by Susan Conley
“His name was Bobby and he was almost nine. He wanted me to call his mom.” Tears leaked from her closed eyes and rolled down her cheeks, wetting the pillow. “I called her, I talked to her, and I hung up. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my whole life. I don’t think I can do it again.”
He rocked her. “You did a good thing. You helped a little boy, and you helped his mother. Maybe she won’t see it like that for a while, but you did.” But the tears still leaked, so he started to hum one of his favorite songs. “Fat Bottom Girls” by Queen.
Chelsea quieted as she listened to his voice. Then she sobbed out a laugh. “‘Fat Bottom Girls’ is the best you can do?”
Brad laughed too. “It’s been an ear worm all day, the last song I heard before I got out of the car.”
“Poor you,” she said, and she kissed his cheek. “I feel better now. Thank you.” Her eyes grew heavy, and she curled up against his warmth. Her breathing became slow and regular.
Brad stared up at the ceiling above Chelsea’s bed, wondering if he’d made a wise choice, but then he knew he had. Chelsea was his and whether it was really ghosts or something else, he didn’t know and he didn’t care, but he knew he couldn’t give her up.
• • •
Grams called the next day to say she and Hildie had decided to take in a movie, so she was staying an extra day. Chelsea listened to her voicemail and smiled. She was glad Grams had such a good friend. She liked seeing her grandmother with that young, carefree look, it was good for her. She dropped the phone to the counter and started breakfast. Brad was still sleeping, and she planned to surprise him.
Soon the scent of bacon and eggs filled the house, and Brad stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, led by his nose. He yawned. “Morning.”
Chelsea gazed over at him, his hair was squished on one side, the side she’d lain on. “Hi.”
He opened the fridge, grabbed the juice. “Want some?”
“That’d be great.” Chelsea watched him moved around the kitchen. He was comfortable, he looked like he belonged there, in her home.
“Breakfast will be done in a few minutes.”
“Do I have time for a shower?”
“If you make it quick. Otherwise, I can’t speak for the bacon or guarantee you anything but the memory of what it smelled like.”
She wrapped her arms around him, pushed up on her toes, and kissed his cheek.
“What’s that for?” he said while pouring the juice.
“For helping me, for not running away like I have the screaming memes.”
“Well, I have an ulterior motive.” He laughed.
“Yeah, right.”
“I do. Want me to prove it?”
“Only if you want breakfast to burn.” Chelsea grinned at him.
“Can’t have that. S’okay, it can wait until after breakfast.” His eyes danced evilly. “Be back in a few minutes.”
While he was gone, she thought about everything that had happened the day before. She’d been truthful when she said she didn’t know if she could do the whole ghost thing — she still wasn’t sure. But today she felt better about it.
Brad walked back into the kitchen, hair combed and wet. “Any bacon left?”
“Sit down.” She laughed, and scraped eggs onto his plate while he piled on the bacon. “You know, that was for the both of us.”
He put back a piece. “There, happy?”
She picked up several more from his plate. “I am now.”
He stood, capturing her lips in a hard, fast kiss. Then he kissed her slower, gentler, sweeter. “I needed to do that.”
She smiled at him, gave him back a piece of bacon. “Me too. Grams won’t be home until tomorrow.”
Brad picked up his plate and started out of the kitchen.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
“I’m having breakfast in bed, want to join me?”
Chelsea grabbed a couple bites of egg and a piece of bacon, then she followed him.
She sat on the bed, watched him eat with slow deliberation, savoring every bite.
“Mmmm … this is so good.” He stopped and kissed her full on the lips. “And that is too, almost like taking a bite of fresh ripe fruit.” He grinned and took another.
“Are you done?” she stood and picked up his empty plate, setting it out of the way.
“I am with breakfast.” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, pulling her to his chest and nudged her head aside, planting small kisses down the length of her neck, along the bit of flesh that peeked above the collar of her t-shirt.
