by Abby Brooks
“Is that what I smell? How did you manage to…?” Meredith’s words trail off into an indiscernible mumble as the interior catches her attention. “This is incredible,” she says as she looks around. “Remember when we used to sneak in here to—you know? Oh my God, it was like our secret place back then. It's so different. Did you do all this yourself?”
When we were young, this house was nothing more than an empty leftover from the days of full-time ranch hands. Dirt caked the old, drafty windows. The odds and ends my parents couldn’t find a home for covered the dusty floors and counters, put aside ‘just in case’ and then forgotten. Mer and I took the liberty of letting ourselves in if we need some, ahem…private time.
I nod. “I did. It took a couple years remodeling in the evenings and weekends. That was kind of my thing for a while after college. Construction and building and what not. I had a nice little business going…until Dad passed, anyway.”
Meredith takes my hand. “Yeah, I'm sorry about your dad. Is that what brought you back to ranching?”
“Yep. I put that part of my life on hold to come home and help Chet get his arms around it all. Time passed, and it stopped feeling like the thing I'd get back to one day and started feeling like the thing I did once upon a time. So, when I decided to remodel, it was like reconnecting with an old friend, or flexing a muscle I forgot I had. I don’t know. That probably doesn’t make any sense, but I got caught up in the process and went a little overboard, considering it’s just me.”
Mer bobs her head in understanding as she continues to investigate. “Makes sense. It’s all so different than I was expecting.”
I strain my neck in mock surprise. “What did you think? That the place was going to be nothing but lawn furniture and beer bottles?”
“No, not exactly. I might have anticipated at least one beanbag chair, but…I mean…travertine tile in the entry? Crown molding? And look at that big, open kitchen. Are those cabinets cherry? It’s all so…so nice.” Meredith wanders through the kitchen, running her hand along the finished surfaces.
I’m almost speechless. “Well, look at you. I don’t which to react to first, your utter amazement that I live in a nice home, or how impressed I am that you know so much about home improvement. Did you and—what’s his name—Jeff, fix up your house, or something?”
“I wish. More like countless nights at home alone, binge watching episodes of ‘Fixer Upper.’ Jeff and I never quite made it to the whole, buy-a-place-of-our-own, thing. I really wanted to, but I suppose the way it all ended up, it’s for the best that we never did. We rented a house for a year or so, but I got tired of mowing the lawn, and having to do all the other maintenance stuff by myself.”
“By yourself? Where was he?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of her back as I guide her through the kitchen highlighting my handy work.
Meredith glances at me. A tiny frown tightens the space between her eyes before she gives her attention back to the renovations. “Oh, I love the subway tile backsplash. What color green is that? You wouldn’t think it works, but with the gray countertops it really does. What are they, anyway?”
“The counters? They’re slate. But don’t change the subject. What was the deal with your husband? Err, ex-husband?”
“Slate, huh?” she asks, continuing to avoid my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that used on counters. It sounds like it would be very masculine, but looking at it now, it’s nice.”
I clear my throat. “And the ex?”
Meredith sighs and drops her head, leaning against the counter. “We had different priorities, that’s all.” She turns her attention back to me as she climbs up on a barstool on the other side of the kitchen island.
“Not so fast. How do you mean?”
Meredith continues to avoid looking me in the eyes when she answers. “He wanted a babysitter and a punching bag. I got tired of being the first and wasn’t interested in becoming the second.”
The timer on the stove beeps, reminding me about the garlic bread. “Shit…the food is ready, if you’re hungry, that is.” I grab an oven mitt and retrieve the toasted garlic bread. “But I want to hear more about this douche. Like, his current address, and if he has any roommates I should be aware of before stopping by. The look on Meredith’s face says she isn’t ready to talk about it, so when she changes the subject again, I drop the issue.
“Lasagna and garlic bread? I am impressed. And I promise not to go looking for the Stouffer’s box.”
