by M. Mabie
I couldn’t see her mouth move, but I heard her quiet words as she attempted to sound shy.
Wouldn’t he love that?
“I’m your guest for the night, but you’re in control.”
My stomach rolled, and I cringed, recovering quickly when his eyes met mine again. This time, I saw a hunger come alive inside of them.
Maybe he’d get more out of this than I would.
She went on. “If at any time you want me to stop, just tap my arm like this.” Her manicured hand rapping gently against his left shoulder. Still, I couldn’t see her face, but he stood, getting closer to her.
He looked pained and torn, warring with what was the right thing to do. I’d put him in this situation. I caused the stress in his brow.
It was my responsibility to satiate his nerves. I needed to snap out of my head and walk him through this.
He was doing it for me.
I gave him a half smile, the one that lit him up.
Smiles couldn’t be lies, could they?
Nevertheless, that appeased him, and he stepped closer to her but held eye contact with me over the bar.
I drank.
She ran the back of her hand over his cheek. Her shoulder leaned into him, like she was reaching for his cock, but it was out of my vision, hidden behind the god-forsaken counter.
He placed a hand on the marble, bracing himself.
I picked up the second martini, having drank mine gone. I slid my hand over his and willed myself to put my feelings away.
This was something new for me. I thought, even newer than it was for him. I’d never been invested in a lover like I was with Reagan.
I begged that voyeur part of me to come alive and enjoy herself. Surely, watching him would put all my experiences to shame. He was a true artisan, a master of the flesh.
I gently rubbed his hand as she leaned into him, her mouth connecting with his neck.
When she moaned over my favorite spot, the masculine lump in his throat, I almost cried for mercy.
His coffee eyes looked at my lips. Even though only our hands were linked, I felt him there, and my tongue swept out to wet them.
Then, I tipped the drink again, nearly taking it down in one long swig. It felt like I’d swallowed acid, but I knew it would save me. I prayed the liquor would cloud my memories of that night because watching it live was already torment enough.
As hard as it was to watch in some ways, in others, I’d never felt more connected to someone. I’d never been in tune with another body like I was with his, and that held true even with a third person present.
I loved this kitchen, and every memory I had with him there. I didn’t want it stained with this night.
I nodded down the back hall to my spare bedroom—where earlier I’d already remade the bed with fresh sheets and turned on the lamp. Now, having felt what I had watching them, I wasn’t sure if the light was a good idea or not.
Heedlessly, this was my burden. My idea. My side of the fence, and I’d drug him there.
It was my duty to be hospitable. To cause him no discomfort.
He straightened, but didn’t look down at her, then walked around the bar following me as I left the room, turning out the light as I went. He never dropped my hand.
I drank the third martini on the way, and I felt it and its predecessors as I walked on shaky legs.
In the room, I placed the glass down on the dresser and sat down to take off my shoes.
The alcohol swam through my blood, and my limbs felt heavier, my inhibitions became lax. I submitted to the scene I’d created.
Reagan sat beside me while Simone stood in front of him.
She pulled her dress over her head and knelt before him in her bra and panties.
His hand, the one he had perched on his leg, moved over to my leg, and as it climbed up my thigh, I felt my skin chill and heat in unison.
I heard his belt clink as it came undone, but I stayed with him as his free hand moved then held my face.
His lips met mine. He was so delicious I wanted to cry.
I shifted to meet him more, and my hand touched his chest where I felt his heart hammer through his shirt.
This was happening.
He rose a little, his pants came off, and he sat reclining further onto the bed. I stood to take my dress off and caught a glimpse of what was taking place.
She had him in her hand. His beautiful cock connecting with fingers that didn’t belong to me. On her knees, she stroked him, but he watched me.
I took off my bra and slowly dropped my panties, then climbed on the bed bending down to his lap, but still facing him.
It wasn’t my intention to block his view of her, but I wanted to watch his face. Then, I lowered my mouth to the head of his penis, and she removed one hand to give me more room. At an angle, he slipped into my mouth and then I sucked as he hit the wall of my cheek.
He took in a sharp breath, and my hand wandered up the underneath his shirts to touch him. Tight muscles, reflexively danced under my fingers as I slowly took him in and out. Her hand meeting his flesh where my lips didn’t reach.
I heard her moan from behind me, and then I felt her fingers run through my hair. The sensation of everything made my eyes flutter.
He leaned up, tore off his shirts, and pulled me up his body. His mouth met my neck, then my collarbone, and then my breast.
I heard a slurping sound, and something fissured inside of me knowing that he was inside of her, but I forged on.
I’m responsible for this.
“Sit on my face, baby. Let me taste you as you watch.” His elicit words severed most of my cognizant thought. It was erotic and so like him to tell me what to do. As if I was trained to obey him, I crawled up the bed and did what I was told.
My long legs allowed me to hover over him, then his mouth met my skin in one long hot swipe. He moaned as he licked me, slipping a finger inside. I looked down his body to a woman who was taking him into her mouth so far that I could barely even see his erection. With one hand she massaged his balls, the other was out of sight. She was likely touching herself.
