by Crowe, Liz
“Take it, Lori. Please. However you want.” He grunted as she shifted her hips. She whimpered at the first penetration. He gripped her thighs. “Are you okay? Should I stop?” She swallowed the brief moment of fear, dropped down and let her long hair curtain his face.
“Don’t you dare stop.” She moved again, kept the contact, banishing the fear and pain to the corner. She needed this. Needed the man beneath her. She arched her back so he could capture her nipple between his lips. He sucked hard, sending zings of pleasure from her scalp to her toes and right back to her core. Her body clenched, and she moved faster, seeking the release she’d denied herself for so long.
Garrett gripped her hips, kept up the suction on her nipple, thrust harder, higher, then released her. “Come on me, Lori, and kiss me.”
She groaned and let it happen, allowed the exquisite forgotten beauty of orgasm roll through her, make her whole self pulse with half remembered pleasure as she covered his mouth. Her body kept twitching, as spasms tore through her, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.
She was okay. She was normal. She could do this.
Garrett took a breath, and she felt him tighten his grip on her thighs, kept his thrust slow and deep. His face reddened as her body continued its slow roll through climax. “Jesus woman, you are, I’m, ah….” She pulled him over, slid beneath him never breaking their contact, not wanting him anywhere but inside her.
He clenched his jaw and planted his hands on either side of her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Suddenly, the vision of Eli invaded, as if by magic. The hard planes of his body hovered, his deep blue eyes stared into her. She gulped, felt her body react, gear up for more.
“Make love to me, Garrett. Please. Make me normal again. Oh, God, yes!” He eased in deep, pulled out then back in grinding against her still sensitized clit. And, like that, the panic was gone, not hovering, not threatening, just…gone in a whirlwind of ecstasy as the man thrust into her, slow at first, then picking up speed, groaning her name as she clutched his ass. He cried out and shuddered. She watched his face, put a hand to his rough cheek.
“Open your eyes,” she whispered. “Look at me.”
He did. The look there made her want to weep with relief. As their breathing calmed and bodies cooled, he slipped out of her and headed into the small bathroom. When he emerged, she’d pulled the duvet over her naked body, snuggled down deep letting pure sated fullness overpower her. “Come to bed. Stay. Please.”
Garrett grinned—that huge, contagious thing that made her giggle. He jumped into the bed, curved his warm strong body around her, kissed her shoulders and neck. “Don’t have to ask me twice.” He kissed her neck. “Thank you.”
She pressed back, loving the feel of him, hard and firm against her. “For what? Surely, a guy like you can get that anywhere he goes. Just flashing that smile?”
He held her close, kissed her shoulder. “Maybe. But, you rocked me, I won’t kid you. Thanks for letting me be, you know, something special.” He tightened his grip. “Can I ask one thing?”
Lori felt a little flare of something she’d later identify as love, then frustration, then anger before she answered his unasked question. “He’s dead. A big crash on I-94, while I was still in the hospital. He was drunk, but, luckily, only managed to kill himself.” She turned over and snuggled into his shoulder, draping her arm and leg across his body. “Now let’s sleep. I want more later.”
A soft snore assured her Garrett was one step ahead of her already.
Chapter Five
Garrett tried to focus on the stack of sales charts, profit and loss sheets, and other hard data. It all pointed to a clear conclusion, and one he didn’t really want to contemplate. In spite of achieving near cult status for the last twenty-plus years in business, Brockton Brewing was losing money. Big time. He ran a hand over his face, attempting to banish her from his brain.
Lori’s goofy lopsided smile, her loud and direct laugh; her lips, hands, and body made him shiver with anticipation. His hands itched to bury into that wild tangle of curly brown hair, to drown in her intense hazel eyes. While her mile-wide stubborn streak made him absolutely nuts, it also made her what she was. So, he loved it. She could be amazingly present one moment, and then, within seconds, shut down and disappear down a rabbit hole, emotionally speaking, but he didn’t care.
