Guilty Needs

by Shiloh Walker

“No.” Colby couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry, though. Probably a couple of months ago, ever since the visit to the oncologist had revealed that the chemo hadn’t worked. The thought of eating anything held about as much appeal as going back out into that cold, driving rain.

  Heaving out a tired sigh, he dropped down onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What is it about funerals and food? Megan Lowell kept asking me about a wake, asking if she should bring something.”

  Bree slid him a glance. “Yeah. She cornered me and told me that the two of us, me and her, should take care it, have it over at your place. I told her you probably weren’t too keen on that idea.”

  “Good.” Something occurred to him as she pulled a knife from a chopping block and started to slice a tomato. “You ran interference for me the past couple of days. Thank you.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what friends do. You’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

  Shaking his head, Colby said, “I’m not dealing with anything that you’re not dealing with. Alyssa—” his voice cracked and it took two tries before he could finally speak without worrying he’d break before he finished the sentence. “You two were like sisters. This is every bit as hard for you as it is for me. But you…” his words trailed off and he had absolutely no idea what he was trying to say. “Just—well, thank you.”

  Lame as hell.

  Thank you? That was the best he could say to the woman who’d all but put her life on hold to spend time with Alyssa before she died? The best he could say to the woman who had been like a sister to his wife?

  She gave him a sad smile. “You don’t need to thank me, Colby.” For a moment, tears glittered in her dark-gray eyes but then she looked away. When she looked back, her gaze was clear and level. “I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to do.”

  “Yeah.” He ran a hand over his wet hair and then reached for his coffee. “I know.”

  They both fell silent, mostly picking at the sandwiches Bree made, but Colby made himself eat half of his, hoping maybe Bree would do the same. Her cheeks had a faintly hollow look and there were shadows under her eyes. He guessed she hadn’t been eating or sleeping any better than he had. Outside, the rain continued, a heavy downpour that showed no signs of letting up.

  When Bree rose from her seat, he followed, pausing to refill his coffee cup. Bree made it the same way he preferred it—black and strong enough to send caffeine zipping through the system on one sip. The caffeine barely penetrated the fog in his brain today, but it was warm.

  Right now, he desperately needed the warmth. He felt frozen through and through, yet it wasn’t because of the rain or his wet clothes. It could be ninety degrees in Bree’s house and he’d still feel chilled to the bone. He found Bree in the small den tucked just off the kitchen, kneeling in stocking feet in front of the fireplace. She slid him a look over her shoulder and said, “I don’t care if it is May. I’m freezing.”

  “Yeah. I know the feeling.” He would have offered to do it for her, but before he had even set his cup down, she had the beginnings of a blaze going. In moments, flames were dancing over the logs.

  Bree settled down in front of the fireplace, drawing her knees to her chest, automatically smoothing a hand over the long skirt, adjusting it so that it draped over her legs. Colby sat down in the fat wing chair off to the side and stared at the flames, letting himself get lost in them. It was easy just then not to think, to sit in front of a warm fire and pretend he hadn’t just lost the most important person in his life.

  He never realized he’d fallen asleep until the phone jerked him awake. He jumped, for a moment not recognizing where he was and his mind automatically went to Alyssa—he needed to check on her…but then he remembered.

  In the distance, he could hear Bree’s low, quiet murmur and he blocked the sound of it out, tried to still the storm churning inside him. He needed to get out of here. The rain was still coming down, although from the sound of it, the downpour had lessened a little. He came up out of the chair, wadding up the blanket Bree must have draped over him. He threw it on the footstool and headed out of the den, hoping he could grab his jacket and slip outside.

  Remembering that his car was still at the funeral home, he paused, but then just shook his head. He didn’t give a damn if he had to walk. He didn’t really have a destination in mind anyway—just not home. That was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t know if that house could ever be home again. He’d built it for Alyssa.

  It hit him then, just as he went to grab his coat from the hook hanging by Bree’s side door. It hit him like a ton of bricks dropping down to crush him. Slamming a hand against the wall, he tried to keep from buckling under the weight. What hit him weren’t tears—such a simple term couldn’t explain the pain that boiled up from deep inside and threatened to kill him as it clawed its way out of him.

  He never heard Bree come in, just knew that suddenly she was there, slipping an arm around his waist, then the other, holding him as he finally let himself acknowledge reality.

  Alyssa was gone.

  There would be no one last chance to hope and pray for a miracle, no more nights where he could lie awake and watch her while she slept. Gone.

  Her back was on fire and her left leg was so numb, she was pretty sure it would take an hour just to be able to get any feeling back in it—if she was ever able to move. But she didn’t care, didn’t say anything. They were half-laying, half-kneeling, with his head in her lap and the fingers of one hand twined with hers, holding on as though he’d never let go.

  Her own tears were blinding her, but she blinked them back.

  She wasn’t sure when the silence between them started to change. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, or an easy one, but the grief between them kept it from being awkward. But it changed—more on her part than his—or at least she thought it had. But then she realized that his free hand rested on her thigh and his thumb was stroking back and forth. Through her skirt, she could feel his warmth and every slow stroke was enough to make her heart skip a beat. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, she suspected—any more than she was aware that she was lazily stroking a hand through his silky hair.

