Sweet Return

by Anna Jeffrey

  Crying out, Joanna grabbed the stiles of the cast-iron headboard. She was on fire, poised on the brink of a great flaming abyss. Nothing, nothing mattered but this instant and his mouth and the point of contact. Then spasms rushed through her in waves. Sparkles skittered behind her eyes. Sounds she didn’t even recognize burst from her throat, but she didn’t care. She came and came, until ecstasy turned to agony and tears began to trail past her temples.

  Desperation had replaced caution and pride, and a deep place within her hungered for his flesh. Earlier, when he had been inside her, she had wasted the moment. She couldn’t let that happen again. She fought her way to a sitting position and reached for him, tears trailing from her eyes. “Dalton…Dalton…I want you inside me.”

  Dalton didn’t have to be begged. He was so hard his balls were drawn up in his belly. He crawled up her body, guiding his dick with one hand. She was open and ready, and he had no trouble hitting the mark. She clutched his bottom and he shoved into her, joining his flesh with hers and at the same time pushing her knee high and wide. With a deep grunt, he seated himself all the way to the hilt. She gasped. Her arms tightened around him and her free leg tightened around his hip. She came again, her hips bucking, her hot walls grabbing at his cock in powerful contractions. He kissed her fiercely, swallowing the sounds of pleasure that came from her throat.

  He tore his mouth from hers and held his breath, clenched his jaw, trying to hold out, but he couldn’t. “Oh, Jesus, Joanna.” He pumped once, let go, and climax crashed through him like a speeding train. On a great groan he emptied himself of all that he had, including strength. His arms gave way and he crumpled against her body.

  Beneath him, her breath continued to hitch. “Oh, God…. Oh, God.”

  He was in no better shape himself, but he moved his weight off of her and fell to her side. “Jesus God…that was…freakin’ fantastic.” He pulled her close to him. “Come love me…. You can’t do that to me…then leave me…out in the cold.”

  They lay there, both drenched in sweat, his flaccid penis soft and damp against her belly, their breathing audible in the dark silence. As the chilly temperature cooled their heated bodies, their breathing evened and his strength returned. He caught her thigh and pulled it across his genitals, then tucked her head against his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you didn’t make it that time. I know damn well you made it.”

  “I made it,” she said softly, and he felt her warm lips against his chest.

  She sounded as if she might be crying. He snugged her closer yet and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

  She sniffled. “I’m all sticky and wet.”

  Wet? His eyelids popped open. Hell, yes, she was sticky and wet, and so was he. Fuck! He hadn’t worn a rubber. Jesus Christ! He hadn’t come inside a woman without a rubber in more years than he could count. “Just a minute,” he said, his thoughts racing.

  Well, shit, she had to be on the pill. Why wouldn’t she insist he use a rubber if she wasn’t? He hoped she was on the pill, because he had been so damn horny and hot, the possibility of pregnancy hadn’t even entered his head. When was the last time that happened? He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, stood and switched on the lamp. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Squinting against the sudden light, Joanna lay there uncovered, his semen slick on her thighs, drying on her belly. The room was cold as ice, but she wasn’t. He soon returned with towels and a washcloth and sat down on the edge of the bed. He pushed her legs apart and began to wash her with a warm washcloth.

  Embarrassed, she reached for the washcloth. “I can do it.”

  He moved it out of her reach. “So can I.” He gave her a wink. “I always clean up after myself.”

  He dropped the washcloth on the floor, picked up the towel and dried her. “You’re beautiful,” he said, then leaned down and kissed her stomach.

  He tapped her bottom with his fingers. “Lift up.” She braced her heels on the mattress and levered her bottom. “This’ll do ’til morning.” He arranged the towel over the wet spot underneath her. He covered her up to her chin and kissed her, then walked around the bed and crawled between the covers. Reaching up and switching off the light, he again plunged the room into total blackness. He turned on his side and pulled her against his body. “Shit, it’s cold. Keep me warm.”

  She fit her bottom against his groin, closed her eyes and drifted toward sleep.

