Fearsome

by S. A. Wolfe

  “Wait a minute. Who is Talia cooking for? Are you going to sneak home and eat the good stuff?”

  “Nope. I gave her three weeks off. So it’s you, me and my bad cooking.”

  “That was generous of you. It’s paid time off, right?”

  Carson shrugs. “She needs to see her family in Poland.”

  “And I bet you paid for the trip. You’re such a nice person.”

  Carson picks up my hand and kisses it. “I’m coming back for you.”

  He sure knows how to shut me up. I bask numbly in his flirtation before he leaves and I lock the door behind him.

  “What was that?” Lauren asks, running down the hall towards me. “Babe?”

  I shake my head. “He wants to come over and fix things.” I shrug.

  Imogene joins us and crosses her arms. “He wants to fix you.

  My cell phone pings with a text from Carson. You’re always on my mind.

  Lauren reads it and does one of those spastic cheerleader jumps. “He’s courting you. He’s wooing you until you admit that you’re in love with him.”

  Imogene is more reserved and, for some reason, I trust her advice more than Lauren’s. Something about Imogene’s dark red lipstick and dark wavy hair with her Jessica Rabbit body makes her seem like a woman who reads men well. “He’s very serious, Jess. It may look cute and innocent, but make no mistake. Carson is deadly serious about what he’s doing. Do not fuck with his heart on this. If you have a problem, you tell him now.”

  Her warning carries a great weight, this time I understand. I can’t dismiss her the way I brushed off Carson’s warning about Dylan.

  Forty-Two

  For the next two weeks leading up to my show, Carson arrives every day to work on my house and to cook dinner. I work in the library or paint in the studio and sometimes I wonder if he’s downstairs breaking things so he has projects to work on. I really don’t care. I listen like a hawk for any sign of the door opening and grin to myself when I know he’s arrived.

  Sometimes he comes in the morning and stays all day. Sometimes he brings my lunch and then works, but he always informs me when dinner is ready. Afterward, I always come downstairs to eat his stinky tuna casserole, his crunchy dry meatloaf, his tacos made with store bought rotisserie chicken, his sub sandwiches that could feed four men, or his pasta that he tops off with my favorite Rao’s sauce.

  If the girls are here, we all eat together and he openly refers to me as babe and kisses me whenever he pleases, but he never takes it further. His hand doesn’t reach under my shirt to cop a feel and he never lets his lower extremities brush against me. He’s making me insane with wanting him.

  When we do finally meet at the end of the workday for dinner, I’m dying to hear his voice and have him talk to me about anything. I find his observations on amendments to an IRS code for businesses in particular to be a real turn on. I don’t care if he is talking about wood varnish, rotating his tires or the weather report, I just need to be near him and hear his voice.

  Carson is playing for keeps and my heart is tugging me towards him. Everything I was taught and all that I’ve perpetuated about keeping a distance from men is being tested daily and hourly; my feelings for Carson are breaking down the defenses in my brain.

  The day before my show, Carson doesn’t show up. By lunchtime, I’m worried. Maybe Archie is right and I waited too long. My phone pings with a text from Carson. Something came up. See you at dinner.

  I sigh with relief. He’s coming, but not until dinner. Carson has rendered my brain useless. I think about him moving around my house, cooking in the kitchen, eating dinner with me and talking about his shop or his clients, the furniture designs he’s working on and about the sex I’m not getting. The kind of sex that addles my brain and fills my heart with a gush of love for Carson. I love him! My brain screams this over and over.

  I shower and change into clean jeans and a flouncy cream blouse with a scoop neck which hits me at the hips. I play with my hair, making long waves with the curling iron and I put on some mascara and a dusting of a light eye shadow. I wear my favorite black, knee-high boots over my jeans that also give me a two-inch boost. Nothing Carson would notice since he’s six four, yet it makes me feel sexier to walk on longer legs. I put on my wool coat and grab my purse, car keys and a portfolio case.