  The tension spiked between them and slowly, Colby lifted his head. His pupils were dilated with just a thin sliver of amber showing. The hand on her thigh stilled—tightened. His gaze dropped to her mouth. She hated how easily her body reacted, hated that she wanted more than anything to close the distance between them and press her lips to his. Hated it. Just as she hated knowing that she was weak enough to give him anything he might need, even if it was just some sort of comfort sex.

  She hoped that wouldn’t happen, yet somewhere inside, part of her hoped it would. Colby might need comfort, but she needed him. She’d always needed him and she’d never had the chance.

  His lashes drooped low, shielding his gaze. A harsh sigh shuddered out of him and then he shoved to his feet. Without looking at her, he walked out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to grab a key ring from the small bowl by her phone. She heard the engine of her bike revving out in the driveway. As he pulled away, she thunked her head back against the cabinet at her back and closed her eyes.

  “Nice work, Bree.”

  Two days later, she found the keys to her bike in the mailbox, along with a scrawled note from Colby. She read the familiar handwriting and felt her heart twist in her chest, felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

  Taking a trip. Need to get away.

  C.

  Yeah. She definitely understood that—she’d give just about anything to get away from things for a while, away from a house where there were a hundred memories of Alyssa, away from a life that held a thousand reminders of just how lonely Bree’s life had become.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere. She had a business to run and it was one she’d been neglecting far too much since Alyssa had gotten so sick. She headed into the house, but instead of grabbing a bite to eat and a shower, she just tossed
the keys onto the counter and headed back outside. If Colby was gone, now was as good a time as any to make good on at least one promise to Alyssa.

  The big one, she still wasn’t sure she could keep, but this one was easy.

  Chapter Two

  A Year Later

  Even in dreams, she haunted him.

  Hell, worse in his dreams.

  When he was awake, Colby usually managed to jerk himself back in line if his wayward thoughts drifted toward her a little too often—something that happened more than he liked, but he could control it.

  When he had a hard time doing so, he could use the emotional version of taking a cold shower—he could think of his wife. That did it every damn time.

  But when he was asleep, those rules didn’t apply.

  In his sleep, he wanted to think about her, fantasize, dream…

  Touch.

  Taste.

  Fuck…love.

  Caught in the dream, he tossed on the bed, his hands clutching at tangled sheets as he lay alone.

  In the dream, he wasn’t alone.

  She was with him—always with him…

  “I need you…” she whispered as Colby turned to Bree and pulled her against him.

  Her long, dangerously curved body pressed against his, her hands fisted in his hair as he lost himself in her. Covering her mouth with his, he nipped and sucked on that full lower lip until she opened for him.

  Pushing inside, he drank her in, stole as much of her taste as he could while his hands got busy stripping the clothes from her body.

  Simple, casual work clothes hid a body designed to tease a man to the breaking point. Under those clothes, those killer curves were almost bare, hardly covered by skimpy wisps of silk and lace. Silk cupped her breasts, lifting them high while a scrap of lace and silk stretched across her full hips and between her thighs.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared down at her body, at the way her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath, the way the muscles in her belly contracted as he skimmed the backs of his fingers along the smooth, golden glow of her skin before dipping them inside the low-cut panties she wore.

  She was wet.

  Through the silk panties, he could see how wet she already was, and he wanted—needed—to lie between her thighs, pull that lace aside and taste her. Touch her.

  Drive her so close to the edge that she screamed out his name. Drive her until she was as insane, as needy as he.

  Working his way down her body, he stripped the panties off and pressed his mouth to her dripping core. She smelled sweet—too damn sweet, too damn good. The taste of her pussy was an addiction he couldn’t handle, but he couldn’t pull away either.

  He licked her, sucked on her clit, fucked her with his fingers until she shoved up on her elbows and grabbed his wrist, working herself against his hand and sobbing out his name.

  She came—and in that weird way of dreams, it shifted and reformed around him before he had even had time to savor her climax.

  He could still taste her, still ached to feel her even as he stood on the floor in some darkened, unfamiliar room while Bree knelt before him. Her mouth—soft and sweet—wrapped around his dick while he fisted his hands in her hair and fucked her mouth. She hummed deep in her throat. He felt the vibration of it clear down to his balls.

  Colby kneaded her scalp, groaning and rocking against her as she whimpered and clutched his hips—holding him tightly, holding him close, her nails digging into his flesh as though she feared he’d pull away.

  Not that he would. Not that he could. For as long as this lasted, he was going to enjoy it—and damn it, he wasn’t going to come in her mouth. He wanted to come inside her pussy—deep inside. So deep that she could feel him in the back of her throat.

  The wall at her back seemed to appear out of nowhere as he pulled her to her feet and urged her backward, gathering all those ripe, lush curves.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he muttered against her mouth, almost reluctant to speak for fear of shattering the dream.

  Oh, he knew he was dreaming.

