Covet

by James, Ella

  “I’m close.”

  I quicken my stroke, run my thumb over the wet spot where he’s leaking, and then, when I’m positive he’s just swelled further, when he starts to writhe and grab at me, I close one hand around his sac and pump my other up his length again.

  When my closed fist brushes the notch there at the rim of his glistening tip, he gives a mighty jerk and grabs himself.

  My head spins as I feel his sac harden against my palm, as I watch his thick cream spill between his fingers, dripping down the taut engorgement of his sex.

  He’s panting, but his face has slackened. I watch his pulse thrum at his throat and want to lick it. Bite it.

  My gaze attaches to his heavy pecs, finding his perfect, brown nipples erect. I’m aware as my hand lifts away from his sex that it’s time to step away. He’s relieved—I’ve eased his discomfort—but between my own legs, I feel heavy. Heavy and…riotous.

  He runs a hand over his length, and I throb. I can’t say where. Perhaps it’s all of me. I press my thighs together, feeling odd and slightly fearful.

  His eyes open. “You okay?”

  He looks near asleep.

  I hear myself laugh. “Yes, are you?”

  He inhales deeply. “Great.”

  I turn around and get a towel, setting it atop him.

  “Thanks.” He’s still panting a bit, so I decide I’ll clean him up. It’s quite strange to run such ordinary terrycloth over his slackening sex. It’s still enormous. As I wipe it tenderly, it seems to flinch.

  He groans.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck no.” His eyes open again. “Hey, do you want…” His brows draw slightly together, and I can feel the question in the ether.

  My pulse races as I shake my head. His gaze remains on mine, as if asking, Are you sure?

  “No thank you,” I murmur.

  “That was so good, Finley.”

  And, at that, he’s gone. Sunk into dreamland.

  After I cover him, I go stand beside the stream, where I touch the inseam of my shorts with quaking fingers. I imagine my hand gliding up my thigh, beneath the fitted seam-line of my own white underthings…over my dark, coarse curls.

  I can’t stop myself. I glide my fingers over my sex, stunned to find it slick and swollen. When my fingertip nudges the slit between my lips, I have to bite my cheek to keep from moaning.

  Oh, Declan…

  I need my finger in that place. I need something to fill where I feel needy for his harsh engorgement.

  I’m breathing so hard, it echoes. I close my eyes and I imagine his smart fingers parting my forbidden crevice. I’m so very, very wet…could he fit in?

  I push a fingertip inside and cry out. I’m throbbing, my entire body aching with the need to feel…him. In my fantasy, he’s lying flat as he was, his sex jutting up. I tug it toward me, push its thick tip to my swollen flesh.

  I imagine spreading my legs open for him. He would push inside—so large and long—and I’d be filled completely…to the point of sinful madness.

  I see his taut jaw, then his parted lips. I see his dazed eyes and that kind smile he gives me at odd moments. And I can feel his cheek beside mine.

  My beloved.

  The words chill me. How…ridiculous. And shameful. Sinful. I feel ill as I dip my hand into the stream and wash away the evidence of my wicked thoughts.

  Twenty

  Declan

  I feel…better. It’s the first thing I notice as I blink up at the craggy ceiling. All the fucking dread, the racing heart shit—gone. Along with the surreal sensation I hate so much. I’ve still got the empty-chested feeling, but it’s physical. That shit, I can handle. Pain and discomfort—that’s the easy part.

  I roll over, hoping to go back to sleep. That’s when I feel it. My shorts…

  The surreal feeling’s back, making my stomach roll as I reach down and find…oh, thank fuck. My hand brushes the towel on my crotch, and then I know I didn’t dream it.

  Finley really jerked me off. I had a giant, detox hard-on and she…helped.

  Again, with the fucking roller coaster. My heart bobs like a buoy up into my throat, so I can hardly breathe. I shut my eyes, and I can see her lower lip between her teeth, her long, red hair over her shoulder as her hands rub up and down my cock. Pale, tentative hands…that pumped my dick—and rubbed my back.

