He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and roared, his body taking over as he began to delve in and out of her, hard thrust after even harder thrust, until, a humiliatingly short time later, he roared again, uncontrollably and collapsed on top of her, completely spent and unable to move.
Finn had never, ever lost control of himself like that before. He had always kept himself under a tight leash, especially when he was in bed with a woman, mostly because of his size. Now, here he was with the woman he’d waited his lifetime for, and he’d let loose on her like some kind of savage. He’d practically raped her, and he’d screamed like a banshee.
She would probably throw him out of the house and never see him again.
But instead, he realized that her hands were making lazy patterns on his back, sometimes massaging, which felt absolutely wonderful, and sometimes just trailing her fingertips over his muscles, which didn’t feel too awfully bad, either. She didn’t seem to be in the least mad at him.
He rolled off her and to the side, certain that he was also crushing the life out of her with his size; the majority of the women he’d slept with had complained if he didn’t get off them pretty much immediately after finishing, so he’d gotten used to doing that.
Cat rolled towards him with a small smile on her face. “Good thing we bought all of the lots around us for miles or we’d have Sheriff Potter to explain ourselves to, I’m sure, and that old coot’d be having a good time with our story, too.” She patted his arm. “It wasn’t continuous, but it sounded pretty good . . .?”
She was asking him if it was okay? He wasn’t used to that, either. Maybe he’d been dating some pretty awful women, or something. The girls he’d slept with always seemed to assume that they were great in bed – they didn’t try very hard – because he always came. “Oh yeah!”
She laughed at his vehemence.
“Sorry about . . . the quickness . . . “
Her snort was surprising. “Puh-leeze. If you’re not going to worry about a little hysteria on my part . . . “
He wasn’t going to tell her how long it had been for him because talking about premature ejaculation was uncomfortable at anytime for any man, and it hadn’t been quite as long for him as it had for her, but it had been a while. Finn was certain that he’d be more than fine in the future.
Like probably about fifteen minutes from now.
The next morning, she awoke alone, but he’d left her a note, and, of course, more rules.
My love:
Words fail me at the trust and faith you’ve shown in me in such a short time. Know that you are treasured beyond measure.
I have business in Boston and will be gone until Saturday night, when we’ll go out. I’ve made plans for everything, so nothing for you to do but be your gorgeous self.
You are to eat three nutritious meals a day, and keep track of your weight to tell me about when I get home.
I know you’ll think it’s too early for me to say this but I love you.
Yours adoringly,
Finn
The purple roses arrived right on time, this time five dozen of them. And then an edible fruit arrangement, a cookie basket . . . and the gift boxes and baskets just kept right on coming. One had old time candies from the seventies – Bottle Caps and Clark Bars and Laffy Taffy – things she would have sworn they’d stopped making years ago.
He called her at least once a day, usually two or three times, just to check up on her. It was kind of sweet of him to do that, and nice to have someone doing that again, not that she’d ever admit that to him, of course. He asked her what she’d eaten and what she weighed, and she’d earned herself another spanking on the first phone call the first night when she hadn’t weighed herself that day.
And claiming early senility hadn’t gotten her out of it, either. There had to be some advantage to being old in this relationship, didn’t there?
So this weekend was going to be a busy one for her. It was a Girls’ Night weekend at her house, suddenly; she didn’t know how she’d let that slip by her, but she did. And Saturday they were apparently going out somewhere she knew nothing about, and about which he was not being very forthcoming. He’d just told her to “wear something nice”. It was probably a good thing that he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes at him.
Girls’ Night consisted of a floating pool of women, but usually a core of about five of them who had known each other for much, much too long. They all knew about most of the skeletons in everyone’s family closets, going back generations. In some cases, their mothers had had Girls’ Nights, although they’d called it Bridge Night or Game Night instead, and they’d drunk a lot less and sworn a lot less than their daughters and granddaughters.
Jane had shown up first, of course, but luckily after Cat had hidden all of Finn’s excessive gifts in the back bedroom, where no one was likely to go, although she had used some of the excess in the snack trays. Why not? She certainly wasn’t going to eat all of that food by herself by any means.
Everything seemed fine with Jane, although Cat had nearly dropped the bowl of chips she was bringing to the hutch that served as a buffet table in the open dining room when she mentioned that she thought that Finn was dating someone because he’d been gone all night. She seemed positively giddy at the thought, but Cat found herself wondering exactly how giddy Jane would really be if she confessed right here and now that she was the one Finn had been schtupping that night.
Rhonda Bates floated in next. She was a fey woman who never seemed to really know what was going on around her. Life seemed to pass her by, always had. And she wasn’t even on drugs or anything, as far as anyone else could tell. If you were going to be that hazy, why not just take the drugs and enjoy it? She was just . . . not really all there, and her shambles of a life reflected it.
