by Penny Reid
“No, no—stay with me.” I reached for his hands, his arms, whatever I could grab. “Stay up here. I need you. I need you.”
With Drew, it wasn’t about the pleasure of the act. It was about being with him, becoming with him. I needed his heart next to mine, his mouth on my mouth.
“Ash,” he came to me, hearing my name on his lips was torture. “Sugar, I have no condoms. I don’t, I haven’t-” I saw his throat work as he swallowed.
“I do.” I nodded frantically. “I have them. I have condoms—in lots of different sizes.”
He stared down at me, his eyes searching my face. “You have condoms?”
“Yes.” I kissed his stunned mouth. “Don’t—just don’t ask.” I pushed on his chest, jumped up from the bed, and flew to my bag, digging to the bottom of it. My hand found the vibrator first and I pushed it to the side. Then I found the packages of condoms, grabbed a handful, and returned to the bed.
I was already tearing into a package with my teeth when I returned to him, extracting the sheath and reaching for his shaft. His hands came up to help but I smacked them away, rolling the condom down the length of him, his perfect head, the straight silky shaft, yet almost despairing when I fully realized his largeness and length.
But then a miracle happened. Because it fit. It fit perfectly. Bless Sandra and her magnum sized condoms.
And hell, he was beautiful.
People may claim that talk of condoms or safe sex makes the act less spontaneous and erotic. Those people are wrong. Protection only ruins the mood when one partner isn’t as committed to safety as the other is. Looking at Drew, laying on his back, hard and prepped and ready for me; his eyes echoing the intensity of my need, ready to fill me up and quench this crippling desire—there was nothing more erotic.
He reached for me and I straddled him before he had a chance to turn me. Drew sat up, grabbing my hips as I reached for his length. I brought him to my apex, lowered myself, and threw my head back as he filled me.
I gasped and he muttered a curse. His mouth found my breast, licking and sucking and biting; his fingers dug into my hips, then my ribs, then my bottom, wild and needy. I stilled, adjusting to the invasion that I’d initiated, then sunk lower, taking the entire length.
He cursed again, exhaling the words like he couldn’t grasp what was happening, and his mind fought for sanity in the face of insane desire. I lifted myself, then lowered, then rocked, my hands on his shoulders, our bodies rubbing together in a mutual caress.
Drew was the constant gentle rolling thunder, the soft kind that is felt in the chest and subtly shakes the ground.
Our breathing quickened. Despite the chilliness of the night, our bodies were hot and slick, my movements fumbling, rapacious, and clumsy.
I recognized the moment his mind finally comprehended and accepted what we were doing, felt it the second he took the reins. He overtook my maladroit lead, assuming control and setting the rhythm. His hands were guiding instead of searching, and he moved me how he liked, how he knew would bring me the most pleasure and the most contact. He knew what I needed, how I needed him.
He taught me that you don’t dance in the fire; you dance in the rain.
I willingly surrendered. Where he led, I followed. Where he pushed, I ceded. The rain became torrential, a rising tide, a claiming swell, a violent thing.
“Ashley, look at me,” he growled.
I gave him my eyes and we clashed, silver against blue. The sounds I made were silent to my ears, but I couldn’t hold them within as I surrendered to this galvanized euphoria. My release came like a flash, a strobe, and it stayed, claiming me again and again. It blinded me to everything but him and his climax, the ecstasy he found in me and my body.
Drew was the lightning, harsh and painful and wonderful. Overwhelming bursts of piercing brightness, frightening and beautiful in his intensity.
I’d thought of him as grace in motion, but I was wrong.
Drew was poetry in motion. Like his words, his lovemaking was a weapon.
The rain, like the flame, is dangerous. But you don’t realize its power until it’s too late.
The second time we made love was just before sunrise.
I’d fallen into a deep sleep, naked and wrapped in his limbs.
He woke me with tender kisses on my neck, his skillful fingers between my legs. I turned to him, my arms open, and pulled him to me.
The pace and rhythm were slower, measured, and set entirely by Drew. It reminded me again of a tango, artfully choreographed like he’d been planning the steps. The kisses and touches were gentle, worshipful, prolonged. It was a spring rain, bringing life to new blossoms.
My release was intense but sweet and sustaining, like honey. And I drifted back to sleep, feeling satiated in the moment.
I awoke with a start some time later.
I was alone. I was naked. I was warm. And where Drew had slept was also warm, a clue that he’d just recently left the bed.
I sat up, automatically bringing the sheet with me, and glanced around the room. Red and purple maples tapped against the window, the sun was bright, but not terribly high in the sky. The sleep fog receded, and reality—both good and bad and confusing—didn’t come crashing down.
Rather, reality arrived via swift, wonky UFO. My life was served to me on a bizarre platter that I didn’t recognize. My mother was gone; today was her funeral. Drew and I had made love together twice last night; tomorrow I would say goodbye to my brothers and fly back to Chicago.
Tomorrow I would leave Drew.
The door to my room was closed; even so, I heard voices on the other side coming from someplace in the house. I dressed quickly in my hastily discarded clothes from the night before and walked to the door.
