After We Fall

by Melanie Harlow

  I slapped his hand down. “Oh, stop. I’m fine with anything. And I certainly don’t belong in a place that’s chic.” I held my shirt away from my body. “I’m sticky and sweaty and gross.”

  “On your worst day, you couldn’t be gross.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. But are you sure we’re dressed OK?”

  “I’m sure. Not too many places have a dress code around here.”

  We opted to eat on the restaurant’s patio, and we were seated at a table under a string of party lights and a black and white striped umbrella. It was a table for four, and I was glad when Jack sat next to me instead of across. We ordered drinks—a martini for me and a whiskey on the rocks for him—and while those were being made, we looked over the menu and chose some charcuterie, cheese, and other small plates to eat.

  Our drinks arrived, and the logo on the cocktail napkins reminded me of something I wanted to ask him. “Hey, what does a beet look like when it’s picked?”

  He arched a brow at me over his whiskey glass. “Why?”

  “Because I need to draw one.” I flipped the napkin over and took a pen from my purse. “Show me. Draw three of them.”

  He gave me a funny look but sketched a trio of beets on the napkin. “Like this?”

  “Perfect.” Biting my lip, I added a little banner across them and inked the words Can’t Beet Valentini Brothers Farm on it. A little shyly, I turned it to face him.

  He groaned, but he smiled too. “What is that?”

  “Just an idea for a logo. Wouldn’t that be cute on your tablecloths and your banner? On t-shirts? Shopping bags?” I was getting excited.

  “Are those beets me, Pete, and Brad?”

  I nodded happily. “We could even give the beets little faces!”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “I’m branding you.” I took the napkin back and stuck it and the pen in my purse. “And I had lots of ideas today.”

  “I had some too. But none of them involved beets.”

  Our eyes met, a hot little current passing between us.

  He still wants me! My heart beat faster. I’d been nervous that seeing Suzanne today and the blow-up afterward might dampen the fire between us, but it still burned.

  We ate quickly.

  On the way home, I asked Jack what his favorite meal was. I had this crazy idea I’d try to cook it for him—that would probably give him a laugh.

  “Hmm. Probably a steak on the grill. Twice baked potatoes. Some kind of vegetable from our garden.”

  Damn. That was a tall order. I’d have to learn to grill. And twice-baked potatoes? What the heck was that? Why would you bake a potato twice? Wasn’t once enough?

  He glanced at me. “Why do you ask? Are you going to cook for me?”

  “You don’t have to sound so amused.” I frowned slightly. “I think I could do it, but I’m not sure how to work the grill at the cottage.”

  “Why? Is it complicated?”

  “I don’t know. I asked the property manager how to turn it on but she started talking about charcoal and lighter fluid.” I shook my head. “That sounded dangerous to me.”

  He burst out laughing. I’d never get tired of that sound, even if it was at my expense. “Jesus. You really have led a sheltered life.”

  “Not that sheltered,” I said defensively.

  “Oh no? Let’s play a game.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “I’ll name something, and if you’ve never done it, you have to take off a piece of clothing.”

  “What?” I said indignantly. “OK fine, but if I have done it, you have to.”

  “Fine with me,” he said.

  “OK, then. Go.”

  “Changed a flat tire.”

  “Oh, come on!” I scoffed. “Start with an easier one. Who does that for herself?”

  “Plenty of people. You should learn how. You’ve got that old car, what are you going to do if you get a flat tire?”

  “Call triple A.”

  “What if you don’t have a phone?”

  I sighed.

  “One piece of clothing.” He said it like a warning.

  “Fine.” I tugged off one boot. “Next.”

  “Pumped your own gas.”

  “Ha! I’ve totally done that.” I pointed at him. “Take something off.”

  He grinned. “Take the wheel.”

  I did, and he whipped off his t-shirt. My mouth watered. Even in the shadowy dark of the truck’s cab, I could see the bulges in his arms, the lines on his stomach.

