by Lane Hart
Clearing my throat, I tell Malcolm, “I need a few hours, you know, to tie up some loose ends.”
“A few hours? You’ve had weeks!” he shouts at me, clearly running out of patience.
“Just give me a few hours!” I demand, making his eyebrow arch in surprise at my refusal.
Blowing out a breath, he runs his fingers through his wavy brown hair before he finally says, “Two hours. Your ass will be on the seven o’clock ferry tonight. That’s a goddamn order!”
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll see you then.”
“You better,” Malcolm says before he stomps off down the steps and climbs into his waiting golf cart. The sight of him in his leather cut in the cart is so fucking bizarre, I wish I had my phone to take a photo. He even flips off some senior citizens who ride by gawking at him and then drives toward the docks.
Like a zombie, I turn around to go back inside. After locking the door, I slowly head to the bedroom while trying to figure out how the hell to leave Cora. We both knew this day was coming. The excuse is an easy one – my vacation time is up, and work needs me back tonight. No, the hard part isn’t what to tell her but how to physically make myself leave her behind and go back to my life in Carolina Beach.
At first, I stayed for the amazing sex and comfort food, but lately, there’s been something else keeping me here. Being the good guy, having a woman look at me with such blatant adoration for once in my life was nice while it lasted, like playing a part. Time to close the curtain, take off my costume, and get the fuck back to reality. It’s stupid to think I could live in both worlds, have it all when I’ve been lying to the woman who worships me the entire time. Sooner or later, there will be cracks in my façade and she’ll figure out the truth – that I’m her worst nightmare and not a knight in shining armor.
“So?” Cora asks when she comes out of the bathroom with her pink silk robe on, tying the sash so loosely in the front that not only are both of her perky tits showing, but there’s a dick teasing amount of nipple peeking out. “Who was it?”
The lie is right there on my tongue – I have to go; I’ve been assigned to another case – but for some reason, I can’t make my mouth say it. The only word that comes out is, “Nobody.”
“Nobody?” she repeats.
“They were gone by the time I got outside. Looked around and didn’t see anyone,” I lie some more. What does it matter in the big scheme of things? Everything I’ve told Cora for weeks has been bullshit. She doesn’t even know my real name. A little piece of my blackened soul dies every fucking time she calls me Sam.
“Good,” she says as she saunters up to me and presses her lips to the skull tattoo on my pec while her fingers lower the zipper on my pants. “Now where did we leave off?” she asks, her tongue circling my nipple while her hands undo my pants and tug them down my thighs. “Oh, that’s right. I’m going to show you how much I want you by getting on my knees and sucking your dick until it’s hard enough to fuck me again.”
Kneeling in front of me, Cora closes her eyes and rubs her soft, smooth cheek on my stiffening cock like it’s her favorite thing in the world, driving me fucking crazy.
I hiss out a guttural curse when she strokes me from root to tip with both of her hands and then wiggles the tip of her tongue over my slit a few times. When her lips part and she takes me in her mouth, my knees go weak with need.
I need more of her mouth.
More of her worshipping me on her fucking knees.
More of her squirming underneath me.
More of her sweet pussy coming all over my face.
More of her hands reaching for me in the night.
More of her face lighting up when she sees me and every time she steps into the restaurant.
More of Cora.
But all I have is two hours, and I plan to make them count.
I savor every second of her warm mouth, her wet tongue making my cock slicker with every thrust down her throat. This will be the last time I have her like this, so I don’t pull her off to fuck her or stop her when she moans around my shaft, her head bobbing faster and faster as I run my fingers through her hair. One last time fucking her sexy mouth, fucking her with my tongue, and fucking her pussy and then I’m done. We’re done. I’ll leave her and never look back.
“That’s so good, baby. So good,” I grunt in encouragement as my release builds and builds, making my balls so heavy I know they’re going to bust any second. “I love your fucking mouth,” I say as I look down at her, my hands caressing the sides of her beautiful face, holding it still as my hips begin to thrust down her throat, unable to last a second longer.
Cora’s eyes stay closed as her moans vibrate around my shaft. Her fingernails reach around and dig into my clenching ass cheeks, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough. I greedily take everything she offers too, because I’m a selfish bastard.
Cora
* * *
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
Rather than sound like he’s enjoying coming down my throat, Sam actually sounds…angry, like he’s yelling the words.
Did I do something wrong? He seems to be enjoying himself or he would’ve pulled me up to my feet by now.
That’s exactly what he does as soon as I’ve drained every drop from his cock. And my assumption he’s angry is reiterated when he picks me up and throws me down on the bed so hard, I bounce.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” I ask him as he steps out of his pants and then is crawling on top of me, his jaw clenched tight. “Did I do something?”
“No,” he grits out while his actions beg to differ. His hands jerk either side of my robe apart so roughly I hear the seams tear. Staring down at my nakedness for a moment before his dark eyes lift to my face, he says, “I just can’t get enough of you.”
“Oh. Well, that’s a good thing, right?” I ask as he sits back on his knees, his palms molding to my breasts.
