by Jill Jaynes
A barrage of emotions crashed over her, but she ignored them, as he covered her body with his.
Opening her eyes, Patrice gazed up as JB hovered over her.
“Patrice,” he said, “I’ve never forgotten you. I’ve tried, but when I heard you were in town, all of those memories I had let fade away were infused with life again, and I haven’t been able fight them off.”
Patrice touched his cheek. It was warm and rough from the day’s growth of his beard. “I haven’t forgotten you. How could I? You’ve lived in my dreams of long ago.”
He kissed her lightly on her lips again. “I should walk you back.” He started to roll off of her, but Patrice held tight to his outstretched arms.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to just remember what was, I want to live what is, right now.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, more sure about this than anything else.
“I don’t have any protection.”
“You don’t need any from me,” she whispered pulling his head down to hers and kissing him hard.
Patrice tugged his t-shirt free, running her hands up his back, feeling each valley and peak of his muscles. His tongue danced through his kiss and Patrice arched her body up wanting to feel every single inch of him. Desire fueled her movements; she pushed JB up and over, rolling him onto his back. Climbing on top of him, she straddled him, pressing down, feeling his arousal through his jeans.
“Patrice,” he whispered, “look at me.” JB cupped his hands over hers, as she fumbled with the fly of his jeans.
She looked at him just as the beacon from the lighthouse swirled, stretching high above their heads. His eyes burned with desire and Patrice swallowed, wanting to satisfy her thirst for him.
“They’re buttons,” he said, glancing at the fly of his jeans.
Patrice took a closer look. Buttons. She heard him laugh and she silenced him with a kiss. “Just for that. I’m not giving up my place on top.”
He held her by her hips, his hands snaking up her flank under her blouse. “I wouldn’t dream of usurping you. Ever.”
Arching back, she relished in his touch. His hands caressed her skin, igniting the smoldering fire that burned within her.
He bent his knees forcing Patrice to lean back against his thighs as he tugged the elastic waist of her leggings down, slipping his hand into her underwear. He probed her with his fingers slowly and methodically back and forth; letting each movement, each touch, speak for itself.
Leaning back, and overcome by his ministrations, Patrice felt her body, asleep for so long, awaken by his touch. Her wet response increased as his tempo intensified. He pushed deeper and she clung to his hand, pressing her body down, arching her back even further. His name died on her lips as her body spasmed. She opened her eyes in the star filled night, floating, weightlessness, her limbs liquefied. Euphoria bubbled deep within her, floating up, pulling with it a searing heat that burned through her, searing to the end of her extremities.
The moonlight cascaded over her, cool and brilliant, as it rose over the weather-beaten rock cliffs, coating them with its luminousness.
Holding her by her arms, JB slowly guided her forward, laying her on his chest as she caught her breath. His heartbeat, loud, strong and reassuring, echoing against her ear.
His body was still rigid, strung tight beckoning her to move. She pushed herself up and looked into his face. His face raged with passion under the moonlight. She rubbed her nose against his and he laughed. “Your turn.”
Leaning back, she methodically unbuttoned his jeans; his eyes never left her face. She caressed him through his briefs. He sucked in his breath just as Patrice rolled up to her knees, tugging at his jeans. They tumbled over, a disarray of arms and legs, stripping their clothes off until they both were naked. Patrice pushed his legs apart, wrapping her hand around his erection.
Leaning over, she ran her tongue up to its head. JB shuddered, arching his back. Patrice did it again, this time concentrating on the top, swirling her tongue back and forth licking each droplet of cum. Slowly closing her mouth over him, she braced herself with her hands on either side of his body. Curling her fingers deep into the sand, she sucked slowly at first and then increasing the rhythm as he grew harder.
JB squirmed and moaned, a deep guttural moan redolent of pleasure and pain, which encouraged Patrice to pick up the tempo. His hands interweaved in her hair as she continued to move up and down. He grew larger, stretching the confines of his pleasure; his cum salty and sticky came faster and denser.
“Stop. Please,” he said, his breath ragged. “God. Patrice. You. Are. Amazing.” He ran his hands down her arms, holding on to her.
“One of my many talents.” She sat up, watching the waves of emotions flow across his face.
“Oh God,” he exclaimed again, as she slowly lowered herself down guiding him inside her. His girth pulled at her and she grimaced as a shot of pain radiated through her body. She slowed her descent as her body became more and more comfortable with his intrusion.
Finally, resting on top of him, she slowly rocked back and forth, undulating with the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.
JB gripped her hips, his fingers holding her tight. Under her motion, he grew harder within her; she could feel him straining against the inevitable just struggling to hang on.
He raised his hips, a final push, filling her. He let out a yelp and Patrice lost her inner control, as her body shattered. Falling forward, she rested on his sweat slick chest. JB gently wiped her hair from her face, before kissing the top of her head.
She breathed deeply, experiencing the luxurious state of being with him once again. She listened to the beat of his heart and was struck by the thought that she loved him. There had been many before and many after, but never someone like him: he was the only man for her, even though she knew she could never have him.
