by Julie Bailes
“Really?” I ask, amazed.
“Yeah. It’s crazy. When I removed your hands, they stopped moving. When I replaced them, and you started moving, they followed you,” she smiles sweetly, eyes red and puffy from an hour of crying. Being tangled up with her on this floor, and experiencing the way her babies react to me, causes me to forget that they aren’t mine. Makes me forget the last four years ever happened. I move her hair aside and place a kiss on the back of her neck just behind her ear, and her entire body shivers as my tongue caresses her skin. She doesn’t jerk away or head-butt me, so I continue to trail wet kisses to the back of her neck and bring my hand up to cup her swollen breast. Her head falls to the side, exposing the entire left side of her neck. I massage her breasts with both of my hands as I suck the side of her neck. I feel her nipples pucker from under her shirt, and I squeeze them gently, earning a soft, satisfied moan.
I keep one hand on her breast and slide the other one down in between her thighs, and I immediately feel the heat she’s letting off for me. I rub and squeeze the insides of her thighs, and her fingers circle my wrist as she guides my hand up closer to her pussy. She pushes her back into my chest, and she lifts her hand to the back of my head and glides her fingers through my hair. I remove my hand from her breast and bring it to the side of her face. Turning her face to mine, I capture her lips and invade her mouth with my tongue. Again, she doesn’t fight me, and I keep going. I take my hand and slide it inside her pants, instantly coming in contact with wetness. God, she’s so fucking wet; her folds are slick.
Our tongues continue dancing as my fingers circle her clit. Her moans are becoming frequent and each one’s louder than the last. She tugs my hair roughly and urges my lips to her neck. I kiss, bite, and suck her neck. Her breathing speeds up, and when I look into her eyes, I see them fluttering from pleasure. I bring my mouth to her ear to suck and nibble on her lobe, as my fingers spread her folds and enter her wet, hot, and deliciously-tight pussy. I fuck her slowly with my fingers, enjoying the feel of her walls as they contract around my fingers. I feel her getting wetter. I can feel her rising to her release. I remove my fingers from her pussy and give her clit a tap and she gasps. But it’s not an ‘oh yes’ kind of gasp. It’s more of a ‘oh shit’ type of gasp.
“We can’t do this,” she sighs quietly.
“Uh, we can, actually,” I assure her pushing my fingers deeper inside her and sucking her bottom lip between my teeth.
She shakes her head. “No, we can’t. Stop, please,” she begs between breaths.
“You sure about that, baby? I feel how much you’re enjoying me, how fucking wet you are from just my fingers. I can finish you off. You need this as much as I do.”
She whimpers as I begin to retract my fingers. I thrust them back inside one last time, giving her another chance to change her mind. Her eyes shut, and her head falls back against my chest. She bites her lip and attempts to hold in the moan that’s slowly escaping her, but she’s unsuccessful.
“That’s what I thought,” I whisper confidently. I continue to pleasure her until her pussy traps my fingers, and her legs shake as she releases. Once she’s limp in my arms, I remove my fingers and kiss her forehead. “Better, baby?” I ask.
“Mmm,” she replies, nodding her head weakly.
I stand and cradle her in my arms. Walking to her bed, I lay her down gently, handling her as if she’s fragile glass. As soon as her body touches the mattress, she cuddles up to a pillow and falls fast asleep. A prideful smile remains on my face for the rest of the evening. This mystery ride she’s had me on since I’ve been home, just went out of order. She can pretend she despises me and that she doesn’t need me, but tonight her body deceived her, confirming what I knew all along. I’m hers forever, just as she’s mine.
Eighteen
~Allie~
What the fuck have I done! How could I let him control me the way he did? Not only have I gone against everything I believe in by cheating on Blake, there are hickeys covering the entire left side of my neck. Blake’s going to hate me. I’ve fucked up, royally. Fucked my relationship with him, and our family, to hell and back. I knew I’d do this. I warned him; I told him he didn’t want me. I told him I was damaged, but he wouldn’t back down. Beautifully damaged, my ass! I’m no better than Wyatt, toying with another person’s heart. FUUUUCCCKKK! He knows I’m in a vulnerable state of mind, with losing my whore of an ex-best friend, the loneliness I’ve experienced over the last few weeks, and he took advantage of the situation.
