by Ranae Rose
His hold on her breast went from a caress to a squeeze, his fingertips denting her flesh and inciting an ache for more.
She stroked him faster and harder, pausing to trace the slit at the head of his dick with her thumb and to cup his balls below.
“Can’t take much more,” he breathed. “Feels like I’ve been away from you for a lot longer than a few days.”
She stilled her hand on his shaft, leaving her fingers wrapped around its thickness. “Lie back, then.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and he touched the inner rim of his lip with the tip of his tongue, the muscles in his throat shifting.
“You liked it that way last time,” she said, her thighs burning with the memory of being on top of him. She’d liked it too; the position allowed him to penetrate her deeply – completely. Gravity kept her close to him, necessitating the tight skin-to-skin contact she craved.
He reclined against the bed, body tense against the blanket and hair damp on a pillow. The bruise over his collarbone had faded, and she was able to look past it, to appreciate the broadness and strength of his shoulders, the way they dented the mattress, still shining here and there with water from the shower.
The box of condoms was right where they’d left it – she hadn’t had a chance yet to see a doctor about going back on the pill – and she reached for one, tearing the package open as she straddled him.
The feeling of his hard thighs pressing against the insides of hers was enough to make her head spin, nerves buzzing. She sheathed him, fingers gliding down the sides of his dick, rolling the transparent sleeve to the base. When her fingertips met the dark hair there, he sighed.
The soft sound spurred her on, bringing her desire to boiling-point. Entire body tingling, she rose and lowered herself back down, feeling the head of his cock bump her clit, then slide against her folds below.
He gripped his shaft by the base, steadying himself as she sank down, slowly succumbing to the invading pressure of him inside her, the bliss of being reunited in the most visceral way possible. The absoluteness of it drove all other thoughts from her mind, dulling her worries and sharpening her senses as she took all of it – all of him – in.
“Feels so good,” he said, gripping her by the hip and thrusting, rocking her with the force of his movement.
She agreed with a gasp instead of words, arching her spine as pleasure radiated through her, concentrated in the core of her being.
Slowly at first, then quickly, they rocked the mattress against its antique frame. When she leaned forward with a hand sprawled against the comforter for support, he caressed her breasts with one hand, eventually rising to taste their hardened tips. The feeling of his mouth on her nipples was electric, the pleasure all-consuming as it merged with the delight of being filled and stretched by him.
Bolts of white-hot sensation raced through her core, causing it to draw tight around his shaft. He thrust harder, tongue hot and teeth lightly scraping against her nipple.
That was it – she tipped over the edge, her entire body tensing, inside and out. Frozen by pleasure, she was motionless as he rocked into her, each stroke pushing her climax higher, deeper. Contractions rippled through her pussy, leaving her hyper-aware of the size and shape of him inside her, the scrape of the tip of his cock against a place so sensitive her head swam every time he hit it.
She exhaled hard, the noise of her own breath rushing in her ears as he moved beneath her, his stubbled jaw tickling the curve of her breast as he bit down lightly on her nipple.
Gasping, she pushed her hips back against his, feeling him sink a little deeper, his groin pressing against her swollen clit and sending a final burst of ecstasy rippling through her, hard-edged and fading as she said his name.
Finally lying back with his shoulders against the mattress again, he continued to rock her. Her gaze grew hazy, images blurring around the edges, but his eyes gleamed grey and sharp as he looked at her, expression hungry.
In the wake of her climax, her pussy was ultra-sensitive – she felt the subtleties in his every movement, even the rhythm of his breathing. She pushed anyway, finally putting her quivering thighs to work as she fucked him back, rising and falling, her clit bumping the flat plane of his groin each time she went down.
He swore and she knew he was close. He was hard as a rock beneath her – not just inside her, but everywhere, his muscles clearly defined in the muted glow of the overhead light. Eyes half-closed, he exhaled hard, his chest rising and falling, echoing the motion of his hips. She worked to keep up with him, to match his force, doubling the intensity.
He said her name when he came, eyes shut, hand gripping her hip hard, finally stilling her. His last few strokes made her bounce on his hips, the motion radiating into every bit of her body. When he stopped, she was still reeling, pussy wrapped tight around his shaft.
When she slid off of him, he captured her with an arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed. It felt natural to let her body conform to the shape of his, to lie half on top of him so she could feel his heart beat and listen to his breathing growing slower, steadier.
Lying there, she was thoroughly warm and content for the first time in days. The ebb and flow of his breathing reminded her of the ocean surf, and for a few long moments, she might as well have been on a Florida beach with him again. The weight of the ring on her finger lulled her into a daze, and by the time he spoke, she was half asleep.
“It’s late,” he said. “You still up for dinner?”
“As long as you are.” A fresh wave of satisfaction washed over her as she thought of what he’d promised, what they’d planned. “I’m definitely going to need coffee, though.” It was past midnight; beyond the bedroom window, the world was veiled in star-studded darkness.
“Good.” He rose, sliding to the edge of the bed as he unsheathed his still-hard dick. “I’m dying for some real food.”