My hand hovered over the handle, but I didn’t touch it. Instead, I stared at the wall and let the weight of my decisions settle on my shoulders. I nearly lost my breath.
I didn’t know what I was doing. Drew had left me again with no map. But that was my fault, because I was a big girl and knew how to work a GPS. I shouldn’t have relied on him to be my compass.
Gathering my courage and my resolve to plot my own course, I opened the door and, having never found myself in this kind of situation before, I walked as naturally as possible down the hall.
The voices grew louder as I approached the kitchen, and I recognized them at once. My brothers were here—all six of them.
I peeked around the corner and my suspicions proved true. All six of my brothers were there, plus Drew, plus Alex and Sandra.
Alex saw me first. He was about to wave, but I shook my head frantically and withdrew further into the hallway. I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to walk in there and act natural.
Drew had a history of announcing things before discussing them with me, like how he’d told Beau that his feelings for me were not sisterly. Therefore, I worried that he would immediately tell the room that we’d consummated our relationship. Also, I worried that he wouldn’t tell the whole room that we’d consummated our relationship.
What if he was having regrets? What if our night together didn’t mean to him what it meant to me?
And, by the way, since I was thinking on the matter, what did our night together mean to me? What was my opinion?
The vital point being, I was freaked out and flustered and overwrought and emotional, and wished my GPS wasn’t on the fritz.
I heard footsteps approach so I turned and prepared to flee into the bathroom, but a hand caught my arm and turned me around.
“Ashley, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Upon seeing Alex, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was the most benign of all potential males currently inhabiting the house.
I pressed my finger to my lips and motioned for him to follow, pulling him into the library and shutting the door.
I should admit that Alex was striking in that he looked like a dangerous, sexy hooligan; tall with a swimmer’s build, dark blue eyes that were sometimes violet, jet black hair, an
d a ragged scar that ran from his chin to his neck. He was also five years younger than me and almost eight years younger than his wife, my good friend Sandra.
Oh, and his voice melted butter. Seriously.
“Hey….” His eyes narrowed on me. “Is everything okay? Other than the obvious.”
Oh, and he often lacked customary social skills like appropriate displays of sympathy and/or empathy.
I nodded, releasing a breath. “Yeah, I guess so…when did you all get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago. I stayed with your brothers last night at the house. You now have free access to that streaming video website you like. Also, the NSA’s black ops fund has made a contribution to National Cervical Cancer Coalition in the name of your mother.”
Oh, and he was a genius.
My eyebrows lifted, “Alex. Don’t do that. That’s stealing.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Fine.” He frowned, looking annoyed. “Why are we hiding in here?”
“We’re not hiding. I just—I’m just not ready to face everyone.”
His frown flattened as he studied me. “Why?”
I ignored his question. This could go on all day. “Why is everyone here? I thought the plan was to meet at the house.”
He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Something about your crazy dad. He came by last night. I don’t think your brother wants him to follow the funeral procession. By the way, do you want me to ruin his credit score? I could erase him from the central databases.”
“No. He ruined his own credit score years ago, and there’s a high possibility he’s wanted for some crime some place. Best to leave him in the central databases. So, uh,” I glanced over Alex’s shoulder, “Is Drew out there?”
“Yeah.” Alex looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think he’ll take me fishing? I’ve never been fishing.”
I squinted at him and his randomness. “Fishing?”
“Yeah. Maybe Sandra and I could come back with you when you visit. Drew is good people, and he seems like he’d be really good at fishing. We couldn’t fish today, obviously; we don’t have time. He mentioned about you coming back with us today. It’ll be nice to have you back. You’re better at chess than Nico.”
My body froze like I’d been doused with ice water, but my eyes immediately cut back to Alex. “What?”
“You know, Quinn’s plane. We all flew down together. You’re coming back with us.”
I stared into Alex’s violet eyes for a beat, hoping that I’d misunderstood him. “To Chicago?”
He narrowed his gaze on me. “Yes…to Chicago. Where else would we be going?”
“Today?”
He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That’s right. Drew and Quinn arranged it all.”
I exhaled and felt like my heart left my body with the breath. “Drew did? Drew arranged it?”
Alex tsked. “Yeah. Like I said, it was Drew’s idea.”
I glared at Alex, but I didn’t really see him.
It was Drew’s idea. Drew wanted me to leave today. I was leaving for Chicago today, and it was Drew’s idea.
The door to the library opened and I sucked in a startled breath. Luckily, it was just Jethro.
“Ash, there you are. How’re you doing? We brought food, and Drew put on some coffee.” Jethro crossed to me and gave me a quick hug. “Hey, Alex.”
Alex gave Jethro a little wave. “Hi, Jethro.”
“You need to go get ready,” Jethro said to me, and he pushed me out the door, down the hall, and into the bathroom. “You’ll ride with me for the funeral. We need to leave in the next half hour because you know it takes forty-five minutes to get into town from here. Reverend Seymour is expecting us, and I left my suit at the church.”
