ALMOST EVERYTHING

by Williams, Mary J.

  Neither fragile nor easily bent to his will, India was a strong, determined young woman. She knew what she wanted. And right now, she wanted him.

  Lucky bastard. Anyone who saw him now would agree.

  A second later, India proved just how strong she was. She flipped him onto his back and straddled him, her knees tightly bracketing his waist.

  Surprised, Morgan blinked. Then grinned. The sight of India, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders in long, silky curls was better than any dream he could remember. Bare breasts, a look of triumph on her face. She was spectacular.

  “My, you’re pretty,” she said as she surveyed him from her new perch. She ran her hands over his chest and sighed. “Long, lean muscles. Sunkissed skin.”

  Morgan rested his hands on her thighs, happy to let India take the lead. However, he felt he had the right to suggest something they would both enjoy.

  “I love the feel of the hot sun. But I’d rather your soft lips did the kissing.”

  A shaft of late afternoon sun beamed through the west-facing window. Diffused light illuminated the bed, catching bits of red in India’s normally raven-dark hair. Her eyes sparkled, almost as bright as her smile.

  India leaned forward until her curls brushed his face, her intoxicating scent filling his senses. As she brushed her lips over his heated skin—over his heart—Morgan swore the wildly beating organ would fly from his chest at any second. His fingers tightened their grip on her legs.

  God, he loved her.

  India lay on top of him, her body molded to his. She kissed his chin, the tip of his nose, then, one hand on each side of his face, she covered his mouth with hers.

  Passion soared and hormones raged. Morgan cupped her breast, teasing the hard tip with his thumb. India rubbed against him until his thigh rode high between her legs. She gasped.

  “I feel jumpy and restless.

  Morgan understood why. He wondered if India knew the reason. Searching his fevered brain for a delicate way to ask, he failed. Sometimes, the only way to make a point was to use the word

  “Have you ever…” He cleared his throat. “Do you masturbate?”

  “Sure.” India frowned. “Can you explain what’s the big deal? I mean, the result is nothing like books and movies make it out to be. Always seems like a lot of work for one small pop of pleasure.”

  India knew how to paint a picture.

  “Small pop?”

  “Sometimes, not even that. More of a fizzle.”

  Biting the inside of his lip to hide his smile, Morgan lowered the zipper on India’s jeans.

  “Still trust me?”

  “Always. Forever.”

  Morgan pushed her onto her back. His hand slid past the scrap of black lace—the perfect match to her discarded bra. What he found made him grin. India was ready for more than a pop.

  “Ever heard the term, it takes two to tango?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. Did you…?” You put your finger inside my… Inside me.”

  Morgan nuzzled the side of her neck as his thumb found the center of her pleasure. Every muscle in India’s body tensed, then relaxed. Except for arched feet and curled toes.

  “Tell me how you feel,” Morgan whispered, his breath bathing India’s ear. “Good? Bad? Should I stop?”

  “No!” She grabbed his wrist as if afraid he might follow through on his threat. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Then relax. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

  India didn’t close her eyes. She kept her gaze locked with his. Every emotion showed on her face and when she came, gripping his arms, crying out his name, Morgan felt like a king.

  “I’ll never fly solo again.”

  “Sure, you will,” Morgan assured her with a laugh.

  “Nope.” Curled at his side, India shook her head. “Nothing will ever compare. After you showed me yee-haw, how can I go back to blah?”

  Maybe king was an understatement, Morgan thought. The way India looked at him, he felt like a freaking god. Since she was the reason, he thought it only fair to share a secret or two.

  “Next time you’re alone and the urge strikes you—”

  “Won’t happen. Never again.”

  With an indulgent chuckle, Morgan pulled the blanket over India’s bare shoulders.

  “Just in case? Fantasies help. Picture something sexy. Put yourself into the scene.”

  “I could think about today.” India smiled, obviously warming to the idea. “But what if I need more?”

  “Next time we come to the cabin, we’ll figure something out,” Morgan said. He couldn’t wait.

  “Can’t be sure when the next time will be.” India sighed. “My extracurricular activities, and your work on the farm, we might not get to see each other outside of school for weeks.”

  Unfortunately, India was probably right. Morgan hadn’t thought beyond today. Tomorrow, he promised Sven he would help paint the barn. The day after, Marcy had a list of fall chores a mile long.

  Each day after school, India was busy with practice—volleyball and cheerleading. Weekends were just as crazy. She traveled with her family. A lot.

  Their relationship had to remain a secret, relegated to the shadows. Morgan understood. The second anyone found out, they were finished.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he said with more conviction than he felt.

  “In between, when we can’t see each other, I want something more to fantasize about.”

  Not sure what she had in mind, Morgan watched as India disappeared under the covers. He lifted the sheet just in time to see her fumble with the button at the waist of his jeans. His dick twitched, and he stifled a groan.

  Placing his hand over hers, he shook his head.

  “You don’t have to.”

  India grinned, triumph shining in her eyes as the button popped loose.

  “I want to, which is much more fun.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  Morgan waited for her answer. In his head, he begged. Please, please, please tell me you’re sure.

