Signs of Life

by Sloane Reynard

  “I could say the same,” she said, fondling them, feeling every bit as powerful as he said he liked her to be. It gave her the confidence to continue, “All this controlled force, and instead of fighting me, you moan as I take your cock.”

  “Yes.” Wyatt arched into her hands with a groan. “Take it again.”

  She shifted her weight forward, to her knees, then back again, easing down onto him to the hilt. His hands were hard on her hips when he jerked her down, pulling her urgently onto his erection, making her cry out. She rode him slowly, exulting in his groans of enjoyment.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, head thrown back and face slack in stunned pleasure. “I can’t believe…”

  Wyatt began undulating beneath her, and she soon picked up the rhythm, rising and dropping in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Can’t believe what?” he prompted. “That it could… be this good? I know I can’t.”

  She leaned forward, the flesh of his chest warm under her bracing hands, and she couldn’t seem to stop caressing it, needing the sensation of sleek skin and crisp hair against the pads of her fingers. His skin was so hot, as though with a low fever, his nipples stiff peaks under her hands.

  “It is good, and no, I have trouble— ooh— believing that, too. But…” Her gaze met his.

  Corinne felt the force of their connection, felt it strengthen, and the world narrowed down to his face, and then only just his eyes. There was nothing but green, green, green. Whatever he felt, from it, made him buck up into her even harder. Her eyes rolled back at the more forceful thrust and she gasped, “How d-deep you reach in me like this.”

  His eyes rolled back at that and his hands tightened on her waist. “So you’re saying… that this should be... our standard position… from now on? I’ll agree to that.”

  Wyatt moved his hips in a circle, making sure every millimeter of her could feel him, and she thrashed a little on top of him.

  “Noooo,” she crooned, because the other positions they’d explored had all had their strong points as well, but she was having trouble remembering them, or anything else at that moment beside Wyatt and the thick column of flesh he was spearing into her so forcefully. She ground down on his pubic bone, needing the stimulation, and it dragged her even closer to the climax that threatened to consume her. “The other positions are— ooh— just as good— oh— they’re just— ungh— different! Ah! Wyatt!”

  Her rhythm stuttered and failed as she came, rising and falling with a wildness she couldn’t contain, clenching and gripping around his cock while she whimpered and keened. The noises embarrassed her, because they sounded so girlish, so feminine, so womanly, and she was none of those things, yet… Wyatt drew them from her, played her body like an instrument, and she sang out with every wave of joy.

  Dimly, in the midst of her haze of pleasure, she felt his hands tighten even more, felt an even deeper stretch, as he thrust harder, losing his rhythm and coming, jetting with a shout into the very heart of her.

  Corinne tried her best to support herself, to hold herself atop him while they rode out the aftershocks, but after that… no. She slid bonelessly off him, falling to the side, limp and sated. She turned her head on the pillow and saw how he gasped, head still tilted back from the paroxysm of his climax.

  She slid her hand under his neck and drew him against her. He went willingly, even eagerly, rolling to his side and melting against her, legs tangling and arms curling around and face buried against her throat.

  “Corinne…” he muttered against her skin, and it sounded more like an expression of astonishment than an attempt to get her attention. Somehow, without more words, she knew what he meant.

  That was incredible. I didn’t know it could be like that. You’re wonderful. I’m happy. You make me happy.

  “Yes,” she answered, and hoped he understood what she meant. “Yes.”

  When they could peel themselves apart and off the bed, they redressed and ambled to the kitchen, bone-deep satisfaction plain in the languid way they walked, the lazy slur to their voices, the smiles they could barely keep from blinding each other.

  They ate dinner, then ditched their dirty plates in the sink, to be washed at some later time, and curled up on the sofa under a blanket while Leo stared balefully at them for usurping his bed. They alternated sharing his laptop, showing each other things that interested them and ended up falling asleep against each other, only rousing when Leo, fed up with being displaced, tried to climb on top of them.

