by Selena Kitt
“Go right ahead.” The woman smiled, standing to look busy, tucking a blanket around the old woman’s legs. She didn’t even look up. “Oh goodness. Mr. Benedict needs some attending to, doesn’t he?”
Goldie made a face behind the aide’s back as she unlocked Mr. Benedict’s chair brake and began to wheel him backward, turning him around to head inside. Who knew how long the poor man would have sat there like that if Goldie hadn’t arrived? She didn’t want to think about it.
“Hey Poppy.” She squatted down in the space left by Mr. Benedict’s chair, between the old woman and her grandfather. He was dozing, his chin to his chest, snoring lightly, the breeze blowing wispy strands of the white hair that was left above his ears. She couldn’t see any resemblance anymore to her own father, although everyone said and pictures confirmed that the two could have been twins in their youth with their blond hair and blue eyes and imposing height.
“Poppy?” She nudged the old man’s knee gently with her forearm, not wanting to jolt him too much. He snorted, snoring momentarily louder, and then lifted his head, staring at her with rheumy blue eyes that looked right through her. For a moment she thought it was going to be a bad one, one of those days when he called her Raisa and mistook her for her grandmother, but then his gaze shifted to the lilacs and his eyes focused and he smiled.
“Spring already?” His voice was hoarse. “How long did I sleep?”
“A hundred years.” She returned his smile, putting the lilacs on his lap. He fingered their stems as she stood, taking a step behind him and pushing his chair off the patio and onto the concrete path. It was a nice facility, her father had made sure of that, with an acre of rolling, manicured lawn and private rooms but she still felt the institutionalization of the place, no matter how nicely they trimmed the hedges.
“How’s your father?” Poppy inquired, glancing over his shoulder at her.
The pain twanged like a guitar string wound too tightly in her chest. “He’s dead, Poppy,” she reminded him gently. “Remember? Three years ago—a heart attack.”
She didn’t envy Poppy. He’d outlived them all. Not just his wife—Goldie’s grandmother had died over ten years ago, a few days after Goldie’s sixteenth birthday—but his children too. When no parent should ever have to bury a child, he’d buried three. His only daughter he’d buried as an infant, back when SIDS was called crib death. That had been her namesake, Golda Sisel Lax, a family name passed on, that of her great-grandmother. That particular Goldie, Poppy’s mother, had been in a concentration camp with him. He’d told her the stories many times, although they all ran together these days, about how his mother had died.
Poppy had asked his son to pass the name down and so she had become Golda Sisel too—Goldie for short—upon her birth. But Poppy had no other grandchildren to pass any other names on to, because he’d buried his other son, dead of an overdose in his twenties. Goldie was his only heir once her father, Saul Lax, Poppy’s last remaining son, had died in his kitchen at the ripe old age of fifty-seven. She had been there at the time, helping him recover after knee surgery, and she would probably always wonder if he’d still be alive if he hadn’t stubbornly insisted on getting up to fetch a soda from the kitchen himself while she was in the shower.
She remembered the whole thing, although she didn’t let herself think about it often—calling 911, doing CPR, willing him to breathe, breathe, worried she was hurting him as she locked her elbows and did chest compressions, knowing already that this was one safe she couldn’t crack, one lock that wasn’t going to be undone. He was gone and she was all alone in the world, except for Poppy.
“How’s business?” Poppy inquired as she rolled him along. The day was bright and fine, the air redolent with freshly cut grass.
“It’s good,” she assured him, not wanting to say much more. Goldie’s father had been the only one interested in the family locksmith business, continuing on in his father’s footsteps before him. Poppy claimed Saul was better at it than even he had been, although she had worked with the old man in her teens and thought, perhaps, he was being generous to his only son. Saul had been good—very good—but the ability to crack a safe with just the senses had skipped a generation from Poppy to Goldie herself. “I just came back from a job in Brazil. I’m consulting all over the world.”
