by Lindsey Hart
CHAPTER 13
Cliff
I don’t think rational thoughts when I taste Rowan there. I should be thinking about how amazing she tastes. Believe me, I am. Because she does taste incredible. My head is spinning as I worship her, and while she whimpers and grinds her fingers through my hair into my skull and bucks her hips into my mouth so I can taste her better, my thoughts keep attacking me.
This. This is the first instant—the first second. But no, if I’m honest, I think it happened a while ago. Sometime between the first time I ever saw Rowan and the fake date where she was telling me off. Or maybe it was the ice cream after that. Well, I have no idea when it happened, but I know this is just the beginning of the descent. The falling. The spiral downward into losing parts of myself. Like my heart. I wasn’t really loved the first time, and as a result, I was scared to try the whole love or other sentiments far tamer, but I was also scared of ever being loved again.
And now, suddenly, I’m on my knees without really even understanding why or how I got to this point. I mean, I do know how it happened—the logical steps. I just can’t comprehend what’s going on in my chest. It’s squeezing and clenching and being a general nuisance. I don’t just want to worship Rowan’s body. I want to worship all of her. All the parts she can’t see. All the parts that have been hurt before. I know I can’t just erase it away. The pain is there. It is real, just like mine. We both had shitty hands, and we were both taking a break from this. But no, I never would have taken a break from this or anything close to this if I had known what this was. This is nothing like I’ve known before. This is everything. I want to make love to her, but I also want to breathe life back into all those dead, dark parts of herself that are probably just like the dead, dark parts of me.
“Oh god…” Rowan moans. She drags my head closer to her and rides shamelessly against my face.
“Guess it means I’m doing this well?”
Her fingers tangle tighter in my hair, and her nails scrape against my scalp in response. I think that’s a hardcore affirmative.
I let my tongue glide over her, savoring the way her taste plays over my tongue. Her musk is sweet and deep and just a little bit salty at the end. I keep working her, coaxing those beautiful, eager whimpers from her throat that I so badly want to hear. I don’t hold back, and neither does she. I find her clit and suckle it into my mouth, lightly scraping my teeth over the hard bud as gently as I can. She whimpers louder and rocks her hips so hard into my face.
“Cliff,” she moans. “I’m going to—I don’t want to—uh—I don’t want to do that yet. I want… I want to wait. Until… until you’re inside of me.”
“Christ,” I groan. My cock twitches so hard that I’m shocked to hear silence in the barn when there should have been fabric tearing. “If you keep talking like that, I might not even make it to that point.”
“Condom,” she pants. “Now.”
I’m kneeling on the pile of our clothes, so all I have to do is bend down and scrabble through the layers until I find my jeans. I turn them over and produce the silver wrapper out of my pocket.
“Do you only have one?”
“Uh, yeah… I told you I wasn’t really planning on this happening.”
“I’m not on the pill,” Rowan says. “I don’t have anything weird, and I’m seriously and absolutely sure I ovulated last week because I do keep track of that stuff. But still. If anything happens to that condom, it would be like playing with fire, and I’m not willing to play with fire, at least not where this is concerned. If you wreck that condom in any way before you get it on and get it inside of me, we’re going to have to settle for hands and uh… mouths.”
“Hands and mouths.” I glance down at the condom. “I’m tempted to throw this in the fire right now and run with that.”
“No!” Rowan shouts, horrified. She flushes after and eyes the fire. “Uh, I meant—that is—I think burning something like that would release a lot of toxins into the air. It would be gross. Bad for the environment. And our lungs. And all of that.”
“You’re adorable.”
I silently calculate how we’re going to do this. I figure doing this with Rowan up against the wood beam might leave her all sorts of slivery after, and I don’t think that would be the best possible outcome. I eye our clothes on the floor. Finally, I settle on arranging my jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket down first and then placing her much nicer coat overtop. I set her shirt down on the bottom of the coat, just because I don’t think the wool is going to launder that easily.
Rowan glances down at the pile and gives me a questioning glance. “And here I thought you were just going to do it in a really awkward, slightly painful, standing up position where we fought to get it in for half an hour before it actually got to the right spot.”
I shake my head and nearly snort when I notice her grinning at me shyly. It’s nice to see that she can have fun with this—the awkward parts of this.
“I thought that this would be better.”
Rowan nods and shifts away from the beam before going to lie on the pile of clothes. Watching her spread out on the jacket and glancing up at me with that gentle flush of color on her cheeks nearly undoes me. She’s a goddess. All flawless perfection. Her breasts are perfect, her nipples delicious little peaks. Her waist is impossibly narrow, her stomach flat, and her hips flare out sweetly. Her legs are also long and shapely.
I have to cut off my perusal before I start thinking about her legs wrapped around my waist and lose it altogether.
I hurry up with the condom because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get it on at all. I pull down my boxers, ready to roll the thing on, and Rowan lets out a gasp. Thinking something was wrong, I look at her in surprise and nearly drop the condom onto the barn’s floor, which would be the end of that.
“Oh god…” She breathes. She’s staring right at my—er—crotch region.