  “That was pretty damned awesome,” he said. “You’re awesome. I just about lost my mind.”

  Chapter 19

  Joanna awoke buried beneath a mound of warm covers—but lying in the worst bed she had ever known. Her back ached. Her head ached. Something that felt like a towel was caught between her legs.

  Towel? Memories from the morning’s wee hours flooded her mind. He hadn’t used a condom. Dear God. She was sure she remembered he had used one the first time. But the second time, she had been so crazy and out of control for a few brief moments, all that had mattered was…was…was what he was doing with his mouth and…

  The thought was so damning she couldn’t finish it.

  His half of the bed was empty, and she wondered when he had gotten up and where he was. She opened her eyes and peeked over the edge of the thick quilt to a dull gold light. Looking toward the two tall windows, she saw that the light came from sunlight filtering through aged openwork curtains and paper roll-up shades. She saw stark and unfamiliar surroundings—bluish floral wallpaper, a vintage chest of drawers made of a red-brown wood, a brown straight-backed chair.

  Her khaki Dockers and pink panties lay where Dalton had peeled them off and dropped them in a heap on the linoleum-covered floor. She closed her eyes and groaned. Those Dockers would be a wrinkled mess and she had to walk out of here wearing them. She looked around for her bra and shirt, then remembered she had lost them last night in the kitchen.

  Last night.

  Dear God. In the light of day, all that had gone on in this bed seemed more like a dream than a reality. Or was it a nightmare? She groaned again as memories of details swarmed into her conscious mind.

  That was pretty damned awesome. You’re awesome.

  As his words swam back, her whole being filled with bliss and she felt a smile cross her lips.

  As total awareness asserted itself, she remembered that today was Tuesday. She saw no clock, but judging from the light in the room, it had to be at least eight o’clock. Oh, hell. She had to get moving and get to her shop. With the beauty salon being closed on Sundays and Mondays, Tuesdays were always busy days. Her mother would be in early and wondering why she wasn’t there.

  Joanna listened for activity in the living room or kitchen but heard nothing. She sat up, only to find evermore aches and pains she didn’t know she had and a tenderness between her legs. Keeping up with Dalton in bed had been as physically demanding as helping him work on the fence.

  If she had eaten ground glass, her stomach couldn’t have felt worse. She needed about a dozen aspirin to cure the ache that throbbed behind her eyes. She held out her flattened hand and saw it visibly trembling. Besides that, she needed a shower and a toothbrush in the worst way.

  She knew there was only one bathroom, installed many years after the house’s original construction date. The tub was stained a rusty red and its smooth enamel finish had been eroded away long ago by the heavily mineralized water. There was a shower, but it was metal and rusted. The showerhead was so corroded from mineral deposit from the water, only a trickle of water came out. She wouldn’t shampoo her hair in the ranch’s hard well water anyway. A sponge bath in the vanity sink was the only acceptable option.

  The bedroom was chilly. The morning sun hadn’t had time to warm West Texas. She dragged the quilt from the bed and wrapped it around herself, noticing that the bed was a regular size. No wonder her and Dalton’s bodies had been so close all night. There had been no other choice even if they had wanted one.

  She opened the door a crack and poked her head
through. She saw no one but heard country music coming from the kitchen. Easing out of the bedroom, she padded up the hallway.

  She found the bathroom humid and warm. It smelled of cologne. A glance at the shower told her Dalton had used it not long ago. An image came to her of his Greek-god body naked in the shower. Erotic memories zoomed in on her and she closed her eyes and exhaled. Last night he had thought she was awesome, but what would he think this morning? What would Clova think if she knew her friend Joanna had slept with her favorite son? What should Joanna think of herself on a morning after a night of overindulgence in liquor, unbridled passion and uninhibited sex?

  On a sigh, she bent to turn on the electric wall heater and her head swam. She grabbed at the wall for balance as the heater blew out a loud roar and instantly began to fill the small room with warmth.

