Dream House

by Stephanie Fournet

  And the moan that rises up from the deepest place inside of me—made of remorse and recognition and requiting—is so loud, I startle morning doves in a nest overhead. We jump at their offended, warbling trills.

  And then Stella grabs my wrist. “C’mon,” she whispers.

  She leads me to the back of the house, through the wrought iron gate, and then we’re climbing the porch steps to her bedroom’s French doors.

  I stop. “Stella, wait.”

  She looks up at me, and in the golden glow of her windows, I see all the things I don’t want to see.

  Doubt. Doubt in herself. As if she doesn’t know how amazing she is. How lucky anyone in her life is just to be in her orbit.

  Desire. Desire for me. And I can’t lie to myself. I do want to see it. But if it weren’t there, I could walk away.

  I would walk away.

  I’d make myself.

  But the most powerful thing I see in the look she’s giving me is her bravery. It blazes there in her eyes behind the doubt and desire.

  I know my Stella. I know how hard it is for her to trust. To surrender. To let someone in. And here she is choosing me?

  What if I can’t be the kind of man who deserves her?

  What if I hurt her?

  “Should we do this?” I ask, squeezing her hand, torn between warning her to say no and begging her to say yes.

  She tilts her head to the side, and in her eyes is a kind of acceptance that sends a thrill of fear down my spine. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  And when she says it, I know she’s right. We have to go down this path. We have as much chance of avoiding it as the sun has of not rising tomorrow.

  The last thing I want is to hurt Stella. I don’t know if that will happen. And I don’t know when. A month from now. A year from now. Or three years down the road. I don’t know if I’ll find myself right back where I was with Zoe—disappointing someone else who wants more than I can give. Only this time, I’d be disappointing Stella who I want to protect with every fiber of my being.

  But I know if I walk away now, I will hurt Stella. Because she’s digging deep to reach out to me. And there’s no way I can turn my back on that.

  And who am I kidding? That’s not why I can’t turn away. I want her. I want this. And like she said, being with her doesn’t even feel like a choice.

  It feels like fate. Like the course of nature. The way magma is bound to crystalize. It’s just a matter of time.

  “You’re right.” The words come out like a croak. I couldn’t sound more overcome if I tried.

  She flashes me a smile that’s almost wicked before she spins to face her French doors. I hear a four-note beep on the keypad lock and the whir of the bolt sliding back. We slip inside.

  “Lock that behind you, would you?” Stella whispers over her shoulder, moving on swift feet across her room. She reaches her open door where the sound of Livy and Pen’s voices in the kitchen filter through. But when she shuts the door softly and latches the locks, both the skeleton key at the knob and the sliding bolt Tyler recently installed, the room falls quiet.

  Now all I can hear is the beating of my heart. I wonder if she can hear it too.

  For all of her wicked smiling and come-what-may bravado, when Stella turns back to me, she looks nervous. Like she’s not so sure I’ll accept what she has to offer.

  And, hell no.

  We can’t have that.

  I cross the room in four strides and cage her against the locked door. Now that we’re here, I’m going to worship her the way I’ve wanted to for weeks.

  At my sudden approach, she locks eyes with me, her gaze expectant, eager, and anxious all at once. She licks her lips and whispers, “We have to be quiet.”

  “I can be quiet.”

  Her gaze shifts to the bed behind me, and I don’t need any clearer invitation, but I also want to make the most of this position, her tucked against the door. Me surrounding her. I drop my lips to her ear and inhale her scent.

  I close my eyes, sure that it’s pure life I’m breathing in.

  “You smell amazing,” I whisper.

  She exhales and turns her head, seeking my mouth. I let her have it for two tasting kisses, but then I cup her chin and angle her face to one side. When my lips touch her neck, she shivers deliciously. I hear the shake in her breath and feel the quiver of her body down my front.

  If there’s such a thing as deep neck kissing, that’s what I do. Her hands fly to my ribs, and it feels like she’s holding on. My hands shift from the wall to her waist, and then to her ass. She goes limp in my arms, but she’s not going anywhere.