She rose too, stretching before bending to pick up her bra and panties. “We could’ve gone to get something to eat first thing – I didn’t realize I was starving you.”
“You know me better than that, Clementine. When I want you, it’s all I can think about. No way was I going anywhere until I got you here.” He motioned toward the bed as he pulled his jeans up onto his hips, looking sinfully good in denim and no shirt.
Heat flooded her system, promising a full-body blush.
“Now that we’re going though,” he said, his gaze drifting to her left hand, where her engagement ring had been ever since he’d given it to her, “I’ve got an idea I want to tell you about. I think you’re going to like it.”
* * * * *
The last person Clementine had expected to run into at Ann’s was her mother, though maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised – everybody in Willow Heights ate at Ann’s, from second shift factory workers to McMansion dwellers. As a cold November wind chased her through the door, she nearly collided with the other woman.
“Clementine.” Pamela’s eyes widened, and she clutched a to-go cup of coffee against her wool jacket. “What are you doing here? I heard that Donovan sold the house.”
Clementine nodded. “He did.” The sale to Hugh Jeffries had officially taken place just days ago. Now Donovan was free of the responsibility of a mortgage and had a few thousand extra dollars in his bank account as a bonus. “We rented a moving truck and are taking the last of our things to Harrisburg now.”
They’d kept a few pieces of furniture in storage during the sale – Clementine had been ready to give up the house, but not all of its contents. Together, she and Donovan had chosen a few favorite pieces to take to their new home.
“Harrisburg?”
“I have a job there starting next week. It’s where we’re going to live.” They’d already secured a rental house outside of the small city – there they’d have the peace and privacy of rural Pennsylvania without the problems they’d faced in Willow Heights. No troublesome history, just a life together.
Donova
n was even planning to open a new garage there. After the drama caused by his arrest – which the whole town knew about – and the loss of Mike, he’d decided it’d be best to stop leasing the facility in Willow Heights and simply move on. Starting over might take a while, but they’d have Clementine’s salary to live off of while he laid the foundations for a new business.
Pamela nodded, and a few moments of silence stretched between them, punctuated by the soft cling of forks against plates and the occasional subdued conversation in the background. It was mid-afternoon – past lunch hour and between dinner, not an especially busy time. “I’m glad I ran into you before you left, because there’s something I need to say to you. I would’ve said it before, I just… I was afraid you wouldn’t want to hear it.”
A month had passed since Donovan’s arrest and Clementine’s last meeting with her mother. A sense of wariness crept over her as she braced herself for what would come next.
“I’m sorry, Clementine. About what Trevor did to you, and not believing you. I’m so sorry.” Pamela’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was strained with emotion that was clearly reflected in her eyes – the same brown eyes Clementine had inherited. “I should’ve believed you all those years ago, and now I feel terrible.”
An avalanche of something tumbled through Clementine – surprise, definitely, and maybe a hint of relief, too.
“After it all came to the surface about Trevor and the Nicholls girl, I knew you’d told us the truth that summer, before you left for college. I’ve hardly thought of anything else since. I can’t believe I…”
The woman standing in front of Clementine wasn’t the one she remembered from her teenaged years – Robert’s wife. She was the single mother she remembered from before then, a real woman, imperfect but human, vulnerable and capable of real emotion. Her hair was no longer its natural brown, but the artificial blonde seemed less polished now; she wore her hair loose and faintly wavy, not sleek or elegantly restrained. Her make-up was lighter too, allowing the face beneath to show through, faint lines and all.
“I’m sorry the truth had to come out the way it did,” Clementine said, meaning it. Standing there in Ann’s, she thought suddenly of Mike, of how one never really knew when the last time they’d see someone would be, or what would happen after they parted. “And … thanks. For the apology. It means a lot.”
It did; even if the past had carved a trench in her heart, an apology didn’t hurt. Not when it was obviously sincere.
Her mother nodded, the faintest hint of relief softening her expression. “Robert and I split up, believe it or not. I… It seems like something you should know.”
Clementine couldn’t keep her shock off her face. “I had no idea.”
“Not many people do. We’ve kept it quiet, so far. The whole thing with Trevor was just more than our marriage could handle.” She stood a little straighter, shoulders squarer than they’d been a moment before. “He’s not handling it well, and I’m done making excuses for him.”
As a timer went off somewhere beyond the lunch counter, in the kitchen, Clementine was dumbstruck. To say that she approved of the split would be an understatement, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to say. “Donovan’s waiting for me in the moving truck, and we have to return it by a certain time.”
Pamela nodded, stepping aside, out of her way.
Still, Clementine lingered. “We’re getting married next month.”
Pamela’s gaze drifted to Clementine’s left hand. “When I saw the ring last time, I thought maybe you were engaged. Congratulations.” There was no trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“The wedding’s going to be in Florida,” she said, spurred on by her mother’s new attitude – or rather, lack thereof. “Miami, on the beach. We’re only inviting a few guests – a friend of Donovan’s from the Marine Corps and a friend of mine from college, plus her family – but if you want to be there, you’re welcome.”
