Slow and Steady Rush

by Laura Trentham

  A half-hour later, he emerged in a daze. In her will, Miss Ada had given him the option to buy the Wilson house for a ridiculously low price. His afternoon classes passed in a blur.

  Finally, after practice, he listened to his messages. Local reporters, well-wishes from prominent townspeople, the mayor included, a call from the bank letting him know to come in at his convenience to set up the mortgage.

  He cleaned up and headed home. Home. It took on a new meaning. For the first time since Miss Ada passed, Darcy’s car was the only one out front. In the falling gloom, the porch swing rocked but not from the wind. A small figure huddled. Her pain seeped into the night. His heart hurt because she hurt and, right or wrong, he had to hold her, comfort her, alleviate her pain.

  He rolled to a stop outside Miss Ada’s house. The engine sputtered off, leaving a heavy silence. Even the crickets had gone into mourning. As Avery went in search of his favorite rose bush, Robbie walked to the porch and up the steps, one overly loud clomp at a time.

  An old afghan blanket was wrapped around her legs. The gray sweater from the funeral showed at the top. Before he could say a word, she pounced. Her arms weaved around his neck, and her body melded with his, their lips colliding with bruising intensity. The honeysuckle of her hair wove a summer spell around them in spite of the chill.

  The days without her had been interminable, the nights lonely. He held her head while his tongue dipped between her lips. She grappled along his shoulders, pulling and tugging, but he didn’t release her face to allow more intimate contact. He’d missed her. Missed her with an intensity that brought the sting of tears to his eyes.

  She skimmed hands down his flanks. The ripple of pleasure tensed his muscles. His tongue curled deeper into her mouth, and her answering moan reverberated through his chest, tightening it with need. She ripped at his belt and the fly of his jeans.

  She delved into his boxer briefs, pushing them down. The cool evening air couldn’t dent his arousal. He glided his hands down her body, over her breasts, briefly cupping her ass, to the hem of her skirt. Her legs were bare, the dark tights she’d worn earlier gone.

  While nipping her upper lip between his teeth, he tugged the skirt up to bunch at her waist, grasped her thighs, and lifted. Her knees pressed into his hips. Her panty-covered crotch pressed tight against his bare erection.

  He didn’t go far. Shuffling, he sat on the swing and positioned her legs on either side of his thighs. Little encouragement from him was required. She fisted her hands in the cloth at his shoulders and writhed. Her head thrown back and her eyes closed, he was only an instrument for her pleasure.

  The wet satin of her panties rasped erotically against his erection as her hips worked. He needed more, and from her frustrated cry, she needed more too. He hooked his trembling fingers around the delicate fabric of her panties and forced them to the side. Slipping his pants down farther, he exposed every inch of his aching dick.

  She took advantage of the entire length and worked him like a wild woman. He pushed up her sweater. The cups of her black lace bra barely covered her pebbled nipples. He fixed that deficiency until her nipples were on full display. His licks and sucks drew the buds tight. With her breasts exposed and her body flushed, she made the most erotic picture he could imagine.

  He desperately wanted to see her come like this, riding him like her survival depended on a climax. She keened to the night. Grabbing her hips, he forced her undulation against him to continue, growing slick.

  He maneuvered her lax body up, and his length disappeared into her tight hold. Once seated, she took control again, rising and falling with faster and faster intent. Apparently, her intention was to make him come as quickly as possible. He watched where they joined, watched the flex of her muscles, watched her swollen folds engulf him over and over.

  He grabbed her hips and slammed her down a half dozen times. With one final thrust, he came, his body shuddering. He pulled her onto his chest. Still semi-hard inside of her, he was in no hurry to move.

  He ran his hands along her bare legs, and she shivered. Goose pimples marred the smooth skin. Reluctantly, he stood and set her in front of him. She tugged her sweater and skirt down, and he pulled his pants up.

  Neither one of them had said a word.

