A Silver Lining

by Beth D. Carter

  Tristan stiffened, the tenderness in his face and body disappearing in an instant. “Why do you have be like this? Every time someone shows you a bit of kindness or friendship, you throw a wall up.”

  “What does it matter if I have a wall up or not? We’re not exactly friends, Tristan.”

  He sighed. “I want to be your friend, Heather.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’ll be your lover. I’ll be your sex kitten and play all kinds of dirty little games. But don’t ask me to be your friend.”

  Tristan stared at her for a minute, and she could see a thousand different emotions sweeping across his face. Everything from pity to hate to acceptance all blended together, and she knew in that instant he would accept her proposal, though he may not have known it yet himself. He wanted her. She could feel it every time he approached her. And she wanted him too. Tristan had always been in the back of her mind, a teenage fantasy, and here they were, twenty years older and able to act on those old feelings.

  She dropped her arms and stepped closer to him, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pushing her breasts against him. The flame that always existed between them leaped to life. She heard his breath quicken. Beneath her palms, she felt his chest rise and fall quickly as his heart hammered. He grabbed her arms, halting her, staring at her with an equal mixture of lust and hate. She wet her lips with her tongue. That little gesture made him capitulate. He groaned low in his throat and hauled her into his body. One hand curved around the back of her head, holding her steady as he dominated her mouth with his. The kiss wasn’t soft, it gave no quarter. It demanded, it took. Desire swept over her, wiping out everything. Her world narrowed to focus on him, his rage, and his appetite.

  He pushed her against the wall as his lips trailed down her neck. He pushed her shirt up, his fingertips brushing lightly over her skin, traveling upward until he reached her breasts. She hissed and arched her back, thrusting more into his hands. He moved the bra up to expose her, his thumb flicking lightly over her nipples. When he tried to move his mouth to them, her clothing got in the way. Impatiently, he swept the shirt and bra over her head, throwing them carelessly on the floor somewhere behind them.

  “You drive me crazy,” he muttered, just before his mouth fastened on her right nipple. His left hand started kneading her left breast, his fingers rolling the taut nipple. Heather threw her head back, her body tensing at the unbelievable sensations radiating up from her groin.

  Tristan was a man possessed. His other hand moved to her legs, pushing them wide to fit his body between them. His hand swiped over her overly sensitive pussy, causing her to jump in surprise from the friction of the rough material pushing back.

  Impatiently he unzipped her jeans, pushing them down her legs before picking her naked body up to hold against his. Heather felt her juices start to run as one hand slid between them, a finger sliding deep within. In and out he finger-fucked her, finding the fleshy nub of her pleasure spot and rubbing it over and over as he bit and licked her neck and mouth.

  She splintered. Stars popped into her eyes. The world tilted on its axis. She was only vaguely aware of him moving his own clothing aside.

  There, against the wall, he pushed his hard cock into her. He gave her no mercy, no finesse, only the most fulfilling moment of her life as he finally took possession of her body.

  “Oh!” she cried, the euphoria returning as he filled her.

  He pulled back only slightly, making sure she was okay, until she flexed her inner muscles and squeezed him. His eyes rolled back, and he thrust again into her, going deeper.

  Heather met his thrusts with sharp jabs of her pelvis, up and down. Sweat poured from their bodies. Their breathing turned harsh. His thrusts got deeper, harder as he pushed his cock in and out. Heather moaned as his onslaught propelled her up and down in a blur, causing his hands to hold onto her hips to keep her steady.

  “Fuck me, Tristan,” she said through her teeth, the sing of her orgasm sweeping through her. “Oh God! Yes, yes!”

  She fell first. She mewled as the dam burst and her cream ran. Her inner muscles once again flexed, milking the hard cock rooted deep inside her. Tristan let out his own harsh groan as he climaxed with her, pouring himself deep inside.

  “Shit,” he whispered a moment later, his head resting against her naked shoulder. She felt his racing heart through his opened shirt. “I didn’t use protection.”

  The sensible words snapped her out of her sensual haze. She stiffened in his arms and pulled back far enough to force him to look at her.

  “Don’t worry, I’m on birth control, and I’m clean. I get tested regularly,” she told him in a bland tone.

  He frowned. “Regularly? How regularly?”

  “Every couple of months. What about you? Something I should know?”

  He shook his head. She wasn’t quite sure if he was answering her, or if he simply had to clear his post-climactic brain.

  “Tristan? Are you clean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She stepped away from him and proceeded to put her clothes on, ignoring the juice that ran down her thigh. In a matter of moments, she had re-dressed. “So, you wouldn’t fuck me outside, but you’d fuck me three doors from his. So much for caring about Grandpa’s sensibilities.”

  And picking up the pieces of her fractured pride, she held her head up as she walked out of the memory closet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He hasn’t talked to me in three days.”

  “Is that the reason you’ve been reading me that damn book?” Lincoln demanded.

  Heather waved the copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray in front of his face. “This is literature.”

  “It’s boring. I don’t understand a word of it.”