I had no need to watch it, it didn’t satisfy me in the least, so I closed my eyes and felt my hips buck as he slipped a second digit into me.
Shamelessly, I rode his face, and he was ravenous at my core. Pulling my skin into his mouth, sucking me. He used two other fingers in front of me, rubbing both of them up and down the sides of my clit until I almost screamed.
I felt a shift on the bed, and my eyes opened to see her climbing.
Was she going to fuck him?
It was the first time I could ever recall feeling panic. Tangible. Blinding. Alarming panic.
Simone kissed her way up his belly. Then, she crawled up him closer to me, taking one of my nipples in her mouth. I leaned forward and to the side to pull free, and my guts twisted as I watched her try to position herself on him.
I froze, and when I halted, he paused as well.
Time stopped.
Everything stopped.
Except her.
The thought of him inside her—there—again swamped me with a nasty sickness.
Simone’s eyes met mine, and she looked so hungry for him. I almost felt bad.
Almost, but I tapped her shoulder anyway. Then, she disappeared.
FOURTEEN
PAST
REAGAN—Friday, November 21, 2008
I hadn’t seen Simone all night. She was like a blur to me, nearly invisible. All I saw was Nora.
A brand new Nora.
Though I wasn’t sure what it meant. She was noticeably uncomfortable, but maybe that’s how she always behaved within the company of others. I had no reference. I only knew how she was when we were alone. There were many differences in the way she was with me and other people. It was very possible, that was just another.
I hadn’t tried to ignore Simone, who seemed a nice woman, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my girl.
Surprisingly, I hadn�
��t felt any kind of jealousy all night. Attentions where they were, hers was on me.
I’d paused when Nora stilled on my tongue. She was close. I’d already felt her muscles faintly quake against my fingers.
I lay there with my eyes closed, still a little buzzed from the drinks. She must have been clinically drunk with the amount she consumed.
That had also made me wonder.
She shifted away from me, and immediately I felt Nora touch on my cock. It was different than her friend’s. She knew what made me crazy, how to hold me, and where to squeeze. The pace I liked most.
I couldn’t reach her with my mouth anymore, so I as she stroked me, I buried my fingers to their knuckles and massaged the spot that made her dripping wet.
After languid minutes like this, she shifted and then the light was off. It was dark, and something had changed in the room.
I leaned up on my elbows and reached out, finding her stomach. She’d turned around and climbed on top of me. I pulled her with me up the bed so that my feet weren’t hanging off anymore. When I propped myself up against the pillows at the headboard, I knew we were alone.
Had she sent Simone away? Had we neglected her?
My mind was cloudy from mixing my medicine with vodka, something I should have known better than to do in those measures.
“I want this to myself,” she said, her words slightly slurred. She felt like I did. “My pussy and this cock.” Then, she sat down on it, and I relaxed into the softness surrounding us.
She wasn’t one to talk much in bed, but when she did it crippled me. For the first time that night, I could feel a climax approach.
“Yes, you. Fuck me, Nora. Now.”
From my drunken mouth to God’s generous ears, she fucked me. Deep. Carnal. Unapologetically. In and out. Up and down. There was more pressure. More tension. More friction than ever before. We were the same heathens.
It was like she was trying to impale herself with me, and I fucking loved it.
Her head rested on my shoulder and her arms held onto the headboard as she increased her speed, taking us both to a different dimension.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
My arms roughly embraced her around the hips, and I latched onto my forearms to hold her as tight as possible while I pounded her against me. “God, I fucking love you,” I shouted and I felt my cum heat her core around me as it seeped between us.
“I more than love you. It’s more, Reagan. It’s more.” Her words were punctuated with whimpers and mewls.
We confessed secrets that were no such things. I didn’t care anymore if she knew I loved her. I hoped she knew it damn well.
She lay panting against my chest. We were cloaked in sweat and sex and lust and about a dozen other things that I wasn’t done exploring. I was still inside of her, only half depleted from my release. Not often can a man come and go again, but if ever there were a night for it—it was that one.
She kissed my chest, then my neck. When she got to my ear, she whispered, “I’m going to miss you.”
I hoped she fucking did. I hoped every fucking mile felt like a mistake. Then we’d be sharing a boat.
Without fail, when I gave her what she wanted, she gave me more in return.
“You can have all of me tonight, baby. I don’t want to stop.” I rolled us over.
I wanted to mark every inch of her, but only a savage would actually do it. I could only pray I left reminders.
I placed my lips on her nipple and rolled it around my tongue until it was stiff.
Remember me here, Nora.
My fingers trailed her ribs lightly, and her skin shivered under them.
This is what my touch does to you.
Her legs were still wrapped around mine as we lay there and I pressed my thigh up higher, against her swollen sex.
My hand skirted the line on her hip and across the top of a neatly trimmed patch of hair, up to her navel and around it. My finger nail scoring her skin, traveling between her breasts, up her neck, and to her lips.
