by L. B. Dunbar
Question: When a man has kissed you like the very air you breathe he needs to live, and the lips you offer, will sustain him for life, how do you let that feeling go? My answer was you didn’t. You questioned where it went. You wondered what happened to it. You longed for it to return. Shaking fingers from my opposite hand lightly tickled over my lips sensing the impression of another’s on them; ones that captured and caressed in a way that demanded submission and gently punished with tenderness.
I could have been wrong. What did I know? Arturo King had been my first sexual encounter of importance. I lost my virginity to him. I lost my heart to him. He asked me to marry him. I thought that made me special to him. I could see in hindsight, it did not. My hands skittered down the center of my body, between the swell of breasts, across the flatness of my stomach, empty of aforementioned child, and over a mound of hair, coarse and longing. My fingers found sensitive folds as I mentally asked my final question.
Question: What do you do when a man tells you he plans to love once, and you are that once? When he tells you, you are his future, how do you live after hearing those words when you find them false? I’d say you don’t. Memories of strong hands and hard parts lingered over me as the words filled my head and pleasure found my skin. My Once. My Future. Fingers that where more delicate than I longed for, touched my most intimate area. I imagined the touch of his thicker digits against me, sliding through me, pressing into me. He filled me and yet what once made me feel whole had divided me in half. I was missing a part of me as I searched for my own release. It finally came after heavy concentration, to leave me dissatisfied because I had experienced it alone. I was alone. Being alone is what had driven me to my error in the past. Maybe it’s what drove Arturo to his, if he even considered Ana a mistake.
It was with deep trepidation that I went to Arturo’s iconic home the next day. Morte had begged for me to come swimming, and it looked like it was going to be another day of friends and family. Once again, I was a complete outsider to this gathering. I wondered what I was doing here with Ingrid. I should have remained in the city.
Arturo’s magnificent home was one of the only things he kept from his father’s inheritance. Camlann, it was called and it stood above Lake Avalon. It couldn’t be seen from the road below, and a twisting gravel drive led steeply upward to its entrance. The green lawn sprawled outward, appearing as if it might touch the deep blue of the waters below. The house itself was a rich brown color with dark wood accents, giving it the appearance of something Old World. It was rather European looking, and I assumed that was Locke Uther’s attraction to the mansion.
Ingrid pulled into the drive with the familiarity of being here but never living here. She wasn’t married to Locke, Arturo’s father. As a matter of fact, their conception of Arturo was rather unethical, but she still gave birth to a son. I always hoped that his unusual upbringing and lack of a father would encourage him to be a better one to Morte. For eight of nine years, it hadn’t.
We entered the house and then followed the servant through to the backyard, which continued to sprawl around a large in-ground pool. I thought I was prepared for the memories, but I wasn’t. A tidal wave of reminiscence came over me as I saw Arturo flapping around with Morte in the water. Even greater in my mind were times when Arturo and I were alone in the pool: the kisses, the caresses, the pressure down below. My unsatisfactory exploration of myself the night before still lingered with regret. I needed more than I could offer myself.
I’d never been sexually active before Arturo King. There was something about him, though. He opened a world of discovery for me. He was patient and considerate, going at a pace that made me comfortable. Once I was unleashed, I seemed to have unbottled a repressed sexuality I didn’t know existed in me. Looking down at his slicked back, wet hair, and the watery streams that cascaded over his taut torso, my mouth grew dry, and I thirsted for a drop that caressed him.
He had been nicknamed The Chivalrous Lover for his countless conquests that involved pleasing ladies before himself. His reputation was widespread for that behavior, but it all stopped with me. Or so I thought, as I saw Ana lower her body into the pool. Her alabaster skin practically reflected the sunlight, repelling the light from the darkness within her. She tiptoed through the cold water to be closer to the games of Arturo and Morte, and I admired the large snake that coiled over the skin along the side of her. It was a rather fitting tattoo, and one I had not known she possessed.
