by Marie Force
“I’ll get you some.”
I’m once again fully aroused as if I didn’t just have a huge orgasm ten minutes ago. How does he do that? I hook my arms around his neck and draw him into a kiss that quickly escalates. I’m never insatiable like this with men. Usually, I’m a one-and-done kind of gal, but Blake is showing me a side to myself I didn’t know existed. And when he lifts me off my feet and once again impales me on that huge cock, I realize he’s ruining me for all other men one crazy fuck at a time.
And this is absolutely crazy! We just did it, and now we’re doing it again. I’m powerless to resist him as he controls my slow slide down his rigid shaft.
“Blake.” I’m breathless with desire and full to the brim with his hard, throbbing flesh.
A shudder travels through his entire body. “Hold on tight. This is gonna be really, really fast.”
He’s completely unhinged as he presses me against the tile wall in the shower and goes at me like he hasn’t gotten laid in a year. All I can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, which he holds open to better the angle.
“Honey… God, Honey… So good.” His face tightens from the strain, and when his thumb finds my clit, I explode.
He comes with a roar that drowns out the sound of the shower. And then he’s kissing me again, like a madman or maybe like a man who is finally feeling something other than grief for the first time in years.
“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’ve never had sex without condoms with anyone else.”
“You like it?”
“If I liked it any more, I’d be dead.”
I might be giving myself too much credit, but he seems different after the time we’ve spent together, lighter maybe, and I begin to hope—
No. Just no. Remember what Lauren told you. You’re not going to find your home with him. That may still be true, but whatever this is with him, it feels pretty damned good for right now.
It’s after noon by the time we finally wear ourselves out and remember that we were going to drive out to one of his job sites. My brain is completely scrambled from orgasms. I wanted to know what the big deal was, and now I know. I get why sex makes people do crazy things like while away an entire Sunday morning in bed, in the shower and back in bed.
My body is still humming from the workout as I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s truck, singing along to “Free Bird” on the classic-rock station he has on the radio.
“God, this song,” I say. “Takes me right back to high school and the band.”
“You guys were good.”
“Those were some fun times.”
“You ever talk about getting back together?”
“Once in a while there’ll be a group text, usually around the holidays when everyone is home, but we never seem to make it happen.”
“I thought you’d do something with your singing.”
“So did I.”
“Why didn’t you?”
It’s hard for me to talk about that time in my life, when I traded my dream for the woman who gave me everything. “You may not remember, but I was a voice major at Juilliard in New York when Gran got sick.” I shrug, as if the memories of that time aren’t still as painful now as they were then. “I left school to come home to care for her, and I never went back.”
“How come?”
I choose my words carefully. “Losing her was a very tough thing for me. It messed me up for a long time.”
“She was all you had.”
“Yeah.” She’s been gone ten long years, and I’ve yet to feel as at home with anyone as I did with her. Thank God for Lauren, Julie and Scarlett and the rest of my friends who do their best to fill the void, but nothing and no one can ever replace the person who loved me best of all.
We drive past El Cosmico, a Marfa institution. The vast eclectic campground offers guests everything from “luxurious” Airstream campers to Sioux-style teepees to Mongolian yurts.
“The campground is busy this weekend,” Blake comments.
“There’s a festival at the Chinati,” I say, referring to one of the two foundations in town started to maintain the legacy of the late Marfa artist Donald Judd. He brought the arts culture to the town in the 1970s with his installations and non-museums where art was permanently displayed rather than cycled in and out.
Judd’s patronage of the arts in our town is a big reason my Desert Babies business has done so well. People come from all over to our isolated little town in West Texas to experience the art culture. In addition to my booming Desert Babies business, I sell a lot of desert landscapes, and my photographs of the Marfa Mystery Lights are some of my bestsellers.
“How’d you go from majoring in vocal performance to running a photography studio?” Blake asks.
“That evolved from what had been a hobby in school. When Gran was sick, I’d take advantage of every chance I got to get out when her friends would come stay with her. I’d drive out to the desert and take pictures for hours. It was the only way I could relax. By the time she died, I had a lot of work ready to go. I used some of the money she left me to lease the studio, and then almost ten years went by without me realizing it.”
“Life happens.”
“Something like that.”
“I did sort of the same thing when I finally made it to college.”
He didn’t have to tell me about the football scholarship to Texas A&M he ended up turning down because of the injuries he suffered in the accident that killed Jordan. The whole town knew about that.
“The minute they sprang me from the rehab hospital, I did a semester at UT in Austin, found out college wasn’t for me and went to work for my uncle. I bought him out when he was ready to retire. Like you said, ten years went by, and here I am.”
“Are you where you want to be?”
“I guess. I can’t imagine doing any other kind of work or being stuck in an office all day.” He shudders. “That would kill me. Garrett already wants to kill me half the time because I suck at keeping track of receipts and expenses and other crap that gets his panties in a wad.”