  “Look past the words, Old Man,” she said. “It’s about a man who doesn’t want to grow old. It’s my favorite novel.”

  “Bah. Gimme Zane Grey.”

  “I’m going to read you this damn book, so shut the hell up!”

  Lincoln raised his eyebrows at her. “I thought you wanted to talk about Tristan.”

  She huffed and crumpled a bit as the steam exited her sails. The book thumped back on her lap. “He hasn’t talked to me in three days,” she repeated.

  “Were you a bitch to him?”

  “Why is that the first thing you ask?”

  “Why aren’t you answering?”

  “I may have said some un-nice words, but he should know I always say un-nice words!”

  His brow arched as he gave her an exasperated look that spoke volumes. She wilted. Her shoulders hunched as she slumped back in the chair.

  “I don’t know why I have to fight all the time,” she admitted quietly. “A haze seems to cover my brain, and before I realize what I’m saying, all the bad things just pour out.”

  “If you do enough of the bad, then people won’t be let down when you fail.”

  Her head snapped up. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, her snappy comeback died in mid-thought.

  “You aren’t the only person who’s done some stupid stuff,” he admitted, coughing a bit at the end.

  Heather jumped from her chair to bring his glass of water to his lips, helping him drink before wiping his mouth with a tissue.

  “I know all about it, girl,” he whispered through bloodless lips. He looked washed-out, as pale as the ghost he was turning into.

  “Know about what?”

  He opened tired, dull eyes. “I wanted you to come live with me, but your mother refused. Said all you needed was time to heal. But I knew better. I knew that place was a constant reminder of the pain you went through. Nothing good would come from there, but your mother didn’t want to listen to me. By then your father had left you both, and she didn’t trust me.”

  Words eluded her. Her grandfather’s admission opened a floodgate of emotion that swarmed her mind and condensed all her thoughts down to one mantra: He knew! He knew!

  “Why did you c
ome here, Heather?”

  His gruff, scratchy voice broke through her scattered introspection. Her focus snapped back, and she quickly jumped to her feet.

  “Don’t,” she ordered. “I don’t want to go there.”

  “Ain’t no use running, girl. What’s done is done. Time to let it go. I think you came here, to this ranch, for that reason. Didn’t you?”

  Heather shook her head. “I came here because I ran out of money and needed a place to stay.”

  “Is that what you want the ranch for? Money?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she turned around and headed for the door.

  “Don’t go,” Lincoln Hart said with a wheeze. “If you don’t want to talk about this, then read me the damn book.”

  Heather dropped it in the trash can before opening the door and leaving.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once again, she couldn’t sleep.

  She lay in bed thinking about what the old man had said. A big part of her psyche warned her not to, to push everything away and hide from it like she usually did. But a small sliver of insanity insisted she remember, that she face her demon in order to bury it properly.

  But if she did that, then what did she have left? She didn’t know if she was strong enough to face the fact that twenty years of her life was gone, devoted to a single incident that had ruined her future and her dreams. If she were to start over, then where would she start? What would she do? All she really knew how to do was teach aerobics.

  Could she live here and learn about ranching?

  Heather rose from her bed and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She pulled on socks and tennis shoes and left her bedroom, making her way silently out of the house. The night air was cool, as opposed to the humid heat that lingered through the daylight hours.

  She could get used to the peace that surrounded the night. Times like this allowed her to imagine she was free, that she was all alone in the world and didn’t have to raise her defenses. The smells of the ranch wafted on the breeze, a mixture of hay and dirt and animals. A little of that smell clung to Tristan all the time.

  Without realizing it, the restlessness that had snaked its way through her system brought her to his trailer. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and a thousand denials raced through her mind. But her hand lifted and knocked.

  It took him a moment to answer. He wore jeans that were zipped but unbuttoned, with no shoes or shirt. His nipples puckered in the cool air. His expression was grim.

  “Is it Lincoln?”

  She shook her head, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Can I come in?”

  The moon cast a soft glow over his face, turning his chiseled and angular features into soft planes and shadows. She could tell he wanted to say no, but he stepped aside to allow her to pass.

  “Do whatever you want, Heather. You always do.” He stomped away, leaving the door open.

  Heather walked in and looked around the spacious trailer. The door opened into the living room, where a large flat-screen had been mounted on the wall. A large brown leather couch and a chair sat facing it, with an end table between them. Scattered beer cans, magazines, and newspapers littered the surface of the glass coffee table. To the right, toward the front of the trailer, stood the kitchen with a small table and chairs. Toward the back, a hallway branched off to what she assumed must be the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry facilities.

  Tristan stood in the center of the room, arms crossed. “If you’re trying to win this competition by driving me crazy, then it’s working” he said flatly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I know how difficult I can be. I didn’t mean to insult you after we—”

  “Fucked,” he finished harshly.

  Heather winced at the angry tone. She sighed. “Tristan, I’m sorry. My defense shield is to be insult.”

  “Why do you need defenses with me?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. Silver peppered the dark layers, adding a depth to his rugged appeal. She felt her palms itching to run her fingers through the glossy mass.

