by Lexi Whitlow
“Is this better than Indiana?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“It’s sure different. Much better, for me anyway,” she says, her tone wistful. “I came here expecting one thing; the stuff I remembered from being a kid on vacation. I found that, but I found more.”
“What did you remember?” I ask.
Maddie smiles in the darkness, turning circles in her swing. “I remember everyone being so nice and thinking how strange they were because of it. And I remember the warm weather. It’s so cold in Indy. Too cold. The summers are short and dry. There’s no water to swim in.”
“What else?” I ask.
“I didn’t remember just how beautiful it is here. How lush and green. How nice it smells. There are so many flowers blooming all the time.”
She’s right about that. It is beautiful here. It’s the most beautiful spot in the world as far as I’m concerned. It’s that much more beautiful now that Maddie’s in it. Since she came here, it’s like I can see in full, vivid color for the first time in a long time. She brightens everything, making the trees seem greener, making the flowers smell sweeter.
I kissed her last night, and she kissed me back. I was more than a little drunk then, and I guess that gave me the nerve to do it. I want to kiss her again. I want to do more than that. I want to touch her skin, feeling the silk of it under my hands. I want to taste her and feel her the way she feels in my dreams. I want all that, but my courage has fled.
“I’d have come here sooner if I’d known,” Maddie says.
“If you’d known what?” I ask.
She stops twisting in the swing, getting still, drawing a little closer to me. “If I’d known you were here,” she says softly. “I could have saved myself some headaches and heartaches.”
Jesus.
I reach forward, circling my hands around her waist, pulling her to me, drawing her between my knees. We kiss – cautiously at first – but quickly we find an easy union, tasting, breathing, gently biting, then laughing together. Maddie’s breath is hot and sweet, her tongue exploring as I hold her against me, pulling her into my depths, drinking her up.
Suddenly, Maddie pulls away, breaking our kiss, leaving me breathless.
She stands, taking my hands, drawing me away from the swings and then down into the grass. She kisses me again, leaning into me, her hand pressing my chest. My courage returns, along with a head rush and flood of heated energy. I push her down into the grass, coming over her, feeling her breasts, the arc of her hip pressing into me as our mouths and lips discover some magical alchemy conjuring between us in the dark. My hands explore her curves, finding soft and firm in perfect proportion. Our bodies fit, naturally melting together, unconsciously finding that position with her legs wrapped tight around my hips, my cock pinned against her snatch, my hips rocking, even though we’re fully clothed.
Its everything I can do not to go for her jeans, not to slip my hand under her shirt, not to open my own jeans and free myself from the crushing bind of denim, zippers, and buttons.
I don’t want to fuck this up.
It’s too good to rush it. Too perfect to force it.
We tumble into the grass, licking, lapping, kissing, teasing one another with curious fingers and tongues, playing at it like kids play at it, tentatively and enthusiastically all at once. Maddie’s kisses are sensual, lingering, unafraid, but her hands remain above my waist, never straying, even while her hips rock in time with mine, our simulation building to a frustrating – almost painful crescendo that I have to end – or finish.
I break our kiss, lifting, separating myself from her, trying to catch my breath.
“We need to stop,” I say, my voice a gravelly growl, surprising even me.
Maddie gazes up at me, her eyes wide but liquid with our heat, her skin flushed, warm, pink. “Okay,” she says.
I roll off, laying back in the grass beside Maddie, staring up into the inky blackness above. Instinctively, I reach for her, pulling her near.
“Jesus, you feel so damn good,” I huff into her hair. “Too good.”
Maddie settles, cozying beside me, her head resting on my chest. “You make me feel good,” she says softly. “It’s been such a long time.” She let’s out a soft laugh, picking grass out of my hair.
“It’s been a long time for me too,” I say. “I don’t know what you heard about me—or what you might think—but
When she’s done, her fingers rest on my chest, drawing small circles and lines, following the folds of my t-shirt. Her touch is exquisite. I’d like to get used to it. I need to get used to it, to her.