  He grabbed the wheel again. “Waited tables.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” I took off the other boot. “I didn’t have summer jobs. We traveled abroad.”

  Jack thought that was hilarious. “OK, OK. An easier one. Plunged a toilet.”

  Off came one sock.

  “Mowed a lawn.”

  Off came the other.

  “Smoked a joint.”

  There went my t-shirt.

  “Slept in a tent.”

  I shimmied out of my jeans.

  He was smiling. “This is fucking fun as hell.”

  “I hope we don’t get pulled over,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “I might pull over anyway.”

  My bare toes tingled.

  “Been in a fight.”

  I thought for a second. “Like what kind of fight?”

  “A fight. Where punches are thrown.”

  “Punches, huh? Not scones?”

  “What?” He glanced at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I started to laugh. “My weasel ex came over a couple weeks ago at two AM and proposed to me. I can’t even believe it now, but I sort of said I’d think about it. The very next night, he and his stupid girlfriend showed up to a fundraiser for my father’s campaign, and she was wearing the very diamond ring he’d proposed with. He’d gone right from my house to hers.”

  “That is fucked up.”

  “Yeah. Come to find out, his father said he had to quit dicking around with his life and get serious, and I guess getting married would show he was serious. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t inherit his trust fund, which he needs to pay off gambling debts.”

  “Man.” Jack shook his head. “Guess having money doesn’t solve your problems.”

  “Nope. Anyway, I was so mad that night at the fundraiser that I started screaming at him and throwing scones.”

  He looked at me. “Scones? That was the best you could do? There wasn’t a vase or something? In movies, rich people throw vases around.”

  I slapped his bare arm. “I knocked over a vase. Does that count? Oh! I also accidentally set fire to a table cloth.”

  Jack shook his head again, but he was grinning. “Did you ever hit the target?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “How many scones did you throw?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe a dozen or so?”

  The grin widened. “Hopeless. And it doesn’t count as a fight.”

  Sighing, I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. It dangled off my arms a moment while I looked around. We were on a rural highway that wasn’t well lit, and I hadn’t seen a lot of other cars, but still. I could just hear my mother saying Thurber women do not disrobe in moving vehicles.

  “Well, come on, city girl. Show me what you’ve got.”

  I slipped off the bra. Struck a sex kitten pose. “Happy?”

  A quick glance my way, and he frowned. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t think this through. I don’t know if I can drive with you naked.”

  “Ha! Should have thought of that before you started this little game.”

  Next thing I knew, Jack slowed the truck and made a sharp right turn down a narrow dirt road between two fields. He switched off the car, and everything went dark and silent. “Come here.”

  But before I could move, he slid toward me on the seat and flipped me onto his lap, my legs on either side of his thighs. Our mouths crashed together as his hands snaked down my back. He grabbed my ass and pulled me against the bulge in h
is jeans. I rocked my hips over him, feeling my panties go damp.

  My hands moved over his chest and arms and abs, my head filled with the scent of him. I felt drunk with the idea of him, of us, of doing this crazy, spontaneous, probably illegal, definitely ill-advised thing on someone else’s property. We could be seen. We could be caught. We could get in trouble.

  I’d never really been in trouble.

  “My cock is so fucking hard.” He flexed his hips, lifting them off the seat.

  “I love it.” Words I’d never uttered before tumbled out easily, breathlessly. “I want you to fuck me with it. Right here.” I reached for his belt.

  Inside a minute I’d wiggled out of my panties and he’d shoved his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free. I lowered myself onto it, watching his eyes close, feeling his fingers gripping my hips.

  I felt powerful and solid and physical. I’d never been so aware of my body or felt so driven by its need. Never experienced hunger or thirst or exhaustion to the point where my body craved food, water, or sleep the way it craved to be filled by this man. Connected to him. Anchored by him.

