River

by Shayne Ford

  Once we touch the bottom, I peel my arms of her, grab her hand and pull her up.

  A moment later, we emerge at the surface and swim to the beach entry. I brace my arms against the edge, pull myself up and yank her out of the water too.

  Rolling to my side, I prop myself on my elbow. She scoots besides me, bends her knees, and hugs herself, hiding her body.

  Relaxed, I shake my head and run my hand through my hair. The water trickles down my body, rolling down my chest, heading to my groin.

  Her eyes follow the journey.

  Nothing short of a miracle, my jeans are still clinging to my body. Her eyes dip a few times, getting me warm and tense below my waist.

  “You don’t believe in swimsuits either?” she asks.

  “What else don’t I believe in?”

  “Doors, curtains, showers. Privacy, in general,” she says.

  “I don’t bring people to my house, so to me, it is private.”

  She runs her gaze over my chest, hardly registering what I just said.

  “And you get your way all the time,” she says without breaking her stare.

  I grin.

  “Most of the time, anyway,” I say, snaking my arm around her and sliding her to me.

  She falls into my arms, her shoulders propping on my forearm, her legs stretching along mine. With one hand she conceals her panties, with the other her bra.

  Mystified, she looks at me as I tuck damp tresses away from her face, and then gently tear her hands away from her body.

  My lips curl into a slow smile as I dip my gaze.

  Nature took its time to create this woman, and then, threw in some tease for good measure. A breath jams in my throat as I take her in, my heart pumping boiling blood at cosmic speed.

  I drink in the lush breasts, her trim waist, and the sculpted thighs outlining the slice of heaven between her legs.

  A lump forms in my throat, an inescapable crave barreling through my body. As if she senses my torment, she props herself onto her heels and pushes up.

  She slips and crashes back into my arms.

  “Don’t do that,” I say and shift my position, covering most of her body with mine.

  Goosebumps form on my arms. I could be buried in her in a split second, having that softness and simmering heat all over me, her body squirming under mine.

  And yet, I need to make sure she’ll stay.

  Reining in that impulse, I slowly push my knee between her legs, my hand tracing the taut skin of her thighs. Gently spreading them open, I near her core.

  Her eyes sparkle, her body arching slowly against mine.

  She’s so fucking ready, and she makes it so hard... Shallow breaths lift off her lips as my eyes connect with hers, and a world of lust births between us.

  She raises one knee to give me access, and my lips curl into a smile. Gently, I run my fingers over her panties and smoothly, push them underneath.

  Heavy, her lids slide over her eyes as I slowly run my fingers over her slit, part her clean-shaven folds, and brush the bud of pleasure nestled inside.

  She moans softly, her hips moving with my hand, her stare starting a small combustion inside me.

  “You’re so good...” I murmur, my voice hoarse, my fingers smoothly sliding her panties down.

  Our eyes stay locked as my hand goes back between her thighs and my fingers tenderly stroke her clit. Her silky flesh rolls, warm and wet, beneath my fingertips.

  A fog sets over her eyes, her body waving slightly, her breaths coming faster. One by one her walls crumble, the hunger flowing freely through her blood.

  Driven by her fire, she lets her hand roll down my body, and boldly palms my cock. A shudder goes through me.

  It’s fucking on, and it’s so much harder than I thought. I’m good at restraining myself, but not that good. My veins fill with a raw desire.

  “River...”

  Her voice is soft and sweet, pulling me out of my head.

  “Hmm?” I mumble, distracted.

  My lips trail down the silk of her neck and trace the smooth cradle of her shoulder, rolling softly over the edge of her bra. I pull the fabric down, and one by one, I capture her nipples between my lips.

  A scent of flowers lifts off her skin.

  Smoothly, I slip my finger under the front buckle and pull her bra open. Her breasts escape the lace, glowing in the dim lights.

  Breathing softly, I start kissing them, swirling my tongue over the hard buds. Soft moans crawl up her throat, her body slowly waving.