“Don’t be in a hurry, Jeb,” she whispers, her tone imploring. “We have time to figure this out. We’ve both got complications. We shouldn’t rush.”
She’s right, and I know it, but I can’t help what I feel. I don’t have a single doubt about this. That said, I know Maddie’s been through some serious shit, and she’s wise to take things slow.
“I’ll follow your lead,” I say, kissing the top of her head, hugging her closer to me. “I won’t rush you.”
I listen to the night music, reveling in the simple pleasure of feeling Maddie against my body. We lay together in silence for what feels like a long time. The silence is broken when Maddie asks me a question I never expected.
“How come you’re still single?”
My mother would like to know the answer to that question too.
“I never met anyone I want to be with,” I reply, speaking honestly. “I’m a loner. Always have been. I never met a woman who could stand my quiet spells or understand why I prefer the work I do to working in some office, shuffling papers. I never met a woman who wasn’t in love with Blanc-Bleu before she was in love with me.”
Maddie considers this answer, then asks, “Even Emma’s mother?”
I nod, drawing in a deep breath, considering that subject. “Emma’s mother was in love with what I did for a living. She was a Marine Biologist, fascinated with how we brought the ACE Basin back from the brink. She wanted someone to write books with and do research. She wanted me to be someone I’m not. She fell in love with a figment of her own imagination, and then – I guess – got pissed with me for not quite measuring up. I’m sure I was a massive disappointment.”
She accepts this reply without response.
“What about you?” I ask, because I feel like I need to know, and it’s something that’s never discussed, and hasn’t been, since that night a month ago after the police left her and Justin in the parking lot at Flo’s. “Justin’s father. How’d you wind up with him?”
Maddie sits up, putting space between us, but leaving her hand resting on my chest.
“I was young, and alone,” she says. “And Joe was older and seemed to have everything together. At first, he made me feel safe. Things went south pretty quickly. By then I was so wound up in it, I couldn’t get out.”
“Why didn’t you go back to your parents?” I ask. “Or just leave?”
“My parents died in a car accident when I was thirteen,” she says quietly. “I lived with my grandfather after that. He died when I was sixteen, and then I lived in foster care until I turned eighteen. I was on my own after that. I met Joe about that time. I didn’t have any money, or a job, or any friends.”
Jesus. “You don’t have any other family?”
Maddie shakes her head. “Both of my parents were only children. My father’s parents didn’t want me because they were in bad health. My grandfather – my mother’s father – took me in. He was good to me, and I loved him for it, but he wasn’t really prepared to raise a teenaged girl all on his own. I wasn’t the easiest kid. I was kind of wild. Rebellious and angry I guess, because of what happened.”
I imagine she had a right to be rebellious and angry – and scared – looking for a safe harbor. It pisses me off more than I can process, when I think about this Joe character, taking advantage of a kid with that kind of background, luring her in, then abusing her trust. I’ve known
men like that. They give all men a bad name.
“I’m going to make you a solemn promise, Maddie,” I say, squeezing both her hands in mine. “No matter what happens between us, I’ll never trap you, or try to control you, or isolate you. If you tell me to fuck-off, I’ll hate it, but I’ll fuck-off, and I’ll help you get started somewhere better for you and Justin.”
Judging by the look she gives me I know it’s difficult for her to believe what I say. I see it in her eyes that she’s scared of finding herself caught behind walls too high to climb over, and she doesn’t trust her own judgement enough to know whether this is a refuge or a prison.
I can’t tell her. I need to show her, and that’s going to take time; probably a long time.
“When’s your next free morning?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Saturday,” she says. “Why?”
“We’ll get Manuel’s wife to watch Justin,” I say. “He can play with the twins. I want to show you Blanc-Bleu before the visitors start arriving. You up for it?”
Maddie nods, smiling, relieved with the change of conversation. “Yeah. That would be great.”