  Laughing and drowsy, they had the dog take one last quick trip outside before stumbling back to the bedroom and collapsing. It wasn’t all that late, and ordinarily, Corinne would have been amused by the notion of going to sleep when the hour was still in the single digits, but… they had fit a lot of living into the day. They deserved an early night.

  And a late morning, or so she thought, but it seemed the God did not agree, because she lurched upright and wondered what had awoken her so suddenly.

  But there was only silence, and Wyatt staring blearily up at her from where he’d fallen away from her.

  “Whuh?” he mumbled, bemused.

  Usually he woke before her, teasing her into wakefulness with his hands on one erogenous zone or another, coaxing her to start the day with sleepy, blissful sex. This was the first time she’d woken him, and not with any seductive touches.

  For a moment, Corinne felt a pang of regret that the day was not to begin in that way, because she thought she might have reached a place of confidence and security in Wyatt’s desire for her that she’d be comfortable in making the first move.

  The silence stretched and lingered without interruption; perhaps Corinne had imagined whatever had woken her? She opened her mouth to speak, but then she heard it again: a banging, as if of a fist against a door.

  Specifically, the cabin’s front door.

  “Oi,” barked a male voice from outside. “Are you dead in there?”

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt blinked and was alert in an instant.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered, out of the bed and into last night’s discarded clothes and striding from the room before Corinne could even push the covers off. She, too, dressed, and followed him to the front door. He’d flung it open and was engaged in a spirited conversation with the man who stood there.

  The man was leathery of skin and receding of hairline, with pale blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Past him, Corinne could see a long trail of footsteps leading to the far side of the clearing that stretched between the cabin and the edge of the woods. A helicopter perched there, far enough away that, fast asleep, they’d not heard its arrival.

  “That her, then?” the man asked, jutting his chin out over Wyatt’s shoulder at her.

  Wyatt turned to her. “Yes,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Corinne, Brock. Brock, Corinne.”

  She came forward, hand cautiously outstretched. “Hello…?” she ventured.

  Brock took her hand and gave it a brisk wringing, eyeing her up and down in a way that managed to be both lascivious and practical before swiveling his eyes back to Wyatt.

  “You don’t do anything by half measures, do you?” Brock asked him.

  Wyatt only pinched the bridge of his nose in clear exasperation.

  “There’s no need for you to have come,” Wyatt said with the air of someone repeating himself for the third time. “Nothing is wrong. We have plenty of everything we need.”

  “What’s happening?” Corinne asked, arms wrapped around herself against the chill from the open door. “Shouldn’t Brock come in?”

  Wyatt scowled, clearly not wanting the intrusion, but stepped back to let the other man in. Brock made quite a show of stomping the snow from his boots and clapping some warmth back into his hands, though he was bundled up like a pro mountain hiker and looked likely to survive the next ice age.

  “Brock is my brother’s friend,” Wyatt explained, making his way to the kitchen with a purposeful stride to make coffee. “And a pi
lot.”

  “Your friend too, I thought,” Brock said, a nearly convincing expression of hurt outrage on his face before he ruined it by grinning. “Now that it’s been a week, and it just keeps snowing, and there was mention of a busted generator, Tyler got worried,” Brock piped up. “Sent me up here to rescue you.” He grinned and flicked a flirty glance at her. “Though it looks like you don’t want to be rescued.”

  Corinne went pink, fully aware she looked every bit as compromised as she was: hair a mess from sleeping and all of Wyatt’s raking through it during sex the night before, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her lips were still swollen and her cheeks bore whisker-burn. Wyatt didn’t look much better.

  “It was a wasted trip,” Wyatt said flatly. “So you can go back to New York and tell Tyler that we’re fine and once the roads are clear—”

  “That’s just it,” Brock interrupted. “The roads aren’t going to be clear. Not for a while, at least.”