The beach wedding had been Donovan’s idea, and she’d instantly fallen in love with it.
The way Pamela raised her brows leant her an air of surprise – one that Clementine shared. She hadn’t planned to invite her mother to the wedding, but she couldn’t deny that it felt right. “I know it’s far away, but let me know if you want to attend. You have my number.”
Her mother nodded. She didn’t smile, but there was a certain brightness to her expression nonetheless. “Maybe a trip to Florida is just what I need.” When she left with a final goodbye, Clementine stepped up to the counter.
“One whole French silk pie to go, please. And two coffees for the road.” She and Donovan had decided that although leaving Willow Heights behind was a blessed relief, they’d miss slipping into their usual booth at Ann’s for pie and coffee. This way, they’d have enough French silk to carry them through the first few days in their new home.
When she exited with the pie in a bag and a coffee in each hand, Donovan was idling by the curb, his arm – now free from its sling and bandages – hanging out the window. “Hey,” he said when she approached. “Have anything good for me?”
She motioned with the coffee and held up the bag as she climbed into the truck’s cab.
“I don’t mean like that.” Light flashed in his eyes as she settled the pie between them and placed the coffees in cup holders.
“What do you mean, then?” she teased, feeling unexpectedly and inexplicably light after the exchange inside the diner. Strange as it was, it felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
“I mean you’d better kiss me, or else I’ll sing all the way to Harrisburg.”
“Do I get to choose the songs?”
“No way.” He burst into the first few notes of an all-too-familiar tune, voice carrying out the window and into the November air. “In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a miiiiine…”
Several people on the sidewalk turned to stare, casting bewildered glances toward the truck.
“Shut up, Donovan,” she said, leaning forward. “Or I’m going to go back to using my college nickname.”
He persisted until her lips brushed his jaw, then all was silent. In fact, it was so quiet inside the truck that she could hear as well as feel the hot rush of his breath against her cheek. Giving in to temptation rather than his threat, she crushed her mouth against his.
It was a deep kiss, a long kiss, and when they pulled apart, people were still staring.
As Donovan drove away from the curb, grinning smugly, she leaned back against the seat, unable to keep a similar expression off of her face. If their new life was half as good as their last kiss in Willow Heights, it would be a happy one.
EPILOGUE
“Try not to get smacked in the face by a wave this time,” Ricardo said as they crossed the white sand beach.
“No promises,” Donovan replied, giving Clementine’s hand a squeeze.
They were a casual wedding party – a bride and groom plus a best man and maid of honor, and the mother of the bride. Baby Isabel was the flower girl, though her father Steve had to carry her and make sure she didn’t put any of the rose petals she clutched into her mouth.
Their attire was casual, too – a tea-length white gown and veil for Clementine and turquoise dresses for her mother, Jackie and Isabel. Donovan wore a white shirt and khaki shorts, as did Ricardo and Steve. It was December twenty-first, but in Miami, the sun shone and a warm breeze made dress hems and shirt sleeves flutter. A wedding so close to Christmas might not have worked for some, but for them, everyone who mattered was there.
The fact that Clementine had only been working her new job in Harrisburg for a month didn’t matter either; the office was closed for the holidays, and she wouldn’t need to return to Pennsylvania until after New Year’s. There would be plenty of time for a beach honeymoon, and they’d spend Christmas day with Ricardo and – yes – her mother.
Clementine hadn’t forgotten the past, but when she was face to face with her mother, she didn’t seem like that woman
anymore – the one who’d betrayed her. She was kinder and listened more – more like the woman she’d been before she’d met Robert. She’d even apologized to Donovan.
And Donovan hadn’t objected to her attending the wedding, which, knowing him, was a big deal.
“Beautiful,” Donovan said as they approached the surf, following in the footsteps of the minister who would officiate the ceremony.
“I know,” Clementine said, staring out at the aquamarine sea, striped with whitecaps under a blue ribbon of sky. “I wonder if we’ll see dolphins again.” The sun hung high overhead, shedding light on the water below and rendering the shallows clear as glass. It was a beautiful day at the beach – a beautiful day for a wedding.
“I meant you,” he said, leaning closer, so she could feel his breath on her cheek.
She smiled, letting the top of her head brush his jaw. A few strands of her hair – she’d worn it loose, with a single white flower tucked into one side – blew into her face, but she brushed them away. The scent of Donovan lingered in her lungs, combined with the aroma of sea salt and sunbaked sand.
“Ready?” the minister asked, stopping a few yards from the gently crashing surf and turning his back to the sea.
Clementine stopped too, facing Donovan, never letting go of his hand. The vows they’d chosen were simple; the ceremony would only take a few minutes, and then they’d be united by law as well as by fate. It felt right, but it didn’t feel like a huge step – they never would’ve been reunited if it hadn’t been meant to be. There was just no other way of explaining it. “Yes.”
Donovan stared back at her, eyes more silver than grey in the sunlight. His voice was all but drowned out by the crashing surf, but reading his lips was easy. “I’m ready. I’ve been ready since the day I met you.”
