Set In Stone

by Rachel Robinson

  She strokes both of her nipples at the same time, keeping her legs wide open for me to drool over. This is me controlling Morganna and Morganna controlling me. I wouldn’t want it any other way. The round curves on her waist tempt me to grab and hold on tight. The only reason I stop staring at her delicious pussy is because I feel her gaze on my face, so I make eye contact. In my peripheral vision I see her right hand trailing down to her core, and then start moving at the same pace as before. Pre-cum leaks onto my underwear. I’ve never wanted to fuck more than I do right now. Granted it’s been a while, but watching Morganna’s face in a state of bliss I know I could exceed makes me crazy. I grab my cock and stroke it a few times to remind it I didn’t forget about it.

  Morganna moans loudly, the white tips of her teeth peeking from behind her wet lips, her eyes tightly closed. The red fingernails doing my job go faster and then faster as she clutches one breast. I wish I could touch the other, I wish I could fuck her into oblivion, but I know it can wait.

  She comes and comes and comes, her index and middle finger deep inside her dripping pussy. My balls hurt and my breathing matches her hurried pace. Several noisy seconds pass while we process what happened. Lines in the sand are crossed, our friendship breeched.

  “The best late show I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, watching a huge smile break across her relieved, satiated face.

  I watch intently as she removes her wet fingers, dragging them up her stomach. “It can be a little interactive if you want?” she drawls.

  She extends her right hand to me, keeping one hand firmly on her breast. I lean over, grab her wrist with a predatory smile, and deep throat her two fingers, salivating over her scent. Closing my eyes, I fold my tongue around them and suck until they’re clean.

  “Matinees are always less busy, but I think I prefer the late show, too,” Morganna rasps, her eyes still begging to be fucked. I take in an exaggerated breath and pray to God my dick doesn’t fuck this up. Leaning forward between her legs, I fall over her, my hands holding me up.

  She brushes hair out of my eyes and grins. Morganna knows I won’t take it any further even though my cock is nestled against her wet pussy. I smile back with pure confidence. Then I kiss her. I can’t kiss my first choice of lips tonight, but the warm, softness of our kiss makes up for it. Her hands wrap around my neck pulling me closer, and closer until I’m on top of her, feeling her heart thud against my own chest. I turn my face and kiss her from a different angle, relishing in her tongue against mine and the way my body responds to hers.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to kissing you.”

  Rubbing her thumb across my bottom lip, she pulls it down and watches it snap back into place. “It’s pretty awesome. Have you always kissed like this?”

  Taking her bottom lip between my teeth I bite down, wanting to eat her up. I lick where I just bit. “Probably. But it could be because I’ve waited twenty years to play tonsil hockey with you.”

  Her eyes widen. “Twenty years?” She looks shocked. A look she doesn’t wear often.

  “Lets put it this way, if you start warbling out a country song right now we’ll come full circle with my desire to kiss this mouth,” I say, closing my eyes and taking her lips with mine. Harder this time—punishing even. Because she really didn’t know. How could she not know?

  I thrust my hips a little, because my dick is basically drooling at this point and I can’t help it. She stares into my eyes like she’s looking at me for the first time. Or in a new light. I place a quick kiss on her cheek and then another on her chin.

  “Exactly like it was in my dreams,” I say.

  A wistful smile crosses her face. “Mine too,” Morganna whispers.

  Morganna

  “Daddy, I told you he’s going the speed limit. We’ll be there in time for dinner,” I say into my phone. I listen to him prattle on about how excited he is that I’m coming home with Steven. He also asks where I’ll be staying the night. Obviously, unmarried, good southern girls stay at their parents’ house, but if Steven wants to stay at our house he can. Just in a spare bedroom.

  I sigh away from the mouthpiece and glance at my wildly hot driver. We took my car because I convinced him it would be more comfortable and gas efficient for the trip. The back seat and the trunk are loaded down with gifts and our numerous bags. It feels like a real holiday for the first time since…Stone. He would want this¸ I think. My happiness and the fact that I may finally be moving on. The hesitance is still there, of course, because after this vacation Steven is deploying. Again. The lump that usually forms in my throat resides in my stomach as well.

