by Liz Crowe
“Nice, huh?” He yanked her jeans and panties down, growling into her neck, biting, sucking. “I’ll show you fucking nice.” She groaned as he plunged his fingers into her pussy, reaching high, stroking her clit at the same time. Her nipple contracted in his mouth, and she lifted her hands over her head, letting him finger fuck her, bite her, which somehow made him even madder. His cock ached, and his head roared, deafening him as her lusty scent enveloped them. Her pussy clenched once, twice and she came, hard, crying out his name and threading his fingers in his hair. He pulled his fingers out and stood, staring at her, fisting his own cock, trying to sort through the nauseating swirl of emotion in his gut. “Turn around,” he growled. “I need to fuck you.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him, meeting his anger with her own and then dropped to her knees. She swallowed his cock, and cupping his balls in one hand while drawing her other one down his chest. “Oh Jesus,” He groaned, and tilted his hips bracing his hands on the wall behind her. He shoved his cock down further, fucked her mouth until the orgasm hovered just out of reach. “Stand up god damn it.”
She wiped her lips and covered his mouth with hers, giving him a taste of himself, before she turned and presented that luscious ass to him. “Do it then.” She whispered. “I want it.”
He stopped, ran both hands from her shoulders, to her waist, and clutched her hips. Settling his cock into the cleft of her ass he sighed, realizing he’d become something he didn’t like but couldn’t stop now. It felt too god damned good. Without warning, preamble or another word he shifted, and slid into her depths with one long stroke. Keeping one hand on her ass, he reached up and fisted her hair, tugging her head back as he pounded into her. The amazing clutch of her pussy and the sounds of her moans brought him back to the edge, made him come up on his tiptoes and grunt with the exertion of not coming.
“What are you waiting for? Harder!” She pressed back, meeting his thrusts. He saw her reach down with one hand and tease her own clit. That did it. He gripped her hair hard, knowing it had to hurt but unable to stop and fucked her so hard he saw stars as the climax roared up from his spine and enclosed him in a dark space before exploding behind his eyes. “God! Yes!” His hips kept moving, as his cock released and released and she pressed back, her pussy spasming and pulsing along with him, pulling him ever deeper, towards what he had no idea.
Finally, when he thought he could speak coherently again, he pulled out and released her hair. The anger still made him feel brittle, unwilling to talk. She glared at him and walked out, presumably towards her room without a word, leaving him standing there, clock still hard, glistening, head still pounding. Good Christ, what a mess. He tugged his jeans back up and sat, trying to regain his equilibrium.
The whole thing–the push and pull, this or that, will she or won’t she he’d been through made him ill. He had to stop it now before it killed him. He put his head in his hands, then stood and followed her into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of her, naked and lying face down on the bed. If Jack could see her now….he grimaced at himself, then eased her under the covers before climbing in himself, as far from her as he could get and still be in the same bed.
****
Sara woke with a start, confused, head aching and mouth dry as a bone. After ascertaining she was naked and there was someone snoring next to her, she panicked and crept into the bathroom, the familiar ache between her legs one of the only clue she had about what had happened. Flashes of drunken memory–her kitchen, Craig, his lips, cock, rough, harsh words. Tears pressed against her eyes. What had she done? What had she said to him?
She cleaned up, brushed her teeth and tried not to puke up the water she gulped down in a no-doubt too-late attempt at hydration. After determining the liquid would stay in place, she tiptoed back to the bed. “Sara?” She nearly jumped out of her skin but quelled the urge to tell him to get the hell out of her house and merely got back under her covers. She jerked her shoulder away when he touched her, embarrassed, unable to remember completely what had happened. God that hadn’t happened to her in years. Tears dropped onto her pillow as Craig eased up behind her, pulled her body against his and brushed his lips along the back of her neck.
“Stop it.” She muttered. The unmistakable feel his erection made her want to scream with frustration at herself. A hand cupped her breast; fingers pinched her nipple, making moisture slicken the tops of her thighs.