Ingrid was greeting the group as a whole. Lansing Lotte was also present with Fleur, who wrapped around his shoulder and observed the shenanigans of Arturo and Morte under the protection of Lansing. She appeared very shy of Arturo and rather hesitant around Morte, who I caught also watching her at the dinner table the night before. At nine years old, I dare say, Morte might have a crush on the little Ladybug, as Lansing called her. As I watched her, I felt the presence of eyes on me and turned in time to see Arturo staring at me. I ignored him and quickly walked to a lounge chair near one end of the pool.
Feeling self-conscious, I removed my shorts, but not the cami tank over my bikini top. I became hyperaware of being so exposed before both Arturo and Lansing. It wasn’t that I was attracted to Lansing Lotte. While he was good looking, in his own right, with his floppy dark hair and those bright blue eyes, I was definitely more attracted to Arturo. His darkness sang to me. That mop of hair and those dangerous eyes turned me inside out when he looked at me in a certain way. I watched for signs that all was right between Arturo and Lansing. It was becoming clear to me the night before that there would be a definite strain between Lansing and Arturo, if Arturo knew what we’d done. I didn’t know if he would forgive Lansing, but as I watched them I felt a disconcerting sense that Arturo would. He’d feel betrayed, but he’d also let it go with one of his oldest friends, his best friend.
I, however, was a different story. It wasn’t that I still believed he loved me, because I didn’t. As I watched Ana and her display of affection toward Arturo, I was even more convinced than ever that something had happened between the two of them. That something was happening between the two of them. They were rather friendly with one another, and that flirtatious side of Arturo was apparent. He splashed her and she giggled. I felt sick.
Lila Lovelourne was watching me, and something on her face showed me she sympathized with me in that moment. We hadn’t become friends. We hadn’t come to any agreement, but she knew my secret. She seemed to be willing to keep it, and for that I was grateful. I would have to tell Arturo, in time. At the moment, I’d say she felt sorry for me. My awkwardness must have been written on my face, along with discomfort, hesitation, and a touch of jealousy. I envied Arturo’s carefree attitude. He seemed perfectly at home. Well, he was at home.
I looked up at the backside of the house and knew which room had been mine when I stayed here. It was strange to think in that exact spot, I lost my virginity and gave my heart to a man. It had been a year ago. I came to stay at my father’s insistence and a friendship grew that quickly turned us to lovers. Convinced it was all a romp for Arturo, I was prepared to return to the city and separate, when he proposed to me after first arriving at his home in Manhattan. Everything happened so fast, too fast. Before I knew it, he was headed for a world tour. We were engaged. Unbeknown to him, I was pregnant. Then the accident happened.
As if on cue, Perkins arrived with a rather pregnant Hollister. She was six or seven months at that point and a basketball protruded from her dress. Her tall curvy figure hardly looked pregnant from behind, and it appeared as if something was simply stuck to the outside of her from the front. They walked toward me and Hollister sat awkwardly with the help of Perkins.
“Go swim,” she demanded. He released her and she quickly reached up and grabbed his wrist. She tugged it lightly and he leaned down to kiss her. It was more than just a brief brush of the lips, but a full on kiss, with open mouth, and peeks of tongue. It was like watching a train wreck. I wanted to look away, as it was too
intimate to watch, and yet I couldn’t tear myself from staring at the passion between them.
Perkins pulled back first with a moist, glowing smile down at his wife, who mumbled, “I’m sorry.” He tugged off his shirt and his big body was displayed for all, as he did a giant back flop into the pool. Perkins Vale was a large man, with a massive tattoo over his left pec and down his left arm. He also had a telltale scar across his stomach from a knife assault last winter. Hollister looked lovingly after him then turned to me.
“He’s hovering so much, I’m ready to lose my mind,” she laughed. “I’m not the first woman in the world to have a baby, and I won’t be the last.” She grinned out at him. Perkins, despite his large structure, was the biggest softy I knew. He was quiet, shy, and thoughtful toward others. He was the voice of reason at times in the band, as they waited for Arturo’s return. He was calm and reserved compared to the other’s antics.