  His dreams were the only place he could let himself think about Bree without guilt. Dreams couldn’t be controlled, they could only be dealt with and he figured dreaming about fucking her was a sight better than hunting her down to do it.

  In real life, he could, and would, control himself.

  But in his dreams…Another weird shift and they were no longer standing in an unfamiliar room, but lying on the bed, Colby sprawled between her thighs while he licked her, while he fucked her with his tongue until she wailed out his name and begged him to fuck her with his cock.

  Begged—as though she were as desperate for him as he was for her.

  “Please, Colby—damn it, I can’t stand it.”

  He crawled up her body, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, deep and hard. “You’ll stand it. You’ll take it. We need it…I need it,” he growled against her mouth as he pushed her thighs wide and settled between, with his weight braced on his hands.

  Tucking the broad head of his cock against the mouth of her pussy, he waited until she reached for him before he took her, before he fucked her.

  Before he loved her.

  Over and over, harder and harder, until she wailed out his name and raked her nails over his shoulders. When her cries faded away to soft, exhausted mewls of pleasure, he slowed…braced his weight above and stared down into her flushed face.

  Waiting.

  For her eyes to clear, for her breathing to calm, for her heartbeat to slow. Then, hooking his arms under hers, he cradled her head in his hands, tangling his fingers in the short, gleaming strands of her hair and tugged until she lifted her mouth to his.

  Slowly, he kissed her.

  And slowly, he started to move.

  Deep. Hard. Slow. Even when she started to rock under him, lifting her hips to his and trying to force him deeper, take him faster, he held steady. He nibbled on her lower lip, kissed his way down sweat-slicked flesh and caught one nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking, then shifting his attention to the other breast.

  The ache in his heart, in his balls expanded, spreading through his entire body, until the hunger and the need threatened to consume him. The need to come was a vicious, twisting pain, but he wouldn’t do it.

  Not yet.

  He couldn’t let this end…not yet.

  Because once it ended, he’d wake up…and he’d be alone again…

  Alone again.

  Colby came awake with the sheets twisted around his legs, his hand wrapped around his dick, pumping furiously, the orgasm just two seconds away from blowing the head of his cock off.

  Gritting his teeth, he arched his back, closed his eyes and tried to grab the dream, tried to lose himself in it as he stroked his cock to orgasm.

  Couldn’t think—not yet. Couldn’t remember—not yet.

  His heavy length jerked in his hand and he groaned as semen started to spurt from the tip, coating his hand and belly. Breathing raggedly, he stroked himself through it, until he’d emptied himself.

  Then, with guilt gnawing at his gut and loneliness burning through his heart, he opened his eyes and stared sightlessly up at the ceiling.

  The first thing Colby noticed was that the property had been tended to.

  The second thing he noticed was that the mailbox wasn’t full to overflowing—there wasn’t even a copy of the Sunday paper from yesterday. Of course, he hadn’t paid the bill in…twelve months. They’d probably stopped delivery months ago.

  Shit, for all he knew, the house had been repossessed and sold, wasn’t even his anymore. This was what happened when you just disappeared and left everything behind.

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he drove up to the house and parked on the semi-circle in front. At the end of the arc, it curved off to the right, disappearing behind the house where there was a three-car garage and a pool that would most likely need a massive overhaul before it could be used. He climbed out,
leaving his bag in the car for now. Weird, he’d expected the house to have that deserted, vacant feel to it but it didn’t.

  So what if the damn place got sold? he thought, unsure if he cared or not. Part of him didn’t want to care—this house wasn’t a home anymore.

  But he also wasn’t entirely sure he’d be happy if it had been repossessed. Not that he’d have a leg to stand on. It wasn’t as if he’d been keeping up on the payments. He’d spent the past year roaming around the eastern half of the country, doing his damnedest to forget anything and everything about his life—at least for a while.

  He’d come back to take care of this place, get it off his hands, so it was weird to discover that he would mind if the place had been sold.

  He hadn’t written a word, hadn’t read a book, hadn’t spoken with anybody he knew, just gone from town to town, working odd jobs here and there. He’d taken a sizable chunk out of his savings account just before he left and lived on that money until it was gone, then he’d gotten by on what he could make with the odd jobs. He’d made his way through the Carolinas, down the coast to Florida, up to Alabama, with no particular destination in mind.

  The past few months, he’d worked in Mobile, doing construction for a while, then waited tables when the economic slump had hit the construction industry. The days had passed in a surreal blur.

  Endless nights passed slowly, haunted by dreams that left him aching and sick with guilt. Quite a few of those nights, he ended up relying on strong, hard liquor to quiet the dreams.

  He’d been functioning just fine, taking one day at a time, one drink at a time.

  Then the dreams got stronger. The need for a woman’s touch had threatened to drive him crazy. But he didn’t just want any woman’s touch. He wanted Bree’s touch. Craved it. Needed it.

  That need fueled the guilt that he lived with and one drink just wasn’t enough at night. He started needing two. Three. But the more he drank, the worse things got…because he starting hearing voices.