Consent

by Sahara Kelly

  It had taken a small bottle of scotch to open that door again and make him face the truth, ugly though it was. He'd fallen in love and lost her, and his life had never really recovered from it.

  But damn it all, it had been a wild time back then. No one talked about forever, being firmly convinced that humanity would end up being nuked out of existence.

  The serene fifties were over, as was the notion of women-as-homemakers, and suddenly it was peace, love and rock and roll. Bring on the Pill, take off the bra and let's live together with fifteen other people and have lots of stoned sex.

  Okay, so he'd passed on the commune scene, but the stoned sex had been great and Francesca with no bra—well, hell.

  A sudden pain crushed Jason's lungs and he struggled to draw in a breath as he visualized those breasts he'd cherished for hours upon end. In fact, he'd been doing just that on the one rare occasion when she'd spoken of her past.

  "I love how you do that."

  Jason grunted around a mouthful of nipple. His tongue teased and twirled the bud, bringing it to a hardened peak and then laving it softly, letting it relax a little while he transferred his attentions to the other breast.

  They were in bed—no surprise there—and it was a very cool night. Francesca had her period, and in a surprising display of maidenly modesty, never allowed him to touch her during those days. She said it just wasn't right.

  It wouldn't have bothered him, but he respected her wishes, and merely talked her into letting him play a little while promising not to take her until she said it was okay.

  So they were snuggled under a warm quilt, Jason in his usual state of nudity, Francesca with her pajama bottoms firmly in place. And Jason's mouth having fun.

  She'd snuffled with pleasure as he'd suckled her, sighing and moaning her feelings into his ears as she ran her fingers through his hair. He'd rested one hand across her belly, knowing she loved the warmth of him seeping through into her pelvis and relaxing her cramps at that particular time.

  "Ah, Jason, you feel so good," she murmured.

  "You love to be cuddled, don't you," he answered around her flesh. "I've noticed that."

  She chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I do. I remember..." she paused, and Jason's head raised up, watching her carefully.

  "You remember what, sweetheart?" he encouraged.

  She sighed. "I remember being cuddled when I was a little girl. My parents weren't very big on displays of affection, but my Mom did spend the afternoons with me, cuddling me as we played or read together. Then sometimes she'd let me watch a little television, but not much."

  Francesca shifted a little on the bed, and Jason stretched his length beside her, still warming her stomach, but resting his head on his bent arm, listening to her. "You don't mention your parents very much," he said quietly.

  "No. No, I guess I don't." She closed her eyes briefly. "My mother passed away when I was fifteen. My father...well, my father...he's another story."

  "A good one or a bad one? Will you tell me?"

  There was silence for a moment and Jason could see Francesca considering her words carefully.

  "A little bit of both, I guess." Her lips twisted. "He loved me, that's for sure. But I guess he didn't love my Mom so much. They split when I was about nine or ten."

  It was a casual comment, but coming from Francesca, Jason knew it was a very important one. "I'm so sorry, honey," he said, noncommittally.

  "I guess it was for the best. I found out later that he'd had a girlfriend on the side. She was in another town and he traveled a lot—more than he needed to, it turned out. Almost like a dual life really. She was pretty."

  "It sounds as though you met her?"

  "I didn't actually get introduced, if that's what you mean. But I did see her. And him."

  "Ah. Together, I take it."

  "Yeah. Together. I couldn't understand why Dad would leave Mom and me and what they told me about not being in love with each other enough and all that stuff that parents who are splitting tell their kids—it didn't make sense to me. I had to find out for myself."

  Jason tugged her closer to him, enfolding her in his warmth. Her hands were clenching and he doubted she even realized how tense she was.

  "So I saved up my allowance and took the bus one afternoon during school vacation. I had written down his other address from my Mom's address book, and it wasn't hard to find." She sighed and turned her head away from Jason. "They were there. Both of them. I saw them through the window. Then I left and came home."

  "I saw them through the window."

  Jason nearly jumped out of his computer chair as Francesca's words from nearly forty years ago echoed through his mind.

  God damn. That was the reason she'd cut him out of her life. He'd done what her father had done. He'd bet every penny he possessed that a little ten-year-old had peeked through a window and seen her father loving another woman. And years later, she'd walked in and seen another man betraying her.

  Could even be that the kitchen was a common theme, too.

  Jason mentally smacked his hand against his forehead. How stupid could one man be? Why had he never made the connection? Oh sure, he'd drawn parallels, father leaving, shattering family, betraying their love and trust, etc. Then boyfriend fucking other woman, betraying love, etc.

  But adding the visual component into the equation made her subsequent actions much more understandable.

  Jason had always considered it overly dramatic of her to just up and vanish. He'd become angry and hurt by that. And his anger and hurt had clouded his thinking and twisted his emotions. Moving away had just about capped the entire process.

  Now it was a lot more understandable. Away from the heat of their passions, Jason could think clearly about it, something he'd forbidden himself for so long.

  He sighed. Once again he'd been a super, flaming, idiot. Look up the word "dolt" in the dictionary and he was convinced he'd see his picture. How was it that he could amass a very tidy fortune, run a large company, write best-selling books and still, in spite of all that, act like a complete raving maniac?

