by Jess Bentley
“Am I hungry?” she muses, her voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. Over the last few days, we have barely left her alone. Everything we have asked of her, she has done willingly. And she doesn’t seem to be cracking under the strain or anything. She is as sturdy and pliable as the moment I met her.
“I could bring you strawberries… Coffee… Maybe some yogurt with flaxseed and vanilla?”
“Biscuits and gravy?” she asks keenly, pushing herself up suddenly on her elbows. Her green eyes sparkle in the low light.
“What, really?” I ask, surprised.
“Why, don’t you guys eat biscuits and gravy?” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “If it’s too much trouble, I can manage it, assuming you have breakfast sausage. I’m a passable cook.”
“Well, it’s no trouble at all,” I answer, shrugging. “It’s just that you’re so trim… You eat like that?”
“I feel like I could eat a bear!” she groans, flopping over. As her nightgown rides up the side of her taut flank, I can see the telltale signs of our lovemaking. There’s a little bit of pale bruising here and there, maybe a smattering of rug burn. I rub my beard self-consciously.
Her eyes flicker down, tracing the path of what I am looking at. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says dismissively. “I seem to be healing up really fast!”
“Well, I don’t want you to have to heal or anything,” I mumble uncertainly. “Are we too rough with you? Do you need a break or something? You’ve been really going for it with us, after all.”
She sits up, smiling, and the strap of her nightgown slides over her shoulder. She doesn’t even seem to notice, but I do.
“The last thing I want is a break,” she smiles. “I feel like we still have a lot of ground to cover!”
Actually, my beard really is pretty rough. I mean, I keep it moisturized, but the marks are undeniable…
“Carty? Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I ask, trying to give her my full attention.
“It’s just that… Are we ever going to get to, you know, fuck? As in… you know…”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about, but suddenly it occurs to me that she’s right. My brothers and I have been avoiding that last morsel of her, saving it for dessert.
“Well, we don’t want to push you too far…”
“Ha!” she barks, throwing her head back with abandon. Her almost chestnut hair cascades down her shoulders, brushing the top of the satin pillow.
“There’s no need to be shy, Carty,” she scolds me. “After all, you guys have had parts of me no one has ever had. I have never…”
“Had anal sex?” I finish the thought for her.
She blushes, her freckles lighting up adorably. “In a word, yes,” she agrees shyly.
“And what a delicious ass it is!” I smile, pulling her to me and sliding my fingers up the back of her thigh. I find that sweet pucker and tap the pad of my thumb against it, feeling it grasping against me like a small, pursed mouth.
With her eyes half closed, she begins to moan instantly. It’s amazing that we have managed to train her in just a few short days, to get her acclimated to the idea of all of us. Still, her pussy is a remaining treasure, one I admit I’m unwilling to plunder too soon. But one that glistens in my mind, constantly invading my thoughts.
When I stroke her thigh, she seems to wince and I look down to see a variety of angry-looking red welts.
“Really, it’s nothing,” she insists, plucking at the hem of her gown. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do mind,” I sigh. “Stay right here, Lola. I’ll be back with your brunch order shortly.”
As I leave her chambers, I text Timothy her breakfast order and head to my private suite. Soon I’m standing in front of my mirror with a pair of scissors in one hand and a array of shaving implements laid out on the plush towel in front of me.
The first couple of handfuls are almost painful. But after a few minutes, it’s almost like revealing the face of an old friend. First I cut away the mass of my beard, then clip it closer. Finally I take the indulgence of a handful of hot shaving foam and slowly glide the straight razor over my skin until I am absolutely baby smooth. After finishing with a soothing lotion, I find I’m excited to return to Lola.
She sits up in bed, leaning on one arm over a plate of steaming brunch fare on a tray. As soon as I open the door she stops, pausing with a slab of bacon in midair. Her lips drop open.
“Carty?” she asks, shocked. “Is that you?”
It feels strange to grin, to have my cheeks crinkle the way they used to. I never wore a beard until we came to this house. I always kept myself clean-shaven. I feel like I’ve been transported back in time, and the look of raw affection on her face is reward enough.
“Oh my God, you’re so handsome!” she gushes. Her fingers drift out and stroke my cheek, sending a shiver down the side of my neck and arm. “Did you do that for me?!”
“Yes, and please finish your meal so that I can sample you without a beard in the way.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Yes sir!” she agrees, smacking her lips prettily. “I am just so flattered that you would do that for me… And who knew that you were so gorgeous under there! As a matter of fact, you sort of look like… Wait…”
Her chewing slows as she squints at me, searching my face. As she picks up the remote to turn up the lighting in the room, I realize what she is about to do.
“Carty… Cartman?” she asks timidly.
I nod, already aware.
“Cartman Carruthers?” she whispers.
“The very same,” I admit.
Slowly she pushes the tray away from her and slides toward the side of the bed. She paces a few steps, then stops when her ankle threatens to give out and drops into a chair instead.
“Oh my God… The Carruthers brothers… You guys all died in a plane crash!”
“Well, not exactly,” I murmur, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
She stares into the middle distance, her expression keen and concerned as she puzzles it all out. Finally, she just looks up at me and shrugs.
