by Penny Wylder
As much as I feel like I need my space, I know he and I need to talk. “Okay,” I say. “Dinner later.”
“It’s a date,” he says with a wink, and then gets back to his work.
I lug my camera equipment into the truck and start driving, hoping to find something to shoot that I wouldn’t typically find in the city. Even though I’d heard that early pregnancy can be draining, I’m filled with energy today. So much energy that I end up hiking to the top of a nearby hill at the recommendation of a park ranger. I set up for a series of amazing time lapse shots of incoming storm clouds. For a couple of hours I just sit there, watching the storm move slowly, miles away, and just think of . . . nothing. All thoughts of Gil and the murder and the baby flee my mind, and it’s just me and my camera and the great, big sky. By the time I hike down again it’s drizzling, and when I pull in front of Gil’s house another hour later, way past sunset, it’s a downpour.
I walk into the cabin drenched but exhilarated, ready to tell Gil about my shots and excited to look through them over nice hot cup of tea, but before I can even get my jacket off, Gil is on top of me.
“Where the fuck have you been, Jenna?” he asks, nervously running his hands over me. “Were you in an accident? Do you know what time it is? Are you hurt?”
Like an idiot it takes me a few beats to register that he was worried about me. Naturally he was, I come to realize. There’s a murderer on the loose and I just disappeared for hours. But another part of me, the grown-up, independent woman in me, feels offended. I can go and do whatever I want.
“Nice to see you too,” I say, pushing past him to hang up my jacket. “I didn’t realize I had to call home in case I was going to be late for curfew.” I shake off the droplets from my jacket and realize I’m just getting started. There are feelings bubbling in me right now that I can’t hold down. He may be my baby’s father, but he’s not mine. “You don’t see me barging into your studio, keeping tabs, interfering with your work.” My voice is rising and I’m not really sure what’s coming over me. And that’s when I see it.
Just beyond Gil is the table, all set. Candles burned down to stubs. Two plates. Cloth napkins. A gigantic covered tray in the middle. Well shit. Maybe I can blame this on the pregnancy hormones?
I stare at him dumbfounded. And ashamed. I’m just not used to someone wondering after me. Checking the clock to see if I’m running late. Someone who prepares an entire, beautiful, delicious from the smell of it, meal for me. And I feel completely disoriented accepting this treatment, this kind treatment, from Gil. A man I barely know. Who barely knows me.
“I didn’t mean to pounce like that,” he says, although it doesn’t really come out as an apology. “It’s just that I assumed you’d be here earlier, and when you weren’t, well, my mind just went to the worst scenarios.”
“And when you’re worried, you. . . cook?” I ask, pointing to the table.
Gil actually looks shy. I can not believe it.
“I thought you could use a home cooked meal, and well, I’m waiting on an order of cedar to finish up a project so I had the time.”
I see now. Gil is trying to show me his domestic side. He’s concerned about my health, or more likely, the baby’s. Anytime he talks about what life can be like for us if we were together, things get awkward quick. I’m just not ready for those discussions; for thinking about the future yet. But now, with the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen, well maybe I should see what Gil has to offer in that department.
“Okay, what did you make?” I ask hesitantly. Then quickly add, “Please tell me it’s not Bambi!”
Gil breaks out into a smile, his earlier scowl finally melting from his face.
“It’s not venison. I went to the market and bought some real groceries. But Jenna, sooner or later you’re going to try my venison. One day, Jenna.”
One day. How does Gil do it? Imagine this future for the both of us. The three of us. How can he be so sure?
An hour later, I don’t care, because oh my God, the man can actually cook. We’re side by side on the couch, half paying attention to some cheesy action movie on the television. I am like an animal, sucking on chicken bones and licking grease off my fingers. Even though the food wasn’t hot, something I’ve now apologized for a dozen times, it was delicious. He even sautéed some Brussel sprouts in bacon grease and made baked sweet potatoes, which give me a little pang because that’s what my mom always made me, and it makes me feel like I’m at home.
