"Stop it Flynn,” she begged, slapping the water with her hands.
Flynn's hand flew faster over his penis, his fury building to a crescendo. “Now that you have me in your bed, I suppose I'm not good enough to talk to, or be honest with. I'm just a hard cock and an open wallet to you."
"Uncle!” she cried, “Uncle! Uncle!” “I thought I meant more to you than just a fuck buddy. I don't think you'll ever learn to trust me or to care about me as a person...” He gripped his prick, it spasmed in his hand as his seed splashed onto the remains of the blueberry pancakes.
"...and that's what I think of your ‘fuck me Flynn'” The door shook violently as he slammed it behind him.
* * * *
Echo angrily wrapped the dressing gown around her. “I knew this guy was too good to be true! What kind of fucked up shit was that? Stupid, stupid ... how could I be so flipping stupid to think I had found Mr. Perfect?” muttered Echo, her eyes stinging with tears.
Sure, she had fibbed to him, but he didn't know that. She hadn't wanted to get into a big scene and spoil the mood of last night. Now the memory was sullied by his tirade. Her head began to spin and she choked back the sensation of nausea. Her thoughts wrapped round and round forming a tangled mess in her mind. She couldn't think straight, and she was hyperventilating. She sat on the edge of the toilet putting her head between her legs, willing herself to get a grip.
She had to get out of this house. She couldn't bear to see him again right now. She wanted to go home and try to figure out what had just happened.
She walked to the door, put her ear against the crack and listened for any sounds of Flynn moving around in the bedroom. Hearing none, she opened the door, and was surprised to see Flynn dressed and standing before the fire. He looked so smug, so righteous, so back in control. The sight of his arrogance caused a fire of rage to burn hotly in her chest. Drops of perspiration sprung on the back of her neck.
"Where are my clothes? Where are my goddamn clothes, you sick son-of-a-bitch?” she sputtered. “I want to go home right now and I can't exactly walk down the street in this little number with my ass and tits on display!” Her voice rose. Fury filled her and she wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt her. “Speaking of homes, one of us is going to sell theirs, because I'm getting a restraining order that says you can't come within a thousand miles of me, you freak!"
Anger and pain clawed at her. Why had he talked to her like that, as if she was a sexual deviant and he wasn't a willing participant? She could kick herself for allowing this to happen. She had opened her heart and he had taken it, shredded it, and thrown it back at her in tatters.
Men had been nothing but fucking problems for her all her life and right now, this man represented every rejection, every lie, every disappointment she had been dealt by every testosterone-wielding Neanderthal who had crossed her path. Echo had to clench her hands into tight little fists so she wouldn't claw his eyes out with her bare fingers.
"I don't know what I ever saw in you ... you disgust me! It is so cliché, but it's true nonetheless. I want to tell you something, Mr. Irish Don Juan; I went along with all of your kinky little games. I enjoyed myself immensely. I freely admit. In fact, you held me spellbound; but that revolting bit of theatrics in there ... that totally crossed the fucking line!"
"It was you who crossed the line.” Flynn flung the typed pages in her direction. They fluttered to the floor at her feet.
"What?” Echo snapped, not understanding.
Flynn's hand was on the door, his other hand pointing to the pages on the floor. “You, Echo, it was you.” Flynn flung open the door, exited the room, and slammed the door behind him with such force that a large oil painting came crashing to the floor.
Echo gathered the papers from the floor. One glance told her what they contained. Tears of guilt and self-hatred sprang forth like blood from a wound. She had lied to him and he knew it.
She'd had a problem with telling white lies her whole life. It wasn't something she was proud of. Shame and regret prickled icily beneath her skin as she remembered her mother saying, “I swear, you would rather climb a tree and tell a lie than stand on the ground and tell the truth."
She didn't set out to lie, it just happened sometimes. Echo realized now how immature and hurtful it could be.
She tried to put herself in Flynn's place. A conversation, which she knew in the back of her mind he had asked her not to have, had seemed innocent enough to her. But when he'd read it, which he shouldn't have done ... she could see how he might have thought she was turning him into a cuckold. When she lied, his suspicions were validated all the more.
