by Annie Dean
Marie exhaled the breath she’d been holding and nodded. “I’d never felt it before tonight. Not ever. Not really.” She thought of the pale imitation of emotion she’d felt toward the men she’d dated throughout her life. “Now I feel like I’ve gone from black and white to color, too.”
It was impossible to imagine resuming her previous bland life. And relegating Sam back to a primitive figure on a pole stuck in a field was criminal. “What do I have to do to keep you here?” she asked him. “Anything. I’ll do it.”
Shaking his head, he grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms, bending his head to kiss her. Afterward, he pressed his forehead to hers and gazed into her eyes up close. “For now … make me an omelet.”
Laughter bubbled through her, momentarily dispelling the heaviness in the air. She led the way downstairs to the kitchen and got the ingredients they needed from the fridge. After setting Sam to work dicing onions, tomatoes and peppers, she got out the skillet and greased it, then whisked a bowl full of eggs.
He looked up at her, eyes streaming from the onion, as he passed her the plateful of diced vegetables. “Some parts of being human are not so fun,” he commented, wiping the tears away.
“Ooh, poor baby. I should’ve let you beat the eggs.” She stood on her toes and kissed his wet cheek. “My bad.”
With a growl, he tucked an arm around her and pulled her against him. Although Marie wore a T-shirt, he’d chosen to cook naked and his erect cock pressed insistently against her belly. He took possession of her mouth once more, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her back then gripping her naked buttocks under the hem of her shirt, pressing her harder against his length. When he released her mouth, he muttered gruffly, “Fuck the omelet. Let’s fuck.”
A quiver of lust stabbed through her at the rough words, but she smelled the smoking grease on the griddle and pushed him firmly from her. “Cook first. Sex after.” Although she knew their time together was limited, part of her fantasy included domestic companionship. Her desire wasn’t just for a nightlong fuck-fest.
She sautéed the vegetables, and Sam added the egg and grated cheese. Soon the fragrant meal was ready and on a pair of plates along with buttered toast. It was the perfect simple yet filling meal for a blustery night. As they sat at the kitchen table, Marie thought she could get used to eating her meals across from a powerfully built, bare-chested man, who looked at her like he’d rather eat her than his food. She’d read about eyes “glittering” but hadn’t seen it until tonight. It was as if there were shards of diamonds in those black depths twinkling at her. For a moment, she could hardly swallow her mouthful of food past the tightness in her throat.
Then his attention left her as he took his first bite of the omelet. His eyes closed and an expression of bliss suffused his features. “This is amazing! So good!” He groaned, the same ecstatic sound he’d made during sex.
Marie smiled and tasted the omelet as if eating for the first time ever. Food really was a profoundly moving experience. Just wait until she fed him chocolate—maybe drizzled over her body.
He stopped talking then, diving into the gourmet feast they’d created and demolishing it, only pausing to give a grunt of approval when he sipped the glass of orange juice she’d poured for him. When he was finished, he set his fork across his plate, suppressed a contented burp and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Wonderful!”
“Glad you liked it.” Her own plate was only half empty, but she wasn’t hungry. The press of time weighed heavily on her. She could feel the minutes slipping away. Rising, she picked up her plate and reached for his to carry them to the kitchen.
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Wait a minute. I believe you mentioned a fantasy involving sweeping the table clear and shagging like minks on top of it.” Before she could protest or save her dishes. He rose to his feet, towering over her and wresting her plate from her hand. Taking her fantasy quite literally, he pushed the plates and glasses, the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder onto the floor. They fell with a clatter. Luckily the glasses were plastic rather than actual glass and were empty. The napkins showered across the floor in a white drift.
Marie’s stomach leaped at the brutish display as he grabbed her waist and hoisted her naked bottom up onto the table. He yanked her T-shirt over her head in one swift move and tossed it aside then stepped between her legs, grabbing her thighs and pulling her into a fierce embrace.