“No,” he growled in her ear and reached down to touch her clit, then slipped a finger inside her, making her jump and moan. “I’m not gonna stop. I am gonna fuck you again. And I think you want it, don’t you?” She sighed, arched her back and let her body take over, let the once gentle, tender man take her again, rough, demanding and exhilarating, shutting out the clamor in her head. The voice that haunted her days and nights. The one that spoke one man’s name.
Sara groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, trying to force the exquisite hangover agony to cease. It didn’t help. She rolled onto her side into a ball. Maybe if she got really, really, small, it would mistake her for someone else and spare her. No luck. The sickening pounding in her ears matched her heart and the sunlight sliced like a knife between her eyes.
She dragged herself to seated, put a shaking hand over her face before having to lie back from dizziness. Bad idea. Nausea rushed up, forcing her from the bed and into the bathroom. After about ten minutes of losing everything in her stomach, and likely in the stomachs of all her former lives, she sat huddled on the floor, wishing for death. She groaned and pictured her calendar, realized she had exactly two weeks to go until her period.
Yeah.
Great.
She rose, ducked under the shower and scrubbed off, rationalizing away the distinct possibility that she could be pregnant. By a man she was very likely using to forget another. She dried off and dressed, smiling when she heard Craig’s laughter, the lilt of his drawl, and realized his must be talking to someone back home. He always went full Southern when talking with people who had accents.
His words stopped her dead in her tracks, the brush frozen over her wet hair.
“Yeah, yeah, I beat the bastard at his own game this time.”
She frowned, hoping she didn’t hear that or at least had misinterpreted it.
“No, fair and square. The best man won, in a big way.” She dropped the brush with a clatter. What the fuck? She leaned out, knowing she shouldn’t eavesdrop; it would only make it worse.
“Of course it’s a contest.” Craig moved around her kitchen. She heard coffee pouring, the sizzle of more bacon hitting the pan. “Everything is with him. But, I held fast, had my plan, implemented it and viola. Here I am!” He laughed again. “Of course I had a plan. You have to when dealing with a guy like that.”
Sara’s knees wobbled, she slid down her bedroom wall, hand over her eyes. A contest? With a winner? And a prize.Yes, indeed. A prize.
Holy shit. She’d been played?
No, no, calm down. He’s just…what? Gloating about winning her?
Rage rose in her chest so fast she couldn’t breathe. Gulping and sputtering, she got to her feet and marched across the living room into the kitchen. The bastard stood there, towel around his waist, back to her, too-long hair damp from a shower.
“Oh, we’ll see I guess. But, rest assured, he’ll be hearing from me. It’s not a worthwhile win unless there’s….huh?” He spun around when she tapped his shoulder. His smile seemed so natural, unreal for a guy who’d just been caught bragging about beating Jack at the “win Sara” game she didn’t even know they’d been playing. She could barely hear as the roaring in her ears drowned everything out but the sound of her own voice.
“Leave. Now.” She crossed her arms.
“Hang on a sec.” he frowned at her. “Why? I don’t have to be there until…”
She grabbed his phone. “He’ll call you back.” She said, ending the call for him. “I heard you. Congrats on winning me. Now get the fuck out of my house.” He gap
ed at her, and then nodded, smiling.
“Oh, honey, I wasn’t…” She sidestepped him. Men and their infernal excuses. She had no more time for any of it.
“I’m not kidding Craig. Get out. I don’t ever,” she gulped, as the tears let loose. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He stood back, hands on hips. “You don’t know what you heard Sara. Don’t be so stubborn. Let me explain at least.”
She held up a hand. “Don’t even try.” Using every ounce of resolve, she left him standing there, slamming the door of her bedroom for good measure before flopping down on the bed and letting the sobs rip through her.