  Warmth spreads through me like some kind of Harry Potter shit. Shame kicks up behind it. Shame and something heavy, like a metric fuck-ton of regret. That this is who I am. That she saw me this way and…I don’t know. What did she think?

  She grabbed my dick.

  I tell myself that means she doesn’t think I’m scum, and when I’ve got the nerve to look around, I spot her over by the cave’s mouth, standing with her hands on her hips and her face tilted toward the boulder that’s blocking us in.

  I let my gaze run up and down her. Siren. She looks like a siren…or a mermaid. She’s on the taller side, with curvy hips, a nice, round ass, and big breasts. Her face has that extra clean look some women have. I think it’s something with her skin. It just looks soft. I can’t see her very well across the cave, so I close my eyes and see her face. A few freckles across the nose...and those lips. Damn.

  She gives me these looks sometimes where she’s got her brows raised and her eyes wide and her lips pursed, and she looks like a sassy schoolmarm. I can see her sitting by me—leaning over me—her face framed by a few loose strands of hair…and I can hear her soft voice.

  “Darling.”

  It feels weird to have a woman act like that with me. Even more so because I liked it. I glance at her again across the burrow and it’s just…weird. I’ve known her less than a week, but it feels like a lot longer. When I look at her, I don’t see a near-stranger. I see Finley.

  I guess I could go back to sleep, but now I sort of feel like talking to her. We’re stuck in here together, after all, and I’m not losing my damn mind for once. I probably will be later, when the benefits of sleeping wear off. But right now, I feel close to normal. And I want to see her. I want to see her blush when I walk over to her.

  I pull my pants up, moving carefully, so I don’t draw her eye yet, and then get to my feet. My body doesn’t ache as much as it does sometimes. I feel so much better, I can’t help a cheesy grin as she looks over at me.

  The second our eyes meet, Finley’s brows arch and her lips round into an “o.” As I close the distance between us, she looks back up at the boulder again and then, reluctantly, at me. Nervous.

  As soon as I’m beside her, I give her a how ya doin’ look, and she drops her gaze down to her feet as her cheeks flush.

  I knew it.

  “Whatcha see down there?”

  She laughs softly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Woman is so shy, she can’t even answer me. I swat her messy ponytail.

  “I see something.”

  She turns to me with startled eyes, and I wiggle my brows. “Something in your hair.”

  “What was it?”

  “Bug.” I smirk.

  She makes a face, and I tug her ponytail again. “Got it that time.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  When she still won’t look at me, I close my hand around her ponytail and smooth it gently down. “How many times do I have to pull on this to see your face?”

  Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m relieved to find a small smile on her lips. A shy smile. I let go of her hair, and she looks down again.

  “Don’t be shy, Siren.”

  Her blush deepens. “I’m not.”

  “Yeah you are.”

  She shakes her head, pursing her lips as she examines the floor. I crouch down in front of her, and she laughs. “You’re so odd, Carnegie!”

  “I’ve been told that.”

  “Get up now.” Her fingers stroke my hair. “I want to show you something.”

  I stand, and she points up at the boulder, which looks bigger than it did last time I saw it.
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  “Damn. You got a lot of rock down.” I hold my hand up, palm out, for a high-five before I remember she’s not a Sox bro, but she high-fives me anyway.

  “Push on it,” she whispers.

  I do, and it moves so much, my knees nearly give out with relief. “Well, hell. I think I might be able to move this fucker.” I look over at her. “Can you spot me?”

  She lets out a little squeal then bounces on the balls of her feet. “Wait! What does that mean?” She laughs.

  “Just push up on it like I am. If it gets unstable or I’m pushing and I lose my grip on it, I’ll give you some warning, and you can duck out of the way.”

  “Are you fine to do it? You don’t want to wait till later?”

  “I’m good.”

  I push up, grabbing the edge I now can reach since she cleared more rock from the cave’s mouth. I get my hands around the edge of the cool stone, noting that it’s not that thick: maybe eight inches. Using all the muscle of my arms and back, I push. When I feel it give and shift, I shove harder.