“Oh!” was all she had time to gasp before he covered her mouth with his, kissing her as hungrily as if he hadn’t just eaten. His tongue plunged into her mouth, colliding with hers. He tasted salty and sweet, savory from the omelet and tangy from the orange juice. She slipped her hands up his hard chest and hooked them around his neck. Tilting her head back, she allowed him to ravage her mouth with his hard, demanding kisses.
She was breathless and disoriented as his body pressed her backward onto the table, his hand supporting the back of her neck until he had her laid out flat. He climbed on top of the table and on her, pinning her to the hard surface with his hulking body. The table creaked and Marie spared a thought for the ancient legs which might not have been built to support two bodies screwing on the tabletop. Then Sam reached between their bodies to touch her clit and delve his fingers into her pussy, and she stopped worrying about the table collapsing. He remained awkwardly supported on one arm while his fingers did amazing things to her crotch, tickling, stroking, rubbing and pinching.
She moaned, writhing beneath him as he brought her to the edge of coming. Soon her body was slippery wet and wide open for him. Her sex throbbed with her heartbeats, clenching and releasing rhythmically. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance and drove inside. The force of his thrust rocked her, pushing her across the tabletop an inch or two and rumpling the cloth beneath her.
He pulled out and thrust again with a grunt.
Marie pulled her legs up, bracing her heels on the table and holding onto his bulky shoulders as he plowed into her a third time. The old, wooden table shrieked at the onslaught. Marie thought she might scream too, it felt so good. His cock was long and thick, perfectly proportioned with his big body, and filled her so well and so deeply it was like finding a missing part of herself. She imagined a satisfying click as two jigsaw pieces fit together.
In. Out. Sam thrust over and over, not slowly and carefully as he’d done earlier, but with a callous roughness that raised an answering excitement in her. She whined and lifted her hips to meet him. As he pummeled into her with abandon, the gathering clouds inside her piled one on top of another like a thunderhead building. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled through her, then… Boom! The storm broke and rain washed down from her inner sky in sheets.
Marie groaned and bucked up, her eyes rolling back in her head at the force of her coming. Incited by her orgasmic rapture, Sam thrust once more, driving her backward so that her head slipped over the edge of the table, then he froze, caught in his own thunderstorm. A low throaty growl that sounded like thunder tore from his chest as he released into her.
Marie panted for breath and clung to his sweating shoulders. She let her head fall back and it drooped over the edge of the table. Eyelids flickering open, she noted what her kitchen looked like upside down. “Whew!” she gasped, drawing in a breath while his heavy body lying on her chest tried to force all the air out of her lungs.
“Grr.” He grunted, climbing off her and the table, which gave a last groan of protest. He offered his hand and helped her to her feet, then hugged her to him. For a moment, the pair of them stood, swaying slightly, as they regained their equilibrium.
Sam cast a glance at the floor where the scattered remains of dinner was strewn among a snowfall of napkins. “Remember the part where you promised to clean up afterward if I took you on the table?”
She laughed and turned her face to his chest to nip his pectoral—such a massive muscle, such a hard, beaded nipple. “Help me clean up or I’ll deny you access to my body for the rest
of the night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Together they tidied the kitchen, stacking the dishes in the sink. Then Marie grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and led him upstairs to her bedroom again. They climbed under the covers with pillows plumped behind their backs, and sat side by side, drinking wine and talking about every subject that crossed their minds. Sam seemed to know a bit about a wide variety of topics. For example, although he’d never tasted wine, he had the implanted knowledge of a connoisseur. He savored a sip from his glass and pronounced it full-bodied and rich, an earthy, elemental bouquet.
“What else would you like to do?” he asked after a while, setting his empty glass on the nightstand. “I could give you a full body massage, temples to toenails. I could bathe you and wash your hair. Tie you to the bed and tease you ’til you beg for mercy. Smear you with honey and lap it up. Whatever desire your mind can conjure up, I’d be happy to fulfill.”
