Sheridan's Fate

by Gun Brooke

  “What’s wrong?” Lark’s eyes were a darker golden color now. “You don’t have nightmares normally, do you?”

  “Sometimes I do,” Sheridan confessed. She had fantasized, spent many nights, awake or asleep, imagining and dreaming. Of you. Just like this. And then losing everything. Just like this.

  “I’m sorry.” Lark’s troubled eyes roamed over Sheridan’s body, and her soft, pink mouth smiled sadly.

  “There’s a remedy for all this,” Sheridan said huskily. “There is something you can do to help me lose my nightmares and stop the pain. However, I’m afraid it’s not mentioned in your job description.”

  “Then tell me anyway,” Lark whispered. “Let’s just say I’m off duty right now. I’ve gone home.”

  Home? Sheridan closed her eyes briefly. “Kiss me.”

  Lark flinched visibly. Her lips trembled, and she stared at Sheridan with something resembling panic.

  Sheridan, in turn, was filled with dread. Oh God, oh God, I was wrong. I take it back. Please, I take it back. The horrified litany never made it past Sheridan’s lips.

  Suddenly, in a flurry of movement, Lark was on top of Sheridan, pressing her mouth on hers. Gasping, Sheridan parted her lips and let Lark’s tongue inside to probe and taste. Finally able to engage her arms, Sheridan pulled Lark closer and kissed her deeper, ravaging the mouth so willingly attached to her own.

  Finally breaking loose, Sheridan gasped for air, then pressed her greedy lips onto the skin she’d studied only moments before. She tugged at Lark’s dress and pushed the top of it down, then gasped when she realized she’d inadvertently trapped Lark’s arms in the process. Not above using this advantage, Sheridan slowed down and stared hungrily at the heaving chest before her. The lace bra strained over firm breasts.

  “Let me?” Sheridan looked at Lark. A two-second pause almost stopped her heart from beating.

  Lark raised her chin and arched against Sheridan. “Yes.”

  Sheridan latched onto the left nipple, gently biting and sucking it through the lace, and reveled in the whimpering sounds of pleasure that came from Lark. Impatiently, she pushed the bra up and revealed two hard nipples, as hot pink as ripe raspberries. Sheridan licked them, nibbled and chewed them. She couldn’t get enough. When they were finally too raw for even a puff of air, she helped Lark completely out of the top of the dress and released her arms.

  Lark unhooked her bra and tossed it on the floor. She gazed at Sheridan with a devious expression in her eyes, then suddenly reached up and slid the robe off her broad shoulders.

  *

  Sheridan’s dark brown nipples pebbled and awaited her touch. Lark didn’t know where she found the courage, but she pushed the terry-cloth robe open all the way down. Sheridan wore lace boxers, and Lark stared at the triangular shadow beneath the flimsy fabric.

  “You like what you see?” Sheridan asked hoarsely.

  Her mouth watering, Lark could only nod. She’d seen Sheridan undressed many times before. Never like this, never so vulnerable and strong at the same time. “You’re beautiful.” Her own voice startled her into action. Leaning forward Lark took a taut nipple into her mouth and sucked it lingeringly, increasing the pressure on it until Sheridan cried out.

  “Oh. Oh.” Sheridan pushed herself off the bed and farther into Lark’s mouth. “I’ve needed this…you…so much. For so long. Damn you.” She was sobbing now.

  Lark pinched the abandoned nipple as she moved on to the other, biting it, lavishing attention on the puckered skin with her tongue. Grunting, Sheridan obviously tried to remain in control of her raging desire, but failed.

  “No!” Sheridan’s hands shot out, and she grabbed Lark by the shoulders before she rolled them both over. Ending up half on top of Lark, Sheridan kissed her deeply, probing every part of her mouth.

  As her heart thundered, Lark surrendered. She knew the built-up energy between them—the lust, the fight, the overwhelming emotions—was all going to come crashing down at this instant. It didn’t matter anymore how the hurt and anger had plagued them. All that counted right now was the flurry of emotions that wouldn’t be denied any longer. Lark knew Sheridan was going to take her.

