by Fiona Cole
I cringed, so tired of that question. It appeared everyone in attendance brought a damn casserole, and I hated the thought of opening them later and thinking about why they were there.
“The fridge in the garage is fine.” I turned with a quick, polite smile before turning back to Kevin.
“Is . . . anyone here to help you?” he asked looking down at my ring finger.
“No. Just me. My dad and Shayla have been helping, but otherwise, just me.” He gave a slow nod to my response. “What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“Come on, Kev. You know what you were really asking: if I had a boyfriend or husband. So, what about you?”
“No boyfriend or husband for me either,” he said, joking.
A laugh bubbled up my throat. It felt so foreign after the past month, I thought I was going to choke on it. He smiled, pleased by my reaction.
“No. It’s just me. No girlfriend or wife,” he finally admitted.
Nodding my head, I tried to process what that meant and why a band in my chest loosened at the thought.
He finally moved across the kitchen into my space. Each step he took felt like he was loosening the reins I had on my control. I tried to fortify my walls, prepare myself for the feel of his arms around me. If I’d snapped earlier just from him saying my name and holding my hands, I couldn’t imagine the havoc he would create if he wrapped me in the safe cocoon of his arms.
He pulled the glass from my hands and the tink of it being set on the granite counter sounded like the first crack in my barrier. Watching his hands move toward me and imagining the feel of them resting on my shoulders made the crack grow. It started low in my belly, working its way up my chest, choking its way past my throat.
When his skin finally made contact with mine, the sob broke free. He slid his hands down my arms and back up to wrap around my shoulders. There would be no running to the bathroom to gather myself. He held me to him and let me crumble in his arms, doing what he always did best, letting me break in the safety of his hold.
I managed to keep the sobs quiet as I clutched his suit jacket and pressed my face in his dark shirt. He brushed his hand through my hair and down my back, over and over. “I’ve got you, Ana. I’ve got you.”
“Ana, where do you want this casserole?” another freaking guest asked. My hands squeezed tighter on Kevin’s jacket as I tried to control my emotions. Just as I was about to turn and growl out my response to her, Kevin locked me into his chest.
“Fridge,” he answered for me.
I heard the refrigerator door open and close. “There’s no room.”
“The freezer outside then,” he commanded in a clipped tone.
Having him answer instead of me lifted a small weight off my shoulders, and I sighed. It was good to have that help, if only for a second.
While he’d been dealing with the guest, I’d managed to pull myself together again. A little lighter than before, having been able to loosen the pressure in my chest.
He brushed the hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears and using his thumbs to dry any leftover tears. “Come on. This has been going on long enough. Let’s kick these people out and clean up.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Kevin
I stayed with my parents and helped Ana clean up before finally heading out. When she gave me a hug goodbye, I held on a little longer than polite, but then she pressed her breasts against my chest and, like a dick, I got hard. I did my best to fight it, but knowing what was hidden beneath the black dress she wore, feeling her pressed into me after so long and so many nights thinking about her, I couldn’t fight it. She felt it and pulled back, looking at me with wide eyes, filled with something other than the sadness I’d seen all night. Pushing my luck, I leaned down and pressed a “friendly” kiss to her cheek, but ensured my lips touched the corner of her mouth too. I wanted to swallow the gasp she let slip out.
When I pulled back, she fought to control her reaction and straightened her back. “You should go,” she muttered.
But we both knew I’d be back.
Which was how I ended up in the weird position of being a twenty-six-year-old man climbing out his window in the middle of the night. No matter how odd it was, the motions of reaching my foot for the railing as I held on to the roof felt familiar and reminded me of all the times I’d done it before in high school. I’d missed it.
For the past seven years, Ana hadn’t been next door. And every time I lay in my childhood bed, I thought about her. For the first three years we spent apart, it was her choice. She’d done a damn good job of avoiding me.
But the four that followed was on me. I’d avoided my home like the plague in fear I’d see her walking up to her house in the arms of another man. Scared at some point I’d see her married or pregnant. I’d shut down all information about her as a safety measure, but I’d been left with my memories and those had kept me plenty of company.
When my parents told me that her mom had passed away, it was a punch to the gut. I’d been lit with a rage that they’d kept it from me. I could’ve been there for her and they’d prevented me from it. I’d lashed out at them, and they’d let me, knowing I needed the outlet. They’d let me burn the fire until it faded and disgust took over—disgust for myself. I’d been so adamant to stay away, that I’d let her suffer alone.
I tried to make myself feel better, thinking that she probably had a husband to help her through this. But it was a hollow lie that was smashed to pieces when I saw her standing at the front of the line alone, with no ring on her finger.
But I’d be there for her tonight. I’d be whatever she needed me to be when she opened that door.
She swung the front door open, holding on to it for support, and stared silently. My eyes dropped to her bare feet and back up, taking in the half empty bottle of wine firmly in her grasp.
“How many of those have you had?”
“Not nearly enough,” she answered as she lifted it to her lips and took a long pull straight from the bottle.
“Not even bothering with a glass?” I commented, raising my eyebrows.