His offer alone, spoken in a matter-of-fact rather than submissive tone, was enough to set Marie’s flesh prickling again. The idea of having a six-foot-something mountain of muscles at her command was thrilling, and all of his suggestions sounded wonderful. But, as she glanced at the clock and saw they’d talked until nearly two-thirty in the morning, Marie realized she’d rather simply be held in his strong arms.
“Can we just cuddle and talk some more?”
“Of course.” He moved down under the covers, laying his pillow flat and resting his head on it. He stretched luxuriously and yawned until his jaw cracked. “This bed is so soft and comfortable. It’s a wonder you can ever get out of it in the morning.”
Morning. The word struck like a bell tolling doom. A few more hours and the sun would rise. It was impossible to imagine Sam diminishing from vibrant life to an inert mannequin again. She lay down too, and reached out a hand to touch his hard chest. His heart thumped faithfully, steadily behind his breastbone, as if it would never slow or stop.
Marie blinked stinging tears from her eyes and rolled over on her side. His big arm came around her and pulled her back against him. His hot breath blew against her neck. “Comfortable?”
She nodded, too upset to speak.
“Are you all right?” He pushed up on one arm and leaned over her shoulder to see her face. He wiped a trickling tear from her cheek with his finger. “Crying? What’s the matter? Is there something I didn’t do to please you? Whatever you want, whatever you need to make you happy, please, tell me. That’s what I’m here for.” His voice was low and anxious.
She shook her head and, to her annoyance, began crying harder. “No.” The word came out choked and thick. She cleared her throat and fought her voice under control. “There’s nothing you can do—unless you can figure out a way to stay.”
“Shh. Shh,” he crooned, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Don’t think about it. Sunrise is hours away. Just rest, relax, sleep a little and I’ll hold you.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder.
“Don’t want to sleep,” she snuffled. “Then it will be over even sooner.”
He pulled her hair aside and kissed her cheek, her temple, the corner of her mouth. He nuzzled her jaw and the soft spot behind her ear, all the while crooning comforting words. “It will be all right. Don’t cry. I love you.”
His hand caressed her tit then cupped it in his warm hand. He held her close against the solid wall of his chest and stomach, his legs wrapped around hers, and nestled between her buttocks—the heavy, solid weight of his cock. It stirred and he rubbed it along her groove, tickling over her anus, setting her pussy lips quivering again.
Marie smiled through her tears and shook her head. “You’re insatiable! How can you possibly get it up again? You’re not human.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she remembered their truth.
“Human enough for this,” he murmured, nipping her earlobe. He reached between her legs to test her readiness and she was already creaming for him. Grasping his cock, he slipped it inside her once more. “Don’t think now. Just feel. Enjoy this moment.”
“I won’t let you go,” Marie said fiercely. “Keep making love to me and it won’t end.”
He pulled out slowly and pressed into her just as slowly, over and over, filling her then pulling back like a tide rising and receding from the shore. Reaching over her hip, he rubbed her clit with a soft, circular motion, applying just enough pressure to keep her on edge—not enough to push her over. When he finally gave her that last little nudge, she came with a soft, whimpering moan and let go of her tension with a sigh. He drove into her once more, deeply, and shuddered against her with a contented sigh.
“Love you,” he whispered near her ear, and it sounded like the breeze rustling through dry corn stalks.
They lay in drowsy comfort afterward, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, enfolded in one another’s arms. Lulled by the warmth of his body and his beating heart, Marie relinquished consciousness and drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.
* * * *
When she woke, she was alone in the bed. Pale gray, pre-dawn light shone in the window. She sat bolt upright. Her hand swept over the depression in the bed next to her, feeling for residual body heat, but there was none. She jumped out of bed, tugged on a T-shirt and jeans and raced downstairs and out the front door.
The storm had stopped and the ground was muddy, the grass wet and cold on her bare feet. She ran around the side of the house and her gaze went straight to the scarecrow post in the pumpkin field. Her stuffed mannequin was back in place. It hung exactly as she had left it yesterday afternoon. The clothes were sodden and sagging from last night’s downpour, the brim of the fedora dripping raindrops. The sleeves of the coat flapped slightly and the whole mannequin shifted slightly on its pole in the stiff breeze, creating the illusion of residual life.