  Her legs open under me, her nails sinking into my back, her eyes pleading. I kiss my way up to her mouth and lower my chest onto hers, and as we touch, she moans, insanely hot.

  She tips her head back, her eyes half shut, observing me. She’s so good, waiting for me, torn, struggling. I kiss the corner of her lips, a stray tear trickling down her face.

  “River... Please.”

  I brush her lips again with mine, tenderly nudging them apart. My fingers weave in her hair, my grip tightening. I lower myself on top of her, her legs spreading beneath me, my rock-hard cock pressing against her slit.

  A jolt goes through her. Her hands latch onto me, her legs whipping around me.

  A growl creeps up her chest as I bury her under me, take her mouth, and thrust my tongue between her lips. The first taste of her spreads through me like raging fire.

  She arches and pushes against me, her scream muffled in our kiss, her tongue swirling with mine, her nails digging deep into my arms.

  She’s famished and strong and wild, the way she responds to me blowing my mind. The climax sweeps through her, unstoppable, and the harder she moves, the harder I kiss her, and the stronger I pin her down.

  She’s riding that fucking crest, convulsing in my arms, sucking my tongue, moaning, and growling. My body could easily burst into a million pieces.

  As she starts to scale down, I kiss her tenderly, indulging myself, sailing with her in an ocean of pleasure. Awaken, her body rocks against mine, hardly quenched.

  She lets out crying moans, and I know this is only the beginning. She’ll be hungrier than ever before. One thought plays in my mind, over and over in my mind. I can’t wait to make her mine.

  As I dance away with this idea, a silhouette glides through the living room, catching my eyes.

  Oh, no. Fucking, no.

  Smooth like a feline, Ron strolls across the stairs and aims straight for the sofa lounge. I don’t think he’s spotted us, but he certainly will, once we stand up.

  My neck tightens, a rush of adrenaline barreling through my body.

  I can’t fucking believe it. I should’ve told him I’m not alone. But then again, I didn’t want to tell him about Layla, and he knows I don’t bring women home. He would’ve guessed if nothing else.

  My eyes go cold. I take a deep breath, trying to push back my frustration. Concern flashes in her gaze as I lean close to her and speak quietly.

  “Ron is here. I’ll get you a robe.”

  I push off her, stride nearby, pick one from a chair and edge back to her. She pulls her pants up and puts her bra on. I’m so fucking embarrassed to let her go like that.

  I help her up, my body blocking Ron’s view as she slips into the robe. I kiss her, and she stares at me, waiting for me, her eyes gleaming so warmly, my heart melts into a puddle.

  “Hey, Ron,” I say, without turning before I spin around and walk her to the lounge area.

  “Layla? What a surprise!”

  For reasons that escape me, he beams like a lantern. He can’t be as stupid as he looks. He knows what’s going on, yet for reasons that escape me he can’t keep his mug under control.

  That’s exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid. Layla, becoming common knowledge. I don’t want to put a target on her back so anyone can have a shot at her.

  Whatever lies ahead of us, I don’t want the story to unfold like this. Not with drooling mouths, wolfish smiles, and eager eyes peeking over my shoulder. And certainly
, not with people keeping tabs on us, placing bets, and predators waiting their turn.

  Stiff, I run my hand through my hair.

  I could’ve fucking texted him, a lie if nothing else, to quench his curiosity. He’s smooth, yet he can’t refrain from roaming his eyes on her.

  Nobody’s fooling anybody.

  It’s clear as fucking daylight, what he walked in on.

  Poised, he blows smoke to the side and taps his cigarette on the ashtray’s lip, smiling, ready to chirp like a fucking hummingbird. This is getting nowhere, fast. I know she’s going to freak out, but I have no other choice.

  I touch Layla’s shoulder.

  “I’ll get your things ready.”

  Her eyes stay on Ron as she stifles her reaction.

  I motion to him.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  He begins to apologize to me as soon as we start walking to the house. I turn a deaf ear to him.