She parked the wheelchair near a bench and took a seat across from her grandfather, who looked at her fondly, his withered chest puffed with pride. She liked telling him about the work, knowing how much he missed it, at least on the days he was lucid, and there were precious few people she could share the experience with.
“Do you remember the Ursas you told me about, Poppy?” She saw the old man’s eyes light up with a fire she rarely saw in him anymore and knew he did. “I’m going to get them back.”
“How?” His eyes narrowed and he looked at her shrewdly. His mind was working just fine today, she thought.
She shrugged, unable to conceal a smile. “I have a plan.”
“Goldie.” He reached a hand out to touch her arm, his skin as thin and soft as tissue paper, the veins on the back of his hand a blue roadmap. “Don’t you do anything to get in trouble. You’re all I’ve got left.”
“Have you ever been to Brazil?” she asked, changing the subject. “It’s like this all the time. Lovely weather. I think you’d like it.”
He eyed her, skeptic. “Is that so?”
“Oh, Poppy, I didn’t tell you.” She patted his hand, still smiling. “I found out about your friend, the one you told me about.”
He sat back in his wheelchair, frowning. “Daniel?”
“He’s still alive,” she assured him, seeing the anxiety on his face. “Still living in Europe. Want to know how he’s doing?”
“Probably same as me.” Poppy grinned, his teeth yellow and small. “Everything hurts—and if it don’t hurt, it don’t work.”
She laughed. “I talked to him on the phone. He’s a very nice man.”
“Did you?” He blinked at her.
“He’s working as a museum curator,” she told him. “At seventy-four. Can you believe it?”
“He’s just a young pup.” Poppy’s gaze went far away and she knew he must be remembering.
“His son, Jakob, mostly runs it for him,” Goldie explained. “But Daniel is still very much involved.”
“He named his son Jakob?” The sad look in Poppy’s eyes made her want to hug him, and it made her miss her father, which she knew he was doing too. “And did he tell you about the Ursas?”
Goldie nodded, her face grim. “He told me the whole story.”
“Here you are!” The aid from the front desk had found them and Goldie startled. “I found a vase for those flowers.”
The aide held up the vase as proof, smiling.
Poppy looked down at the flowers in his lap. They’d both forgotten them. “Your grandmother loved lilacs.”
“I remember.” Goldie nodded. Her own mother had walked out on them when she was just a baby, but her grandmother had tried to make up for that and had mostly succeeded.
“He’s having a good day,” Jenny whispered, nodding at Poppy like he couldn’t hear her.
Goldie nodded again, reaching for her pocket as her cell phone rang. When she saw the Caller ID, her heart nearly stopped.
“I have to take this,” she said to Jenny. “Can you take Poppy back to his room?” She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and leaned down to tell him, “I’ll be there in a minute, Poppy. I have to take this call.”
He patted her hand and she stepped back to let the aide push him down the path, watching as they walked away, Jenny already chatting. “Let’s go for a walk, Mr. Lax! Those flowers are so pretty. I love lilacs. We’re going to have to get them into some water…”
Goldie answered her phone. “Hello?”
“Goldie Lax?”
She blinked up at the sky, her heart in her mouth, not sure she could answer. “Yes.”
“My name is Otto Beh
r. I have a job for you.”
She’d been waiting for this call—not just today, or this week—she’d been waiting for this for years, ever since Poppy had told her the story about Jakob and his son, Daniel.
She did very little talking and a great deal of listening to Otto Behr. By the time the call ended and she walked back to Poppy’s room, she found him sleeping in his chair by the window. Not wanting to disturb him, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, deciding to tell him all about it later, when she could show him instead. Then, she moved the vase of flowers from the windowsill to his night table so he would see them first thing when he woke, and left.
* * * *
Campbell hated having to find time for her, stolen nights in hotels—sometimes in motels that charged by the hour. What he wanted was all the time in the world, every minute of every day, endless hours with nothing to do but spend time together. He watched her sleeping, her golden hair spilling around her shoulders and over her breasts, the sheet pulled up to her waist. They rarely spent whole nights together, but this was an anniversary and he’d insisted.
