He’d come close to broaching the subject with her, to gauge her reaction to his proposal. He had, in fact, finally decided to discuss it all with her over dinner last night, had mentally rehearsed what he would say. But all of that had changed after he’d accompanied her into Carmel to check on her parents’ house and her mother’s art gallery.
His jaw had dropped open in awe at the first sight of the McKinnon “beach house” as Lauren had so casually referred to it. The prime oceanfront location alone had to be worth millions, while the spacious, custom built house with its vast wraparound decks would likely double the value of the property.
While Lauren had bustled about the house – opening up windows, watering plants, collecting the mail, gathering more dog food – Ben had made a quick but thorough inspection of the place, his heart sinking a little deeper as he walked past each room. Once again, there was a feeling of understated luxury, a lived-in, comfortable, bohemian décor, but he knew that every piece of furniture, each area rug, even the coffee mugs and hand towels, were all of the very best quality. There was simply no escaping the fact that Lauren was used to a particular standard of living, had grown up in comfort and with a certain amount of privilege, and Ben had shuddered to imagine her reaction if she ever accompanied him on one of his admittedly low budget journeys.
He always flew coach, often having to make multiple connections or endure long layovers in order to get the cheapest fare. Once at his destination, he typically relied on the local transportation to get around, quite often noisy, dusty trains or hot, crowded buses. His accommodations were the most inexpensive he could find, and often barely habitable. And while he knew Lauren had a sense of adventure and not one ounce of pretension in her body, Ben still couldn’t picture her being happy or content to live the life of an impoverished nomad for very long.
Things had only gotten worse when they’d walked inside the Spindrift Gallery in quaint, downtown Carmel. While Lauren carried on a spirited conversation – in rapid, fluent French – with the thin, elegantly attired older woman who was the gallery manager – Ben glanced around at the various paintings, sculptures, and framed photographs that were for sale. He was extremely self-conscious of the fact that his worn jeans, faded T-shirt, and biker boots stood out like a sore thumb in these surroundings and among all of the well-dressed patrons.
And the shocks continued to pile up by leaps and bounds when he discreetly inspected the price tags of several pieces, many of them in the five digits. He was astounded to realize that even the photographs could bring in thousands of dollars each. Lauren’s photographs in particular could bring in a whole lot of money, and she could make herself a very comfortable living just by selling a few pieces a month here at her family’s gallery. She wouldn’t have to traipse to remote corners of the world with him, living on a shoestring budget, would easily be able to travel in style wherever she wanted.
And that was when he knew he couldn’t ask her to make the sort of sacrifices she’d need to do in order to be with him. He had absolutely nothing to offer her at this point in his life – no steady job or income; a nearly empty bank account; no home of any sort, not even a stick of furniture or a single dish. Ben grimaced as he imagined the reaction Lauren’s parents would have upon meeting him for the first time, his only possessions what he could carry on his beat-up motorcycle. He knew that two people as talented and successful as Natalie Benoit and Robert McKinnon would naturally have equally high expectations for their daughters. And those expectations would not include one of their girls becoming a gypsy, with an unreliable source of income and less than ideal living conditions. While Lauren – stubborn, opinionated, independent Lauren – would more than likely give up or alter her own dreams and ambitions to be with him under any circumstances. And there was no way – no way – he would allow that to happen.
So he quietly made up his mind to leave, to head on down the road to the next stop, and by doing so to allow Lauren to have the sort of life she’d been raised to expect, the sort she deserved so richly.
Ben cherished each second of their last day together, committing it all to memory along with all of the hundreds of other memories he already had of her. He snapped photo after photo of Lauren – gazing out at the water, her long hair blowing carelessly in the breeze; giggling like a little girl as one of the dogs eagerly licked her face; as she wielded a spatula like a pro, flipping burgers and hot dogs on the big gas grill; taking a leisurely sip of Chardonnay from her wine glass; winking at him suggestively, her lush mouth quirked up in an inviting smile.
Thank Christ she hadn’t seemed as yet to detect that anything was amiss, because the very last thing he wanted was to provoke a confrontation, to give her a chance to argue and debate and demand. He’d seen firsthand just how stubborn and determined Lauren could be, how she held nothing back, and Ben knew she’d rant and rave and curse if she even suspected what his thoughts were, would call him ten kinds of an idiot for even thinking of leaving, and react furiously at the very idea of him making decisions for her.
But because she was so impulsive – not to mention so young – he had to be the strong one now, the one to walk away. Lauren was the sort of woman who very much lived in the moment, damning any consequences, and wouldn’t ever think ahead a year or two or ten. And it would break his heart if she ever decided that the life he led wasn’t what she wanted after all, or worse, blamed him for holding her back from what she could have made of herself.
No, he thought sadly as he drank his wine, much better all around to make a clean break before either of them got in much deeper. She was only twenty, he told himself firmly, and so beautiful, so completely desirable and passionate, that she could have any man she wanted. She’d forget that a man named Ben Rafferty was ever in her life without much difficulty at all. Whereas he – well, Ben knew he’d never forget this woman, would never love another in the same way. And he was probably ten different kinds of an idiot for even thinking of walking away from her, but he also knew it had to be done.