  I’ve got her.

  I make love to her neck, and Soft Stella takes on a whole new meaning.

  I want to give this to her every night. Every day. I want to kiss her until she turns into a puddle of desire right in my arms.

  It’s only when she lets out a soft, plaintive moan—as if asking for mercy—that I hike her up. As if we’ve choreographed it, her legs fly around my waist and she clings tighter to me.

  It’s a short walk to the bed. A little too short. I could get used to this, carrying her around, clasped to me.

  I could do it for hours.

  When I lay her down on the bed, her flower crown slips off, and her skirt settles at her thighs, leaving her looking wild and willing to a maddening degree. Her eyes are dilated pools edged in that iridescent green, her lips flushed and full even though I’ve barely kissed her.

  That’s something I pledge to remedy.

  When I lower over her, she reaches up to me and pulls me down to her mouth, her kiss demanding. The realization that she wants me hits me all over again. I can’t believe I’m this lucky. I can’t believe that I’m the one who gets to be right here.

  As if she reads my mind, Stella breaks our kiss, panting, her eyes latching to mine.

  “I’m crazy about you.”

  I swallow hard. Her admission feels like Christmas morning.

  What if I like who you are?

  “I’m fucking batshit about you,” I confess, an ache like a broken bone that’s been set to heal in my chest. Better now that she’s close but tender all the same.

  The look in her eyes turns wistful. “I’ve missed you,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

  And that ache breaks open again. Fresh agony. I almost groan.

  “I missed you,” I say, throat tight, thinking about the self-imposed prison I’ve watched her from for the last ten days, “like you wouldn’t believe.”

  She has to know it’s the truth. I need her to know that every time I saw her, every time I thought of her—fucking all the time—I wanted to touch her. I wanted to claim her.

  And what held me back was the fear of hurting her. The warnings from Nina and Tyler. Stella deserves better than that.

  Translation: Stella deserves better than you.

  And I don’t disagree.

  If I wasn’t hearing them, it was Mom’s words that kept circling my head like a shark. Promise me you won’t set up another girl for heartbreak and humiliation.

  If somebody else broke Stella’s heart and humiliated her, I’d want to slit his throat.

  And none of that has changed. Yet, here I am, on top of her. Bound and determined to make love to her.

  Jesus, I’m such an asshole.

  Stella bites her bottom lip, and I’m sure she can read the guilt and self-loathing on my face. But she surprises me.

  “Pen… Pen says I have to take risks if I want to break old patterns,” she blurts. And I can’t help my smile because the bravery I saw moments ago out on her back porch blazes in her eyes again. Its light is that much more sublime because it’s there despite her fear.

  She is phenomenal. My Stella.

  But my surge of pride is quickly swallowed up by something cold and bottomless. “And you’re willing to take that risk with me?”

  I don’t deserve this.

  I’m going to ruin this.

 
Stella’s chest swells on her inhale and her smile seems to surprise even her. “I am.”

  Fear makes a deep dive into my intestines. “Even if it doesn’t work out?”

  Her bottom lip disappears again, but she nods, her eyes shining.

  If I weren’t already lying on top of her, I’d get on my knees. Because. I. Do. Not. Deserve. This.

  I don’t deserve her.

  I don’t deserve her trust.

  And, yet, I can’t make myself leave.

  And I can’t let either one of us off the hook. Inside, I twist like a fish at the end of a spear. I should just come out and say it.

  I’ll never ask you to marry me. Can you live with that?

  “How can you be sure?” I ask, instead, like the fucking coward I am.

  And to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Her smile doesn’t slip at all. She doesn’t take my question for the veiled warning that it is.

  “Because,” she says, her voice warm like melted butter. “In twenty-eight years, I haven’t been willing to take this risk with anyone. You’re the first.”

  I close my eyes, absorbing the blow of her words. The heavenly-fucking-damning blow.