  When he was buried deep inside me, I stayed still for a moment, wanting to commit the feeling to memory.

  He opened his eyes. “Sex in a car?”

  I smiled as I began to move. “Never.”

  “Good. I’m a fucking pioneer.” He moved his hands and mouth to my breasts as I rocked my hips above him, making me arch and gasp with his fingers and tongue and teeth.

  I wasn’t very experienced being on top, but somehow my body knew exactly what to do, how to circle and grind and writhe above him, rubbing my clit along the base of his cock, angling so he’d hit that perfect spot inside me. And when I came, it was unlike anything I’d ever felt—deep, hard, surging contractions as my entire core tightened around him, the world turning to gold behind my eyes.

  “I can feel you.” Words whispered against my chest. “I can feel you come, and it drives me fucking crazy.”

  “Let me feel you.” I could hardly talk.

  He took over, grabbing my hips and sliding me up and down his cock as he stabbed into me. Then he switched it up, holding me tight to his body and working me back and forth, making my clit start to hum once more. “Come again for me. Now.”

  Fuck, I loved it when he gave me orders like that, his voice as hard as his cock. “Yes,” I breathed, letting him move my body like he owned it, surrendering completely. “Make me.”

  It was like magic, the way he knew how to move with me, the way my body asked and his answered. The way his body commanded and mine obeyed. We shared everything—the spiraling ascent, the dizzying peak, the spinning free fall…and as we clung and cursed and kissed and caught our breath, something in me began to unravel.

  The slight sense of unease stayed with me as I dressed myself and we got back on the highway. But what was it? The sex had been incredible—each time was better than the last. Each time, I felt more comfortable letting instinct take over. Each time, I felt more pleasure in giving myself to him and taking what I wanted. What I needed. Was I worried he didn’t feel the same way?

  No, that couldn’t be it. He was enjoying himself every bit as much as I was—I could hear it in the way he talked, see it in the way he looked at me, feel it in the way he moved. We felt free with each other. It was as if the temporary nature of our arrangement gave us permission to be as wild as we wanted to. We had nothing to worry about, no relationship drama, no complications.

  But we did have a deadline. An expiration date. In a week, this thing between us would be over.

  I looked over at him, and my stomach flipped.

  What if I didn’t want it to end?

  Twenty-Five

  Jack

  As the truck sped down the highway through the dark, I kept my eyes on the road but my mind was all over the place. Questions I’d avoided asking myself this morning now refused to be ignored.

  Why was this so easy with her? Why was the sex so hot? Why did being with her feel so good? What was it about Margot Lewiston, rich city girl who didn’t even know how to light a grill let alone use one, that appealed to me so much? When I looked at her, why did I feel like I had to have her?

  Sex with Steph had been amazing, but it hadn’t been like this. I hated to even compare because the two women were so different, and it wasn’t as if I felt sex was better with Margot, but it satisfied a different need in me. Sex with Steph was passionate because we loved each other, understood each other, took care of each other. It was a physical expression of our emotional connection and our history. We’d been through so much, and I’d wanted to shelter her, protect her, cherish her, even during sex. I’d never even thought about being rough with her, pulling her hair, leaving bruises on her body. Maintaining control had never been an issue, because I always felt I had it.

  Sex with Margot was passionate too, but in a completely different way—if being with Steph was like diving into a beautiful blue sea, being with Margot was like going over Niagara Falls without a barrel. It was rough and turbulent, fraught with panic and desperation. At any given moment, there might be pleasure or pain, fear or relief, stillness or chaos. I had to fight for control, assert myself over her, combat the feeling that I was powerless. Thankfully, that dynamic worked for her too. She liked that I didn’t treat her as if she were delicate, breakable, and when I issued commands, she obeyed.

  I loved the contradiction between the Margot everyone else saw and the person she was with me. I loved every dirty word she whispered, every scratch and bite mark she left, every animalistic moan and cry.