I scoff. “That’s just the start, Doll. There’s freshly tossed salad in the fridge, and if you have any room left, a surprise dessert to boot.”
Meredith rubs her hands together. “Then, what are we waiting for?”
I swipe a lighter from the junk drawer next to the stove and take Meredith by the hand. “This way, if you please.” In the dining room, I pull out her chair, allowing her to sit while I light the candles standing proudly in their crystal holders on the table—all of them, approximately four hours old. “I will return momentarily with your salad, madam,” I say in my best, bad French accent.
The meal is good. So good, lasagna just made it onto the list of things I can totally cook the shit out of.
Meredith, for her part, could never be trusted to tell the truth about what she thinks of food. She’s the kind of woman who would eat a small amount of shoe leather and then proclaim herself not very hungry, if she thought it might save someone’s feelings. Thankfully, her asking for seconds and wiping her plate clean with the last bite of garlic bread is recognition enough for me.
Chapter Fourteen
Meredith
Oh my God, I can’t believe I let myself eat like a pig.
“Gabe, that was delicious. Thank you, again.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you liked it. But I hope you left a little room. There’s dessert, remember?”
Dessert? I could go for some dessert. Pig be damned, a girl needs her sweet treats now and then.
“Oh, I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to,” I lie.
“Well, I remember you said you’re not big on sweets, but I think you might come around if you’ll try it. Just a bite, even.”
I lean back in my chair and put my hands on my stomach. Stop doing that, it’s not a pretty look.
“Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another bite. What is it, anyway?” Please be something disgusting.
“Don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back.” Gabe pops up from his chair and heads into the kitchen, returning quickly with a whole pie in one hand and two plates in the other.
“You made a pie?” I stare at the pastry in disbelief.
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t give proper credit where it’s due? This is from Belle’s. I called this morning and asked them to make one, special.”
“Wow. I didn’t know they did that.”
“Technically, I don’t think they do. But you really ought to give it a try. It’s pecan. Remember? From the day we met for lunch? You never tried it, and you really ought to.” Gabe sets the gooey masterpiece in front of me and cuts into it with a butter knife.
Fight it woman. You are stronger than this.
With his thumb pressed against the flaky crust, he pulls out a perfectly large piece, setting it on a plate. “Are you sure you don’t want any, Doll?”
Damn you, Gabe Wilde. Damn you.
“It looks delicious. Maybe later?” Now get up from the table and walk away, before you change your mind.
Disappointed, Gabe puts the pie back into the tin container and returns it to the kitchen.
Bless you, Gabe Wilde. Bless you.
“More wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle when he returns. “Maybe we can move to the living room? I’ll make a fire if you’d like.”
“Sure, that would be lovely.” I scoot back from the table and pick up my wine glass—now filled to the brim—and follow him into the living room.
“Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” Gabe motions towards h
is brown leather couch. “It’s no beanbag chair, but I think it’s nice.”
I set my glass on the coffee table next to a wire basket filled with decorative balls. What a nice accent and such a surprise, as is the rest of the house. The décor alone shows how Gabe has matured since I last knew him. “Very nice,” I say, bouncing playfully in my seat. “No bean bag chair, but I approve.”
Gabe crouches in front of a stone fireplace, his back to me as he lays out a healthy layer of kindling. “So, beautiful...think your folks would notice if you didn’t make it home tonight?”
“Excuse me? Mr. Wilde, just what kind of lady do you think I am?” I ask, in my best southern belle voice, while fanning at my chest.
Gabe stands. When he faces me, his eyes are different. There’s a hunger in them that wasn’t present at dinner. The lighthearted, cheerful, albeit sarcastic, guy everyone knows is gone. This man? This man is serious. He’s an apex predator on the hunt. Seeing him like this makes my face hot. My chest too. Is it the wine? My body has forgotten how to breathe on its own, forcing me to do it consciously. Each breath coming quick and shallow. The room falls away, leaving only Gabe and me.
