by Megan Hart
“There’s my girl,” Mick whispered against her mouth.
His foot pushed against the ground to get the swing rocking again. The hand on her breast moved down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart slow, slow, slow, so that she had time to tell him to stop. And she thought about it, knowing this path they were taking was probably going to end up causing trouble, but in that moment no longer able to care.
Match to gasoline, that’s what Mick had always been to her. Should, would, could—there were a hundred thousand heartbeats between now and the last time they’d kissed, but it didn’t matter. She was touching that hot stove again with fingertips already scarred from the blisters.
He didn’t have to move. The motion of the swing pressed his knuckles to her again and again, just enough pressure each time to build up the pleasure before easing off. When she gasped, he laughed against her lips before kissing her again.
It went on and on, every sensation weaving together. The breeze and far-off cries of night birds. The water splashing on the rocks. The creak of the chains against the tree’s branch. Mick’s low moan when she unbuckled his belt to free him. His sharp gasp when she slipped a hand inside to stroke his erection. The sound of his desire added a fresh layer to her own.
It had always been like this with him. Knowing how to move. Where to touch. How hard, how soft, how fast or slow. She was on the edge within minutes and stayed on it for an hour, as every so often he’d push the swing again to keep them going.
You’re a fool, her mind said. Idiot. Resist, her heart urged. You’re only going to regret it! Head and heart for once were in agreement, but it was another part of her anatomy altogether that kept her going. At last, unable to keep herself from it, Alice pulled her mouth from Mick’s and bent to take his cock instead. The angle was awkward, the swing not the most comfortable seat, but just as Mick had used the rocking to arouse her, now Alice was able to do the same. All she had to do was take him inside her mouth while the swing moved him in and out.
He muttered her name. One hand fisted into her hair. The other stayed between her legs though he’d managed now to slide a finger underneath the edge of her panties—plain cotton. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have worn silk or lace. She should’ve known. She was so wet that one finger slipped inside her without friction.
Mick pushed. The swing rocked. His finger moved in and out of her in the same rhythm that her mouth moved on his cock. They were completely in sync.
He said her name again, like a warning this time. With another smile she bent back to him again as her climax rippled through her. Her body clutched at his fingers as she took him in deep. Not letting go. The sound of Mick’s hoarse shout as he came sent another wave of orgasm washing over her.
Body aching from being contorted into positions that hadn’t been painful when she’d been distracted by pleasure, Alice sat up. The taste of him lingered; she leaned to kiss him and he sucked gently on her tongue before pulling away to look into her eyes.
“Whoa,” Mick said.
Alice laughed.
“I mean, that was … whoa.”
She swatted him lightly, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased. “Stop.”
He pulled her close to kiss her again. “Never.”
It was something he’d have told her way back then, so Mick, so familiar, and yet suddenly so unwelcome because it reminded her of broken promises and betrayal. She didn’t yet regret what had happened, but she figured that was on its way. She sat back. He did, too, maybe feeling the way she did or maybe just sensing her discomfort.
“It’s late,” Alice told him. “We should get inside.”
* * *
Whenever I see any of them, I always think of you. I can’t help it. I mean, I would never have met you if I hadn’t been invited to Bernie’s house. You and I became so much more, and now it looks like we’ve turned into something so much less … but that never stops me from remembering you when I’m hanging out with them. They’ve stopped asking me about you, though. I guess they learned not to, maybe by my expression or how I find a way to change the subject when your name comes up. The worst part of it is, they were your friends first. And because of me, you lost them. They’d never say it, but maybe you would, if you’d only still talk to me, Alice. But you never answer me, so I guess that means you plan to never speak to me again.
I’m sorry for that, to have taken something away from you that meant a lot. But mostly I’m sorry that whatever I did made you hate me so much you’d be willing to give up the people who love you more than I could.
—Mick to Alice, unsent
* * *
“Morning.” Paul had always been an early riser like Mick. “Coffee?”
Mick helped himself to a mug from the cupboard and held it out for the other man to fill. Bernie had put out some trays of pastries and breakfast breads last night, though later he’d be making an enormous brunch. At the moment, running on only two hours of sleep, Mick thought coffee was more than plenty.
“Looks like it’s going to be a great day.” Paul went to the French doors to look out. “Can’t wait to hit the lake. You in?”
“Yeah. Probably.” Mick sipped the sweet, rich coffee with a small sigh and leaned against the counter. “Sounds good.”
Paul looked at him over his shoulder with a grin. “Need a little hair of the dog? I brought some Baileys.”
Mick wasn’t hungover, at least not from drinking too much. He was suffering from a severe case of Alice withdrawal, something no morning shot of liquor was going to fix. He imagined he could still taste her, smell her, feel her. He’d dreamed of her in the brief and fitful sleep he’d managed after finally drifting off. Jumbled images of her smile, her body, scenes from the past along with things that had never happened.
“Nah, man. I’m good.” He lifted the coffee. “Just tired.”
Paul rolled his neck on his shoulders. “I hear you. We’re all getting fucking old, man. Used to be we’d be up until dawn and still manage to spend the day doing all kinds of stuff. Now if I’m not in bed by ten, I pay for it all the next day.”