  Maybe that was it—maybe it was so good between us because we could be someone with each other that we couldn’t be with anyone else. Or maybe it was the short-lived nature of this thing, sort of like how vacation sex feels better than everyday sex. And maybe I’d been able to sleep next to her because for the first time in years, I’d been able to forget for a while, let go of some of the pain. That was OK, wasn’t it? Because it was only temporary? I’d take it all back again as soon as she was gone. For now, I’d stay focused on the present. On her.

  I looked over at her and saw her chewing on a thumbnail. “So serious. Are you worried about what I’m going to do next to unshelter you?”

  She smiled, giving me a sidelong glance. “Should I be?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Whips and chains?”

  “Ha. You wish. I’m taking you camping.”

  The grin melted off her face. “What.”

  “You heard me.”

  “Like…camping where you sleep outside on the ground in the woods?” she asked, like she might not entirely understand the concept.

  “Yes. Scared?” I reached over and poked her in the side.

  “Yes! There are creepy-crawly things on the ground! And there are no bathrooms! Or room service! Or plush hotel bedding!”

  I laughed. “Nope.”

  “And there are animals in the woods.” She whispered it, like she didn’t want to alert them she was coming.

  “Sweetheart, the only animal in the woods you’ll have to worry about is me.” I glanced over at her. Her eyes were wide, her expression half-pleased, half-terrified.

  “Couldn’t we just go to a nice, quaint little B & B around here?”

  “What fun is that?” I turned into Pete and Georgia’s driveway. “No, I want to take you camping for real for one night. You can manage one night without luxury, can’t you?” I put the truck in park and looked at her.

  “One night?” she asked shakily.

  “One night.”

  She thought for a second, then sat up straighter. “OK. Yes. I can handle camping for one night. And you,” she went on imperiously, “can handle a black tie Great Gatsby-themed fundraiser for the Historical Society.”

  “Black tie?” I pretended to think. “I don’t think I own one of those.”

  “Black tie means you wear a tuxedo.”

  “Well, I sure as fuck don
’t own one of those.”

  She patted my arm. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “No way. I’m not going to any fundraiser.”

  “Scared I’ll throw a scone at you?” Cocking her wrist back, she pretended to take aim.

  I laughed and opened the driver’s side door. “Actually, I’d like to see you do that.”

  She jumped out and met me around the back of the truck, and we began to unload it. “Come on, please? It will be fun.”

  “You don’t really think that.”

  Her turn to laugh. “Not really. But I don’t think camping will be fun, either.” We started to walk through the dark toward the shed, arms loaded with empty crates and boxes. “Actually, you know what? I think we would have fun at the fundraiser.”

  “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

  “I think we would have fun anywhere.”

  I smiled, wondering who’d feel more out of place—Margot in a sleeping bag or me in a tux? It was a close call, but I think I’d win. Plus, I was only comfortable spending this time with her because whatever was between us would end when she left. I didn’t want to make any promises that extended beyond that day. “I’m sorry, Margot. But no.”

  She sighed. “You’re so unfair. I have to leave my comfort zone for you, but you won’t leave yours for me?”

  “You’re going to leave your comfort zone for you. I’m going to teach you valuable survival skills. Like how to light a match.”

  “And when is this happening?”

  “Let’s see. Today’s Wednesday, tomorrow night I’m watching Cooper, so how about Friday night?”

  “Deal. Do I need a certain kind of clothes for camping?”

  We reached the shed, and I laughed as I pulled the door open, picturing her decked out head to toe in some kind of designer camping gear, all in white. “Nope. You can wear anything. Or nothing’s fine too.”

  “Hey, you two.”

  I jumped, nearly dropping the armload I held, my nervous system kicking into high gear. It was Georgia walking toward us, and she hadn’t meant to startle me, but it took a moment to breathe normally again.

  “Hey, Georgia.” Margot greeted my sister-in-law, but her eyes were on me.