by Kimball Lee
Holly and I both groan, “Mother, Daddy, pleeeezzz don’t do this now.”
“That’s why I quit,” Holt says, quickly bypassing the grim vibe hanging over our table. “I buy historic structures scheduled for demolition, dismantle them and put the pieces back together on my clients land. But yeah, I gave up a career where most players get their bodies permanently messed up by the age of thirty, I gave it up to do what I love. I made enough money in the two years I played and did endorsements, and how much is enough, right? Ten million, twenty, thirty? How much money does a man need to be happy in one lifetime?”
“Good man, good choice, go for happy and hang on to it by any means, if you’re lucky enough to find it,” Dad says, clapping Holt on the shoulder and winking at me.
“I keep up with personal finances by reading the financial journals that are a necessary part of my husband’s career,” Mother says, her eyes turning even more ruthless, and I wish to God I was sitting next to her so I could clap a hand over her babbling mouth. “You don’t have to lower yourself with manual labor, Holt, if I recall, your net worth is upwards of thirty million dollars.”
“I wanna hear about Holt and horses,” Holly interrupts, further squashing the sour tension between our parents and Mother’s quest to make Holt feel beneath her.
“Well, the first memory I have from childhood is riding Midnight’s mother, a mare named Pride and Honor, racing through the mesquite thickets on the Corazon Perdido,” Holt says, he rolls up his sleeves and leans forward with his forearms resting on the white tablecloth, and I can tell that my sister and mother are as riveted as I am at their sheer size and roped muscularity. “She was a beautiful mare, pitch-black with powerful legs that never seemed to get tired of running. She ran in hundreds of races and the only reason she never took first place was that she was crazy-wild and threw every jockey just before the finish line. They retired her early to the ranch and used her as a brood mare. Pride of Midnight was her first colt, he went on to win the Preakness and the Kentucky Derby as a three year old, and came in second for the Triple Crown. I got grounded and usually a taste of my father’s belt across my back when I’d sneak out to the stables and ride her without permission. I rode bareback, no saddle, no bridle, just unlatched the gate to her stall, climbed up on the railing, held onto her mane and took off. She loved it and she’d run like the wind, that was the fastest horse I’ve ever seen. I think she knew that a kid like me didn’t expect her to win, didn’t want anything at all from her but to feel her muscles working like magic as I held on and we flew over the ranch land.”
Holt seems far away and sad when he tells that story and I feel a clutch of love for him that makes my heart feel like a silver spike has lodged in its center.
“That sounds like an idyllic childhood, except for the part about your father’s belt,” My dad says and Holt clears his throat and finishes his drink in one long swallow.
“Not really,” He says abruptly, and he motions to the Maitre’d who nods vigorously and scurries over with a tray of champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon. “We should toast to Scarlet’s graduation, getting a degree is a great accomplishment.”
“To Scarlet!” everyone says, lifting their glasses and sipping.
“I mentioned to Scarlet that I have a proposition for her,” Holt says and my mother, sister, and I nearly choke on the champagne. “A job offer that will tie right in with her aspirations in Interior Design.”
“I thought you were coming home to Atlanta to work in my design firm, Scarlet,” Holly says, her eyes narrow, but then she smiles. I can tell that she weighed my options quickly—work as my sister’s assistant or work with Holt—and she’s no fool, she knows which option I’ll pick.
Of course I’ll choose the hot, gorgeous, huge man who has sublimely wrecked my body and heart, the man who is rough with his hands and mouth and cock, and gentle with his words and deeds. The man I haven’t stopped thinking about for a single second since the first time I laid eyes on him— duh!
“I’m restoring the fishing lodge on the Corazon Perdido, it’s a really great old log cabin. It’s in decent shape, not a complete ruin, but the chinking and some of the logs have rotted out. I’m nearly done rebuilding the structural components, and Campbell has agreed to hire Scarlet to design the interiors. It’s certainly a project that will look good on her resume, it should only take about four weeks, and the budget is unlimited,” Holt says and I gasp, it’s a dream project and working side by side with Holt only sweetens the pot. “Like I said, it’s only for a month or so, after that I’m going up to build a log home on the Flathead River near White Fish, Montana.”