  “Is Lana gone?” I ask, cutting him off.

  “Yeah, she left. Listen... You could’ve told me. ”

  I shrug.

  “You know now.”

  “I’ll leave.”

  “It’s fine. She’s on her way out anyway. Keep her company a few more minutes. I’ll stop by at your place, later on.”

  He strides back to Layla, and I text Steve.

  A half hour later, with almost no words between us, and hardly any eye contact, I kiss her goodbye, my lips barely touching her face.

  “We’ll talk,” I say absently.

  I’m not even sure what I mean by that.

  Evading her eyes, I help her in the car. She doesn’t say anything, but I know it’s killing her because it kills me.

  Without looking back, I walk into the house just as the car pulls out of the driveway.

  13

  “What’s up with Lana Fox babe? You must’ve fucked her real good, ” Ron says, a smile sprouting on his lips.

  It’s been only two hours since Layla left, and I really don’t need his jokes. Taking a long breath, I push my anger back and stifle a retort.

  He lights up a cigarette and leans back in his chair while I take a sip of my drink. I shift my focus to the pool, evading his eyes. Throngs of colorful paper lanterns toss lights over the water.

  My mind drifts away.

  “I have no fucking idea what set her off,” I say after a while. “I don’t know where she got the idea that we might be an item. I should’ve cut her loose long time ago.”

  “Well, the thing is...” he says, ready to give me a piece of advice I have no use for right now.

  I flick my eyes to him as if I’m interested.

  “I bet the fucking was good,” he says, barely suppressing an amused smile. “But for women like Lana, it’s more than that. It’s okay if she kicks some loser to the curb but not so much if she gets the boot.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “You may need to file for a restraining order,” he says.

  I shoot him a glare, and he holds his hand up.

  “Hey. Don’t get mad at me. I’m speaking from my own experience.

  “Speaking of which, how are things with Alma?” I ask, reminding him about his own stupidity.

  He starts laughing.

  “Good. She’s out of the picture, and on a different continent,” he says as if he talks about a communicable disease.

  “What about Nora?”

  As soon as her name comes up, his expression changes, a mysterious smile lighting up his eyes.

  “What?” I ask, curious.

  It takes him a few moments before he speaks.

  “I’m fucking engaged.”

  My glass is about to shatter in my hand.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  I gawk at him as if a flying saucer just landed on his head. It can’t be. I examine his eyes. Maybe he’s high or the alcohol does the talking.

  He nods, smitten. The sight makes my chest tight and my stomach hurt.

  Ron fucking Welch, engaged?

  He’s never been married, engaged, committed, exclusive. You name it... He doesn’t need to be. He’s been with women as long as he has fancied them, not one day over.

  Exceptions aside, of course.

  Even so, they weren’t a problem, until recently. There have been clinging women besides Alma, but it was never difficult to disentangle himself from them.

  Lately, he’s gotten softer. And now, he’s engaged.

  Talking about telling signs.

  Fucking scary.

  Still, I have a hard time to believe it so I’m looking for an explanation. It must be a phase. Honestly, I don’t even know how to rationalize this thing. Nora is a fine, sophisticated woman, but why would he want to be engaged?

  Shit, I have to choose my words carefully around him. I know how sensitive, lulled men are.

  “Yeah...We’re engaged. Why is it so surprising?”

  There’s a 'we', now? Clearly, he has bigger problems than I have.

  “It’s... um... just hard to believe. Congratulations! What can I say?”

  “I know. I can’t believe it either.”

  His eyes sparkle flushed with tenderness, and I’m about to choke on air. He takes another drag on his cigarette. I can’t imagine Ron settling, but I keep my mouth shut and pretend I understand.

  We clink our glasses, and I toss my drink back. The alcohol burns the back of my throat and hits my blood, giving me a quick high.

  He crushes his cigarette in the ashtray and gives me a long stare before he starts to speak again.

  “Listen I know it’s not my business... And please don’t take it the wrong way. “

  He pauses, and all the good I felt from the alcohol vanishes, swallowed by angst.