“I want you, Meredith. I have wanted you for so long. I can’t wait any longer.” Gabe closes the gap between us in a snap. “The night of the wedding doesn’t count. That was sex. I need something more.”
The smell of his cologne. The sight of his powerful shoulders as his body towers over me. I want him too. Now, and every night since the wedding. I haven’t been able to fall asleep without touching myself, his face behind my closed eyes. I stand to kiss him, but before I’m fully upright, he sweeps me into his arms, like I’m nothing.
His lips are on me. My neck. My ear. My mouth. Our tongues brush. He brings me to the rug in front of the fireplace and carefully lays me down, sliding one hand behind my head and guiding it to the ground. “Do you have protection?” Where did that come from? It was an unusually logical question given every part of my brain that isn’t sex-oriented is on coffee break.
Gabe smiles. “Be right back.” He stands, adjusts the erection in his jeans, and darts up the stairs in three large steps. When he reappears, he stops to look at me, sprawled out in front of the fire. A cheetah, stalking his prey.
Gabe descends slowly, one step at a time. “Take off your shirt. I want to see you.” I adhere to his command, powerless to resist his dominance. Lines around his eyes curl when I obey. “Now, unfasten your belt.” Gabe takes the last step off the stairs, releasing the handrail as he turns towards me. God, how am I so turned on by this? I would never let…uh…what’s his name? Shit. I was married to the man. What’s his…fuck, it doesn’t even matter.
Gabe lays down beside me and runs his finger along the edge of my bra. “This too,” he says, raising my torso off the ground just enough to slip a hand under and, voila. Gabe removes the bra, leaving me topless. His thick index finger traces down my arm, back to my breast. The rough texture of his callused hand, so light against my sensitive skin, sends a shiver through me, rippling outward in all directions. I sit up, tilting my head to kiss him. He places a hand at the back of my neck, sliding his fingers into my hair as his lips touch mine.
Gabe tugs at the button on my jeans. The rustle of clothing against skin fills the room and I'm bare to him. He covers me with his body, his hands on either side of my head, the fire flickering and popping beside us.
“Make love to me,” I beg as I pull at his belt.
“In time, Doll. All in due time.” Gabe slides down my body, spreading my legs. He kisses along my thighs as he works his way to my pussy. When his tongue makes contact, my eyes roll back in my head and I transcend my body. Lost to the waves of pleasure washing over me.
“Shit...”
My words seem foreign. Like I’m doing my best to speak a language I barely know. Reduced to only the most base, crude words.
“Fuck. That’s it. Right there.” I bring my hands to his head, weaving my fingers through his dark locks as my orgasm takes over. Gabe hits every spot and wave after wave of intense feeling crash in on me.
My mouth finally manages to say what I’ve been struggling to get out for I don’t know how long. “I need you inside me.”
Gabe raises his head and locks his eyes on mine. Oh my God I want this man. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it away. He pushes each leg of his jeans off with a foot and kicks them out of the way. His dick is hard and veiny, and I can’t look at anything else as he rips the condom wrapper and rolls the rubber down over his masterpiece.
When Gabe’s attention turns back to me, his tongue moves slowly along his lips while he brings his body into position with mine. He places his hands on my hips and presses his cock against my opening. His body stretches over mine, and he drops his head to suckle my nipple when he enters me.
Maybe it’s his saliva, maybe it’s the multiple orgasms I just had, but regardless the reason, he slides inside me with no friction or resistance, filling me. A perfect fit in every way.
Gabe makes love to me, slow and steady for a while, then faster and more forceful. Every time I think he’s about to come, he stops to change positions. He flips me onto my belly and pulls my ass into him. Or grabs my waist and lays back to put me on top. I have never felt this kind of pleasure before. Not from a man and not from a toy. This man knows what he wants, and he isn’t bashful about taking it.