The four of them sat down at the table and started playing, knowing that the last member who would probably show up would be traditionally fifteen minutes late. At least. Girls’ night usually started at seven, but Carol Potter couldn’t be counted upon to make her entrance until seven fifteen, at the earliest, although seven thirty or seven forty-five weren’t entirely out of the question. She was, after all, the daughter-in-law of the chief of police, and had been a beauty queen in her younger, salad days, lest anyone be allowed to forget it. She carried herself as if she was always wearing that blasted crown – stiffly and uncomfortably, and with an eye to how the peons were reacting to her.
But she could be a dear friend when she wanted to be. While Clint was sick, she did all of the stupid errandy things that Cat was apt to forget – paid Central Maine Power and the gas and the cable and Harvey, the snow plow guy, and the paperboy. All out of her own pocket without ever hearing of letting Cat pay her back in anyway.
“What’ll we play till the Queen arrives?” Jane asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. Ted wouldn’t let her smoke at home.
“Waft some of that over here, will you?” Cat said, taking a deep breath as Jane blew the smoke in her direction. “He’s gone now. You can smoke if you want to.”
Jane knew about Cat and Clint’s lifestyle. She didn’t approve, but she knew about it.
Done with all of her futzing now that everyone had their drink of choice, the hors d’oeuvres were out and the games were within reach, Cat slid into a chair. “I don’t want to. It’s bad for my health. You know I get instant pneumonia when I smoke.” She took another deep breath full of second hand smoke. “I just miss it sometimes.”
“Poker?” Rhonda suggested.
They usually played either poker or Tripoley. Everyone arrived with their spare change either rolled or in unique bags or boxes, hoarded away from their children and husbands so that every six weeks to a month they could all get together and drink and smoke and laugh and exchange it with each other, ‘cause that was what it boiled down to.
Carol made her entrance at about seven twenty-five, and watched as her friends exchanged the money right in front of her that meant
that they had bet on when she would deign to arrive. “Bitches,” was all she said, with absolutely no rancor, as she sank into her seat.
Cat got her a scotch on the rocks and a bowl of Cheetohs, the hard ones, not the soft ones, because she knew that was what Carol liked, and received a beatific smile for her efforts. “You spoil me.”
“I do, but someone else got there first, and only the first round is on me. You’ll have to crawl to it yourself the next time.”
They played poker for a while, and Cat won, which was somewhat embarrassing when she was the host of the party, but she had great luck at cards. And it was dumb, blind luck, because although she wasn’t stupid, she had no great affinity for poker. She didn’t keep track of the cards that were played – that was entirely too much work. She’d never really learned how to play the game properly or played online at all, but she got good hands, and that, apparently, counted for a lot.
It also helped that the people she was playing with got drunker than she did, and didn’t pay attention to the fact that she rarely bluffed, so if she stayed in a hand and bet large amounts, they really should have folded.
By the time they stopped playing and everyone had adjourned to various bedrooms in various states of inebriation, she’d won almost all of the money on the table. Not bad for a night’s haul.
Chapter Nine
Breakfast the next morning, by tradition, was at a little hole in the wall place that served breakfast only, but it was right on the water and its breakfasts were enormous. They also served Bloody Marys, which was Carol’s only requirement. The waitresses all knew them, and they had a standing table and order whenever they arrived, off season, of course.
As the rest of them tucked into buttermilk pancakes with real butter and real maple syrup – the only time they allowed themselves to indulge all month – the talk turned, as always, to town gossip, and someone mentioned that a woman they all knew was seeing a man that was a few years younger than she was, and she was instantly labeled a cougar.
Cat choked on her coffee at that, and everyone turned to look at her. “Got something to say about that, do you?” Rhonda prompted.
“First of all, I hate that word. Secondly, a few years older does not make her a ‘cougar’, and thirdly, age shouldn’t mean a thing any longer, just as race doesn’t, as long as all parties are above the age of consent.” She’d said her piece, and she was going to back the hell away from the subject, but Cat was also surreptitiously watching Jane’s reaction. Everyone’s – including Jane’s – heads were nodding in agreement, so she was going to take that as a good sign.
The man in question was still calling her all the time, except last night, which might have gotten the ladies suspicious. But there was a message waiting for her on her machine when she got home; he’d called her from the airport and just said that he loved and missed her, and was looking forward to their date tonight.
Cat wasn’t at all sure what she felt about him professing his love. She knew he didn’t want her to feel pressured by it, but that was kind of hard to avoid. It was something she knew they both took seriously. He’d never married, and she was beginning to suspect that she was the reason. What if she and Clint had lived to a ripe old age together? Would Finn never have found a woman to settle down with because she was already taken?
She didn’t like to dwell on that idea because he was a really great guy – minus his right hand.
And she still wasn’t at all sure about how she felt about the fact that she’d hopped into bed with him on the first date, either. She might be a bit old fashioned, but that just wasn’t done when she was dating back in the Stone Age. Of course, she and Clint had been pretty much in courtship since they were in diapers, and he had been the only man she had been close to until Finn. She was a virgin on their wedding night, for crying out loud. And now here she was, at the ripe old age of almost forty-five, sleeping with Finn at the drop of a hat.
