“Give me a reason not to.”
“Because I’m Pete’s son. I’m your best friend’s son!”
“So was Jake.”
He positions my head over the hole in the ice. “Ed, please. Don’t.” It’s a foot down to black water and wide enough for my entire body to fit inside. “Don’t!”
Miniature waves splash the sides, wetting my face. The lapping sounds intensify as he holds the handcuffs and sends my head into the hole.
The top of my head hits the surface. “Ed!” The glacial water covers my eyes and nose. “Don’t do this!” My brain feels like slush, like the savagely cold lake is seeping inside. “Pull me up. Please! I’m sorry!”
He keeps my mouth above the surface, but the rest of my head is in a deep freeze. Water floods inside my nose, causing me to cough and choke.
“Don’t kill me.” My stomach cramps up and my dinner burns my throat. I swallow it back down, coughing, twisting, firing out turbulent kicks. The more I squirm and call out, the more I realize that Ed’s motionless. He has me confined over the side with my head half-submerged, but he’s still as stone. I’m stuck like this.
My heart races, knowing he plans to turn my head into an icicle—a slow death. How long? How long will this take? How long do I have to suffer in this position?
“Get me out of here. It hurts!”
The hood of my sweatshirt sinks into the water. It becomes waterlogged and heavy, drawing downward. The collar bulks under my chin and around my neck. Mentally, I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind thinking about Jake, remembering the down jacket he was wearing that night. It must’ve been cumbersome in the water, like having a concrete block tied to his back. And his wool-lined boots and fleece gloves made his fight against the current impossible. He couldn’t make it back to the hole. It was pitch-black, and he knew he was in his grave. He knew he was dead.
“I loved him.” The water steals my tears away. My lips tremble. “I loved Jake more than I love myself.”
The last thing I want is to break down and have a heart-wrenching cry in front of Ed, but in all hopelessness, I can’t hold back any longer. Sobs come barreling out, and I find it hard to breathe. My chest hurts from not getting enough air into my lungs, the onset of panic crushing as it surges through my veins. I’m going to die of suffocation rather than hypothermia.
“Please, Ed.” My voice is weak, and I’m dizzy. “Help me.”
“Good boy.” He pulls me up and takes off the cuffs. “That was fun, but I gotta get back to work. I left my partner at Tim Horton’s.” He stands and taps my hip with his boot. “Thanks, Dylan. I’ve missed the good ol’ days of making men piss their pants out here. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” He laughs. “Hope you’ve finally learned your lesson.” He kicks me again. “Little prick.”
I’d kill him if it weren’t so taxing to move my body, if I could catch my breath, and my eyes weren’t fuzzy with tears.
“This lake is more punishing than any weapon.” His weight crunches the ice. “It hurts more than a fist or a baton.” His voice fades as he walks away. “Or a knife, or a Taser, or a gun.”
“I hate you.” My throat is on fire as I speak.
“Play with the water, Dylan, and it’ll kill you. You know that better than anyone else.”
The winter air stings my face when I lift my head and call out to him. “Ed!”
“Yeah?”
I dig my nails into the ice, drawing my brows together. “You’re dead. You hear me? You’re a dead man!”
“Am I?” He looks down at his hands and flips them back and forth, then jiggles his beer gut. “I don’t feel dead. I’m not stiff or anything. Maybe you’re dead. Ever think of that? The cold water could’ve done a number on your tiny brain.”
“Watch your back, asshole.”
“Yep.” He chuckles, reaching the edge of the lake. He walks up the embankment to his SUV, his footsteps muted by the snow.
I groan, putting my hands in the pockets of my flannel pants. My wet hair and hoodie turn hard and freeze to the ice. The only thing to keep me company while I lie alone in the dark—no coat, no boots, no cell, not even a cigarette—is my breath floating away. Maybe I will die out here tonight.
I close my eyes, eager to fall asleep and end this fast.