Her skin crawled with shame and embarrassment. He had known about the conversation the whole time that he was questioning her. He had given her a chance to come clean. She had trusted him with her body, but not her secrets. She had fallen from his grace.
He had lashed out, and she had struck back. Both of them were so volatile it was chilling.
What could she have been thinking leaping into a dom/ sub relationship with him? Maybe she wasn't cut out for this lifestyle at all. Their roles had always seemed muddled. It was a constant struggle for who was on top.
He was right about one thing. What had she done for him? Shouldn't she have been the one to order his breakfast, and run his bath? She hadn't even thought to perform these small acts of affection for him. She was so grateful for his attentions that she had allowed him to pile them on her, sucking in his kindnesses like a leech.
A single tear slid across her lips to the corner of her mouth. Echo crumpled to the floor, sobbing her torment into her hands. The things he had said to her ... the things she had said to him. She cringed just thinking about how the passion of the night before had turned so cruel. If only she could take it back. She had to explain, tell him that she was sorry, that she only lied because she was afraid of losing him.
She couldn't have come all this way just to watch him walk out the door. She had to talk to him, to try and pick up the pieces before it was too late.
"Flynn! Flynn!” she called, as she raced down the staircase, her lacey gown floating behind her. She searched through the maze of rooms looking for him until she came upon her clothes, folded neatly upon the kitchen table, buttons sewn and all. But Flynn was gone.
* * * *
Back in the familiar surroundings of her home, day turned to night and night slipped back into day. Each moment was like a waking dream. Echo shopped. She ate a little and tried to write. She forced herself to go through the motions of being alive, but the world had lost its vibrancy. The last leaves that clung to the trees dried up and dropped to the ground, leaving naked branches rocking in the wind. The landscape turned harsh and gloomy. Even the sky mimicked her mood by shifting to a somber shade of grey. When a cold Nor'easter wind blew in, Echo felt the chill cut straight through to her soul.
Everything reminded her of Flynn. One morning a small flock of white birds flew high overhead. Looking up from the street, Echo thought that they looked like the X's that Flynn had signed on the card in the gift box. It was as if those kisses had turned into birds that had flown right out of her life.
She was certain now that she loved Flynn because it hurt so badly to lose him. Two weeks had passed without a single sign of him. She had deliberately walked past his house several times, hoping he would see her. But he didn't emerge. She wondered if he even lived there anymore. The house was dark as pitch. She had left notes in his mailbox, but each time she deposited one, the others were still in the box. She listened for his voice or even the disembodied voice that sounded like his, but no message reached her ears. Even the spirits had abandoned her.
Echo was consumed with regret. The only man she had ever truly cared about had slipped through her fingers like dust in the wind—all over a stupid misunderstanding.
It was doubtful that she would ever know that kind of happiness again. Just like pain and pleasure, love had it's polar opposite and it wasn't hate—it was despair.<
br />
Each day, Echo descended a step further back into her old life. By the time that she tallied ‘day seventeen’ of Flynn's absence on her calendar, she was beginning to feel a tiny bit grateful for Flynn staying out of sight. She had never felt a loss so deeply, and she never, ever wanted to feel like this again. If he came back into her life, she would fall in love all over again, and then what? More torment?
She remembered the time when Flynn had quoted Kennedy to her. Well, she was certainly Irish through and through because the world broke her heart at every turn, and she was weary of it.
She reasoned that if she never saw Flynn again, she would be able to gradually erase the memory and agony from her life. But reason couldn't cure the ache she felt in her heart.
As the weeks passed, Echo resigned herself to never seeing Flynn again. She finalized it in her mind. The affair was over—time to get on with the business of living.
Then on day twenty-one of their separation, Echo went to the library.
A Poet's Plea
"May I help you?” asked the paunchy, balding librarian.
"I hope so,” said Echo sweetly. “I am looking for..."