“Yeah. Right,” he agrees before his mouth comes crashing down on my neck. His lips and tongue attack, tickling and teasing me until I squirm underneath him. Once he’s kissed every inch of my neck, he moves down to my boobs, taking his time licking each of my nipples. Slowly, too slowly when I’m aching for him, Sam’s lips leave wet kisses on my stomach, my hips, the insides of my thighs before they finally reach their destination, making me cry out in relief.
I’ve never met a man who loves going down on a woman as much as Sam does. He doesn’t rush to just get me off for the hell of it. No, he devours me each and every time, like I’m his favorite meal in the world. With my fingers tightly clutching the sheets, his tongue strokes up and down my folds before working the tip against my needy clit. And when my hips try to move to speed my orgasm up, his rough hands hold them down to keep torturing me.
Over and over again his tongue thrashes and then retreats, building up my climax until I’m certain I’ll die if he doesn’t let me come.
That’s when I start pleading with him. “Please! Please, Sam, please!”
“Not yet, baby, not yet,” he says, his voice vibrating against my flesh.
“No!” I whine when he takes his tongue away yet again. I’m so desperate I even release my grip on the sheets to grab the back of his head with both hands to try and make him keep going.
I feel his scruffy jaw rub against my inner thigh as he chuckles, but then he finally swirls his tongue back around my detonation switch, setting me off as my body jerks and my hips bounce toward his mouth. My eyes roll back in my head as I shout unrecognizable words.
Just when I’m about to float back down from the incredible high, another wave of pleasure comes over me. Again and again I come apart, more times than I can count before there’s a heavy weight pressing down on top of me.
It takes me a moment to even realize Sam’s inside of me.
Usually sex between us is wild, hard and fast.
Not this time.
He’s taking his time, moving in and out of me slow and deliberately, like it’s too good to r
ush. And I agree. This type of lovemaking needs to be savored, drawn out to the very last drop.
When my arms decide to work again, I wrap them around his back to pull him closer. I blink my eyes open, and that’s when his mouth finds mine, kissing me so deeply that the room spins.
Something is different with Sam. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but he’s never been like this, so…so sweet.
When our lips part so we can both suck in a breath, I look up into Sam’s eyes and they’re watching me, so full of emotion that moisture clouds mine before I blurt out, “I love you.”
He freezes on top of me a second, then buries his face in my neck where I hear him whisper, “No, you don’t.”
However close I was to coming again, it goes right out the window, even as he empties himself inside of me. Instead of the usual warmth, I suddenly feel cold inside.
Neither of us say a word when he rolls off of me and we lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling.
“I guess…we should probably get a shower before we go meet the sign guys,” I say into the heavy silence.
“You go ahead without me,” Sam replies. “There’s something I need to do.”
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles, which feels like an invisible, yet impenetrable wall coming down between us.
“Fine,” I huff, angry that he’s suddenly so grumpy just because I said I love him. I thought he felt the same way, but I guess I was wrong. This is just about sex and nothing more for him.
I sit up to climb out of bed and his hands shoots out to grab my arm, pulling me back down so he can place a hard kiss on my lips before he literally pushes me away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Silas
* * *
“Nice suit,” Malcolm remarks when I find him standing against one of the wooden posts at the marina, waiting for the ferry a few minutes before seven. I’m not wearing the navy-blue suit jacket that matches my pants, just clutching it in my fist, my white button-down sleeves rolled up to my elbows. I left everything else back at the house. None of it was really mine, anyhow. It belongs to a man I was pretending to be.
“You finally tie up those loose ends?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I reply as I watch the ferry approaching from the distance.
“Level with me, man. Does she know who you really are?” Malcolm demands.
“No, she doesn’t. I swear.”
“Good,” he grumbles. Shaking his head with a bark of laughter, he says, “You know, when you didn’t answer my calls, I thought you had killed her. It never occurred to me that you were sticking around, playing house while fucking her.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens,” I mutter. Apparently, I’m not the only one who doesn’t think I should be alone with a woman.
“That it does,” he agrees as we silently watch the ferry get parked and the handful of people coming over debark. “You bought her a fucking house and a store!” Malcolm exclaims so loudly that everyone turns to looks at us. “Not a cheap one either…”
“It’s a restaurant. And it’s my money, so what does it matter?”
“How come you didn’t tell us you were loaded?” he asks.
One of the dock guys takes our tickets and finally lets us board the ferry. “Didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“Guess not,” Malcolm grumbles as he follows me onto the back of the boat where we both take a seat on the bench.
We’re halfway back to the marina when he says, “Is that why you never win at poker or blackjack?”
“What?” I ask, surprised by the sudden change of topic.
“You never win,” Malcolm says. “How much effort does it take to lose every hand for years?”
Oh. That.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah?” he huffs. “I’m not certain Fiasco can even count to twenty-one, and he always beats you. Is he like a charity case or something? He does have two kids and their baby mamas to support…”
“Yeah, he does,” I remark with a shrug. Since I’m flush and know the other guys sometime struggle to pay the bills, I let them win hands, figuring that’s the only way they would ever take my money.