Chelsea sighed. She could get used to this. He tugged the belt loop on her jeans, and together they sat down on the bed, Chelsea between his legs, her back to his muscular chest, his arms wrapped her waist. Desire coiled around them, waiting to be born.
“Wish I’d been here yesterday,” he said quietly, his fingers working the soft flesh of her neck.
“No, you don’t.” She rolled her head with pleasure even as her voice grew thick, but she swallowed the sadness away. “If you’d been here, you would know I’m as crazy as I’ve been saying.”
“You’re not crazy, just slightly bent.”
She laughed as his lips grazed her neck. “Bent?” she asked as she let her head tilt to the side to give him greater access.
“Yeah, but not broken.” He nuzzled her neck again. “Mmmm … almost as good as breakfast.”
Chelsea let her head fall back to his chest, and he moved her t-shirt to the side to nibble on her shoulder. A breeze sifted through the curtain, cooling her face, and a bird song drifted to her ears. She groaned when his hands cupped her breasts under the soft fabric of her shirt, brushing across her already sensitive rosettes.
His kisses became more demanding, one hand slipped under her bra, and he rubbed the little bud, bringing it to life.
Chelsea turned into his arms to find his lips and drank her fill, her legs wrapped around his middle. He loosened her legs and stood, eyes burning. “My turn.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brad undressed her, gently lifting her arms to pull her t-shirt over her head. He cupped her breasts together, placing kisses on each of the soft mounds, and in the hollow between them. He went down on his knees, moving his hands over her ribcage, and he drew her close, kissed her rounded belly button. His fingers released the button, then the fly on her jeans, and eased them over her hips, placing a small kiss above the satiny vee of her panties. He urged her back upon the bed, pushed her jeans lower, twisting to leave feathery kisses on her inner thighs.
Already Chlesea’s heart was racing. “Brad … ” she began. “Brad … ” And he lifted his eyes to gaze at her. He was so tender, it stole her breath. She bit her lower lip to keep everything she wanted to say from tumbling out.
He lowered her jeans past her knees, and left a soft kiss on each kneecap. He lifted one foot, and then the other, pulling the jeans free from her body and left them to pool on the floor.
Chelsea tried to sit up, but he pushed her back in the pillows. “I want to help you too.”
“Let me, this is my time.” It was all he said.
He started with her souls of her feet, worked the muscles and flesh with his expert fingers. He massaged her calves with the same care, up to her inner thighs, and he spread them wider. He lifted one leg, dropped it over his shoulder, and massaged her thigh until it was like putty. He lowered her foot to the floor and lifted her other leg to perform the same dance with his fingers before releasing it.
Chelsea whimpered. “Oh my, it feels so good.” She twisted, but he stopped her movements.
“You have to hold still, or I won’t be able to finish. And I want your whole body relaxed.” He spoke softly, his voice showed his eagerness.
She shivered w
ith anticipation. Chelsea’s life had held few lovers, but none of them equaled Brad.
“Your back is next.” And it was all Chelsea could do to roll over, her body humming with the feel of his masterful fingers. He eased his hands over her upper thighs, cupped her cheeks, massaged the muscles. His thumbs found the small indentations on her lower back, and while his fingers squeezed the pliant flesh, his thumbs moved up her spine. He worked her vertebrae, pressuring them enough to feel good, but not hard enough to hurt.
“You’re so tight. Relax, let your body feel everything. Let your body go,” he encouraged as he continued to work.
His hands encircled her ribs, massaging back to front, brushed up over the soft cups on her bra, making Chelsea shiver. He eased its clasp open and folded the straps to lay flat against the comforter. He teased her with soft circles, goose chills broke out over her flesh, she felt almost feverish.
“I can’t take much more, I need … ” Chelsea called to him, but Brad ignored her soft pleas.
He worked higher, first her shoulders down her arms to her fingertips and then back up. His fingers danced over the muscles of her neck, and then he pushed them into her mass of curls, massaging her scalp.
