Hope Falls

by Addison Moore

  Dancing with Nolan has been one of the more popular fantasies I’ve played on repeat these last four years. There have been many fantasies, in various levels of undress, but by far the one in which we dance in the moonlight under this very gazebo has been a fan favorite, and here he is offering to make my dream a reality.

  “Well, if it’s for Mattie.” I let him carefully extract me from my seat as we make our way to the center of the oversized octagon. Nolan wraps his arm around my waist and holds my hand out with the other as we sway slowly to the music. The way his hips cling to mine, the fact his chest expands like a granite mountain, and that face—it’s all too much and sends my stomach searing with both heat and panic.

  “Misty Baker.” My name plumes from his lips in a white papery cloud. “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life.”

  My entire face catches fire from embarrassment. I don’t believe I’ve heard that kind of panty-melting inflection since the last time he said those very words all those years ago.

  “I think I have Norman to thank for that.” I’ve never been one to take a compliment well.

  “Norman does suit you. I’d take him off Mattie May’s hands if I were you. But Norman doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you’re stunning. You could be here in your birthday suit, and I would say the very same words.”

  “Ha! I bet you’d love to see me in my birthday suit.” My mind quickly turns the conversation on its nude ear, and I envision Nolan standing here naked as the day he was born but far more endowed than he was at that point in his life. Holy hell, Nolan in the buff is a sight to behold. Lord knows I have replayed, reviewed, and analyzed those mental tapes from every perverted angle.

  “Is that an option?” He cocks his head as if he’s teasing, but that dirty grin of his assures me he’s not. Nolan and I dance up a storm, laughing about old times, about Mattie and her never-ending list of adventures, about sheep and goats and everything under the barnyard sun. Then at the drop of a hat, the mood grows serious. Our eyes lock, and my breathing picks up as if something spectacular were about to happen.

  He leans in and tucks his mouth close to my ear. His heated breath sears me, sending a quiver down my spine that travels lower still and leaves me with the beginnings of an orgasm that I’d like nothing more than to bring to completion.

  “How about we take the rest of that champagne and go someplace where we can be alone—you know, and talk?” he whispers directly into my ear, and a mean shiver of sexual proportions runs through me.

  “And talk?” I give a slight frenetic nod, suddenly completely aroused by the idea of having a conversation with Nolan somewhere—anywhere in private. “Sure. Where to?” My heart thunders through my skull like an echo chamber.

  “My room or yours?”

  My room? I try to remember if I made the bed or not, whether or not my rainbow of twelve different bras is scattered around like the washroom of a brothel. And I distinctly remember leaving a rim of hair in the tub due to the fact I shaved those hairy tree trunks I call legs last night for the first time in months before getting out.

  “Your room,” I say with a sterile confidence as if it were merely a board meeting we were headed to. God knows I will subconsciously be keeping the minutes.

  “To my room.”

  “May I never live to regret this.” I tip my head to my newfound toast.

  “May I never have another living regret.”

  Nolan snaps up the champagne, drops a wad of cash onto the table, and says a quick goodnight to everyone from the waiter to the violinists as he speeds me to the bed and breakfast. We fly up the stairs and land inside his room with his neatly made bed and impeccably arranged clothing draped over the chair. Nolan locks the door and offers that cocky grin of his. Those dimples dig in deep as if to say gotcha, and boy do they ever have me. My thighs are trembling, my mouth is watering, and my pink parts have all but morphed into wild rivers just anticipating where this dark Knight might lead us.

  “Now what?” It comes out breathy as if I were doing my best Marilyn Monroe impersonation with my heaving chest, pouting lips, and the heavily lidded I’m-ready-to-jump-your-bones look in my eye. I bet this is how she felt being trapped in a room with JFK, the man with all the power in the world standing right in front of her with all of his lewd intent exuding from him much like Nolan’s is now.

  Nolan Knight has all the power in the world, but that’s not what seduced me all those years ago. It’s not what has my hormones shooting off like a blaze in a fireworks factory. Nolan is charming, witty, and kind. Those are the attributes I remember, the very ones he carved over my soul. I knew as soon as I met Nolan that he was someone I would never forget. And much to the detriment of my heart, I have never forgotten him.

  “You mind if I ditch Norman?” My chest pumps wild as if we just escaped a serial killer.