“Well, you’re the first woman in the world to have his baby. And I’m sure you’ll be the last one, too,” I added. Hollister turned to look at me and smiled shyly. Despite her rough outer edge, she was lovely inside. I sensed she was secretly thrilled that he doted on her.
We chatted idly for a while. My mind drifted away from the chaos in the pool, until the arrival of Tristan and Ireland. Without any thought, Tristan cannonballed into the deep end, splashing everyone in his wake. Ireland laughed heartily, shaking her head and approached those of us at the end of the pool. She took up a seat on the other side of me, and flopped down with a deep sigh.
“I’m so exhausted,” she laughed, but a smile filled her face. We hadn’t seen much of the newly reunited couple. Ireland practically glowed. Of course, that could have been attributed to her pregnancy, also. She wasn’t nearly as far along as Hollister, only a few months, but the discussion of the early months took over. I had nothing to willingly contribute to the conversation. I hadn’t been far enough along. I had morning sickness and the fatigue, but also an insatiable sex drive.
Immediately, I felt a stir between my legs. The idea of all that sex and the various positions sent my mind into overdrive. My libido drove into hyper-speed with images of being touched, sucked, and thoroughly fucked. I couldn’t seem to calm my brain to stop thinking about sex with Arturo. I looked up to see Ana jump onto Arturo’s wet back, squealing with delight as he tried to tip backward and dunk her off him. I was willing to claw her off him and throw myself at him. I needed relief so desperately I was ready to cry. More images flashed before me of us having sex in the pool.
“I need to go,” I said, standing abruptly. As I scooted forward on my chair, the scraping of the metal legs on cement seemed to fill the air. My companions had stopped speaking in mid word, although I had no idea what they were saying. I hastily slipped into my flip-flops and twisted around for my towel as I stood. My back was to the pool when a cool, wet hand landed on my hip. I jumped with a screech and bumped into an equally cold chest of moisture. The hand on my hip slid to my lower belly and gently tugged me against the coolness at my back.
“Where are you going?” a seductive voice spoke low in my ear. Warm breath counteracted the cool touch and goose bumps rose on my skin. A forearm slid along my upper arm, rising and lowering in a tortuous rub that increased those bumps of excitement. I pressed back against him without thinking and looked down at the stump of a wrist. Arturo stopped and I twisted in his arms. I didn’t want him to have concerns over his missing hand. I gripped his shoulders and instinctively pulled myself against him. The cool water had dampened my shirt and my breasts crushed against his hard chest. He had to have felt my nipples, erect against him through my top. My mouth moistened with the desire to kiss him. I was so close; I could have pulled his mouth to mine. But then I heard the sickly sweet voice of Ana.
“Arturo, honey, get the ball.”
I looked down to see a bright blue pool toy lying at Arturo’s feet. I looked up to see he was staring at me. I was still holding his shoulders, and his left hand was pressed into the small of my back. I didn’t have much space between myself and the chair behind me, but I stepped back.
“I need to go,” I whispered on a choke. “I shouldn’t be here,” I added, avoiding his eyes. I shook my head as I mentally assessed the situation. Everyone was a pair. Some of them were more than a couple, with children or babies on the way. Despite Ingrid, I was the odd woman out. I didn’t belong with them. I was pulled back to when I first arrived at Camlann a year ago and wondered what a shy, mostly ignored, girl was doing hanging out with rock stars. I felt the same way in that moment. I had no purpose in being amongst this band, this family, of sorts.
I twisted slightly and reached blindly behind me for my towel. Pulling it up, I held it in front of me, shielding me from my desire for Arturo. I still wanted him. I hadn’t stopped wanting him, only now I didn’t feel I could ever have him again. In the background, Ana called Arturo’s name.
I was rock solid in my swim pants. She had to feel me. Between the warmth of her body pressed against me and the cold damp of my shorts; I was standing straight up and ready for her. She didn’t shy away from me. In fact, I was taken off guard when she twisted to hold onto me. I leaned forward, watching her lips while she stared thirstily at mine. I could have sworn she wanted to kiss me, and then Ana spoke.
