by Liz Crowe
They shared bites of an amazing hot and spicy gumbo with rice she'd brought, and slivers of fresh watermelon to cool their palates. He sighed, and settled into the couch when they finished. "Damn, do you cook like that all the time?"
"Yep." She said setting the containers on the leather ottoman and straddling him again. "Now, sustained by food, let's carry on shall we? There are still a few heats left in this particular judging session." She threaded the fingers of both hands in his hair, tugging his face up to meet hers.
"Mmm…" he moaned into her lips, his hands finding the soft mounds of her breasts, the hard flesh of her nipples. Her smell was all around him, suffusing his senses. He had a weird drowning sensation, tried resisting it, then just sighed and let it happen. "Maybe," he picked her up and walked them to the bathroom.
"Ow, shit," she mumbled around his lips when he cracked her head on the doorjamb, trying to get to the shower.
They soaped and rinsed off, giggling like kids. By the time he toweled her off, his cock was at the ready once more. He picked her up, set her on the edge of the bed and got to his knees, running his hands down her inner thighs. Then he stopped and flipped on a light. She sat back, her legs together, her face a mask of anxiety. He frowned and pulled her legs apart gently, noting the ugly scars marring her creamy flesh. They ran up one thigh, across her nearly bare sex.
"What in the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his brain zinging with a fury he had no reference for. "Who did this?" He point to her legs.
She reached over and turned off the lamp, tugging him down to her. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I will. In the meantime, I think you have a gold medal to defend." She pushed him down to his knees. He gripped her hips, yanked her pussy to his lips and latched onto the small button of her clit, loving the sweet and spicy taste of her, that distinctly, almost cinnamon-y essence that he would forever associate with Suzanne filled his mouth and nose. By the time he slipped his finger into her, reaching high and stroking her right behind the pubic bone, he came all over his belly without a touch as she yelped, and grabbed his hair, pumping her hips into his face.
"Je-sus," he groaned, licking his way up her torso. "Look what you did to me, you minx." He put her hand on his sticky stomach.
She sighed and leaned back, pulling him down beside her. "Sorry. Damn." She shivered and he pulled her close, tugging the duvet up around them.
"I know," he said, kissing her neck as she turned and curved her body into his. "More to come, my love," he whispered, then dropped into the deepest sleep he'd had since starting school, keeping his arms wrapped around her.
She sat up once, her breathing ragged, and a scream on her lips. He jerked awake, disoriented and confused. Then put his lips to her cheek. "Shh ..." he said, pulling her back down. "It's okay. I'm here."
She sighed, letting him soothe her. There was more here than he knew, but he would wait, let her tell him when she was ready. "I love you," he sighed into her neck, grateful her soft, even breathing told him she was asleep and hadn't heard him.
When their his-and-her inner alarms went off at five a.m., he groaned and sat trying to get past the strange, almost hung-over feeling that possessed him. She wandered into the bathroom and shut the door, then back out, snuggling down into the covers and holding out her arms without a word. He looked at her. "You have to tell me what happened to you Suzanne. Please?"
She rolled onto her back, and the cover shifted revealing a pale pink and decidedly erect nipple. He shivered as she spoke. "I will, but not today, possibly not this weekend. I was serious about having some work to do." She started to get up but he rolled over and yanked her back down, covering her face and neck with kisses.
"Good, because I was serious about staying in bed all damn weekend."
She giggled and then sighed as he moved down her front, licking and sucking as he went.
Chapter Seventeen
Her next trip down did not go as well. After the first time, he made a brief, wholly unsatisfactory visit of his own back up to Ann Arbor which made him wonder what in the hell he expected from her, ever. Other than wild, lusty snippets of time interspersed with maddening, frustrating long periods of miscommunication, she was hard to reach. And not just physically – she was distant, cool, lightly flirty, as if he were something that amused her and nothing more. His school commitments had ramped up to a point that he felt as if mainlining energy drinks would be insufficient for his caffeine needs. Finally, though, she showed up, as a surprise, in the middle of a party after a set of grueling exams.
