Coalescence

by J. C. Hannigan

  Gwen’s legs fell open, welcoming me as I settled between her thighs. Supporting myself on my elbows, I looked down at her. The sight of her dark hair against my white pillowcase made me hesitate, but then she wriggled impatiently beneath me.

  “Alaric,” she pleaded as my thick crown slid against her entrance.

  Her impatient wriggles stirred me into action, and I jerked my hips forward, filling her. The pleasured moans she released made me lose all sense of everything but our gratification, and I gave myself over to the feel of her body beneath mine.

  I fucked her hard, felt her walls clenching and releasing, slickening with the wetness of her orgasms my frantic, deep thrusts brought her to.

  Gwen’s nails raked against my back, and I felt the pressure building, a tightening in my balls as I thrust harder and deeper still, bringing her to the brink of another orgasm. Her legs trembled around me as I came with a groan on my lips that had almost been her name.

  I pulled out of her, instantly missing the feeling of being inside her. Satisfied, but somehow…still ravenous. I wanted her again.

  “Well, that was incredible,” she said breathlessly. I nodded in agreement, letting out a contented sigh, too blissed out to think much further ahead than that moment.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, her head turning to look at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Her silky legs slid off the mattress, and she stood. “I should go.”

  I nodded, although a part of me wanted to grab her hand and tug her back into my bed for another round.

  “I’ll walk you out.” I sat up too, standing up and crossing over to my dresser. I grabbed a pair of lounge pants and put them on while Gwen disappeared into the bathroom.

  I left my room the same time she left the bathroom, wearing her bra and panties and grinning ruefully at me. “My dress might be in the laundry room.”

  I chuckled a little, leading the way downstairs, and picked her dress up off the floor, shaking it before handing it to her. She pulled it over her head and buttoned it up.

  “I’m not going to be available this weekend,” I told her. “It’s my weekend to have Sawyer.”

  She looked up, not a hint of displeasure to be found in her gray eyes. Just understanding and acceptance. “Okay.”

  Fighting a relieved smile, I stepped toward her, catching a loose tress of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not available this weekend, but I’m free every night this week until Friday.”

  “For booty calls?” she lifted a brow, smirking a little. I grinned back, shrugging in response. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  12

  Those Walls

  Alaric

  “So, are you seeing anybody yet?” Mom asked, arching a brow and taking a sip of white wine.

  “No,” I said, thinking of Gwen. We’d spent the last several days hooking up after work. But hooking up was about all we did. I didn’t let myself think about how good it felt to be around her, how natural it was. Instead, I focused on the primal, animalistic desires between us.

  “Alaric, you need to stop putting up walls. Ever since Cheryl, you haven’t let anyone in. You can’t let that foolish girl scare you away from love.”

  “She didn’t,” I argued, my brow furrowing.

  “She did,” Mom countered, looking at me pointedly. “You’re so closed off now, and I worry about you.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “My focus is on Sawyer.”

  “It doesn’t just have to be on her, though. You don’t need to walk through life alone,” Mom said softly, imploringly. She studied me for a moment, sighing heavily when I said nothing in reply. “When I lost your father, I went through a serious grieving period. The sudden absence of him, it broke me for a while. You didn’t know that, because I kept it from you. You were already shouldering so much—Sawyer, Cheryl, the business, and your own grief of his loss.”

  “Mom.” I shook my head, emotion clogging my throat.

  “I never thought I could feel so lonely. But one day, I woke up and realized that your father wouldn’t want me to be alone for the remainder of my life.” She said, her eyes misting, although Mom was never a weeper. She was one of the strongest women I knew.

  “You’re right about that,” I said thickly, drawing in a deep breath. Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone. He would want her to be happy, however that happiness came to her.

  She smiled, nodding a little—she knew him better than anyone else, after all. “Nobody will ever replace your father, but that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t capable of growing to love someone new. Yours is capable, too. Cheryl’s lies and deceits are not every woman’s, so don’t punish every woman for her actions.”