  “My experience is limited to what I’ve read in books. However…” India lowered his zipper. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to try.”

  Morgan didn’t mind a bit. Just the opposite. He was in heaven.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE NEXT TWO months swerved daily between heaven and torture. As they anticipated, Morgan and India were hard-pressed to find time for another idyllic afternoon together. An hour here, a few stolen moments there. It was never enough to satisfy their growing need for each other.

  India was expected to behave a certain way as she followed a rigid, pre-prescribed schedule. Same friends, same social activities, same, same, same.

  And while Morgan’s precious few leisure hours belonged to him, he had places to be, things to do, and people who counted on him to be there.

  Though all they wanted was to be together away from prying eyes, their time was not their own.

  One saving grace was the fact Morgan saw India every day. The from-a-distance part sucked. But for two high school seniors, their lives were damn complicated.

  Morgan recognized the irony. Born in the same town, they walked through the same doors of Lake Darwell Elementary on their first day of school. For the better part of their lives, they occupied the same space. Sat in the same classrooms. Toiled through the same exams.

  They were two kids who breathed the same air, yet, lived in different worlds. India barely knew he was alive. Morgan worshiped her from afar, but he wasn’t obsessed. Except for some memorable steamy dreams, when she was out of sight, she was mostly out of his mind.

  Then, one fateful rainy night, everything changed. Before, he didn’t give a flying leap about the distance between their social spheres. Now, the chasm was excruciating and seemed to grow larger with every passing second.

  Morgan
leaned against his locker half-listening as Barry droned on about Friday night’s football game. Lake Darwell won—again. The hopes of the team and their boosters rode high in anticipation of an undefeated season, capped by the day they hoisted the state championship trophy.

  “Chicks love a winner,” Barry said, his chest puffed out with more bravado than usual. “Jocks rule, man.”

  Morgan nodded—the only response Barry required. While he pretended to survey the halls, his gaze didn’t wander far from the front doors. He glanced at his watch. Without fail, India arrived twenty minutes before the first bell. Enough time to chat with friends and gather whatever she needed for first period French.

  Her entrance was the highlight of Morgan’s day.

  Poised and in control, India was Lake Darwell High’s queen bee. When she walked into a room, everyone noticed. Morgan could stare all he wanted without drawing attention.

  And, oh, how he wanted.

  Morgan licked his bottom lip, certain the taste of her lingered. The air around him carried the lingering scent of wet dog and old cheese—the odors permeated the locker area, and no amount of disinfectant solved the problem.

  Didn’t matter to Morgan. Lately, when Morgan filled his lungs, all he could smell was India’s sweet essence.

  Love had always been a foreign concept, still was in many ways. Tantalizing, but ephemeral. How could he believe in something he hadn’t experienced?

  With a single kiss, one sweet, funny, amazing young woman changed everything. His senses were heightened. Colors seemed brighter. Sounds, more intense. His taste buds practically sang with every bite he put in his mouth.

  Love. Morgan smiled. The emotion didn’t make him blind. Instead, he saw the world with new eyes.

  “And the queen arrives,” Barry snorted, nodding toward the wood-framed glass doors. “Let her subjects bow in awe and wonder.”

  Barry wasn’t impressed by India. Morgan imagined his friend wasn’t alone. No one, no matter how beautiful or well-liked, was universally adored. While the Lake Darwell student body fawned over their leader up close, the rumblings were there—even in India’s inner circle. Snarky remarks whispered in bathroom stalls and behind spiral notebooks.

  Popularity seemed like a golden ticket to happiness. Morgan always assumed India loved the limelight, relished the attention. Now, after all the things she told him, he knew better.

  Jealousy, envy, resentment. India walked around with a target on her back. She’d held the popularity title for a long time. However, she ever slipped from her lofty perch—just a little—her so-called friends would feed on her carcass without a second’s hesitation like wolves at a slaughter.

  Morgan sighed. Adults who wished for the simpler days of their youth had a short memory. Mean girls, bullies, peer pressure. High school was a series of land mines. Some, you learned to maneuver around. Others, you barreled through and hoped for the best.

  Either way, few people survived without a scar or two.

  “Snooty bitch.”

  Morgan’s first instinct was to slam Barry against the lockers and demand he take back the insult. Two things stopped him. First, his friend didn’t know the real India. Second, he needed to keep his real feeling under wraps.

  Rumors began with the slightest provocation. If the school started to buzz with whispers linking his name to India’s, they were sunk. The chance of another meeting let alone many, many, more, would be impossible.

  “Maybe.” Morgan gave a casual shrug as he swallowed the bile bubbling in his liver. Because he knew how Barry’s mind worked, he threw in an offhand compliment. “Have to admit, India Curtis is a babe.”

  “Cold, my friend.” Barry shuddered with a shake of his entire body. “Ice runs through her stellar veins.”

  “Locker room gossip,” Morgan said. “Wasn’t too long ago you claimed she slept with Tommy Markle.”

  “I admit Tommy’s word is suspect.”

  “No shit.”

  “Doesn’t change the facts. India Curtis is made of ice.” Barry tossed his backpack into his locker. “Bet even money, if Tommy, or anyone, screwed her, his dick would freeze.”