“Lauren wants to date him.” The words are out of my mouth before I take even one second to contemplate the magnitude of what I’m doing.
Blake glances over at me. “Is that so?”
I’m struck by how gorgeous he is, with a sprinkling of golden whiskers on his jaw, lips swollen from kissing me and eyes as blue as the endless Texas sky. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Speaking of someone wanting to kill me.”
“Might be info he’d like to have.”
“As long as my name isn’t attached to that info.”
“Your secret is safe with me, darlin’.”
I shouldn’t want to swoon at him calling me that. Texas men call all the females in their lives darlin’. But coming from him to me… Well, it’s a good thing I’m sitting down. “Where’re we going anyway?” We’re on 67 South, heading toward Presidio.
“Just a little further.” That’s all he says, so I settle in to watch the world go by in our remote corner of the state. We’re hours from El Paso to the northwest, Austin to the east and San Antonio to the southeast. There’re not a lot of places we can go in this direction without ending up at the Mexican border.
Most of the time, I love the isolation of Marfa. I love my small town with the artsy flair and the tourists who come for music festivals and art events that happen throughout the year. There’s always something going on in town, which keeps it from getting boring.
The song “Sex Machine” by James Brown comes on the radio, and I lose it laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Blake asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“This song.” I fan my face and dab at the laughter tears in my eyes.
“What about it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Don’t worry. I already know that’s what they say about me.”
I’m horrified. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “I’ve always known. It’s no big deal. Hell, it’s true.”
I’m oddly, strangely hurt for him. “It’s not true,” I say quietly.
“Why do you say that?”
“There’s so much more to you than that.”
“Not that much more. Not anymore.”
Not since he lost Jordan. That’s the part he leaves unspoken. Nothing has been the same since he lost her, but he isn’t the unfeeling robot he’s made himself out to be. I saw cracks in his armor during the two nights I spent with him. I saw it in his expression when he appeared at my door last night, not seeming to understand why he was there or what he wanted from me.
I witnessed his need to connect to another human being. I understand that need better than most ever could. For reasons I can’t explain even to myself, I reach across the bench seat for his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he curls his fingers around mine, and we ride that way for another five miles before he takes a right-hand turn onto a dirt road that ends at a construction site. Or rather, a renovation site. Something about the place is familiar to me.
“Where are we?”
“Jordan’s grandparents’ farm.”
“Oh, I remember! There’s a swimming hole on the property.”
“Yes.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“I bought it about a year ago, and I work on it whenever I can.”
For some reason, this strikes me as unreasonably sad. I clear the emotion from my throat. “What do you plan to do with it when it’s finished?”
“Haven’t decided yet. Come take a look.”
We get out of the truck, and he waits for me at the front, extending a hand to help me over a log. He doesn’t let go once I’ve safely landed on the other side.
I try not to make too much of this, but I secretly thrill in the excitement of being here with him, of holding his hand, of the connection I found with him in bed, in the shower and sitting next to him at breakfast. Life is a little less lonely with him around, not that I think he’s here to stay or anything.
The two-story house used to be gray, but the paint is faded and chipping. We take sagging stairs onto a rickety porch, where he releases my hand to unlock the front door and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. “Careful,” he says.
I see why when I get my first look at the inside, which has been completely gutted.
“Let me give you a tour,” he says with that small grin. I’m starting to realize that’s as much of a smile as he has anymore. Pointing, he says, “Living room/dining room/kitchen all one big open space with a laundry room and half bath off the kitchen. Let’s go upstairs.” He takes my hand again and leads the way up the stairs. “Master suite to the right, hall bathroom and two bedrooms at the other end.”
We go into the area he’s designated as the master suite. It’s a mess, but I can see the potential. “This is a great space.”
“I think so, too. And the wood floors are original to the house. All the wood will be amazing when it’s refinished.”
“Why don’t you send one of your teams in here to get it done faster?”
“I want to do this one myself, and I’m not in any rush.”
“Do Jordan’s parents know you bought it?”
“Yeah, I asked them if they minded before I did it. They were thrilled. They said it’d be nice to keep it in the family.” He rubs his hand over the exposed wood walls, and I realize this is a labor of love to him.
“That’s nice of them.”
“They’ve always been nicer to me than I deserved.”
“They don’t blame you, Blake. No one does.” Only you, I want to say, but don’t.
He keeps his gaze averted, but I see the tightness in his jaw and face.
“If you ever need help with painting or sanding or anything simple like that… Let me know.”
The tension lifts when he looks at me. “I just might do that. Maybe you could take some before-and-after pictures for me.”
I smile up at him. “I’d love to.”
He looks down at me, his eyes dropping to my lips as he raises a hand to caress my cheek.
I feel that soft touch in every cell of my body.
“You’re so very, very pretty, Honeysuckle.”
I’m inordinately moved by the compliment, and I absolutely love his endless nicknames for me. “Thank you.”