I hate that I turn into a mindless bimbo whenever we’re together, but like he said, I’m a slave to his touch. Although I hate to admit it, my body craves it. His touch slowly kills me, yet makes me feel so alive. He can’t love me as much as he claims, because if he did, he would’ve never put me in this predicament. Now, I have to go and do the worst possible thing imaginable; face my biggest fear by shattering Blake’s heart. I love Blake, and my intentions were to protect his heart, handle it with care, and treasure it just as he does mine. I’ve failed him, miserably.
I’m butt- ass naked when I hear my door open. He doesn’t startle me in the least, because I know it’s him. I feel his presence shooting through me like electricity. I ignore him and walk across the room to grab my towels. I feel his eyes devouring my body, and the hairs on my arms stand as a chill travels down my spine. Why? Why does my brain have to be so damn obstreperous? I don’t even bother covering myself; it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
“What do you want?” He stands there with his mouth open and in a daze. I walk to him and snap my fingers to break his trance. Well, I have his attention, sort of. My body has his attention, but my face doesn’t. He’s making love to me with his eyes, and he’s drooling like a teenage boy who’s just seen his first pair of real tits.
As I walk into the bathroom, I hear his feet pad across the floor as he follows behind me. Bending slightly, I turn on the shower. “Hope you have a photographic memory and enjoy what you’re seeing, because it’s the last time you’ll see it.” As I step into the tub, Wyatt’s fingers travel down my arm, leaving behind feverish tingles as they capture my wrist.
“Baby, don’t be mad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I didn’t do anything wrong? Bullshit! I fell into my most guilty pleasure: him! He’s wrong. We’re wrong! Everything we’ve done behind Blake’s back is fucking wrong. The coffee shop, the call for him to come get me and bring me here, and the shit he pulled earlier—all wrong. “Nothing wrong? I’ve cheated on the man I wish to spend the rest of my life with, but jeopardized our relationship for a few moments of pleasure with you, Wyatt. If you don’t believe there’s no wrong in cheating, you need to reanalyze you morals,” I snarl. I step into the shower and snap the curtain closed. The water soaks my hair and douses my face. When I wipe the water away from my eyes, I piss myself when I see Wyatt in the shower, completely fucking naked! “Oh, my God! What the fuck are you doing? Get out!” I scream. My demanding scream falters as he closes the gap between us. The water splashes off his rock-hard body. Droplets trace his tattoos, and his hard nine, which is resting just above my waist, has my insides lustfully hungry. I’ve already done too much as it is. Think, Allie, think.
Oh, Lord Jesus, grant me strength, lots of it. His hands rest softly on the sides of my neck, and his thumbs trace my lower lip. My tongue itches to lick his rough fingertip, but unlike my brain and heart, I can discipline my tongue. I pull my tongue between my back teeth and bite down hard. Blood slowly trickles into my mouth and helps prevent me from caving into my guilty desire. He begins to trail kisses from my forehead, down the bridge of my nose to the tip, and finally captures my mouth. I keep my lips sealed and knee him in the balls, really fucking hard. He takes in a sharp breath and tumbles to his knees. I bend down and get right in his face. “Get. Out. I know what your intentions are. I’m not as weak as you believe me to be.” Lie. “Now, be a man and stand up. Dry yourself off, and get the hell out of my room,” I see
the.
He stands to catch his breath while he holds tight to his jewels, as if they’ll fall off if he removes his hands. “Not … enough,” he coughs. If he wasn’t guarding his package, I’d rip his dick off.
“Fine,” I huff, lathering my loofah. I ignore him as I clean myself, because arguing with him is useless. He never gives up, and I just need to get out of the shower before my weakness shines through, again. When I turn to wash my face, I feel his hardness press against my lower back and his lips beside my ear.
“Your skills aren’t so mad anymore, baby. There was a time you could lodge them into my throat, but they only made it to my stomach this time,” he jests, gliding his hands up and down the sides of my body. His caress sets my soul ablaze, causing me to lose focus. His lips travel down my spine, and my knees go weak. Before I can shame myself more than I already have, I turn the hot water off and the cold on full-blast. I jump out, grab my towels, and dry off. I hope his dick shrivels into his balls and seeks shelter, permanently.