  Because even if I had a shadow of a chance to walk away before, that has burned clean away.

  I kiss her, the soft, hungry welcome of her mouth making me feel claimed. It’s long and heated, and it only feels half-fulfilled when I break it, panting.

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  Stella’s fingers are tangled in my hair. She grips tightly, the look in her eyes searing, sure. “We’ll see.”

  And I’m done holding back. I plunder her with my kiss, loving the way her legs wrap around mine. One of her hands has left my hair and shoved its way up under the ridiculous black tunic Pen put me in. Though considering how much of my skin it exposes to enjoy Stella’s touch, it might not be so ridiculous after all.

  I want to touch her everywhere without giving her too much of my weight, so I roll us to our sides, cradling her to me with one arm and free to roam with the other. My right hand glides down the dip of her waist and over the curve of her hip. I want to duck under her orange skirt and never come back, but I’ll take my time.

  There’s no need to rush. Not tonight.

  I want to tell her what it means to me to be here with her. To be trusted. To be allowed in. I want to tell her that I will never take this for granted. I want to tell her that it makes me feel different. Not worthy. Because I’m not. But honored.

  Tell her that I want her to know me. Like no one else has known me. But these words are so bald. They ask so much, I can’t speak them. I’ll sound like a fool.

  So I put all this unspoken longing into my touch. Into giving.

  And this I can say.

  “I want to make you feel good.” I speak against her lips.

  I want to learn. I want to know what pleases her.

  I run my hand up her bodice and palm her left breast, squeezing gently. Her hiss of breath is pure pleasure. My thumb finds her nipple through the fabric, and it’s only then I realize that under this dress, her breasts are perfectly bare.

  I moan and take her one peaked nipple in my mouth, drenching the thin fabric as she gasps.

  “Oh, God—”

  She grinds against me as she arches her back, and I swear, I see stars. I shift my hand to her perfect bottom and cinch her tighter against me. Judging by the sounds we make, it’s torture for both of us.

  I thought I could take my time, savor her like an afternoon in the sun, but I can’t resist her desire. With clumsy fingers, I tug at the knot of her bodice until it gives and then fuss with the laced up front until my hand slips easily under the fabric.

  “Yes,” she whispers, her eyes closing, bliss painting her soft smile as I massage her nipple. I know how lucky I am not only to be here, touching her, but to be able to see this. See all of her. She was beautiful in the moonlight the first time, but in the golden glow of the lamplight, her beauty is intoxicating.

  I kiss her neck, her mouth. Her sweet tongue is eager, playful and urgent at the same time. One of her hands holds my cheek as the other roams over my back.

  Why does her kiss feel so good?

  I know I don’t deserve this, and yet, her touch makes me feel like I am enough.

  When I take her breast in my mouth, Stella gasps and her hips buck. She hooks a leg over mine and the hand at my back skims downward. She slips that hand beneath the drawstring of my pants and grabs my ass.

  The urge to thrust is maddening.

  I release her breast. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No,” she says, panting. “I’m trying to get you out of these.”

  A deep chuckle rumbles through me. “No way. Not yet.” I reach back and gently clasp her wrist.

  “When then?” As I guide her hand away, her fingernails trail over one ass cheek, making my balls tighten.

  Holy—

  I’d like nothing better than to strip us both, but—“Patience is a virtue,” I manage.

  She blows out a huff that teases my hair. “Clearly, you don’t know how long it’s been since I had actual sex.”

  I bring our hands up between us and massage her palm with my thumb. “How long?”

  Stella narrows her eyes at me, her look a mixture of coyness and vulnerability that stirs something both tender and protective in me.

  “Two years.”

  It’s hard to quantify how this statement makes me feel. One the one hand, I’m selfishly pleased that she’s bestowing this honor on me. On the other, it’s a crying shame no one has been taking care of her.

  I want to change that.

  I release her hand and let mine dive under the hem of her baffled skirt. Her breath hitches when I settle it on her bare thigh. With almost no pressure at all, I press against it until she rolls onto her back.

