by LW Barefoot
I don’t want us to ever get enough of each other. I’m starting to believe that it’s not going to be a problem. But expectations can be dangerous because they’re usually false. I excuse myself to the bathroom on the other side of the bar.
“Are you tired?” Evan asks as he holds me in his arms when I come back.
I shake my head. I see movement out of the window and jolt as a gigantic alligator strolls like a sloth across the back of the house.
“I’m never going to let Ru’ outside again,” I promise.
Evan watches the gator in the window.
“Papa Bear isn’t going to do anything to Rufus.”
“You named that thing?” I ask, shocked that he sounded almost affectionate towards the gator.
“Mae named him, said he was as ugly as her Papa Bear and the name stuck. She feeds him after the dinner meals.”
“That’s Mae’s pet?”
“Not exactly, she jokes that he’s added security. He keeps the other gators off the property so she gives him incentive to stay on the land. Martin feeds him when Mae isn’t here. Don’t throw out any expired chicken if you see some in the fridge.”
I smile against his chest as his fingers work in my hair, tugging lightly on single strands, sending chills down my spine.
“I thought alligators weren’t territorial,” I say this, but I don’t really know.
Jamie and I took one of those tourist trips out to a bayou when we first moved down here. The only gators we saw were in close proximity to each other.
“The largest of the males defend their territory, the smaller ones are more tolerable against males their own size. Bear has to be one of the largest I’ve seen,” Evan explains as his hands trail up and down my spine.
This is easy, this is what I long for most. Quiet, senseless intimacy.
I’ll never be able to walk in this room without remembering tonight. Evan unapologetically choosing me and having his way with me. I bend to his demands because he’s the only one that’s able to seal the cracks in my sanity. Our intimacy kept spinning in circles and switching tempo with our physical connection.
We started the night off with Evan claiming me in mind blowing certainty and fierce lust. The hours pass by and with it should have been that need to devour and seek relief. But it didn’t, our slow pace and appreciation of each other was hotter and more intimate than any frenzied moment of passion we’ve shared.
My fingertips stroke over the piano, teasingly. Evan props himself up on his elbow, watching me.
“Do you play?” I ask.
“No, do you?”
“Trailer houses usually don’t come with pianos or lessons.”
I should have stopped the words before they came out. He doesn’t say anything as he stands up and walks over to the bench.
“I can play spoons like a boss,” Evan says, but he can’t say it without making himself laugh.
That sound I was so jealous of earlier echoes through the ballroom and tickles up my skin. Our laughter calms as I sit on the bench next to him.
“We’re not that different, Harper.”
“In what ways?”
“Our situations growing up. There may have been money in my upbringing, but it was only used to throw at whoever my parents could hire to get me out of their sight. Thanks to Mae, I didn’t grow up with a disillusioned vision of the world.”
His hand reaches up and pushes my hair behind my ear.
“I know about your situation as a child but don’t ever be ashamed of that. I used to wonder why Mae would take Brad and I back to her house or grocery shopping, or even to a park. I would watch as one of my parent’s would hand her a wad of cash and sometimes even a credit card before she would take me. She would refuse to use one of their cars in favor of her own.”
He smiles as if recalling riding in the back seat.
“Why wouldn’t she take one of their cars?”
“Whether my parents cared where she was taking me, she didn’t want their car stolen. That’s one of the reasons they trusted Mae, she wasn’t greedy. Mae would have this huge pile of cash to spend however she saw fit and you know what she did with it?”
“Knowing Mae, there’s no telling,” I confess.
That makes him smile.
“She would make sure that we learned something. Whether it was cooking, or giving, or whatever the lesson was. I had more fun spending my parents money on people other than myself it was exhilarating. We spent time going to missions and shelters, feeding the homeless. She would make sure that we witnessed how everyone else lives. I spent more time in her humble neighborhood than the mansions you associate me with.”
“That’s mostly your fault,” I say as he smirks.
Evan washing dishes at Mae’s wasn’t so out of the norm after all.
“I can see that and I haven’t done a very good job of revealing who I am to you, have I?”
“I think we’re both guilty of that,” I confess.
“Tell me something you remember about your childhood,” he requests.
“Trust me, I try to forget it every chance I get.”
That’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“Wait, no, I have Jamie, he’s the best thing about growing up.”
“I figured as much. What’s something you’ve always wanted?”
I like that he’s changing the subject.
“I’ve never seen snow in person.”
I don’t even have to think about it and blurt it out. I smile as I’m mesmerized by how open he’s being.
“Then we’ll have to fix that,” he kisses me after his explanation. “What about something indulgent?”
“It might sound silly but it’s Rufus. He’s completely ridiculous and I love every little thing about him.”
“So there’s nothing else you want?”
I know he wants me to say something materialistic, but there isn’t anything. I buy the clothes and shoes I want, I got the dog I wanted. My wants are simple and honest. My most indulgent desire is Evan. I don’t even care anymore if that’s something I could ask for.
“I want you, Evan. Whatever you’re asking, I just want you, nothing else.”