Then he abruptly closed the door, leaving me alone with my mixed-up, broken-hearted thoughts as company.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"We are afraid to care too much for fear that the other person does not care at all."
— Eleanor Roosevelt
I hurried through my shower. This was because I needed to see and talk to Drew, and I needed to do it as soon as possible or else I was going to lose my mind.
When I was drying off, Sandra knocked on the door then handed me my underthings and a black dress. I dried my hair, dressed quickly, applied minimal makeup—no mascara—and rushed to the kitchen only to find that Drew was taking a shower in the other bathroom.
Sandra pushed a cup of coffee into my hands and two Danish pastries wrapped in a napkin. “Eat this. Drink this.”
I nodded, glancing past her toward the hallway and Drew’s door. I was struck by the realization that I’d never seen his bedroom. We’d only ever slept in my room, the guest room.
I handed the pastry and coffee back to Sandra, not looking at her as I walked past and said, “Hold this for me a sec, would you?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. But you have five minutes,” she called after me.
I gave her a thumbs-up. When I arrived at Drew’s door, I hesitated in front of it—caught between wanting to barge in and knowing that knocking was the right choice.
Eventually I knocked. He didn’t respond.
“Drew?” I asked, not liking that my voice was higher pitched than I’d intended. I cleared my throat. “Drew, can I talk to you?”
I listened to him walking around, a drawer opening and closing. “Yeah, give me a minute.”
More walking. More drawers opening and closing.
Then I heard him coming closer to the door. I placed my hands on my hips then crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my limbs.
He opened the door about four inches, just enough for me to see his eyes, that he was shirtless, and that he wore a towel around his waist.
“Drew, can I—can we talk for a minute?”
His eyes darted over my shoulder, then back to my face. He didn’t respond, but he looked troubled.
I felt a little stab of pain in my chest and a rising heat over my neck. I released a slow breath, trying to reason my way through this and not jump to conclusions that were unflattering to us both. But it was hard not to. Jumping to unflattering conclusions was in my genetic makeup.
“Drew….” I licked my lips, swallowed. “I really need to talk to you.”
His eyes moved between mine, then he stepped away from the entrance and opened the door wider so I could enter. He glanced around his room like he was searching for something.
“Drew, I….”
I didn’t know where to start. A sudden and uncomfortable distance had grown between us; it had happened sometime after he’d made love to me this morning. I wanted to talk about last night. I wanted to ask why he’d arranged for me to leave today. I wanted to ask him if I was the only one who was feeling like I’d been caught in a rainstorm naked.
“What is it?” He stood apart from me, his back stiff and straight like he was bracing himself. His usually vibrant eyes were cool, guarded.
“Did you arrange with Quinn for me to leave today?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him, hoping he would continue with some explanation. When he didn’t, I blinked several times (because blinking was my default when I was confused and flustered).
I didn’t know what else to say.
Perhaps if I’d been in my right mind; perhaps if it weren’t the morning of my mother’s funeral; perhaps if every single one of my previous experiences with physical intimacy hadn’t ended with me being discarded, I might have asked him for an explanation.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t have the energy.
I pressed my lips together, nodded slowly, and pretended. “I see. Well, thanks. That makes things a lot easier. I guess I should pack.”
“Sandra already did that,” he said, his face and his tone expressionless.
“What?”
“Sandra, she already packed your stuff.” Drew tightened the towel
around his waist.
I nodded again and removed my eyes from him, not wanting to see him. Instead, I glanced around his room, not really noticing much. The bed was bigger than mine. His leather notebook was on his bedside table. He had no pictures anywhere.
I inhaled a steadying breath, turned, and walked to the door, mumbling, “Jethro is probably going to give me the stink eye if I make him late.”
I was out the door, down the hall, and outside the house before I started to cry. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I nearly collided with Sandra. She was still holding my coffee and pastry.
Momma’s funeral was an exercise of going through the motions for the sake of going through the motions. I’ve never been a fan of funerals for more than the obvious reasons. Of the emotions, mourning in particular feels like something that should be sacred and intensely private.
The entire town showed up at the church. My brothers and I sat in the front pew, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was on display.
Regardless, other than having to share my grief with a few hundred people, it was a lovely service.
I didn’t cry until Mrs. Beverton, the choir director, sang the second verse of “Amazing Grace.” I feel like it’s compulsory to play “Amazing Grace” during a Christian funeral. It’s the only way to make sure everyone leaves sobbing like a baby.
Billy put his arm around me and held me close; my other brothers and Drew were the pallbearers. Drew stood out from the rest as the tallest, and he was the only blond one in the bunch. All I saw was the back of his head as they carried the casket to the hearse. All I felt was empty.
Billy and I were swarmed on our way out and spent as much time as we could listening to people recount stories of my mother’s kindness. Eventually we had to break from the crowd and drive to the cemetery in order to make it in time for the burial.
Upon arriving, we were ushered to a tent set up next to the burial site. Billy and I took the last two chairs in the front row next to Jethro and Cletus. Drew and my younger three brothers were in the second row behind us, but Drew was on the far side, four seats from where I was seated.