  I nodded, absorbing her words to the best I could. I knew she was right, but trust had never come easily to me. Less so, now.

  “Anyway, I think I’ve had one too many glasses of wine.” She chuckled, waving away the heavy tone and smiling tiredly at me. “I’m going to call it a night, I want to get up early and make breakfast.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s no bother. I want to,” she replied, walking around the counter to give me a hug. “Goodnight. And get a bloody haircut,” she smacked my shoulder and retreated from the kitchen. I laughed, shaking my head as she climbed the stairs.

  I heard her murmuring to Tig, who’d placed himself in front of Sawyer’s bedroom door again. From the moment we got home, he hadn’t left her side.

  Turning off the lights in the kitchen, I walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Grabbing the remote, I turned the television on, lowering the volume so it wouldn’t disturb anyone else.

  Although my body was tired, my mind wouldn’t shut off, and I knew I’d just end up staring at my ceiling instead of sleeping, so I turned on the Discovery Channel and stared blankly at the screen.

  I kept thinking about my mother’s confession, guilt and shame swirling about in the pit of my stomach. My parents had been in love until the day my father died. If he’d never had the heart attack, they would still be happily married today. But, he was gone, and instead of basking in his absence, my mother found peace.

  Her ability to love hadn’t been shaken, despite the gravity of her loss, and yet for the last several years, all I’d done was push people away before they had a chance to get close—especially women.

  There was no doubt about it; I’d used what happened between Cheryl and me as an excuse to keep women at a distance. While it was true that I’d never been in love with Cheryl, I’d been hurt badly by her actions.

  Gwen was a rarity, and even I could see that. She’d given no indication that she wanted more than our casual hookup arrangement, but it was getting harder to ignore the fact that every moment I spent just talking with her was as tantalizing as the moments I spent inside her. There was something inherently good and easy about her, something that could almost be described as…right.

  Being with her felt simple. Uncomplicated. The lack of pressure from her was refreshing, and it made me think about her more than I probably should.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, bringing up Gwen’s Facebook page. I’d never been one for social media, but I had a Facebook account. I mostly used it for the buy and sell groups, where I’d sometimes sell stuff I’d made that I’d lost interest in or had no purpose for.

  Unlike me, Gwen had a very apparent online presence. She didn’t seem to be the kind of girl to share vague-posts about her day, but she shared funny memes and interesting articles.

  A soft smile graced my lips as I paused on a recent selfie of Gwen.

  Her long dark hair hung over her left shoulder in a thick fishtail braid, and her silvery eyes sparkled with mirth. The smile on her face held just a hint of sultry attitude, and she was wearing the same Batman shirt she wore after the first time we hooked up. Her hand was against her chin, her fingers curled to display her manicured nails—nails that I still had scratch marks on my bac
k from.

  It was out of character for me to like other people’s posts on Facebook, but I did it anyway. Gwen’s smile had me tapping the reaction button before I could fully comprehend what I was doing, and by then it was too late.

  A few moments later, my phone buzzed in my hands with an incoming text.

  Gwen: Creeping my Facebook profile, are you?

  Me: I was hoping you’d have a bikini profile pic for my perusal.

  Gwen: LOL. Sorry to disappoint.

  Me: I don’t think you could ever disappoint. ;)

  I hit send before I could overthink what I was doing. Before I could acknowledge just how not casual it was to be texting her like that.

  Gwen: Butter me up some more, and I just might send you that bikini selfie. Sans bikini.

  Me: ….

  Gwen responded with a photograph, and I fumbled, nearly dropping my phone as I waited for it to open.

  The snapshot was of her body from the collarbone down, her pert breasts pushed up in a silky pink bra, her milky skin on display for me. I did a double take when I realized that her left hand was slipping underneath her matching panties.