  I shift between her knees and take in the sight before me. Her unlaced bodice reveals one breast and its glistening pink nipple. The orange fabric of her skirt cascades over the tops of her lovely thighs.

  I rise up onto my knees, gather handfuls of skirt, and push it up to her middle. Stella gasps as cool air lands on peach panties.

  Noticeably wet peach panties.

  My gaze locks to hers, and I know by the way her eyes widen just a fraction, she sees the heat and hunger in mine.

  “I like these,” I say nodding to the triangle scrap of fabric covering her pussy. “But they have to go.”

  I watch her swallow. She licks her lips and then nods.

  Between her legs, I shift my hands under her ass, catch the top, and pull them off. They land on the floor somewhere behind me.

  I’ve had the good fortune to touch her here, but this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her. I knew. I knew her sex was beautiful, but seeing it laid bare for me is somehow surprisingly sacred. A flower from Eden. The fruit of kingdom come.

  For a moment, all I can do is feel.

  I place a hand flat against each thigh, I spread them wider, making my intention known.

  “Two years is a long time. But you’re gonna have to wait a little longer.”

  The instant my tongue touches her coral flesh, we both moan. I have never felt more alive. The tang of her sex on my tongue is an existential anchor. A Descartian maxim.

  I know Stella’s taste; therefore, I am.

  And now that I’m here, I can’t get enough.

  I lap. Nibble. Suckle. Devour. Stella bucks beneath me. The fingers of both of her hands thread through my hair, and she grips me with a force that turns me inside out.

  I never want her to let go.

  “Lark—Oh, God, Lark—”

  Her wetness is my bounty. Her cries mine to claim. Everything I know narrows down to the need in her body. Her straining thighs against my ears. Her swollen clit against my tongue. Her fingernails against my scalp.

  When the thrust of her hips becomes more reckless and demanding, I slide two fingers into her silken slickness. Her gas
ps grow choppy. I glide and press, aiming for the place within her where it all comes together. Where it all breaks apart.

  I know by the shake in her thighs, the tightening of her ass that I’ve found it, and the rhythm, the thrust and arch we create is intoxicating. I could stay here forever.

  But it’s only seconds before her muscles lock and her cries pitch and her sex pulses wildly against my fingers and tongue.

  Stella goes limp around me, but I don’t stop. I don’t withdraw. I keep kissing. Keep loving.

  “Please—” she pants. “Lark, please.”

  I don’t know if she’s begging me to stop or to carry on forever.

  I lap her clit again, sending a shiver through her whole body before I look up. Her face is flushed. Sweat beads above her sensual lips. Her eyes are half-lidded, but she meets my gaze openly.

  “Please what?” I ask, my voice an unrecognizable sound. As if granite could purr. God knows, I’m as hard as granite. Maybe my whole body has turned to rock, including my vocal cords.

  “Please get inside me.” She frees my hair and with swift motions whips her rumpled dress over her head.

  And this is the moment I realize I love her. Salon Stella. Soft Stella. Sexed-up Stella. Angry Stella. Awkward Stella. Distracted Stella. Nervous Stella. Vulnerable Stella. Hungry Stella.

  My Stella.

  There isn’t a side of her I’m not head over heels for.

  Well, fuck me.

  I should probably take a moment to examine this realization and what it might mean, but Stella grips the fabric of my tunic and tugs wildly. A seam or two of Pen’s stitching pops before I lend a hand and pull the thing over my head, climbing higher atop her.

  Then she’s yanking at the drawstring below my navel, and before I know it, the pants are slipping over my hips.

  “Hang on—” I have a moment of clarity before they are out of reach. I slip my left hand into the one pocket that Pen took time to include. And it’s still there. The two little squares of foil that had my eyes bugging when I put them on earlier.

  Stella’s eyes land on them before coming back to mine, the question in them unmistakable.

  “I didn’t put it there. I promise,” I say. “They were there when Pen gave me the pants.”