"She is looking for a self-help book.... I believe it's called I'm OK. You're a Sick Son-of-a Bitch. Do you know if you have that in your catalog?"
Echo did not have to turn around to know who was standing behind her. Her heart leapt and sank in one swift motion.
"Never mind,” she said to the bewildered librarian.
"You know what, lad; I believe that I can assist her in finding exactly what she is searching for.” Flynn said to the clerk.
As Flynn stepped nearer, closing the space between their bodies, the earthy, green scent of him enveloped her like an invisible cloak; triggering the memory of the first time he had entered her home and her heart, charging them both with the static electricity of his presence.
When Flynn took her elbow, leading her away from the counter, a whisper of hope rooted in her soul. She longed to recapture the first stir of emotions she had felt on that day which now seemed like a lifetime ago.
So much had passed between them since that time—pleasure, pain, love and despair. Echo had clung to each emotion, no matter how unpleasant. She could not release them, or perhaps it was that they would not release her.
Because she found herself suspended in an emotional limbo, she went willingly with him, hoping his reappearance in her life meant she might be able to find closure. Flynn guided her down the aisle, his polished shoes making a tapping sound as they glided across the marble floor.
Echo followed along with trepidation. They had not left things on a good note when they parted. Now the space between them was filled with all of the things they had and hadn't said to one another.
She wondered what he wanted with her now. He had vanished like a ghost, leaving all the unresolved issues between them in his wake. Had he returned to heal the wound as he had once bandaged her bleeding skin, or was he here to drive the blade deeper yet? The prospect of having more accusations flung in her direction left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"I believe, miss, that we will find what you are seeking in the second floor stacks.” Flynn announced too loudly. The librarian shook his head and turned his attention to an elderly man counting out change for overdue fines.
Through her peripheral vision she studied him. His body language was relaxed, but his face betrayed no hint of his current state of mind. There were so many things that she wanted to tell him, but realized now that she hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.
Unable to gauge his mood, she bit her tongue, restraining the phrases that threatened to spill from her lips. I love you. I need you. Please do whatever it is that you need to do to make things right again. Before she wore her heart on her sleeve, she would allow him to have his say, even if his words stung and wounded.
Wordlessly, Flynn led Echo up the winding iron staircase to the balcony above. Down below, people were scattered about at long wooden tables, their heads bowed over books, and periodicals. A poorly clothed vagrant, escaping from the cold, snored loudly in a corner chair.
Winding through towers of dusty reference books, Flynn pulled Echo by the arm until they reached a far, dark corner.
"Miss me?” he asked.
The torment of missing him had been like the persistent phantom pain of an amputated limb. It nagged at her day and night, reminding her of what used to be. But the fear of his rejection and her damnedable pride floated, unseen but ever present, over her like an ominous specter. It whispered to her unconscious; don't let your guard down.
"What if I did?” She replied curtly.
"Still cheeky, I see.” Flynn inched closer, crowding Echo against the wall.
Echo tested the waters, “Long time, no see."
"Yeah, well, after you said that you didn't want to see me ever again, I took your advice and went back home for awhile. Not, home like to my house. I went back to where I'm from."
Echo's guilt rose in her throat and it tasted bitterly of bile.
"Ireland?” she asked.
"Around there, yes,” Flynn replied. “Actually, I wasn't planning on returning here, but I was sent back to finish something I had started."
Echo tried to hide her disappointment. It was business that brought him back and not her.
He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. “Are you here on a research project, or have you decided to finally read all of the classics that you've always said that you wanted to read, but never had the time?” He smiled. “I can see it now, all curled up on the sofa in flannels, a cup o’ tea in your hand, just you and a bloody good book. I suppose that next you'll be needin’ to get yourself a cat or two to keep you company.” His eyes studied her, making her feel small and vulnerable. “If so, I saw this grand orange pussy walking big as you please down the middle of the street."
"You have the nerve to call me cheeky?” The ice melted from Echo's voice. It felt like before; him teasing her, she feeling flustered in a flattered sort of way. The air seemed to literally spark and crackle when Flynn was around. He was a force of nature impossible to predict and sweeping everything in his path along with him. He stood so closely, his intoxicating scent made her swoon.