****
Craig’s jaw ached from clenching it, cursing himself for what he’d done, and left undone. Driving on autopilot, he found himself sitting outside the large, imposing bungalow belonging to one Jack Gordon. He’d been there once before, back while Sara and Jack were still officially together, for a poker night with “the boys.” He’d be the first to admit it had been fun. The guy knew how to throw a party even of that size. Staring at the porch light that still shone and a light sheen of frost that tipped the perfectly mown grass of the large front yard, he sensed his wildly beating heart finally slowing. What in the hell he thought he’d do now, he had no idea, but the longer he sat, the calmer he got. The buzz of his phone made him jump, and scrabble down into his jeans pocket for the thing.
“Hey,” Suzanne’s soft voice on the other end made him close his eyes, regret, embarrassment and anger at himself nearly bowing him over.
“Hey, yourself.” He ran hand across his rough jaw. “What’s up?” They had been talking a fair bit, easing ever closer to something resembling a date, but Craig kept holding back, not even sure why. Until that moment. He spoke before he could talk himself out of it. “Can I come over?”
“Uh, sure, I’m not exactly…”
“I don’t care. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay, I’m at one nineteen Barton Drive,” she named one of the most exclusive streets in one of Ann Arbor’s old-money neighborhoods.
By the time Craig got there, he had nearly backed out of the whole thing, but the sight of her sitting on her massive front porch steps, a small redheaded figure holding two cups of coffee, lifted his heart. He popped a mint into his mouth and got out, leaning on the truck door a minute. She held up one of the steaming mugs.
“I look like ten miles of bad road, sorry.” He made his way up and took a seat next to her. She smelled clean, fresh. He took a deep breath. “I have been a real shit in the last twenty four hours.”
“Yeah, Jack has a way of bringing that out in people. Don’t know why. He really is a nice guy.” She leaned into him, making him feel better and worse at the same time.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll blame him for this one, Suzanne.” He took a sip and watched a squirrel make its way across her lawn. “I, um, she…oh fuck.”
She patted his knee. “Take your time.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m over her. I think.” Suzanne kept quiet, sipping her coffee and staring out into the yard. “But I was a complete shit to her in the meantime. And now I have to leave town for two weeks.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll calm down. She’s like her brother that way. They fly off the handle, then spend about a day calming down.”
“No, I was really not a nice guy.” He put his empty mug down on the step and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. She pinned him with her deep blue gaze, making his skin pebble a little. Her smile made his shoulders relax.
“Maybe she needed that. I mean, she’s pretty damn conflicted right now. You didn’t help, being such a nice guy and all.” She leaned back on one elbow, never breaking eye contact. He couldn’t move. His heart started pounding again. With his own action, he probably had driven her right back into Gordon’s arms. Suddenly that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
The craziness of the past months passed through his brain in a montage. Her lips, hands, laugh, sarcastic sense of humor; everything about her that had driven him for so long, started to fade as he watched the slight figure of the woman still sitting at his feet. He reached out a hand and pulled her to standing. She remained on an upper step, nearly at his eye level. She put a hand on his shoulder, the other against his cheek.
“Some people are just meant to be together, Craig no matter how much we might think otherwise. There is no explaining it. I for one, think those two are just such people. And I never, ever thought I’d say that about my friend Jack.” Her smile faded, her face took on an almost regretful look. He suddenly felt like a double shit. She’d probably thought the same thing about the man she’d married; the man who’d given her this mansion of a house, and then dropped dead one day from a rogue blood clot in his brain. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.
“You are amazing. I’m sorry to dump this on you.” She leaned back, then into his ear.
“It’s okay. You’re pretty amazing yourself.” The sudden touch of her lips, soft against his, brought a flush to his whole body. He made himself stop, cradled her face in his hands as he spoke.
“I don’t think…” she put a finger to his lips.
