by Fiona Murphy
“Where are you going?” He mumbles and something in me twists, he’s obviously exhausted.
“I’ll be right back, sleep and when you wake up I’ll be right here.”
With a yawn he pulls the pillow I was on close to him and falls back to sleep.
I’m in a fog as I hang his pants and put his shirts in the dryer. I know I’ve done a day like this in the past with Charles and Troy, weekend sleepy sex in between chores and errands but today, now, feels different. The edges of the day sharper, more vivid, but yet sweetly lazy as if it was the first time. It’s a little scary and I’m trying to figure out what’s so different about this day. After a few minutes I can’t put my finger on it and my head is beginning to ache from trying. I give up, what does it matter why it’s different, it just is and I know it’s not bad, it’s just different so I shrug and tell myself to not worry about it.
At the open door into what is now our room I watch Sam sleep for a moment. I want to crawl back into bed but I had just used all my laundry detergent and it reminded me of all the shopping I need to do. At the kitchen table I make a list and then I go to the refrigerator and look through the things Sam had bought and make a note of them to buy more.
In the garage I’m about to hit the button but stop, my room is right near the garage and it’s loud when the garage door opens, loud enough to wake Sam. I look out the front window and see Sam has blocked me in anyway. Just for that I’m using his truck. His keys are on the kitchen counter next to mine and I head out the front door.
I hate shopping any kind of shopping but the grocery can be the worst. I hate it even more on the weekends when it’s all crowded and chaotic and I never remember to bring the stupid reusable bags and always have to shell out for the damn bags from the store. Usually, I run my errands after work when it’s less busy but this week I had been rushing home to be with Sam. As I unload the truck for the second time I’m huffing and cranky, it’s so humid today.
Putting the groceries away isn’t as quick as it normally is and I hope none of it goes to waste. I hate cooking or rather as Sam had said cooking for one just didn’t seem worth it. My meals were usually bought at work and brought home to heat and eat or frozen from the store. Sam had purchased a large amount of fresh fruit and vegetables and now most of them were almost gone. I had done my best to replace them, along with other items that were only partially used.
The buzzer goes off on the clothes and I’m surprised, the trip had taken almost an hour, I had thought they would be done by now. Yet, as I go through the shirts they are nicely toasted and dry without being overdone. Then again it’s a high efficiency set, clothes were never overdone. Usually, I had to override the setting to get everything dry completely. Now that everything is done I take two trips and hang them up in the free space I had created for his things and they fit, a bit snug but it all fits.
Sam shifts but he’s still asleep, he looks so peaceful I’m envious. After the chaos of the store and the humid heat of the day the idea of simply laying in his arms is too appealing to pass up. So even though I had downloaded a book I really wanted to read this afternoon while standing in line at the store, I undress and settle back into bed and onto Sam. Laying my head on his chest, I can hear the steady beat of his heart and the sound lulls me back into sleep.
I’m not so deeply asleep that I don’t notice when Sam moves from me but I’m not sure what it means until the moment I feel hot breath against me, then just a second later I feel his lips pressing into the mound of me and his name comes out as a sigh. Instantly, I’m awake and I look down and he smiles up at me with a wicked grin.
“Did I wake you?” His question is light and I laugh.
My hands go into his hair and I press him back down, “Yes, but you can make it up to me.”
A finger trails along the seam of me and then opens me for his tongue and for a long minute I can’t breathe. His tongue is reaching deep into the heart of me and I’m mindless, lost in the feel of what he does to me. He is lingering, his tongue gentle as he brings me to the edge and then he is there, sliding into me with one fierce stroke and now he isn’t lingering. His thrusts are demanding and my orgasm hits me so fast I scream from the shock of it. Sam’s mouth is on mine and his kiss is soothing as he continues to move inside me and then he groans into my mouth as he comes inside me.
He only allows a few minutes of laying on me before he rolls off and his chest is heaving to take in air. I’m still dazed but I don’t want to be away from him and roll close to him. His arm is around me and pulls me close. Groaning he sits up, “I need a shower. Be right back.”
I nod and my eyes slide back down. I’m dozing when Sam comes out of the bathroom and pulls off the sheet.
“Up, sweetheart, we need to get going or we’re going to be late.”
My mind doesn’t take it all in, just him nearly naked with the towel around his hips is distracting. “What?”
Sam laughs and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “We have to be in Fredericksburg by two this afternoon.”
“Why are we going to Fredericksburg?”
“To meet with that gallery owner, he can see you today at two. We’re cutting it close but it will work. It will take awhile to prep the paintings for moving. Come on, he said to bring six. I have the stuff to wrap them up in my truck.” He pulls on a pair of underwear from the standing drawer, where both of our underwear is sharing space. From the closet he pulls out a black polo shirt and jeans. “Come help me pick them out. I’ll wrap them up and you can get ready.”
I sit up but I don’t follow him. I’m still sitting there where he left me when he comes back. His hands come around my arms and he pulls me up off the bed and against him, where I all but sag against him. “Zoe, being late for something like a job interview is a bad idea. And from what I’ve read, prepping paintings for a move isn’t easy. Hey, what’s the matter?”
