by Tarin Lex
“Where’re you from, Ari?”
“Dallas, Texas. You?”
“Boise originally. Been living here almost ten years.”
“I like it here,” she says.
“Ah. I figured you’d been out photographing nature,” I reckon between bites. “Typical Wylder Bluffs summer tourist…” I level my gaze more intensely on hers. I dig how it makes her blush harder. I rake my fingers over my beard and proffer a smirk, and she pales when I pin her intentions right on the nose. “…or do you only crash weddings?”
Ariel
I’m all right, all right. Though I can’t really say why I’m here or why I stayed—there aren’t words to describe the irrational compulsions I’m feeling tonight, or at least, no words that wouldn’t make me sound like an utter lunatic. It was straight out of a movie. I saw him from across the room. An older man, perhaps in his thirties. Our eyes met—rather, our cameras did. And something simply exploded in me with the intensity of fireworks.
He looked big and intimidating even at a distance. I noticed his thick blond hair tied back in a wild bun, his scruffy beard and broad barrel chest. His eyes—a cool gray I can’t stop looking into now—could perforate iron, along with every stitch of my clothing. A perpetual crease between his eyebrows made him look intense and serious. And sexy as hell.
I had to know him.
The venue for the ceremony is closed this late at night, so I came here instead. The radiant bride—that could’ve been me. The band is like the one I chose. The centerpieces are totally different, but lovely. The chocolate cake isn’t quite as good as the decadent vanilla sour cream that James and I had decided on.
Stolen cake. And Asher knows.
I could deny it, but I can’t lie and steal and crash a wedding in a single night. “How’d you guess?”
“You’re underdressed.” His voice is deep, but smooth. Like dark, dark satin. “The most beautiful woman in the room, no offense to the bride, but still underdressed. You didn’t order a drink from the bar”—I don’t confess that I’d planned to but hadn’t gotten around to it yet, my heart is sorta trapped in my throat as it is—“and you looked guiltier than O.J. when you reached for the cake.”
Well, I wasn’t going to say no to cake. And he’s totally right.
I swallow, hard. “You’re not going to out me, are you?” I try to bribe him with a smile sweeter than candy apple. Not sure what on earth has gotten into me, flirting, touching, swooning at him. It’s like I’m in someone else’s body tonight. And I’m not saying that’s not all right.
I am so all right.
Those fireworks go off again, lower and deeper, when he suddenly reaches out to graze a thumb over the corner of my mouth, making my lips part as if I have no control of them whatsoever—while my other lips dampen and quiver and quake.
He swipes off a cluster of chocolate flakes and licks it slowly off his thumb. Nice hands—amazing mouth. That was sexy and sinfully sweet. My god, this man… he’s like an eclipse, simultaneously light and dark. Or like…ash. Steady and blond as the pale wood of an ash tree, and warm and yet mysteriously so, so…cool.
“I won’t out you, Dallas,” he says, in a low voice I’m not sure wasn’t meant to slay me. “Long as you delete those pictures of me.”
One of the family elders cuts in before I can say ‘hell to the no’ or ask Asher why. She practically shoves a champagne flute into my hand. “Dah-ling! It’s wonderful to see you here!” The woman assails me with a familial hug. “It’s been so long!” Asher and I exchange a look as she pats both of us on one cheek with her silk-soft hands. “To be young and in love. You two need to get out there and dance.”
“Mrs. Harrington,” Asher starts, “we’re not—”
“I insist.” She says it with her eyes narrowed so fiercely, there is no saying no. “Go on.” She flutters off, glancing back to ensure we’re obeying.
Asher takes off his camera strap and leans it all against the wall next to some other equipment I’m not familiar with. “I’m not a terrible dancer,” he says, grinning at me like we’re actually going to dance together.
“What if I am?”
“Follow my lead.”
“I’m not deleting pictures of you.”
He takes my hand, gently, and brings it to his lips. “Then I have another idea.” It better not be anything too naughty or dangerous—I’m almost afraid of myself tonight. Afraid of him. Like I’ll agree to anything.