“Okay, I could figure this all out,” she says rapidly. “Or, alternatively… you could just explain it to me. What happened, Carty? You didn’t… fake your deaths?”
I raise my hands, palm up, then let them fall. “More or less… Yes. Yes we did.”
“All of you?” she asks incredulously. “Are you telling me that I stumbled upon the Carrutherses, hiding out in a secret mansion in the Sierra Nevadas? Are you seriously trying to tell me that’s what happened here?”
I don’t say anything. There’s no need.
“Oh my God, that’s exactly it,” she says, mostly to herself. “You guys all disappeared, all but Jake… Jason! Jason Carruthers. That’s Jake!”
“It is,” I confirm quietly.
“Wait, I sort of remember this story,” she mutters, tapping her chin with her fingertips. “You were married to… Whitney! Whitney Carruthers. She is still around, right? Did she get all of your money?”
“Close enough. She’s… well off, you might say,” I acknowledge.
“But that’s so unfair!” she retorts, her eyes flashing. “You guys are legacy, right? Didn’t your money come from a gold mine or something like that? The railroads?"
“Okay, let’s just back up,” I suggest. My stomach clenches, the way it always does when I think about any of this. Truth be told, I’m happier here in the mountains, away from everybody, never having to recount any of this.
“Did Whitney steal your money? Did she try to have you killed?”
“Oh, no… nothing like that, I assure you,” I reply. “Let me just start the beginning, okay? I will give you the abbreviated version.”
She pulls her legs up, tucking them under her, careful of her injury. When she is all settled, she nods, as ready as a student to hear the story.
“Okay, some of this might just be family mytholog
y, but here is the basic story. Eli Carruthers traveled to the United States from Scotland in the mid-1800s. He promptly got himself arrested in Boston and was sentenced to hang. But his brother, Liam, staged a heroic rescue at the gallows. They took what little money they could steal and rode out West to start again.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, that sounds like a movie.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I shrug. “To tell you the truth, nobody knows how much of this actually happened this way. But as the story goes, they came out to this area around Lake Tahoe, to Virginia City. It was a really prosperous mining town, but even better, it was a really prosperous gambling town. Eli Carruthers took his last two dollars to a poker table and won a claim to a silver mine off a man whose only crime was apocalyptically bad luck.”
“He won a silver mine?”
“He’s not the only one,” I shrug. “The history of mines is not like twentieth-century corporate history. Seems like nearly half of the silver mines were won or lost over poker games, duels, or prostitutes. It was a different time.”
“That’s amazing,” she exclaims.
“What’s even more amazing is that the mine actually did produce silver. Eli and Liam took their first findings to the assayer, then made sure everybody in town heard about it. So when somebody made them an offer to buy the mine, they took it. Sold it within a month. Made a hundred thousand dollars. That was a lot of money back then.”
She laughs, a sweet peal that shakes her shoulders.
“Okay, I guess a hundred thousand dollars is still a lot of money,” I admit sheepishly. “But in any case, Eli and Liam knew that they were not miners. They didn’t want to try to learn the skill, and taking the money was a very smart move for them. People died in mines all the time, or got murdered over it, or any of a number of other tragedies could befall them. Even though gold and silver built the West, it was still an extremely risky business. So they took the cash and started a logging company.”
“Oh… right,” she breathes. “Your family fortune is in timber, right?”
“Yes, totally. There is a statue for Eli somewhere in silver country, but the real money was in timber. That was an industry that Eli and Liam knew very well. They basically cornered the market in this part of the Southwest, at just the right time. That legacy and wealth just keeps growing.”
“Until Whitney took it all?” she adds sourly.
“I don’t know if that was her original intention,” I sigh bitterly. “Maybe it was just a series of unfortunate coincidences. But in any case, it was simply easier to give her what she wanted. She got the fame and more money than she could spend in her lifetime. My brothers and I got safety, anonymity, and privacy. It’s a good trade.”
“It most certainly is not!” she objects, rising to standing then immediately sitting back down, frustrated. She glares at her ankle as though it has betrayed her.
“You shouldn’t be out here, hiding! She is the one who should be hiding! She didn’t earn that money! Why should she be hanging out with movie stars and giving interviews and going all over the world, while you guys all pretend to be dead? How is that fair?”
“She is hanging out with movie stars? Like who?”
“Like every single Hemsworth!”
I wince. Yeah, that sort of stings. She does have a type.
“You know what, you should let me write about you,” she says in a low, rapid voice. “We can fix all of that. We can take Whitney down, and get you guys back the life that you deserve.”
“Absolutely not!” I say, rising. “Lola, I don’t even want you to consider it! Just put that thought out of your mind!”
She flinches, and I realize I must look very intimidating. I try to control my reaction, but it is almost impossible.
“I am not kidding, Lola!” I roar, unable to contain it any longer. “I don’t want to hear another word about it! You are not to write about any of this!”
She holds her hands up in a gesture of innocence, and I try to control my temper. After a few seconds of fuming, helplessly realizing there is nothing else I can say, I simply storm out of the room.