  “What?” Wyatt paused in the act of shoving the coffee pot into the machine.

  “None of the plows and salt and sand are being deployed to this Mountain Road,” said Brock. “Tyler tried to get at least one up here, but Governor Ballard is refusing.” He cocked his head to one side, seeming like nothing so much as an over-inquisitive bird. “Any idea why that might be?”

  Wyatt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

  “What does that mean, then?” Corinne asked.

  “It means that they’re not diverting services from the rest of the county because one person decided to live in an inaccessible place.” Brock smirked. “Or so said the governor. You’re either coming with me, honey, or you’re staying here another week or two, when the plows aren’t needed elsewhere, or the snow melts.”

  The snow wasn’t melting any time before April, Corinne knew. There would just be more and more.

  “Can you come back… another time?” she asked, reluctant to leave Wyatt just yet. She’d taken off two weeks from work. It had been seven days already; she had seven more until she absolutely had to be back. “In a week, maybe?”

  “ ‘Fraid not, honey. I’m leaving in a few days for an extended holiday in Jamaica. Won’t be back for a month. It’s either today or take your chances with whenever Ballard decides to send the plow up the mountain.”

  The gaze Wyatt leveled on her was a wild mix of hope and desire and anxiety. She could stay. She wanted to stay; that week with him had been the happiest of her life and she didn’t want it to end, ever.

  But… it was madness, wasn’t it? She couldn’t leave behind her life in North Carolina, the home she’d grown up in and shared with her family, and her job so she could live on top of a mountain with a man she’d met only a week earlier and who was, effectively, a hermit.

  The coffee machine burbled into the silence that fell. Brock pretended to study his surroundings. Wyatt stared at Corinne. Corinne looked anywhere but at Wyatt, and licked her suddenly dry lips before speaking at last.

  “I’d— I’d better pack up, then,” she said at last, meeting Brock’s gaze. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

  “Not at all,” he said easily, and she fled for the bedroom. “I can drink coffee and catch up with my good pal Wyatt.”

  His good pal Wyatt tossed him an unfriendly glance and followed Corinne. He shut the door behind him and immediately said, “You don’t have to go. There’s no rush.”

  “Isn’t there an old adage?” she asked hesitantly, once the silence became unwieldy and peculiar. “Fish and house guests stink after three days. It’s been far longer than that, by now.” She tried to force a smile. “I don’t want to stink because I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “You won’t. I like having you here.” Wyatt pressed close against her so she could feel his hard, warm body against hers from breast to knee. “Stay,” he said softly, his lips so close to hers that the words were more a caress than speech. “Stay with me.”

  He kissed her gently, sweetly, until Corinne thought her heart would burst, until she was on the verge of agreeing. But even if he were the most beautiful man in the world and she was halfway in love with him… she wasn’t a hermit, and didn’t want to be. She liked her job. She liked her coworkers, and though the family she had left were few and distantly related, they were all she had left, and she was loath to give up opportunities to spend time with them.

  And, with the circumspection a week away had granted her, she missed her home. Despite the echoing emptiness, she knew the memories of growing up there with Dad and Galladon would eventually be comforting instead of painful.

  A pang of longing to be back there lanced through her. She missed the salty air freshening the house through the palmettos, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the beach, watching the sun rise over the ocean from the porch, wrapped in a quilt, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

  Blinking, she realized that instead of it being just her alone in her imaginings, Wyatt had been there, too— walking with her on those beaches, sitting by her on that porch— and another pang of longing gripped her. But he didn’t want to leave his mountain, and she had no right to ask him to.

  Corinne curled her fingers around his arms, kissing him back, relishing it one last time before taking a step back.

  “I can’t,” she said haltingly, and gathered all her fortitude to add, “but… you could… come with me? Or at least visit?”

  Wyatt stared at her, lips parted in surprise and dismay.