  Any reservations I’d had about our flirtatious text banter was replaced with white-hot desire.

  Me: No fair.

  Gwen: Enjoy the rest of your weekend. ;)

  I awoke to the smell of sausage and eggs and my daughter’s laughter trickling up the stairwell from the kitchen. Disoriented, I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. It was nearly eight o’clock.

  I dressed quickly before taking the stairs two at a time.

  One of the dining room chairs was pushed up to the counter, with Sawyer standing on it, working alongside my mother. She carefully spread butter on the toast, her brows wrinkled with concentration at each gentle pass of the knife.

  “Morning,” Mom said cheerfully, looking up at me as I sauntered into the kitchen. She glanced down, turning the sausages over so they’d cook evenly through.

  “Hi, Daddy! We’re making you breakfast!” Sawyer said, her green eyes sparkling with pride.

  “Smells delicious,” I told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, my heart tight with the knowledge that I’d be dropping her off later tonight. Our weekends always flew by, especially this weekend, with Mom in town. “What do you ladies think about taking Tig for a hike after breakfast?”

  “That sounds fun,” Mom said, and Sawyer nodded with enthusiasm.

  I grabbed a mug and poured myself a cup of coffee before Mom chased me from the kitchen, citing that they had no space to work with me standing there.

  Stepping onto the back porch with my coffee in hand, Tig followed close behind me. Before sauntering over to the hedges near the property line, he lumbered down the steps and sniffed at the freshly planted garden that we’d spent the better part of yesterday working on.

  Setting my mug on the wooden railing, I pulled my pack of smokes out and placed one between my lips, lighting it up.

  After a cold shower, I’d crashed and slept like crap, unable to veer my thoughts away from Gwen—or the sultry picture she’d sent me. My balls ached in the worst way every time I looked at the photo, and I’d looked at it too many times to count.

  Finishing up my smoke, I put it out in the ashtray and whistled, calling Tig back while I opened the door.

  Sawyer was carefully carrying a pitcher of orange juice over to the table, moving slowly. I swooped in to help, steadying her grip on it and helping her lift it to the tabletop. “Thanks, Daddy.” She said with notable relief, brushing the back of her little hand across her forehead and heaving an exhausted sigh.

  “Cooking breakfast is hard work, isn’t it?” I teased, my lips tilting up in a smile reserved only for my daughter; my little ray of light.

  “Oh, it’s no bother,” Sawyer said sweetly, and my smile widened with amusement, my eyes darting to Mom. It was a term she said quite often.

  Mom laughed, shaking her head, her eyes shining. She carried two plates to the table, setting them down before returning for the last one and the maple syrup. We sat down at the table and dug in.

  “How is it, Daddy?” Sawyer asked, sitting up straighter and watching me chew a pancake with eager eyes.

  “Very good,” I assured her, taking another big bite. She flashed a toothy grin at her grandma.

  “You’re a wonderful helper, Sawyer,” Mom said, her smile warm.

  Sawyer beamed, and my heart thrummed with happiness at the sight of it. I’d do anything to make my little girl happy, but I didn’t have to try hard. Sawyer just was an easy going, happy kid—well-rounded and adjusted, despite the storms and changes in her life.

  Cheryl was waiting on the porch when I pulled up to the curb to drop Sawyer off. I nodded at her as I walked around to help Sawyer out.

  Her lips were tugged down in a scowl, and her brows were furrowed together. This was Cheryl in full-blown pissed off mode, and I knew just by looking at her that I was in for her wrath.

  “Guess what Mommy! Grandma came to visit!”

  Schooling her displeasure as much as she could, Cheryl offered our daughter a warmer smile and crouched to hug her. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, but first—I have to talk to your Daddy. Why don’t go say hi to Mason?”

  Sawyer looked at me over her shoulder, then glanced back at her mother. The excitement that had shown in her eyes waned slightly. “You’re not going to yell at him, are you?”