Chapter 11
Maddie
Strong, calloused hands lift me, firmly pushing my knees apart, fingers dancing along the inside of my thighs, moving up. And then he’s inside me. I cum hard, fast, crying out, my fingers digging into the rippled muscles of his back and shoulders. My orgasm lingers, expanding; undefined pleasure swallowing me whole in his possession. There are no words, only Jeb’s body and my body, drawn tight together like a bowed instrument, joined at the hips, erotic and consuming, wet and slick…
“Mom… Mom… It’s time to wake up… Get up.”
I roll over, the dream clinging, a serene smile drawn over my face and a tender, ache pulsing between my legs. I don’t want to wake up from that dream.
“C’mon Mom, we’re going out this morning. C’mon.”
I open my eyes, seeing Justin’s sun-kissed face. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me, an impatient expression rendering him adorable, his hair a bird’s nest of early morning confusion.
“You need a haircut,” I observe sleepily, yawning. “I’m going to cut it tomorrow.”
“I don’t care,” Justin replies. “I made you waffles. Now get up. It’ll be light soon.”
I didn’t get home from work until almost three this morning, and Jeb and Justin have conspired to get me up before sunrise. I guess I’ll sleep in tomorrow, or sleep when I’m dead.
It’s just starting to get light and I’m clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, a toasted waffle held between my teeth, and a backpack for Justin in the other hand, when Manuel drives up, his ancient pick-up truck rumbling. His wife, Maria, is in the front seat. His twin boys – Marco and Philip – are in the back with a cooler and two grocery bags.
“Hola!” Maria cries, smiling. “You ready!?”
The Guzman’s are going to some place called Horse Island, north of here, hunting for softshell crabs, which are a real delicacy. Justin is along for the ride; I hope he doesn’t drown. Somehow over the last month, my shy, bookish son has changed into a tan, lean, strong little man who likes trucks, and boats, and fishing, and eating things that resemble spiders and bugs crawling around on the sea bed. A couple months here and he’s turned into a country boy-in-training.
He vaults onto the tailgate of the truck, pulling his backpack from my hand, shoving it into the corner with the grocery bags. I climb on, doubting the safety of this mode of transport. Before I’ve got myself situated, Manuel takes off, engine complaining with a burst of blue smoke roiling out of the exhaust pipe. The kids laugh, hanging on.
It’s a bumpy, open-air ride through piney woods in the cool, damp, morning air. Birds fly overhead, screaming their morning calls. A clear sky peeks through the spare canopy above us. I’ve never ridden in the back of a pick-up truck before. I’ve never eaten softshell crab, but I suspect that’s about to change. I’ve never been on a boat either. And I’ve never met anyone like Jeb Ballentine.
Everything here is different. I breath in a lungful of fresh air, trying to recall what June in Indy was like. The concrete paving every inch of the city was so hot, there was no way to make the apartment comfortable, no matter how many fans I put in the windows. They just blew hot air like an iron furnace. Nights were the worst because I had to close and lock the windows to keep out intruders. Justin and I would swelter in the stifling heat until the sun came up, then sweat more as the day grew even hotter.
It’s hot here, but it’s clean and safe too. There’s shade, and no intruders, and cool breezes from the water and the woods. It feels safe. For the first time in my life I feel untouchable, like all the bad is behind us. I watch the world pass by from the back end of a derelict pick-up truck, the wind blowing my hair, and I feel as if I’ve landed in Eden, with Jeb Ballentine overlooking everything, keeping the world in perfect motion.
We break out of the canopy, bouncing toward the docks and open water beyond, with the sun lifting in a bright orange ball on the eastern horizon. I spy Jeb before I notice much else. He stands tall on the back end of a boat, wearing faded, frayed cargo shorts and nothing else as far as I can tell. His physique is downright pornographic. He’s tanned and perfectly cut with lean muscle; his legs are long and strong, his shoulders wide and square. He’s got a cuter ass than ought to be legal.
Ally, Manuel’s sister, says every woman in Beaufort County calls him “the prettiest man in the Sea Islands.” He’s that and more. She thinks Jeb is aloof, proud, and only concerned with making money. If she knew him like I do she’d know he’s quiet, a bit shy, and feels – deep in his bones – the heavy responsibility he carries for the business, his family, and all the people who depend upon him.