And since their first night together, the woman was positively voracious. They’d had sex in more ways than he could remember ever doing it—not that he was complaining. But she’d called a halt to the near daily contact two nights ago, out of the blue, had told him to give her some space. He had, but was chafing at it now. He needed to see her.
That first night had been incredible and the next morning blew it away. They’d stayed in bed for nearly twelve straight hours, stopping to drink and eat then resumed the fun standing up in her kitchen. They’d stayed at his place a few nights ago, after he had made dinner, and rented a movie. She’d fallen asleep about half way through, exactly like she had warned him she would. He had spent a solid hour running his hand across her hair, her back, and watching her sleep then carried her up to his bedroom and held her close all night. He rubbed his jaw.
“Mrs. Anderson?” He called out into the small alcove where his assistant stayed parked, his personal watch dog and gossip monger all rolled up in one.
She walked to the doorway. “Yes, hon?”
He smiled. Everybody in the woman’s world was a “hon” or a “dear.” “I, um, was wondering something. I mean, if Lori were to go off to be alone, you know, to think, you wouldn’t happen to know where she would go?” His ears burned. He hated himself for sounding like such a sap.
The woman smiled and crossed her arms. “Oh, that’s easy. She’s at the Arboretum, down along the river, nearest the dam.”
He snagged his coat and headed for the door. “Cancel the rest of my day, please. And thanks.”
She stopped him at the door. Shot him a look full of daggers. “Don’t you be messing with Lori, Garrett Hunter. I mean it. She’s been hurt, badly.”
He smiled, gripped her ample arms and looked back at her, just as intense. “I know. She told me everything,” he shrugged, unwilling or unable to articulate what was rolling around in his brain.
“Well, then, be sure and grab one of those Lady Grey teas from Sweetwaters on your way over there. She’ll love it.” The woman patted his face and sat back down. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, cancelling the rest of his meetings.
Hunger gnawed at her gut but Lori kept walking. She required movement. Her body craved it. Her mind spun, unable to settle. The soft spring air soothed her overheated skin. The familiar turns of the path down to the river comforted. She frowned when she realized this was the very spot where she used to hide after the attack, back when she was in hermit mode. She sank onto a log, tossed rocks into the Huron River, and used thoughts of Garrett to fight off demons of memory.
She kept picturing his handsome face, his strong, gentle hands. The way he smoothed the way for her that first night, when she’d allowed herself to enjoy a man’s body and what it could do for her in pleasure rather than in pain and fear. She shivered. How ironic that she’d make her way here, to this place where she used to sit and cry until she’d wonder how in the world her body could produce so many tears. Where she doubted her life would ever be normal again.
Now, it seemed, it could be. She worked every day and looked forward to seeing him. Couldn’t wait to see him actually and the couple of days she’d taken away from him, just needing to get her head together had been harder than she’d imagined. Not seeing him, not hearing his low, growly voice, no longer feeling his hand graze hers, or her hip or waist as they passed in the hall—she missed it. She missed him. Sighing, she stretched her legs out in front of her.
Now what? The sex was off the hook. He was game for it whenever and however she wanted it—slow and gentle or rough, loud and fast. She loved his sense of humor. And he was a great cook. He did have an a
nnoying tendency to take over, to order her drink before she had a chance to decide or choose what they’d eat at the many restaurants he’d taken her to in the past weeks. Annoyingly, whatever he chose, she liked, but usurping her ability to make a decision rubbed her the wrong way.
And his house—she’d never seen anything so aggressively meticulous. She’d only been there a couple of times. Once falling asleep draped over his lap while they watched a movie after a long, lazy lovely session where he’d proven just how multi-orgasmic she could be. The next morning she’d woken, frightened and disoriented. She’d slipped out of the bed he must have carried her to and tiptoed downstairs. As she sipped some orange juice, she wandered into the laundry room and gasped at how tidy and organized everything was. The theme carried on into every single corner of his place, including his large home office where everything was filed, labeled and probably cross-referenced somewhere in a spreadsheet.
No one is perfect, Lori, Jesus, give the guy a break. He’s wined and dined you, listened to your horror story, then managed to make you feel like a woman again and not some damaged little girl. So what if he’s a little OCD about his refrigerator contents?