  “Wish me luck,” I say to Bert. He licks his chops and plops back down on the bottom step so he can greet me when I return.

  As I drive through the snow, rumbling up the snow-packed road to Carson’s house, it occurs to me that he’s probably not there. The “something” was most likely work-related and I’m wasting my time. My worries are eased somewhat when I see Carson’s truck in front of his house. Then a new set of fears set in. What is he doing home when he should be at work or at my home?

  My heels sink and crunch in the snow as I make my way to the door. I hesitate, my finger hovering over the doorbell. I push it and exhale. I hear voices and wonder how many people are behind the door. Before I can consider crunching my way back to the car, the door swings wide open and Carson is inches from me, towering like the giant I found intimidating on my first day in Hera except he’s shirtless. His jeans hang lower than usual, a sign that he’s going commando. Combine that with the angles and planes of his brawny arms and torso, and I’m rendered speechless.

  I’m in love with one of those beautiful god-like men I used to assume were brainless. He’s anything other than brainless, though. He’s the only guy I have lusted over who enjoys listening to me rattle on about function theory and computational testing. How have I gotten so lucky as to have the biggest and hottest star in my little galaxy?

  He is surprised to see me and it takes a moment for him to quickly scan all my body parts with concern as if I might be injured before he understands that I’m there to see him.

  “Jess.” A smile breaks across his face. He steps back. “Come in.”

  I walk in, clutching the portfolio, my nerves threatening to revolt on me.

  “Did I interrupt something? I heard voices.”

  “I was talking to Dylan on the computer. That’s why I stayed home this afternoon and couldn’t come to your place. The facility monitors all outside communication, so he has to sign up for computer time for live chats. We’re finished, though. Come in, give me your coat.” He finishes unbuttoning my coat for me and hangs it up in the hall closet. Dying embers are glowing in the living room fireplace and I see his open laptop on the coffee table.

  “How is Dylan?” I ask as Carson picks up the key on my necklace. His mouth curves before he lets the key drop from his hand.

  Carson pauses and looks down, a moment of reverie for his sibling. “He sounds really good. Dylan’s good at fooling people, but this time he sounds genuinely good.”

  “Great. Everyone is rooting for Dylan. I bet he has made friends there.”

  Carson smiles, yet seems apprehensive. I’m giving off mixed signals again. My knuckles turn white as my grip on the portfolio increases and I begin to crush the cardboard.

  “Hey,” he says and takes the portfolio from my hands. I bend down to remove my boots. My recent pedicure shows off bright red toenails and baby soft feet. In the excitement to see him, I forgot to put on socks and I’m glad. Carson takes in a slow breath as he watches my toes when I arch my foot from the boot.

  “I brought you something. I hope you like it.” He turns his focus to the portfolio.

  “A gift? You made this for me?” His mouth curves into a lopsided grin.

  I nod.

  Carson opens the case and takes the painting out. He lets the portfolio fall to the floor as he holds the painting with both hands and studies it. I can’t read his solemn face. Maybe including Dylan in the piece was a mistake and Carson is uncertain whether I am secretly holding a torch for his brother.

  “This is—” He stops mid-sentence when his voice catches and a sadness crinkles around his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. Does it upset you?”


  “No. I’m astonished,” he says, studying the painting. “You captured the part of me and Dylan that means the most to me.” He looks at me and then again at the painting. “You got it.”

  “So you really like it?” I can’t hold my smile back.

  “Are you kidding? I’m framing this.” He walks over to the coffee table and sets the painting down to admire it from a distance.

  I stay by the door and put my fists up to my chin, anxious to finish what I came to do.

  “Are you going to come in?” he asks, turning back to me. “You can sit down and relax. I don’t bite.” That’s not entirely true when I think back to him taking a few nips against my butt cheeks.

  “I have something I want to tell you.” I clip the words out and can’t hide my uneasiness.

  “Ah. This sounds serious.” Carson comes back to me by stepping on the couch and flying over the back of it, landing at my feet. He’s my personal super hero, shirtless of course, so I can marvel at his beauty. “This is about you and me.”

