You have to tell me stories and ask me questions and carry me to your car and drive me to your house.”
“You’re not making any sense.” He holds out his hand to me. “Come in with me and I’ll make some tea.”
He’s too damn calm while I’m shaking inside. “I don’t want any fucking tea. I want to screw you and then I want to go home.”
I must have reached out, because suddenly he’s helping me from the car, and as soon as we rise to our feet, he gathers me into his arms. I know I don’t make any sense to him, and when it comes right down to it, I don’t want to. Because I don’t want him to know any more about me. Why I can’t trust him. Why I can’t love him.
He’s murmuring soothing sounds into my ear but I can’t relax. I’m too full of the fear of the changes I can’t seem to prevent. I already know more than I want to about him. Too much to walk away without it affecting my life. Without it leaving another huge hole in my heart.
He slips his arm around my waist and leads me into the house. The brick walkway is smooth and cool against my bare feet. He opens a warm oak door and turns on the chandelier hanging in the open foyer. It’s designed to draw the eye through the living space to the wide expanse of windows and the lake beyond, but my attention is focused on Alan. It’s the first time I’ve seen him illuminated by more than the moon or a shadowy streetlight.
His chestnut hair glistens beneath the light. I notice some silver at his temples and I like the way it looks on him. His eyes aren’t as dark as I’d thought, more a deep hazel than a chocolate brown, but those laugh lines are every bit as appealing as the first time I traced them with my fingertips. I reach out now to do it again and the creases move as he smiles.
“You’re lovely.” He brushes his thumb along my cheek and across my lips. I realize he’s really seeing me for the first time as well. I’m certainly not lovely, but there’s a part of me that is pleased he said it. I lean my face into his hand, gazing up at him. “Your eyes are so blue,” he whispers.
So we’re both attracted to eyes. What does that tell me? Does it have to tell me anything? I’m so turned around I don’t know what I want. All I know is what I feel. His strong hand against my cheek, his thumb stroking my jaw. The gray granite tile cooling my feet. My nipples prickling with need. My skin tingling with anticipation.
I lean forward and brush my lips lightly across his. He cups the back of my neck, pulls me to him and sucks greedily on my lower lip. I press up against him and feel his erection hard and hot against my hip. My pulse quickens and my sex swells in response.
Perhaps I can still get out of here with my heart and soul intact. And my body satisfied.
He tastes like dark sin, his hot mouth the only thing in my world at this moment. His breath heats me as he slides his lips across my jaw and down my neck, leaving a trail of wet heat along my skin. He nips my skin with his teeth, the sensation just short of pain. My head falls back to give him better access. I love it when his passion explodes, when he loses a bit of that tight British control and I know I’m the cause of it.
My skin is on fire, my body buzzing with need. I want to tear his clothes off and drag him to the floor. I want him to fuck me hard. Fuck me fast. Then get me the hell out of here.
I fumble with the shirt buttons, gasping for breath like a drowning woman. I shove it off his shoulders and it drops to the floor. The dark sprinkling of hair tickles my palms as I spread my hands over his chest. For the first time I can really appreciate his body and wonder briefly how a cello player stays in such great condition. I don’t need to know.
I slowly slide open-mouthed down his body, kissing and licking his skin as I go. I rub my face over the soft hair on his chest and then tug a little on his tight nipples with my teeth. My fingers trace the ripples of his firm abs and he sucks in his breath when I reach the button on his shorts and flick it open. I smile and blow heated air on his skin.
Dropping to my knees before him, I unbuckle the straps of his brown leather sandals. Before he’s done kicking them away, I’ve unzipped his shorts. The rasp of the zipper is almost as loud as our ragged breathing. I shove his shorts and those silky boxers down his legs and he steps out of them.
His erection waves proudly before my face and I lick my lips in anticipation. But before I can take him into my mouth and get down to business, Alan takes me by the shoulders and lifts me to my feet.
“The bedroom,” he says shakily. “I want you in my bed.”
Yeah. Yeah. He said that before. I don’t want to get into his bed because I’m afraid I’ll never want to get out. I couldn’t take it again. The overwhelming need. The fucking happiness. The goddamn contentment.
And then the hole ripped out of my heart when he leaves.
But I find myself following him up a long, winding staircase. With each step, I tell myself to turn around and run back down the stairs. I almost do. I hesitate as the staircase turns toward the second floor. But then he takes my hand and laces his fingers with mine and I can’t find the strength to pull away.
I follow him into his bedroom. It’s amazing. It must take up half of the second floor. The windows stretch out forever, giving a nearly unbroken view of the water. He turns around to look at me as I stare out the windows. He gathers me into his arms and surrounds me with his warmth. I rest my head on his shoulder and, for a split second, know wh
at contentment with Alan would feel like.
And then I pull away. Too much temptation there.
I glance away from his disappointed expression and wander around the room. A king-sized bed sits against the wall to my left. I’m glad for my little double bed. If that feels lonely, what must lying alone in a king-sized bed like this feel like?
I don’t need to know.
I walk around the bed, sweeping my hand along the silky duvet cover, sage green with golden embroidery. The thick carpet is soft as grass beneath my feet. I cross the room to the windows and stare out over the water. The lights from the houses at the other end of the bay send wavy reflections across the water.
He turns on a light behind me and I see myself in the glass, a wide-eyed woman with wild blonde hair, lips slightly parted. I watch him slowly walk up behind me and my skin sings in anticipation. He lifts up my hair and places a dry kiss on my neck. I keep staring straight ahead, watching us in the glass as if looking in a mirror, my breaths coming a little faster, a little shallower. He presses up against me, his hard cock resting again between the cheeks of my ass.
He catches my eye in the glass as he unhooks my bikini top and I feel the relief as my breasts are released. They feel as if they are swelling beneath his gaze, heavier than usual and yearning for his touch. The straps slide down my arms and the top falls silently to the floor. I watch him kiss my shoulder, my ear, almost as if I’m watching someone else. I feel his warm breath, his wet tongue on my skin, but this woman, flushed with passion, can’t be me. I never would have agreed to come to my lover’s house. To his bedroom. Would never have discovered that he sleeps on green and gold.
The man in the glass reaches around the woman’s waist and holds her heavy breasts in his hands. He cups them in his palms as if he is testing their weight and then skims his thumbs across the dark red nipples.