She opened her mouth for me, then sucked my finger with a satisfied moan.
Yes, there, too. Remember our taste. Stay hungry for us.
“I’m not going to let you sleep tonight.” My lips against her skin. “Do you hear me, baby?” I asked low in her ear.
“Mmmm,” she lamented around my middle finger, the same that charmed her orgasm earlier. My dick throbbed with need again, and she bucked against me.
That’s right. My voice. My voice calls to you.
Then, I took my time, which was my favorite method. I didn’t deny her. Every time I found a sweet spot, I’d coax her to the edge, and she’d jump on her own. Then, hand in hand, I’d walk her back up to do it again.
I whispered things only real lovers do, and she cried my name.
Yes, baby, remember me. Remember this.
Come back.
FIFTEEN
PAST
NORA—Thursday, November 27, 2008
The flight was long, and thoughts of Reagan kept my mind busy. I remembered every perfect detail of him as I flew across the ocean. They kept me going, but I fought the urge to go back even before the wheels touched down.
I was received with little fanfare at my father’s—or rather my estate. My brothers cut most of the staff, something I hadn’t been aware of, and no less right around the holidays.
Although the Swiss don’t care about pilgrims and Native American’s, they do take their turkey roasting seriously—at least Laura, our house chef did.
Maybe it was jetlag. Maybe it was because it was a holiday, not that I hadn’t spent many alone before, but I was homesick.
It was only a Thursday for Laura, so when I invited her to stay and eat with me, she didn’t find much objection. Besides, I wanted to know what had happened in my absence.
“They cut many jobs, Ms. Koehl,” she admitted. When I’d been there in the spring, the house was still operating with upwards of twenty full-time staff. They were down to five. “They said it was because there was never anyone here, but this place is huge. It will fall to pieces without staff.”
She didn’t have to explain it to me. I could already see a huge different from then to when I’d arrived back. The place had never had a speck of dust—no matter how large it was. I’d never seen the snow, light as it was, so haphazard around the walks and paths.
The mansion was massive, three stories with outside decks wrapping side to side along the back of each where it hosted breathtaking views of the mountains. Instead of them being completely cleared, there were only paths. Same with the front steps.
It was in disarray.
“I’ll be calling the staff back tomorrow. Do you think they’ll come?” I didn’t know what my brothers had done to them. I didn’t know if they’d be angry or disgruntled. All I knew was I had some work cut out for me. If I wanted to keep my father’s estate alive, I couldn’t neglect it. And I couldn’t let anyone else neglect it either.
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: Happy Thanksgiving
Date: November 27, 2008 23:45 CET
To: Reagan Warren
Hello from Switzerland. Guetä Tag.
I know you’re with your family for the holiday, so I didn’t want to interrupt. I hope you got your fill of turkey and all of the trimmings.
The property wasn’t in the best shape when I arrived. I guess it’s time to roll up my sleeves and manage it like I should.
Anyway, I thought this would be easier than text because of the time difference.
Nora
PS: My toe hurts. ;)
From: Reagan Warren
Subject: re: Happy Thanksgiving
Date: November 28, 2008 04:12 CET
To: Nora V. Koehl
Hello from Seattle,
I wish you would have come here first. The red wine doesn’t taste as good as when you’re sharing it with me.
My mother cooked too much, and my brother and sister are behaving oddly,
but I’m not sure that’s anything new. At least my dad has one normal child. <- That was a joke. And for your information, my mom laughed her ass off.
Make sure to wear your coat, a scarf, and gloves when you go outside. The temperature is supposed to be frigid there. I hate the internet.
Reggie
PS: Should I ship your ice packs?
My ice packs.
Of the few personal items I’d brought with me, those had made the cut.
I smiled reading his email and felt a little better.
Maybe his mom was biased like me, but I think we were right. He was a little funny. Not a lot, but just the right amount.
He’d signed the email Reggie, which I thought was odd. His family called him that so maybe that was the reason. I thought back to the last person I’d heard use that name with him, and my stomach soured.
Simone.
It wasn’t her fault, and I had yet to deal with my feelings regarding my reactions to that night. Reagan and I never spoke about why she left. In fact, we didn’t mention anything about that night at all.
None of it.
Which might have been necessary because, like I was becoming accustomed, I didn’t know what to think.
Regardless, it would all have to wait. I was in work mode.
Call previous employees.
Leave messages. Not many answered.
Help Loris shovel.
My toe literally hurt.
Miss his scent.
Sleep in the chair.
“Yes, I understand what you mean. I’m sorry, but we’d love for you to come back.”
Only seven of them did.
Put ads out in the newspapers.
Dinner with Janel and Ives.
“I’m meeting with your brothers tomorrow, do you want to come, or should I be your proxy?”
Ives could handle it.
Return a phone call from a board member my dad did business with.
Book the property for an impromptu Christmas party.
Make a list.
Toss and turn in a chair.
Think about sleeping in his arms.
FROM: Nora V. Koehl