Evan doesn’t answer me with words as he kisses me, cutting me off. His lips move and softly caress against mine. His searching tongue tangles with mine and the words I wanted to reveal disappear from the surface. I tentatively move my palms to cup his face, mirroring how he holds me. I climb on his lap. Both of us naked from earlier, but somehow this feels more intimate.
His strong arms lock behind my back, bracing me against him. His rock hard erection pressing between us. I lift myself up to take him in. Our lips never leaving each other’s. His fingers grip the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling and tugging against the strands.
The short piano bench allows for me to use my legs, my toes touch the rug underneath. His grip harsh and enticing as I sink down on his cock. It’s his turn to moan as I swivel my hips. His head falls back with the sensation. I run my tongue up the column of his throat, tasting his skin and licking the muscles running up his neck. Using my teeth to clamp down on a protruding muscle, knowing how much I love the sensation and hoping that he does as well.
“Is this what you want, Harper?” he asks, his hips thrusting up to meet me.
I look him in eyes and he knows this isn’t the only thing I’m asking for.
“Tell me, Harper, what do you want?”
I’m throbbing and the tightness of his body rubs up against my swollen clit. His arms never falter as he keeps me close to him, keeps my scalp tingling in his grasp. His lips just inches from mine, his hot breath fans across my face. I shake my head, defying him. I promised myself not to tell him that I love him, not like this.
My desire for Evan isn’t empty, not even close. But love, fuck me, love snuck up and revealed its selfishness. I tried, with everything I am, I tried to stop these feelings at desire. I can no longer call it that. Desire left me wanting, but love teth
ers me to this fierce man that holds me tight.
We stare at each other as if we’re finally seeing the other. I lift up fractionally, my inner muscles squeezing him tightly and begging for more. I wish he could feel the pulse of my blood that has nothing to do with our physical actions.
Evan pushes me down on him harshly. His eyes dancing in defiance, asking me to answer him.
I repeat the action, pulling up then slammed down on him. He takes that moment to sink his teeth into my neck. I explode around him. The hand holding my jaw moves to cover my mouth, silencing my screams and my confession.
I come so sharp and intense that the stars outside spin with the bursts of light my orgasm set off. His cock pushing up so tightly and far into me that it’s almost painful, but it’s unsettling perfection. I want to feel like this with those words out there dancing between us. With no worry or fear about what the future holds for us. I think this as Evan holds me tighter in his embrace. His hips thrust up into me and I spread my legs as wide as I can to accommodate him.
Small harsh movements bring him to completion. I don’t even think about my hand going to his mouth and repeating his actions. Covering his lips and trapping his exclamation of release, watching his body tense. I sit harder on his cock, swirling my hips, his cock kicking and spurting up inside me.
I remove my hand and kiss him with abandon. Expressing my feelings with my actions and understanding that I’m still the coward I used to be.
Harper
I spent the better part of last night shifting through my things that were boxed up and brought out to the plantation. Needing to locate the binder containing five years worth of notes. Passages of everything that’s come to mind. Most of it isn’t relevant, but there has to be something in all that ink Ryan hasn’t heard before.
One sleepless night and I’m up early, looking forward to finally getting this over with. Jamie and Martin are in the foyer when Ru’ and I get around. His bags are packed and he’s leaving.
There was no reason for him to stay as long as he has, but selfishly I’m happy he did.
I smile as he wraps me in a comforting hug.
“Are you going to be okay without me?” he asks.
“The real question is, are you going to be okay without me?” I tease, my meaning lighthearted, but his gaze darkens.
“No, of course not. Come back to New Orleans, Harper.”
“I will, I promise.”
“When?” he wants to know and I would like to tell him.
I know he helped pack my things, but neither one of us thought that it would be for good. Just long enough for me to heal and get my life back together, again. We haven’t lived under different roofs in years.
“Soon, I promise. I have to get through today and get this over with,” I say.
Jamie sets me back on my feet and bends down to pet Rufus, ignoring the real reason he’s leaving before the estate fills with agents and interrogations. Of truth too hurtful to talk about and a scab that’s tried to heal for five years, that’s about to get ripped off without recourse.
I also have a few more paintings I have to finish to complete my new collection. I don’t want to interrupt the series by moving right now. Especially with the motivation for the paintings standing right outside the windows of my studio. At first, I worried it would give away my location but my work has evolved. My techniques and style have changed and grown since I was in grad school. These huge oaks are all over the Southern region of the states.
“I will come get you, all you have to do is ask,” he whispers.
I don’t like his attitude or reluctance to leave me here. We’ve always been close, nothing could change that, or at least, I hope nothing could. I reach for him and hug him again as if the embrace will calm his worried mind.
“Text me when you get back to New Orleans. I want to know you got there okay.”
“I will. Call me, Harper, if you need anything at all.”
He strokes my cheek in the familiar way he’s done for ages. There’s so much reluctance in his departure and his attitude.