I didn’t know what she was playing at, but I was growing more uncomfortable the more often Ana was near. She and I had come to a sort of agreement, after some things happened during my absence, and I thought we understood each other. With the presence of Guinevere, Ana was acting rather strange, overly affectionate, and flirtatious. She was definitely putting on a show, but I didn’t know for whom, until Guinie flinched in my arms at the sound of Ana’s voice.
She’d told me the night before it wasn’t my hand, so I wanted to believe I didn’t repulse her after all. She was still gripping my shoulders when Ana called my name a second time. Nails briefly dug into my cool skin and then released me. While we stood inches apart, we were miles away again. She’d pulled up the towel as a barrier between us, but it was too late. I knew she’d felt me. The sharp luscious poke of her nipples stabbed against my chest. I wanted to strip her bare and throw her back on the lounge behind her. Be damned that others were present; I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to reconnect with her and hope it would bring us back where we had been. Before.
Being in the house without her was torture: a punishment for leaving her in the dark for nine months. I wandered into her room last night and finally curled up on her bed to sleep, searching for some scent of her, some remembrance of what she felt like under me. The fragrance wasn’t there, but the memories were on overload. I squirmed and tossed until I had myself so worked up, I had to find my own release with pictures of her in my head. I entered her for the first time on that bed, and the moment it happened, I knew I loved her. I knew I’d never be inside another woman again. She completed me. She’d been the missing puzzle piece of my life. I needed her.
It was obvious I needed her more than she needed me as she moved to shift away from me, clearly intent on leaving our afternoon party. We were all gathered and I thought it was a good day for me. My friends and family were doing something as mundane as playing in the pool. There were no questions, no awkward stares, just laughter and teasing. It was like we were boys again, only now we were men with our women surrounding us. Lansing looked so happy with Lila. Perkins was over the moon for Hollister, and Tristan, I could hardly believe he was the same man who played the field of women that crossed our paths nightly. It was evident he only had eyes for Ireland. That left Guinie, and to me, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. She hadn’t removed her tank top but I knew every inch of what lay beneath it. Slim curved hips, larger than expected breasts, and miles of lickable skin. I’d tasted every bit of her and then some. I wanted a bite again.
She was clearly leaving, though. I couldn’t turn around. My dick was still sticking upward, and if I felt self-conscious, I would have thought
at least Hollister and Ireland on either side of Guinie could see my excitement. As Guinie moved, I moved.
“I don’t want you to go,” I tried, blocking her retreat and protecting myself. She stopped and looked up at me over an uncovered shoulder. I’d seen that look before, one so innocent and unaware. I stiffened further, if that were even possible. Her eyes questioned mine. She needed answers that took me a long time to find, but I was ready to give them. Anything she wanted, she just had to ask.
“I don’t think I should be here,” she said softly.
“Why?” I snapped back. Her eyes blinked at my tone. I tried to soften it as I reached for a stray hair, tucking it behind her right ear.
“I’m not really part of this anymore,” she replied quietly.
“Part of what?” I asked leaning toward her. I was only aware of her and me. The noises of the pool and the surrounding woods were fading out.
“The band. Your family. Your life.” Her voice was so low I wasn’t even sure I heard her correctly.
“My life? Guinie,” I sighed deeply. “You are my life.” I leaned forward enough that my forehead touched hers, and I closed my eyes inhaling the scent of her. She was a mix of sunscreen, sunshine, and summertime. One sniff and I was taken back a year, to days in the hot afternoon sun with her in the pool or on the lake. It hit me. I needed to get her alone. The lake was the perfect place. It’s where it all began for us. We needed to go back. We needed to start again.
“Arturo, come back and play,” Morte’s young voice rushed into my ears like the release of air pressure on a plane. At the sound, Guinie pulled back from me, and I opened my eyes to find the deepest blue staring into mine.