  Finally, she dared a glance in the vanity mirror and saw raccoon eyes from yesterday’s mascara and whisker burns on her mouth and chin. Her expression looked vacant, her skin sallow, and her hair was a rat’s nest. “Oh, hell,” she whispered and pressed her fingertips against her mouth. Her fingers smelled like sex.

  Dalton’s travel bag lay unzipped on the end of the vanity. She picked through it, found toothpaste and brushed her teeth with her finger. Nearly gagging on the bitter, salty taste of the water that came from the tap, she thought of Dalton as a boy and the hardship of growing up in a home where the only running water was so heavy with minerals it was undrinkable and unusable for many purposes. But then, that was the nature of rural living in Wacker County.

  She filled the sink with warm water and dropped the quilt to the floor, revealing her own naked body in the mirror. It appeared to be no different from yesterday. No one could tell by looking, thank God, that Dalton Parker’s mouth had touched every intimate part of it. “Oh, hell,” she muttered again.

  She rummaged in the vanity and found a hairbrush. After she had washed herself and improved her appearance as much as possible, she wrapped up in the quilt again and left the bathroom. Before she reached the bedroom, Dalton came into the hallway carrying a coffee mug, a dazzling smile on his face. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  Wearing clean jeans and a red long-sleeve T-shirt, he looked scoured, though dark stubble showed on his jaws. He looked so sexy and delectable that just seeing him almost took her breath. When he reached her, he looped one arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her, then offered her a sip of coffee. The scent of his cologne filled her nostrils, the same fragrance as last night and the same one she had smelled in the bathroom.

  The thought of putting coffee in her roiling stomach was on a par with swallowing disinfectant. “No, thanks,” she said, turning her head away from the mug.

  “Not a coffee drinker?” he asked softly but cheerily. He kissed her again.

  She pulled the quilt tighter around herself. “My stomach isn’t in great shape. How come you twisted my arm last night and made me drink all that stuff?”

  He set the mug down on a three-legged table standing against the wall, slid his hands beneath the quilt, wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close to him. “It turned out okay. Look what happened.”

  She smiled up at him. How could she not when his knowing hands were caressing her bare bottom? “Yeah, just look.”

  His mouth lowered to hers and they kissed in a long, squishy kiss. He ended it and pecked the tip of her nose. “Know what? You’re as awesome in the daylight as you are in the dark.”

  “You, too,” she replied, laughing a little at the relief she felt at hearing him repeat the words.

  “Hungry?”

  He seemed to be constantly trying to feed her. “I could eat something. Something gentle, that is.”

  “Want me to help you get dressed?” His thick brows bobbed.

  She laughed and snuggled close to his chest. “I’d probably never get my clothes on. We’d end up back in bed.”

  “Hold that thought. Tonight we’ll sleep at your house. I want to try out that fancy mattress you’ve got. I put your clothes on top of the cedar chest.”

  She reluctantly pushed away from him and started back to the bedroom. “I need to get my eggs gathered and get out of here.”

  “Already done,” he said. “I put them on the counter in your little room. I’ve got breakfast all laid out in the kitchen.”

  She stopped in the bedroom doorway and looked at him. “You gathered the eggs?”

  He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, his mouth only inches away. “Had to, babe. You were in no shape to do it.”

  “Dalton, listen, about last night—”

  “What about it?” His cheery expression fell and he looked into her eyes intently.

  Stymied by the change in his demeanor, she lost the words she intended to say. She shrugged. “It’s just that—”

  “Joanna,” he said, moving her hair behind her ear, “if you’re about to apologize or anything like that, don’t. Neither one of us has anything to be sorry for.” He captured her chin with his fingers and kissed her long and tenderly.

  Those words and his kiss chased away what she had intended to say. It had only been something silly about emotions and feelings and all of that nonsense anyway. When he lifted his lips, she smiled. “I do need to get dressed.”

  Ten minutes later, she met him in the kitchen and found him standing at the stove arranging strips of bacon in a cast-iron skillet. To put out the fire in her stomach, she helped herself to half a glass of milk from the refrigerator, then walked over to the counter beside him. Four eggs lay on the counter. “You’re cooking eggs?”