“Hey, I found this weird tea thing and was wondering if I could convince you to drink one with me?” She smiled at the interruption. Garrett stood, still in his dress pants and shirt but sans tie and coat, holding a couple of cardboard cups.
“Sure, pull up a log.” She scooched over and he eased himself down beside her, handed her a cup and sipped his.
“Huh, that is pretty good and this from a guy who thinks the only caffeine worth drinking is black and gives him heartburn.”
Lori held the cup between her hands, letting it warm her. The silence felt comfortable. She was content to have him next to her, thighs and shoulders touching. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Asked around.” He put a hand over his eyes feigning embarrassment. “I mean, used my Spidey sense.”
She could hardly repress the giggle. “Are you always so perfect?”
Garrett burst out laughing. “Wow. I guess I should say ‘why yes, as matter of fact, I am.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Perfect is not the word you want. I think it’s ‘obsessive’ or maybe ‘controlling’.”
“Huh,” she sipped, unsure what to say next. “Well, you do like to arrange things.”
He looked over at her then back out at the slow moving river. “It’s my nature. I had to be the kid making the dinner, sorting out laundry, kind of the adult of the house from an early age.” He took a sip, then smacked his lips. “That is great stuff. I may convert to tea drinking.”
She let him change the subject then put a hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry you had to be that kid.” She meant it. Picturing him as a small boy, determined and focused made her mad at the adults in his life. “Want to tell me why?”
“Oh, the usual dysfunction. Workaholic father. Alcoholic mother—she was a martini drinker. Taught me how to shake a mean one.” He shrugged as Lori struggled not to react. “Anyway, my older sisters were more or less out of the house by then. I was the “oh shit” baby. So, I fended for myself mostly. My one sister who was still in the house when I started making my own dinner and stuff helped out some. But she had her own coping mechanisms when it came to our parents, usually smoking pot. So, I cooked, cleaned, did my homework without any prompting or help, walked and fed the dogs, washed my own clothes and theirs at times. Once I started playing sports, I caught rides with friends’ parents, making excuses that most people bought about why my mom couldn’t be in the car pool.”
He stood and stretched, wandered down to the edge of the river. Lori sensed his frustration just below the surface. She stayed quiet, let him finish.
He tossed a few stones into the river before he spoke. “I never had to worry about money, I’ll give them that. I had plenty, and when I got my license I had a car—a beater VW, but it was mine. I got a job at a pizza joint, then another one as a mechanic, turning wrenches, making my own dough. They weren’t abusive. They were simply not there, and when they were, they were fighting.” He turned back to her. “They were both slobs. I mean championship-level mess-makers. So, I guess I turned into this hyper organized, slightly obsessive neat freak as a reaction to it.”
She stood and walked to him slipped an arm around his waist. He pressed his lips to her hair. “I don’t mean to complain. Other people had it way worse than that, but I am definitely the product of my environment in a lot of ways. My mom would flip out and couldn’t find her keys—so I would. My father would start yelling about something wrong with his car, so I’d fix it. I kept their shit organized. It worked for us. Our own little dysfunction.”
She closed her eyes, breathed him in. When he turned to her and took her cup away so she could wrap her arms around him she had to stifle the urge to cry. “Hey,” he touched her chin, made her open eyes. “Don’t be sad for me.” She sniffled as he wiped a tear off her cheek. “Seriously, Lori. I’m good now. I mean, alone, and unmarried and forty. Wait, shit, I guess I’m not so good.” He grinned at her, and she caught it, as she always did, before burying her face in his chest. They stood in each other’s arms a few minutes.
She spoke first. “Were you married before?” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, since we’re having true confessions and all. I was just wondering,” she let her voice trail away, embarrassed at being so nosy.
He let go of her, stuck his hands in his pockets. Lori was struck by the slump-shouldered posture of defeat. She kept babbling. “I mean, I overheard you, with dad. Talking about alimony and stuff.”
