The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  I stared at the man as he stood at the foot of my bed, opening his satchel, removing an odd assortment of items, and placing them on the lacy coverlet. He was charming, irresistible really. And compelling me to do something I would never even have considered had my father not threatened me so. I felt something knot deep inside me where I thought my womb should be.

  “Let’s go slow, how would that be? Let me have a look at your face and then we’ll proceed from there.” He put his knee on the edge of the bed and leaned in to me. Taking my face in both hands, he turned it this way and that way to get the lamplight and I suppose to offset the shadows that were playing over the room. His large hands felt warm and tender and they totally encompassed my face. He was a big man and I was pleased to finally meet a man who dwarfed me. His eyes met mine and held. I felt something unraveling inside and was surprised it was a pleasant sort of feeling. I was tingling and flushing. When his eyes fell to my lips I felt moisture flooding me between my thighs. Something that rarely happened, but I knew that when it did, I became an easily flustered woman. He stared at my mouth so long that I thought he was going to kiss me. And I was actually disappointed when he didn’t. Good Lord, what was happening to me? His fingers stroked the bruise on my cheek, as if caressing it.

  “Not too bad, you’ll have a colorful bruise tomorrow, but there will be no permanent damage.” He ran his finger up and down my nose and I must admit, it felt wonderful. I tingled from his touch and wanted him to do it over and over again.

  “Your father said your bodice was ripped and that when he took the man off you that your breast was exposed, and that there were red streaks across it. Did he hurt you there?”

  The thought that my father had seen my bared breast caused my face to heat. I remembered then that Robert had squeezed my breast hard, several times in order to get his penis stiff enough so that he could take me. I didn’t think I was hurt, but I nodded, answering his question. “It hurt at the time when he squeezed my left breast but it doesn’t hurt at all now.”

  “I’d better check, just to make sure.”

  I felt that womb tightening feeling again, only this time something lower clenched too. I couldn’t believe this was happening, that there was a strange man in my bedchamber and that he was going to look at the private parts of my body. But he didn’t give me time to think. His fingers worked quickly to undo the buttons on my nightgown, unbuttoning them all the way to my waist before reaching inside the placket and spreading the gown over my shoulders. I gasped, then quickly averted my eyes from my chest where I’d been watching him take liberties only a husband was entitled to. Preferring to look at his face as he looked at my chest, I saw his eyes the moment he bared my breasts. What I saw there caused my stomach to flutter. The heat in his eyes as he looked at my naked chest was palpable. I could tell he liked what he saw as his lips quirked and his breathing changed drastically. So did mine. I finally had to follow his eyes to see what it was he was seeing. After a few moments, his fingers found and traced the light purpling bruise that was beginning to show through the pale creaminess of my skin on the swell of my left breast. “The man should be shot for marring such beauty. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, but Lord, your breasts are lovely.”

  I watched as he gently kneaded them, ostensibly checking for bruising. I closed my eyes and pretended he was enjoying touching and looking at them as much as I was enjoying his light, gentle caresses. I felt my nipples go hard as soon as the air had hit them, but now they ruched tight and became hard nubs begging to be pinched or tugged. I took in a deep breath and so did he. I could feel that he was hefting them, weighing them in his hands. His hands were large and I filled them completely. My eyes met his and I willed him to touch my nipples, I would have keened and swooned if he would only graze them with the edge of his thumb and as his eyes lifted to mine, I knew he saw exactly what I was thinking. He knew exactly what I wanted him to do but he didn’t. Ever so slowly he opened his palms and released both breasts. Stepping back, he asked me to refasten my nightgown and I reluctantly did. Never in my life had I imagined this was how it could be when a man looked at me or touched me. I wanted him to reconsider, to ask me to undo my nightgown again so he could heft me, palm me, thumb me, pluck me, pinch me . . .suckle me.

  “It would be better if you slid down a little for the next part. I’ll help you with your nightgown if you’ll just lift your hips.” He tossed the quilt that had been covering my lap aside and grabbed the hem of my nightgown.