“Look at this mess,” I say, staring at the empty plates and greasy napkins in front of us. “The rules are the cook doesn’t clean up. I’ll take care of this.”
But as I start to stand up from the couch, Gil catches my wrist, pulling me closer to him. He has a look in his eyes. A look that says he’s still hungry.
“Come here, girl,” he says in that voice I’ve come to recognize and love. The low growl that makes my heart jump and my panties damp. “That can wait. This can’t.” He pulls my chest to his and kisses me so deeply I don’t think I ever want it to end. He pulls back and looks at my face, and ever so tenderly plants a kiss on each of my eyelids. On my nose. On my chin. It tickles in the best possible way. His fingers work nimbly as he unbuttons my blouse, and with each button he opens, he plants another featherlight kiss on my skin, until he’s pushed me all the way back on the couch, shirt discarded to the floor, and he’s planting kisses on my tummy.
“You are so fucking sexy, Jenna. Do you know that?” he asks, before he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down, along with my panties. I sit up and start to push back his shirt, but he stops me. He brings my legs around his waist and he lays back on the couch, so I’m straddling him now. I look at him curiously.
“Come here,” he says, grabbing my hips and scooting me up his chest. “Keep on moving and don’t stop. I want your delicious pussy right here,” he says, and then he licks his lips.
Oh God.
Suddenly he yanks me so I’m sitting on his face, and the feeling between my legs is so fucking intense I slump over, grabbing onto the arm of the couch to prop myself up. He doesn’t waste a minute before he’s devouring me, plunging his tongue up inside me, again and again. I don’t think I could lift my head up if I wanted to, the feeling is so good from this angle. The noises he makes as he eats me out sound like a man savoring the finest wine.
He lifts my hips just an inch, and swirls his tongue around my clit, keeping a teasing rhythm that has me on the edge. I push up on my elbows and start grinding into his face, trying hard to direct him, because I know the exact spot I need him to hit and I’m becoming impatient with his game. My left foot is firmly planted on the floor, and I use it to rise and fall on his face.
He lets me ride his face like that for a while, but every time he senses I’m getting close, he hikes me up, just a bit, breaking the pressure and making me start again, angling my pussy on his face, getting him to do exactly what I want him to do. I look down between my legs and see the cocky bastard smirking up at me. That’s when I decide two can play at this game.
I swing my right leg off the couch and turn around, reaching for his belt buckle. He’s so hard that his fly is straining from the pressure, and I zip it down carefully, my mouth watering in anticipation of tasting his cock. He helps me by lifting his hips, and when I finally have his jeans and boxers off and tossed on the floor, he grabs my hips again and plants me right back at his mouth, latching on to my clit and sucking lightly.
He thinks he can distract me, but I’m focused on my mission; giving him the best head of his life. Gil and I may not agree on what our future will look like, but we have found a we share mutual appreciation for oral sex. The man loves eating pussy almost as much as I love sucking dick. It’s a match made in sexual chemistry heaven. I swirl my tongue around the head, lapping at the precum. His thigh muscles tense underneath me, and I feel him groan, causing an amazing vibration between my legs. I take him only a bit in my mouth, and pump, just paying attention to the cro
wn, swirling my tongue around him like he’s a lollipop, and ignoring his hips, bucking up, trying to press himself further into my mouth. As long as he keeps me on the edge, that’s exactly where he’ll stay too. So I pump, forming a tight O with my lips, and pop the head in and out of my mouth until it’s soaking wet, and making a little popping sound.
“Fuck it,” he growls, grabbing my hair with one hand, and pushing my head down. I consider resisting, but then I feel his other hand move between my legs, and he slips a finger inside me. He hooks it ever so slightly and grazes my G-spot, and stars burst behind my closed eyes as his tongue circles my clit at the same time. He’s relentless, and I know if he keeps it up, I’ll come quick and hard.