  “He’s an exceptionally safe driver,” I answer my overprotective daddy’s question. “Yes, we’ll see you soon. Sugar to you, too. Bye.” Hanging up the call, I catch the tail end of Steven on the phone.

  “No, even if he begs. He only gets the measured amount of food per day,” he explains to Phillipe. My glorious assistant volunteered to house sit for me and watch Gunner while we travel. Steven’s eyes flick to the side toward me. “Yeah, that room,” he says, lowering the volume of his voice. “Right-o, Phil. Talk atcha’ soon.” He hits the red end button and plugs his phone into one of our various charger cords.

  “Which room were you talking about?” I ask, lowering my seat into a reclining position. I was up most of the night thinking about the hottest masturbation session of my life. I was vulnerable, but had all the control. It was beautiful. His body was beautiful, his erection taunting me. I respect that he wants my daddy’s permission, but I wouldn’t have gotten upset had he removed his pants and eased his massive erection into me, slowly…inch by thick, wet inch until he ran out of room. A hot shiver shoots up my spine. I want him so badly. He’s so gentle and firm. Steven is the perfect contradiction.

  His eyes focused straight ahead on the black freeway, he says, “Oh, just the guestroom where he can put Gunner to sleep at night.” He smiles, puts a hand on my knee, and turns the radio on low. “He told me to tell you he’s compiling your messages from your business line and will send you one massive list at the end of the week so you’re not tempted to work on a daily basis.” My assistant knows me well.

  “Work is the very last thing on my mind right now.” Closing my eyes, I wrap my fingers around his big, warm hand. I feel his smile wrap me like a hug.

  Then I fall asleep dreaming of a brown-eyed boy, with floppy hair and a flawless laugh. It doesn’t even register that the boy in my dreams isn’t Stone.

  It’s Steven—the boy who has wanted to kiss me since I had wobbly knees and bushy brows. The person who knew me as a girl, and then a teenager, and now a woman who has lost everything and still knows exactly what she wants.

  I awake to the windows down and warm air rushing in the cabin of the car. We’re almost home. I can smell it.

  “You drooled enough to fill a swimming pool.” Steven chuckles, while banging his thumbs on the steering wheel to some country song.

  I clear my throat and wipe my mouth. No spit. He’s such a liar. “Forgive me. Someone had me occupied last night." I kick off my three-inch heels and prop my feet up and out the window. It’s basically a rite of passage. Steven throws an arm out his window, waving his hand up and down on the air current, a laugh on his beautiful mouth.

  “What will you tell your parents,” he asks, motioning to the outdoors. I know he means everyone. What will I tell everyone about Steven and I? The thought does create a riot of panic, but I force it down.

  I shrug one shoulder. “The truth. Isn’t that always the best advice to follow?” There will be a million questions. I’ll have to be ready. The attorney in me can bullshit anything.

  “You tell me. Don’t you basically lie for a living?” Steven cackles. It’s been a few weeks since he let a lawyer joke fly. Unfortunately, I end up laughing.

  I agree. “Sometimes. Most of the time I steer clear of those cases.” We get into a moral code of ethics for the rest of the drive. He asks questions and I defend myself
. We’re somewhere in between the Simpson trial and Bill Gates when we pull onto the gravel drive of my ranch.

  The first thing I always think is that it looks so big. So open and spacious, sprawling for miles. It’s the opposite of the suburbs where I live in Virginia. The pink and orange sky melts into the horizon, casting a mixed pastel color over the never-ending green fields and the stables in the distance. I never could look at this place and question God. Down-home Georgia is that magnificent. Steven pulls my Mercedes into a parking spot, which is not really a parking spot; he just knows it is because I grew up in this house. We’ve created a small dust trail leading out to the main road that makes me smile.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” my daddy yells from the massive porch. There are six huge columns wrapped in Christmas lights that sparkle in the dusk hour.