“You’re not considering it are you, Scarlet?” Mother says. “You belong in Atlanta, Holly has made a place for you, and Corey is there.”
“Corey is nowhere, Mother, he and I are history. You can marry that puny egomaniac if you want him to be part of the family, I wouldn’t touch him again with a ten-foot pole. And yes, I’m taking the job, it’s only four weeks out of the rest of my life, I hope you’ll wish me well. Also Mother, stop thinking about yourself all the time and take care of Daddy, be sure he watches his diet and takes his medication,” I say and my mother looks like I slapped her or she might slap me.
“Where will you live, where will you sleep, Scarlet Anne? With him? It’s disgraceful! Promise me you’ll sleep in separate bedrooms,” she practically shrieks.
“Oh hush, Caity,” my father says, rising from the table along with Holt. “It’s not like you don’t write bedroom scenes every day of the week, even if they are pure fantasy. You sure as hell haven’t warmed my bed in a long, long time.”
*
“You bought this car today… for me?” I ask as we leave my parents and drive to the Jaguar dealership so Holt can pick up his truck.
“I picked it up today, I ordered it for you the day after you went to Atlanta. Can’t say why, I knew you’d gone back to your ex, I suppose it was something to hold onto, to hope for.”
“I need to get my things from the duplex, all the packed boxes have already been sent to my parents’ house, but I have one or two pieces of luggage. I could drive out to your place in the morning….” I say when we park beside his truck and stupid tears prick at the edges of my eyes, I’m not sure I can bear to be away from him for another night.
“I’ll follow you to the duplex and we’ll get whatever you need,” he says, leaning over and running his thumb across my bottom lip before lowering his lips to mine as he kisses the fear away. “I’m not done with you, beauty, not sure I ever will be. You lead the way and I’ll follow in my truck.”
“Good, okay,” I say and I swear to God I nearly come when he gives me that heart-melting grin.
I drive fast, way too fast, which will probably piss him off and I’ll have to hear about, but who gives a fuck? Not me, let him tie me up and spank me, punish me with pleasure, I want that so bad that it’s weird and unreal! I don’t know why I think he would, he’s never lifted a hand to me, never even used the damn rope, just freaking refused to tie me up! I know he wanted to, the look in his eyes when I even mentioned the rope, FUCK, explosively green. Like a forest on fire, lit up and blazing, on the edge of ruin, dark and dangerous, and so hot I could go up in flames just staring into their deep-emerald depths. I’ve been dreaming about those eyes moving over me in that special way he has, no nonsense, ‘let’s fuck this girl so good that she’ll stay fucked’ but adoring at the same time, like I’m a goddess, a gift, a treasure he’s discovered. I’m swerving, speeding, so anxious I can’t think of anything but HIM, his enormous body, his heat and hardness, those massive, calloused hands splayed across my breasts, my ass, stroking my pussy, rough and then tender, and every inch of my skin is tingling, humming DEMANDING his attention.
“You drove too fast, it’s a wonder you didn’t have a wreck,” he says as I park and step out of the car.
“I know, but I….”
He sweeps me up like some medieval warrior clai
ming his prize, slings me across his shoulder and I’m shocked and speechless as he marches to the front door and turns so I can reach out my hand and turn the key in the lock. I drop the keys when he steps inside and bends forward so that I slide down his body until my feet hit the ground.
“I’m sorry….” I say as he slams the door and holds me at arm’s length.
“Hush, I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. I want to hear you begging me to fuck you, and I wanna fuck you so hard that you’ll beg me to stop. It’s gonna be quick and dirty, Scarlet, I’ll go slow and easy next time. My cock has been aching all fucking day, watching you in your pretty white dress, your fucking eyes begging and coaxing, your sweet, sweet pussy riding my fingers, thinking of how wet you must have been sitting next to me and your family without your panties. I’m sorry, beauty, but this time is for me, I’ll take care of you later,” he says, his voice is rough-edged and harsh, his eyes are positively predatory, and I press my thighs together and, just like that, I’m on the edge of a toe-curling orgasm.