Except deleting pictures of him. That’s a hard no. For reasons I don’t care to admit.
He doesn’t have to test my resistance before I’m spinning in his magnetic orbit. Is he even trying to do that, or is there something between us that’s actually…real? Something that feels so…right.
I almost collide into his chest when, halfway to the dancefloor, he turns around to face me again. He dips his head to my cheek and whispers, “I’d like to take more pictures of you.”
Come again? The butterflies take flight in my belly. “And I can keep mine?” I ask.
“You can keep yours.”
I consider all the implications. That is, for one infinitesimal second before I say, “Deal,” and start to extend my hand.
Instead he gently pulls me closer and seals our agreement with a warm kiss that sparks more desire for him too low, too fast, untamed. Maybe he’s been watching me on and off since I walked in; well I’ve also been watching him. I’m the best salesperson at the retail shop just outside of downtown Dallas, I think it’s because I read people well, and I read Asher as quiet, serious, maybe a bit of a workaholic. Sometimes he might get moody, or emotional, too. He’s not the type who does…this.
Whatever this is.
We’re still in something of an embrace, edging the square of polished hardwood, when I start to feel everyone’s eyes on us. The coolness of his wristwatch grazes my cheek when his hands move to run his fingers through my hair and then settle at the base of my neck. My pulse thrums into his palms. He holds me here. I let him. I can’t stop looking at his eyes.
Someone “woo-hoos.” Another guest whistles. At us?
We set down our flutes on a nearby table. When Asher leads me to the center of the dancefloor, we’re the only ones here. He takes my hand in one of his, my waist in the other, and when he closes the distance we just click right into place. Bodies, hearts, intents. Click-click-click.
Then comes an applause that quiets as the band strikes up a slowed-down version of “Friday I’m in Love” by The Cure. We start to sway as one. In another life, this would’ve been me and James and I don’t think I would’ve felt a fraction as secure and safely held in those arms. Loved.
Wait, what? I’m not supposed to be here. Asher should be working. The bride could very well be seething at us for stealing her thunder. Borrowing, really.
I ignore all that. Asher didn’t lie, he’s not a terrible dancer. Not by a wide margin. He’s so good, in fact, he makes me look—or at least feel—like I have a clue in hell what I’m doing.
I have no clue what I’m doing.
Except fueling this heat between us. It’s not like burning where you pull your hand away. But like branding, where you stay.
Toward the end of the song, he says, “Come home with me tonight.”
On instinct or impulse, or sheer carnal desire, I say, “Okay.”
Monday, Tuesday…Saturday, wait.
Four
Steele
“Where the hell is Ari?” Elsa says it with a cross look in her eye, pointing that gaze right at me, but I can’t take offense. It’s not personal.
Or it’s not mostly personal. She’s uncomfortable. Worried for her sister. Elsa barely got to enjoy the orgasm I unleashed on her an hour ago before the contractions came on fast and furious and…timed.
But the midwife told us again and again that first babies take the longest to arrive. Elsa could’ve gone to forty-two weeks, now she’s just getting started. She could go on like this, or worse, for hours. Even a couple
of days.
I need to sit down.
“Well?” she barks. She’s pacing barefoot all around the cabin, moaning and groaning while I sit hunched over the kitchen island with a stopwatch and a full cup of hot black coffee.
“You told her to go out, have fun,” I reason. “It was a good idea, she needed it. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t patronize me. It’s getting really fucking late. She should be back by now. And Leia”—Elsa pauses to press her palms into the island and growl through a minute-long contraction—“Leia is coming.” She looks up at me when she says it and my whole chest suddenly warms. My god, even now, she’s fuckin’ beautiful. Relentless. Strong.
After six weeks of classes with Elsa at the birthing center, I know my stuff. I want to tell her it’s impossible, or at least unlikely, that it’s happening now. Not because I’m in denial. It’s Braxton Hicks. It’s prodromal. It’s not Time. But the stopwatch and Elsa’s steely glare say otherwise. To hell with me and anything I think I know.