“I’m sorry, I—uh…”
“It’s big. It’s really big. Like you might actually damage me with it big. Do you know how to use that thing? Please tell me you do because I don’t want an internal injury.”
I glance down at my erection, which is standing proudly straight out in front of me. It’s thick and throbbing, the tip a dark red.
“How is it that big around too?” Rowan’s eyes widen.
Now I think I’m the one blushing. “Okay, okay, you’re going to give my dick a complex.” I slide the condom on. I don’t bother to tell her the size of the thing, or she’d get really freaked out. “I promise I’ll be careful. I would never hurt you.” But her eyes still brim with fear. “Or we can just call this off completely. Go for the hands and mouth idea. I liked that one equally as much.”
“No! It’s just that… from this angle, things look really good. You’re really fit. Your six-pack is more like an eight-pack. You’re ridiculously fit, and I’m—”
“Gorgeous.”
She flushes. Our eyes meet, and hers are full of vulnerability and trust. It’s a heady mix that I know I will do my absolute best to never betray. I stretch out over her, our cooled skin warming on contact. She curls into me, and even though I’m physically much bigger than she is, we’re a perfect fit.
“I feel things,” Rowan whispers in my ear. “Things I’m not sure I should. It’s way too soon, and they’re way too scary.”
“I feel them too.” I stroke back a strand of hair and kiss her temple.
“Are you sure it’s not just testosterone?”
I grin against her hairline. “It might be a little more than that.”
“I’m scared too.” Rowan’s leg locks around my waist. Her heels dig into my upper thigh, and I nearly see stars.
“I know.”
“Not about this. Not really.”
“I know.”
Both her hands twine around my neck, and our mouths meet furiously. I ease into her slowly. She’s so tight, and I’m not small, as she alluded to. We fit together this way too. L
ike we were made for each other. She’s heaven—glorious, amazing heaven. I have to stay still inside of her because I’m afraid a single thrust might be the end of me. She’s tight and warm, and I can already feel her clenching all around me.
When her hips wiggle beneath me just a little, I tuck my hand under her, lifting her away from the cold ground. She gasps as I start to move, thrusting as gently as I can. I pretty much see stars already, but somehow, I manage to bend my head and take her nipple into my mouth. She shudders below me, her pussy clenching even harder around my dick, which is bad news for me.
I’m so ready to come. All I can do is lift my head and let the stars play out behind my closed eyes. I bring my hand between us and find her clit, circling it gently while I thrust into her a little faster. Harder. Long, even strokes. Her breathing becomes raspy, and her hips buck below me. Her heel grinds a trench into my thigh while her entire body shudders. I keep circling her bud until I feel the first few ripples of her orgasm coming on. I thrust harder, picking up the tempo, and thankfully, she finally bursts below me. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold off.
Rowan comes hard, and her whole body jerks off the ground below me. She doesn’t make a sound, but her nails dig in hard at my shoulder, and her breathy little moans are somehow sexier than if she’d let loose with a whole volley of screams.
I figure she’s near the end of her climax, so I finally let go. I watch her, her head thrown back, her throat muscles straining, her lips working silently. I watch until I can’t anymore because when I come, there’s no way I can see anything but blinding white light. I come hard, and after, I nearly collapse right on top of her. I manage to roll off to the side, right onto the cold, dusty barn floorboards.
“That was amazing,” Rowan purrs as she curls into me.
“I can definitely up my game. Next time I’ll make sure it’s more romantic than this.”
“Romantic?” Rowan giggles. “I think this might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever done.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Rowan’s arms circle my neck again, and she presses herself firmly against me. Amazingly enough, she doesn’t seem like she’s in any hurry to leave. Neither am I. This moment is absolutely, amazingly, incredible. For once, I’m not worrying about how this won’t work out down the road. I’m not questioning the point of doing this at all. I’m not questioning anything. I’m just letting myself be here. Right here. Right now. With Rowan.
And it’s pretty damn near perfect.
CHAPTER 14
Rowan
I quit my job.
I couldn’t see any other way around it. It’s not like I could explain why I couldn’t send Cliff another dating profile, at least in good conscience. I also couldn’t say it was likely we’d get a good review from both Cliff and his mom. My boss wouldn’t understand. It’s only been a day, and I’m not sure I understand.
I just know that on Sunday morning, I woke up and felt different. Not just physically different—though I was sore in a lot of really nice spots in really nice ways—but really different. The past few weeks were an accumulation of realizations that I knew, as soon as I woke up, that I couldn’t keep doing this. Janice was right. There are other things out there. This job wasn’t even what I really wanted to do. I did take it because the pay was alright, and they were willing to hire me. I clung to it when I had nothing else, and I let it give me meaning and define who I was when I was lost. It’s been the one constant that saw me through a lot of change, but I felt like I could finally let it go.
Now that I’m walking down the sidewalk with a duffel bag of my stuff, because I didn’t have a box, I feel a surge of hope flood through me. It’s gorgeous out. The sky is blue, and the sun is already warm, shining down full force, even at nine in the morning. I feel lighter. Like I could float right up into the sky and join the sun up there. I feel good. I feel happy.