  I smile at the man who made me who I am today. His worn out baseball hat tips to the left a touch as his calculating gaze lands on Steven. “Hey Daddy. Told you we’d make home before dinner.” I rush up the stairs and into his arms.

  “Damn near the whole town is talking about you coming around again. It’s been too long, sweetheart. How many years?”

  I brush off his question, because even I’m too embarrassed to give an answer. My daddy’s visited me a few times, so it’s not as if I haven’t seen him at all. Just not as much as I’ve should. It makes my heart hurt. I let the porch door slam behind me as Steven and my dad exchange pleasantries and talk about traffic and the weather. Uncomfortable topics when you’re not sure where to start. Steven is a big boy and can handle himself. The house is just as eloquently quaint as when I left it. My heels make a comforting noise on the unpolished wooden floors as I make my way to the bay window in the back of the house.

  It’s my favorite spot as it shows the pastures that never end and the stable. There aren’t neighbors or, civilization for that matter, for miles. The guys are milling around the kitchen, their voices booming, my daddy with an accent so thick that it makes me wince.

  “I can’t wait to ride tomorrow,” I call out. Steven walks to stand next to me to admire the view.

  “Tomorrow, huh?” he whispers into my ear. I shiver.

  “I’m not even sure I remember how,” I admit, playing into his hand.

  He clears his throat. “Someone once told me it’s just like riding a horse. You get in the saddle and it all comes back to you.”

  I shake my head. “You will ride horses with me tomorrow,” I order. His eyes widen—probably as he remembers the last time I forced him into equestrian gear and on top of a beast. It didn’t end well. “Do your parents know you’re in town yet?”

  “They do. I called them. Every high school friend I don’t remember wants to hang out while I’m in town. I told them I have a full schedule, but let me know if you’re up for some small town fun. We can go to the honky-tonk and cut a fucking rug into pieces.”

  “You ride, and I’ll cut a rug,” I say, grabbing his arm and following him into the dining room where my daddy’s friend, Grace, has a prepared meal. She’s already gone home to her own house, but I have a feeling she’s here more than she’s not when I’m not here. It would be just like my daddy to hide a relationship from me. It’s a wonder I feel the way I do about dating after my marriage to Stone.

  My mom left when I was two. I’ve never wondered who she was or why she left because I grew up fine without her. Daddy said she had problems with commitment. Sounds like a bad time to realize that after you get married and have a baby, but who am I to judge? Grace has been around for a long time and I’m glad that he’s not alone here. Daddy has a lot of help running the farm and I think he pretty much just works when he wants to or feels up to it nowadays. Even then, it’s not the manual labor he used to do.

  Dinner is delicious and I make it a point to dial up Grace and thank her for cooking, and ask if she’ll be so kind as to cook and stay next time. Luckily she agrees. After an awkward conversation about our sleeping arrangements, and questions about how my work has been, we’re done for the day. Plans have been made to ride horses before the sun comes up and then make a stop at Steven’s house for breakfast with his family.

  “I haven’t been in this room for a long time,” I whisper to Steven in the hallway. He reads between the lines.

  “Since Stone.”

  I nod, pushing open the door. Grace has it decorated simply. A few of my things from my childhood are still scattered around, but it’s mostly different. I sigh in relief. She’s redecorated, knowing it would be easier to return to this way. It’s just a guestroom now. My view is still overlooking the garden, with the trellis leading up to my window.

  “At least I only have to creep down the hallway to share your bed instead of climbing three stories while I question my sanity. I should have known back then what a badass I’d grow up to be.” He muses to himself as he glances down toward the garden.

  I laugh. “You really were crazy. I can’t believe you risked it.”

  “I’d risk anything for you,” he counters.

  I turn on him, dread shooting up my spine. “Don’t say that, Steven. Don’t you dare say things like that.”