  *

  The soft fabric of Lark’s skirt lay bunched up in a ring around her waist. Sheridan’s eyes burned at the sight of the silk and lace underneath. Don’t shred them. Careful now. She moved down the bed, grateful for all the training that allowed her to move as effortlessly as she did. Nuzzling Lark’s panties, she reached up under the skirt and found the waistband, then tugged at it.

  Lark raised her hips and allowed Sheridan to remove her underwear. Sheridan groaned quietly as she pushed the garment down silky smooth legs. Lark surprised her by willingly kicking them off when Sheridan couldn’t reach any farther down, then spreading her legs slowly, in a gesture of trust and surrender.

  Sheridan moaned aloud this time and knew she couldn’t turn back. She had to have Lark, even if it was only this once. Mine to have, this one time. She had to take what was offered and use it well, or she’d go insane. As she maneuvered her body in between Lark’s toned legs, she inhaled the special scent that was a bit flowery, but mostly all Lark. Soft, downy hair, trimmed but not shaved, didn’t manage to hide the damp folds, swollen and slightly separated, underneath.

  To Sheridan’s amazement, Lark reached down and used both hands to part them farther. “Please. Touch me.” There was anticipation in Lark’s voice.

  Please? Is she crazy? Doesn’t she know how much I need her? Want her? Sheridan rested on her elbows and let her tongue skim along the wet sex. Avoiding the protruding bundle of nerves, she licked and tasted every part of Lark, making her whimper and shiver—long, reverberating shudders that shook the bed.

  “No, no, no! Take me!” Lark cried out when Sheridan had enjoyed her taste for minutes that seemed like an eternity. “You owe me. You owe me for all the pain, of what I had to do…all this time when I fought my principles, my feelings for you…forbidden fruit…” Tears streamed down flushed cheeks. “You owe me, damn it!”

  Startled, Sheridan tried to grasp what Lark was saying. I owe you, do I? She couldn’t think clearly. As she flattened her tongue against the trembling clitoris and coaxed it farther out, Sheridan could think of only one thing. Lark was going to come, and come hard. And it was going to be because of her, Sheridan.

  *

  Lark soared. She climbed toward the orgasm, sometimes almost having it within her reach, but it eluded her time after time. She groaned and spread herself farther, making more room for the woman between her legs.

  “Sheridan,” she groaned. “It hurts. I need to come.”

  “Yes. It’s time.”

  Lark felt Sheridan move to the left, then several of her fingers pressed against her and moved inside, filled her up, while the skilled tongue massaged her clitoris.

  “Sheridan!” The convulsions hit without any warning, and Lark clenched her teeth as her body arched off the bed. The prickling needles of pleasure erupted from her sex, spread through her system, throughout her legs and abdomen, in wave after wave. She was filled with sorrow, yet she was undulating willingly under Sheridan, whose fingers still took her. This is it. This is what I’ll have to remember, to take with me. This one moment.

  Her fingers still inside, Sheridan hauled herself up along Lark’s body, her robe half on, half off. “You’re amazing. You’re wonderful.” Her voice was a strange mix of fury and reverence, and Lark buried her face against the damp skin of Sheridan’s neck.

  “Is it over?” she managed.

  “No. Touch me,” Sheridan replied darkly.

  As a dying woman gaining reprieve, Lark pushed her right hand between their bodies and moved her fingers in between Sheridan’s legs, underneath the boxers. The molten heat and copious wetness made her gasp, and without thinking, she pushed on and went inside. Feeling immediate flutters of an impending orgasm, she used her thumb to circle Sheridan’s large, swollen clitoris.

  With a st
rangled sound, Sheridan pressed her cheek against Lark’s shoulder as deep sobs shook her tall frame. Tears seeped from her eyes and ran down both their cheeks, mingling with sweat.

  “You’re close,” Lark murmured. “You’re…close.”

  “Yes!”

  Lark felt the flutters inside Sheridan turn into waves, which in turn built up to oceanic convulsions that tugged at Lark’s own body and sent her across a second precipice. As she heard the heartbreaking cries from Sheridan, Lark closed her eyes, knowing they moved toward the end. She carefully withdrew her hand and instead wrapped both arms around Sheridan. “I don’t want to leave.”