I gather my sweats and t-shirt, and dress quickly. Before Wyatt comes out from the bathroom, I go downstairs, slip on his boots, and grab his keys to his Jeep. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m getting the hell out of here. I can’t go to Blake’s. I’m too ashamed to face him, and the hickeys covering various parts of my body scream ‘lying, cheating whore-bag’.
The Jeep stalls as the tires squeal in protest at my eagerness to haul ass away from my house. Wyatt runs out of the house and into the middle of the yard, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. I hear him bellow, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I’m assuming he’s asking what the fuck I’m doing, where I’m going, and to calm the fuck down, but I can’t.
There’s nothing here in Jacksonville, not a damn thing. We don’t have the fancy city lights like Nashville or New York. All we have are a few restaurants, a hospital, bowling alley, and a strip mall they built a few years back. I can’t get out and walk around because, my jacket’s hanging on the coat rack back home, and it’s so cold my nipples would get frostbite as soon as I stepped out of the Jeep. I could rent a hotel room but I left my purse behind, which leaves me shit out of luck if I need to fill up or get something to eat.
As I drive in circles around this pathetic excuse of a town, I drive past the place I’ve avoided all year, the cemetery where Kyle’s buried. Normally, I avoid this side of town altogether. A lot of friends from high school live on this side, and I’ve avoided them since I found out I was pregnant with Lacy. Most of them were raised by your typical, southern Baptist judgmental hypocrites, judging everyone or anything that doesn’t fit their standards. Which really pisses me off, because the last time I checked, none of their asses walked on water.
I lost my volleyball scholarship due to the pregnancy, and I missed out on my senior prom—not that I would’ve gone without Wyatt. I stayed harbored inside our house for months, doing school work and staying out of the public eye. The only time I left the house was for doctor’s appointments or Lamaze class, which was a waste of air and time. Seriously, who can focus on breathing when you feel like Captain Hook has reached through you, tangled your insides, and is pulling them through your vagina? Not me, nope. The only thing I could think of was how much I hated Wyatt and his cock, and wondering how the hell I could knock myself unconscious with the hospital bedrail. Labor’s the most excruciating pain anyone can experience; thank you, Eve, for biting that damn apple. Not. Anyway, I couldn’t tolerate the town’s ignorance. They’d immediately assumed I was some sort of harlot who got her lesson from spreading her legs one too many times; none of them knowing it was my first time—ever. Not that it would have been any of their business, but still, cruel and incorrect accusations sting, no matter who you are.
I drive around the winding road that’s paved throughout the cemetery, trying to remember where my own brother was laid to rest. In fact, I can hardly remember anything from that dark day, besides the overwhelming pain and emptiness. My soul was black and cold as they lowered Kyle into the deep, empty ground. However, I remember a distinctive tree that was lined up with other headstones—a weeping willow—the only one in the cemetery. Once I find it, I park the Jeep and slowly ease myself down onto the ground. My eyes skim the names of the fallen soldiers as I search for Sgt. Kyle Kayden Anderson. Finally, my eyes come in contact with the name I wish was never engraved in stone. Beneath his name and unit is his birthdate and day of death, July 4, 1988- January 13, 2013.
Lowering myself to the cold, wet ground, I trace his name with my fingers. Tears blur my vision, and terrible memories flood my mind. I can feel the vibrations to my eardrums from multiple gunshots and the heart-clenching pain as they lowered him. I felt like my head was being held underwater, everyone’s voice inaudible in the background as I struggled for air. I fought the urge to lay myself on top of his casket, to be buried alive. I didn’t care how I died. All I wanted was for the pain to disappear, and it’s all I could think of at the time. I couldn’t breathe, and it would’ve taken minutes, maybe even seconds, for me to suffocate.
Then, I looked to my mother and saw her pain was much worse than mine. I thought back to Lacy and how I would feel if it were her being lowered into the ground, and decided my mom needed me. The pain I was experiencing was nothing compared to hers, the pain of a mother losing a child. That’s not the way life’s supposed to work; children should bury their parents, not the other way around. Oddly enough, that was the last time I saw her mourn Kyle. The next day, she was fine. Even after all that’s happened, she’s stayed strong and continues to have faith, unlike me. My faith went out the window the moment I learned of Kyle’s death.