  “Fresh from Walsh’s Naturals,” he said. “Just laid this morning. How about that?”

  She smiled up at him. “Should be good. My hens lay only the best.”

  He hooked an arm around her shoulder and planted a quick kiss on her temple. “What’re you doing today?”

  She watched the bacon sizzle and curl in the skillet, loving being attached to his side like another limb. “I take customers in the beauty shop on Tuesdays. How about you?”

  “Going by to see Mom, then going to Lubbock. I thought you might be able to go with me.”

  The invitation was tempting, but she had never allowed anything except illness or an emergency to prevent her from taking care of her oldest and most loyal customers. “I can’t. Some of my Tuesday ladies have been coming to me for years. They get upset if I’m not there. Big day in Lubbock?”

  “Lane was supposed to get moved out of the ICU yesterday. I need to see what happens next.” He turned the bacon with a meat fork, then broke the eggs into a separate skillet. “But I plan to be back before dark.”

  The bacon grease made a loud pop and they jumped. At the same time, his cell phone chirped from behind them. They both turned and stared at it.

  The thing continued to bleat. He didn’t move.

  It had to be her. Otherwise he would answer it. And anyone else would have hung up by now. Like black ink, a feeling Joanna had never known she was capable of spilled into her brain. For the first time in her life, she knew the bitter bile of jealousy. She locked her eyes on his. “You should probably get that.”

  He gave the phone a scowl and an almost discernible shake of his head. Oh, yes. He did know it was her. “I mean it, Dalton. Answer it.”

  He drew a deep breath. Leaving the stove, he stepped over to the counter across the room, picked up the phone, flipped it open and slapped it against his ear. “Yo. It’s me.”

  Oh, yes, it was the woman in California, and he was uncomfortable talking in her, Joanna’s, presence. She blinked away the burn that rushed to her eyes. She waited to hear the “babes,” the “darlin’s,” the “sweeties,” tumble from his mouth, but they didn’t.

  “I’ve been busy,” he said. “Sure…. Uh-hunh…. Well, yeah…”

  Dear God. Reality. A cruel messenger. And a reminder that she had never done anything quite so stupid as what she had done last night. How could she have been so…so, so drunk?

>   The phone still plastered to his ear, he walked out of the kitchen and on out of the house.

  Bastard! Joanna’s chin quivered, but she refused to let him see her break down and bawl. Instead, she clenched her jaw, picked up the meat fork and punctured the egg yolks. Puddles of yellow spread through the grease just as a grim little satisfaction spread through her. Then she turned off the burner, grabbed the sack of apples still sitting on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. On her way to the front door, she yanked her purse off the dining table, leaving the file folder of chicken and donkey photographs behind.

  Outside, squinting against the brilliant sunshine of early morning, she saw him on the front porch, his back to her, one hand in his pocket, his shoulders scrunched against the morning’s cool temperature. To stand out in the cold shivering, he badly wanted a private conversation with Betty Boop.

  Joanna strode past him and kept walking until she reached her pickup, parked in front of her egg-processing room. The newly gathered eggs needed washing, but she wasn’t up to it.

  As she yanked open the pickup’s driver’s-side door, he hustled up beside her. “Joanna, it’s not what you think.”

  “Yes, it is.” She threw her purse and the sack of apples onto the passenger seat. “It’s exactly what I think. I’ve heard you talk to her. I’ve heard the ‘babes’ and the ‘darlin’s’ and the ‘sweeties.’” She climbed into the pickup and plopped onto the driver’s seat.

  “Joanna, don’t do this. Don’t be a horse’s ass.”

  Anger charged through her, heating her face. She stopped and glared at him. “Me a horse’s ass? Look in the mirror, buster.”

  She jerked the door from his grip and slammed it. She did not buzz down the window. She cranked the engine, but he hadn’t stepped back. If he didn’t, she would run over his damned feet. She glowered at him through the window and he finally moved. She backed up, changed gears and roared toward the highway without looking back.