  Wind caresses my hands and my wrists, and I hear Finley laughing. I don’t dare look up. I push harder. No movement. I inhale, and then I push again. A bolt of hot, near-paralyzing pain shoots through my shoulder, but I keep on. I feel Finley pushing with me. When it doesn’t budge, she whispers something that sounds like a swear word. We both shove.

  There’s a scraping sound, and when I look up, I see blue sky.

  Oh, fuck.

  That’s enough space for Finley to slip through. I push the motherfucker one more time and the space widens. Finley’s shrieking.

  Her body smashes into mine, her arms wrapping around my waist as her face pushes against my chest. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus! We did it!”

  She squeezes me. I spread my hand out on her small back, feel her shake beneath my palm. She laughs but then it sort of sounds like crying.

  “I am not a crier.”

  “Sure you aren’t…” I rub big circles on her back, and Finley sags against me.

  “I can smell the ocean,” she sighs.

  I look at the swatch of sky. Then I scoop her up and lift her toward it.

  “No!” She locks her arms around my head, her legs around my waist. “I won’t go up without you, crazy man.”

  I set her down, and she gives me a look of disbelief.

  I shrug.

  “We’re a team.”

  I nod. “Partners.”

  I hold her pack as she stuffs everything inside. When we’re back at the cave’s mouth, she laughs. “Thank you!”

  “You did most of it. Chipping all that rock away is what did it.”

  Before I lift her up, I wrap my hands around the ledge of the cave’s mouth and ease my torso partway out. My burning shoulder makes my forearms quake. The sunlight hits me like a brick. But I can see the difference in the landscape. The slope-side and the valley—all of it a sea of broken rock. I look to my left and find the peak we traversed missing its archway and the rock spires.

  “You were right,” I tell her, easing back down. “That arch fell, and most of it is right on top of us. I’m gonna lift you up into a field of rocks—but it looks stable.”

  Shock moves over her face. “Did you see anyone?”

  I shake my head, and she blinks.

  “C’mon, Siren.” I shove her pack up through the gap and wrap my hands around her waist. A moment later, Finley’s smiling down at me.

  “There’s so much wind! C’mon!”

  My shoulder blazes as I lift myself, but coming out under the sky is worth it. Grass and wetness, stone and sea fill my nose. The sky has never seemed so big, so blue. I look up and down the valley.

  “Rocks are everywhere,” she murmurs.

  I nod. If they came looking for us, there’s no way they would have found us.

  Finley touches my leg, laughing softly. “Your shorts.” I look down. They don’t look like khakis anymore. “They’re filthy!”

  Fuck, they’re hanging off my hips. I fold my hand around the fly to hold them up.

  “Showing your underpants,” she chides.

  “You like it.”

  We walk through the valley like we’ve just stepped off a spaceship. The scent of grass fills my head. Finley turns a circle, grabbing my hands as she comes to face me. She grins.

  “You look horrid. Do I?”

  “Oh yeah.” I ignore the sudden dip of my stomach and smile back at her. “Like something the cat dragged in.”

  That makes her giggle. “We need baths.”

  We don’t try to go over the peak where all the rock fell. Instead we move through the valley toward the ocean, toward the Patches. Toward the road where I’m hoping the SUV I drove here will be waiting. When we round the peak’s grassy side, the ocean’s surface flashes brightly, making my heart beat off-rhythm.

  Finley’s hand finds mine. Our fingers intertwine. “You need a rest…in bed.”

  “I’m cool.”

  Her sad smile says she sees through me. By the time we reach the Land Rover, my legs are shaking.

  She reclines my seat, hands me some water. The cap’s off, but I don’t notice till it spills on my lap.

  “Blimey…”

  My head aches. My stomach feels somehow both sick and hollow.

  “When we get to town, they’ll likely crowd the Land Rover. I’ll lock the doors and only open mine. I’ll get out and explain. I believe I’ll tell them you’ve got a concussion. Perhaps a cracked rib. If you’d like, we’ll drive directly to the clinic.”

  I shake my head lightly, try to get my rubber mouth to form words. “Not there,” I whisper.

  I fall through silence as our tires bump over gravel.