  Nolan gives the hint of a crooked smile. His dark brows dip down, hooding his eyes, which lends to this demented sexy look that makes me quiver in all the right places. “By all means.”

  I shed Norman to the floor with my chin up, chest out, doing my best not to pass out at the thought I’m all but stripping in Nolan Knight’s bedroom.

  “You mind if I ditch the Batman cape?” He sets down the champagne, and in one swift move he drops his trench coat to the floor in a similar fashion. But those eyes of his—they rake up and down my body as if they can’t drink me in fast enough. “Damn, you look good.”

  “Damn, you look good,” I echo.

  Nolan walks toward me, and I back into the wall, accidentally turning off the lights with my elbow.

  “Oh! Sorry!” I twist in an effort to turn them back on, and Nolan catches me gently by the wrist.

  “This is nice.” He leans in close to my neck and takes in a lungful. “That is, unless you prefer the lights on.”

  “Lights on?” I’m about ready to cross the line between breathing and hyperventilation. My heart thumps so loud, I’m sure they hear it in the very next state. “This is f-f-ine.” The stutter comes from nowhere, and my body starts in on an involuntary shiver that ironically has nothing whatsoever to do with the lack of body heat. In fact, there’s a fire brewing between us that assures me my birthday suit is the only God-given ensemble I can wear to get me through the night without erupting into flames.

  Nolan Knight is a sight to behold as the moonlight kisses his features, his dark hair and that scruff on his face that makes me insane, both of which highlight the high beams he calls eyes. Nolan has mastered something far more powerful than a come hither look. It’s more of a I’m-going-to-fuck-you-now, straight-to-the-point expression that suggests any willpower I might have will soon melt away, and it is. As much as I loathe to admit this, it’s taking an incredible amount of self-restraint not to rip his clothes off and have at him. I want this. I’ve wanted this for a very long time—four years to be exact.

  His Adam’s apple rises and falls, and that simple biological act sends me into a sexual fervor. Nolan has the gift of looking incredibly hot no matter what it is he’s doing. He’s a specimen that no woman with a functioning heart can bear to look away from. Quite frankly, I’m shocked that he hasn’t been wedded and bedded by now. I thought for sure he would have been at least happily engaged.

  Nolan takes a bold step in, and I don’t stop him. His gaze falls over my features as his finger strokes my cheek ever so softly. I can barely stand to breathe, to move. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll wake up and find myself still unhappily married to Ryan.

  Nolan’s strong arms find a home around my waist, and his hands swivel up and down my back, warming me with heat. Lord knows if I get any hotter, I’ll burst into flames like a Roman candle.

  “I’m going to sleep with you.” My heart thumps once as I say the words. A flood of relief and exhilaration fills me all at once.

  Nolan ticks his head to the side as if amused by my declaration. “Is that what you want?”

  “Is that what you want?”
>
  “It’s what I always want.” He presses out a quick smile. “I need to know it’s what you want.”

  “Why would I have suggested it if I didn’t want it?” God, it’s as if this entire childish game of back and forth is simply a way to make me come out and say it. “Okay, fine,” I spit the words out curt. “I’m going to sleep with you.” I close my eyes in a moment of defeat. “Because this is what I want. Those books got me pretty worked up, and I have an itch to scratch.” I gave him an inch, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get rope burn holding on to that mile.

  A dark laugh brews in his chest. “So, I’m a means to an end?”

  “Strictly that.” Liar, liar, vagina on fire! I want far more from Nolan, but I’m nowhere near ready to admit that to him. It’s ludicrous enough I’ve admitted the insanity to myself.

  “Well, then”—he tucks a quick kiss to the nape of my neck, and I die a thousand sweet erotic deaths—“by all means, let me scratch that itch for you.”

  His hands fumble with my dress, and it takes less than sixty seconds before I’m stripped clean of every inch of clothing, boots included. Word to the fornicating wise—I heavily advise against a fitted sweater dress, tights that adhere to your thighs like tourniquets, and boots that require a grunting three-man wrestling team to remove. And perhaps wearing a coat that shares the moniker of another man might be a turn-off as well—but definitely not a deal killer! Nonetheless, my fingers are happily plucking away at the buttons on Nolan’s dress shirt while our mouths steal frantic, hungry kisses. We do a funny little sideways dance to the bed as I continue to fiddle with his stubborn clothes.