  “Yes.” I hold my elbows across my chest and let my gaze wander down to his chest which is eye level for me.

  He puts two fingers under my chin and lifts my head up to meet his gaze. “Say it. Whatever it is. Say it,” he demands and releases my chin.

  “Okay. Here it is. I push back because I am scared about many things, mostly because I’m young and stupid when it comes to men. Because I was with your brother and I thought that made me unworthy of you.” Carson grimaces at that. “Furthermore, I really didn’t believe that anything good would come out of being with you because I was so afraid of being hurt. It felt like I was giving you a power over me, but the truth is, I feel stronger when I’m with you. When you tell me those beautiful things about myself like telling me I’m fearsome, I feel the same way about you. I do feel the same way about you in every way possible.”

  Carson moves closer to me and settles his hands firmly on my waist. “Say. It.”

  “I love… I love you. I love you, Carson.”

  “Yes, you do.” He smiles and leans in to give me a tender kiss.

  I take a breath and struggle to say more.

  “You have something else to say. It’s okay, tell me.”

  “I’m also terrified that I fell in love with you too fast.”

  “Fast? It’s taken you months!” Carson smiles.

  “It goes against everything my parents taught me about being a practical, responsible person,” I ramble.

  “You make it sound like loving someone is the same as paying your phone bill. Should I be concerned?” Carson squeezes my waist and moves his palms up my back before giving me another soft kiss.

  “No, you don’t have to be concerned. I don’t want to be without you,” I whisper between kisses. “It’s too empty when you’re not near me, it hurts when you stay away from me.”

  “Same here.”

  “Carson?”

  “What?” he asks, brushing his lips against mine.

  “I’m not as strong or as smart as you think I am. Don’t break me.”

  “Never.” He holds me tightly. “We’re going to make each other very happy. You and me, babe.”

  “You’re the first man I have ever been in love with.” I curl into his embrace, my heart racing.

  “I’m also the last. And you are the only woman I can imagine loving forever. So we’re even.” He picks me up with an arm under my legs and behind my back. I wrap my arms around his neck.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Kiss me,” he commands before he carries me up to his bedroom without ever removing his lips from mine.

  When he sets me down on the floor in the master suite, he kicks the door closed.

  “Lock it,” I say, thinking of Talia showing up.

  Carson laughs. “Talia is still in Poland. Take all of your clothes off. Every last stitch.”

  I remove my blouse and, when Carson sees my black lace bra, he begins undressing me himself. His hands pull down my jeans and panties and then he unclasps my bra, palming the mounded skin beneath before the bra falls to the floor. His jeans fly off and his mouth is instantly on my breast; I gasp from the heat of his mouth and the sensation that ripples through my body. I go boneless and he carries me to the bed. He reluctantly reaches for the condoms in his nightstand.

  I put my hand on his arm. “Carson, I went on the pill. I decided to go on the pill so I can be with you.”

  “Excellent,” he chokes out.

  His cock, long and hard, rubs against my belly as he kisses me gently and slowly. He lavishes his talented tongue down to the sensitive zones on my neck and I moan as I close my eyes.

  “Babe, keep your eyes open.” He pulls me up to the headboard so my head is on the high pillows. I look down to see Carson spreading my legs and kissing at the top of my thigh before licking into my wet center. I moan his name and encourage him to keep going. When he sucks on my special spot, my hands fist in his hair and I buck into his mouth. He doesn’t slow down. Tongue, circle, tongue, suck, repeat. I come in a dizzying frenzy of moans that end with me shouting his name.

  “Damn,” I whisper.

  I am still with pleasure which paralyzes every cell and limb. Carson props himself above me. “You should see your face after you come. You’re gorgeous.”

  I smile lazily as my eyes close, enjoying the rapture.

  “No, look at me,” he says, straining over me with his own need.

  I stare into his eyes as they glitter with love and bliss. He rubs himself against my clit. “You’re so wet.”