I try to burrow into him but he won’t allow it. His hands on my arms pull me away from him so he can see me.
“Zoe, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“What if, what if they aren’t good enough?” It’s a whisper of sound from my tight throat.
“Hey, look at me.” His finger slips below my chin and brings my eyes up to his. “I’m not an art fan and I don’t know a Van Gogh from a Picasso but I know what I like and I like what you’ve done. I’m not saying it to make you feel better or because I love what we do together and I’m worried you’ll stop if I say I don’t like them, I like them. They are beautiful, they have a movement to them a person wouldn’t expect, they’re soft and calming. Kind of like you. If he doesn’t like them, someone else will. If someone can like a fucking can of soup, someone will like what you’ve done. It might take time but you’ll find the people that do.”
It hits me now what most appeals about and kind of scares me about Sam. His eyes tell me everything that is going on inside him and he’s always looking into my eyes, unflinching, not hiding. He isn’t lying to soothe me and telling me what he thought I want to hear.
“Okay.”
His kiss steals my breath, his tongue sweeps in, commanding, demanding and the taste of me on his tongue is intoxicating, Sam is intoxicating. When at last he frees me, my arms are around his neck, and he smiles as he pulls them down. “Let’s do this, baby.”
I nod my agreement and move to throw on a shirt.
It takes almost an hour to pick out and wrap the canvases for transport. Of the fourteen finished Sam picks his three favorites and I pick three. Sam begins to take them out to the truck and I run for an extremely quick shower and to do my hair and change out of the shirt I had thrown on. After a few minutes of indecision I pick a black maxi dress, sleeveless with straps. I pick out a long turquoise necklace and make sure I have my gloss for when we are close to the gallery.
I’m coming out of our room as Sam comes in from outside.
“Why did you put your hair up in a bun? I don’t like it, take it down.”
“It l
ooks more professional. I’m not taking it down.” It had taken forever to smooth it and put it into a tight bun.
Sam stalks me and dear lord, am I some kind of freak to be turned on at the leashed power in his body as he pulls me close, his hands holding my head in place and his mouth comes down on mine. It’s pure domination, my mouth is his, my body is his to do with as he pleases and he pleases me so very much. Then his hand is in my hair and the covered elastic holding up my bun is gone and my long hair tumbles down around us. Only then does he let me go, his eyes running over me with satisfaction.
“The black is bad enough, with your hair up you look like you’re going to a funeral. I don’t like your body on show but the black works, your cock aching curves are outlined just enough to please without grabbing attention.
Let’s go, or we’ll be late. We still have to stop and grab something to eat for the road. I’m starving.”
Chapter Fourteen
We make it into the small town with about twenty minutes to spare. Sam’s navigation system directs him to the gallery and he pulls into the back and we are right on time. Sam urges me into the gallery, he would bring the paintings in.
The gallery owner is an older white haired man with the jeans and checked shirt appearance of a cowboy in from the range but the diction of an English aristocrat. He’s thin and his handshake firm. He invites us to call him Dale and walks us into a large open area for storage where he had set up six easels. Sam is carrying a painting in each hand and promises to be in with the others. Dale is careful as he cuts away the bubble wrap that had cushioned the paintings on top of each other and below the bubble wrap is plain brown paper that protected the paint.
I can only watch, my nerves tightening as Dale studies each painting and set them on the easel. When all are set up in place, he flicks a switch and a bright light shines down from above in a line. Throughout the whole process the man said nothing. Sam pulls me tight against him and I lean into his warmth.
“I can see your progression, these two, they are the earlier ones. Yes?”
I nod.
“Hmm, I thought so. You showed promise here but you appear to work better with oils than acrylics, it looks like you figured that out and it appears you are coming into your own, here and here.” Waiving a hand at my last two paintings he seems the slightest bit smug. “I’ll take four. I’ll put them up and we’ll see how you do, we’ll give them a four week rotation. Twelve hundred each piece, standard gallery commission of fifty percent. If they sell, I’ll want to see more. If they don’t sell, well, we’ll go from there. Those, two, the one in browns and yellows and the bluebonnets can go.”
Sam squeezes my waist as I sag against him in relief.
“It was nice meeting with you finally, my dear. Now, I must be on my way. I’ll have Harold come back and help you wrap the ones you’re taking back.”
Dale went through a wide doorway and I can hear him yelling for Harold. I don’t hold back as I hug Sam tight, of the four paintings the three he had picked were among them.
“Thank you, so much.”
“Hey, no thanks for me, you were the one that painted them. I told you they were good. Go have a seat in the truck, you like you’re about fall down. I’ll get these wrapped up and back in the truck.”
I want to help him but he shakes his head and pushes me out the back door. Almost fifteen minutes later he’s back beside me in the truck.
“How are you feeling?”
“Umm, I don’t know yet. I still can’t believe it. I feel like I’m going to wake up and it was just a dream.”
“No dream, sweetheart, come on. Let’s see this little town a bit. It seems a waste to just head back so quick.