When I reach my car, I throw the duffel bag in the back seat and slide in behind the wheel. I just sit there though, staring out the windshield, seeing nothing at all.
Finally, I dig for my phone and send Cliff a text.
Rowan: I quit my job today. No, it’s not because of you. Don’t worry. This is a good thing. It’s been a long time coming, but I just didn’t see it until now. It, meaning all the other things I actually want to do with my life. I guess I didn’t have the courage to do any of them before. I’ve always wanted to own my own retro/vintage store. I’ve been thinking about applying at one, or at least at an antique or thrift store, while I take night classes to learn something about business before I even try to see if this will work.
I hit send. The text pops up on the screen, and it looks like a freaking novel. I nearly groaned at myself. I should have put this into an email. Texts are just so—so, I don’t know. Blah. But now that I have sent it already, I guess I should forget about switching to email. So, I keep going, trying not to blow up Cliff’s phone, but also trying to keep the texts from being three feet long.
Rowan: I haven’t had the courage to do anything I’ve truly wanted to do. I felt safe. My job paid the bills. I could afford my own place. I was scared to go out there and do what I really wanted. I’ve stayed in a lot of things that weren’t good for me because I was scared. Because I just couldn’t see what was happening. Thank you for helping me open my eyes.
Rowan: (blushing face emoji) Sorry, maybe that’s coming on too strong. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant our conversations helped as well—the things you said to me. I did have some help from my sister, too, so you’re not entirely to blame.
Rowan: That was a joke, btw.
Rowan: Okay, well, before this gets weird, I’m going to drive my butt home and get working on my resume.
Rowan: I know you’re probably not up yet, but when you are, and when you read these, please feel free to come over. You’re probably a master at resumes. I could use the pointers.
Rowan: I mean if you want to. I’m not trying to use you for resume help.
Rowan: Unless you want to be used, that is. In which case, I could make an exception. (winking face emoji)
There is no answer, and I can tell my texts haven’t been read. I’m appalled at how many I sent, so I tuck my phone safely at the bottom of my tote and concentrate on driving back home. I have to say my stomach is a mess of nervous butterflies, but they’re good butterflies. They’re happy butterflies. The kind of butterflies that make me feel like I did the right thing. They’re excited butterflies. Hopeful butterflies. A new beginning kind of butterflies.
After I get back to my apartment, I check my phone. I have to admit I’m disappointed. Cliff hasn’t read my messages yet. I make myself set my phone away so I can sit down on the couch in the living room, open my laptop, and browse for jobs. I know I’ll probably have to do a lot of legwork myself, especially if I want to get a job at one of the shops I like. They likely wouldn’t post that they were hiring, but if I went in and talked to the owners or managers—people who already know me because I shop at their stores so often—I might actually have a chance.
After browsing through a few pages of job ads, none of which are very exciting, I refuse to get disappointed or discouraged. I get out my phone to check a few other sites, but instead, I lose myself in social media for a few hours. One of my favorite sites posted a dozen new vintage finds, and the hours tick by after that.
I’m not used to being at home on a Monday. Not having a schedule, deadlines, clients to follow up, or profiles to go over is just weird. I check my texts again, but Cliff still hasn’t read my messages.
I set my phone down and plod into the kitchen to make myself a smoothie and a sandwich. After that, I sit down and work on my resume for a good three hours like a possessed woman. I don’t come up for air, and by the time I’m done, I’m shocked to see how much time has passed. I pick up my phone to check the time, but I can’t help checking my texts. My messages still aren’t read.
Weird. It’s almo
st three. Cliff has to be up by now. Maybe he’s one of those people who doesn’t check his phone often. I should have emailed him. I’m sure he’s going to respond.
We left the barn without any expectations, but I felt like there was a lot of stuff that went unsaid. We opened up to each other. We shared something monumental. Something special. He isn’t one of those guys who uses someone and then ghosts them. He wasn’t just after one thing.
We didn’t talk yesterday, but I also didn’t feel the need to get on my phone and call or text him. I felt happy. Blissed out. Special. I felt like a lot of things made sense. I didn’t need confirmation that we were on the same page.
Did I?
I force myself up from the couch. My eyes are blurry from staring at my laptop screen for so long. I have a pretty ancient printer sitting on an older end table in the corner of the room, so I print off ten copies of my new resume to start.
I was already dressed for work. My hair and makeup are passable. Taking a deep breath, I grab my car keys and decide to go drop a few resumes off. At least that way, if I don’t get any calls within the next couple of days, I’ll know I have to start looking for something to tide me over until I get a job I actually enjoy. I don’t want to fall into the crack of doing something I don’t want to be doing, but I realize the reality of having to pay rent and bills is going to make that decision for me. I have enough savings to get through this month and the next without working, but I’d like to have something in place long before then.
There’s always the fact that I’ve been working since I was sixteen, either part-time or full time, and I’m not used to being at home all day with nothing to do. There are a few shows I’ve been dying to binge-watch. I could make myself a planter for inside the house and expand my cactus growing skills. I could foster a cat to see if it’d work out for me. I could try and learn a new hobby. But after that? What am I supposed to fill up all my hours with?