Need

by Stephanie Lawton

  Just because I can, I keep my foot on the pedal to sustain the chord, but stand and lean forward, starting with a few nips at her inner thighs and ending with a long, slow lick up her center. That’s the moment I learn that the sound of Heather whimpering through a gag is sweeter than any composition by the dead white guys I’ve spent my life studying. A few more strategic tongue movements and she’s nearly there. Because I’m enjoying being the bastard, I sit down and resume playing. Can’t help the chuckle that escapes when her arms and legs strain against the ropes holding her in place. I pinch the sweet spot where her inner thigh meets the bottom of her ass and she jerks then settles.

  Once again I pound out low notes, making a mental note of her reactions. She presses her hips and bottom into the hard surface of the piano, obviously attempting to soak up all the vibration she can.

  “Such a greedy little whore,” I tell her. Something that sounds very much like “I hate you” comes from behind the gag. This is too much fun. No wonder she had a blast kicking my ass and humiliating me. Oddly, though, this feels incredibly intimate, like not only is she physically laid bare and open for me, but because she couldn’t wiggle away when I told her I loved her, she’s being forced to think about it while I bring her to the edge and back again.

  Part of me says this is happening so quickly, but it’s at war with the louder voice that admits I never stopped loving Heather, that this is a natural continuation of what we had as kids. Hope I didn’t freak her out again, unless it’s in a good way. From the noises she’s making, I’m confident this will end well for both of us.

  When I’ve decided she’s had enough, I finish the song with a flourish, careful to employ the notes that resonate most. I carefully shut the keyboard cover, remove my shoes, and kneel on the bench. My hands find her hipbones as I slowly, carefully lick up all the moisture she’s dripped onto the surface of the piano. I move higher, lapping up every drop I’ve caused her to create, loving the taste and smell, knowing it was me, my music, my touch that was the catalyst. She positively quivers under my fingertips. I release a warm breath over her openings. It’s followed by a desperate cry.

  “What’s that, sweet pea? You want more? I live to serve.”

  She cries out again, so I take pity and use all my skills and enthusiasm to bring her to the edge, then watch, listen, and taste her crescendo and release. Her body arches and shakes, throat exposed, breasts flushed. It’s beautiful to witness her flying apart—something about it puts me back together.

  When she’s finished, I carefully crawl onto the piano over her and pull her panties out of her mouth. She’s panting so hard she can barely choke out the words “Kiss me!” She greedily tastes herself on my lips. “More,” she says.

  “As you wish.” Yeah, this is way too much fun. My shirt lands on the floor, but I take more time removing my belt. The sound of it sliding through the belt loops elicits a whole-body shudder from Heather, something I make note of for future exploitation. I’m painfully hard. Normally I’d be all about relieving that problem, but I’m almost reluctant to bring this to an end. I’ve had mind-blowing sex before. I’ve also made love in the most tender fashion. Never have I had both at the same time. What follows is truly a paradigm shift as we come together again and again, each climax stronger than the last, each one binding us together more completely than rope or even a ring.

  Heather’s eyes roll back in her head and she goes limp. “Hey, sweet pea. Come back here. Stay with me.” I pat her cheek and wipe her damp hair off her forehead. She mumbles then her eyes fly open.

  “I’m so sorry!” she says.

  I burst out laughing. “About what? You just gave me the best compliment of my life.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Just a few seconds. You need water and sugar.”

  “Okay.” She nods, and with trembling hands I loosen the ropes around her wrists and ankles. The quilt on the sofa does little to stop her shivering as I wrap it around her shoulders before lowering her to the ground.

  “Whoa there, onto the couch with you. I’ll be right back.” I kiss her forehead and head toward the kitchen. In the cupboard next to the microwave is Uncle Robert’s candy stash, right where it’s been for as long as I’ve been alive. A couple of chocolate bars, some butterscotch candy, and two bottles of water should do the trick. When I return to the parlor, Heather’s crying.

  “Good tears?”

  She turns her head and buries her face in the cushions.

  “No, you don’t. Come here.” I force her to drink half the bottle of water and suck on the hard candy while her shakes subside. Despite the day’s heat, her skin is cold. “Did I have you tied up too long?”

  She shakes her head. “Was perfect,” she says.

  “Okay, then how about I hold you until you’re back on this planet?”

  She responds by tucking her head under my chin. Honest to God, she couldn’t be any cuter and I couldn’t love her more. I gather her hair and twist it around my fingers, letting the long strands catch the light from the window. The rain’s backed off and a few rays of sunshine struggle to find a way through the clouds. I watch heavy drops fall from the porch roof to disappear behind the railing. When I turn back to Heather, she’s breathing softly against my chest, eyes closed, fingers curled around the edge of the quilt. Carefully, I lean back to rest my head, bringing her along with me. Her sigh is a lullaby meant for my ears only. It’s the last thing I hear as I join her in sleep.

  ***

  Both the rain and the sun have completely disappeared when I wake. Only the small lamp by the piano remains on.

  “You okay, sweet pea?”

  The dark figure at the end of the couch nods as I stretch my arms over my head. My clothes are neatly folded on the floor next to me, so I slip them on and attempt to play it cool until my stomach growls.