I don’t hold back any longer. I dive down on his cock taking his length in my mouth, savoring his velvety skin as it glides over my wet tongue. I match my strokes with his, and I can feel us climbing together. His hand tugs at my hair but the slight pain just intensifies everything. The cabin smells like wood smoke and sex. The sounds he’s making between my legs fill the room, and there’s nothing on my mind except the orgasm we’re both hurtling toward.
Gil squeezes my hair even harder, and I know he’s close. I pull back for a breath, and then take him deep down my throat, resisting the urge to gag. I feel him tight in my throat, and his hips still as I feel the jets of hot cum shoot down my throat. His low growl between my legs sends me bolting up, and I ride his face until my body shakes and the orgasm cascades over me.
I slump forward and lay on his body. Both of us are panting and sweating. This is our sweet spot. This is where we gel. The sex is amazing and explosive, and after the sex, there’s a peacefulness that I wish would last. But when we aren’t in bed, or recovering from fucking, things will get awkward. Because I know he wants to talk about the future, to tell me how much he wants me in his life, and I keep holding my breath, wondering when the other shoe will drop. When he’ll change his mind and realize he was right earlier, that a kid is too much of a burden and he doesn’t really want this family life.
It just seems too fucking good to be true that he could be this sure, this into me, this excited about the idea of raising a baby together, given the way he talked when we first met. And given how long the odds are on finding a guy who’d be gung-ho about having a baby he conceived with a one-night stand in the first place, too, I guess.
But for now, resting my cheek against Gil’s hip, I let it all go, and just feel good for the moment being close to him. Right here. Right now.
The next morning I work my ass off going through the hundreds of images the detective wants to see from the night of the murder. I weed out any that are grainy or just too crappy to see anything going on. I pull out the ones I took in the woods that night and try my best to enhance them, but in the end I just decide to turn them over to the detective in the best format I could work them into.
Maybe she’s right, maybe some of her forensic imaging partners can help enhance the image better than I can. I call the station and ask for Stacey. The front desk guy, that creepy cop who Gil told off last time, tells me Stacey’s out, but she’ll be back soon if I want to bring the files by for her.
He also makes sure to tell me what a sexy sounding voice I have, at which point I hang up on him, scowling. What a creep.
Still, Stacey needs those files as soon as I can get them to her. So I get ready, making sure to take my sweet time. I figure if I stall long enough, it’ll give Stacey time to return, so I can hand this package to her and not Mr. Creepy.
I make sure, while I’m getting ready, to dress in my least appealing outfit, to fend off any more unwanted advances from this guy, and prepare to head down to the station. By that point, it’s been a couple hours since I spoke to Creepy, so I figure Stacey must be back from lunch or wherever it was she was off to.
But in the elevator on the way down, my stomach lurches. I wind up having to bolt for the public toilet on the ground floor the second the doors ping open, which is embarrassing as hell. As I lie there, wrapped around the toilet, I touch my belly, and remember all over again the night this happened. The look of ecstasy on Gil’s face as he came inside me. The way he made me feel—like there was nobody else in the world, like I was the best sex he’d ever had.
I felt the same way about him. Could this really work? Could we give this baby a real family, a life with us?
Could we build a life, the two of us? My stomach tingles thinking about it. My heart screams yes. My head, on the other hand, urges me to be cautious. I’ve gotten my heart bruised before, and that was with guys that didn’t give me half as many confusing, conflicted, crazy emotions. How much worse would it be if Gil decided he didn’t want me?
I finish cleaning myself up and head into the hotel lobby. “You okay?” calls a familiar voice.
I look up to find the hotel receptionist, Merill, I think Gil called him, watching me with concern written all over his features. “Fine,” I answer, forcing a smile. “Just a little nauseous.”
“If you ever need anything, just let us know,” he tells me, looking worried.
“Don’t worry, I will,” I promise, as I start to head out of the lobby.