He talks me into a winery tour where both of us are only good at spitting out the wine we don’t like it. He buys a case of two different wines we both like. We stroll through the streets and find a pretty little café and we realize we had spent a lot more time at the winery than we thought. The food is excellent and even though I beg to at least leave a tip, Sam firmly overrules me. The sun has set and twilight is around as we make our way back to the truck.
After the wine and good food, I’m dozing to the soft country music on the radio. It takes a little while before I realize nothing looks familiar.
“Sam, where are we going?”
“Got a little surprise for you.”
He turns his attention back to the steep incline and then the unpaved road levels out. Turning off the truck he slides out without a word, what is he doing I wonder and finally I give up and slide out of the truck to see what he’s up to.
He’s messing with the cover on the bed of the truck. It’s heavy and vinyl and could be rolled up.
“Come on, baby, help me roll it up.” I follow his instructions and as I roll the cover back toward the cab I can see what the cover hid. The two remaining paintings are on top of what looks like a bed out of a magazine. Light soft pillows are everywhere. White sheets and a pretty old patchwork quilt is on top of the sheets. He’s careful with my paintings and sets them against the truck.
He pushes up and his muscles flex and then he holds out a hand to me. I give it to him without hesitation. Sam pulls me up as though I weigh nothing. It’s one of the things I love the most about him, his strength and ability to carry me around with ease but how gentle and careful he is with me. Moving pillows and the quilt he settles in and I follow him down. He pulls me into his arms, my head on his chest. The moon is a bright white against the inky black of night. Stars sparkle and dot the sky.
“This is amazing.”
“You know, baby, in all that I’ve gotten from you and Taylor, everything starts in Austin, there’s nothing from Chicago. Taylor says you never talk about your life there, it was like once you hit Austin that’s when your life started. It was a nice city except for the damned cold. What was it like growing up there?”
Closing my eyes I tighten my arms around him. I don’t want to remember Chicago, there is so little that had been good there that it was easier to forget it all. Allowing a shaky breath to escape I attempt something I have always disdained before. I attempt to divert his attention with sex, my hand strokes his chest and then down his stomach. His hand catches mine and settles it back up to the middle of his chest laying it flat against his heartbeat he holds me there, his hand covering mine gently but firmly.
“Okay, I’ll start. You saw where I come from. My grandfather had a chicken farm, it was a small business but then when he died he left my father in charge and pop killed himself to make it bigger and better. He’d work sun up to sun down trying to compete with big companies. He was dead by the time I was ten but he’d tripled the size of the place so maybe to him it was worth it. I’m not so sure about that.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
Sam shrugs, “It was important to him, wasn’t nothing mom could say or do to deter him. Mom kept on and took on more help but it was a struggle. Mom was no stranger to hard work but the business, hell, all that went above her head. All she could do was keep the agreements in place, she wasn’t sure if they were good deals or not and the men working for her were just as lost as she was. By the time I hit my teens my mom was adamant I had to go to college so I could take over the business side.
I wasn’t happy about it but she wasn’t to be talked around it. I tried to talk her into letting me stay in Texas so I could come home on vacations and help out but no. I’d managed to get into Harvard and I was going and I was going to focus on learning what I could about business and it would be worth it, she told me.”
“That’s the thing that has driven me nuts from the first day. What the hell is a Harvard graduate doing in the Army?”
He chuckles but there’s no humor in it and I wish I could see his face more clearly.
“You tell me about Chicago and I’ll tell you how a Harvard graduate ended up in the Army.” His hand strokes the back of the hand he had captured and held.
Chapter Fifteen
L
ying under the stars with Sam so hard and yet soft, big and yet gentle with me, Chicago feels far away. Melting into Sam, I barely notice that I shiver but then the sheet and quilt are pulled up around us. “I don’t like to talk about Chicago because there isn’t a whole lot of good to remember there. I was actually born in Wisconsin and lived there until I was about three. My mom, she had problems. Besides, having me only a few months after sixteen and having no idea who my father was, she was diagnosed as a manic depressive, or what everyone now calls bipolar. She’d have these moments where everything was amazing and she loved life and then she had moments when the world was out to get her and nothing could go right.
She was very abusive, but it was a gradual build. We left city after city when neighbors would report her because they heard the beatings. She did everything on high volume. It’s funny but I think she thought in a bigger city she would be more anonymous but she wasn’t and it was more expensive. Things got harder for her so the beatings were worse. When I was four she had to take me to the emergency because she broke my arm. They took one look at the break and put me in a room with a social worker. The social worker undressed me and started taking pictures of the bruising.
I didn’t see my mom for almost a year.
They took me to an emergency set up foster home and then a few days later another foster home that was okay. The people were older, but it was chaotic there. Two other girls had been there for years and they did whatever they wanted and were worried about me taking attention away from them. So supposedly my mom has been doing better and they put me back with her because she’s on her meds and she’s stable.
It lasted almost a year but then she lost her job and health insurance and she managed to break my collar bone. This time the emergency room bought it and they didn’t find any bruising so it was all good. Another year passed full of her careful but still beating the hell out of me for stupid shit like a wrinkle in my dress, not facing out the cans in the cupboard. Then she had to send me to school and she hadn’t been as careful as she thought, there were a lot of bruises. I was in school for about two weeks before the school social worker pulled me out of class.
