The Woodsman

by Blake North

  Everything had changed. We had crossed a line to a place of intimacy, a place of trust. His hands were on my body, and my lips were on his mouth, and there was no going back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – HAYLEY

  There are times when the world slows down. When longing is the only guide on a map where the boundaries have all been blurred; when feeling is your only compass and the only things that are real are what you can taste, touch and feel.

  That was what it was like with Beckett. Beside him on the bed, our bodies writhing together, pressed to each other with the desperation of drowning men, I was blind with wanting, deaf with longing.

  “Beckett,” I whispered. I felt his hands slide over my shoulders, drawing down the straps of my dress. I gasped.

  He smiled at me. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  I nodded. “So sure.” I moaned. “So, so sure.”

  He nodded. “Well, then.”

  His hands moved and the dress slid off me, down to my waist. He did not hesitate. His mouth was at my neck, his lips hot and wet on my skin, scalding and stroking at the same time as he worked slowly down toward my bra.

  I gasped as he drew the strap down over my arm and then his lips clamped on my nipple. He worked it with his tongue, his mouth hot and hard on it. His hands moved to my other breast, his fingers teasing and tickling even as his mouth played over my other breast, bringing me to a place of wild wanting. He unclipped the bra, leaving me clad in only my panties.

  He looked up at me as I gasped again, grinning at me. His face was flushed, eyes teasing me.

  “Okay?” he whispered.

  I smiled at him a little dizzily. I nodded.

  “Good.”

  The word was a silken whisper that shivered down into my belly. He moved and kissed lower, making a trail down my belly to my panty line. When he got there, I whimpered. He looked up at me, reading my expression intently.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered. I felt as if someone had pulled a plug out of me, leaving me limp and drained in his arms, entirely at the mercy of his hands and mouth.

  He chuckled. His fingers worked my panties down over my body, letting them slide down to my feet, where he took time to untangle them. They dropped to the floor. His hand stroked over my soft mound and he sighed.

  He sat back, looking at my naked body.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  I smiled at him. I felt beautiful. My body glowed with his appreciative stare, and I let my legs flop apart as he reached down. His face focused with intensity, and he slipped a hand between my thighs.

  I closed my eyes as his fingers explored me. I was shaking now, my body jerking with a kind of wild urgency as his thumb traced over the most sensitive sites in me. When he bent down and repeated that action with his mouth, I thought I would actually collapse.

  “Oh!” I shouted. He chuckled.

  “What?” he teased. “Was that a signal to stop?”

  “Oh! No!”

  He chuckled again. He returned to what he had been doing, his tongue covering my skin in little lapping motions that sent sensation flying along my nerves to my brain, overloading me with pleasure. I was crying out now, my body jerking and shivering uncontrollably. I was dangerously close to climax, and he knew it. He was playing me like a fisherman with a catch, bringing me to the brink and then leaving me there stranded and helpless, writhing with my intense need.

  “Beckett!” I screeched.

  I came.

  My body jerked and feeling flooded through me. I could be dead at that moment and I would not have known. My whole world was lost in the wonder of my feelings. I felt as if I was floating in a cloud of satisfaction.

  He sat up and smiled down at me.

  “Was that good?”

  I gave a little groan, and he smiled at me.

  “I take it that was a yes.”

  “Oh,” I moaned. “Oh yes.”

  He laughed. Still in his shirt and pants, he lay down beside me. I smiled and snuggled closer. We lay together for a while, my arms around him, his head on the pillow beside mine. Then I rolled onto my side and looked down at him, my fingers stroking his head.

  He looked up at me sleepily and smiled. “What?” he asked.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He sounded touched. I kissed his mouth, our lips clinging with a mix of tenderness and longing rekindled. We had so much to discover of each other.

  ***

  I lay beside Hayley and thought she was the most beautiful woman ever. Those fine curves, pale skin, her sweetly-scented body. I wanted her more than I could remember wanting anyone.

  I sat up and looked down at her. She was smiling. At that moment I would have done anything for that smile. Bright and beautiful, it filled her sweet face and lit her eyes like precious jewels.

  She rolled onto her back and I felt my groin leap with an undeniable message. I started to unfasten my shirt.

  “Let me,” she said.

  I sat on the bed, my body trembling, as her pale fingers undid the buttons one by one. They fumbled slightly, as if she was not used to doing it, and the thought sent fresh longing to my loins.

  When it was complete, she kissed me. I felt my heart melt and my loins fill and I drew her to my chest, crushing her sweet, soft body against my naked self. The feeling of her soft breasts, cool and satiny, against my skin was like a magic substance—intoxicating and addictive. I tightened my grip until she moaned.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed, loosening it at once. “Did I hurt you?”

  She smiled, her lovely face looking up at me from under disarrayed hair. “No,” she said. “I want you.”

  Well, that was enough for me. I kissed her and, kissing her, pushed her back onto the bed. I moved myself over her body. My loins were stirring, my cock hard and throbbing with need. I slid on top of her and knelt between her knees.

  “Yes?” I whispered.

  She was lying back, prone, waiting for me. “Yes.”