They went for one last moonlight stroll along the beach; took one final soak in the hot tub; watched another of the action/adventure movies that Lauren adored; and devoured almost an entire batch of her specialty slutty brownies. And all the while she never seemed to notice a single thing was wrong, chattering on as usual as though she didn’t have a care in the world.
But when he took her to bed later that night, he was terrified that he’d give it all away. Especially since Lauren was in a particularly feisty mood, leaving him in little doubt that she wanted to take control tonight. And while he enjoyed the times she played at being the dominant, tonight he simply wanted to cherish her, to savor her, and let the touch and sight and scent of her permeate his senses, to burn her into his memory banks for all time.
“Let me,” he whispered, tumbling her to the pillows as she would have crawled on top of him instead.
She gave a stubborn little shake of her head, trying to push him off of her, but then gave a little “mmph” of surprise as he captured her lips in a long, searching kiss. Within seconds her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling him in close rather than shoving him away. He kissed her with a sense of near desperation, as if to memorize the taste of her sweet mouth, the feel of her soft, plush lips beneath his. He rained kisses over her forehead, the tip of her small nose, across each rosy cheek, and then down the side of her throat.
Lauren gasped as his hot mouth traced a path between her lush breasts, and then around the underside of each full, round globe. She clutched his head to her as his lips closed over one pale pink nipple, sucking it hard, while his fingers plucked at the other tight little bud over and over. He’d brought her to an orgasm just like this once, simply from stimulating her breasts, but he was far too hungry for her tonight to try and repeat the experience.
But when his lips continued on their downward path to her belly and lower, Lauren somehow managed to squirm out from beneath him. Before he could protest, she’d urged him on
to his side and then flipped herself around until they were both in the perfect position for sixty nine.
They’d experimented with this particular sexual position several times before, and each time Ben had thought that nothing could be much better than the twin sensations of eating out Lauren’s sweet, juicy pussy while she sucked his cock with deep, hungry pulls. It didn’t take very long at all for her to climax around his tongue and fingers, his cock slipping from between her lips as she moaned loudly with pleasure. He took advantage of her momentary lapse to ease her back onto the pillows just before surging deep inside of her pliant body before she could summon up a protest.
Even as he rode her hard, pumping his rampant cock inside of her over and over, Ben knew that what they’d shared had always gone far beyond mere fucking. As raw and hard and dirty as sex could be with Lauren at times, it had always, always been lovemaking from the very first time.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open so that he could gaze down at her beautiful face while keeping up the rhythmic thrusts of his cock inside her tight, slick cunt. She stared back up at him, her green eyes still glazed over from her earlier orgasm, and she was so fucking perfect that it made his heart ache with the realization of how much he loved her. It was only when he felt tears form in his eyes, trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat that poured from his brow, that he forced his eyes shut. He couldn’t allow Lauren to see that he was crying, see how deeply their lovemaking was affecting him. And not because he was afraid she’d think him weak or less of a man. Ben was too assured of his own masculinity for something like that to ever bother him. No, the reason he couldn’t permit her to witness his emotional breakdown was because he was terrified that Lauren – with her innate gifts of perception – would suspect what he planned to do.
He did cry a little, however, when he came – his body bucking from the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of coming inside her for long, endless seconds. Unable to control his reactions any longer, to hide the sorrow he felt at knowing this was his good-bye to her, Ben buried his face against the side of her neck, hoping against hope that she would mistake his tears for perspiration, would think his body was trembling all over merely from the force of his climax and not from his silent weeping.
And when he sensed Lauren’s concern, felt her slender fingers caressing his damp cheek or rubbing soothing circles over his back, he didn’t allow her the opportunity to question him or think about it any longer. Instead, he kissed her again, his hands cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, caressing her thighs until she was groaning with pleasure and his cock responded faithfully.
He kept at her for hours, as though in just one night he’d be able to make up for the lonely lifetime without her that awaited him. He kissed her until her lips were bruised and swollen, sucked her nipples until they were red and sore, and whisker burn covered every inch of her torso. And when she reluctantly admitted she was too sore to fuck again, he replaced his cock with his lips and tongue, not in the least concerned with the fact that she was still wet and sticky from the multiple times he’d come inside of her tonight. His balls ached from the numerous orgasms he’d enjoyed, his back scored in too many places to count from her fingernails, and his throat was raspy and raw from the cries of pleasure she’d coaxed from him.
And when Lauren finally succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a deep, soundless sleep, he held her in his arms for a long time, unwilling to let her go. In the end, it took every ounce of control he could summon up to gently ease himself out of the bed where he’d shared far more than just his body with her over the past ten days.
As silently as possible, he dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing when he’d first arrived here a week and a half ago. He had never actually gotten around to unpacking, living instead out of his saddlebags as he always did. His fingers hesitated as he picked up the expensive Nikon camera Lauren had insisted he keep, at a loss as to what to do with it. If he kept it, then he’d feel like even more of a freeloader than he already did. But if he left it here, it would seem as though he was rejecting her gift – in much the same way, he thought grimly, that he was rejecting Lauren herself.