He shot her a look which nearly made her take a step back, but then his face softened and he tugged her close. “I’m not proud of it. But, yeah, I have an ex-wife.” He didn’t say anything else.
“Oh, okay, well, if you want to go now…” She made a half-hearted attempt to pull out of his arms.
“No, it’s okay. It’s nice here. Makes me want to talk.” He smiled down at her, then his face got tense again. “I don’t do failure well. It hasn’t happened to me often, but that’s because I’m a control freak. You might as well know it now.”
Lori shrugged. “No big surprise there, Hunter, sorry. You aren’t that subtle.”
He laughed. “No, guess not. So, the ex-Mrs. Hunter and I met in grad school at Vanderbilt. She was old southern money. I was new Midwest auto money. She was, how can I say this, needy to the point of being nearly helpless. Not sure how she got into the MBA program really, but she was petite, with a buttery accent and could charm the birds from the trees. She surely did me. I was over the moon for her. Truly. Oh, and she was a virgin. Forgot that part.” Lori held him tighter.
He went on. “So I meet Daddy and Mama, then the whole family decides I’m their baby girl’s ticket to ride or something. Before I realized it, I’d asked her to marry me. Then there is a gargantuan wedding planned. The whole thing spun out of control, but she and her mama loved every minute of it.” Lori put her fingertip to his jaw. He immediately unclenched it at her touch. Then smiled, relaxed and grabbed her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “We lasted exactly six months longer than I thought we would. Which translated to six months of fucking like bunnies, one year of social climbing, and another year of icy silence, followed by six months of acrimony, yelling, screaming and accusations. And that was just from her mama—the screaming and accusations, not the fucking.” He shuddered.
Lori couldn’t stop from giggling. “Sorry. Sounds awful.”
“It was, but I tried. Jesus I tried. I was not about to fail at it, but fail I did. I continue to fail, apparently, having never quite given her the alimony she thinks she deserves.”
“Sounds like a match made in hell.” Lori tried to force the jealous tone out of her voice, surprised at herself for feeling it.
“Huh. Well, I don’t believe in failure as an option. So, it still smarts, although I wouldn’t want to be within a country mile of that clingy, crazed, daddy’s
girl ever again.” He gave her a squeeze. “So, enough about me. Okay, one more thing. I’m starving. Are you hungry? Can I buy you a sandwich or something? Or I guess I could pluck a fish from the river and fry it up on a fire that I build with my bare hands if you insist on staying put.”
She smacked his arm, but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. “Thanks,” she kissed him, lingering just long enough to realize she wanted more, and soon. “I know it’s hard to talk about. So, this ex Mrs. Hunter, does she have a name?”
He cupped her chin with his hand, his eyes suddenly pensive. “Yeah, she does. Race you to Izzie’s.” He turned and started up the hill. She followed, mind already on how she’d show him tonight exactly how grateful she was.
“Okay Brockton, what’s the Plato on the IPA?” Eli’s voice rang out across the brewery floor.
Lori dropped a bit of wort, the unfermented malty water, into the spectrometer, did a quick calculation and rattled off the numbers Eli wanted. She made a few notes in the brewing log, listening as he cussed out the brew boys yet again. The temper tantrum over the fact that one of his seconds had taken an entire batch of one of their most popular amber brews, put the wrong yeast in it and come up with amber ale instead of the amber lager like he’d intended was fairly epic. She moved through the brewery, confident, unworried, although with a thrill of something she refused to identify whenever he’d direct his angry attention at her.
Thoughts of Garrett were never far from her mind. The pleasant hum of satisfaction when she pictured him made her smile. But the low-grade displeasure at his tendency to take over, to arrange and control everything in his environment, which now included her and her life, had begun to buzz in her ear like a stubborn fly. She stayed over at his place some, but refused to make anything permanent out of it, which bugged him. But she made it clear she wasn’t ready for that step, not yet. She’d been on her own long enough to still treasure her independence. So he indulged her, stayed at her house every now and then, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of just that—being indulged. She frowned. No man is perfect. But Garrett is within shouting distance of it. Why can’t you stop finding fault with him?
