One Reckless Summer

by Toni Blake

  She’d just begun to wonder if she’d heard movement outside, in the driveway, when a knock came on the back door, and her heart flip-flopped in her chest. She’d not expected him tonight of all nights, given the weather.

  Stunned, she rushed to the door, pulled it open, and found him standing there, drenched and absolutely beautiful. In fact, the stark male beauty somehow just emanating from him struck her nearly senseless. “It’s raining,” she heard herself say dumbly.

  He arched one eyebrow. “Thanks for the newsflash, pussycat.”

  Why couldn’t she breathe suddenly? Then she figured it out. It was because he looked so good wet.

  “So can I come in?” he asked expectantly.

  Oh God—she was just standing there gaping at him getting rained on. “Oh—yeah—of course,” she said, stepping back out of the way.

  Mick walked past her, to the sink, where he smoothly stripped off his gray T-shirt and wrung it out. “Sorry for dripping all over your floor,” he said.

  But Jenny didn’t answer—because if she’d been having a hard time breathing before, it had just gotten a lot worse. Because now he was wet and shirtless. Holy God.

  When he raised his gaze to her, she realized she was standing there in her pajamas ogling him as if she’d never seen him before.

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing,” she managed. “You just look…um…good.”

  A hint of masculine arrogance transformed his expression as he dropped the shirt in the sink, then cast a wicked grin, reaching for her. “Bet I’ll feel good, too.”

  And yep, no problem there—he definitely did. His skin was wet and hot and slippery, and as he pulled her close, his muscular arms wrapping around her, she didn’t even mind the fact that he was getting her wet now. When he kissed her, even his mouth was wet, and she suffered the sensation of wanting to drown in him.

  “Funny,” he whispered in her ear then, “but I didn’t think pussycats liked water.”

  She pulled back, looked up into his dark eyes. “Huh?”

  Then she caught his teasing, seductive smile. “After the ice, and now this, I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for water.”

  “Uh, no,” she said automatically, because she really saw the ice and this as two different things—one had been about the contrast between cold and heat, and this was just about the way he looked. Which, when she glanced down at his slick stomach, made her bite her lip and suck in her breath.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” he asked with a playful smile, as if her denial was preposterous.

  She smiled back into his eyes. “The fact is, Mr. Brody,” she said, finally finding her voice, along with some teasing flirtation, “everything you do gets me hot. Water has nothing to do with it.”

  He looked pleased—but still playfully skeptical. Taking a step back, he took her hands in his and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go outside, pussycat, and I’ll prove it.”

  Jenny let her eyes go wide. Was he serious? “Um, hello? It’s raining out there. Why would we go out into the rain when we have a nice, dry house here?” Then she smiled. “Take off your jeans and I’ll even put them in the dryer for you.”

  “Nice try,” he quipped, “but I want to go out in the rain with you.”

  She simply tilted her head and gave him a look—one that still said, No, you’re crazy.

  “Don’t you ever do anything impulsive?” he asked critically.

  She gasped. Come on—how dare he? “Um, hello again? Sex in the woods? And don’t forget the kitchen.” She held one finger up in the air.

  “Well, all that worked out pretty good,” he reminded her. Then his voice deepened, with what sounded like a dare. “Do it again. Get wet with me, Jenny. Get messy.”

  The hair on Jenny’s neck stood up as chills ran down her arms. Mick Brody got her hot in a way no other man could.

  Apparently, her temptation showed on her face, since he prodded her some more, tugging her closer to the door. “Come outside with me, pussycat,” he said, voice low, seductive. “Let me get you wet.”

  “Already did,” she assured him breathily, thinking of what was going on in her panties right now.

  A little sexy-as-sin smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Wetter then. Wetter than you’ve ever been before.”

  And after that, she couldn’t protest anymore. Even as crazy as it felt to let Mick lead her out the door in a pale pink cami and pajama bottoms, she let him. Even though, despite the falling rain, it somehow felt like walking into fire, flames. Because it was one thing to be seduced by him, over and over again, and even to welcome it, to relish it. But this felt different. This felt like…final surrender. Total surrender. A man she would willingly follow out into the rain for sex was a man, she knew, who could make her do anything.