  He glanced down at his crotch and wondered if the feminist jokes might just be closer to the target than they realized. Sometimes men did let their dicks do their thinking for them. And they had one track minds with no room for the subtleties of life.

  The pain around his heart was easing as he felt a rush of adrenaline flood his system. He leaned forward and hit some keys on his keyboard, activating one of his many business resources.

  It was time to find Francesca.

  *~~*~~*

  It was Jason's favorite "scene".

  His four poster bed, the coverlet pulled aside, and Francesca sprawled on top of it, arms and legs tied to the corners with his specially-purchased straps.

  Occasionally he would blindfold her, as he had done this particular night. Then he would take his time preparing his toys letting a few quiet sounds thread their way to her ears, which he knew would be straining to catch a hint of what he had planned.

  Just restraining her was arousing in and of itself, and by the time he had her blindfold in place he was hard as a rock and then some.

  This night would be one of sensory pleasure for both of them. He began by pulling a drawer open and removing the feather duster he'd found at a local five and dime.

  The motherly salesclerk had smiled approvingly at his purchase, no doubt relishing the sight of such a nice man who wanted a clean house. If she only knew.

  He knelt on the bed, letting it bounce with his weight and telling Francesca where he was. She was wet and glistening, her folds swelling a little as he sat there enjoying the view.

  "Jason," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

  "Looking at you," he answered, grinning. He knew that she was, like many women, insecure about her body. God alone knew why, because it looked damn fine to him. Especially from this angle. But she could never see the appeal, and he loved to tease her a little by doing just what he was doing. Looking
at her.

  Sure enough, she squirmed. "Jason." The hiss was accompanied by a blush.

  Time to put her out of her misery. He leaned over and ran the feathers up the inside of her thigh, barely touching the skin.

  She jumped as if he'd branded her. "Oh my God. What is that?"

  Jason leaned up and kissed her firmly on the mouth. "Shhh."

  She subsided, trembling a little as he flicked the duster over other sensitive parts of her sprawled body.

  Within ten minutes of this she was soaking wet, shaking, moaning and begging for release.

  And he'd only just begun.

  He moved off the bed and heard her sigh as the springs bounced up. He dropped the duster and reached for his new toy. Finding this in a second hand store had been a real coup, and he'd been playing with it all week, using his own body as a test, making sure he knew how to handle it to cause the most pleasure and, coincidentally, the least damage.

  He returned to Francesca and stood by the bed. Then he leaned down, pressed his mouth over hers, thrust his tongue inside and ran his new toy up her body from her clit to her throat.

  His mouth muffled her scream.

  Then he ran it around her breasts and swallowed another cry.

  Lightening his pressure, he ran it around her aroused nipples, in quick, teasing strokes. She moaned and he judged it safe to stop kissing her. She was accustoming herself to his touch and probably wouldn't scream the house down now.

  "What the hell...Jason...what is that?" she sputtered as he pulled back.

  "Like it?"

  "I—I don't know. It's prickly, but it doesn't really hurt—it kind of tingles, you know?"

  He ran it back down over her belly to her clit and gently rolled it around.

  "Oh God, Jason..." Her thigh muscles tightened and Jason watched her carefully, noting the flush on her breasts and the shudders that racked her thighs.

  She was getting very close to her orgasm, and he wasn't ready to let her have it—yet.

  He backed off, and she grunted. "Please, let me—God, Jason—don't stop..." Her fractured thoughts echoed the twitchings he could see in her pussy, and he smiled to himself. This was going to be a night she'd long remember.

  He kept up his play for an amazingly long time. He'd bring her to the very brink of her climax, then let her down a little, never permitting her to come but keeping her simmering, just below the threshold of no return.

  Finally, she was sobbing and his cock was reminding him that if he didn't want to go through the rest of his life with a petrified set of balls clanking in his trousers he'd better shoot his load damn quick.

  It was time.

  He tossed the toy aside and used the head of his cock this time, soothing the sticky honey over her hot and swollen tissues. She spread her legs as wide as she could, lost in another world of sensation and need, quiet now, waiting for his intrusion into her body.

  Slowly and lovingly, he claimed her body with his, sliding his cock through the ocean of her juices into the snug harbor that awaited him.

  He pulled back and thrust again, more forcefully this time, and found a nipple to tease as he did so.

  Restrained as she was, she could only writhe beneath him, letting him know how welcome his touch was, and how much she wanted him deep inside her.

  He repeated his movements, getting faster and pushing harder against her.

  Francesca's body was ready. It had been ready for quite some time now, and it was straining for release. She tensed beneath him, welcoming the pounding of his body against hers, tilting her hips, crying out as he thrust into her.

  He slipped his hand between them and found her clit, rubbing it hard as he fucked her with every inch of his body. His balls were twisting themselves into knots, Francesca was crying out his name, and moments later the world ended for both of them.

  With a prolonged shout, he came, buttocks rigid, teeth bared, every muscle in his body straining to push his seed deep into his woman.