“No, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. But then they sparked with something other than sorrow. They hardened like she was preparing for a challenge. I’d take it. I’d take anything other than the broken defeat I’d seen earlier.
Taking my cue, I scoffed and brushed past her, walking into the house. Ana and I always bickered, always challenged each other. Maybe she needed the familiar.
“I don’t need you coming here and judging me, Kevin.” She knocked the door closed with her hip and slammed the bottle down on the entryway table, turning to square her shoulders and glare at me. “I don’t need you or anyone,” she spat out between her clenched jaw.
She was still adorable when she got mad, and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe I was a little condescending to add fuel to the fire. “Yes, you do. We both know you need me.”
“You need to go. I don’t need you here,” she yelled. She stepped toward me, put her hands on my chest and shoved, barely moving me.
“There is no fighting me, Anabelle,” I whispered in response to her shout. Another gauntlet thrown down in the face of her anger.
Another shove. “You think you can just waltz in here . . .” another shove, “and take whatever you want . . .,” another shove, “after all these years?”
For all the distance she moved me, I stalked right back at her, backing her up further into the door. “Yeah.”
One word, and if Ana were capable of throwing fire from her eyes, I’d be burning alive where I stood.
She had so many emotions and I was there to give her an outlet for something other than depression. Maybe it sparked because I turned her on and reminded her of things she didn’t want. Maybe she just needed to rage, but seeing the blush rising from her chest into her cheeks, I knew she would be wet. I knew my Ana. My Ana was turned on.
She lifted her finger and dug it into my chest with eac
h word. “Fuck. You. Kevin. Harding.”
“Oh, I intend to.” I reached out to her, but she slapped my hand away. Fuck that was hot. It stung and the burn shot through my veins, straight to my cock, making it rock hard. It was wrong to be the kind of guy who got turned on by a girl fighting me off, but it’d been ten long years. I’d accepted those things and relished them rather than hiding in shame.
“I said no,” she growled, shoving me again.
“And you know how that turns me on. Remember, Ana? Summer?” I reminded her of the safe word we created in college but never used. I didn’t think we’d need it now either, but I always wanted her to know she was safe.
I shot my arms out and locked my hands onto her biceps, yanking her to me. She fought, slapping at my chest, trying to knock my hands away, stepping on my feet despite me having shoes on and her being barefoot.
“No!” she shouted as I reached a hand between us to reach under her dress. “Kevin. No.”
“Oh, god yeah, Ana. I love to hear you whimper for me. Haven’t even reached your pussy yet.”
“Fuck you.” She squirmed, trying to close my hand between her thighs.
“Oh, there it is. So fucking wet. You can scream no all you want, but your cunt is begging me to fuck you.” Gripping her panties in my fist, I ripped them off her and brought them to my face. I closed my eyes and welcomed the scent of her, having missed it for so long. The slaps to the face came out of nowhere, but I should’ve expected it after letting my guard down.
Letting the fabric fall to the floor, I dodged the blows and tried to get control of her hands, but ended up losing her all together. She bolted, and while Ana was tall, I was taller and had to take only a few steps to catch up to her. My arm wrapped around her waist at the stairs and she tumbled forward, catching herself half-way up.
Taking advantage of the situation, I pinned her with my weight and pressed her head onto the step, trapping her legs between mine. With her bent over, I used my free hand to work it under her dress and in between her legs. I slipped two fingers right in she was so wet. Her seconds of submissiveness and panting let me know how much she enjoyed the game we played. With the silence, I decided to taunt her.
“Listen to you.” I twisted my fingers and pulled them out before shoving back in, repeating the process. She was so wet, you could hear it every time my fingers moved. “So fucking needy.” Her whimper sunk deep into me as I hooked my fingers deep inside her, rubbing against her wall. “You say no, but the way your cunt squeezes me every time I pull out, lets me know you’re just a slut who wants to be fucked.”
“Asshole,” Ana breathed out. She panted so hard that she could barely talk.
Laughing, I leaned on her harder and used my other hand to free my dick from my slacks. I needed to see her face once I entered her again, so I rolled her over, spreading her legs wide, and pushed in. Her eyes shined a deep silver and closed once my balls rested against her ass. Taking advantage of her lying there docile and lost in the haze of coming together, I leaned down to kiss her.
I almost forgot the purpose of what I was doing once my lips touched hers. The soft, full bottom lip fit perfectly between mine, the same way it had all our lives, and the pinching in my chest eased for the first time in four years. I held myself inside her as we made out, tasting each other, remembering each other.
But then she nipped at my lips—hard—and I began fucking her. The sweet moment over, I hammered in and out of her, knowing the stairs had to hurt against her back, but knowing she loved every dig. I palmed her breast and tried to nip at her neck, but she bit my ear and slapped my face. The shock knocked me off balance, and she pushed enough to get me out of her and ran.
I took off after her and almost fell on my face with my pants around my ankles. Grumbling, I shoved them off and made it to the door, just before she slammed it closed. Slapping my hand to the door, it flung open, and I stalked toward her, stripping my shirt off on the way. Naked, hard, and a little pissed at being outwitted, I shoved her back on the bed, falling on top of her.