Coldness crept over her back as she forced her eyes open. She was naked, still a top of JB. The lighthouse beacon swirled across the sky overhead. JB was sound asleep, his mouth slightly open just breathing below a snore. He was still in her and she carefully maneuvered off of him and rolled to the side, the sand cold and wet against her bare skin.
“What?” JB sat up on his elbows, looking at Patrice.
She shivered, fumbling with the tangle of their discarded clothes.
“You’re freezing.” He rolled up, yanking on his jeans, grabbing her blouse and shaking out the sand. “Here.”
She slipped it on. Piece-by-piece they dressed, without speaking, trying to combat the cold. Patrice shoved her bra and underwear into her purse and grabbed her shoes. JB helped her over the rocks back to the main beach.
Patrice wondered what time it was, since the full moon was now high in the night sky, but her phone was buried in her purse and besides, did it really matter what time it was? All that mattered was that it was the last time she would be with JB.
Reaching over, JB took her free hand and brought it to his lips, “I’ll walk you back.”
She nodded as they walked in silence up the staircase leading to Main Street.
Under the glow of the streetlight, Patrice stopped; mustering up her courage to speak. This might be the last chance to say what was on her mind, to tell him how she really felt. “JB?” Her voice seemed loud.
He didn’t stop, but kept walking, “We’ll talk later. You need to get home and so do I.”
Home. That was what she felt. She was home with him, whether it was on the beach or across the table at Lily’s Pad, being with JB was home—where she felt safe, secure, but more importantly, loved.
She felt every crack and imperfection with her bare feet on the rough concrete. Remnants of sand was still buried in the creases of her body and clung to her mess of hair, but rather than being cold, she was warm and satisfied and content, like she had never been before. Her stride was in perfect cadence with his and in the far recess of her mind, she dared to think that Moonlight Cove could rea
lly be home.
* * *
JB sat in his truck in front of the dance academy, watching Aurora enter the building with other little girls dressed in pink tights and black leotards. He had an hour to wait until she was done. He picked up one of his student papers. He flipped through the first one and then tossed it back on the stack on the passenger seat. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept circling back to Patrice. He ran his hands over his shorn hair. His desire was to drive over to Debra’s house, take Patrice in his arms and confess all. But of course, he couldn’t do that.
Last night was amazing. She was everything he remembered and even more. Having sex on the beach was great. But more so, it was just the reminder he needed that he could easily lose his heart to her all over again.
The pain of her leaving ten years ago was one thing. But could he withstand a second time? He needed to keep his feelings under wraps. How could he when the woman of his dreams climbed on top of him and seemed to know his body better than he did.
His phone buzzed. Good news. The restaurant in San Francisco got their special delivery of abalone. The chef sent a thank you and a personal invite; if you are ever in town… JB thought how he’d like to take Patrice there. He bet she would dress up and be stunning, although she could never be more beautiful than she was last night out on the beach.
Was he a coward? He should have told Patrice about the house and the planning commission last night when he walked into the Marlin Bar. He should have told her right then, but seeing her there made his heart flip-flop. What good would it have done—ruin her evening? He was a coward.
He glanced at his watch. He had an hour before he had to be back for Aurora. He started his truck and threw it into drive.
He had to tell her. He needed to be honest with her. He knew she was going to be angry but he would never forgive himself nor be able to live with himself, if he wasn’t honest with her and tried to help her.
The house was quiet. For some reason he had thought maybe she would be storming around, yelling and swearing. He had to admit as he got out of his truck, he never really ever knew how she would react.
Take last night. When he saw her he wasn’t expecting to have sex on the beach. That was the thing with Patrice. He just never knew. Maybe that’s why she made such an impression on him those ten years ago. He just never knew what to expect with her, and that intrigued him.
He slammed the truck door and made his way along the side garden to the kitchen door. The garden was overgrowing. The geraniums spilled out over the brick walkway, and their fragrance lingered in the night air.
He looked into the window. The kitchen was deserted. Even Dante wasn’t around. He tried the door and it was unlocked.
“Patrice?” he called out, before walking in. He got no answer.
On top of the table was the letter from the planning commission, his signature in bright blue ink. He didn’t need to look at it to know what it said. He knew. They had debated and argued about the issue, and one of the members had even accused him of sleeping with the enemy. But in the end, he had to agree with the final assessment. The sale of this house couldn’t go through without planning commission approval.
“What the—You’re not welcomed here.”
Patrice stood in the doorway. Under the kitchen light, her face was sharp angles and deep shadows.
“I came to—”
“Gloat? Congratulate yourself? You don’t need me to do that, do you?”
“Patrice I know this looks bad. The commission is only protecting Moonlight Cove from predator developers. It’s nothing personal.”
“It’s my house. Mine. A probate judge told me so. I can do with it what I want. You can’t stop me. I can sell this house to whomever I want. I own it. It’s mine. I have rights as the owner.”
