The Arrangement

by Jennifer Hartley

  Sasha flushed. “I admit it was how Eric sold coming here to me. Not that he has to. We want to come here,” she added quickly, much to everyone’s amusement. Almost everyone. Spencer sipped his tea.

  “Fabulous!” Aida exclaimed. “Alright. I propose that this time, Sasha and I pick the tree, and you manly men get the decorations from the attic.”

  As Aida smoothly took over, Eric glanced at Sasha. She was watching her sister in law with fascination and admiration, and he was glad that there were members of his family that welcomed Sasha. It meant a lot to him how Aida included her in the decorating activity. Having been an orphan for so long, he could only imagine how overwhelming it must be for his wife to suddenly have a family. He understood why it was important to her for him and Spencer to at least get along, but it was like beating a dead horse.

  When tea was over, Clinton and Aida went to their rooms to rest a little. Spencer said he was going to rest too - he had a light lunch and had worked again before tea. Eric asked Sasha if she wanted to see the beach, and she had nodded eagerly. She waited for him at the porch while he retrieved his sketch pad and charcoal from their room.

  “I still can’t believe you have your very own beach!” Sasha said as they climbed down the stairs built into the rock wall. She was going ahead of him, needing only little direction on where to go. Pausing, she shielded her eyes and took in the brilliance of the aquamarine water in the sun and the smooth white sand. “Shit, it’s beautiful!”

  Then with a sudden squeal, she took off, running down the rest of the stairs. Eric stood back, smiling as she leaped off the last three steps, her landing sending a spray of sand toward him. She dropped her sandals on the sand and began taking off her shirt and slacks. She wore a dark blue swimsuit.

  A sweet smile at him over her shoulder, and she was taking off again. Eric took his time on the stairs, picking up her clothes from the sand to hang them the railing. His sketching equipment, held in a small bag, was put at the end of the railing too.

  While the rest of the locality were huddled by fireplaces for warmth, Ivy Peak was bathed in the sun and warm winds, though much stronger. The waves worried him a little, but Sasha leaped into the water like a happy giant fish, getting another smile from him. Of course she would be a strong swimmer. As beautiful as the waters of Addison were, they also had very powerful waves that could reach as high as twenty feet on a normal day.

  He removed his clothes, revealing his black trunks. He ran to the water, where Sasha was calling on him to hurry up. She was standing, her hair already wet and her nipples hard against the suit. Nothing could be more enchanting and so fucking sexy. He joined her just as a huge wave clapped into them, and she shrieked.

  They swam and played in the water. At one point, she tried to piggyback on him, but another huge wave hit and sent them toppling back in the water. She coughed violently from having swallowed seawater and he couldn’t help but laugh and toss more water in her direction. Her blue eyes flashed and with a shout, she threw herself against him, sending him right under.

  Their play lasted for close to an hour. It would be one of the happiest times in their marriage. They joked and teased each other, dared each other to a swim race. When Sasha began to closely resemble a boiled lobster, he pulled her out of the water, smiling and shaking his head over her protests that a little sunburn never hurt anyone. A kiss and she was compliant, melting against him and letting him drag her out until he had to sweep her in his arms as they neared the shore.

  It was a half an hour before sunset, but they remained on the beach, drying themselves on the water-slicked sand. They held hands.

  “Tell me about Addison,” he asked her.

  “Addison?”

  “Yes. You don’t really talk about it. Is it okay that I ask?” He turned to give her a glance. She sat up, sand clinging to her body. Despite her movements, their hands remained joined. It was sweet.

  He saw the thoughts skidding across her face, like how she would regard a composition, hearing it in her head first, imagining the adjustments she would make on the cello to get the right notes. He sat up too. In order to brush the sand from her shoulder, he had to let go of her hand.

  There was tension in her shoulders. He could tell just from the light touch. What he thought of Sasha just gathering her thoughts turned out to be something more complicated when she suddenly grabbed his hand and held it to her face. Though covered in sand, she kissed it.