I locate both Tom and Ryan in the dining room. I set down the notebook and start to fix myself breakfast from the buffet that’s spread out on the console. Ryan looks almost excited with the possibility of what it could uncover. Tom, however, looks at it as if nothing good can come from this.
“I will leave this with you.”
I push the book to Ryan and he places a possessive hand over it.
“When would you like me to come back, so we can discuss it?” I ask.
I’ve got to occupy my time, if not I will sit in the library and watch them both read my hand-written truths. I’m not at all ready to witness either one of them reading the passages.
“Give us a couple of hours, we’ll be in the library.”
I leave both of them with the one thing that exposes me. They’re not going to like how gruesome or detailed some of the notes are, but that might be the missing information they’ve been looking for.
The Sculptor’s Welcome
When you’ve pushed your limits and there’s no ledge for you to fall off of, you’re left with vast nothingness with no breaking point and no boundaries. That void is no longer looking so empty.
The thought of anyone desiring Casey after seeing her scars unnerves me. After the initial anger dimmed, I tried to wrap my mind around my own response to her. I carved her delectable skin because the light was fading in her eyes. I didn’t even want the coroner to see her as I did, I wanted that for myself and for the lasting images I painted of her.
Maybe the twisted temptation of love I thought I felt vanished when she plunged that knife in herself.
Sarah and Gisele told me very little about why I was needed and frankly, I don’t care. Their invitation to get to Casey and all the information needed to accomplish the task left me impressed and too tempted to deny.
The humidity in New Orleans has its daunting hold wrapped around every inch of my skin. It’s spring and already the air is stifling. My usually dried out lungs crave arid desert air. I hate every inch of this forgotten city. Nothing made sense here. Just historic chaos and no one has cared to correct it.
I scan Jackson Square and take in the melting pot. I unbutton the top few buttons on my dress shirt. This place is already testing my patience. Nothing could have kept me from coming here. I want to hurt Casey all over again for putting herself in such danger. Laying her precious head down every night in a place that has evil lurking around every corner. I smirk because the most evil of them all is coming for her.
I walk through tight streets and dodge water dripping down from balconies and the broken slate sidewalks. My footsteps cover the same steps Casey’s have landed on.
I hand the card Sarah gave me to the elderly doorman of the complex. His friendly smile and greeting assures my entrance to Casey’s townhouse. I listen to him closely as he unlocks her front door. Explaining something about another woman coming by later. The name isn’t the one I remember or the one Casey’s fooled herself into becoming.
The moment I’m in her house, my emotions start raging. Awe, disbelief, and confusion all rattle through me. I thought I knew her. Every last detail from her taste in decor to the smell of her skin. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t this. The building is old, I knew that it had to be with how old the neighborhood is but her modern decor is gone. Replaced with exposed brick and weatherworn decorations.
Jamie has his arms around Casey in a photo displayed on a side table. Faces pushed together and their smiles are wide. He has what’s mine in his arms. Seeing them together brings up so many memories of how he got her when she should have been with me. Even as children she chose him. I helped, I cared for her, but she forgot all that when the time came for her to switch foster homes. I took the abuse intended for her. The lashes on my back start to itch remembering all the times I stood up for her. A trickle of sweat slides down my spine, slipping over the uneven ridged skin.
I tour the home, taking in the details of every square inch. My anticipation jolts as I walk upstairs. The room I find myself in has to be Casey’s. Past the normal setup of a bedroom is her studio. I have mixed feelings about her continuing her painting without me. I’m the reason she paints to begin with, whether she knows it or cares to remember who gave her the watercolors I shared with her when we were kids. And she shared with me much later under the delicate fibers that finally delivered her release.
There’s no sign of whether or not she’s been here recently.
The room is clean. Too polished for someone that has an entire area dedicated to her craft. I throw open the closet doors revealing only a few articles of clothing haphazardly hanging. She’s not here and hasn’t been for a while.
I dial Sarah’s number. She answers after two rings.
“Hello,” she says.
“You lied to me,” I accuse.
“What do you mean?”
“Casey’s not in her home and she hasn’t been for some time.”
“Let me think,” she tries to explain.
“You have until this evening to tell me where I can find her. And Sarah, don’t test me. You made promises, promises you have to keep in order for me to keep mine.”
I hang up. I need Sarah fueled by fear to get me answers.
I lie on Casey’s bed, turning my head to take in the scent of her on her sheets, but there isn’t one.
Where the fuck is she?
It’s risky for me to be here, in broad daylight no less. I pull myself off the bed, locating the necessary tubes of paint to mix the perfect shade of Casey’s blood as rage and disappointment compete and overshadow every other dizzying emotion.
I swirl the tones with my gloved hand, amassing a large amount. Not careful of how I control the dark crimson paint. The color makes my mouth water. I mark her bed in a warning only she would know. I stab a pallet knife in one of her pillows and shred it across the fabric. Feathers fly out of the ripped pillow and flutter around in morning rays of light.
My fury pours out as I destroy her room. Throwing the mask she feared so much on top of the mess I made.