I managed to get her dress over her head, but she was back to slapping me. “Fuck you, Kevin. You think I want you to fuck me? I don’t. I don’t need you. I don’t need your stupid dick. Fuck you.” I was impressed she could keep up the commentary as she rained down blows, but I was ready to fuck her and enjoy the wet heat around my dick. I was ready to hear her scream as she came.
I pinched her nipple hard before gripping her wrists, using my other hand to slip it around her throat, squeezing just enough to let her know I had the control. Her eyes widened, but ignited, and I felt the heavy swallow beneath my hand.
“Spread your legs,” I ordered.
“Fuck you.”
I tightened my grip on her throat. “Spread. Your. Fucking. Legs. Slut.”
Finally, she opened them and I loosened my hold on her tender throat, but not much because I knew she enjoyed the lack of control. It only took a moment for me to work my hips between her creamy thighs and enter her. Holding her stare, I pushed just the tip in and teased her with it, over and over again.
Only when she whispered a simple, “please” did I give in and thrust all the way into her. On that first thrust, she began coming. Her lips parted, and she jerked beneath me, squeezing my dick tighter than a fist. She screamed my name, a sound filled with pleasure and relief. Her cum coated my balls as I held myself in her and ground on her clit, prolonging the high.
When she came back down, I took my own pleasure and rode her like a rutting beast. I focused on her tits bouncing beneath my hand still grasping her throat. The pretty pink nipples coaxing the tingling pleasure down my spine. The orgasm came barreling through me and I couldn’t take my eyes off the perfect globes. I needed to mark them. At the last moment, I pulled out and jerked myself all over her pale skin, shooting white ropes of cum across her stomach and up to her neck.
I collapsed, and barely managed to roll to my side to keep from crushing her. Pulling her head toward me, I kissed her. I kissed her the way we both needed: sweetly, lovingly, filled with all the longing we’d had for each other.
It was the sweetness that broke her, because not long after we started, she began sobbing. Each cry wretched from her body broke me, like a lash to my back. I pulled her into my chest, blocking out everything but what was inside her. She needed a safe place to fall apart and I would be that for her. She clung to me, sometimes digging her nails into my side, but I didn’t whisper a single complaint. The love of my life needed me, so I held her and soothed her.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Over and over again until she wore herself out and finally fell asleep.
The smell of coffee greeted me when I first woke. Stretching, my feet moved past the edge of the bed and my hands hit the wall. My eyes jerked open and I was met with posters of bands and blue walls. They settled on the door to find Ana leaning against the jamb, holding two cups—completely nude. My dick jerked beneath the sheets at seeing her perfect tits and trim waist that flared into hips that were perfect for me to hold onto when fucking.
She hadn’t noticed me staring, because she was too busy staring back at me. When she looked up and met my eyes, she jerked and, as carefully and fast as possible, set the coffee down and hopped in bed.
“For someone getting coffee nude, you’re acting awfully shy.”
“I set the timer last night and thought I could grab two cups before you woke up.”
“Well, I appreciate the presentation.”
She settled back against the pillow with her cup and the sheet tucked under her arms. Taking a drink, I continued staring. She was still the same girl who I’d always known. No—a woman. Her face more angled, her curves a little more relaxed, like she’d finally settled into her body and felt comfortable with it. However, I still recognized the aura of insecurity about who she was. In the moment she acted on instinct, but the aftermath left her unsure, and I saw it in her scrunched shoulders and the way she bit her lips.
Bu
t I knew, even after four years, that she was still my Ana. I didn’t think any amount of time would’ve changed that.
“What?” she asked when she noticed my stare. “Do you want me to roll over so you can use my ass as a coffee table,” she said, deadpan, referring to the last time we had coffee in bed. She was joking, but I knew she would have done as I asked if I wanted it.
“No, I prefer this view for now,” I said, reaching out to pinch her nipple through the sheet. She gasped, jerking back as I smirked at the blush spreading up her chest. “How are you still single after all this time?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Chuckling, I turned to set my coffee cup down on her nightstand. “See, I have this particular taste and haven’t found a woman willing to fit and accept it.” We both knew it was a dig at how she had left me, unwilling to accept what we both knew we wanted.
So what? I was still a little bitter.
“Hmmm.” She glared over the rim of the coffee cup while she took one last sip. “I guess I’ve been a little busy over the past year,” Ana answered my original question.
“And before then? Andrew?”
She slid down the bed until she lay flat on her back, staring up at the fan moving in slow circles. I turned to my side to face her, waiting her out. She’d always needed a moment to process her words before talking.
“It was harder than I thought being normal, and I’ve had a hard time accepting that. I haven’t been ready to try again.”
I figured it would’ve happened, having tried to ignore that part of myself before, but Ana had needed to figure it out on her own. It looked like she still struggled with it.
“What happened with Andrew?” I almost regretted asking when she let out a heavy sigh that sounded both tired and sad.
“We both tried. He worked so hard to make me happy. And I was—sort of,” she added, turning to meet my eyes. “He was a good man, but I wasn’t ever fulfilled—complete—and he deserved a woman who didn’t keep a part of herself hidden from him.”