Marie ran to the scarecrow and clutched the soggy coat. She thumped her hand against the figure’s straw-filled chest. “No!” Throwing her arms around its legs, she pressed her face into the pants. They smelled like musty, wet straw. The rough material scraped her cheek. The front of her T-shirt quickly soaked through. Hoarse sobs wracked her body. “No.” She cried out her anger and frustration, then, still clutching the fabric of its pants, stepped back to stare up at the cloth mannequin.
The scarecrow’s crude face stared impassively down at her.
Her heart broke and anger was replaced by hopeless despair. “Please. Please bring him back.” She prayed to the nameless power that had brought her lover to life. “Please, please…” As she sank down on her knees in the mud at the base of the pole, her mind dissolved into wordless begging. She remained there for a long time in a near trance, crying and pleading, her forehead bowed to her knees.
When she finally came back to herself, her hands and feet were freezing. She raised her face to the morning sun and its rays blinded her. Rising stiffly to her feet, she rubbed a hand over her eyes. She gazed around the pastoral landscape and back to the stuffed mannequin. It was still, not even the breeze stirring its lifeless form.
The events of the previous night seemed preposterous. She was awake now and in control of her fevered emotions. Whatever had transpired, or she had dreamed, was past. Her one perfect night was over.
She turned her back on the scarecrow and walked toward the house.
* * * *
The bright leaves of October changed to brown then cold winds stripped the trees bare, leaving black branches like jagged bones against the sky. Like a faded photograph, all color was leeched out of Marie’s world and she sleepwalked through her days. She harvested the last of her crops, stripping the earth then plowing it under to lie dormant until spring. Soon the land would be lifeless, blanketed in white. But eventually a new season would come and fresh green would spread across the fields in the yearly affirmation of life. Too bad her heart couldn’t recover so easily. It was a lump of ice and she didn’t think it could ever thaw.
Almost a month passed during which she did nothing but work, eat and slee
p. During the day she could almost convince herself that the whole encounter with Sam had been some kind of hyper-real fantasy brought on by too much time alone and a way too active an imagination, but in her bed at night she knew that wasn’t true. She could feel the impression of his body on her skin. Closing her eyes she could smell and taste him and remember how his muscles felt beneath her hands. Most nights ended with her hand between her thighs giving herself comfort, tears wetting her cheeks afterward as she cried herself to sleep.
She went out to the field one day to take down the scarecrow for winter as she normally would this time of year, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it. She stared dry-eyed into the marker-scrawled face for a full fifteen minutes before turning away.
One afternoon in late November, the phone rang. “Marie, I know you’re there. Pick up! I haven’t spoken to you in over a month. This is getting ridiculous… All right. Fine. Don’t answer, but I’m coming out there this evening. Bob’s old college friend, Marcus is visiting and you’re going out with him. That’s right, it’s the dreaded blind, double date. Don’t argue, just get dressed and we’ll pick you up at 7:00 for dinner. Don’t panic. You’re not signing your life away. It’s just a date. Remember those?”
Marie sighed. She couldn’t put Linda off forever and it sounded like her friend wasn’t going to give her much choice. Besides, she couldn’t hole up in her house like a hermit the rest of her life. It was time to go out with friends again, to try to date again, to move forward instead of treading water. She needed to make herself some kind of a life, even if it wasn’t with the man of her dreams.
She picked up the phone and called back to say she’d be expecting them.
* * * *
The evening was everything Marie had expected from a blind date. It was awkward, strained and more long than fun. She asked Marcus about his life and his career, but while he explained the details of his marketing job and told several work-related stories, she zoned out, mentally giggling at the idea of “Marcus from Marketing.” The guy seemed nice. She was sure if she bothered to get to know him, he would be, but he wasn’t what she wanted. She knew what she wanted and could never have again.