  As they stepped out and the rain began to pelt her skin, she stopped, glanced up at the dark sky from which it fell, and said, “I’m gonna get drenched out here.”

  “That’s the idea, honey,” he said. And then he pulled her to him, kissed her like he was devouring her—and the rest just happened.

  It was as if the rain…freed her somehow, as if it took away any last barriers, any last inhibitions inside her. One minute they stood in the wet grass making out, touching each other’s faces, arms, shoulders—and the next he was lowering her top, taking the straps down, pushing it to her waist, baring her breasts to the rain, as well. When he sank his mouth to one nipple, she had the sensation that he drank of her, suckling off the wetness, making her whimper, before moving to the other breast. At the same time, he shoved down her p.j. bottoms, along with her underwear, and as the rain began to roll down her rear, legs, she realized that she wanted this now—she wanted to get wet with him, too.

  She found herself pressing him down into the old wooden swing that hung from the big maple tree in the side yard. Found herself dropping to her knees in the wet grass and working at his zipper, freeing that part of him to the rain, as well. She heard her own gasp—why was she always a little surprised by how big and hard he was for her?—and then she found herself dipping down, taking him into her mouth.

  When she’d done this before, she’d done it for him, wanting to pleasure him—but now she did it for her, too. She wanted to feel this—suddenly, she wanted to feel everything with him, do everything with him. And maybe the rain was washing away the barrier to that last little bit of herself she’d held back—the part of her that wanted to be aggressive and brazen, the part that still worried just a little what people would think if they knew, the part that harbored those last bits of guilt, about her mother’s picture, about her father’s ideas of who she should be. Because in that moment, suddenly, it was gone, all gone, completely. And nothing remained but her naked body and her desires and the man she wanted to be with.

  “God, honey,” he growled above her, his fingers threading through her hair, “aw, that’s so damn nice—yeah.” And his words fueled her, made her feel wild and good and like a skilled lover—until she wanted still more.

  She rose to climb into his lap, straddling him in the swing, ready to have him inside her. He helped, his breath ragged and hot, using one hand to hold the chain at his side supporting the swing and the other to mold to her ass and push her downward.

  They both moaned as he entered her, and she looked boldly into his eyes and breathed, “You feel amazing.”

  “You feel…just like I wanted you to,” he said hotly. “Wetter than ever before.”

  She moved on him as she had many times, undulating rhythmically, finding her pleasure. But she never took her eyes off his, and his gaze on her never wavered, either. “Aw, baby, that’s right,” he rasped. “Ride me.”

  Again, the heated words spurred her on, made her feel wild and free as the rain sifted down through the tree branches onto them. “You make me live,” she heard herself say without planning.

  His breath still came hard as he thrust slowly inside her. “What, honey?” he murmured, the
ir eyes still locked.

  “You make me live, Mick. You force me to live. I came here to bury my head, but you make me live.”

  He kissed her then, hard and urgent, his fingers tangling in the wet hair at the nape of her neck. She twined her arms around his broad shoulders, took in everything about the moment—the darkness, the wetness, the wildness, the cool, moist air, how he filled her so deeply, and how everything inside her was starting to move in just the right way, coming together, taking her closer, closer—until she toppled into ecstasy with him one more glorious time, clinging to him, sobbing against his neck, loving the way his arms closed around her, holding her tight.

  A few seconds later, Mick was pumping up into her again, harder now that she’d come, making her feel him way up inside. “More,” she whispered, “more.”

  “You want more, pussycat—I’ll give you more,” he growled, then drove still harder, harder. And then the world tumbled and they crashed to the ground—the swing had broken and they both let out small groans of shock, but they didn’t stop moving together. He rolled her onto her back in the wet grass, plunging deeper, and she met each stroke, then rolled him onto his back.