  “Hey, sweetheart. If it’s too hard, you can choose not to talk about it. It’s okay,” he assured her.

  “No, no. It’s not that. It’s just that . . . It’s been years since I’ve gone back. My dad’s grave is there, but I haven’t returned since the funeral.” She confessed. Her lower lip was trembling.

  “You haven’t been back for five years?” He was astounded.

  “I know. I’m a terrible daughter.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “No, you’re not.” he insisted, getting her to look at him. “But . . . why haven’t you been back?”

  She blushed and looked away. “It’s just that . . . even if I went there just to visit him, it’s still too expensive. I worked three jobs before I was married to you. I never had to worry about rent, but there were other bills. I know I should have worked harder and made sacrifices - ”

  “You’ve made more sacrifices than you can imagine,” he reminded her with a catch in his voice.

  “But he’s my dad. Then there’s the fact that . . . there’s really nowhere for me to go in Addison. And with him . . . where he is now. It’s just too harsh of a reminder that I’m alone.”

  He was about to interject. That she was wrong. She had him. He knew what she meant, yet in many ways, he would never understand it. He was her only family now, but it was nothing like having a parent or a brother or sister.

  “You’re not alone,” he said softly. “Don’t forget that.”

  He scooted closer until his arm could wrap around her shoulders. She leaned against him. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “You know,” Aida told Clinton as they were getting dressed for dinner that night. “You owe me.”

  Clinton, shrugging on his shirt, paused. He turned and was instantly rewarded by the sight of his wife walking around in sexy, black lace lingerie. Unaware of her effect on him, she bent to pull on a stocking.

  “I owe you?” He asked, standing beside her. He leered at her cleavage appreciatively, and she shook her head at him, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. A playful slap on the head, and she turned to put on the other stocking.

  “You said Eric and Sasha would divorce once the trial is over, being the only reason they got married is for Sasha to take on Carl Kane. I told you they have fireworks.” She straightened up, a hand on her curvy hip giving her a saucy stance. “And they still have them. I told you they’re going to fall in love with each other. Your brother can’t stop looking at Sasha. It’s sweet, and I never thought your asshole brother could be called one.”

  “You told me they'd fall in love? Forgive me, my heart, but you were livid and wanted to castrate all men after you walked in on Eric all over Sasha that first time. Remember?”

  “Well, I thought he was taking advantage of her. Sasha is a lovely, nice girl, and Eric can be a scoundrel without meaning to be. He may be my employer and your brother, but that doesn’t make me blind.” She turned away to get something from the closet and returned with two dresses on a hanger. “Honey, which is better? The red or the green?”

  Clinton pretended to groan as he pushed himself up on the foot of the bed. “You can dress like a weird elf, and you would still be the sexiest woman in the room.”

  Aida grinned. “Nice one. But you have to help me choose. I can’t dress like a well-paid escort this time. It’s such fun making Spencer uncomfortable, but Sasha should know we’re not sadists like that. Well, not this holiday, anyway.”

  Christmas dinner was a holiday affair. Last year, their children were still young and just thought
their Mom looked nice in her tight, red dress with the plunging neckline and black fishnet stockings. Eric thought it was a hoot, and Clinton was more in love with Aida than ever. Spencer Cohen could be such a tight-ass, despite imbibing alcohol. The Cohen brothers and Aida had enjoyed way too much seeing the disapproval on Spencer’s face while trying not to look past her neck.

  “I pick the green,” he said. It had intricate lace details on its sheer long sleeves and a square neckline. It had an understated, classy sexiness that was the perfect mix of dinner appropriate but still guaranteed to give Clinton a hard-on. As it was now doing.

  Aida slipped on the dress and went to Clinton for him to do the zipper. “Eric’s good for Sasha too, which I never thought possible. She seems more confident. Oh, there’s still some shyness that I can imagine Eric would find particularly thrilling in the bedroom, but have you seen how he smiles a lot around her?”

  “Let’s not talk about my brother’s sex life, please?” Clinton complained.