  His voice rasped unnaturally in the darkness. “Darcy, I—”

  She shushed him. Uncertainty struck. She made the decision for him, taking his hand and pulling him inside. He followed like a dog while Avery loped to the kitchen.

  As soon as they crossed the threshold of her room, she kicked the door shut, and he let her push him against it, finding her abandon arousing. Blood re-gathered in his dick.

  His shirt flew across the room to hang from the corner of the mirror. He’d pulled his pants up, not fastened them. She pushed them to his ankles, and he kicked them off. Her hands roved his chest, and her fingers pinched his nipples.

  Her sweater got the same treatment as his shirt, but he left her bra in place, enjoying the decadence. He unclasped her skirt and pushed it and her panties to the floor.

  “How do you want it?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I want it rough. Make me feel something besides sad.”

  He spun her and forced her hands to the cold post of the brass bed. She faced the mirror. Sliding his erection along the crack of her ass, his fingers played. One hand teased her nipples while the other played in her wet folds.

  “Talk to me, Robbie.” She moaned as two of his fingers filled her.

  He whispered every dirty word in his vocabulary, describing what he wanted to do to her in vivid detail. She rocked on his fingers. Her hair billowed down her back. His hand left her breast to wind a swath of her hair around his palm. He tugged. She gasped and stood taller.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her reflection. Her jutting breasts bobbed in time to her body’s thrusts onto his fingers. In the darkness, she was shades of gray, but red heat radiated off her body.

  “Look at yourself.” He barely recognized his guttural voice.

  She did. Their gazes collided in the mirror. One of her hands left the bedpost to settle on her breast. He rubbed her with a singular goal. Her head fell back to his shoulder, and strands of her hair caressed the tip of his erection. A trembling spread through her body. She cried his name and convulsed around his fingers.

  The sight of her absolute surrender to the passion flaring between them pushed him over the edge. He slammed inside of her, any pretense of gentleness out of his reach. The force of his body drove her over the mattress. He pounded. She didn’t shy away but popped her ass higher in the air.

  When he came, his knees buckled, and he collapsed on top of her, driving them both facedown on the bed. Spikes of pleasure curled his toes. Eventually, his jellylike muscles regained strength, and he scooted to the pillows, pulling her up next to him. She cuddled against his sweat-dampened, heaving chest, and they gusted nearly identical sighs.

  The part of him that wondered if maybe she loved him enough to accept his past urged him to speak, to confess, to beg, but while he had learned to control his anger, his fear was an untamed monster that stole his confidence. He kept his mouth shut and squeezed his eyes closed.

  He woke an hour before dawn, lost for a few heartbeats. The scent of sex hung around him, beckoning memories. The white skin of her back was a beacon. He wanted to glide his fingertips from the base of her neck to the top of her buttocks. He wanted to take her again and this time whisper sweet promises.

  Instead, he shifted to the edge of the bed, moving as if hunting—softly, soundlessly. Gathering his clothes, he padded to the hall to dress. The telling step creaked on his way down. He froze, but no door opened, no outraged feminine voice sounded.

  The click of dog nails on the wood floors drew him farther down. Without putting his boots on, he and Avery retreated.

  #

  She stared at the wall. The click of the front door sounded like it was a foot away. So loud. So final. What did it mea
n that he’d left her? Had her unleashed need disgusted him? No, definitely not disgusted, he’d enjoyed himself. The evidence was on her legs, her sore scalp where he’d pulled at her hair, even the twinge between her thighs. She’d hoped his appearance meant he’d decided to take a chance on her, on them.

  Her mind spun useless circles around the problem of Robbie. Frustrated with her inability to figure the man out, she rose and brewed coffee. Logan and Kat would be by soon to discuss Ada’s will. Another set of worries grew. Kat had been unusually evasive about the subject.

  Promptly at ten, Kat let herself in the kitchen door, heels tapping. Darcy met her before she made it to the swinging door. Dressed like a lawyer and pushing six feet in the red-bottomed heels, Kat looked intimidating.

  Her voice was more formal than usual. “Let’s sit at the kitchen table, shall we?”