  She wasn’t sure how many times they rolled that way, getting wetter and wetter, but finally she stopped and he towered above her and pinned her wrists to the ground as if to say, I win. And she thought—no, we both win. And she said between jagged breaths, “I want you to come in me,” and he did.

  When they finally went still, she realized the rain had stopped. But they were no less wet for it. They lay side by side in the grass, utterly soaked, his jeans at his knees, her cami in a wad at her waist—and she’d never felt better. She even heard a giddy trill of laughter escape her throat. Then she found Mick smiling at her, looking just as sexy and dangerous as ever. “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. This was just…pretty damn fun.”

  “Told you, pussycat.”

  But then she let her smile fade. Because her heart was beating so hard, pumping so much emotion through her veins. “I meant what I said before, about making me live.”

  He leaned closer, gave her a little kiss. “I’m glad.”

  Overhead, she could see dark clouds shifting, the light of the moon starting to peek through, a few stars twinkling in the background—and she decided she had to quit this, push back all she was feeling. Say something simple, something…practical. “That offer to dry your clothes still stands.”

  His expression changed—he looked a little distant, sad. “And I wish I could take you up on it, honey.”

  Oh. “But you have to go.” Her heart pinched even as she said the words.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “So…Wayne’s bad then?”

  Next to her, he stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that, okay? It’s a rule I have—when I’m with you…I’m just with you, not anywhere else.”

  She bit her lip and said, “I like that rule.” But she was really thinking, I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m doomed, but I love you.

  “Why don’t we get dressed and maybe you can walk me down to the dock,” he suggested.

  And though she’d never done that before, she loved the idea of doing it now—it felt like the perfect ending to a liaison that had made her feel so…free to be with him. Finally. Well, wait, no, the perfect ending would be if he could stay. If they were like normal people, normal couples, without secrets or reputations. Maybe that offer to dry his clothes had been more emotional than practical, after all—an effort to extend his visit. But with Mick, she’d take what he could give her.

  After they went in and toweled off, Jenny put on a fresh cami and a pair of gym shorts, and Mick didn’t bother putting back on the wet tee he’d arrived in—he just carried it in his fist as they walked across the road and down onto the dock.

  Once there, he lifted his palms to her face to kiss her, and she nearly melted from the fresh pleasure. With Mick, it seemed, she was insatiable—always wanting more. And as their kisses deepened in the first cool night air she’d felt since coming home, she realized he was pushing his hands up under her top—all the way, to her breasts—and then he was raising the fabric, peeling it upward, until she was on full display. Right there on the dock.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked.

  Just before he lowered his mouth to one beaded peak, he whispered, “Making you live.”

  And she thought of protesting, because even though it was unlikely, one of her neighbors along the shore could see if they were looking out a window or came outside for anything—but she didn’t, because it also felt wild. As wild as the woods. As wild as the rain. Mick gave her more freedom than she’d ever known she even wanted.

  He kissed her breasts for a few blissful moments as she leaned her head back, basking in the pleasure, letting her gaze get lost in the stars now reappearing overhead.

  Until he sweetly pulled her top back down into place, kissed her lips one last time, and said, “Bye, pussycat.”

  * * *

  We have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

  Tombstone epitaph of two amateur astronomers

  * * *

  Fourteen

  The blisters on Mick’s hands had started to heal, but he knew more were coming. All the dirt he’d shoveled out of that hole had to go back in.

  He sat next to Wayne’s bed, watching him sleep fitfully, feeling his brother’s pain in his gut. He thought of what Jenny had said to him the other night—that he was making her live. The irony burned inside him, the irony of making one person live while watching another die. Maybe that should make him think about the circle of life and all that profound shit, but mostly it just made him glad he was able to make someone happy. Wayne he could comfort, but there was no more happiness or sadness now—there was only sleep and pain and long nights and a knot in Mick’s stomach that wouldn’t go away.

  The pain patches had quit working, and now Mick had to administer the other medicine—the stuff he had to inject, under Wayne’s tongue. And he now had to crush up the oxycodone and put that under his brother’s tongue, as well, because he could no longer swallow it.