As soon as the truck stops moving the kids pile out, hauling bags and coolers, headed for the dock.
Jeb waves at Manuel and Maria, calling out, “Morning!”
“You two have fun,” Maria says, squeezing my hand, smiling sweetly. “We’ll take care of Justin and send him back to Rose with a cooler of soft shells for supper.”
I watch Justin bound toward the dock, dragging his backpack in his hand.
“Please make sure he wears plenty of sun screen, and a life jacket,” I beg.
She nods. “I will. I promise. You and Jeb have a good morning together. You both deserve a little fun too.”
Manuel and his family pile onto a narrow skiff, making it bob in the water. I watch Justin don a life vest, pulling the Velcro tabs tight. It’s hard to let him go, but he needs to spread his wings without me hovering. I’ve been too afraid for both of us for too long. I need to put that away and start living and letting him live beyond my apron strings.
“Good morning,” Jeb croons, stepping off his boat onto the dock, grabbing a small cooler which he slides onto the back of the vessel. “Sleep alright?”
I nod. If he only knew. “A very little,” I say. “I’m still asleep.”
“I figured as much,” he replies. “There’s coffee in the thermos up front.”
Oh God, yes… coffee.
Jeb steps across, back onto his boat, then offers me a hand. He helps me over, his strong arm supporting me. The boat dips as soon as I step on, rocking gently.
“What’s this all about?” I ask. “I thought you were going to show me Blanc-Bleu this morning. Why do we need a boat?”
I only found out yesterday, thanks to Justin relaying the message, that plans had changed and there was boating involved in our Saturday morning activities.
Jeb smiles slyly. “We are going to see Blanc-Bleu,” he says. “The way it’s supposed to be seen.” He unravels the ropes tethering us to the dock, throwing them off, then goes to a bin under one of the seats, fetching a life jacket which he proceeds to slip over my head, taking his time to secure it snugly while he continues smiling at me.
“I’m not going to get sea sick, am I?” I ask. “We’re not going far, are we? I don’t have
any sunscreen. I gave it to Justin.”
“You won’t need any sunscreen,” Jeb says. “We’re not going far. And if you get sea sick, it’s over between us. That’s my absolute outer limit.”
I blink, peering up at him, then see he’s grinning, kidding with me.
“You’re a smart ass,” I observe, yearning for the promised coffee. “And it’s way too early in the morning to be a smart ass. My sense of humor doesn’t wake up until ten.”
Jeb pulls me forward, setting me down on a bench under the canopy, beside the pilot’s seat. He turns the ignition on the dash and the engine rumbles to life, rocking the boat with vibration, sending us drifting away from the dock.
A few moments later I have a warm cup of coffee in my hand, sipping happily, while waving at Justin and Manuel’s family as the dock glides away from us.
“Hang on,” Jeb says, turning the wheel, swinging the boat in a tight circle. He points us away from the rising sun, laying on the throttle, picking up speed fast, headed toward open water. I do hang on tight, watching the world shift, losing all sense of direction as Jeb arcs us into the blue water, speeding away from the island.
The wind whips my hair, cooling my face. The clean scent of ocean rises in my nostrils. We leave behind mud and floating islands of grass, skating over glass-flat water in the bright light of the still-rising sun.
“Before we go to Blanc-Bleu, I’m going to show you what heaven looks like,” Jeb calls over the rush of wind. “It’s not far.”
It takes only a few moments to cross the open water. Nearing the other side of the wide river, he throttles down, slowing our speed, angling the boat into a narrow path between two islands of thick green grass. As we approach, a giant white bird appears from behind cover, her wings spreading as wide as our boat. She uses her long legs to propel up, then flaps her wings gracefully, lifting, passing over our heads. Her flight is silent, majestic, and sudden. It takes my breath away, leaving me gawking into the sky, following her circling flight.
