The Traveling Man

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Zef watched them tolerantly. “Careful, kids. The teacher will give you detention if you’re not careful.”

  Tucker winked at me. “She can give me detention anytime she likes.”

  At which point, Kes got him in a headlock and ran him into a kitchen cabinet.

  “Cut that out, Kestrel!” he whimpered. “I was just messing with her.”

  “Off. Limits!” Kes growled.

  “Sheesh, you used to be fun,” Tucker complained, rubbing his head.

  Kes ignored him. “Aimee, have you finished with this?” and he swept his arm over the piles of papers.

  “Yes and no. I haven’t finished, but I do need to talk to you about it.”

  He sighed, and I could see that he didn’t relish the fact. “Okay, you want me to call for takeout?”

  “Sure, anything except sushi.”

  “Pizza okay?”

  I should have guessed. “Yes, pizza’s fine.”

  Kes looked at the guys. “You in or out?”

  “Out,” they both said.

  Then there was a line for the shower and the rather heady smell of three sweaty sets of leathers dumped in the living room. I tried to ignore it, but in the end I ordered them to clean up. They took it pretty well. Perhaps they were used to Sorcha ordering them around. The thought was not a pleasant one.

  Kes was last in the shower because the guys were eager to get going, heading out to score—according to them—and weren’t planning on getting in till late, if at all, which meant Kes and I would be alone.

  I was looking forward to that, but really I wasn’t in the best frame of mind. My head ached from staring at paper all afternoon.

  But when Kes strolled barefoot into the living room, wearing only a pair of jeans, my headache was miraculously forgotten.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  Now there was a loaded question.

  “You mean about all of this?” I said, waving my hand at the neat stacks of paper.

  Kes smirked at me. “Unless you want to discuss anything else?”

  “Oh, Mr. Hawkins, or is it Mr. Donohue? If you’re giving me carte blanche to ask questions, we could be here all night.”

  “Suits me,” he said slyly.

  I looked down. “Don’t tease,” I said quietly. “It’s not fair.”

  Kes didn’t answer. I sat staring at my hands, at the papers, at the floor—at anything, except him.

  “What if I’m not teasing?” he said at last.

  “You have a girlfriend…” I began.

  “No, I don’t,” he replied firmly.

  “Fine. Friend-with-benefits—manager-with-benefits—whatever you want to call it, you have Sorcha.”

  He sighed. “It’s not like that with her.”

  “I think it is.”

  “We were never exclusive. We both saw other people. It was … easy.”

  He was quiet then, and the awkward silence was only interrupted by the pizza delivery guy knocking on the door.

  Kes answered the door and handed the man some folded bills, muttering at him to keep the change.

  I opened the box and took a slice. I’d lost my appetite along with the conversation, but my stomach insisted on being fed, and it grumbled and griped until I ate something.

  “Do you want a drink?” Kes asked, breaking the stillness.

  “Do you have any wine?”

  One glass wouldn’t hurt before I drove back to Jennifer’s.

  “No, I’ve got beer or juice.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but it would do.

  “Sure, I’ll have a beer,” I replied. “Um, I’ve made you an appointment with an accountant tomorrow…”

  He turned to look at me, his face blank.

  “You don’t have to—I can cancel it…”

  He was frowning as he answered. “No. I’ll talk to them.”

  Then he walked to the fridge and flipped the cap off a bottle of beer before handing it to me. It was a small gesture, but one that I appreciated. Gregg wouldn’t have noticed if I’d opened it with my teeth while dancing a cancan, if there was pizza on the table.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  Then I noticed that Kes was drinking water.

  “You not having a beer? I thought you’d be kicking back after a show.”

  He gave me a small smile. “No, I don’t drink.”

  “Really? Not at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  I huffed in frustration. “That’s all you ever say: it’s a long story. I’ve been hearing that since I was ten.”

  He frowned, but didn’t answer.

  Sighing with frustration, I took a sip of beer and ate some more pizza.

  Then he said, “Our mom used to drink. Like, a lot.”

  I froze with a slice of pizza halfway to my mouth. I glanced up to look at Kes who was watching me seriously. I replaced the pizza back in the box and wiped my hands.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t tell people. It’s ancient history, but that’s the reason.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He nodded and looked away.

  A tiny piece of the puzzle that was Kes slotted into place. But there was a reason I’d gone into teaching: I was greedy for information, to learn, to understand, and now I wanted to know more.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I said at last.

  “I know.”

  He stood up, his eyes fixed on mine. Without giving me time to react, he leaned down and brushed his lips over mine.

  Then he kissed me again, more firmly, his hand cupping the back of my head so I couldn’t move away.

  Bad, bad idea, I told myself as my lips began to respond.

  Then I gripped his arms, pulling him down to me as all the old feelings swirled around. The lust, the passion, the amazing chemistry was all still there. But this time I was kissing a man, not a boy.

  I felt the scratch of his scruff against my chin, and the hard muscles of his arms as I held on tightly. The weight of his body pushed me back on the sofa until he was almost lying on top of me.

  “Kes…” I began, my voice hoarse and breathless.

  “No talking,” he said, his voice a soft growl.

