by L. M. Carr
It’s time to make amends.
Encouraging him to lay beneath me, I free the single button and lower the zipper on his shorts. While I kneel between his thighs, my lips kiss along the elastic band of his boxers and my hand strokes his length. The rigidity extends from tip to base and stiffens with my touch. Licking my lips in anticipation, I tug at the elastic waistband and free his substantial erection. Oh, his glory, his form, his size.
With his back propped against the pillows and his arms crossed beneath his head, Andrew watches me work his cock with my hand. Maintaining eye contact, I lower my mouth and glide my tongue across the head, circling around the bead of pre-cum before licking it while my free hand roams greedily over the planes of his abs.
Andrew hisses then moans when I lick my way down to his full sac then return my attention to his shaft. Opening my mouth, I welcome him in. He fills my mouth entirely just as I remember. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on sucking rhythmically while trying not to gag when he suddenly bucks his hips and hits the back of my throat. I pull away and smile coyly. “Let me do this my way.”
“Your mouth feels so fucking good.”
The contact of my hands and mouth elicits several cursed groans as his hands grasp my head and guide the motion.
“Holy fuck,” he curses. “You need to stop.”
I shake my head, loving what I’m doing and how I’m making him feel.
“Morgan,” he barks my name just as his phone rings. “I want to fuck you.”
Sitting up quickly, Andrew reaches down for what I presume is his phone, but he produces a condom instead. The ringing stops as he rolls the sheath over his erection, but then the sound quickly begins once again.
A quick glance at the clock indicates the hour and a pang of jealousy shoots through me, wondering who is calling so late. “Maybe you should answer that,” I suggest when it rings several times in a row.
“Fuck! Who the hell is calling?” Annoyed, he huffs and reaches into his pocket. “I don’t know this number,” he grumbles. “Can’t be anyone important.”
“Could it be your girlfriend?” I blurt out, preparing myself to feel horrible for being an adulterer.
“No,” he confirms quickly with an adamant shake of his head. Believing his words that he’s “not interested in anything long term” to be true, my mind is set at ease.
“Oh, good,” I breathe.
Trying desperately to get us back to where we were minutes ago, I straddle his abdomen and swivel my hips, letting him feel my heat.
“You trying to kill me?” he groans.
I lower my face and kiss him, giving him the opportunity to drag my jeans down over my hips.
Then my cell phone rings.
“Arghh! Now who the hell is calling me so late?” I yell in frustration as I prepare to dismount his body even though I know it’s probably Sean, calling in a drunken stupor to apologize for being a lousy husband. I gave that man five years of my life; I refuse to give him five more seconds.
“Don’t answer that!” he commands, pulling my face to his.
“It might be important,” I say when it rings again for the third time. “It could be my parents.”
Springing from my bed, I run out into the hall for my bag.
I grimace when I notice the 702 area code. I don’t recognize it at all.
“Hello?” I ask as I walk back into my room. “Yes, this is she.”
I listen intently to a man’s panicked voice and then...my heart stops.
“What? When? How bad?” The questions fly from my lips. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”
“Are you okay?” Andrew asks.
Unable to hold my own weight, I sit on the edge of the bed and drop my head between my legs while holding the phone to my ear, listening to the trembling voice on the other end of the line.
Andrew sits up and is by my side in an instant, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
Heartache and disbelief overwhelm me, and my body shudders violently. I can’t breathe. I can’t feel. I can’t think. Unable to respond to the questions hurled at me by a stranger, I simply nod as sorrowful tears stream down my face.
Biting back the sudden urge to vomit, I turn to Andrew and meet his concerned expression. I caress his cheek and lean into his embrace.
“Andrew...”
He takes the phone from my hand and bellows into it, but the bearer of incredibly horrific news has already disconnected the call.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
I howl and quake, the anguish ripping through me like a hot, serrated blade.
“I’m so sorry.” Broken words slip from my lips. “Oh God, I am so sorry.”
Two hands cup my face, holding me firmly in place as blue eyes search mine. “What happened? Is it your parents?” he demands gruffly.
Shaking my head wildly, I manage to stammer, “No...it’s yours.”
“My parents?” His eyebrows furrow displaying his confusion. “What about them?”
I bury my face and sob. “I can’t believe this! This can’t be happening!”
“Morgan!” Andrew grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Tell me! What happened?”
“Their helicopter...it...it crashed.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The rest of the night is a complete blur. Somehow we managed to get dressed and make phone calls. I called my parents while Andrew called his attorney and then Rob. Between us all, we were able to make contact with the tour guide company who confirmed the accident and verified the absence of any survivors.
My boss Mark and Diana, his beautiful bride as he called her, were gone. The Darlings were dead.
Walking around in a zombie-like state, I was able to procure arrangements with the assistance of Victor Ivanov, the family attorney. Andrew and I were on the next flight out to Las Vegas.
♦♦♦
Sitting on a stiff, mustard yellow chair just down the hall from where Andrew has been given the task to identify his parents’ remains, I cry silently. I cry for the loss of two beautiful people. I cry for the lives cut short. I cry for the man who is now, by all accounts, an orphan. No siblings. No grandparents. No aunts or uncles. No cousins.