"Hey, Craig," one of the guys said. He looked away from Alicia, who'd reinserted herself and her killer flirt muscle into his surroundings. He was so tired he could barely stand, but he leaned against the counter in the downstairs kitchen and let her work her eyelash fluttery, hair-twisting, somewhat mesmerizing magic. The part of his brain that he allowed to think about Suzanne anymore was cloudy with anger. He loved her and he knew it. It was real this time, not a passing obsession over a challenge to meet, another woman to please. He wanted to be with her all the damn time, and she did absolutely nothing to encourage it. The concept that maybe it was just the challenge that drew him anymore had taken hold in his brain and had settled in as a dull pain in his gut. This physical ache for her alone told him it was more than that, but….
"Dude!" The guy tossed an empty beer can at him to get his attention. It hit his pounding forehead and he looked up from his casual perusal of Alicia's tempting olive-skinned shoulder and saw Suzanne, in the doorway still dressed in a cream-colored suit as if she'd come straight from a sales meeting. The men behind her gathered, appraising her slight form in the frank way only very drunk men will do. Possessive anger made his headache worse, and he moved away from Alicia, suddenly embarrassed by her proximity.
Suzanne just looked at him, her eyes touched only a moment on the attractive young girl still standing too close to be considered "just friendly."
She put her hands on her hips, making the guys behind her nod and poke each other in the sides.
"Surprise," she said, then turned on her high heel and walked out.
The catcalls and annoying bullshit commentary that followed him out as he stumbled behind her made him want to punch a hole in something. But by the time they got to his top floor studio, the anger in her face clearly matched his own. He had a brief moment of relief. She actually had it in her to be jealous? Maybe there was hope.
He stared down at her, fatigue making him sway a little on his feet and his eyes go blurry. She glared at him as he opened the door, flipped on lights and stared around at dismay at the chaos that he called home. Books, laptop, iPod, headphones and notebooks all tangled up in a fine stew of empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, half-eaten apples and dirty clothes.
"Yeah, so surprises are sort of not my…mmmpf…," He stumbled back when she launched herself at him, covering his lips with hers, tearing at his clothes, then hers and forcing him back to the bed.
"Hold on, Suzanne, listen I…dear God…" he sighed as she slid his pants off, fisted his shaft and slid her hand up and down it slowly as she bit down on his nipple. Her movements were frantic and he met her halfway as the memory of those assholes staring at her perfection made a roaring sound in his ears. He picked her up, tossed her down on the bed, and crawled up between her legs, licking and kissing his way up the insides of her thighs, trying to ignore the scars there, determined to have that conversation…later. He flicked her clit with his tongue, slid a finger along the edges of her sex, loving that smell, the exotic spicy essence she seemed to emanate when aroused.
She reached down and pulled him up slowly, arching her body into his. "Hold on," he tried to stop, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and angled herself exactly right, and he stroked into her, deep, moaning with repressed loneliness, and nearly a year of pure horny fueled only by some phone sex and plenty of argument.
"Craig," she sighed, cradling his face as their bodies moved slowly but with purpose.
"Hmm," h
e leaned down to lap at her nipples, loving the taste of her all over again.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have surprised you and I should be a better talker, open up to more but I…oh…" He shifted forward, bringing her clit in direct contact with his pubic bone as he continued to roll one of her nipples between his fingers. He moved faster, needing something, something more than just the simple pleasure of a physical release.
"Surprise me anytime baby. Just as long as we can do this." But he knew this was not the answer for them. They had miles to go to overcome their barriers. As she came in a glorious burst of erotic energy, contracting around him so hard he joined her, their cries of pleasure mixing in the small, overheated room, it was all he needed. He dropped down to his side, the exhaustion and rush of hormones making him so sleepy he slurred his words. "C'mere. Sleep with me. Please. Just …."
She smiled and kissed his nose. "I can only stay one night. But yes, I will sleep with you Craig. I…."
As the fog of exhaustion overtook him he heard it, and tried to struggle awake, but the last months' and that night's intensities plowed him under. "I love you." She whispered, as she lay across him.