  Thank God it had rained. Thank God. Because it wasn’t so hot in here now, and maybe that was a little thing, but it felt big at the moment. It had only rained for a day or so, on and off, and several more days had passed since then, but the temps had only climbed back into the mid-eighties and so far the humidity hadn’t returned. He had to hang on to what he could to keep himself going now.

  Darkness had just fallen, night had come, and pleasant, breathable air wafted in the open windows. He wondered if Wayne could feel that at all. He wanted his brother to feel it.

  He watched him some more, pleased when his sleep slowly became more peaceful—probably the medicine he’d recently administered taking effect. And he watched his brother’s face, gaunt now from not eating, and he tried to mentally prepare for what was to come. And then he turned his eyes on that photo Wayne had saved from their boyhood, and he cried, just a little.

  But then he got disgusted with himself—this was no time for weakness—and he got up and walked outside, into the small clearing by the house. And he stared up into the stars, and he felt what Jenny had taught him the sky could make him feel: that in the hugeness of it all, his troubles weren’t insurmountable, and in the vastness of time, these next few days were less than the blink of an eye and would be over soon.

  Two days later, around noon, Wayne opened his eyes, looked up at Mick from his bed, and said, “Am I dead yet?”

  For a second, Mick thought he was losing it—his brother hadn’t spoken in a long while. But he looked into Wayne’s eyes, and behind the stark frailty, he saw a surprising lucidity that hadn’t been there in days. “No,” Mick said. “Not yet.”

  “I’m sorry I’m making you do this,” Wayne said, his words slow, his voice dry and cracking. He didn’t need to say more—they both knew how horrible this had gotten.

&
nbsp; But Mick only shook his head. “No, it’s okay,” he promised.

  Then Wayne started making a wheezing sound, so Mick hurried to grab a glass of water and stick a straw in it. He held it to Wayne’s mouth and urged his brother to try to drink—and he choked a little, but got some down.

  “Anything you want?” Mick asked when Wayne seemed calmer.

  “Nah,” Wayne said. And his eyes looked vacant for a moment, and Mick thought maybe he was “leaving” again as quickly as he’d arrived—but then he turned his head slightly toward Mick and said feebly, “Still seeing your girl across the lake?”

  The question surprised Mick as much as Wayne’s sudden clarity—it seemed like Mick’s love life should be the last thing on Wayne’s mind right now. “Yeah,” he answered softly.

  “What’s it like?”

  Mick blinked, confused. “What’s what like?”

  Wayne hesitated, then replied, his voice even weaker now. “Been a while…since I got laid. What’s…the sex like?”

  Mick drew in a deep breath. His brother wanted to remember what it was like to be with a woman. In any other situation, it might have felt like a betrayal to Jenny to talk about it, but this was…this was just one more way of helping his brother die. “It’s…warm,” Mick said, more softly than he’d intended—then closed his eyes, tired and trying to come up with other ways to describe sex with Jenny. “Her skin is soft. Her curves are perfect…like they were made for my hands. When I’m inside her, I feel…safe. When she comes, she moans in a way I feel in my chest.”

  When Mick opened his eyes, Wayne’s were shut, but he still replied. “Damn, bro…sounds nice.”

  “It is.”

  Wayne’s breath came slow, shallow. “Can you…take me…outside? Into the sun?”

  “All right,” Mick said, without hesitation, anxious to honor any request his brother made now—despite the utter strangeness, and the finality that coursed through him, when he scooped his brother’s depleted body up into his arms. Wayne was little more than skin and bones, and Mick felt that in a whole new, brutal way, holding him like this. But neither spoke as Mick carried him to one of the few sunny, grassy spots on their side of the lake—a little knoll, unshrouded by shade, that overlooked the water, which Mick thought especially pretty today with the sun shining on it. It was the same spot where he’d lain on his back with Jenny and looked at the stars on the night she’d found out about Wayne.