  To be continued . . . VaVaViv: I want more!

  PeterPeterPeter: That’s what they all say.

  VaVaViv: No, really, tell me the rest of the story. PeterPeterPeter: You have to earn it. Chapter by Chapter. Go to bed now, rest up. I have plans for you. Goodnight.

  I put my head in my hands over the keyboard and rubbed my forehead. This man was killing me, with thoughts of sex no less. I hadn’t felt this alive in years, unsure if I had ever felt this alive. I made my way to bed, praying that I would get some sleep so I wouldn’t have lackluster eyes and bad skin in the morning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shallotte Point Tessa and Cat were practically on my doorstep when I opened the door to get my morning paper and I had no choice but to re-live the night for them. Amid oohs and aaahs, mmms and unhuhs, I relayed things as best I could, surprisingly leaving out very little. I finally got them to leave so I could go for my walk by promising to forward the first chapter of Philip’s story to them.

  Then I came home to shower and change and to spend some time shopping with Mom. By the time we got back and I had her resettled, it was time for another shower, although I opted for a nice long soak, and to get ready for my date with Philip.

  I dressed in my best jeans, the ones that fit perfectly everywhere, and didn’t bind anywhere. I wanted to be comfortable above all else tonight since we were going to the movies and would be sitting a long time. I put on a brushed flannel shirt that was soft and warm along with a tan suede leather jacket that added some chic to my casual outfit. Then I put on ridiculously tall sling backs with see thru heels that were totally inappropriate to the season.

  He picked me up in a shiny black Ford Expedition that had a company logo on the front door. He said he thought our second date would be better if it was just the two of us so he’d given his driver the night off after picking the truck up from Jones Ford.

  “I wanted to be alone with you and I needed to get a work truck anyway.”

  “You couldn’t have driven the limo? You bought a truck instead?” I was astounded. He had bought this just for tonight?

  He smiledover me and patted my thigh. “Relax, I actually ordered this truck and paid for it at the end of the year, they’ve been storing it for me. According to my accountants, you’re practically penalized for not making some ridiculous end-of-the-year expenditure like this, whether you need it or not. The tax credit makes the deal hard to turn down. It’s insane. Anyway, it’s just been sitting there since the end of December. Gene Marshburn’s been real nice about it, but I thought since I was coming to see you, I might as well pick it up.”

  “Kill two birds . . .?”

  “And get a chance to drive one of my own vehicles for a change.”

  On the ride to Shallotte he asked about my mother and I gave him some back-story on my interesting and quirky childhood. He had a lot of questions about my school years and my boyfriends, and by the time we arrived at Planet Fun, we were both laughing hilariously.

  We had Cobb salads served with a healthy portion of shrimp at the Starz Grille, and a bottle of cabernet, which Philip insisted I drink the lion’s share of. Then after walking around and looking at all the video games and even watching him play a few, the owner, Brian McCall, talked us into a game of bowling, on the house. So we checked out shoes and made our way to the designated lane. Philip removed his sports coat and rolled up the sleeves of his white oxford shirt.

  “Size twelve huh?” I said as I watched him slide his tan striped so
ck into the shoe. I couldn’t help it, I winked. “You know, that’s supposed to be an indication . . .”

  “It can be . . . but the best indicator is the length of a man’s right forefinger. If it’s really long, thick, and straight, well . . .” he let the words play out while he raised his hand and stared at his finger. It was long, well-jointed, and decidedly straight.

  I laughed. Then he laughed.

  “In fact, I once knew a guy who cut the tip of his finger off down to the first knuckle with a power saw. He insisted the doctors sew it back on regardless of whether it would reattach itself. He was more afraid of losing that inch,” he looked pointedly at his crotch, “than losing his whole finger.”

  “Did he lose his finger?”

  “No, but now his penis has interesting little stitch marks all around the crown.”