Chelsea sighed as he worked. “That feels exquisite, almost sinful. Don’t stop.”
Then he started over, but instead of fingers, his lips took their place. He kissed the small indentations on her back, the lines of her ribs, her shoulders, then to the tingling flesh of her neck.
He eased her over to face him, her body like Jell-O in his hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly with need. His slipped the straps of the lacy cups from her arms and gazed at her body — it glowed blossom pink from his expert work. He sank back down to his knees, and pulled her satiny panties free to find the small bud so sensitive to his touch. His thumb circled the little bud, bringing Chelsea to life. His fingers slipped to the soft opening and caressed the moist folds to keen vibrancy. When Chelsea was shivering with need, his lips replaced his fingers to leave gentle kisses that grew more demanding. His tongue grazed the small bud as her fingers laced through the soft brush of his dark hair between her thighs until she twisted and shook with release, until she was begging him to take what he desired. Then he lifted his eyes to meet her hungry gaze. He draped her with his body to cup her breasts, forming them with his lips.
“Fill me, take me, I need to feel you inside me,” she pleaded with him.
“Be still, I’m not finished yet,” he whispered against the ruby peak of one breast, snared within his kisses and then took the other, marbleizing it with his tongue, teeth, and lips.
A moan spilled from her lips. Chelsea lifted her hands to surround his head, to pull him closer, but he trapped her hands with his own, holding them above her head. His lips slipped over the flesh of her abdomen. He kissed the quivering flesh of her ribs, over her tummy with just enough extra flesh to give her curves vivaciousness. His tongue dipped into her belly button, before tracing back up to the swollen tips, made redder by his ministrations.
He released her hands with a groan, and stood, breathing hard. He watched her body quivering with need. “You’re glorious.” His eyes feasted on Chelsea body. She opened herself up to him, offering what she could give but his eyes said he wanted more, he wanted all of her.
She sat up on the comforter, and reached for his body. He leaned over her, and she pulled his t-shirt free and over his head. He smelled of her shampoo and soap mixed with spicy male, and she inhaled it deeply. She fingered his zipper, and he stood to remove his jeans along with his boxers to reveal his hardened maleness.
Chelsea eased back and pulled him down with her. She picked up his hand and placed it between her breast. “Feel my heart.” It pounded under her ribcage. She placed her hand on his chest. “It’s the same.” His heart raced under her fingertips.
“How could it not? Have you seen yourself?” he asked, and together they glanced into the mirror over her dresser to reveal the heat of their flesh.
Chelsea reached across her bed, to the small table beside it. Her condoms were seldom used, but they’d found a new life. “We have to buy new condoms.” She smiled, revealing a bright yellow one.
“Why bother, I plan to use the entire box,” he said with an easy grin on his lips and a promise in his eyes.
She watched him as he bent to drink from her ruby tips, and her fingers rolled the condom over his lengthened manhood. His own fingers explored the soft center at her core and she tugged his head back up to meet her lips.
He eased his body over hers. Her hands guided his hardness to her softened opening. He gently pressed into her, filled her, stretched her wider, and they melded together as one. He held himself above her, gazed into her eyes, now a deep oceanic blue, and rocked back and forth, easing in and out, only to push deeper. “I want to feel you, all of you.” He leaned in to steal a kiss.
A sigh broke from her lips, and she bit her lip. “Then do it, feel me.” She pushed up to meet his thrust, bringing him deeper within her body.
“Yes, Chels, rock with me,” he bit out, his breaths becoming harsher, his need growing more apparent with each stroke. Brad’s eyes scorched her flesh, and as sweet as it was for Chelsea to be taken with tenderness, it was sweeter to feel the burn of his desire. Their rhythm became more frantic as his gaze fell into Chelsea’s, and she realized she was his — his lover, his mate — as he was her’s, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
A cry fell from Chelsea lips, and she clung to his body, a life preserver in a sea of desire. Brad stroked her body once, twice, three times more before escaping into his own release, encased deep in her body.