She needed to apologize. She had to explain. She opened her mouth to speak but Flynn gazed into her eyes with his mystical blue orbs and she was speechless. The errant lock of hair that she had loved so much, was hanging over his eyes. Echo reached up and smoothed it into place with her fingers.
"Lord in heaven, girl, I've missed you!” Flynn gasped, pressing his mouth to hers.
The icy exterior that had frozen her in its grip melted instantly with the warmth of his words. He had yearned for her; perhaps as desperately as she had yearned for him. Was it possible that he, too, had spent the last few weeks feeling like only half of a whole?
Echo tasted his lips, and welcomed his tongue with hers. It was as if she were welcoming life back into her body; a body that had simply been going through the motions of living.
When he left, she had dug a shallow grave for her heart and buried it away. His kiss resurrected it from the dead, and it hammered like a fist upon her chest.
Her fingers glided through his hair. After all of the long, lonely weeks, she wanted to touch him, to feel his flesh, to know for certain that he was real.
The heat and pressure of his erection pushed against her abdomen.
"Care to come out and play for old time's sake, or are you going to cast me and this polecat in my pants out into the bitter cold?” Flynn asked.
Echo was stunned. Did he mean right here, and right now? She had carried the guilt of their failed affair with her for so long, and here he was, acting like it was all water under the bridge. Was this his way of granting them both amnesty from the past?
"Before you answer, let me plead on the polecat's behalf. The cold does not agree with him at all, you see.” Flynn breathed into her ear.” He prefer
s a climate that is a bit more ... tropical.” Flynn's hand slid under Echo's skirt.
Echo knew that if she allowed him, Flynn was capable of transporting her almost immediately into a state of wanton desire. She wanted—no—she needed him to know that he was more to her than just a good lay. The tables had turned. Now she felt like talking and he wanted to fuck.
"A hot, sultry location is more to his liking. So what say we send him on a balmy little holiday?” Flynn unzipped his pants.
"What are you doing?” Echo asked.
"Isn't it obvious? Just being near you and I'm out of control again. Echo, I don't care about what happened in the past. I'm desperately sorry for the things I said and did. I want to make it up to you if you'll let me."
His fingers caressed her pussy beneath her skirt and it responded with a warm rush of lubrication. He had forgiven her, but could she find forgiveness from herself? Her dishonesty and petulance had been a major source of the conflict and she needed to explain, to offer her own apology.
"Will you let me make it up to you?” Flynn's finger slipped inside her panties and petted the wet folds. Echo buried her face in his neck. Yes, she yearned for him, it was true. But it was more than that. He had been callous in his accusations, but he had also been insightful. She was selfish, taking and taking without as much as a fleeting notion for his needs. He had done so much for her, had pleased her in so many ways. If a moment of make-up sex was what he wanted, it was the least she could do to mend the sorrow.
Flynn reached behind her buttocks and pulled her left leg around his hip. Without thinking, Echo placed her right foot on one of the bookshelves to steady herself. Several volumes on the other side of the bookcase crashed to the floor with a thud. The faces at the tables below looked up in unison. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they shrugged their shoulders and resumed reading.
"Shhh! This is a library. They'll revoke your card, and then what are you going to do on those long, lonely nights?” Flynn teased.
Flynn tore open a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled the sheath over his erection. Echo opened her mouth to protest, and then remembered that they had been apart for weeks. A condom was probably a good idea. Hooking a finger inside of her panties he moved them to one side and entered her. It was as if a key had been turned, unlocking a secret bond between them. Beyond the physical sensation of his body joining with hers, it seemed that their two souls, which had been cleaved into halves, now joined to form a new, more complete union. All of the despair, regret, and longing she had clung to whistled through her body like a tempest. The raw strength of the emotions was so overpowering that she could scarcely bear it. Her heart swelled like a balloon, threatening to burst from the beauty and tragedy of their love.
The Stir of Echo Page 12