“Okay, all right,” I try to soothe without placating her. It’s a delicate line when she’s not maybe sort of almost in labor. “I’ll call the midwife.”
“No.” She reaches for my hand and clinches. “I can’t do this without Ariel. Find her, Steele. Please, please find her for me.” Another contraction doubles her over but she holds tight to my hand. I stand up to let her bear the weight against me.
When the tightening eases almost ninety seconds later, Elsa straightens and then downs the rest of my coffee in one fortifying gulp.
“I can’t do this without her here.”
She can, but she won’t. “I’ll get you to the birthing center, so you’re safe.” I start to collect our bags, keys, all the gear, and to my surprise she doesn’t protest. “It’s on the way into town anyway. No sense driving back and forth.” I stop to look at Elsa. “If Leia’s really coming tonight, I really don’t want to leave you alone. We’re a team, remember?”
“I know, but—”
“So, I at least want Monica there to keep an eye on you while I go…find your sister.”
Elsa squeals as she gets up on tiptoe, facing me. She has to stick out her ass a bit to get her arms all the way around my back. The moon—I swear. This woman could ask me for the moon.
“Thank you,” she breathes, then kisses my neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad. Thank you! I love you!”
I can do this, just need time.
Don’t pull the trigger yet, Princess.
Five
Asher and I are both stone-cold sober yet I feel borderline intoxicated as he drives us deeper and deeper into the most whimsical-looking forest. We talk and talk. It’s dark outside but for the moonlight filtering through the dense green foliage, and I imagine all the animals that call this home, where it smells like Christmas all year round. I fill my lungs with the fragrance and it wakes up my spirit. When I look out the side of Asher’s Jeep and up through the open spaces between the trees, I can see a bajillion stars.
Asher owns a ‘tiny house’ deep in the forest—two of them actually. A twin set of log cabins with steel roofs and generous windows to let in light. He resides in one of them. There’s a motorcycle parked on the side of it. The second one used to be his older brother’s until his daughter—Asher’s niece—started to feel like she’d outgrown it. At almost fifteen and living with her dad, I really don’t blame her. So Asher bought it from his brother, Hale, and uses it now as his workspace.
Not sure why I pictured a studio of sorts before we walked in. But when he shows me the inside I’m surprised to see a cozy yet sparsely furnished, distraction-free space with ample lighting and a giant Apple computer for editing photos.
“I’ve never shown it to anyone,” Asher says, looking at me looking all around his office. He smiles, almost shyly, and flicks his wristwatch like I’ve noticed he does in moments that stretch too quiet, too long. “It’s not much.”
I see more detail when I look close. A string of lights over one of the windows. A small shelf with a book and a candle and a framed picture of his mom and dad. “It’s everything,” I say aloud, a fortress and a sanctuary…just like his arms when he steps closer and they fall over me.
Asher’s a whole head taller than me. My nose fits right in the dip between his hard, worked-out pecs. He holds my hair away from my face, I look up at him, and he lowers his chin to press a kiss against my forehead.
“Is this where you wanted to take a picture of me?”
“Here,” he says, and kisses my cheek. “Next door.” His satin lips descend down my neck, the silky feeling such an abrupt contrast to the coarser texture of his beard. Just like the man behind the touch. Rough and gruff and buttery soft. “Out in the woods,” he murmurs, “all over town,” lavishing the sensitive spot at the base of my neck. “Everywhere.”
“That might take some time,” I tease, playing coy.
“That’s all I want, Ariel. Time…with you.” He kisses my lips and it feels as if I break in his arms. What a pure, crystallized moment. We don’t have history, no resentments or secrets, no ties except the ones we’re creating right now.
We have time…all the time in the world…
“Take me next door,” Ariel purrs, hazel eyes gazing up at me. If she expects me to put up a fight, she’s got the wrong guy. I’ve been a gentleman tonight. My intentions, a bit more lurid. Her fingers skitter down my spine, testing that intent, and of no volition of my own my cock flexes between us. “Is that a yes, then?” She grins, finding my shaft with curious hands.