The next morning he woke to the sound of a shower and the smell of coffee. He groaned and rolled over, groping the bed for her, but of course, she was gone. His body was rock hard again and he needed to connect with her once more, hoped to hear words he thought he dreamed the night before. She emerged, dressed in a different suit, holding two cups of coffee and a wearing a satisfied smile.
A strange sort of anger washed over him then and he opened his mouth before thinking. "Glad I could help you out. Scratch that itch or whatever. Be sure and leave the money on the table."
She looked puzzled for a second, and then a matching fury lit her eyes. She set the coffee mugs down. "That's what you think? Why I came down here?"
"Why else." He said putting his arms behind his head and letting stupid shit pour from him without stopping it. "You came, you got off, now you leave, dressed to kill, or sell, or whatever it is you're here for besides fucking the med student."
She straightened her shoulders and a neutral look slipped over her face. He sat up, tried to get the moment back but it was way too late.
"No, actually. I came here to see you, be with you, and have sex, yes, but you seemed fairly in tune to that program. Sorry if you feel violated."
"No, I…" his head started pounding again. "Shit."
"Yeah, so, I'm going." She started for the door.
He leapt up, grabbed her arm. "You told me you loved me last night. I heard it."
She glanced down at the hand he had wrapped around her bicep. He let go and stepped back. She crossed her arms and leveled a look at him that made his chest ache. "Maybe so, Craig. And if your asshole behavior this morning is any indication, then I obviously made a mistake doing so. Good bye."
"No, wait," he yelled, but it only came out a whisper and he dropped into a chair, put his head on his arms and cursed himself for a solid thirty minutes. Then let the bright burn of anger take over. Who the fuck did she think she was? She had done nothing but mess with his head for…what…nearly three years now? Screw that, screw her issues and complications and whatever bad shit went down in her past that she wouldn't share with him. His hands shook as he grabbed his phone, found the contact labeled: "Alicia – the girl you want to call" accompanied by a photo of her dark, exotic face. He remembered the late night she'd entered herself in his phone that way. He gritted his teeth and hit "call."
Fucking women and graduating seemed like a decent new plan to him. She was at his place in ten minutes and they didn't leave the bed for nearly twenty-four hours.
* * *
By the time he earned his degree from Vanderbilt Medical School and had gotten the matching placement emergency room internship back at Michigan, he'd worked his way through three-quarters of the women in his class, plus two fairly memorable married professors, one of whom claimed she would lock him up in her basement if he tried to leave. That was more than a little scary, so he left her alone.
He was on his A-game no doubt, but for the clingy Alicia who had spent one long afternoon crying at his table. She'd claimed she was pregnant and that they had to get married. He'd stared at her before getting dressed and hitting the store for an early pregnancy test. It was negative. "Get out," he'd said, his head in his hands.
"Baby," she'd cooed, winding her arms around his neck from behind. He'd gripped them, pushed her away.
"No," he'd said. "I am an absolute shithead Alicia. I've fucked everything with two legs and pussy in the last six months, and I need to go home. Get the hell out of here. I will be gone in ten days. You should go, have a life, find a nice guy. One that is not me."
"You know what, you're right," the woman said, planting her feet and staring at him. "You are a shit. You will never grow up. Screwing around with as many women as possible gets you nowhere Craig, but maybe you don't care. Maybe you don't ever want to really be happy."
He watched in silence as she grabbed all the various items of crap she'd left at his place over the last months. His ears buzzed and his heart ached. He wanted one thing – still. He picked up his phone and called Suzanne just after Alicia slammed the door.
"Hey," she said, making his chest release a bit of tension. "I got your email. So you're coming home?"
He sighed. "Yes. And I have something I want to ask you."
"Be careful Craig," she said, her slow, sexy voice making him get up and pace the room. "I don't want to hurt you. But I won't let you hurt me, either."
"I have no intention of … Suzanne. I love you and the last six months of bullshit here have only convinced me of that even more. So I'm afraid you are going to have to just deal with it and maybe, possibly, own up to your own feelings for a change."
She sighed. "Maybe." She said. "Come home Craig. I'll be here."