He slid into bed behind her, spooning. She wasn’t wearing anything at all—most of her clothes were still in a heap by the door, along with his—and he loved the feel of her skin, like silk, against his. She shifted against him in her sleep, half-smiling, and he hoped she was dreaming about the three hours they’d spent in every possible position from the bathroom to the Jacuzzi tub to the bed to, yes, even the little hotel desk. He liked to cover all his bases.
Goldie murmured something, wiggling, and Campbell felt his cock stir. He smiled as he saw her hand working against the sheet. She was actually turning combinations in her sleep, not dreaming about him after all, but about cracking some safe. He chuckled to himself, deciding to give her something else to do with her hands.
“Baby,” he whispered, wedging his cock against the crack of her ass. That made it quite stiff. “It’s already open. You got your prize.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, reaching a hand back and clutching his hip. “I did,” she agreed. “It was the best prize ever.”
“But there’s more where that came from.”
She groaned, shaking her head and hiding her face in the pillow. “I don’t think I have any fluids left in me.”
“Don’t make me go watch porn,” Campbell teased, sliding a hand over her hip.
She laughed. “You have to pay extra for that.”
“I think we used your credit card for the room,” he mused, moving his hand down her belly, dipping a finger into her navel.
“I saw Poppy today.” She wiggled around to face him, putting her arms around his neck, and the shock of her little breasts, nipples pressed into his chest, made his cock dance against her bare thigh.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” he warned, sliding a leg between hers, feeling the sweet slide of her pussy against his skin. “Besides, I know for a fact, he’s got a crush on that Jenny.”
“Campbell!” She protested, laughing, as he kissed her neck and shoulders, working his way slowly down to her breasts.
“I don’t blame him.” God he loved her breasts, so little and pert. Her nipples got hard as he licked and blew on them. He watched the skin around them pucker, delighted. “She’s cute.”
“Campbell!”
He lifted his head to look at her, seeing her smile. “Hey, did I say happy anniversary?”
“A few hundred times…” She ran a hand through his hair, eyes still sleepy and half-closed. “And if orgasms count, then… six more after that?”
He grinned. “Orgasms definitely count.”
“Well then I owe you a few,” she murmured, sliding her hand down over his chest, tweaking his nipple. That made his cock throb against her hip and he gasped as she grabbed it, tugging.
“Oh god. I’ll never catch up,” he protested, letting her roll him to his back.
She looked up from where she settled herself between his thighs, rubbing his cock against her cheek, her lips, teasing. “Remember the first time we did this?”
“Five years and I still can’t think about any other woman.” He smiled, watching her tongue sneak out, trailing around the head of his cock. That first lick was always pure heaven. He shivered.
“You were thinking about Jenny,” she reminded him and then sucked the tip into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth, using her tongue underneath, making his hips move.
“Jenny who?” he gasped.
She grinned. “Right answer.”
“Shhh, keep your mouth on it.” He pressed her head back down, gently forcing himself deeper, hearing her gag, knowing she loved it—which just made it all the more exciting. He slowly fucked her mouth that way, his eyes never leaving hers. Okay, so occasionally he let himself focus on the way his shaft disappeared between her lips, how red her mouth got when she sucked him, but if he did that too much, he was going to come. And he didn’t want to come, not for a long, long time. He wanted to spend all night doing this, until both of them were so dry they had to crawl to the sink to rehydrate.
He couldn’t believe he still wanted her this much after five years. Every committed guy he’d talked to, from his friends to his brother, claimed to be looking at other women by year five. Some after just a year. But they’d had two before they had started living this way, separate yet together, not daring to meet at her place or at his, and even then he hadn’t been thinking about anyone else. Although sometimes he wondered if it was this sort of having-an-affair-like existence that made things so hot.