“The house is on the state historic registry. It’s a protected state—”
“Just stop. Just. Stop.”
“You can still sell the house, but the planning commission has to approve the—”
“Or I could just abandon it and you have a nice piece of blight here in your precious Moonlight Cove?”
“You don’t mean to—”
“Maybe that’s what I plan on doing. Throw away all the restoration work Debra did. You can sue me for it.”
“Patrice. Don’t be ridiculous. This can all be resolved.”
“Me? Ridiculous? Are you kidding? This letter is ridiculous. I can’t stay here. I can’t go to your precious planning commission meeting. I’ve got to get back to L.A. I have a job. A life, a whole existence that doesn’t include any of this.”
“The commission doesn’t meet for another two weeks. You can come back then and present the issues and—”
“I can’t. You don’t get it. It’s award season. I have to be in L.A. Stylists don’t do their work over the phone or via Twitter. Can you raise and sell abalone driving across the country?”
“Patrice—”
“No! Don’t. You have staff, employees and probably students you teach who work for you. I have no one. It’s just me. I do it all. And, now—” She pulled out the chair and sat down “I can’t do any of it.”
JB sat down next to her. He wanted to reach over and wrap her in his embrace, making the hurt go away. He knew she wouldn’t welcome his empathy, so he waited as she fumed before asking, “Is this more than just the letter?”
Patrice pulled out her phone, swiping her finger across the screen and held it in front of him. “Read it.”
He wasn’t quite sure what it said, but he got the meaning of it. Whoever sent it had fired Patrice.
“You know her.” Patrice tossed her phone on the table. “She’s been a regular on the soaps and just made the jump to the big screen last year. She is or was my biggest client. I’ve been dressing her for years, even before she had money to pay me. I used to take credit from her. I trusted her. I knew she was going to make it in the industry. I just knew it. I know her shape, her coloring, and her style better than she does. She doesn’t just wear clothes. She breathes life into them. Her first Emmy nomination, she wore this no-name designer gown. You know what? Because of her, that designer is now designing at a Paris Fashion house. All because of me. Me. I chose the dress, the shoes, and the jewelry. I convinced her to wear it. Assured her she looked great.”
“What happened?”
“She’s going with someone else—probably someone she found on Instagram, some fashionista with a smart phone and the knack for ‘selfies’, who has a hundred-thousand likes so everything she does goes viral.”
“What about your other clients?”
Patrice reached over and grabbed her cellphone. “They didn’t leave quietly”
JB took the phone and scrolled down one by one reading.
“Yep, there’s nothing better than being ignored—especially in social media.”
“There must be others. You’re good at what you do. You—”
“Spare me the pep talk, please.” Patrice got up and paced back and forth.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go back to L.A. I know a guy who works at one of the studios. His partner lives in the same complex that I do. I’ll see if he has any leads for me.”
“Patrice, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Seriously, Don’t. I should have known this. I should have seen this coming, being dumped by not only the up and coming famous clients, but the client clinging to fame trying to reinvent herself for a younger audience.” She picked up the letter. “This just adds to it. Adds to the whole crap that I’m dealing with.”
He didn’t know what to say. He realized that maybe it was a bad idea to come here tonight, but she shouldn’t be alone. However, was he really the best company? He checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t late for Aurora.
“See, even you have some place better to go,” Patrice observed.
“No. I’ve got to pick up Aurora from dance practice.”
She shrugged. “You do have some place
better to go.”
He got up from the table; sliding his chair in. “I’ll be at the meeting in two weeks. I’ll answer any questions you have. I won’t recuse myself from the commission because of our relationship, but I won’t grant any favors. Someone else will want to buy it and keep it as is.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Everyone in this little seaside town doesn’t get it! I can’t afford to keep this house. I need the money from the sale—”
“For your business?”
“Yeah. And my rent, my cell phone, and my car insurance…” She ticked off her financial needs one by one on her fingers.
“If you need money…”
“You’ll just hand it out to me? That will look great on your commission won’t it? While you guys are undermining my sale, violating my property rights, you’re going to loan me money? Just for curiosity sake, how much does a loan from you cost anyway? Do I get a low interest rate since I put out last night?”
“I know you’re angry, but last night has nothing to do with any of this.”
“It doesn’t? Was it just some coincidence that we were both at the same bar at the same time?”
“Just how many places in Moonlight Cove can you get a drink at 9 o’clock at night?”
She ran her hands through her hair and let out a long breath. Dark circles hung under her eyes. The faded t-shirt and the sweat pants she wore had a thin layer of dust and grime.
“I was wondering what was going on.” She ran her hand back and forth across the back of the chair. “I thought you were a bit off last night. Oh, not on the beach—no that was great, better than great. No, there was something else that I sensed last night about you, but I couldn’t really grasp at it. You never once said anything to me. You had every chance to at the bar, but chose not to.”
“I wanted to. I did. I went there just to have a drink and think. You were there. Excited about the sale and—”
“You lied to me.”