  Darcy eyed her like a stranger. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  A sigh diminished the tension holding Kat so still and upright. She collapsed in the chair, her legs splaying like a child. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to show you.”

  Truck tires crunched gravel. The two friends stared at each other, silent and waiting. Logan dragged in. The late night and stressful emotional week had taken a toll. His hair was disheveled, his brown eyes muddy. Without offering a greeting, he poured a mug of black coffee and slid in beside Darcy, briefly passing his hand over hers.

  “Now that the pertinent parties have assembled, we can begin.” Kat had put her professional hat on but with an anxious undercurrent.

  “Miss Ada’s largest assets were the land and the two houses. She stipulated that Dalt should be given the opportunity to buy the Wilson house and surrounding land for a very reasonable price. He’s already made arrangements with the bank.”

  “How reasonable?” Darcy asked. The lump in her throat grew from a tadpole into a frog.

  “Quite,” Kat said emphatically, pushing a paper toward them. Logan whistled.

  Her feelings had been numbed to the point she wasn’t even sure if she was upset or happy. He’d known. Last night, he’d known and not said a word. “That’s highway robbery.”

  “Very nearly,” Kat said. “The money from the sale will go to Logan. She wanted to help you along with your restaurant.”

  Logan brushed at his eyes and picked at the curling wallpaper.

  Kat continued, her voice tightening. “She left minor bequests to the library and the church. A relatively small amount of money will be wired to Darcy’s mother.”

  “Did you talk to her? Did she ask about me?” Darcy clenched her hands around her thighs, her nails digging.

  Kat chewed her lip and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Darcy.”

  “I can’t believe she didn’t come back for the funeral.” Darcy gusted a sigh. Mostly what she felt was resignation tinged with disappointment. Probably every abandoned child harbored a dream of their mother sweeping in with apologies and declarations. But none of the anger or resentment of years gone by swamped her. Over the last few months, she’d kicked some of her baggage to the curb.

  Kat continued. “Now, then, she left this house and accompanying land to … Logan.”

  She and Logan stared at each other, both blinking like dim-witted dairy cows.

  Kat spoke faster, putting space between them and the bomb she’d dropped. “Her will expressly forbids Logan to sell any of the land or the house. She wanted someone living here fulltime.”

  Darcy’s breathing accelerated, and a clammy sweat broke over her forehead. “She left everything to Logan?”

  “Not her books. Those are yours.”

  “Her books, but nowhere to keep them,” she said with a fake, brittle laugh.

  Logan grabbed her hand. “Cuz, you can stay here as long as you want. We’ll get your name put on the deed as soon as everything is finalized.” Sincerity blazed in the depths of his eyes.

  “Can I stay for a while, at least?”

  “As long as you want,” he repeated. “This is as much your house as mine.”

  But it wasn’t. Not anymore. First Robbie, now Ada. Betrayal muffled the grief of the past days.

  Chapter 24

  The sharp rap on his office door startled Robbie. He was supposed to be working on the roster for the first playoff game, but instead he was thinking about Darcy. As usual. The door swung open, and Kat crossed the threshold without invitation and closed them in.

  “What’s up?” His heart rate picked up, dreading a discussion about Darcy.

  “Perkins has been jawing around town.”

  The unexpectedness of the statement silenced him for a few beats. “About me being gay? I thought Darcy and I squashed those rumors.”

  Kat shook her head. “He claims you assaulted your foster father and put him in the hospital. He’s flashing a copy of a police record of the incident to anyone who’s interested. And, friend or foe, everyone is interested.”

  The unexpectedness of his past biting his ass had him pushing out of his seat. Panic welled, a whoosh filling his ears. His instinct was to run, to move on like he’d always done.

  From a long way off, Kat said, “You can trust me, Dalt. Anything you say stays between us and in this room. How old were you? Was anything ever filed against you?”

  Several deep breaths restored his hearing even though his heart clawed to escape his rib cage and hide under a rock. Robbie sat back down and dropped his forehead to laced fingers. Running wasn’t an option. The state playoffs loomed in a few days. Too many people were depending on him.