His limbs shook as he lay beside her, drawing lazy circles on her belly. Life returned to normal in their bodies. He grinned up at her, seeing what her eyes revealed. Tenderness filled his voice, “I want more. I want more than your body, I want your thoughts, your feelings, all of you.”
Chelsea snuggled closer, her fingers brushed over the short hairs on his chest as they relaxed into each other.
“Want to take a ride?” He smiled at her.
She leaned up on her elbow, and watched him warily. “Where do you want to go?”
He grew serious. “It’s okay if you’d rather stay here, but I want to take a run out to Aunt D’s. I want to look around. I remembered something, and it doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay, I’m game. When do you want to go?” She glanced at the clock, it was still early.
“In a little bit.” He gathered her close. “How many condoms are left?”
“No more.” She laughed. “You’re going to kill me.” She guided his questing mouth to her own. A moan of renewed desire escaped them.
“Yeah, but it’ll be a sweet death.” He whispered against her soft lips, before capturing them with more kisses. There wasn’t any hurry. Aunt D’s house wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brad’s Aunt Deloris had lived in a small white clapboard house trimmed with blue shutters and shingles, surrounded by acres of farm fields. The main floor opened into a breezeway patio with a widow’s walk balcony attached to the upstairs. Amish curtains were visible on the windows with small slanted blinds. An outside cellar held the house’s foundation.
A stepping stone walkway encircled the home, each of the four starting points led to its patio. A brick barbeque grill sat off to one side of the patio, a small overhang provided a modicum of shade with a wrought iron leg poking out from its concealed shadows. The patio led to a small screened porch, thick with plants. Ivies and honeysuckle graced the rear entrance almost hiding a small gnome, just like the old legends claimed they liked. A butter churn stood like a guardian at the door, wild flowers spilled from the top and down the sides.
“You grew up here?” Wonder filled Chelsea’s voice.
“I spent every summer until h
igh school, then it was harder. You know, you remember high school, it was socially unacceptable to spend all my time here. But, D understood, she always had a place ready for me. After college started, I was only able to come back once in a while, on the weekends and a few holidays.” Brad gazed over the property. “It was more a home than my parents’ house ever was. Wealth and power aren’t everything.”
Chelsea followed his gaze. “It must have been fantastic for you.” She could imagine a younger Brad, scuffed and dirty, running through the farm fields. “I love it. It’s such a beautiful place, so peaceful.” It made Taylorville feel encompassing, crowded almost. She turned around, taking in the sweep of the land. In the distance, rolling hills could be seen. “It must be a true representation of how your aunt felt about life, what she cherished.” Her fingers wandered through the wild flowers, stirring their scent into the air.
“Yes, it was, and it still is. Now it’s yours. I hope you treat it with the same degree of love Aunt D did.”
Brad stuck his hand inside the mess of flowers. “D’s secret hiding place.” He smiled, a rusty key dangled from his fingers. “Want to take a look inside?”
“Yeah, I’d like to see where she lived.” Chelsea smiled, curious about the woman who meant so much to him, and she followed him into a well lived-in kitchen. The walls were painted butter cream yellow, and soft rugs covered the old congoleum floor. It was warm and welcoming; she could understand how a younger Brad would have loved to spend his summer days here, and how his Aunt Deloris would have spent her winter nights, bundled in the comforting warmth the little house seemed to exude.
“It’s very nice, so homey.” She walked across the room — there were notches in the kitchen door frame. She bent to take a closer look. “Brad aged three … Brad aged six … Brad aged ten … Brad aged fifteen.” That was where the notches stopped. On the opposite side, there were other notches, Sam’s, but his stopped at age ten. She turned and looked at Brad; he stepped closer and ran his fingers on the roughened surfaces.