He is truly alone in this world.
A movement in my peripheral vision garners my attention. I glance over and find Andrew sullen and pale, walking toward me. His tall frame doesn’t appear as looming as it had just two days before. With sagged shoulders and quiet, slow steps, his legs carry him as if he now has no sense of purpose or direction. Standing immediately, I meet him in the middle of the hallway, which is lit by fluorescent lights and reeks of death.
“Andrew,” I sigh compassionately. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. My heart aches when he drags his gaze upward and I notice his beautiful blue eyes are no longer bright; they’re dark and ominous, filled with such depravity and loss.
“Hey.” I rub his arm, offering a look of sincere condolence. “How are you holding up?”
It’s a stupid question to ask, but I’ve got nothing else.
Andrew stares at me without a single utterance.
“Do you have to wait to speak to someone?” I ask quietly, unsure of how to continue.
Inhaling softly, his chest rises then falls. He shakes his head. “I’m done here.”
With hurried steps, I struggle to keep pace with his long strides as he makes his way to the exit.
“Andrew! Slow down. I...I think you have to talk to someone here. I don’t think we can leave yet. Want me to go ask someone for you?”
Ignoring me completely, Andrew walks through the sliding glass door and into the Nevada heat as the sun sets along the horizon just beyond the western line of mountains.
The icy reception to my offer of comfort forces me to sit on one side of the cab while he stares out the window at the opposite side.
“Is there anything I can do?”
My inquiry is disregarded.
After ch
ecking us in to the hotel, I search for Andrew, looking everywhere until I finally spot him sitting at the hotel bar, downing a tumbler of clear liquid. He tips the glass back and swallows it down in two huge gulps. Slamming it down rather obnoxiously, he asks for another.
I make eye contact with the bartender and shake my head with wide pleading eyes, mouthing “please no more” as I reach for a napkin and ask for a pen.
The bartender understands immediately. “Hey. You look like you’ve traveled far today. Go get some rest. I think you’ve got a big night ahead of you.”
Andrew looks at him and nods sadly.
“We’ll settle up later,” the bartender suggests with a smile when I write our room number down on a cocktail napkin.
“C’mon,” I call, ushering Andrew from the wooden barstool. “Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”
Surprisingly, he complies.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and carry his small duffel bag in one hand. Andrew’s reflection appears in the mirrored door and I see the anguish on his face. Since we boarded the plane, he hasn’t said much. He hasn’t cried. He hasn’t gotten angry. He hasn’t wailed in disbelief. He’s shown no emotion since learning of his parents’ death.
A heavy blanket of emptiness woven with loneliness covers him.
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit and I’ll order some food,” I offer while I step into the room and set our bags down.
As if he doesn’t hear me, Andrew walks to the window and stares at the majestic mountains which have become his parents’ final resting place.
A moment later, I join him at the window. My hand rises slowly, ghosting over his back before I return it to my side. “I’m really sorry about your par...” Emotion riddles my voice, causing it to crack, and I cover my mouth.
He doesn’t move; he just stares straight ahead.
“I...can’t even...I can’t believe this happened,” I stammer, sniffling as I wipe the tears running down my face.
My phone rings and I stride across the room to answer it. I look back at Andrew before I walk into the bathroom to speak to Toni. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I update her on what we know so far. I ask her to make phone calls to the staff and inform them of the tragedy. She asks about our return and the funeral arrangements.
“I don’t know. Andrew hasn’t said much. I guess I’ll need to help him figure out what to do next.”
I hear a door open and close.
“Toni, hang on a sec.”
Standing quickly, I pull the bathroom door open and find the room empty. “Andrew,” I call, thinking he might be in the bedroom, but it’s vacant.
“Hey, let me call you back,” I say, quickly disconnecting the call with Toni.
Once in the long hallway, I look to the left then to the right and I shout his name to no avail. I rush to the elevator, stab the button and wait. As the numbers above the elevator descend, my agitation rises. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, and I get a sinking feeling.
The hotel Victor booked is not directly in the center of the Vegas strip; perhaps he figured Andrew would want some peace and quiet rather than the hustle and bustle of the countless casinos in Sin City.
I push through the doors and step onto the concrete sidewalk, scanning the busy street for any sign of him or his light blue shirt. Realizing I don’t even have a phone number to call him, I groan in frustration. Worried, I return to the bar, thinking perhaps he’s gone down for another drink to help ease the pain in his heart, but the bartender says he hasn’t seen him.
I join the long line in the lobby. A stop at the front desk confirms no one there has seen him either. It suddenly occurs to me that, in my haste, I left the room keycard upstairs so I wait while another is issued.
After ordering food from room service, I sit on the small sofa and turn on the television. Media coverage of the accident tops the local news with the headline, “Chopper Crash Rocks Vegas.” Few details are given about the passengers, but representatives from the company provide a statement, declaring their cooperation with authorities and NTSB, and stand by their company’s outstanding track record which tourists have enjoyed for years.