  “Oh, come on.” She turned to face him, the skirt swishing around her knees. “You seriously didn’t smell the sex from them earlier?”

  Clinton made a gagging sound. “You’re making me sick!”

  He left the bed while Aida sighed loudly and went to get shoes. As Clinton buttoned up, she said, “Well, they must be fucking a lot because Eric is actually nice for a change. He’s always been great with his nephews, but he not only gave me a very generous bonus this year but said I should think about hiring two assistants. One personal - for him, and another one for myself. I think we’ve got a major show in the works and it’s Sasha we have to thank for. Be as immature as you’d like, Clinton, but Eric is not only clearly smitten. He’s inspired.”

  “You can speculate as much as you’d like, but I don’t know,” Clinton admitted. “Yes, I noticed the change. The fact that he’ll be here for a few days means a lot.”

  “I told you!”

  “But they’ve only been together . . . what? Less than six months? Eric is addicted to being needed. It’s his new vice after alcohol.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I know him longer than you do.”

  “You don’t know him like I do.”

  Clinton smiled. “Touché.”

  Aida, now wearing her strappy stilettos, went to him. Her brown eyes were frank with feminine appreciation. Clinton felt ten feet tall. “My husband. My mighty beast. You do clean up nice.”

  “Well, I have to catch up with you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  “Speaking of catch-up, remember what you owe me?”

  She bent to whisper in his ear, and he smiled. Damn. Dinner was going to be very hard.

  Before

  Sasha couldn’t be stopped the previous night. Again and again, she sought Eric, rousing him with boldening kisses, the slide of her soft flesh against his, the warmth of her moans. Every time Eric would think himself wrung out his cock would harden, eager and desperate to be one with her for one more time. She drew him on top of her, the light in her eyes warring with the blush in her cheeks at the newness of being together like this.

  It was sweet how her eyes lit up like blue stars when he settled between her legs, followed by a gasp as he rested the full weight of his body on her. Her arms would open as if she had always held him. Seeing her surprise and pleasure from it was a sight he couldn’t get enough as well.

  Eric watched her sleeping from a chair, his expression thoughtful yet scrutinizing. Sasha slept on her back, an arm resting on her flat stomach, the other arm flung to the side. Her legs were a wanton, inviting spread, thighs partially obscured by the blanket. Red-pink nipples stood taut from the cool morning.

  He got up, putting his sketchpad and charcoal on the table. A tender brush swept her hair away from her face. A quick flick of the wrist brought the blanket to her chest. Another caress, on her cheek, then he returned to the chair, picking up the pad and charcoal.

  He was exercising a light hand capturing the shadows of the morning on her body when she stirred, turning slowly and stretching like a very contented cat. Shifting to her side, then her stomach, the sleepy listlessness of her arms and legs dragged the blanket down. He admired the slope of her shoulder, the slight rise of a curve that hinted at her buttocks, the hairs peeking between the cheeks. As his heart beat erratically, she raised her head and peered at him with sleepy blue eyes.

  Eric held his breath as she stared at the pad on his lap, the smudges of gray on his fingers. She glanced at the blanket near the foot of the bed, then back at him.

  “You were drawing me,” she said, not getting up from the bed. Nor did she cover herself.

  “Yes.” He said.

  “Are you done?”

  “Not yet.” He turned the pad, so he had a fresh page. He looked at her, hoping she got the hint.

  To his surprise, Sasha removed the rest of the blanket from her person. She sat up. Pale hair tousled and sticking out in all directions, her blue eyes soft and heavy-lidded. In the light, her skin was marble with faint splashes of pink freckles. His eyes went dark at the sight of her nipples still swollen from his kisses.

  He couldn’t look away from her.

  “How do you want me?”

  At my side. Always at my side, he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Could you move, lie on your back. Yes. Like that. Curve your arm towards your face. Lower. Hand by your cheek. That’s it. Look at me. No, relax your legs. Bend them just like that. Yes. Don’t . . . let me see your pussy.”