He yanks my dress over my head as we stumble into the hallway and he presses me against the wall. I run my hands over his starched white shirt and absolutely luxuriate in the heat pouring from his muscled chest and shoulders. I never knew a body like his existed in the everyday world, he’s shaped like a superhero, wide shoulders, narrow waist, and I can’t even let myself contemplate the perfection of his round-smooth-hard-drive-me-out-of-my-mind-can’t-keep-my-hands-away-it-doesn’t-get-any-better-than-this-gorgeous-ass! He’s quick with his shirt buttons, stopping half way down and dragging the shirt up over his head, tossing it aside as I force my fingers to stop shaking as I unbuckle his belt, unbutton, unzip, and he springs free. I want to shout, I wanna come, I want him inside me but he pushes my hands away, gathers them at the wrists and lifts them over my head.
“Fuck! Look at you, beauty. Naked in your high-heels, your pussy is dripping down your thighs, you’re so ready to come, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you to relieve this pain you’ve caused me, then I’m gonna bury my face between your legs and make you scream. That sound like a plan?”
“Excellent p-plan….” I say and his lips cover mine, one big hand traps my arms above my head and the other smooths over my breast, pinches the nipple hard, I stifle a scream, and arch toward him for more. His hand slides over my ribs, my belly, and when he pushes two fingers inside me I groan so loud the neighbors can probably hear. I don’t care if they do because he’s here, and he is real, and he’s mine, and when he curls those long, thick fingers inside me I am so on the verge of combusting in two seconds flat.
He lets go of my wrists and my arms twine around his neck, his shoulders, as he lifts me with one strong arm, his fingers jerk out of my pussy and I want them back, pumping, stretching me open. He looks down and his hand sweeps across his balls, I swallow hard as I watch him guide his cock to my entrance, he doesn’t hesitate, just looks into my eyes as my legs circle his waist, and he slams into me hard. My back hits the wall and he thrusts deep and so fucking hard, pounding into my pussy, grinding against my clit, his mouth on my lips, jaw, neck, everywhere. My hands are tangled in his hair so I can hold his mouth to my skin, his hands cup my ass and hold me steady against this rough, desperate, necessary assault. We’re both sweating, moaning, incoherent words and savage grunts pour out into the room, and I clench so hard around his cock that he shudders and curses and we both jerk and stiffen and come, and he holds me as we slide to the floor, landing with a thud, my body on top of his, and we’re physically, emotionally— just totally drained.
When he can finally move he carries me to the bed and lays me down on the bare mattress. He gives me a light kiss, nuzzles my neck, and disappears into the bathroom. He’s back in a flash with a warm, wet cloth, he spreads my legs and glides it gently over my thighs, my sex.
“How’s that feel, you doing okay, beauty?”
“Feels good, really good… I’m fantastic….”
“Are you on birth control, Scarlet?” He asks and his voice falters a little. “We didn’t use anything… I got carried away.”
“Fuck! No, I’m not. I was… I haven’t refilled my pills, thought I’d give my body a break. Oh shit,” I say and spring up and go into the bathroom to pee and wash his warm, thick cum out of my body.
I lock the door behind me, he’s seen every inch of my body, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him see me peeing or desperately washing myself down there. He knocks lightly and tells me not to freak out, we’ll stop by the pharmacy and pick up something, the morning-after pill, whatever I want to do is fine. I’m hyperventilating because I definitely am freaking out. I’m counting off the days in my head, where am I in my cycle? I’m twenty-two, we barely know each other, we do not need a baby, and I’ll bet his sperm are invincible, dammit! He knocks again, harder this time, rattles the doorknob, says we can talk to the pharmacist and get whatever’s necessary, don’t worry, and for the sake of his sanity please put on some panties and change out of that sexy fucking dress.
*
As soon as we turn onto the gravel road that leads to the converted grist mill that Holt calls home, he parks his truck and climbs out. He opens the door to the Jag and tells me to hop over into the passenger seat, we need to make a quick trip to Traeger Townsend’s place down the road, there’s some sort life-shattering emergency that requires Holt’s immediate attention.