  I slid into her. I thought I would die. Her warmth and wetness enveloped me, and I withdrew and pushed in, loving the way it felt when her body held me in its warm, secret place.

  I didn’t think any more after that. All I thought about was thrusting into her again and again and again. My body jerked and twitched and leaped with the wonderful feedback from my nerves and then my brain was flooding with sensation, my body lost to everything but the jerking, shuddering, shaking wonder of my orgasm.

  I collapsed.

  Her arms held me and I pulsed in her again and lay still.

  I think I slept. The last I remember until morning was rolling off and her lips on my mouth.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – HAYLEY

  The next morning I woke to the wonderful sensation of being beside someone in bed. I opened my eyes and smiled at Beckett. Then I lay still and closed them again, letting every nerve savor the sensation of being beside him, bodies touching from toes to arms.

  I have never felt like this for anyone.

  I had lovers, sure. Boyfriends—two or three. But nothing like this wonderful, amazing man who was with me now.

  I opened my eyes again and studied his face. He was asleep, those green eyes closed. His profile was aquiline and fine, his features well-made. It wasn’t just that, however, that made him amazing. It wasn’t his beauty, nor his grooming. It certainly wasn’t his wealth or status in society. It was something intangible: the humor and the understanding, the nature of his care for me. That was what made him remarkable.

  I have never felt so loved.

  I smiled. My whole body was bruised and aching, and I was sure I had sustained bruises in places I’d never had bruises before. But I felt wonderful.

  “Beckett?”

  He had stirred, his breath changing. He woke up. I was looking into his eyes when his gaze opened.

  “Hayley,” he said. I smiled. He opened his arms and I snuggled up closer.

  We kissed. I had alwa
ys been shy of kissing in the mornings, as usually one’s mouth doesn’t taste that good. But with him, I felt so natural. We kissed and clung together.

  “Beckett,” I whispered again.

  “What?” he said gently. He propped himself beside me and stroked my hair. “What is it, dear?”

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling the term “dear” warm me from within. “I like saying your name.”

  It was his turn to blush, which he did, colorfully.

  “What?” I asked. “My dear?”

  He sighed and stroked my hair. Kissed me. Then lay down on his back, looking at the ceiling.

  “Nothing,” he said quietly.

  I felt my heart sink. Had I upset him? What had happened? Did I do something wrong?

  “Beckett?” I asked quietly. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said again. “It’s just…” he rolled over and his face was a picture of concern. “Hayley. I’m so, so sorry.” He put his hand over his eyes.

  I stared. “Beckett? What…” I sat up and looked down at him. “What on earth are you sorry about? Really!”

  I laughed. He rolled over and looked at me with a puzzled grin.

  “What?”

  I couldn’t help it. Now that the laugh was there, it wouldn’t stop until I had laughed myself out. I lay back down again, giggling helplessly. He looked on, a confused grin in place on his face.

  “I’m…I’m sorry, dear,” I managed between shaky gulps of breathing. “But I can’t believe you think you have to be sorry! That was the best…the most wonderful night ever. And you’re sorry for that?” I sighed. I reached over and stroked his hair, feeling suddenly very maternal. I smiled at him.

  He smiled back. His green eyes lit with warmth. He stroked my hair and drew me close. We kissed.

  “Did you mean that?” he asked, a moment or two after we had rolled apart. He lay on his back, I on my side, studying him.

  “Mean what?” I asked, curious.

  “Was that really the best?”

  I laughed. “Oh, Beckett!”

  “What?” he asked, sounding offended.

  “Yes,” I assured him, still grinning that he needed the reassurance. “Yes. Categorically,” I added. “The complete and utter, absolute best.”

  He grinned.

  He looked so proud of himself that I wanted to laugh.

  “You do know, of course,” I said with mock-seriousness, “that this is a problem?”

  “It is?” he frowned, suddenly intense and concerned again.

  “Yes,” I said steadily.

  “Why? What’s a problem?”

  “It means that you now have the very, very hard task of outperforming your own performance. Because I expect great things from you, you know.”

  He grinned. “I take that as a command.”

  “Good,” I said, feeling a flare in my stomach of pleasure when he said that. “Do that.”

  He laughed. “You know, I think you’re the only woman who tells me what to do.”

  “I doubt that,” I said with a warm grin. “I think all three women under this roof probably boss you about terribly.”

  He laughed. “Mrs. Delange is the worst, though,” he said. “I’m quite terrified of her.”

  We both chuckled. I nestled closer to him and we lay together, listening to the morning sounds of the manor: sparrows chattering in the tree beyond my windows, a car somewhere on the road, the distant clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen down below as Mrs. Delange started cooking the meal.

  “What time is it?” I asked, yawning.

  “It’s about eight,” he whispered. He lifted his watch and checked, then put it back on the table where he must have placed it last night without my being aware.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “It’s five to eight. I should get up now.”

  “Why?” I asked, teasingly.

  “It’s Monday,” he explained.

  I rolled over, watching him as he slid out of bed and hunted around for his clothes. His body was ripples of muscle and I lay back, drinking in the sight of him shrugging on his shirt and running a hand over his head to flatten his hair, dressing himself. He had a primeval grace—rugged, powerful, sincere—and I felt immense pride in having him here in my room with me.