  I pushed against his shoulder and he chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed before he got up to select a ball. It was the first time I had seen him from the back and he was what the girls would call primo. His tan slacks fit him perfectly, he was lean and tall and the sharp creases followed the long lines of his legs until he bent to select a ball and then they pulled snug, outlining a taut butt. I grabbed a flier from the seat and used it to fan my face. Then I watched him bend and throw the ball. A split.

  “Hot?” he asked as he turned back to face me.

  “Uh, yeah, just a bit.”

  He looked at me in a knowing manner, smiled and turned to get the ball that had returned.

  I hadn’t played in years and he said he hadn’t either, but he handily beat me by well over a hundred pins. It was fun, we laughed and marveled at the new technology. Brian had arranged for me to have gutter guards pop up when it was my turn so I wouldn’t get any gutter balls. Since smoking wasn’t allowed anywhere, it was very pleasant to sit and watch the bowlers on the other lanes and not have to rush through the game as I had done the last time I had played, which I was now just realizing had been in the last century. The little kids were precious with their enthusiasm and the league bowlers were so competitive it was easy to get caught up in the action. We were having so much fun that we opted for another game and this time he only beat me by ninetyeight pins.

  We thanked Brian on the way out for the best time either of us had ever had bowling. Philip then helped me up into the front seat of his new truck. When he got into his seat and started the truck, I noticed he had turned my leather seat to the highest setting.

  “It’s not that cold outside.”

  “I don’t want you to be cold while you’re on the inside either,” was all he said.

  He turned on his left blinker at Pigott Street just before the bend at Ocean Isle and as he waited for a car to pass coming toward us, I asked, “Where we goin’?”

  “I bought some property a while back, on the river. Thought I’d take a little detour and check it out, you don’t mind do you?”

  He looked over at me and I shook my head, “No, I don’t mind.”

  We drove almost to the end of the road before he turned right onto Cottonwood and then after making several turns he pulled off the road and onto a plot of grass. He kept driving until I could see what I knew was the Shallotte River right in front of us. The half moon shone on the water or I would not have been able to see anything, it was so dark. He shut off the engine and relaxed in his seat, his body turned toward mine, one crooked leg hiked up on the seat with his knee up against the console.

  “You have no neighbors.” There was not a house in sight.

  “I own several lots here, there’s a few houses down there,” he pointed and I could see a faint light off in the distance. No one would ever hear me if I screamed. And that could be a good thing, I thought, as his hand lightly stroked my hair back from my face.

  “Hmmm, pretty remote. Out of the way, off the beaten path, so to speak.”

  “Don’t get nervous, I’m not a serial killer.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured apparently content to just stroke my hair and occasionally my cheek.

  “But are you a serial rapist?”

  “If that’s the thrill you’re looking for, I could be,” he murmured. His quiet manner, his unhurried touches, all joined together to unnerve me. I felt the power of his experience with women; there was no doubt in my mind that this man knew his way around the bedroom. Or any other place he managed to corner a woman.

  “No, maybe next time. I’m not really in the mood for rough sex tonight.”

  He chuckled then drew my face close, bridging the console with his long torso. “Are you in the mood for another kind of sex tonight?” That husky, vibrating timber was back and I wouldn’t have been able to escape his meaning even had I not heard any of the words.

  The muscles of his arms were taut as he bent to kiss me. I could feel them tighten under my hands as I held on tightly. A long, lingering kiss that heated me more than the seat left me dazed. Then his lips left to blaze a trail down my neck. “Let’s just make out, or is it called necking now?” he whispered. I felt his breath on my neck, hot and erratic and then his lips began a gentle, thorough massage working toward my collarbone.

  “Uh, I’m not quite sure . . .” I lost my senses when his lips and tongue traveled back up and assaulted the area right under my ear. God, this man knew all my buttons!