I gather my strength. “It’s your turn. I want to feel you come.”
Gabe wipes the sweat from his brow. “Not yet.” He pulls back, leaving only his tip inside me. “Not until you beg.” He pushes himself back in. “I let you slip through my fingers once. Never again.” He pulls back again and stops. “I claim you as mine and I want you to know no other man can satisfy you the same way.” He pushes himself back in.
And he does just that. Every movement, every action, all night long, is about the two of us. It’s tantric.
The man actually has me begging for him to come. I’m lost to him and ready to submit myself to him in whatever way he commands. “Please. Please come inside me.”
I feel his cock get even harder, and it pushes me over the edge a final time. The two of us climax together and collapse on the floor in a heap of twisted limbs.
I sigh. “Holy shit. I didn’t know sex like that was possible. ”
Gabe looks at me, his eyes back to the light, cheerful way I’m used to seeing them. “That’s just the start, if I have anything to say about it.”
The fire beside us faded a while ago, but the stone hearth is warm enough for us to stay for a while—happily wrapped up in each other.
Chapter Fifteen
Meredith
My weary eyes search Gabe's bedroom, confused at first by the absence of Pepto-pink walls. A yawn overwhelms me as I study the landscape for hints about the man whose bed I’m occupying. I lay back on the pillow, stretching my legs and arms as far as they’ll go, thinking about our marathon sexfest. I think about the things I had never done before. About a few things I didn’t know could be done, before last night anyway. I try to trace back which MacGyver-like position caused each soreness I feel in my everywhere this morning. And I smile, thinking about how quickly I’d do it all again, if Gabe were lying next to me. Where is he anyway?
The bedroom is big, but the contrast between this space and downstairs is noticeable. This is more of what I would expect from a bachelor. The walls are white and bare. The furniture, what little there is, has a contemporary, minimalistic feel. A dresser, a bed, no headboard. The room is neat. Everything looks as if it was placed there deliberately. I pull the comforter tight to my chest as I sprawl out in the empty bed. My hand brushes a piece of paper with my name written in block letters on the pillow beside me.
Mer,
I hope you slept well.
I had some morning chores to tend to before you woke, so we can have the rest of the morning together.
There’s coffee in the carafe on the counter, and scrambled eggs in t
he covered pan on the stove.
Help yourself to anything in the closet, if you like. (But if you’re looking for my input, I suggest you turn the thermostat up and stay naked.)
-G
I feel compelled to take Gabe up on his offer, so I slide out of bed to rummage through his closet. I settle on a pair of much-too-big-for-me-sweatpants—their drawstring and bunched ankles will help them fit…ish—and a white t-shirt, like the one held hostage in my room at home. I’m sure I look like a ten-year-old wearing her daddy’s clothes, but hey, they’re comfortable and I like the thought of something of his on my skin. Another yawn reminds me of my need to caffeinate, prompting me to make my way downstairs for coffee.
A loose strand of hair dangles in my face and I loop it behind my ear as I pour myself a cup and recall the pie I never tasted last night.
I look to the refrigerator, deliberating whether or not I should indulge in the sweet temptation.
Gabe’s not here to see me make a pig of myself, and I do love pie.
After our workout, pie for breakfast isn’t a bad thing, right? Heck, my body probably needs the calories.
Satiated from the decadent treat, I top off my coffee and move to the porch to enjoy the morning while I wait for Gabe.
I lean back in an Adirondack chair, my feet dangling several inches from the ground. I am prepared to lose myself once again to my thoughts when I notice a cowboy hat tipped in my direction.
“Chet?”
“Morning. Been a long time,” a voice replies from somewhere under the brim of the Stetson.
I stand and walk to the guardrail of the porch. “I didn’t know you were back from your honeymoon.”
“Yep. We’ve been back a little while now. Two weeks away was nice, but I couldn’t leave Gabe alone any longer than that,” he says as he strides towards me.