“Nobody was in bed last night before ten.” Mick looked over the breakfast tray, at last considering a bagel with cream cheese, but not quite up to the effort of actually toasting one.
“Nobody’ll be out of bed before ten, either.” Paul laughed. “Hey. It’s good to see you, man. It’s been what. A year? Two?”
“Denver. Two winters ago.” A bunch of them had gotten together for a weekend ski trip, not quite as extravagant as a weekend at the lake house but still fun. They’d tried to meet up for drinks or dinner since then, but schedules hadn’t worked out.
“That was a good time. This’ll be a good time, too. I need it. Work’s been hell.”
The conversation turned to work and life and after another half hour Dayna wandered into the kitchen to give them both absentminded but affectionate hugs and kisses to the cheek. Jay, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, was next. Every time a new person came through the doorway, Mick braced himself for the sight of Alice, but it was never her.
She’d left. He knew it. She’d snuck off before dawn, desperate to get away and forget about him. He’d screwed up, pushed her too fast and too far.
And then, there she was. Not exactly radiant, her gorgeous dark red hair tied on top of her head in a bun messy enough to be truly slept on and not for affect. No makeup but the faintly purple shadows that had always plagued her with lack of sleep. Not pretty, but beautiful. Laughing, she didn’t look at him as Paul handed her a mug of coffee and Dayna urged her toward one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“Still got it for her, huh?” Jay said this so quietly that nobody else could’ve heard him, but Mick still jumped slightly.
Guilty, he shrugged. “It’s been years.”
“Some things don’t go away.” Jay let his gaze drift to Paul for the barest moment before giving Mick a small, tight-lipped smile.
By the time Bernie c
ame down to start the cooking, Mick had drunk enough coffee to finally feel like he might be able to keep his eyelids open without the use of toothpick props. Soon the smell of bacon and sausage filled the kitchen, along with omelets made with fresh-sliced ingredients they’d all pitched in to prepare. Someone had put on some music. Some people danced. Cookie broke out the Bloody Marys and mimosas.
“It’s already halfway to shit-faced o’clock.” Jay lifted his mug toward Mick, who’d escaped the bustle in the kitchen to the deck outside.
Mick had been avoiding the booze so far, though through the window he could see Alice sipping from a champagne glass of orange juice. “Booze and food and games. Hear we’re going to the lake in a bit.”
“Yeah.” Jay leaned on the railing to look out over the yard. “It’s gonna be great.”
And it was, of course. It always was when this group of friends got together. Some had known each other since college. Others had been introduced through relationships that had come and gone. There’d been some blowups over the years, clashes of personality. Moments of sudden, uncomfortable silence. But for the most part, these people had been in Mick’s life for so long he couldn’t imagine life without them, no matter how infrequently they saw one another.
It had been that way with Alice, too, for too short a time, until one day he’d woken up and realized that was it. She was really gone. No more late-night phone conversations, no more early morning lovemaking. No more fingers linking while they walked, no more laughter. Alice had disappeared from his life.
Until now.
“Good morning,” he said to her at last when he brought a handful of dishes to the dishwasher she was loading.
She straightened to take the plates from him, fitting them neatly into the racks with a small smile for him. “Hi.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Great.” After the dishwasher was full, Alice reached for the soap and added it to the dispenser while Mick stood there like an idiot. She shut the door and pushed the button to start the cycle, then looked at him.
Her expression, open and neutral and without hostility, nevertheless sank his heart. There was no glimmer in her eyes. Nothing to show that last night they’d fucked around on the swing, that she’d made him come with her mouth, that he’d gotten her off with his fingers. The memory stirred his cock even now, and he wished he wore more than the lightweight pajama bottoms.
“You going to the lake?” she asked.
“You?”
She nodded. Around them, their friends laughed and talked, making it really easy for her to stay silent without making a big deal out of it. Mick swallowed more words, smiling instead and backing off.
Forty minutes later, spreading out the blanket on the nubbly, sandy shore of Crane Lake, Mick was already wishing he’d been smart and stayed back at the house. Gorgeous weather, bright sunshine, more wine, good friends … the perfect recipe for a great day, and yet all he wanted to do was stare at the only woman who’d ever broken him.
He was an asshole.
It didn’t help that Alice wore an emerald green bikini, vintage-styled with a high-waisted bottom. She looked like a fifties movie starlet with her hair up, her toenails painted crimson. She tipped a bottle of cola to her lips as she laughed at something Dayna was saying, and in that moment, Mick wished he could snap a picture of her without looking like a creep. It was bad enough she caught him staring, her smile fading a little before she turned her gaze away.
A dip in the water didn’t help him, either, and finally Mick gave up. “Hey, I’m heading back to the house for a nap.”
Cookie looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
“The best place to nap is on a towel in the sand,” put in Dayna as she stretched out with a sigh of pleasure.
Mick gathered his towel and shrugged back into his button-down. “Right, and wake up with a dick drawn in permanent marker on my face?”