I throw my head back and groan at the contact. Such a tigress, she is. And charming and sweet, a shock to my core. My hands lower to the hem of her dress and curl the fabric into fists. So many wicked thoughts assail my mind. So many gorgeous views of her.
Those eyes. That mouth. Her body I can’t take my hands off of now…
She strokes me over my pants until my cock grows long and hard as a steel pipe, and her eyes go dark and big.
“I should warn you, Dallas. We go next door, I’m not going to play nice.”
“Good,” she says, her eyes still saucered but her voice steady as brick. “I’m not interested in your façade. I want to see you.”
Asher leads me into his cabin like the perfect gentleman who I just know is about to dissolve into something…else. But I meant what I said. I want to see his ugly side, his scary side. Not in a year, or ten. Right now. I know it’s there.
The inside of his abode is laid out the same as his office, but with a sleek platform bed that looks so comfortable I could dive into it, and a few more personal touches. I poke around a bit. His color palette is like the earth—tan, gray, and forest green. I like that it’s clean and he doesn’t collect a lot of things. There’s a small bathroom and a kitchenette and it smells like coffee and vanilla and pheromones and smoke.
I stop. We face each other for but a breath. Then all at once we tear off our clothes as if they burn. Savagely he reaches for me. He kisses my face. I claw at his skin and his scent like I want to crawl inside of it. His cock is hard and proud as a staff, pressed to the slickness against my thighs. Asher nips me with his tongue and his teeth—my chin, my chest, all the way down to my pulsating heat. It feels sensational. I want to rock and roll against him. I want to come all over his mouth.
But he doesn’t stay down. He slides his warm, wet tongue over my pearl and up my tummy, to my breasts, infusing my core with more damp, thrilling, achy pleasure. I sigh as he tugs my pebbled peaks into his mouth, first one, then the other, before his tongue ascends higher, up my chest, over my throat. I can’t stand it. I make fists with his hair as his fingers grasp my hips and his mouth finds mine again. He ravages me. His blond hair falls loose. He reaches lower to grip my ass and then lightly smack it, and then he tugs my lower lip between his teeth and topples us both into his bed.
We moan as one, adhering like magnets. Then his mouth is on mine again, open and hot. There’s not a hint of gentleness in his kiss
. It’s raw, rough, and unapologetically demanding. His long fingers roam and rake over my body so fiercely I might have bruises tomorrow. I clutch the sheets on either side of me as my body arches toward him, urging his cock ever closer to the concentrated bundle of nerves between my thighs. The want and need are consuming my inhibitions and self-control. I wrap my legs over his waist, and a second later he presses them firmly back down on the bed. My arms too. I keep them flat, raised over my head where he put them. I take a breath. He arrests my gaze. I want to scream from this position.
Asher sits up.
Then, from a well-hidden drawer in the platform, Asher reveals a leather tie meant to bind my wrists together, and a satin mask to cover my eyes.
A shot of desire arcs over all of my tender spaces.
I gulp.
His eyebrows come together slowly to form an expression of focus, resolve, and spiraling lust. “I did warn you,” he growls, framing his body over mine.
But I never warned him. “I’ve never…done…that,” I whisper. It’s half the truth.
His damp, pillowy lips form a panty-igniting smirk. “May I?” he asks. Such a terrific gentleman. Even now, with every green light flashing bright—He. Asks.
I take a breath and smile and say, “Yes.”
I want to go easy on her our first night together, and I want to bind her and scold her and dive into her center up to the hilt. The way she writhes beneath me, giving me doe eyes and mewling like a kitten, says she wants the latter. Hard, fast, now. Every curve of her body makes my throbbing cock want that too.
But my senses are so sharply attuned to hers by now I’m certain I could measure the exact voltage of every electrical impulse within her body and mine.
There’s something she isn’t telling me.
I gather her wrists and tie them tight enough she can’t pull free without some effort, not so tight they’d leave a mark. I cover her eyes. She moans delightedly and curves her back, her strong legs shuddering, inching closer together.