“Play with yourself,” he whispered, but she already was, her fingers moving wetly between her pussy lips. Just the sound made him hungry. He could still taste her in his mouth from earlier and the memory of her pussy grinding on his face almost sent him over. He grabbed her hair, pulling her slowly off his cock.
“Feel good?” His gaze moved between her thighs, her hand rubbing furiously. She nodded, panting. “Show me.”
She knelt up, using two fingers to spread her lips for him and he could see her clit clearly as she pulled the skin back. He couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her hips, lifting her easily in his hands—she was slender, with hips like a boy, and he could move her around any which way he liked, tossing her around, which they both loved—and brought her pussy to his face.
“Oh god,” she whispered, her hand moving through his hair. “Oh yes…yes…”
“Show me,” he said again and she obeyed, using both hands to spread her pussy wide for him. He loved the way she looked, the sounds she made, the way she tasted. His tongue probed between her lips, finding her clit and teasing it with his tongue. She swayed back, arching, her little breasts just buds on her chest, her pink nipples pointing to the wall behind his head. He swallowed the taste of her, tang and musk, and went back in for more, using his tongue like a spoon to lap at her slit.
“Oh baby,” she moaned, rocking her hips, grinding, finding his tongue with her clit. “Please, please. Make me come!”
He focused there, lashing back and forth, arms wrapped around her slim hips, feeling the first shudders rocking through her, watching the taut pull of her belly. She was coming, tugging at her own nipples as she rocked her pussy against his face, her moan building to nearly a scream. She would have collapsed if the wall hadn’t been there. Instead she leaned her arms against the headboard, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of his ears. He didn’t think his cock could get any harder.
“Suck me,” he growled and although she groaned in protest, she turned around on him, taking his cock with the wet pull of her mouth, making his toes curl with pleasure. He couldn’t get enough of her, wrapping his arms around her hips again and pulling her pussy to his mouth. She squealed and squirmed, but eventually relented, letting him devour her. Her lips were swollen, the nub of her clit sensitive, and he spent time sucking on her labia, his fingers playing around her hole but not fucking her—not yet, not until she begged him. Which came a lot sooner than he expected.
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br /> “Please,” she moaned around his cock, the sensation of her tongue moving over the head making him grit his teeth. “Oh god, don’t tease me, please, put them in me.”
“My fingers?” He stroked her slit, wiggling them around her hole.
“Yes!” She gave his cock a long, hard suck and he shuddered, his balls tightening another notch. “You know I love it hard.”
“Like this?” Her pussy was like velvet inside, the walls smooth. He stretched her with another finger, feeling her thighs tense. “One more?” He slow gently slid a third in, making her whimper, and then started to fuck her nice and slow.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she cried, moving back against his hand. “Noooo, no, hard! Hard! Harder!”
He did as she asked, plunging his fingers in deep, fastened his mouth over her clit and waiting for her climax, all the while fighting his own. Thankfully she’d forgotten about his cock, her fist wrapped tight around it, her face buried in the crook of his thigh as he fingered her to orgasm.
“Now!” She moaned, fucking back hard, threatening to shove his whole hand in as her pussy clamped down around his fingers. He was grateful she had hold of his cock, squeezing hard, because he would have come right then if she hadn’t.
“Oh god,” she whispered, rolling off him onto the bed. “No more. Oh no more.”
“Yes more,” he insisted, moving up to his knees and plunging his hand, still wet with her juices, back into her pussy. She shook her head, trying to push him out, but he didn’t let her, keeping his fingers deep inside, catching a rhythm.
“Oh! Fuck!” She tried to roll but he pressed his palm flat to her belly, pinning her to the bed. Instead, she grabbed his cock, knowing it would distract him, and it did, oh Christ, the way she pumped him in her hand made him want to shoot all over her little tits.
“Don’t make me,” she begged, biting her lip. “I can’t. No more!”
It just drove him crazy to hear her say that. Maybe she knew it, he wasn’t sure, but he fingered her faster, harder, using his thumb against her clit.