The sound of Ed’s boots returns. “What the hell do you want now?” I ask, tracking the crescendo of crunching ice. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
“Get up,” someone says.
“Sean?” I reach for the gloved hand that appears above me. Two men in black coats grab hold of my arms and help me to my feet. Sandwiched between them, they walk me off the lake.
“A little advice,” one says, “don’t hang out with cops who are under surveillance.”
“Who? Ed? Who are you guys?”
“We found him.” The guy on my left talks into his phone. “He’s fine. Frozen, but not dead … Yeah, we tracked Dorazio’s SUV to the lake.”
“Who you talking to?” I ask.
“Nah. Dorazio’s panicking. He’s doing the norm, trying to muzzle people. Even the little guys.”
“What’s going on?” I try to walk on my own, but my arms are gripped even tighter.
“We’ll bring him right over.” He ends the call and puts his cell away. “See. Told you so, Miles.” He glances at the guy on my right. “Autumn has the goods on everybody.”
20
Some things can’t be explained. Like how Autumn, standing in the doorway of her loft in an open robe, exposing silk panties, a navel ring, and letting her fab breasts hang out, can have a calming effect on my nerves. Or how my thoughts of revenge after an abysmal night with Ed can shift to pleasure and excitement when I catch Autumn’s heavenly eyes peeking up at me from over the rim of her wine glass.
My heart is beating her name. She wanted me here, told the men at the lake to bring me right over. Somehow, she’s deeper in the underground circle of moles than Sean and me. But I’m not concerned with any of that right now. I’m too caught up in every hot inch of her.
I place both hands on her doorframe, leaning forward, chattering eagerly, admitting how much I’ve missed her lips on mine, revealing I’ve thought often about our play in the bathtub. Then. Shyly, I confess that I’m obsessed with her—my head and all eight inches in my pants are obsessed with her.
She responds by saying, “Six.” And then she laughs.
I’m pulled inside by my flannel pant strings and ordered to undress. I drop my wet clothes on her doormat, keeping only my boxer shorts on. She goes to the kitchen and pours me a glass of red wine while taking sips of her own.
“Autumn, I don’t want to talk about the lake or the cops, or about my past and what the hell is happening right now. I don’t care why those men brought me here, how you knew, and what happens next.” She hands me the glass and motions to follow her to the bedroom. “Really, I don’t care about any of it. I just want to be with you tonight.”
I need to feel the warmth of a woman, the warmth of her and only her. But there’s a lump in my throat as I think these things. And now I feel anxious because she stopped talking. Secrecy surrounds her, but that’s part of the attraction. I love the mystery of not knowing what she does, where she works, and what she wants out of life. Her fears and insecurities, her habits, quirks, fantasies, and what makes her happy.
I love that I get to learn more about her over time and, more importantly, that she wanted me here. Because of her, I’m not freezing to death out on the lake. She saved me from myself, from my own internal demise. This past year, I had lost all certainty that I was even alive. I told Sean my blood had stopped moving through my veins. But something has changed. This gnawing hunger and growing attraction in the pit of my stomach hasn’t occurred in such a long time. Not with anyone. There’s been no laughter. No anticipation. No fascination. Not one spark in my heart for anyone else.
Until her.
Until Au
tumn.
She heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower, then tells me to take off my boxers.
“I owe you one,” I whisper, shivering from the experience at the lake.
She sets her wine glass and “A” ring on the shelf behind the tub and hangs her robe on the back of the door. After her panties drop to the floor, she steps in, lathering red glycerin soap in her hands.
“Get in,” she says. “Bring your wine, and I’ll make everything better.”
I take a sip of wine and move closer, circling her crystal stud navel ring, hungry to feel her warm body wrapped around mine.
“You’re gawking,” she says.
“Yep.”
“You got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“That sultry look. Eyes half-closed like you’re about to devour me.”
“Yep.”