“Should you be walking around?” he asks, then, with a glance toward my belly. “I mean, in your state…”
My cheeks go red. How fast do rumors spread in this damn town? “I’m fine,” I repeat, a little more forcefully this time. “I’m just running some files over to the station. Detective Hartman is waiting for me.”
His frown deepens. “Are you sure about that?”
I blink. “She’s anxious to get her hands on these, I know that.” I glance down at my purse, and the memory drives inside it.
“The station’s shut right now,” Merill says. “There’s a fire that started about an hour ago, out in the forest near where the bonfire event was. The whole force is out there trying to contain it.” He gestures to something on his desk—a radio, I realize, which is just now crackling with the sounds of a local news station. “They just put out a BOLO asking for anyone with information on who started the fire to call in. But you won’t find the detective or the cops at the station; it’ll just be someone manning the house—what are you doing?” He shouts the last after me, because the moment he said fire, my heart sank.
And the more details he kept giving, the more the panic started to claw through my veins.
Gil.
His house is out there. Right on the edge of the forest. Near the spot where Merill says this fire started. All I can think about is his wooden cabin, the wooden shed out back, all the firewood he has stacked everywhere inside. The whole place is a tinderbox waiting to go up.
I have to find him. I have to make sure he’s okay.
That’s the only thought in my mind as I race out of the hotel. Outside, I can see billowing black clouds of smoke on the horizon. It’s easy to figure out which direction to run—the same direction everyone is staring in. It’s like the whole town is out here, for the dark flip-side version of their festival. This time they’ve come to watch the forest they enjoyed so much just a few weeks ago burn.
I slip between gaping older ladies, past a gaggle of men cursing at the flames, and toward the younger crowd, who seem to be trying their best to help. I spy a few people running bucket-passing chains—one person working a pump at the back of a house near the edge of the forest, filling bucket after bucket, while others run them into the forest, and still more people jog back to return them.
In the distance, I catch the sound of sirens wailing, and see flashes through the trees of fire trucks with their lights blazing, hoses on full.
How did I not hear any of this back in my room? I was way too distracted, caught up in my own problems, my own thoughts.
A deafening whir sounds overhead, and I stare upward, mouth open in shock, as a helicopter swoops past toward the flames. A moment later, its water cannons turn on, dousing the trees.
I’m still staring at it, panic filling my belly, wonderi
ng how on earth I’m going to find Gil through all this mess, when a hand touches my shoulder.
“Jenna.”
Then he’s there, beside me, and I reach for him, unable to explain, not understanding the fear or relief that choke up my throat now, as he wraps his warm, strong arms around me and holds me safe.
16
Gil
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Jenna.” I tilt her head up and smile down at her in reassurance. Then I dip to kiss the tears streaming down her face, wiping the rest away with my thumb. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“What happened?” Her voice shoots up an octave. She gestures over her shoulder wildly. “There’s a huge freaking fire in the woods, right by your house, and you ask what happened? I thought…” She hiccups, then swallows hard, and takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself.
Suddenly, I understand. “You were worried about me.”
“Of course I was worried about you, you dummy,” she snaps, and she looks even more irritated when I laugh. “It’s not funny. You could’ve been hurt.”
“I wasn’t. I’m fine,” I reassure her. “So is the cabin.” I gesture over her shoulder at the flames. Already, in the distance, I can see that the fire trucks and chopper are doing their work. “We get wildfires out here a lot, Jenna. They aren’t a big deal; the fire department is prepared, and this village knows how to keep these kinds of things from reaching our homes or shopping areas. At least, we do during this time of year. Now, fall fires, those can be doozies.” I dip down to steal a kiss from the corner of her mouth. “But I have to admit, it’s nice to know you were so worried about me.”
I get another glare in response for that. Jenna shoves my arm, albeit weakly. “It’s scary to step outside your front door and see fire trucks everywhere! And a helicopter, for Christ’s sake.”