At least pregnancy wasn’t a worry. She had already been told six ways to Sunday that she couldn’t conceive, and she hadn’t. It had never been a problem with Clint, since they didn’t want children anyway, but that was another cause for concern with Finn. She had a hard time thinking that he wouldn’t want children at some point down the line, and she already knew Jane wanted him to want lots of them, if she had her way.
When he picked her up that night, she had spent all day worrying about their situation, mulling it over in her head, worrying about it like a sore tooth, unable to leave it alone. To his credit, he picked up on it immediately after giving her a wonderful kiss hello, as if they’d been separated for months rather than days.
“What’s the matter?” He eyed her critically, as if looking for cracks or lumps, then he began to run his hands down her, feeling for breaks like a paramedic.
She tried to wiggle away. “What are you doing? Stand still.”
Cat continued to squirm, until he administered several quick swats to her jean clad bottom.
“You know better than that. What did I just say?” He swore, sometimes it was like dealing with a five year old.
Finally, she stood stock still, mortified at the words that had just come out of his mouth. “You said to stand still.” It was something that Clint wouldn’t have hesitated at saying, but hearing those chiding, slightly paternal words coming out of the mouth of a man who was so much younger than she was. . . it was humiliating, and at the same time, an alarmingly hot turn on. What a perv she was!
“Then what are you to do?” And where did he get that stern tone of voice that had her legs quivering and her insides turning to jelly.
A heavy, put upon sigh. “Stand still.” He gave her a thorough going over, even squatting to check her legs and feet surely and carefully. “Jeez, what are you, a doctor?”
“No, but I was a volunteer EMT for a while.” But he wasn’t going to let her distract him. He tipped her chin up and made her look at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
She found herself clamped against him in an instant, his hand swatting her bottom again steadily.
“You’ll find quickly I hate that kind of an answer, Catherine. It was a real question, and I want a real answer, and the spanking doesn’t stop until I get one.”
Damn, who had taught this man to be dominant? Oh, right. Damn Clint for being so good at what he did. And damn Finn for learning so blasted well!
“I’ve been worrying.”
His hand ceased its spanking immediately, and he was all concern and caring again. “About what, honey?”
Cat was much more worried about the condition of her bottom at this point. He was spanking her an awful lot. Jeez, he’d only been in the house less than five seconds, and he’d already spanked her. That was some, “honey I missed you”!
“About us, about this, about the whole thing. I’m just concerned. I know you said I shouldn’t be, but I am. I can’t help it. I’m a worrier. That’s what I do.”
Finn smiled slightly, and hugged her tight. “Forget about it for the rest of the weekend. I’ll deal with it as soon as I can, and it will be resolved, and we can go on with our lives. Okay? You’ll see. It will be a non issue.”
Cat thought he was glossing over it, and she was sure he thought she was making a mountain out of a mole hill. But they would see whether or not her relationship with his mother would survive this.
Dear God, if they got serious and she ended up marrying Finn, Jane would be her mother-in-law. She shuddered. She couldn’t bare the thought of that.
He frowned down at her. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
They stopped in Bangor at an Asian buffet and ate themselves into oblivion, then continued out into the back of beyond, to a tiny bar where a band he used to be in was playing. They were now a country dance band. When he was with them, they’d been an eighties band.
They danced, both very badly, and she drank – he refrained entirely since he was driving – and the guys recognized him and called him up on stage
to sing a few numbers for old times’ sake. She was surprised to see him pick up an acoustic guitar and step up to the microphone. He sent a couple of power ballads out to her, and Cat had the satisfaction of seeing much younger women drooling over a man who only had eyes for her, and who sang every word of every song while staring right to her.
When he finished Air Supply’s “Every Woman in the World” and climbed down off that stage and into her arms, the crowd erupted in applause, and she could feel the daggers from the looks from the younger women sticking out of her back.
They left while they were still clapping. As the grave crunched beneath his boots and her shoes, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Someone has a spanking coming for not weighing herself when she should have.”
If her lower lip had protruded any further, they would have been tripping over it. But he just chuckled at her expression, and tucked her into the passenger’s side of the car. Cat fumed. She’d been looking forward to getting home and making love to him, but now she wasn’t so sure.
She didn’t want to be spanked. She’d never really wanted to, and Clint had understood that. She thought Finn probably did, too, but it seemed that neither one of them would ever tire of teasing her about the fact that she did get spanked, and that they were the ones that did it.
Cat hadn’t much been paying attention to where they were going. She had a bit of a buzz on, not much but some, but he was perfectly sober and she didn’t have to pay attention to how he drove. Besides, it was damned hard to get lost going to the Island. There was only one road there. But he made an unusual turn, and they ended up somewhere that she didn’t expect to be – Hadley Point Rd, where they could drive right out onto the beach. It wasn’t open ocean, but it was certainly beautiful by the bay, and it smelled of the sea the way no other ocean but Maine ocean did.
Old Enough To Know Better Page 10