  “I was eighteen, legally an adult. It happened the day I signed with Vandy. What should have been the happiest day of my life. The bastard came around looking for money. When I told him to go to hell, he turned ugly. Said I was a worthless piece of garbage who’d never amount to anything, my mother was a drug-addicted whore, a prostitute … pretty standard stuff. But, I’d finally had enough. All I remember is I was on top of him and couldn’t stop.”

  “But you did stop.”

  “Only because I thought I’d killed him.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the memory of his foster father’s battered face and limp body fresh and biting. He forced the rest out. “I panicked. Used his cell to call an ambulance and ran off before they got there. I ended up at my coach’s house. Of course, everyone knew I did it. My knuckles were raw. I had bruises on my face.”

  “Why were no charges filed?” No judgment, only curiosity, laced her question.

  “No one witnessed the beating, so my coach covered for me. He knew what my foster father had done to me when I was younger. It was wrong all the way around, but if I had been charged, my scholarship at Vandy would have been revoked. Hell, I would have served time as an adult. My foster father was a piece of shit. The cops didn’t try too hard to break my alibi.”

  Kat blew out a breath. “That’s okay then.”

  Robbie lifted his head and stared. “Okay? I put a man in the hospital for a week and wasn’t punished. I mean, I eventually paid his medical expenses, but I—”

  She rose and pointed. “Fair warning. Perkins is threatening to start a petition to get you ousted before next season. I would suggest some PR moves on your part.”

  Once he was alone, the reality of the situation settled over him like a suffocating mudslide. Everyone would find out. The librarians who had put so much hope in him, Logan, the school board members who had hired him in spite of his lack of experience, his players. But, it was the thought of Darcy that made his stomach bottom out.

  He fisted his hair, the pain barely registering. He imagined her face. The disgust, the regret, the realization he wasn’t good enough for her. He’d survived a hellish childhood and the hell of war, but he wasn’t sure he could survive watching her turn and walk away from him.

  It was time.

  On his drive to Ada’s house, he practiced what needed to be said. His insides swooped when he saw her planting purple-and-yellow pansies around the porch. He took a
deep, shuddery breath before getting out of his truck, grateful Avery’s head bobbed against his hand.

  She stood up and pulled off dirt-caked gloves. A tentative smile curled her lips, crinkling the dried mud streaking one cheek. “I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again.”

  The subtle dig on his predawn escape from her bed had him shifting on his feet. “We need to talk. Look, the football season’s almost over, and with Miss Ada’s passing, I’m surprised you’re out here planting flowers and not packing your car up. It’s time for both of us to move on.”

  His words stole her smile. Her gaze darted to the trees and back to him, black smudges under her eyes suddenly prominent.

  “What about last night?” she whispered.

  He forced himself to shrug and keep his voice casual. “Last night was fun.”

  “Fun?” The single word skewered him. She twisted the gloves in her hands.

  “You knew what this was from the beginning, Darcy.”

  “But things change, and I lo—”

  “No!” He pointed his finger. “You equate sex with love. I don’t. We’ve just been having sex.”

  She took a step backward, her heel smashing a purple flower. Anger brought some color back into her face. “Last night—”

  “Was a sympathy fuck. That’s it. You have a life in Atlanta, and you should get back to it. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “Nothing?” The stricken look on her face and the ache in her voice made him want to pull her into his arms and offer comfort for what the terrified asshole in him was doing.

  “That’s right. Nothing.”

  Her breath gusted out as if he’d hit her in the gut, but defiance strengthened her tone. “I got offered Ada’s job at the library. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about the other night at The Tavern.”

  Was she actually thinking about staying in Falcon? For him? He probably wouldn’t even have a job after the team meeting he’d called for that afternoon. A dry, gravelly noise that was meant to be laughter left his chest. “I’ll bet you had a good laugh over that. You have a job at one of the premier universities in the country waiting. Why would you throw that away?”