"Two weeks," he said, leaning his head back and finally feeling whole again. "I'm moving back into my condo. I…God I miss you."
"I miss you too. See you soon."
Chapter Eighteen
"Hey, Red!" Suzanne's business partner Evan snapped his fingers under her nose. "We have a problem. Are you even listening?"
She shook her head, gulped some water, and tried to focus on something other than Craig finally being back in town. The past nearly four years that she'd known Craig Robinson had been so…strange. She'd been struck by him the moment she met him. His boyish, open manner, and extreme blond, casual good looks had her by the short hairs within minutes. That day – when he'd still been with Sara – was a life changer for her and she knew it now. Admitting it to herself, however, was another thing altogether.
"Okay, so…." she brought her attention back to the crisis du jour at Big House Brewing. It was Summer Beer Fest Week, and her entire staff had just fallen victim to food poisoning they'd gotten at an informal picnic they'd thrown for themselves. She sighed and stretched. So she and her business partner got to do the honors for a giant beer fest. Going back to the basics of pouring beer for thousands of drinkers at the largest two-day beer event in the Midwest sounded daunting, but something in her craved that kind of direct re-contact with her beer-drinking public. "You and I have to set up and man the whole thing. I got it. I can get Craig." Evan raised an eyebrow at her but she ignored him. "You bring Julie. Hell, see if Jack wants to help. God knows he knows as much about our beers as we do and he can run his fool mouth like a champ. We can do this."
She rose, feigning nonchalance but her ears were fuzzy and her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. Craig was back, today, at his old condo. He had something to ask her. Evan leaned back in his chair and studied her. "Craig, eh?"
"Yeah, what about him?" She threw her laptop in her bag and shuffled papers around nervously. Her hands shook, so she stopped and forced herself calm. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you."
"It's okay. You deserve some happiness Suzanne. Go for it. But do us all a favor and don't talk
yourself out of it this time?"
Her face got hot, but she had no response. Her brief and very intense relationship with Blake, Sara's brother, had ended badly for them both – but at her insistence. She had spent plenty of hours second-guessing that choice, but based upon how happy Blake seemed now with her old college friend, Rob, and their brew pub, she felt like he had ended up better off. She hadn't sustained any sort of relationships since. But being alone did not intimidate her. And after surviving a marriage that had turned abusive and very nearly killed her, then diving into an intensely passionate affair with Blake, she convinced herself the time alone was required.
Since that last messy encounter with Craig in Nashville, she'd gone on a date with a man who had seemed promising. Marcus, a banker who'd relocated from the west coast and hence had zero knowledge relative to her own convoluted past. He was a stable, good looking, successful older man and made a point to hang out at the Tap Room on nights she was there. But the raw, physical connection she'd shared with Craig after they'd gotten to know each other as friends, through the Jack and Sara drama, had morphed into something much deeper for her. And she had been running from it ever since. And now, she needed to get a grip, as Evan reminded her. Not toss this amazing man away. If she could manage it.
She drove downtown, hoping to catch him at his place now and break the news about the weekend that had devolved into a long one of beer pouring. She'd spent way too much time in denial about him and she knew it. Her many inner excuses about their age difference, her own emotional baggage, were all starting to sound pretty lifeless even to her. The fact that they'd spent the last six months ignoring each other, more or less, after that surprise visit she'd paid him, had been brutal for her. When she had gotten the email telling her he'd been matched at U of M for his ER internship years, she'd burst into tears.
Her heart pounded all the way up the elevator to his place. The door was open slightly so she tiptoed in. The place was a mess of boxes, furniture, his various guitars and computers. No Craig. Then she saw the one open box labeled "swim stuff" and smiled. She got back on the lift and went up to the top floor. The chlorine smell hit her hard and made her gasp with memory. Craig. Her brain and body both clamored for him. She eased into the steamy room, her eyes unable to make out much but her ears in tune to the soft splashes as he moved through the water. She took off her shoes and sat on one of the lounge chairs and watched the subtle play of his long, lean body cutting through the water, then flipping at the side and pushing off, coming up his arms slicing through the blue.