  She lay beneath him and throbbed. She gripped and released his cock in pulses so strong he wondered if she'd broken it.

  It went on and on and Jason's mind flew along with the spurtings of his cum as he emptied his soul into her.

  They were both crying, sobbing with pleasure as the sensations eased, and their heart rates dropped from redline to somewhere approaching human again.

  "Jason, I flew."

  Chapter 7

  Francesca's voice sounded as clear to Jason at that moment as it had nearly forty years ago when he held her tightly in his arms and let them both recover from another in their long list of amazing sexual adventures.

  He could see now, from the perspective of time and maturity, that the sex was simply the tip of the iceberg. It had brought them together and taken them on a wild journey, but the compatibility had run much deeper than a simple ability to come together. Their minds were in tune, their hearts happy to have found a mate, and their souls were on their way to eternal bliss.

  If only it hadn't all fallen apart.

  And was there any chance that he could find her again and at least say "I'm sorry"? A chance that she might look at him from those blue eyes of hers and smile and say "I forgive you?"

  An idea walloped Jason around the ear, an idea for the ending of his seventh book. Darius and Cameron, together at last, redeemed by their love for each other and saved from spending their lives in darkness by the one small coincidence that would reunite them.

  It hadn't happened that way for him, but he would make it happen for his characters.

  Three hours later, it was done.

  "The End" had been typed, Darius had had his last—and most satisfying—orgasm inside Cameron's willing body, and the readers would be left with a sigh, a smile and the possibility that at long last Darius could rest. Maybe even a child for Cameron.

  He'd left the door open on that one.

  As if his body recognized the moment as an epiphany, a wave of weariness swept over Jason and he slumped in his chair, waiting for the weakness to pass. There was always a "down" moment at the end of a book, but this one was quite strong.

  The world was quiet beneath his windows, and hushed within his study.

  Jason sat forward again, and placed his hands on his keyboard. It was time to end his saga, too.

  He typed her name in his search engine.

  Damn. Thousands of hits. Apparently the Dalton China Company had issued a pattern called "Francesca" some years ago. Collectors wanted it.

  Hookay. Time to refine the search.

  Jason's years of familiarity with the Internet paid off, and within half an hour he was down to one hundred and twenty-seven hits. Finally, he tossed in the name of her college and hit "Enter".

  "Francesca Dalton, Arts '68, Survived by..."

  His mind blanked and the screen turned into a jumble of meaningless rubbish.

  Survived by?

  The humming in his ears subsided, only to be replaced by a gentle buzzing. His chest felt tight, and a numbness was spreading from his toes upwards. He took a deep breath and clicked the link.

  Four pop-ups and two mis-clicks later, he had it. An entry from her old collegiate newspaper.

  "Survived by her aunt and cousins. Succumbed to injuries received after being involved in a multi-car collision."

  The date was not too long after he'd last seen her. And not too long before he'd left for the West Coast.

  She had never come back because she couldn't. She was dead.

  Jason's mind shut down. He closed his eyes and leaned back, waiting for the pain he knew would come. Trying to come to terms with the fact that his mate on this earth had been gone for all these years. He had buried her memory deep in his soul not knowing that her body had been buried so long ago.

  Why had nobody told him? They may not have known and he was so busy getting ready for his trip, who could have caught him?

  These things happened, he knew, but not to Francesca. Please God, not to Francesca? Did she
think about him before...before...

  The pain came.

  Rolling in thunderous waves over Jason, he gasped at its onslaught. His breath cramped in his lungs and his arms screamed as the muscles quivered. His gut clenched against it and he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming.

  She was gone. He couldn't come to terms with it. He couldn't accept it or live with it.

  She was gone. Forever.

  He sobbed out a cry, gasping in air to replace it and fill his starved lungs. His vision was fading, the blackness that was creeping into his soul was stealing the light from his eyes as well.

  "Francesca..." To his own mind he yelled her name into the dark, but it might have been a whisper for all he knew.

  He struggled to breathe, suddenly realizing that his body was betraying him. This was not grief, or pain, or loss, this was something else.

  Fear warred with pain and for a few moments Jason Burke fought against his destiny.

  But then the pain vanished and the light returned to his eyes.

  A warm light, pulling him from his chair.

  "Come to me now, Jason."

  Her words. From so long ago. Bringing him down from his flight. This time they were encouraging him to take a new one.

  His heart swelled as he heard her clearly for the first time in too many years.

  "I'm here, my love. Forgive me?"

  "There is nothing to forgive, Jason. We just had to reach the right time. I've been waiting for you..."

  And the light-that-was-Jason slowly rose from the slumped figure sitting before the computer monitors, and joined the light-that-was-Francesca.

  A new journey was beginning.

  Epilogue

  The somber group walked through the quiet cemetery to the place where a small tent had been erected.

  Simon Austen had his arm around his wife's shoulders, and Adam and Laura Burns held hands.

  Adele Martin followed, chatting quietly to Maria Delgado Arrivas, who had been Jason Burke's housekeeper for many years. She was still in a certain amount of shock after learning that Jason had left the apartment building to her.