  “If not now— I know you haven’t had any time to prepare— then soon?” she babbled hurriedly. “You could take some time to get used to the idea, maybe just come back to civilization for a weekend at first, ease into it—”

  “I can’t,” he ground out harshly, dropping his arms from around her to put space between them. “You know why I left, and why I won’t go back.”

  She did know; he’d told her the whole sordid tale, of Lindstroms in general and his immediate branch of them in particular. Frankly, they all sounded awful, including Tyler, but he held a spot in his older brother’s heart so Corinne tried to reserve judgment where he was concerned.

  She sympathized with what Wyatt had endured, what he was wary of and determined to avoid… but by the same token, it hadn’t happened to her. She had no desire to hide herself away forever. She’d needed some time to cope with her first Christmas without her father, but that had been a temporary solitude she’d sought, never intended to be lengthy or permanent.

  “I could come back for a visit,” she attempted, though it was a long trip from North Carolina to Vermont— either an interminable train ride or drive up the coast, or a costly flight she couldn’t really afford. Couldn’t afford the train and car ride, either, for that matter. But for Wyatt, to be with him, even for only a few days at a time… every few months, after she’d saved her nickels and dimes…?

  He seemed to understand the complications inherent in their situation. His lips compressed and turned down, and he dropped his bright gaze, shoulders slumping.

  “It’s not going to work,” he said slowly, then lifted his eyes. “Is it?”

  Corinne felt her chin wobbling, losing the battle she fought to control it. “I don’t think so, no.”

  He swallowed heavily, then nodded. “Let’s— let’s get you packed up, then.”

  They made short work of returning her few belongings to the suitcase he’d scavenged from the abandoned rental car. Corinne took a last look at the bed, with its rumpled linens and the pillow with two dents, as they’d slept so closely they’d shared it. The scent of sex was faint in the air, but still present from the night before.

  She carried the suitcase out of there and into the main room, making for the pegs where the coats and scarves hung while Wyatt stopped at his desk and scribbled something on a scrap of paper.

  Brock had made himself comfortable on Corinne’s side of the sofa— no, it wasn’t her side, wasn’t her sofa— and helped himself to her tablet— no, Wyatt’s tablet— wh
ile they’d been packing. He sipped his coffee and looked up at her as she began to pull on her outerwear, and she could have sworn there was a flash of sympathy in his pale eyes before the cynicism returned.

  He poured the rest of the coffee straight down his throat in spite of the scalding temperature, surely searing his esophagus, but he seemed none the worse for it as he stood.

  “That went faster than I expected,” he commented with a smirk. Corinne frowned in confusion, so he helpfully clarified, “Thought a farewell shag would take longer. I guess Wyatt’s quick on the trigger.” He raked a considering gaze down her form. “Though I can’t blame him. Those legs—”

  “Brock.” It was just one word, but it sounded deadly, and strange, coming from Wyatt. Corinne had heard him irritated and exasperated, amused and patient, aroused and tender in the past week, but never had she heard him truly angry or threatening.

  “Sorry,” said Brock, but it was clear he was nothing of the sort as he gave Wyatt a jaunty salute and sauntered from the cabin.

  “Sorry,” Wyatt said also, but him, Corinne believed. He thrust his hand into his hair, head tilted down and shoulders slumped.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t care if he misunderstands.” She understood, and Wyatt did, and that was all that mattered.

  Leo didn’t seem to understand, however; he interpreted her putting on her coat and boots as an indication it was time to play outside. When she only hefted her suitcase and stepped onto the porch, no ball or sticks to throw in sight, he gave a confused woof.

  Wyatt followed her outside, boots on but no coat. On the other side of the clearing, the helicopter whirred to life. Wyatt trudged toward it with Corinne, his expression that of someone on their way to a funeral. Leo ran alongside, but his antics calmed as he realized that it definitely was not playtime. Corinne blinked and pretended the moisture in her eyes was only due to the brightness of the sunlight glinting off the snow.