Dayna gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. “That was one time!”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sleep in the dark and quiet, unmolested.” Mick laughed and flipped Paul the bird when the other man made a rude gesture. “See you all later.”
Behind him the laughter swelled and eased. The walk back to the house took only ten minutes or so along a path carpeted with pine needles. He passed the stream and the swing, forcing himself not to linger, and headed for the house. He had the basement room, the smallest guest space in the house, but even though the bathroom was also tiny, he’d always preferred it for the privacy. Just off the furnished rec room, it was apart from all the hustle and bustle of the house, and with only one small window, it could be made completely dark. And silent.
He smelled of sunscreen and the lake water, but the bed was tempting him so much he didn’t even consider a shower. Instead, he shucked out of his trunks and shirt, kicking his sandals beneath a chair, and slipped naked into the soft, cool sheets. He was asleep in minutes.
* * *
I am drunk on the memory of your touch.
The taste and smell of your skin. The feeling of your breath on my face and your arms going around me, pulling me closer, and how you let your mouth drift along my cheek to kiss the corners of my eyes, because you said you like the lines there.
You said I was beautiful, and it made me want to cry. Not because I didn’t believe you meant it, but because I did. There in that moment, I was as lovely as I might ever be.
I needed to leave, but could not make myself go. Stay, you asked me. A half hour more.
And I did.
—Alice to Mick
* * *
Alice didn’t make a big deal about heading back to the house. She waited fifteen minutes, giving Mick plenty of time to get there and everyone else the chance to pretend they weren’t noticing that she was also leaving. It wasn’t that she cared, exactly, if any of them thought she and Mick were hooking up. She just didn’t want to have to talk about it.
Why she’d followed him was a question she couldn’t quite answer. Last night’s adventure on the swing had seemed inevitable at the time, after the kiss in the hallway. After the hours of lingering looks and casual touches. When had she ever been able to resist him? Even when she’d hated him, Alice had been unable to stop herself from wanting him. And she hadn’t actively hated Mick for a long time.
She didn’t hate him now, neither.
What she felt for him couldn’t be described. Lust, of course. Longing. She’d been unable to stop thinking about kissing him. Touching. She’d worried the thoughts of fucking him the way she was prone to probe and fuss with a snagged nail or the rough edge of a tooth … poking something that should be smoothed away and forgotten.
She shouldn’t have kissed him. Definitely should not have touched him. Yet here she was again, on a path to self-destruction that confused and exhilarated her. She could tell herself all she wanted that it had been a one-time thing, a mistake made from a little too much wine and a little too much time.
Yet here she was again, letting herself in through the sliding glass door to the basement, pausing to slip off her flip-flops. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, blinking so her eyes could adjust to the dimness inside. She could just go upstairs, she told herself. Take a shower in the bathroom she and Dayna were sharing. Slip into her own bed and fall into a nap. She didn’t have to do this.
Except, oh, how she wanted to.
She didn’t knock. He hadn’t locked the door, and she slipped into the dark room, her bare toes making only a whisper on the hardwood floor. The blinds on the single window had been drawn so only the tiniest crack of light shone through, but after a minute or so she was able to see well enough. The basement room was outfitted with a double bed, dresser, and overstuffed recliner, with a small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and she took all of this in before letting her gaze settle at last on the bed. The shape beneath the covers.
He breathed softly, in and out. Sleeping, she thought with some relief. She hadn’t woken him. She could s
till back out. Save herself.
But of course, Alice didn’t. For better or worse, they’d both jumped on this train last night, and she was still riding it. She moved toward the bed, careful not to make a sound. She didn’t want to startle him awake. Instead, she gently drew back the covers to reveal inch after inch of his naked flesh, her throat closing at the sight. When she’d pulled the covers low enough to catch a glimpse of the hair low on his belly, her hands started to shake. She had to pause.
“Alice.”
The sound of her name sent a whirl of emotions through her, so fierce she had to close her eyes against them. Mick’s hand circled her wrist, keeping her hand from tugging the blankets any lower. She waited for him to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. Maybe even to tell her to get out.
He pulled her closer, instead. Eyes still closed, hands still shaking, Alice slid into the bed next to him. They were entwined in a moment. His mouth on hers. His hands diving into her hair, tugging it out of the elastic so that it tumbled down all around them. She gasped at the press of his tongue in her mouth, and Mick drew the breath out of her.
When his lips left hers to move along her jaw, his teeth nibbling, Alice arched into that caress. She said his name. His fingers twitched, pulling her hair, tipping her head back so he could get to her throat. The press of his teeth there left her shivering, nipples tight. Her pussy throbbed, the sleek fabric of her bathing suit rubbing her clit until she squirmed.
Mick shifted, sliding his thigh between hers, then moving on top of her so that the thickness of his hard cock pressed against her. In the darkness she could only glimpse the barest hint of his features, but she didn’t need to see his expression to imagine the heavy-lidded look of his desire. She could hear it in his groan. Feel it in the nip of his teeth on her throat, then the soft swipe of his tongue in the same spot. In the way he moved against her, his cock rubbing, rubbing like magic on her swollen clit as though the thin material of her bikini bottom existed only to create just … that … much … more … pleasure.