  She laughs. “I’m hungry too. Pizza?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Good, because I already ordered it. Should be here in ten minutes. Hope you like bacon and mushrooms.”

  “Oh my God. I love you.” She laughs, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. I need to make her understand. “Okay, look. I know I freaked you out, but you had to know it was coming.”

  “That’s a terrible pun.”

  “Stop it, I’m serious. I’ll just keep saying it until you’re comfortable with it. I don’t expect you to say it back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She looks away and rubs her wrists.

  “Shit, did I hurt you?”

  “What? Oh, hell no. That was fantastic,” she says, gesturing to the piano.

  “Then talk to me. I thought you were fearless.”

  “Isaac, this is just moving so fast–”

  “I know.”

  “But I don’t want it to slow down. That’s what scares me. It’s like we picked up right where we left off when we were in high school. Is that normal?”

  “There ain’t nothin’ normal about you and me. Don’t roll your eyes.”

  “I’ll grant you that. What I mean is, are we going to regret this? Is it just a rebound thing on both our parts?”

  Hate to admit it, but it’s a fair question. “Normally I would say yes, but you and I have a history. In my case at least, I think it’s more accurate to say all my other relationships since you have been attempts at rebounding. Now, it feels like I’m finally back where I belong. Make sense?”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “Then we’re on the same page.”

  “You love me?”

  “Always have.”

  “What’s not to love, right?” She bounces up from the couch and makes a face.

  “Don’t run, Heather, and don’t put up a wall. I’m an expert at that and can spot it a mile away.”

  Her shoulders sag. “Fine, fine. Guilty as charged, but you’ve got to understand that this is weird for me. I mean, I’d pretty much resigned myself to an arranged marriage made tolerabl
e only by the sheer volume of money and a few friends with benefits.”

  “Well, damn, don’t go settling for me when you’ve got all that at your disposal. You did not just stick out your tongue at me.” I lunge for her, but the doorbell rings.

  “Saved by the pizza guy!” she says.

  “Bet he’s not as cute as me.”

  “Bet he doesn’t fuck half as well, either.” With that, she swings open the door while I stand in the foyer with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

  Yes, I definitely love this crazy chick.

  An hour later the pizza’s gone, I’ve met my month’s quota of bacon, and we’re rifling through the closet of the spare bedroom, which I’m convinced hasn’t been opened since the Reagan era.

  “Shut the front door!” Heather pulls out a large green garment bag from the dusty recesses and hangs it over the top of the door.

  “Careful, bats and moths might fly out of that thing if you open it.”

  “Stop it. This came from Eden Bridal,” she says, brushing her finger over the logo.

  “So?”

  “So, my grandmother ran it for decades.”

  “Cool.” I continue flipping through the hangers, looking for anything I can drop off at the thrift store.

  “It is! The place burnt down when I was little and all the dresses, everything was destroyed.”

  “Mob hit?”

  “Probably. My grandmother kept her own dress in storage there. It went up in flames, too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She waves me off. “Ancient history. Still, I really liked my Nana Eden. My mom got all her stuff when she died, and heaven knows I’ll never see any of that now.”

  “You think she’ll give it to Geoffrey?”

  “I’m sure of it, and then he’ll throw it all in a Dumpster to spite me.”

  “Your brother’s an asshat.”

  “Yeah, well, he comes from a long line of them.”

  I gesture to the green bag. “You gonna open it?”

  “Absolutely.” Despite years of disuse and a heavy layer of dust, the zipper slides down like it’s brand new. The smell of cedar fills the room as Heather pushes back the sides of the velvet-lined bag. Inside is an ivory dress.

  “Oh my gosh,” Heather breathes. “Look at that lace! And the satin’s in perfect condition. You think it was your aunt’s wedding gown?”

  Instead of answering, I head into Uncle Robert’s bedroom, rummage around on the bed until I find what I’m looking for, and bring it back to Heather. I flip open the page and point. “I’d say so.”

  Trapped under a layer of yellowed plastic is a photograph of my Aunt Angela standing in front of Chamberlain Episcopalian Church with a bouquet of magnolias in her hands. Besides a huge smile, she’s wearing the dress that now holds Heather’s attention.

  “But that one’s full-length. This one’s short,” she says.

  “Yeah, but look at the details. Thin straps, bow at the waist, and the lace pattern is the same. It’s just been shortened.”

  “You know, I bet she had it shortened so she could wear it to other events. I’ve heard of women doing that,” she says. “It would make a great cocktail dress or even an Easter dress if you added a shrug or shawl.”

  I nod. “Or it would still make a great modern wedding dress. Buddy of mine got married two years ago and his bride wore a shorter dress like this.”

  “Tea-length,” Heather says. “So what are you going to do with it? You could probably get a good bit of money if you consigned it with one of the shops downtown.”

  “Nah, I’ll hang on to it. Keep it in the family. Never know, might have a use for it someday.” When her jaw flaps open, I add, “Baby Jayne might want to wear it.”

  “Oh, sure. That would be adorable,” she says, and spins away from me.