  I replace his hand with mine and stroke his cock, rubbing it against me.

  “Jesus. Shit. It’s been so long that it’s going to make me come.” He pulls my hand away and lies down next to me. His cock rests on my thigh as he begins kissing me hard. I taste myself on his tongue.

  I begin to stroke him as we kiss and a guttural moan escapes from him. I get up and push him on his back. “My turn,” I say, pinning his biceps down, a purely symbolic gesture since the muscles in his arms are too wide for my hands to grasp.

  I get between his legs and hold his length, running my tongue up and down the shaft, taking extra time to circle the tip so it releases its creamy fluids.

  “Babe, stop, I’m going to come if you keep doing that. I can’t hold on and then it will be over too quickly,” Carson says this between his panting moans.

  “Carson, I’m not going anywhere. We have all day and night.” I put him in my mouth and watch his expression glaze over with surrender.

  I’m certainly no expert, but I put everything I know into worshipping his cock. I suck and take as much of him as I can into my mouth, hoping that he doesn’t feel cheated that there isn’t enough room for all of him. My jaw aches between the ferocious sucking, licking and stroking. Carson’s hands move from balling the comforter in his fists to holding my head and pushing me as far onto him as possible.

  Carson comes, shouting my name, and I feel a little self-satisfaction in that. I swallow the spurts of semen and take breaths while I can, so I can continue my assault on his favorite appendage. When he’s empty, I bend over his thigh and wipe my mouth on the comforter before I kiss my way up his torso to relax against his side. His arm pulls me in snug against him and he kisses me again so our tongues share everything—every fluid—a marking of territory, taking possession of each other in the most primal way.

  “I’m the only woman you’ve had in this bed?” My fingers flit lightly across his chest in dancing circles.

  “Yes. Are you going to stay?” He sounds cautious. I don’t blame him. Given his unstable, sad family history and my ability to put myself and my career choices above all else, he must still have reservations about me. “Your show may launch a whole new sphere of clients who want your art. To be successful in that business you need to be tenacious and you may want to live in the city again to maintain contacts and work full time on your painting. Have you thought of that?”

  “I
thought you were opposed to me moving back to the city? Are you trying to get rid of me?” I try to sound flighty and sweet the way a girlfriend would behave.

  “No. You know I want you to live here, but I want to make sure you’ve worked out all the issues in your head. If you change your mind and end up leaving, it will destroy me.”

  I lift my head up and lean on my arm to look at him. His blue eyes against the backdrop of his chiseled, handsome face; his prominent cheekbones and strong chin make him look too beautiful to be a sad person. He is blessed with beauty and intelligence while he’s also very serious about me. I wish he had made that clear from day one. I wish he had been the Blackard to ask me out first.

  “You don’t really trust me,” I say.

  He puts his hand on the back of my head to pull me in for a sweet kiss. “I do,” he says. “I believe your intentions are good, but sometimes that isn’t enough. If you’re not one hundred percent sure of being here, you may change your mind.”

  “So you think I’m fickle. In other words, you don’t trust my emotions.”

  Carson grimaces and shakes his head. “I love you and I want you to share the same degree of love I have for you.”

  “I came here, nervous as hell, and told you that I love you.” I don’t like sounding pouty, but I don’t know where he’s going with this.

  “Fucking ‘bout time. Thank you for that.” He smiles and kisses me again.

  “Everyone gives me a hard time about my plans and these rules of order I have set up for my personal goals, but you’re worse. You keep changing the rules. You want me to stay. I stay. You want me to love you. I love you. Now you question if my degree of love is great enough to keep me grounded or keep us together?”

  “I’m not doubting you. Shit. I’m sorry.” He kisses me again, deeper. “Tell me where you see yourself in the future.”

  “Ah. The future. I don’t have a crystal ball.”

  “Tell me what you want, Jess.”

  “I want harmony. I want my art and I want to be with you. I want both and I want it to be harmonious. Is that a cop out?”