  Steven bites down on his bottom lip and tilts his head in question. “Some things just are, Morganna. You have no control over them. When something was good for you, I’d never stop it—if you were sad or in danger, that would take precedence. If you’re ordering me to not throw myself on grenades for my best friends, don’t worry. That’s not me, Morg. I lived for a reason and, by God, I’m not giving that to chance—I’m owning it. It’s not, ‘it is what it is’. It’s what you make it. I’m making the most of this with you. Maybe I’m selfish and unworthy of the brotherhood for admitting this, but it’s the honest truth. We’re different. We truly are. I know sometimes you look at me or listen to me and you see him, but that’s just because you’re drawn to similar men.” He sighs long and hard, wrapping his hands behind his head. His gaze floats to the ceiling. “It’s just coincidence that Stone and I have the same occupation. You can’t dwell if we’re going to move forward. Focus on the differences. Focus on the present. The future.”

  It’s the very first time he’s said something like this. I’m sure he’s thought it before. I could get angry because it’s my business how I move forward, not his, but I admire the courage it took to speak such truthful words. Most pour sugar on everything they say regarding Stone.

  “You’re right.”

  He scoffs. “That’s all I’m getting?”

  Crickets chirp and the noises of the ranch lull me. “It’s just a lot to take in. Being here for the first time without him. It’s a lot.” I spin, to find him backing toward my door.

  He holds up his cell. “I have some calls to make. I missed some training today,” he says, trying and failing to mask the pain my words caused. “Sleep well, M.” He closes the door behind him without my response.

  Turning back to my deep-thinking-window-gazing, I whisper, “I love you.”

  Steven

  Past

  Even the craziest motherfuckers have something to lose. I learned that quickly after becoming a Navy SEAL. The training was difficult, demanding of my mind and body. I welcomed the challenges. All of them. The failure rate is high? Watch me succeed. I never knew how to not do something properly as long as I was shown the correct way to do an action.

  Like the first time I killed a man. It was my first deployment and after I pulled the trigger and watched the man slump down a wall I thought, “That was too easy.” It’s unlike in my dreams when a home intruder barrels into my bedroom and my gun keeps firing, but the bad guy keeps coming at me, unfazed by my supposedly lethal bullets. Killing men in real life is easy. I know where to aim, what will happen, and the repercussions that follow. Did it change me? I don’t think so. It changes the person who has been killed. Me? I was trained to do it. Trained to succeed in whatever action I pursue. The other guy ceases to exist, his family and friends feel a loss. That’s chang
e.

  That’s the fucking kicker when it comes to my personal life. I can’t get a damn girlfriend that holds my interest. Between the two I currently have, I think it’s a nice balance. If I could merge them into one human by doing some chemistry, maybe they could be the one person I settle down with. As it stands, I crave a strong friendship that sparks something more, something deeper, and I don’t have that with my girlfriends.

  “Steve, it’s not like you don’t have role models. Look at your parents’ relationship. We’ve been together forever. We’re normal, well situated individuals. Can’t you bring one of your girlfriends home for Christmas one of these days?” My mother is pleading now. She senses my problems with finding the right one, too. I’ll bring a girlfriend home next year just to placate her, and so I can fuck. Because damn, going a whole week and a half without a lay is tough and I don’t cheat on them even though I probably could. My dating life is precarious and odd to most. There’s no way I can spill those details to Sandra Warner. She’d bake a tin of brownies and then combust into dust motes made of chocolate.

  “I’ll go out to the country bar tonight, Mom. I’ll find a real winner. Marry a nice southern girl. Give you some grandbabies that you will probably never see because she’ll divorce me when she understands how many days out of the year I’ll be gone.” I smile, raising one brow. “Sound like a plan?”

  She scowls. “You are incorrigible. You know that? You wouldn’t be in this situation at all if you dealt with your emotions instead of sitting on them.” She’s referring to Morganna Sterns. The woman who got away. “That’s a southern girl who would make any family proud.”

  I nod. “She married a great guy, Mom. Every other guy on the planet pales in comparison to Stone. I only wanted the best for her anyways. She got it. I’m happy for her.” Lie.