Furiously blinking back tears, Ben picked up the camera and focused it on Lauren’s prone body. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her sprawled out carelessly, her small body nonetheless taking up more than half the bed in the way she always slept. Keeping the flash off, not daring to wake her, he snapped half a dozen shots to add to his already sizeable collection of Lauren photos – a good many of them showing her in various stages of undress, and even in the nude as she was now.
He put the camera away reluctantly, storing it with the utmost care among his things, and then gazed down at her one final time. When it had been time to leave Ohio to go to college, Ben had thought nothing of bidding his parents, half-siblings, and friends farewell, not giving any of them much of a second thought. And there had been no regrets, no overly sentimental feelings when he’d graduated from college and said farewell to his friends there. Ben had few real friends, no permanent ties, and he’d never once felt the urge to overstay his welcome anywhere or with anyone.
But as he stared down at the woman he knew would be his one and only, no matter who else might pass through his life in the years to come, Ben’s heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces. He blew her a kiss, not trusting himself to touch her again, for fear he’d tell all of his good intentions to go fuck off before crawling back into bed with her.
“Good-by, sweetheart,” he whispered brokenly. “Be brilliant for me. Shine brighter than the brightest star. And know that I’m doing this because I love you too damned much to stay and ruin your life.”
He made it as far south as Lucia, the tiny coastal outpost where Lauren had brought him to explore just a few days ago, before he had to pull off to the side of the road. It was only then that he allowed the tears to fall freely and without restraint.
***
She’d always had a bit of a sixth sense about things, and thus she knew something was different – wrong – the moment she woke. The other side of the bed was empty, though she could still smell his scent on the sheets, mingled with the unmistakable odors of sex. Lauren winced as she pushed herself to a sitting position, feeling sore and tender in too many places to count. A quick check of her body revealed several patches of red, rashy razor burn, a handful of love bites, some rapidly darkening bruises. Last night’s wild, out of control sex marathon with Ben had been far more physically demanding – and punishing – than any of the sporting events she’d participated in over the years.
As she forced herself out of bed on surprisingly shaky legs, the first thing she noticed was the absence of Ben’s bags. Since his first day here she’d nagged at him to unpack, showing him the space she’d cleared for his things in the closet and dresser. But Ben had always demurred, saying it was no big deal and that he didn’t have all that much stuff.
At the time she’d shrugged it off, but now – as she padded around the cabin stark naked, searching for any sign of her lover – she began to realize that Ben had never intended to put down any sort of roots, or make any kind of commitment to her.
Lauren grabbed some clothes out of the dresser, barely noticing what items she took, and dressed quickly, anxious to see for herself if Ben was well and truly gone. The rest of the cabin was as quiet and empty as the bedroom, and by the time she hit the driveway she was running. She didn’t flinch even once as her bare feet made contact with the gravel, didn’t slow down even though she was jogging uphill.
And when she saw that his motorcycle was gone, she dropped to her knees right there, welcoming the pain from the gravel digging into her skin. For long minutes she just sat there on her haunches, staring at the empty space where the bike was usually parked.
He was gone. From the cabin, from Big Sur, from her bed, her life. He’d snuck out like a thief in the night, without leaving a note or an explanation, or even telling her good-bye.
&nbs
p; But then Lauren realized that he had told her farewell, that his desperate, devouring lovemaking last night had been Ben’s way of bidding her adieu. What he hadn’t been able to express in words, he’d done with his lips and hands and body.
As she continued to sit there in the middle of the driveway, too frozen to move, her shock gradually began to morph into disbelief, and then into a slow, burning anger.
She surged to her feet, her eyes snapping as the curses began to flow freely from her lips. “Bastard. Prick. Conniving, cold-hearted sonovabitch. Scummy, no-good liar. Putano. Pendejo. Fils de pute. Salaud. If he was here right now I’d kick his ass over the cliff, dislocate all of his fingers, slice off his balls. Just for starters.”
Lauren stormed back down the driveway into the cabin, slamming the front door so hard that all three of the dogs looked up in alarm. In the kitchen she took great pleasure in making as much noise as possible while starting a pot of coffee and popping a bagel into the toaster.
She ate and drank without tasting a thing before storming back into the bedroom to find some shoes. She glared darkly at the mussed bed, suddenly finding the lingering scents of sweat and sex offensive, and promptly stripped the sheets off the mattress.
She took the dogs for their usual morning jaunt, ignoring the fact that the three of them kept looking around anxiously for Ben. “Traitors,” she hissed at them crossly. “And stop looking so sad. He isn’t here any longer. The big jerk just up and left this morning without having the guts to even say good-bye. Or leave his fucking email address.”
And then the stream of curses began anew, each one more colorful than the last, switching rapidly between English, Spanish, and French, three languages in which she was fluent, and knew all the dirty words.
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