Fatigue from the long trip and lack of sleep finally catch up to me. With no ability to contact Andrew, I shower quickly and change my clothes, throwing on a pair of sweats and a wrinkled shirt I threw in my backpack. My face is red, my skin blotchy and my eyes still puffy.
Lying in bed, I call my parents to give them an update.
My mom answers groggily then clears her throat. “Morgan. Hi, honey.” She yawns into the phone.
Palming my forehead, I apologize for calling so late when I realize the time zone differences would have my parents sound asleep for hours already.
“How are things going? Were you able to get some information?”
I nod. “Sort of. Authorities are thinking engine failure.” I inhale before continuing. “They didn’t have a chance.”
“How’s Andrew?”
Good question. “I’m not really sure. He’s not talking. It’s like he’s crawled into this dark hole.”
“Oh, that poor kid.”
“Kid? Ma, he’s a grown man.”
“Morgan, you know what I mean. I’m sure he was Diana’s little boy no matter what age he was.”
“I guess. I feel so bad for him. He’s got no family left. None.”
My mom sighs on the other end. “He’ll be okay. This will take a long time to get over, but he will be okay. Trust me.”
And I do implicitly because tragedy is no stranger to me or my family. I was too little to remember exactly what happened, but I do remember the red, pink and purple balloons that had been tied to the trees in the backyard. I remember watching my mom bake a unicorn cake for my birthday party. I remember the sound of a loud crash. I remember my parents screaming as they rushed out of the house, leaving me home with my two older brothers.
“How can I help him?” I ask, closing my eyes to suppress the memories from long ago.
“Just be there for him. If he wants to talk, listen. If he doesn’t, don’t push him.” My mother’s soft voice is the voice of reason.
“Thanks, Mom. Can I talk to Dad?”
The phone is handed over to my father, and I ask for his guidance as well. My parents’ ability to overcome adversity and tragedy is remarkable.
“Love you too.”
Disconnecting the call, I roll over and look out the large window, wondering where Andrew is and hoping he’ll return soon. With heavy eyelids, sleep welcomes me almost immediately.
♦♦♦
“Just like that, baby.”
“Feels so good.”
The sound of Andrew’s voice infiltrates my dreams as his lips meet mine. My hands caress his chest and grip his shoulders as my legs wrap around his waist.
“Don’t stop.”
“Turn around.”
A combination of giggling and moans wakes me and I sit upright in bed. The bedside table lamp is still on and the clock reads 3:16. I scrub my hands over my face and blink furiously.
Another giggle mingled with the echo of a hard slap crackles in the air.
“Oh, yes!”
“Hello?” I call out, jumping to my feet and running into the main area of the hotel room.
Neither my eyes nor my heart are prepared for the scene playing out before me.
“Oh my God, Andrew!” I yell. With his erection long and hard in his hand, his naked form stands behind a young woman, preparing to enter her thin body.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” My voice bellows throughout the room, and I am met with a hard expression and a drunken glare.
His azure eyes are angry...pained...and lost.
Guiding his length closer to the point of no return, he narrows his eyes then looks back at his movement.
Overcome with a sense of urgency as if I need to save him from himself, I stride up to him and place my hand on his chest. The moment my fingers touch his skin, a shiver of des
ire riddles through my body. “Andrew,” I plead, sighing quietly, looking at him with desperation, imploring him with a single word to stop.
His lips tighten into a hard line and his jaw ticks; his countenance is one of determination.
As though a battle of wills ensues, I use the only leverage I have and raise my hand to caress his flushed cheek, hoping the familiarity of the feel of my touch or the sound of my voice will coax him back to reality. “Andrew, please don’t do this. This isn’t going to help you.”
The woman on her knees asks who I am then tells him it’ll cost more money for another participant.
Disgust runs through me, and I swallow the bile from rising. “Think about your mom,” I sigh, ignoring the woman’s second demand to know who I am. “She wouldn’t want this for you.”
With his eyes focused on mine, I see the movement of his hand grip her bare hip and tighten as his fingers curl around her skin angrily.
“Easy, baby,” she purrs. “Don’t leave no marks.”
His face contorts, his lips twisting in revulsion as he releases his hold and steps away from the escort. My hand slips from his face and falls to my side as though it weighs a ton.
“What the fuck are you doing, mister?” she asks, rising to her feet. I notice how frail and gaunt her small frame is. “You need to pay me!”
Andrew pulls his attention away from me long enough to reach for his pants. He pulls out two hundred dollars from a thick layer of folded bills, tosses them on the glass coffee table and leaves the room. A crumpled cocktail napkin rolls onto the floor.
The escort wastes no time slipping into her short, tight red dress covered in sequins and grabbing the cash.
“I don’t need this,” she says, tossing a plastic room key back down onto the table.” The strap on her shoulder falls, and I instantly grieve for the life she’ll face again once she steps out the door.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Why? You want my business card?”
I snicker, silently wondering why I even care. “No, I just want to know your name.”