I lean in and roll my tongue around her navel ring, sliding upward to savor a nipple. The delicate suck brings long-drawn hums to her lips that rise with the steam. I drink up my wine and place the empty glass on the shelf behind her, step in, and stand under the hot water, soothed when the heat thaws out my head.
She washes my shoulders and chest, working her way down my abdomen, hesitating when she comes to my stiff arousal. She touches it gently with a soapy hand, skimming down then up and around the tip.
“Jesus, did I win the lottery?” I close my eyes, relishing in being treated like a king. “No one’s ever bathed me before.”
“Well, if you’ve managed to win me over, you deserve a little spoiling.”
“Oh, yeah?” I open one eye. “How many men have ‘won you over?’ Like, ten? Twenty?”
“Hmm, no. Maybe one. Maybe just you … maybe.” She smiles. “But, I wouldn’t be doing this or helping you out if I didn’t think I was possibly falling in love with you.”
“Wait, what?” I open both eyes wide. “Really?”
“Maybe.” She spins me around to soap my back, her fingertips tracing Heather’s memorial tattoo several times. She draws in a breath and slinks across to Jake’s. “These are so pretty,” she says, her voice sympathetic. “And thoughtful.”
“Thank you.” My mouth turns hot and wet from the power of her touch.
“Are you in a lot of pain? Do your stitches hurt?”
“No. Just my gut where Ed slugged me.”
“Your hand?”
“It’s better.”
She spins me back around and soaps the stubble on my neck and face, managing to keep all but the ends of her hair dry. My thoughts of pressing against her deepen when her eyes lock back on my erection. I rinse off and moisten my lips for a kiss, but she raises a finger to take it slow, lowering it when my wine-sweetened mouth meets hers. My kiss stirs a whimper, but she only gives in for a minute, her splayed fingers on my chest breaking us apart.
“You need to understand something first,” she says.
“What?”
“There’re other ways to play. Sex has little to do with just sticking it in me.”
“I’m not going to just ‘stick it in you,’ Autumn.”
She takes my hands in hers, so they don’t wander. “It’s been a long time for me. I want to be touched first.”
“Of course.”
“And I want to experience all of you, not just your six-incher.”
“Eight,” I correct. “And that’s fine with me.”
“Six.” She looks at it. Her mouth twists as if she could be wrong. “And you have to understand that I’m afraid once we do it, everything else will disappear. You know, like long kisses. Touching. Fooling around.” She squeezes my hands. “All the fun will be gone. I know that for a fact.”
I tilt my head, sensing she’s had a bad experience. “I promise you I pay attention to the women I’m with. You’ll get plenty from me.”
She turns off the water and hands me a towel. “Dry off and come out to the living room.” She puts on her robe and picks up the two wine glasses, leaving the room without toweling off.
Tough women like Autumn know how to win over men like me. She knew I wanted her when we first met, so she kept her legs closed. A test. She’s smart and doesn’t put out. I respect that more than anything. Self-control is always a good hook. And once I knew she wasn’t an easy lay, I was sweet on her. Now a kiss or whatever I can get is fine because I just want us to hang out together.
“I’m waiting,” she says.
“Don’t get dressed,” I call out.
“Stay hard,” she calls back.
“That’s not a problem.”
I walk into the living room with the towel wrapped around my waist, leaving footprints on the hardwood floor. After handing me a second glass of wine, she closes the blinds and takes a swanky walk over to the sofa, reclining with her back against the arm and her knees up. She sips her wine, robe half-open, one breast uncovered, tapping the sofa with her big toe to come-hither.
“My turn, please.” Her knees spread.
I stare between her legs, lured by her beauty. “You have such a killer body.”
“Good, come over and touch it.”
I put my wine on the coffee table and kneel between her legs, placing my hands on either side of her waist. She removes my towel and taps her lips, wanting a kiss before I begin.
“Anything you desire, just ask.” We share a potent kiss, both of us desperate for air when I pull back.
I find a comfortable spot between her legs, coiling my arms under and over her thighs so there’s no escape. She puts her feet on my shoulders while I kiss her inner thigh, her skin scented with cranberry soap.