He tilts my chin up and brings his lips down on mine.
I wrap my arms around him and lose myself in the sweet, tender kiss.
Blake backs me up to the exposed wall and presses his lower body against mine as he tilts his head to better the angle of the kiss.
What are we doing? I want to stop everything to ask that question. Why can’t we seem to sate this craving for each other? Where has it come from all of a sudden, or was it always there, simmering below the surface every time we were together over the last few years? Is that the reason I was so easily convinced by Lauren to step way out of character and proposition him in a bar? Have I wanted him all along?
I don’t have any of the answers to these questions. I just know that I like the way it feels to be held and kissed by him. I like being pinned below him in bed and impaled by his giant cock as he stares down at me with heated blue eyes. I like everything about him, if I’m being truthful, even the darkness that lives within him.
He withdraws from the kiss slowly, stroking his tongue over my bottom lip. His hands are cupping my face, and when I open my eyes, I catch him watching me with heat and hunger in his gaze. “Want to check out the swimming hole?”
“Sure.” I’m up for anything that extends our time together. Even as I tell myself not to get attached, that’s turning out to be harder than I thought it would be. With every kiss, every touch, every confidence shared, he’s working his way under my skin.
Chapter Eight
I have no idea what I was thinking, bringing Honey out here. This is a place I shared with Jordan. Honey doesn’t belong here. Except, I like having her here. I like showing her the work I’ve done so far and telling her the plans I have for the rest of the renovations. I like the questions she asks and the interest she shows. I like the way she reached for my hand in the truck when she seemed to know I needed the comfort, and I like how soft her lips are under mine.
She follows me downstairs and through the war zone that will one day be a showplace. I’ll see to that, and I’ll do it myself. If it takes a year or five years, I’ll bring it back to its former glory. Jordan was close to her paternal grandparents, and we spent a lot of time out here visiting them, swimming and looking at the stars on dark Texas nights.
In a weird way, I feel like I’m doing something for her by bringing her grandparents’ run-down farmhouse back to life. They’re long gone now, both of them dying within a year after they lost her. Though no one has ever said so, I think they died of broken hearts. I can certainly understand how that might be possible.
I shake off those thoughts now and try to focus on the present rather than the past that never leaves me alone for long. “If you want to wait here, I’ll grab a blanket out of the truck.”
“Sounds good.” Honey wraps her hand around one of the new wood beams I installed on the porch to hold up the roof that had been in danger of collapsing when I bought the place. Shoring that up had been the first thing I did after the closing.
I jog the short distance to my truck and grab the blanket I keep alongside my tools in the workbox in the truck bed. Returning to the porch, I hold out a hand to Honey, inviting her to join me. Her gaze locks on mine as she comes down the stairs and takes my outstretched hand.
Why does it feel so damned right to be here with her? To hold her hand? To watch the way her taut, lithe body moves in the lightweight sundress that shows off her exceptional curves? Why does it feel so good to kiss her and hold her and draw strength from her? She’s so gutsy and brave, making her way almost completely on her own since she lost her Gran, and I admire her greatly fo
r that.
I don’t know what I would’ve done without my parents and family to prop me up when the load got too heavy for me to carry alone. I never would’ve survived without them.
Honey hasn’t had that support and has thrived anyway. She’s never played the “poor me” card or lamented her lack of family. Rather, she’s played the hand she was dealt and played it well. I admire her for that, too.
We walk together in easy silence. She doesn’t feel the need to fill every second with mindless chatter the way some women do. I add that to the growing list of things I like about her. The swimming hole is about half a mile from the house. I know this because Jordan once convinced me that half a mile is far enough away to make love at the swimming hole. The entire time, I’d been sure her grandfather was going to appear at any moment with a shotgun.
He hadn’t, but the fear of that shotgun led to a less than satisfying encounter. The memory makes me smile, which is a welcome relief from the agony I usually feel when I think of her.
“What’re you smiling about over there?”
I consider making something up, but then I decide to go with the truth. “I’m thinking about the time Jordan and I came out to the swimming hole right around dusk, after dinner with her grandparents, and she talked me into more than a swim out here. The whole time I was waiting for her grandfather to show up with the shotgun he kept over the door. The fear gave me performance anxiety.”
Honey laughs along with me, and by sharing it with her, the memory takes on the sweet feeling of nostalgia rather than the grinding, endless pain of grief. The nostalgia is a welcome relief.
We’re sweating from the relentless heat of the midday sun, and the freshwater spring looks incredibly inviting as we approach it. I haven’t been out here in years, not since the last time I was here with Jordan. Even when I was thinking about purchasing the twelve-acre spread, I didn’t come out here. It was just too painful and raw.
But now, with Honey here with me, it feels new again, like we’re creating something from the ashes of what used to be.
Her big brown eyes light up with pleasure at the sight of the water. “I’d forgotten how pretty it is out here.”