  When he was dressed, he sat down on the bed. His eyes lit up as he looked at me.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he groaned. “I don’t want to leave you here. My mind will be in bed all day, with you.”

  I grinned. “I’ll come and have breakfast with you,” I promised.

  “Good,” he said. “Or I’ll be rushing through work at double time, wanting to come back to you here, to slide into this bed and kiss you everywhere.”

  I felt my body melt. “You don’t make a convincing argument to get me downstairs with you,” I grumbled.

  He laughed. “Well, I should stop now, then. I want you downstairs with me. I want you upstairs with me. I want you, dear.”

  I laughed. “You know how I feel.”

  He leaned in and kissed me.

  Then I was dressing as he stretched his back and did some sit-ups, and we were heading downstairs together.

  Mrs. Delange came into the breakfast room to find us sitting side-on to each other, drinking coffee he had made for us and giggling about something in the daily papers.

  “Well, well!” she beamed. “Here are the happy pair! I’ve got muesli and toast and porridge, if you’d like some?” she asked.

  I smiled. “No, thanks, Mrs. Delange. Toast and muesli is fine.”

  “Good, good!” she beamed at us again, then set down the tray.

  Beckett looked at me when she’d gone.

  “I think she’s guessed something, and she seems pleased,” he said, smiling.

  “You mean…” I trailed off, feeling a slow, sweet blush creep into my face. “I suppose we are closer—it’s pretty clear to everyone.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  We were sitting together side by side, my thigh pressing his, our chairs pulled close. My body seemed to be glued to his like some strange magnetism pulled me toward him. My foot rested on his and my arm rubbed his shoulder. It was as if, having known him once, I could not bear for us to be apart even by an inch.

  We were still sitting like that at eight-thirty, when the door opened and Estella, flushed and in a singlet and shorts, came in from the road.

  “Oh!” she said, looking from Beckett to me, face quite blank. “Hey, Dad!” She nodded to me. “Hayley. Um…remember you were asking me about the rose arbor?”

  “Yes,” I said, only vaguely recalling our conversation a day or so before about the grounds.

  “Well, I asked Spencer and he’s got the key. If you want to go in, just get it from him. You’ll find him in the guard post at the back.”

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice. “Thanks,” I added.

  “No problem,” she said. She stretched up, leaning sideways to give her long back a stretch, then repeated it to the other side. “I’ll go shower and then have coffee before Dad has to head off. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Beckett nodded. “See you just now, sweetie.”

  “See you, dad,” she said, and walked quickly through the room and up the stairs. I could hear her trainers on the stone staircase and then they stopped, muffled by the carpet in the upstairs hallway as she headed right, to her suite.

  I moved close to Beckett. He lifted his coffee with his left hand, leaving his right where it rested over my hand.

  “She seemed odd this morning?” I asked, feeling suddenly worried.

  “She’s getting used to us,” Beckett murmured, turning the page where we had been reading the paper together. “I think she was okay with it at first—it was so sudden and all—but now that she’s thinking about it, it’s getting harder to understand. She’ll be okay soon enough,” he said reassuringly.

  I frowned. I wasn’t so sure. Estella was a smart girl: bright, wise observant. But she clearly adored her mother and I could
see that my presence was going to be awkward. I sighed.

  “I just hope she doesn’t hate me too much,” I conceded.

  He stared at me, his handsome face concerned. “She doesn’t hate you, dear,” he said quietly. “I’m sure she doesn’t hate anyone.”

  I smiled and nodded, but privately I was less sure. I liked Estella and I respected her position with Beckett as the apple of his eye. I could also completely sympathize with her hostility toward me, which was why I knew that it was big, intense, and justified.

  I just hoped that, when she finally told Beckett how she felt, he would understand. And that he would not feel it necessary to choose between us.

  He stirred beside me and kissed me.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said gently.

  I smiled at him, then kissed him back, gripping his soft, wavy hair with my hands to turn his face to mine.

  We stopped kissing and he smiled, reaching for the paper. A minute or so later, his daughter entered.

  “Hey, dad,” she said, flopping down into the chair opposite him. “Got big plans for today?”

  “Nothing too big,” he said, reaching for a second slice of toast as she poured her coffee. “In fact, I was wondering if you’d like dinner somewhere?”

  Estella frowned. “I don’t have any plans for this evening,” she agreed slowly. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking maybe we could eat here,” Beckett said carefully. “Just us. Ask Mrs. Delange to make something special…you know, the casserole she does you like so much.”

  Estella beamed. “Mrs. Delange’s upside-down casserole? Hurray!”

  I shot him an inquiring glance, but he just smiled softly and I guessed it was some in-house reference I would have to learn. I smiled at Estella and poured a second coffee for myself.

  “Well,” he said gently, “that’s settled.”

  I nodded.

  “Yes!” Estella said happily. “It is. You come home soon, though, Dad,” she added with a straight face. “You know what Mrs. Delange is like if it has to wait in the oven too long.”

  He laughed. “I know! I was scared I was going to be sent to Coventry the last time I was late home from a meeting and she’d cooked the meal.”