  Then he scooped me into his arms, surprising me with the swiftness of his movement, and then we were heading to his bedroom.

  I really wasn’t that sort of girl; I really, really wasn’t. I didn’t keep condoms in my purse; I didn’t sleep with guys on the first date, or even the second, or the third. I didn’t allow myself to get swept up in emotion—because emotions were messy and difficult, and the last time I’d let that happen, I’d been prepared to run away in a snowy winter with a boy who didn’t even have enough money to buy gas to get us to the next town. Definitely not.

  But Kes wasn’t just any guy—he never had been. He was my Kes.

  For once, I told my mind to take a vacation and let my body dictate the terms. My body said, Yes, we’re doing this.

  He dropped me down on the bed and started crowding me immediately, his kisses determined and insistent, his hands squeezing my breasts, my hips, my ass too hard.

  “Kes, you’re hurting me,” I cried out.

  He stopped and rolled onto this back, panting.

  “You used to be gentle,” I said, tears forming that I blinked away.

  He leaned up on one elbow and stared at me.

  “I remember,” he said softly. “I remember, Aimee.”

  Then he trailed a finger down across my cheek and kissed my shoulder, his lips caressing my skin.

  He looked up again, his silvery eyes locked on mine. I felt as if he was asking permission to continue, so I nodded quickly, and he smiled.

  This time, he lay on his back, pulling me into his arms, letting me control the movements. My knees rested on either side of his hips and my hands were plan
ted on his firm chest.

  He ran a warm hand up my thigh, stroking the flesh lightly.

  “Cute skirt,” he said, as his fingers inched upward.

  “So you did notice?”

  He laughed gently. “Hell, yeah! It was all I could do not to leap on you when I saw you standing at my door.”

  I shook my head at him. “You’re very confusing—I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m interested,” he said seriously.

  And to show that he meant the words, his hands moved under my skirt to cup my ass.

  “I’ve always been interested in you, Aimee.”

  I leaned down to kiss him, and he opened his mouth, his tongue making lazy thrusts that moved with the rocking of his hips beneath me.

  I could feel that he was aroused, and a bolt of pleasure shot through me. I moaned softly, and he took this as encouragement to pull my tank top over my head, and crane his neck upward to kiss and nuzzle my breasts.

  When he reached behind me to release my bra, I didn’t even try to resist him. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted to lie with him skin to skin. I wanted every part of him, the way it used to be, but more than that, too.

  I pushed on his shoulders so he lay flat, then crawled down his body, kissing his cheeks and his chin, his neck and the solid curve of his shoulder. I swirled my tongue in the soft dip at the base of his throat and licked a salty line down his firm chest, pausing to tease and tug at his nipples.

  “That feels good,” he sighed.

  When I reached his stomach, I felt the hard muscles tremble under my touch, and when I dipped my tongue into his bellybutton, his hips jerked upward.

  “Fuck, Aimee! You’re killing me!”

  But his touch was still gentle as he rubbed his hands down my bare back, his fingers drifting to the waistband of my skirt and upward again.

  “This feels familiar,” I smiled, “but different, you know?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed happily. “It was always different with you.”

  I took his words at face value, not wanting to analyze them too closely.

  When I reached the button on his jeans, his hips rocked upward again, and I could feel the solid warmth underneath me.

  Carefully, I pulled down his zipper to find that he’d been going commando all this time.

  I nearly melted.

  His cock was hot to my touch, the silky skin stretched tightly over the length.

  He sighed as my hands stroked up and down, and his eyelids fluttered.

  I watched his face as my mouth closed over his tip, and he breathed in deeply through his nose, the nostrils flaring.

  He arched up again, then gently cupped the back of my head to encourage me to go further.

  “Shit, that’s good,” he said rolling his hips.

  I was briefly reminded of some of the warm-up exercises that he’d done at Jennifer’s, when he’d rotated his hips to loosen his muscles.

  I moved back from him quickly, watching him blink as I shimmied out of my skirt and panties.

  His pupils dilated and he licked his lips, a small, pleased smile curving his lips. Then he reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a condom.

  He shucked his jeans quickly and rolled the condom down his straining shaft, a small frown of concentration creasing his forehead.

  He lay back and smiled up at me, his expression warm, almost loving. I crawled back over him, but then he pulled my hips toward his face, clearly planning on returning my oral favors.

  I resisted and he looked up at me.

  “I’m not … not ready for that,” I said, a blush of embarrassment making me want to hide.

  “Whatever you want, Aimee,” he said, his voice soft, dreamy, as he kissed my breasts instead.

  His tongue played in the valley of my cleavage and his fingers danced around my nipples, then trailed over my shoulders.

  When his left hand stroked my thigh, I opened up for him, allowing him to skim a gentle finger over my clit.

  I moaned softly and his strokes became firmer and more precise.

  We’d had so little time when we were teenagers, but every touch was something he seemed to have memorized. Or maybe it was like riding a bike. The thought made me giggle, and he smiled up at me.

  “Did I find a ticklish spot?”

  “Sort of!” I gasped.

  I was so close to coming that I could have smacked the smile off of his face when he moved his hand away.