  “Of course not.” Cheryl smiled sternly, straightening and holding a hand to her back.

  Sawyer turned and hugged me tightly. “Bye, Daddy.”

  “See you soon, kiddo,” I promised, ruffling her hair. Cheryl and I both watched as she walked away, looking reluctantly over her shoulder, but my ex waited until after she’d closed the door to face me, her green eyes flashing with anger. “What’s this about, Cheryl?”

  “You know what this is about,” she said, her tone icy. “Cindy told me something interesting.” I blinked, the name rang a bell, but I couldn’t remember why. “She said you mentioned you had a girlfriend. I told her that couldn’t be true, but she told me she saw you the following weekend at a bar with some tart.”

  I exhaled, working to reign in my irritation at Gwen being called a tart by Cheryl, of all people. Cheryl, who let Mason go balls deep while she was still warming my bed. The irony made my lips curl. “What does it matter?”

  “What?” Cheryl demanded, staring at me like she didn’t understand my question.

  “What does it matter to you if I have a girlfriend or not?” I repeated, keeping my cool despite the anger brewing inside of me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, her scowl deepening. “I just don’t want her around Sawyer.”

  I chuckled without humor. “You introduced her to Mason pretty early on, if I recall.”

  “That’s different,” Cheryl said, her tone as stormy as the fury in her eyes.

  “That’s the thing, it really isn’t.” I corrected, shaking my head. “I don’t have a girlfriend, but whether or not I did—it still wouldn’t be your business.”

  “I have every right to know who my daughter is spending her time with when she’s not with me.”

  “And so do I,” I reminded her, my eyes narrowing a little.

  We were at a standstill, neither one of us backing down. Cheryl drew in a controlled breath. “Just tell me, before you make any introductions.”

  “Fine,” I said amicably. Cheryl turned, about to start up the walkway, but before she could take a step, I continued. “In turn, I want you to let me be more involved.”

  She pivoted slowly, her eyes narrowed. “I’m happy with the schedule as is,” she said.

  “I’m not,” I insisted. “Jesus, Cheryl. You won’t even consider letting me take Sawyer to help you out after the baby comes.”

  “I told you, Mason’s mom—“

  “I don’t give a shit about Mason’s mom,” I responded, vibrating. “I’m tired of you pushing me out of
our kid’s life.”

  “I don’t push you out of her life,” she argued, and the look I gave her silenced her.

  “Think long and hard about that, Cheryl. In fact, take the next eleven days and do just that. I’ll see you then.” I turned, giving her my back and effectively silencing any response that she might have had.

  Gwen

  I sat on the sofa with my legs crossed, my laptop open, fingers pounding against the keys as I wrote. Music poured softly from my speakers, and I was lost—lost in a scene within my head.

  After sending Alaric those flirty messages last night, I’d been restless, unable to sleep until I’d brought out my trusty vibrator to ease the ache.

  Only then, I was able to fall asleep—but I woke up just as tightly wound. I dispersed some of the energy by attacking my apartment, cleaning and dusting every inch, before falling onto my sofa with my laptop and a mug of tea, transforming all that restless, wanton energy into my story.

  It was satisfying in a completely different way.

  While I was in the writing zone, I never bothered glancing at the clock on the far right side of my toolbar. I kept my eyes glued to the document, watching the scenes come to life before me, slightly awed by the butterflies in my own stomach.

  I couldn’t prevent Alaric from occasionally barging into my thoughts. I’d see, in my mind’s eye, my male character doing something, and suddenly it would be an actual memory, something Alaric had said or done. The way he’d smiled or touched me and the accompanying roll of desire in my core that would follow.

  Each time this happened, my fingers would freeze, and I’d huff with exasperation. He was the muse and the block, all at once.

  Likely because my little masturbation session hadn’t really helped ease the constant desire I’d ached with all weekend long. Especially after sending him that picture…I’d cursed myself as well as him.