  After I was damned near insensate, I looked down to see that he was unbuttoning my shirt. And that he only had two buttons to go before it was completely unbuttoned. Before I knew it, they too were undone and he was spreading the plackets wide. Well, I knew there had been a reason why he’d asked me to wear this particular bra tonight. I looked at his face to see his reaction.

  His eyes widened and his smile bloomed into a huge grin as he cursed softly, in a good way, in a very good way.

  “Viv, my God, your tits are fabulous. Unbelievable,” he whispered, reverently. He drew the backs of his fingers over them, then under them, stroking the upper swells and the undersides. His fingertips caressed the sides, skimming my underarms. All the while his eyes never left my chest. Then his fingertips were on my nipples, pinching and tugging on both of them while he watched the nipples stretch and retract. I melted into the seat. I had made the mistake of looking down at his large hands caressing me, hefting each breast to feel the weight of it, squeezing to feel the firmness, and then cupping them together to make the nipples almost touch each other, and a flood soaked my panties.

  His fingers stroked along the underwire of my bra pulling all of my eager flesh away and up. “I think we’ll leave this on, it holds you nice and high while giving me full access to your lovely breasts.” His mouth dipped and his lips captured my nipple and sucked while the fingers of his other hand continued their relentless plucking of my other nipple. I was beside myself with joy and wonder. I had never experienced such a rush of passion. He was sucking me, and hard. And now I was soaking his seat again. I had immense pride in my body again—without this bra I was an older woman with gravity issues—with it, I was buxom, and everything was in the exact place it was supposed to be. As far as I was concerned, it was the best thirty dollars I’d ever spent. I felt young again.

  He removed my shirt and tossed it toward the back of the truck. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it float in the air and knew it was thrown hard enough to clear the back seat. Knowing it was so far away and completely out of my reach, sent a thrill shivering through me. Just knowing he had the power to keep me uncovered like this for as long as he liked, spiked my desire. I felt vulnerable, yet very sexy, and very hot.

  “You are such a naughty girl,” he whispered against my lips as he inserted his tongue and Frenched me with a quick, sly tongue. “You want men to see your nipples poking out of your shirts and sweaters; you want them to imagine how nice your tits are. But honey, they can image all they like; nothing prepared me for the sight of these beauties. You could work in a topless bar right now and rake in tips just as well as any twe
nty-year-old.”

  “It’s a great bra. Truly, without it, gravity wins.”

  “Yes, it’s a great bra, but you have to have the material to work with first, and darlin’ you most assuredly certainly do.” He was pulling and tweaking on my nipples, harder and harder, and driving me insane. Then he dipped his head and licked and laved every inch of each breast. I was arching off the seat, and trying to climb over the console to get to his body so I could rub my nether region against his legs, his thigh, his anything. I finally settled for rubbing up against the console. He flashed me a wicked smile, his cheek against my breast as he moved to suckle the tip, then with his other hand, he undid my jeans and pulled them down my legs. He was driving me wild, so when they got stuck just past my knees, I helped him by kicking them off. The jeans were balled up and thrown into the back to join my shirt.

  “That’s a good girl. You want those panties off too, don’t you?” And God help me, I did. I didn’t know if it was all the wine I’d drunk, the fact that I hadn’t had sex since, well . . . forever, or the fact that he knew exactly what to say, exactly where to touch.

  He made quick work of my tiny red bikinis, stripping them down my legs with minimal effort. He kept them in his hand while his fingers returned to caress my curls. “So soft, so thick. Lush,” he murmured against my collarbone. His breath was hot on my skin and I noticed he was having trouble breathing, too. That made me feel a lot better, this heady desire was not just on my part.

  His hands went under my arms and he lifted me onto the console cover, facing him, and propped me up against the inside edge of my seat. I was sitting up high now, my navel at his eye level. He reached for the glove box and opened the door allowing soft light to illuminate the area. He tucked my underwear in the back under the warranty folder, but he didn’t close the glove box door and I knew it was because he didn’t want to lose the light it offered.