“Gorgeous,” I say, glancing up at her.
Her grin is magnified twofold by her wine glass. I don’t plan on that glass staying in her hand for long.
“Dylan!” I didn’t think so. After my first taste of her, she sets it on the floor and tightens her lips. “Slow, please. I said it’d been a while.” She shifts and prepares for more, curling her toes into my back. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
I scooch closer and restrain her swinging legs. She squirms and says my tongue makes her tingly. She shifts again and goes back to her original pose, gripping my hair, tossing her head back. I’m absolutely thrilled that she can’t sit still.
“My God!” Her legs shake.
I stop and grin. “Too much?”
“No.” She inhales. “Keep going.”
I’m patient, sensing when it’s too intense, knowing when my tender tongue movements are just right. She loves gentle licks with a soft blow of air on her wet skin.
“Dylan.” My name breezes out between shallow breaths. “Dylan.” She yanks my hair and rams my shoulders with her feet. For a moment, I think it’s a sign to stop. Then she says, “It’s coming.”
And I say, “Let it.”
Her body turns to stone. She stops breathing and makes an o-face. But that’s just the beginning. After a long silence, the orgasm whips through her. She cries out, her muscles and feet twitching.
“Enjoy,” I whisper with a proud smile.
The taste of her lingers in my mouth as I make my way back to her lips. She gladly accepts my tired tongue, thanking it with a roll of her own.
“Again,” she says.
I laugh and kiss her chin. “Can you handle another round?”
“No.”
We laugh together.
“Wow, that was… wow.” Her face is a mixture of daze and bliss.
We kiss, and I lie on top of her for what seems like an hour, aching to slide inside her warm body. I have to stop myself a few times from humping her like a hormone-crazed teen. But then I come to my senses and think, screw it, screw it, screw it. I almost died tonight. Why should I wait to make love to her?
“Do you have a condom?” I whisper, nibbling her earlobe.
“I love it that you’re a horndog.”
“A horndog?” I blush. “I’ve been a saint a
round you.”
“Yeah, but only because of everything going on.”
“Definitely because of everything going on, but also because I’m not gonna mess this up.”
“With me? Don’t worry about it.”
We kiss, and I ask her again. “So … do you have a condom?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I put my forehead on her shoulder. “Too bad.”
She wriggles out from under me and gets up, leaving her robe behind, spread out in the shape of her body. She takes a sip of wine and picks up my towel before walking out of the room.
“Hey, did I offend you?” I ask, sitting up.
“No,” she says from her bedroom. A door opens, a cabinet, a drawer, another cabinet, and she walks out with a plastic jar and a pack of cigarettes. “Lean back and put your feet on the floor.” She sets the cigarettes on the coffee table and straddles my hips.
“What is that?”
“Coconut oil.” She holds up the container. “Or, we can call it lube.”
“Nice.” I recline and put my hands behind my head.
She opens the jar and dips two fingers inside, extracting a glob.
“Autumn, what are … uh, I see.” My hands drop to her hips as she rubs it on me.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” She smiles.
“Y-yeah. I’ve been worked up for an hour.”
She looks at her watch. “Twenty minutes, babe.”
“No, it’s been way longer than that. Don’t forget about the shower.”
“Forty minutes.” She beams.
“I’ll give you that.” My hips rock up and down. “You gonna ride me?”
“From the outside.” She bites my bottom lip. “Outercourse. You game?”
I look down at her palm rubbing the outline of my erection. “Think I’d say no?”
“Nope.” She crosses my arms over my chest. “Keep them there.”
“No touching?”
“Not with your hands. You can use your mouth, especially on my neck, I like that.”
“Okay.”
“And let me do most of the work. I like that, too.”
“Even better.”
She kisses the scar over my eyebrow and the bruise on the bridge of my nose, then traces the outline of my lips with her tongue.
In Autumn's Wake Page 19