  *

  Sheridan lay resting against Lark’s shoulder. Her heart rate was slowing, as was her breathing. Her mind, however, was whirling as she examined Lark’s words. She doesn’t want to leave. Or was that lust speaking? The faint tremors inside Lark defied that last worry.

  “Why?” Sheridan asked.

  When Lark didn’t reply, Sheridan realized she would have to take the next leap of faith. “I don’t want you to leave me either. I want you to stay.”

  “Why?” Lark repeated Sheridan’s question.

  Fair enough. Digging deep into the recesses of what remained of her courage, Sheridan raised her head and, looking up into the marbled eyes, saw nothing but guarded kindness. “I can’t imagine my life without you. No matter what we said or did the last few days. I just can’t.”

  Lark’s eyes turned a softer brown. “Anyone can help you with the PT.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “So why do you want me to stay?”

  “I…” Sheridan closed her eyes briefly. “Because you reach me like nobody else can. I still have questions about why you chatted with me under false pretences, but when I realized that my anger over that couldn’t match my anguish over you leaving—”

  “What do you mean?” Lark was apparently not beyond prodding for an honest answer.

  Resentment flashed for a second and made Sheridan tighten her grip around Lark. “This, damn it! The way you touch me. How you don’t let my fucking body turn you away…turn you off, for that matter.” Her voice sank into a husky whisper. “With you, I feel like I can be well again, whole again, even if I’ll never walk.”

  Lark smiled, a tremulous movement of lips. “You mean a lot to me.”

  Is she staying? Barely able to breathe she pushed on. “And?”

  As Lark’s warm hand cupped Sheridan’s cheeks, it sent the message even before she spoke. “If you truly want me to stay, I’ll have to mean more to you. More than your assistant.” She raised her head and brushed her lips across Sheridan’s. “All the time I’ve worked for you, I’ve felt as if I belong here. Even some of your other employees have commented on it. It tore me apart when you were the only one who couldn’t see it. I struck up a chat conversation with you because I wanted to get to you, know you, and not entirely for selfless reasons. I was attracted to you from day one. It was so hard to see your pain. I wanted to do everything to help you.”

  “I see,” Sheridan whispered. Oh, God, I could have lost her. “I do.”

  “Can you forgive me for lying to you? It wasn’t easy for me, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

  “I believe you.” Sheridan held Lark close against her and let her hands roam the skin on her back.

  “Thank God.” Lark kissed her again. “My heart’s been shattered since Thursday.”

  “I know. Mine too.” Lark felt small kisses against her neck. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t. Oh, God, darling.” Lark twisted in Sheridan’s arms and kissed her. “How could I ever leave you? I love you.”

  Stillness. It was so quiet that Lark was sure she ought to be able to hear Sheridan’s heartbeats. She held her own breath not to miss a thing.

  “I love you too.” Sheridan spoke in a barely audible whisper as she pulled the discarded robe around them both. “And I’ve been in so much pain, and pain makes me mean.”

  “I’m sorry I went behind your back. It was wrong, no matter how good my motives were.”

  Lark’s straightforward words, her willingness to take all the blame and not make excuses, were like soft wool around Sheridan’s bruised heart. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry too. Forgive me for being such a callous bitch. I do need to be taken down a notch or two sometimes.”

  “Not true.” Lark caressed Sheridan’s back repeatedly in languid movements. “You just need someone to care for you and make you feel loved and accepted. Like the rest of us, really.”

  “And could you?”

  “Be the one, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to be that person for you.” Lark kissed Sheridan’s neck. “I want to be the one to love you, care for you, and wake up next to you. And I’m greedy. I want you to be that one for me too.”

  “I’d like that.” Sheridan captured Lark’s wandering mouth with hers. Returning the kiss, Lark curled up against Sheridan, who felt safe and content as they snuggled under the robe.

  Sheridan knew they still needed to talk about some things, but for now she was relieved and relaxed enough to sleep. She heard Lark yawn, a funny little squeaky sound that made her smile.

  “Don’t let go,” Lark whispered and buried her face against Sheridan’s neck.