“Huh. Can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. You’re fucking loaded!”
“It’s not something I advertise. I don’t even spend that much of it, usually. It just sits in the bank most of the time.”
“Who left it to you? Family member?”
“No. A friend of the family,” I admit. “My dad’s old girlfriend.”
“I didn’t even know you had parents,” Malcolm replies. “Just assumed you were raised by wolves.”
“Wolves would’ve been warmer than my father,” I mutter.
“And your mom?”
“He killed her when I was four. Watched him do it,” I confess. “Not that I knew he had killed her at the time. I just thought his hands around her neck made mommy go to sleep for a really long time.”
“Holy shit,” Malcolm mutters, eyes wide in shock. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“How else did you think I became so fucked up?” I ask. “It wasn’t by choice.”
“Damn,” he says with a shake of his head. “Families are bullshit, especially fathers.”
“Yep.”
“Mine was a preacher who knocked up my mom when she was a teenager. Member of his congregation.”
“Oh yeah?” I say in surprise.
“He offered to pay for the abortion, she preferred child support, making the money last longer.”
“Damn, man. Guess we all have a shitty past.”
“Yeah, we do,” Malcolm agrees. “I’ve never told anyone but Naomi about him.”
“I’ve never told anyone I suspect my father is a serial killer who hides his bad deeds by working for the feds. There’s no fucking way my mother was the first woman he murdered. She definitely wasn’t the last. I know that for a fact…”
“Jesus,” Malcolm mutters. “Now I need a drink to wash all this history down.”
“No shit,” I agree.
“Meet you back at the clubhouse after we dock?” he asks.
“Yeah. Sure,” I agree as I watch the lights from the island get smaller and smaller, the boat taking me further and further away from Cora. Any minute now she’ll come home and find my note…
“Were you in love with her, or were you just fucking her?” Malcolm asks, like he knows exactly what I was thinking about. The fact that he used the past tense is not lost on me. His way of saying what’s done is done; now it’s time to move the fuck on. And it’s better this way, especially for Cora. It was only a matter of time before she realized the truth about me – that I wasn’t a good guy…
“I loved fucking her,” I admit honestly with a grin, avoiding thinking about the real question or the words she said to me earlier. It doesn’t matter now. The two of us are done and over. “Loved her cooking for me too,” I add. “Anything I wanted, she made it appear from scratch, like some kind of food magician.”
“Huh. That explains the gut. I thought you had just been drinking a lot and grew a beer belly,” he jokes with a chuckle.
“Fuck you,” I tell him.
Cora
* * *
“What do you think?” Terry, the sign guy from the mainland, asks as we step back and look at his team’s handwork out above the restaurant.
“It’s perfect,” I say with a huge smile, loving the bright yellow and white bubbly font that screams comfort food. “Thank you. And we appreciate you getting it done for us so fast.”
“No problem,” he says when he hands over his clipboard for me to sign acknowledging the completed delivery and installation. “Pleasure doing business with you. Good luck with the grand opening.”
“Thanks,” I say again.
“Let’s go!” he yells to the two-man crew that’s gathering up tools. “If we hurry, we can still make the seven-thirty
ferry!”
There’s work to be done, new boxes of supplies to open and put away; but with the sky darkening, I just want to go home and see Sam, try to get him to talk to me about earlier. While I wish he would’ve said those three words back to me, he didn’t, and I can’t rush him into feeling something. It just has to happen on its own. I need to be patient.
Maybe he feels the same way but is just worried about what happens when he has to leave and go back to work. We can figure it out, I’m sure of that.
When the workers are all out of the way, I snap a quick picture of our new sign with my phone to show him and then lock up.
As soon as I walk into the house, I know something is wrong.
For the first time in weeks, I’m actually a little scared, my heart racing out of control because it’s so dark and quiet.
“Sam!” I call out into the dark living room and kitchen, flipping on lights as I go. I check the bedrooms, but they’re all empty too. He said he had to take care of something, so maybe he’s still out.
I jog back downstairs to grab some water to try and calm my heartrate.
That’s when I finally see the handwritten note lying on the counter on the back of another old rental flyer. I pick it up, hoping it tells me more about where he’s gone and when he’ll be home. When it says neither of those things, I have to re-read it three more times before I finally comprehend what the words mean.
It was time for me to leave even though I wish I could stay here with you forever. Take care of yourself and don’t worry, you’re safe.
Is this some kind of joke?
After weeks of staying here with me, sleeping with me so many times I lost count, he just up and left, leaving a note rather than telling me to my face?
I knew something was different earlier, the last time we…oh my God! He knew then and could’ve told me! So why didn’t he? Why did he decide to leave a note instead of just saying goodbye?
How can he just be gone?
I sink down to the kitchen floor on my knees, unable to move or breathe. Even though I knew he couldn’t stay here with me forever, I thought he would at least consider trying to make our relationship work long-distance before he left.