  I suppress the chuckle that so desperately seeks release. It’s not every day that I fluster such a force of nature, though my average has gone up considerably today. Picturing Heather in that dress nearly knocks me on my ass. What a lucky bastard I’d be if–

  “So what do you plan to do with this house? You going to live here?”

  I shake my head. “No, as much as I love it and there are so many great memories, I think I’ll sell it.”

  “Really? I understand why you’d want to keep the dress, but you’re going to stay in that death trap you live in now?”

  “Death trap? It’s coming along nicely, thanks to the help of this cute blonde I know with a knack for interior decorating. Going to make my buddy an offer on it.”

  “Isaac, be serious. That was one room. You know you’ll have to renovate every single inch of that house to make it livable.”

  “I’m willing to put in the work. I liked doing the parlor, and besides, I’ve got some great memories in that house now. I have no intention of walking away from them. In fact, I’d love to make a bunch more.” Heather blushes. “I figure the profit from this place—plus some of the money in Uncle Robert’s accounts—will be enough to fix it up pretty well. Won’t be a palace, but there’ll be indoor plumbing that doesn’t rattle and a bed in each bedroom.”

  “That sounds really nice,” she says quietly. “I always wanted to renovate an old house.”

  “It’s your place, too, you know. My offer didn’t come with an expiration.”

  “I appreciate that,” she says. Her fingers trail over the straps of the dress then she quickly zips up the garment bag again. “I need to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “I don’t know, just somewhere to think.”

  “Ah, I understand. The adrenaline of earlier is fading and you’re getting all mushy,” I tell her, and tug a lock of her hair.

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!” She smacks away my hand and gathers her hair into a ponytail. “It’s fine. I’ve got a few more hours of work here, so our house is all yours if you need some alone time. Take a bath. Have a drink. Whatever you need, sweet pea. Just…do me a favor?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t overthink things. I’m a simple guy. Not into head games. If you want to know something, ask. Okay?”

  She nods, and I place a kiss on her forehead.

  After she’s gone, I open the garment bag again and take a peek. Sure, Baby Jayne might wear this someday, but I bet I can get someone else into it first.

  ***

  Carter & Swann Antiques is nestled between an abandoned dry cleaner and a high-end photography studio. All three share a cracked parking lot with weeds and sand emerging from the sun-baked fissures. I step over a fire ant nest and take a deep breath before pulling open the door to the shop.

  A small bell rings, signaling my entry, and cool manufactured air raises goose bumps on my arms. Hell is not hot—it’s a chilled meat locker that smells of musty clothes and pine cleaner. I reach into the front pocket of my shirt and press the button on the recorder. I also have my phone in hand as backup, but I don’t trust its weak microphone to catch everything I plan to say to this woman—and, hopefully, the confession that will bring her down.

  Rows of knick-knacks stretch out to my left, while a glass counter covered in costume jewelry and an antique cash register is nestled among racks of minks and furs to my right.

  “Hello! Welcome to Carter and–”

  I’d like to say she chokes on her words, but I’d never be so lucky. Instead, the petite blonde quickly recovers, transforming into a lioness on the prowl. My fist clenches at her cocky smirk, but I remember the role I’m here to play and plaster on a fake smile in return.

  “Well, well,” she says. “Look who’s come crawling back for more.”

  “Hello, Marcie. So it was you that snuck into my bed. Thought so, though I wish I hadn’t been so drunk that I couldn’t enjoy it.”

  She wiggles past a display of antique books and closes the distance between us. “You enjoyed it. You moaned like a whore, but you were such a pussy about your chin. By the way, how’s that healing?” She presses
a finger to the wound. Despite the burn, I refuse to flinch.

  “Doing pretty well, thanks to your daughter. Heather seems to have a magic touch.”

  “My daughter. Yes, I’m sure her touch is magic, though I doubt you’ll be feeling much more of it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You clearly haven’t seen the pictures yet.”

  “Pictures? Show me.” Not hard to work up a bit of anger despite being privy to her blackmail material.

  “Not so fast. You haven’t thanked me for the privilege yet.”

  “Privilege of what?”

  “I did you a favor. I expect the proper thanks.”

  “Again, for what?”

  “You don’t take hints very well, do you? Not once, but twice I’ve spared you from getting too involved with my daughter—with our family. You’ve had the privilege of fucking both of us, and I did you a favor by getting her out of the picture before you got too attached.”

  “And I should thank you for that? Why?”

  “Honey, you don’t need to be in my family’s business. Your Aunt Angela and her daddy had the chance, but turned their backs on their relations.”

  “Explain.” I soften my demand by swallowing the bile that threatens and moving close enough to run my finger down her arm from shoulder to wrist. I say a quick prayer that the recorder in my pocket isn’t visible.

  “Since when do you make the demands? Seems to me, young man, you are at a distinct disadvantage.”

  I shake my head, feigning ignorance.

  “Geoffrey’s already shown those pictures to Heather. Chances are you’ll never see her again. Can you imagine her humiliation when she finds out you screwed her mama? I’d give years off my life to see that exchange.”

  “You’d enjoy seeing your daughter in distress? That’s pretty sick, and forgive me, but I doubt your reasons for doing me a favor.”