  Morgan’s gaze followed India as she walked toward her locker and hid his smile. Ice? Not even close. In fact, Barry was so far off base in his assessment, he wasn’t on the same playing field.

  Since Morgan wasn’t supposed to know anything about India, especially her sexual temperature, he held his tongue. Even if his policy wasn’t to kiss and brag, India wouldn’t thank him if he jumped to her defense.

  The first-period bell rang. One thing about sneaking around, Morgan and India became experts at exchanging subtle signals throughout the day. As they passed in the hall, she sent him one quick glance. The look in her eyes said everything.

  Hello. Wish we could be alone. I miss you.

  Now and then, Morgan would find a way to brush against her. Subtle, barely there. Arm against arm. Today, he managed to touch her hand. The brief contact lasted him until their first class together.

  Economics. From his seat, he stared at the back of India’s head while he remembered the feel of her soft, fragrant hair splayed over his stomach as her mouth—

  “Mr. McCloud! Did you hear the question?”

  Morgan’s head snapped back, his gaze landing on the harsh glare of Mr. Klein. As teachers went, he was fair. However, he expected his students to pay attention and keep their mouths shut unless called upon. Like now.

  “No, sir.” Morgan knew Mr. Klein appreciated honesty. “My mind was somewhere else.”

  “Fantasizing on my time, Mr. McCloud? Care to share the topic?”

  Clearing his throat, Morgan noticed everyone had turned to stare. India included. The look in her eyes said she had a good idea what sent his mind wandering. A raised eyebrow and twitching lips almost did him in.

  Morgan cleared his throat and swore the next time they were alone, he would make her pay.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Klein, I decline.” He lowered his voice and looked his teacher straight in the eyes. “Private thoughts, sir.”

  Morgan couldn’t be certain, but he swore Mr. Klein almost smiled. Almost. The teacher was famous for his deadpan expression and seemed to take pride in keeping his emotions under wraps.

  Klein crossed his arms as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he spoke.

  “Do I have your full attention?”

  “Yes, sir,” Morgan said.

  “Tell us the difference between micro and macroeconomics. Make your answer as brief and succinct as possible.”

  If Mr. Klein or his classmates thought the question would trip him up, they were wrong. Morgan wasn’t one to raise his hand or show off his knowledge. However, a solid B student, he had a good brain and retained information easily.

  “Macroeconomics studies the whole system. Microeconomics studies particular units.”

  “Brief and succinct.” Mr. Klein nodded. He moved to the chalkboard. “And correct. Now, let’s dig deeper.”

  India kept her eyes on Mr. Klein. But Morgan knew when she raised her hand to push back her hair, the gentle tug she gave her earlobe was meant for him.

  Free after school, her signal told him. Morgan’s heart raced as he looked at the clock. He’d learned patience where India was concerned. But the next few hours would be the longest of his life.

  ♫~♫~♫

  “NO TIME FOR a swim.” Regret wreathing her face, India let out a hefty sigh.

  “Soon,” Morgan said. “Maybe for your birthday.”

  India smiled. A slight blush colored her cheeks. She would turn eighteen in three weeks. Morgan had the date circled in red on his mental calendar.

  “No longer jailbait.” She laughed. “I suppose, technically, we’ve done some illegal things. But after December third, the law will be on our side.”

  No one else is, but who cares? She left the words unsaid, but her meaning was clear as glass.

  India wa
nted to wait and if part of her motivation was to keep Morgan out of jail, he was touched—even if her reasoning was woefully misguided. A little thing like her age wouldn’t stop Rance Curtis from retribution against the person who took his daughter’s virginity.

  Facts were facts and India knew how her father operated. Still, Morgan kept his thoughts to himself while his mind continued to churn.

  Rance Curtis didn’t worry about right or wrong. The law was something he skirted or plowed over without a second thought. He was friends with the governor, personally campaigned and contributed to the reelection of the area’s representative to Congress. He and one of Michigan’s two United States senators were fishing buddies from way back.

  With all his money and influence—plus the local sheriff’s department in his pocket—his perceived enemies didn’t worry him for long. In his little corner of the world, he was untouchable.

  The fact that Morgan’s father was Rance Curtis’ head thug wouldn’t make a bit of difference. In fact, Laird McCloud might relish the chance to finally give his son a beatdown, with a little help. Laird didn’t fight fair. No reason to think he’d start now simply because he and his victim possessed the same DNA.

  “What’s with the frown?” India smoothed the line between his brows with a kiss. “Dark thoughts?”

  Morgan shook his head. The cabin was their sanctuary. He wouldn’t mar the good vibes with talk of what their fathers would or wouldn’t do if Rance discovered his virginal daughter wasn’t as pure as he thought.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Morgan said. “We only have a few hours. I want to spend every second with you in my arms.”

  A fire blazed, wood crackling, warming the room against the mid-November chill. They lay on the bed under a thick quilt. Outside felt more like winter than late fall.

  Other than a Halloween skiff which quickly melted the next day, they hadn’t seen a trace of snow. Northern Michigan wasn’t known for mild winters. They could wake up tomorrow to a foot of the white stuff. Morgan wouldn’t care.