“Now?” I ask, hating that I sound like a whiny little bitch, but the need to feel him inside me is CRITICAL!
His eyes narrow for a moment as if he’s considering—‘Hmm, deal with Traeg’s supposed catastrophe or take Scarlet to bed and fuck her into next week’—he curses Traeger and pulls back onto the highway.
That’s one of the extraordinary qualities I’ve discovered about Holt, his own needs are always secondary to those he cares about. He tries to do the right thing, whether it’s taking care of a sick horse or attending to a friend’s distress call. So he rips his eyes away from the silent plea in my eyes and speeds toward town. We pass through the heart of Tallulah, Texas, population twelve-hundred, and all but a dozen of the local souls work on or for the Corazon Perdido Ranch.
“One main street, blink and you’ll miss it,” He says and reaches out to free my ponytail so that my hair falls around my shoulders as he slows down and points out what he refers to as ‘the three major points of interest in a one-horse town’.
The town is old and quaint, turreted Victorian buildings anchor the north and south corners. There’s a Mexican food café called Lupe’s, ‘Loo-pays’ is how he pronounces the name, and he swears the enchiladas they serve are the best in Texas. Most of the storefronts are boarded up, thanks to the new Walmart twenty miles north. The two buildings still in use are the art-deco era movie theater with a gaudy, lighted marquis proclaiming it the ‘El Serape’. Holt laughs and squeezes my hand affectionately when I say the word, then he sounds it out for me—El sur-aww-pay—which means ‘the blanket’ and he says I’d do well to learn a few Spanish terms in this part of the country.
The most interesting is a store called Ranches and Rhinestones, owned by two girls Holt and the McCauley brothers grew up with. Its wide windows are filled with colorful, new-age ‘cowgirl couture’, embroidered-leather boots, contempo-cool cowboy hats, studded belts with rhinestone buckles, and ranch house furnishings with a decidedly artistic flair.
“I’ll introduce you to Bree and Martita on Monday,” he says as I gush over the display of new-age cowboy boots decorated with peace signs and pistols. “You’ll need a hat to protect that porcelain skin from the sun, and decent pair of boots, the kind they don’t sell at the mall in Atlanta.”
“Excuse me! I have great boots, they’re BedStu, designed in Los Angeles and handmade in Italy, thank you very much!”
“Yeah? Great as in— they look good on those million dollar legs of yours, or great as in— they can withstand a snakebite?”
“Oh… fine. New boots tomorrow,” I say and a chill runs
through me at his serious tone.
A sheriff parked at the edge of town flashes his lights and siren and Holt waves, grins his boyish grin, and we continue on unhindered. The town is surrounded by small farms and one enormous ranch, it’s only thirty miles southeast of San Antonio, which happens to be one of the most beautiful and enchanting cities in the States. But the landscape here, in this place, is like a foreign country, barely more hospital than the veldts and savannahs of faraway Africa. No gloriously sprawling oaks, magnolias, or fragrant camellias, no meandering river dotted with shaggy cypress and arching ferns or tall, reedy grasses.
This is hardscrabble cattle and ‘black-gold’ country. Gnarled mesquite trees sprout like weeds in vast, empty fields with nothing but prickly-pear, armadillos, and diamond-back rattlers for company. Oil wells are scattered like sentinels here and there, and Holt talks easily about oil and indigenous creatures, using terms I’ve heard but don’t quite comprehend.
“Those rigs are new,” he tells me, pointing into the distance, his voice is as tender as lover’s as he talks about this place that made him, that’s branded forever on his heart. “Over there is an abandoned derrick, you’ll see a lot of rusty old pump-jacks, when I was a kid my old man called ‘em grasshoppers. The coyotes come out at night, stealthy bastards, they kill calves and sheep. This land is thick with bobcats, too, you can smell their stink a mile away, their eyes glow and flash in the dark. Those hills of earth, they’re fire ant mounds, a blessing and a curse. They clean up the land faster than vultures, I’ve seen them devour an entire goat carcass in hours, a dead cow takes a few days. They’re efficient little janitors, but stay clear of them, they bite like the devil.”