  “I’m forty-one years old, Heather, too old for games.”

  “How come you’re not married?”

  He waved a hand around. “My life has been devoted to this ranch. After Avery and Simon died, I never found the time to actively pursue a relationship. What about you? I thought marriage was every woman’s dream.”

  “My dream is security,” she replied.

  “And this ranch could bring a nice price to you, enough to give you that security.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m not going to lie and tell you that hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  “You keep sucking up to your grandfather, and I’m sure he’ll reward you.”

  “I’m not here to argue.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Heather, I don’t want to play games—”

  “I’m not. I came here to … I just wanted to … damn it! I really don’t know why I’m here. First you reel me in, then you insult me. And you ignore me for days! So why am I here, Tristan? Why am I always thinking about you?”

  Her stared at her for a heartbeat, then grabbed her arms and pulled her into his embrace. His mouth came down on hers, almost brutally, but she met the force with equal hunger. This was what she wanted, what she craved. Her fingers slid though his chest hair, over firm pecs and hot flesh.

  He broke the kiss and leaned back far enough to peer down into her face. “What do you want, Heather? Come on, tell me why you’re here.”

  “I told you, damn it, I don’t know!”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, and he brought his mouth to her neck. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive area right under her ear, causing her to shiver, before taking a nip.

  “Again,” she whispered.

  She felt his smile against her throat. His next bite was a little harder, a little deeper. She knew instinctively it was going to leave a mark, but she didn’t care. At the moment, all she knew was that her heart raced, excitement rushed through her blood, and cream coated her panties.

  “This.” He breathed against the bruise he just made. “This is what you want. You want to be fucked. You want me so deep inside that you don’t know where you end and I begin.”

  She squirmed against him, not sure if she wanted to admit he was right. But then he licked over the tender spot on her neck, proceeding to lick downward, stopping when he reached the V of her shirt.

  Tristan pulled back, putting space between them. Heather panted, watching him as he stared at her. One of his eyebrows was lifted, clearly waiting for something.

  “I’m right, aren’t I, Heather?”

  She tried to bring her breathing under control, but having him stand two feet away, half-undressed and looking like a Greek god did not help the situation. Instead she thrust her chin up.

  “Are you saying you don’t want me?” she countered.

  When he didn’t answer, she took off her shirt. She saw his nostrils flare as he took in her white, lacy bra, the color stark against her tan skin.

  “Huh, Tristan?” she taunted as she unbuttoned her jeans. “Works both ways. You fuck me, I fuck you. Does it really matter who gives in?”

  “Of course it does,” he said.

  She pushed her jeans down a little, revealing tiny, white panties. His eyes were glued on her hands as her fingers played against the smooth skin on her hips.

  “And if I said I wanted to be on top?”

  He swallowed, then licked his lips. She smiled.

  She drew her pants down, stepping out of them gracefully. She posed, knowing she looked good, and watched as Tristan looked her up and down. She felt his gaze like heated coals raking over her body.

  Heather stepped into him, pushing her breasts against his hard chest and slid her hands up his shoulders to encircle his neck. With her
body tight against his, she stood on tiptoe.

  “My turn,” she murmured, breathing slightly into his ear, making sure she gave the shell a tiny lick before biting the lobe. Hard.

  Tristan winced, but the pain seemed to shake him from his lust-induced coma. He put his arms around her and crushed her to him as his mouth found hers. He swept his tongue in, finding and mating with hers, plunging in and out as his hand buried in her hair to keep her head still.

  He picked her up, and Heather wrapped her legs around his waist. She enjoyed the slight friction of his jeans rubbing against her stimulated clit and ground her hips into the hardness of his cock. Moving with deliberate, exaggerated movements, he backed up until his ass hit the arm of the sofa. He half-sat, half-stood, allowing her legs to fold over his lap. This angled her pussy in direct alignment with his cock, giving her the control she sought despite the clothing still between them.

  But Heather took the opportunity to rub herself up and down his body like a cat in heat. She kissed his face, his neck, and his shoulders, liking the friction against her sensitive breasts. He reached up and unhooked her bra, helping her slide the scrap of material off. He kneaded the soft flesh and teased the hard nipples as her kisses became more aggressive.

  Up and down, she ground her pelvis into his. Teasing him, teasing them both, letting the tension build until she wanted to explore more. Carefully she stepped off the sofa arm. She traced a pattern with her lips and tongue down his chest. She opened his fly and pushed his jeans down the hard muscles of his ass. She carefully guided his stiff cock around the zipper’s teeth, relishing the tortured groan he emitted as she slowly started to pump it up and down.

  Using the precum that beaded the top, she let her right hand play as she used her left to push his jeans farther down. Tristan stepped out of them and kicked them mindlessly aside before widening his stance to allow her to explore.

  Heather cushioned the huge cock between her breasts and rocked back and forth in a pumping motion while her fingers traced his backside, running along his crack and dipping in to trace along his puckered hole. Tristan stiffened and started to pull away a little, but Heather held him firm and dug her nails into his cheeks. He got the hint and held still but kept his body rigid.