  “I know you like Layla...” he says, serious this time, and for some reason, this thing alone makes me nervous.

  “You do?” I snap, mellower than normally, a concession, after all, considering we are in a celebratory mood.

  “Yes, I do.”

  He flashes a knowing smile, which is getting on my nerves fast, forcing me to turn my gaze back to the pool.

  “She’s, um…”

  He fumbles through words, and that’s unusual for him.

  “Listen, I don’t want any of you to get hurt. That’s all I’m saying. You’re going through some funk right now, and I know you want her, but give yourself some time to figure things out before you start to mess with her life.”

  “I thought you wanted me to mess with her life,” I say sarcastically.

  “I did. I do. But do it right.”

  “Don’t worry. I sent her back tonight,” I say, frustration threading through my voice.

  “Don’t get mad...”

  “I’m not mad. She’s gone. I’m not sure I want to see her again, anyway.”

  He raises an eyebrow, and shoots me a pointed look, making me feel like a fussing, spoiled brat, but I can’t open up to him. She’s something different for me. Something I have to figure out on my own.

  “Listen, I get it. I know I’m in a bad place, and I don’t want to complicate my life with someone like her... Really,” I say as his lips begin to curve into a slow smile. “No offense, but I’m not ready for all that crap, you know, commitment and shit... Drama. I get enough crap from women like Lana. I don’t need the tears and heartbreak of a child-woman. She’s hot–– I can’t deny it, but she can be a major headache.”

  As the words pour out of me, I’m stricken by my own conviction. I truly believe what I’m saying, and mostly because I want to talk myself out of her.

  Politely, he lets me gloat over my wisdom, although I doubt he’s buying my bullshit.

  “You’re probably right, “ he says. “But some things are worth the risk, and even the heartache, and I think she’s one of them. Even if you pay the price, you may not regret it in the end. I’m not saying to push her away. All I’m saying is to take your time, figure out your life first, and give this thing a
chance, so you don’t have regrets later on... That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it...” I say, pulling out of my chair.

  I shake his hand, congratulate him one more time, and leave.

  I’m the kind of man who craves solitude from time to time.

  I enjoy it as much as I love the cheering crowds. Typically, once I’m off the stage I prefer the quiet, soothing settings. It’s a way to take a break from the constant clamor of other people and keep myself sane. Even so, I never felt lonely.

  Loneliness, I come to understand, has nothing to do with how many people fill the space around you. Loneliness is a matter of feeling incomplete. And now, for the first time in my life something is missing.

  As I walk back from Ron’s place and enter my house, the memory of Layla comes back to me, and I feel lonely.

  I fight my way through a few hours of sleep before I give up, put my shorts on and head for the pool.

  It’s five o’clock in the morning, and I’m doing laps as if I’m training for the Olympics. No, I’m not an early bird. I never was. My head is buzzing with zinging thoughts, and none of them are good.

  The more I spin everything, the more anxious I become. I know that once I’m back to New York, I can pick up wherever I left off. I can fuck her as much as I want.

  But then what? What’s next? Take her with me wherever I go? Fuck her in my hotel room, now and then? Drag her into the spotlight, and keep her nearby, all freaked out, with a target on her back for anyone who wants to take a stab at her? Have bodyguards on standby to keep people like Lana and Jay, or the casual idiot, away from her?

  I’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, and I’ll be gone for months. People say you’ll never do anything if you overanalyze things. And that’s true, but there’s a good reason for that.

  Analysis brings out what makes sense and what doesn’t, and often times, things don’t make sense like this, right now.

  Which brings me back to why loose relationships made so much sense. Exceptions aside, they were perfect for me. At least until now. And one reason they worked out so well was because I never wanted or needed anything else.

  Why do I have to crave something else?

  As the hours tick by a conclusion crystallizes in my mind. It’s probably for the best if I just let go of her. She’s going to hate me, but it’s better now than later on.