As I sit here and cry, my sadness turns to anger, just as it does every time I think of Kyle. Why? My question to him will always be, why? Yes, he wanted to make a difference, but he could’ve made a difference here. For Christ’s sake, people make a difference every day, and they don’t travel across the world to do it. If he hadn’t joined the military, Wyatt and I wouldn’t be in our situation. We would be happy, raising our daughter, married, and possibly expecting twins of our own. If Kyle hadn’t signed over his life, he’d still be alive! He brought me so much joy, yet so much pain. He was here, and I was happy. He leaves, and my life went to hell on a brakeless, propane-filled freight train.
I want to see him, wrap my arms around his thick neck, and never let go. At the same time, I want to kick his balls so hard they spew from his mouth. I lie myself on top of where his casket should be. I flatten my palms to the ground and let it all out; grieving Kyle, betraying Blake, losing my best friend, guilt, and that’s just naming a few. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m a good person. Kyle has no clue the pain his decision inflicted on me. “God, I hate you as much as I love you,” I sob to myself.
I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place with Blake and Wyatt. Although I don’t agree with Wyatt’s reason for leaving me to follow Kyle, I get it. He honestly believed he was saving me by preventing Kyle’s death, but couldn’t he see that death is out of our control? It means the world to me that he loved me enough to try and save me from pain, but he caused more pain than he can comprehend. No, it’s not because he claimed me the night before he vanished. It’s because he didn’t trust me enough to tell me what he’d done. Of course, he shattered my heart into a million pieces when he left, but I didn’t hate him for it. I was upset and could have eventually gotten over him. Even after he left me here to deal with the pregnancy on my own, I didn’t hate him. I wanted him here with me more than words could explain. It wasn’t until I held Lacy in my arms for the very first time that I despised him.
Looking into the eyes he had a hand in creating, killed me. The love I felt from our baby girl when she wrapped her tiny fingers around my pinky, it was strong and unconditional. She knew I was her mother; she depended on me to keep her safe, to take care of her and be there when she needed someone … I couldn’t, not then. Now that I’m older, I realize handing her over for my own se
lfish reasons was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I loved Lacy, but in a way, I despised her because of who her father was. I could have struggled to provide for her. I could have picked up a job at a fast food restaurant or grocery store, but for what? Childcare? How was I going to feed her? How was I supposed to put clothes on her back, buy her diapers, or get her insurance? The state doesn’t help people who work. Of course, I could have kept her, and we could have lived off … what? Love? I refused to let the person I loved more than life live in poverty. If Kyle would have stayed and considered everyone else’s wellbeing, we’d all be happier.
***
Strong, warm arms cradle my body. I should open my eyes to see who’s carrying me away, but I’m weak. My body’s numb, and all I want to do is sleep. Besides, I have a good idea who it is by the comfort and protection his arms provide. “Fuck, baby, your lips are blue,” Wyatt sighs, his voice filled with concern. Ah, Wyatt. I knew it.
I’m not sure which vehicle he places me in, but he covers me with warm, plush blankets and turns the heat to full blast. He places himself in the driver’s seat and takes off. “You have to stop running away from me, Allie. Do you have any idea what seeing you like this does to me, huh?” No, I don’t. Why should I be concerned about the way he feels? Was he concerned about how I felt the entire time he was away?
The warmer I get, the more alert I become. My body stings as it warms and regains feeling. My eyes aren’t as heavy as before when he carried me to the car. “You warmin’ up?” he asks quietly, placing the back of his hand to my cheek.
“Yeah,” I croak.
“I swear to the Almighty God, if you weren’t frozen and pregnant, I’d give your ass one hell of a slappin’ for making me worry about you for the last six hours.” Well, that’s a way to heat my body up immensely. I’m startled when I hear my phone ring. My eyes pop open and Wyatt has his hand stretched out in front of my face, my phone resting in the palm of his hand. I eye his hand and my phone nervously, contemplating whether or not to answer the call.