  “Okay,” she says. “Gammy’s house, and I can bring what you need.”

  I try to stay awake, so I can listen if she wants to share more thoughts as she drives toward the village. But I guess I fail. When I open my eyes next, I see a sea of faces through the windows. Finley’s chair is empty. I can’t find the energy to lift my head again.

  Sometime later, I feel her move back inside the car.

  “How are you?” she murmurs.

  “Okay. You?”

  Everything is shaking with the tires over the road, and I feel fucking sick. The car stops, and I crack my eyes open, finding she’s parked right by the house’s door. She has it held open when I get to the porch.

  “There now…come on in.”

  She takes my arm. I let her. The house smells like lemons, and my head hurts really bad.

  I can’t follow her voice, but I know it’s nice and soft.

  The bed she urges me into is even softer.

  “That’s right…let me cover you up.”

  From somewhere that feels like a dream, I hear a phone ring. Not a cell phone.

  “Someone’s calling. I’ll be right back, Sailor.”

  The next time I open my eyes, dawn glows through the pale curtains, and I’m alone.

  Twenty-One

  Finley

  I didn’t realize until after Gammy passed, but she began work on Mummy’s wedding gown the week after Charles Carnegie departed. I know only because I treasured the gown dearly and was therefore quite familiar with its look and stitching. I found Gammy’s design sketches tucked into The Grapes of Wrath after we tucked her into her grassy resting place. The date was scrawled up top in her angular pen.

  Henceforth, I was left to wonder if the dress was made in hope or in surrender.

  Perhaps Mummy asked Gammy to make it, told her Charles would be returning to ask her hand. In the days just after he departed, I believe Mum surely felt emboldened by their dalliance. So it may be that Gammy set about sketching a gown fit for a Mrs. Charles Carnegie.

  Or it may be entirely the opposite. Charles departed, and my wise Gammy knew that Mum would wind up married to my father. She figured if it wouldn’t be a love match, at least Mummy could get married in a lovely dress.

  I stand before the mirror at the doctor’s qua
rters, pressing the dress to my naked body. I fold an arm across my chest and the dress, freeing up my other one to pull the tie from my hair. I spread my hair over my shoulder and I tilt my head a bit—so I look matronly. More like the Mummy in my memories.

  I tried to don the gown anew a few moments back, but over the years I’ve fattened up and I can’t fit into it.

  Tears well in my eyes as I peer at my reflection. I’m still drying from my shower. Anna shoved me in before she and my dear ones left. After Holly and Dot asked ten million questions about Declan, and I fed them quite a large number of lies.

  I look at myself, covered by the gown, and I open my jewelry box and remove Gammy’s diamond. It fits my finger flawlessly—along with the band. I lay the gown over a chair and twirl through the quarters wearing nothing but the jewelry.

  The phone rings off the hook, and not from anyone in need of doctoring. More people want to bring food. I told them back beside the Land Rover that no one should disturb Declan as he rests—so all the food’s been brought to me.

  One of the many times it rings, I answer, and it’s Doctor again. He called at the cottage, having heard from his friend Father Russo I had gone there, but I feigned connection troubles. Now I feel like I’ve swallowed a fish as he says, “If it isn’t dear, lost Finley…”

  I try a weak laugh. “I’ve been found.”

  “Russo said you arrived in the village, both fairly unharmed.”

  I swallow. “No one was seriously hurt. It was just the fallen rock that trapped us in a…more burrow than cave.”

  “No way out?”

  I nod, licking my lips. “It was horrid.”

  “I’d imagine. What’s he like? What did you eat?”

  “I had those Atkins bars that came for Joshua McGillin. Just a half dozen. We had those.”

  “You and the great Homer Carnegie.”

  “He’s quite…regular. You’d get on nicely, I think.”

  “Is that right? Too bad we’ll miss each other.”

  Doctor’s ship returns after Declan’s departs. “It is.”

  “So no injuries for you? My beloved nurse is well?”

  I nod. “I was quite lucky.” I lick my lips again. “How are you, Doctor? How is your father getting on?”