  “I won’t. Ever.”

  Their breathing had gone from labored, after their lovemaking, to slow and regular, since they were on the verge of sleep. Sheridan knew her nightmares wouldn’t reoccur. Not with Lark right there, holding her like she was the most precious woman in the world.

  Epilogue

  “This is amazing, Fiona!” Sheridan looked up at the large painting in the center of the exhibition. “When did you do this?”

  “I finished it two days ago. It’s one of my best.” Fiona spoke with a confidence that Lark hadn’t heard before.

  Lark gazed at the painting and wanted to express how it had torn at her heart as soon as she saw it, but she couldn’t find the words. The painting radiated such love and tenderness that Lark had to swallow repeatedly to keep from bursting into tears. Fiona had painted a moment in Lark and Sheridan’s life: Lark knelt next to Sheridan’s wheelchair and tied her shoestrings. Her face was turned up, and a world of love and adoration shone from her face as she looked at Sheridan. Sheridan, in turn, was depicted with strong brushstrokes, her beautiful face in profile as she leaned forward, one hand around the back of Lark’s neck.

  They had sat like that so many times, for different reasons. Lark thought back on the week after the banquet, a hectic, crazy week during the days—and a gloriously passionate week during the evenings and nights. Sheridan had insisted that Lark move into her bedroom, openly, and Mrs. D’s nearly tearful reaction to that change had at first startled Lark, until she realized Mrs. D’s tears were those of joy.

  “How are you doing, honey?” Arthur asked from behind them.

  Lark turned and circled his waist with her arm, not taking her eyes off the painting as Arthur squeezed her shoulders.

  “Fiona’s broken new ground, hasn’t she, Daddy?”

  “I think we can safely say that she’ll sell it all, and the critics will eat out of her hand after this.”

  “She deserves it.” Lark glanced around her at the paintings, everything from indigenous plant life to people and landscapes. There were even a few sculptures, painstakingly made out of clay with Fiona’s one good hand.

  “And she’s happy. For you. And for herself.” Arthur motioned toward Fiona. “Erica’s part of that reason.”

  “Who would’ve guessed?” Lark murmured. Tall and blond, Erica stood next to Fiona and greeted the art connoisseurs who formed a long line outside the door. Fiona kept glancing up at Erica, and Erica in turn constantly touched Fiona’s hair and shoulders.

  “Neither of us took into consideration her sexual orientation or her desire for romance,” Arthur said with a sigh. “I suppose we were too busy making sure she was physically
as healthy as possible.”

  “I fell into that trap too. I’d pour my heart out over loss and betrayal, and she never said anything. God, how blind can we be? And then she painted this extraordinary portrait of Sheridan and me.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. Your mother said these exact things to Fiona yesterday, and you know, she said that she’d given up on having anyone remotely interested in her, in her life, years ago.”

  Lark winced. “But still—”

  “I know, honey.”

  “Lark, are you all right?” Sheridan wheeled up, a concerned frown on her forehead.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just taken aback by this painting.”

  “You like it, right?” Sheridan asked, searching her eyes.

  “I love it. It almost makes me cry, though. So much love and understanding between us, and for us.”

  “Glad you see it that way. I just bought it.”

  Happy, but not surprised, Lark kissed Sheridan. “If I didn’t love you already, Sheridan, saying that out of the blue would’ve sent me over the edge.”

  “Hey, don’t want you falling off any edges, Bird.” Sheridan raised an elegant eyebrow.

  The use of the online nickname sent thrills through Lark, who wrinkled her nose back toward Sheridan. “Too late. Been there, done that.”

  “Done what?” Fiona asked, next to them.

  Lark smiled at her. “Fallen in love.”

  “And it suits you. Never seen that glow before.”

  Lark stole a glance at Erica, who stood just behind Fiona. Elegant and composed, she looked as protective as any of Fiona’s family members. “And am I wrong to assume that you’re glowing too, sis?” Lark asked Fiona. “You have that certain…something.”

  “Oh, please.” Fiona pursed her lips and took Erica’s hand. “No such cheesy comments, please. I’m an artist, I’m paid to glow.”