  “I want to feel you come on my cock,” he whispered. “Play nice.”

  He grasped himself with one hand, angling his cock away from his body, and I lowered myself down.

  Tears came to my eyes, but it wasn’t from pain; it was from a pleasure so complete that it didn’t seem possible. Memories, so many memories, smiles and laughter, talk of love, tears, so many tears, and the years and years of being apart. It was almost too much.

  My body began to respond quickly and Kes swore under his breath.

  I climaxed fast, so fast that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath, I fell onto his chest.

  Kes rolled quickly so I was pinned beneath him, barely aware that we’d moved. He rolled his hips, and I groaned so loudly, I’m sure people outside could have heard me.

  And then he proceeded to expertly pound me into the wall of his bedroom with hard, certain strokes, the muscles of his back and ass flexing in a pattern that built and built, rendering me liquid and useless beneath him.

  With a final surge of speed, he thrust into me hard, ruthlessly chasing his own release with an intensity that was animalistic.

  When he came, his neck tensed and his teeth were tightly clenched, but his silvery-gray eyes were fixed on mine, open and unclouded, for once hiding nothing. And I saw wonder, desire, pleasure, and I saw love. I was sure I saw love.

  Then he took a breath, but instead of collapsing onto me, he rolled to the side so I wasn’t crushed by 200 pounds of solid muscle.

  I dropped a soft kiss onto his chest and was about to tell him how amazing it was, and how unexpected to have two orgasms in the same evening, when his bedroom door burst open, and a furious Sorcha tried to burn me into atoms with her raging eyes.

  I squealed and hurried to cover myself.

  “You’ve made your point, Kestrel,” she sneered. “We’ll talk when you’ve gotten rid of your little friend.”

  I thought he’d say something to defend me. I expected it, waited for it, but instead he laughed—a lazy, pleased expression on his face.

  Sorcha slammed the door shut, and a cold fear speared icy fingers through my blood.

  “Did you know she’d come here and find us like this?” I asked, desperate for him to tell me it was a ridiculous idea.

  When Kes didn’t reply, that was answer enough.

  I leapt out of bed and began to dress hurriedly.

  “I can’t believe you’d use me like this. I’m so stupid!”

  My words were gasped and quiet.

  Kes just rolled his eyes.

  “Jesus, Aimee. We’re not kids. Everyone uses everyone!”

  I turned to stare at him, hurt almost beyond words.

  “If you really believe that, then I feel sorry for you. Goodbye, Kes.”

  And I left.

  I had to pull over after I’d driven a short way. I was crying too hard to be safe.

  When I finally managed to pull myself together, or at least enough to steer the car without going off the road, I was left with a list of unanswered questions and an ache in my soul. How had I misread him so badly? He’d been so sweet with Dylan, so cruel with me. I thought we’d made progress, I thought we’d stopped blaming each other for all the hurt when we were teenagers. Apparently not.

  Turning into Jennifer’s driveway, I was relieved that she hadn’t waited up, although she’d left the porch light on. It felt like the lamp from a lighthouse: Land ho! Watch out for the rocks!

  Alone in the guestroom, I pulled open the curtains and watched the stars. Aft
er Kes had left the last time, I’d spent hours staring at the night sky, finding relief in the thought that he was somewhere, looking up, like me.

  With a soft swish, I yanked the curtains together and undressed in darkness.

  Sleep was slow and reluctant, and anger and hurt gnawed away at me.

  The next morning, I pleaded a headache. Jennifer saw my blotchy face and whispered, “Talk later?”

  I nodded and gave her a watery smile.

  When I finally managed to drag myself out of bed, I was surprised to see that I had a missed call from Kes. He hadn’t left a voice message, but he had sent a text.

  * Call me *

  I laughed incredulously. Really? And then I realized that I’d changed his laptop’s password but hadn’t told him what it was.

  Well, he was the smart one who didn’t need help from anybody—let him figure it out.

  I puttered around and had a long, leisurely bath, something that was a luxury in a house where a small child constantly wanted you to play with him. I was thinking about taking a walk into town to meet Jennifer and Dylan for an ice cream at the local Dairy Queen when I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine.

  My stomach clenched, although whether it was from fear or anticipation, I couldn’t tell. They seemed to be the same thing around a certain carnival stuntman.

  When I opened the door, Kes was striding up the driveway, his face dark and furious. I folded my arms across my body and lifted my chin, refusing to be cowed.

  “You didn’t answer your phone,” he snapped. “I sent you a text!”

  I looked at him as calmly as possible, drawing on my two years’ experience from quelling eight-year olds, praying it would work on Kes, and enunciated clearly.

  “That is because I did not want to talk to you.”

  He frowned, seeming surprised by my answer. Good grief! Was he really that dense?

  “So, you just fucked me and left?” he growled, his eyes narrowing.

  My jaw dropped. Yep, he really was that dense.

  “Let me see,” I said, checking off points on my fingers, as my voice rose with anger. “You had me doing your paperwork all afternoon; then you screwed me in your bedroom; you planned that your girlfriend would find us, just to make a point; then you tell me that you were using me—no harm no foul. Does that sum it up for you?”