“Sometimes you shouldn’t think,” but she just gave him a quick squeeze before letting him go. “Have a safe trip. Call me.” And, with that, she turned and ran back into her house without another word. Craig stared at the place where she’d just been, amazed and a little unnerved by the fluttery sensation in his chest.
****
After about an hour, a scalding hot shower and sips of weak coffee, Sara felt compelled to pull up the photos she kept on her computer and phone from her New Year’s vacation with Jack. The photographers had strolled around constantly, snapping pictures you could purchase. Jack had scoffed, kept ignoring them, but when presented with the proofs at checkout, he’d been speechless. She recalled looking over his shoulder at the screen, scalp tingling, as she saw the moments captured between them. She bit her lip, scrolling back through scenes of dinners, sunbathing, on a catamaran for the day. But, the one that had made him purchase the entire lot of them still had the power to leave her breathless.
They sat together on the beach, the sun rising behind them, Sara with her arms and chin resting on her knees and a small smile teasing her lips. Jack had an arm around her shoulders and eyes fixed on her, lips near hear ear. She remembered what he had said right then too. She’d never forget it.
“You are my whole life. And that scares the shit out of me.”
She shuddered, recalling that she’d not even answered him. Had been unable to process it. But the photo captured it, forced his voice deep into her brain. She shook her head. She had to erase it from her memory banks and that meant one thing. She swallowed hard, and hit the delete button, as a single tear slid down her face. It seared her nerve endings, nearly made her scramble down to the tiny garbage can icon to retrieve them. But, it had to be done.
She regained her composure and went on a punishing run in the cold afternoon. The mental and literal purge of the men who’d haunted her life for over a year felt good, but not great. The ever-present sting of loss when she realized she couldn’t reach out to call Jack that night hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Her eyes lit on the embossed deep black invitation to the downtown building opening party. November eighth. The day she would be married. Now it was the day she’d face him, once and for all, in the building they’d worked so hard on, that represented so much of their months together. Wiping her eyes, she stood, still holding the invitation, and wandered into her bedroom to sleep off some of the overindulgence.
Chapter Fifteen
Sara stood in the office break room a few days before the big party; the no one could stop talking about, sipping coffee and staring at the sales board. Squinting, thinking she must be seeing things, she saw the words: 1515 Hill Street, a plum office building listing next to “Craig Robinson.” Her hands shook as she put the coffee mug down on the
counter. Holy shit. That was Jack’s listing. They’d been talking about how to market it the week before the tailgate, brainstorming the various businesses they knew who could put the beautiful old building to best use.
The words: “I beat the bastard at his own game,” and “you don’t know what you heard, Sara,” careened through her brain so fast she had to take a seat. Her phone buzzed with a text from Jack.
“Did you like how the invites turned out?”
She smiled at it, finally realizing that she knew what she wanted. That last strange night with Craig had sealed it for her. She didn’t answer the text.
He’d been sending texts, emails, and calling. By then she’d become expert at Jack Gordon avoidance and knew what he meant anyway. She’d designed those invitations with him, nearly six months ago. She looked up at the sales board again and then sent a text to Craig, who’d left for Louisville with plans for a mini vacation back home before his brother’s wedding.
Two words.
“I’m sorry.”
She sent it, then, feeling better than she had in ages, went about the busy day ahead.
During that week, she ran twice a day to keep her head , didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, and got plenty of sleep every night. She closed two of her biggest transactions in her career up to that point as well. The amount of the commission checks astounded her, but she channeled Jack and put enough aside for taxes and the rest in her Roth IRA. The irony that he exercised positive control over her still, in spite of her resistance, made it tough to pass on the glass of wine, but she pulled on her running shoes instead.
Try as she would, the man would not leave her thoughts. She decided she’d go to his party, the one she’d help him plan all those months ago, and corner him to talk, really talk. It scared and exhilarated her at the same time, and she determined not to lose her nerve–to have this long-in-coming chat once and for all. Ironically, on the very weekend they would have been married.