  Her cheeks were a lovely candy-pink at his last instruction. Her thighs were stained from their fucking. Momentary lightheadedness hit him, so he had to look away.

  “Just like that, sweetheart.” He said, picking up the charcoal and keeping a firm grip on it.

  The sketch was a preliminary study of what he hoped would be a painting. He wanted to paint her in a way that showed how the light loved her body, celebrating the strength in her hands and legs, her, instead of softening. He would have to try capturing the blue of her eyes. He hoped to paint her in such a way that whoever saw her fell in love.

  He worked for close to an hour. The charcoal sang across the paper; his heart was echoing the rhythm. It was next to impossible to keep still. The quiet between them was only broken by her sigh, his throat - clearing, the rustle of her body against the sheet as she relieved some stiffness from her limbs. Her eyes never left him.

  She remained in her position as he suddenly put away the pad and charcoal to stand up. Her sudden intake of breath was a loud hiss as she saw his erection. Eric went to her, and she made room for him. They lay on their sides, eyes on each other, breath warming each other’s lips. She put a hand on his chest, palm skimming the taut muscles under the golden hairs. Eric had to resist groaning out loud; instead he put an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  The previous night was a turning point for them. For the first time in his life, Eric was unburdened by dread and shame. The mental and emotional unloading found him fainting in the tub, but Sasha had been there, once again helping without expectations. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he remembered her calling for him, being cradled in her strong arms. No one had held him like she had. Not even his own mother - there was little of her he could remember now.

  He looked at her as she pushed herself up. What boldness she had last night had fled her. The shy, hesitant young woman was back, along with the big blue eyes searching his face for a sign, a flinch, a cringe. His heart twisted at the sweetness of it, seeing the resolve in her eyes just before she brushed her lips against his. She retreated, her breath a warm, dry rush on his face.

  “Why did you stop?” He asked her, steeling himself from touching her.

  “I - I’m not sure what to do,” she admitted. “I - I - was last night too much?”

  He had to smile. “Do you hear me complaining?”

  She blushed. “I wish to please my husband.”

  It should make him shout to the skies ho
w she called him that without stumbling over the word. Instead, it reminded him why she wore his ring. But he couldn’t let that cloud hang over them first thing this morning. He pulled her back down and pressed his mouth on her.

  Then she suddenly pulled back. There was uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Sweetheart,” he started to reassure her, touching her shoulder.

  “Do you want to fuck?” It came out in a rush.

  “Do you want to fuck?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled again and pulled her over him. She shook her head and instead lay back on the bed. “Fuck me, Eric,” she whispered, heat deepening her blush. “But I want you on top of me. Again.”

  He had been hesitant every time she pulled him on top of her. This morning, with the sun bathing in her its golden light, baring her eyes, her freckles, and every mark of his kisses and body on her flesh, he finally believed the trust she put in him. He moved over her, slow to lower his body on the strong, firm expanse of her.

  Sasha greeted him with a kiss.

  Eric was lost. Her eyes undid him, her touch. He was no one, just a breathing, pulsing thing in her arms. He filled her mouth with his tongue, wishing to be joined with her in every way possible and not wanting to be alone again. He wanted her to remember how it was, with him, how it could only be with him, so he took long, eager pulls of her swollen nipples with his mouth. Her cries spurred him on, deepening and hardening the kisses he laid up and down and all over her body. He swept her long legs far apart to show her he was the only one to be trusted with this, like this.

  He watched her thrash and sob as he unraveled her with every lave and kiss on her sticky pussy. She tasted faintly of his salt, and of her. His tongue was firm in fucking her, flicking at the inner crevices and curves of her pussy that drew loud gasps from her lips, made her eyes huge and disbelieving. His smile was a pure pleasure as she discovered this kind of pleasure. Her legs bent and clamped around his head; he had to wedge apart. Spreading them wide until her feet nearly hung down the edge of the bed. He thumbed her labia wide open, baring the wet, pink thrust of her clit. His tongue circled her clit, pulling a rough grunt from her. When he sucked on it loudly, she screamed.