Chapter 13
Lola
“What was all that about?” Timothy asks, hovering in my doorway.
I shrug helplessly, trying to figure it out myself. “I’m not really sure,” I admit. “Whitney, mostly?”
“Oh,” he nods, tugging at his chin thoughtfully. “Did you ask him to shave?”
“No, that was his idea,” I remark absentmindedly. “Gee, that is not the way that I expected that conversation to go!”
“Oh, don’t take it too hard. If he shaved, he must really like you. So there’s that.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs again. I noticed that he’s the youngest of the brothers, possibly the most charming. He has this sweet innocence about him, though I figure he must be in his late twenties at least. Actually, all the guys seem to be in their thirties, although Jake may be around forty. Still, Timothy is the most boyish, and they tend to dote on him the most too.
“Well, all of this was his idea, you see,” Timothy explains as he takes a seat by the window. “Not everybody thought that crashing a plane in Peru was a good idea, you know what I mean? Some of us wanted to continue being alive. But Whitney promised to destroy everything that we had built. Carty decided that this was our best shot at living a halfway normal life.”
“Does this seem like a normal life to you?” I ask tentatively. “Even halfway?”
He shrugs, staring out the window. The view is breathtaking, with mountains as far as the eye can see and the icy depths of Lake Tahoe below. It looks like a painting. Postcard perfect.
“It’s really not so bad, I guess. Maybe a little lonely. But it’s better since you’re here!” he finishes with a wink.
We smile at each other for a few minutes, each reliving the last few days. It’s been physically demanding, but incredibly satisfying too. I never would have thought I would enjoy it this much, but now I am not sure how a single man ever kept me satisfied.
Then again, did they? Tucker may have been a low point in my history, but he is certainly not the first selfish lover I have ever had. Most men seem to put their own desires first, with my needs a vague afterthought, if they even think of me at all.
Scott was better, but I never really felt completely satisfied by him either. I reasoned that it just takes a long time for people to understand each other’s rhythms. But of course he wanted to satisfy me, didn’t he? It’s just difficult for them. I mean, men seem to get off nearly every time, so it’s not impossible… but our needs are more complex, right?
At least, that’s what I told myself. Now that I’ve found myself satisfied in novel and surprising ways, I’m starting to wonder whether Scott ever really tried very hard at all.
But even young Timothy has shown himself to be a more tender and attentive lover than Scott ever was. Timothy would kiss me for hours, if I let him. He can focus on my neck or earlobe until I turn to jelly, pushed beyond what I ever knew pleasure could be, without asking for anything for himself.
Focus, I tell myself as I begin to shudder, ready to leap into his arms to see what delights await me today. He’s talking. Try to listen!
His expression darkens and he squints. “Actually, I should probably tell you something,” he admits.
Limping over to the window, I take the seat next to him and hold my hand out for him to take. He smiles shyly and clasps my hand in his, as pleased as a teenager, and I try not to get distracted by the memory of him sucking on my fingertips.
“What is it?” I ask hoarsely, banishing the thought.
“Well… I know you said you want to stay here…”
“Yes, I really do,” I repeat confidently. “This is just what I need, Timothy. I love being here. Don’t you like having me here?"
“Oh, of course!” he insists. “It’s just that… There are still people looking for you, you know.”
My mouth
falls open a little bit. “Oh, I guess I sort of forgot.”
He presses his lips together and stares off into the distance. “They started a search for you on the trail… Found your skis. Since there wasn’t any sign that you were carried off by a bear, it’s only a matter of time before they find the cabin, Lola.”
“No… I’m nobody,” I insist. “I’m sure they’ll give up pretty soon.”
He looks at me, hard, his silvery-charcoal eyes masked over with what seem to be some pretty complicated emotions. “It doesn’t sound like they’re giving up,” he says softly. “And what if they find us? What if they end up here?”
My chest begins to hurt. I realize suddenly that Timothy is looking out for me, but he’s looking out for his big brothers too. He realizes that Jake was right all along: outsiders are dangerous. And it’s just like Jake told me: everybody gets found eventually.
“Are you asking me to leave?” I ask in a trembling voice.
He opens his eyes wide. “No! Of course not! I would never do that, Lola!”
Relief floods me. I sit back in my chair, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. The thought of leaving now is just too much. But what else can I do?
“Listen, Timothy… What if there was a way everybody could get what they need? Do you think Carty would listen to it?”
“Carty mostly listens to himself,” Timothy shrugs. “I don’t know if you have ever tried negotiating with him, but…”
“I know what you mean!” I laugh. “But, the thing is, there may be a way to solve more than one problem here. What if I let my boss and my best friend know I’m okay? What if I told them that I’m working on a story? Something like that? It might get them to leave us all alone.”
He narrows his eyes. “If you think that you are going to write about our story, Lola, I can tell you right now that Carty will never let that happen. Not in a million years.”
“But I don’t have to write about it, is the thing,” I suggest optimistically. “I could just say that I stumbled upon a story. Journalists do that all the time. I won’t tell her where I am or what’s going on. I’ll just tell her I’m okay and I need some time to do some investigative journalism. Don’t you think that could work? Without mentioning your names, I promise!”