  Nolan kicks into gear and helps remove the layers of cotton standing in the way of our good time, and finally my hands glide over his bare chest, smooth, hard with just the right amount of hair peppered in all the right places. Just touching him like this makes my insides throb with what’s to come—that would be me very, very soon.

  He pulls me in, and our naked flesh adheres with a hiss and sizzle. There is something magical about the feel of someone else’s bare flesh up against your own—someone you deeply care about, someone you, dare I say, love. My skin quivers and quakes in response to his as I drink him deep like water. It feels healing, deliciously satisfying. I’ve long suspected that the best meal I’ve ever had was Nolan himself, and this magical moment solidifies the fact.

  His hot mouth rakes down my neck, licking a line to both of the girls.

  “I’ve licked them. They’re mine,” he pants, no laugh. Nolan is serious as they come, and I can’t help but giggle at the thought. His lids are heavy, and he looks drunk, wasted, stoned, all of the above.

  “Perfect,” I whisper as his kisses run wild on my torso, my hands knotted up in his hair. “I’ll bill you for the bras. The upkeep on them is incredible.”

  He laughs over my belly, and just before he dips any lower, he picks me up and lands me on the cool bed, his body instantly warming mine. His full weight over my body feels like something I’ve needed, something I’ve waited my whole life to receive. Nolan doesn’t waste time. He continues with his licking spree, claiming, blessing, loving every last inch. He pushes my knees to my shoulders and drops a kiss in that very sacred part of me, lashing me with his tongue. This is no hors d’oeuvre he’s enjoying. This is a full-on meal for a starving man who just so happens to have the munchies. The fact I’ve just likened my vagina to a bag of Cheetos and Nolan as the requisite stoner drives a hearty chuckle from me, but that chuckle quickly converts to a series of desperate pants as that tongue lashing of his picks up to something just this side of a punishment.

  “Nolan,” I cry as I grip onto that luscious, slick full head of hair.

  He pauses momentarily to glance up, and there’s just enough light to illuminate those heavily drugged eyes the color of a midnight sky.

  “Get back to work for God’s sake!” I kick his back with my foot. “That was a cry of passion—not a roll call.”

  Nolan does as he’s told, and my fingers dig into the bedding, into his shoulders. My nails carve their affection, their gratitude over his flesh, and I lose it. I let out a wild cry that falls somewhere between a scream of terror and an injured animal that’s ready to gnaw its own leg off from the pain, only I’m not feeling one ounce of pain. Nolan Knight is all about pleasure. But that yelp for help? God, he’s going to think I’m hideous. Note to self: rehearse primal cries of passion for shit’s sake.

  I’m quick to evict him from his post, and he glides up next to me once again as his mouth finds a home over mine, hot and drenched with my own juices.

  I pull my mouth away and land a heated kiss just under his ear. “You’re disgusting.” I laugh as my legs find their way around his back.

  “And you’re delicious.” His mouth finds me again, offering a brief kiss before he dives over the side of the bed. “Found it,” he grunts as he emerges with his wallet. He fishes out a condom and holds it up victoriously. “We’ll save the babies for later.”

  My ovaries pinch, pleading for me to scream no. “Babies?” I take the condom from him and try to open it with my teeth, but the package doesn’t budge. So not sexy. “Um, maybe this is a sign from the universe?”

  “I’m okay with babies now.” He’s ready to chuck the condom, and I snatch the package from him again.

  “I mean, maybe the universe is telling us that this isn’t meant to be.” I glance down at his happiest to see me appendage in full salute. According to that long, hard rocket launcher pointed up at me, this is very much happening with or without me. I give the condom package another quick bite, and this time it voluntarily opens.

  “Looks as if the universe is on our side after all.” Nolan leans back on his knees and rolls it on. It takes a couple of quick blinks for me to acknowledge the fact Nolan’s Knight stick is far longer, stronger, girthier than I remember, and my knees try their best to come together.

  “What an awfully big light saber you have.” Now it’s my turn to swallow hard.

  “The better to spear you with.” Nolan dives back over me and gives my thigh a light tap as if suggesting I assume the position. Those alien eyes of his lock onto mine, and something in my heart unlocks as my entire body, my soul feels lighter than air. All of the sarcasm I wear like a shield dissipates. It floats to the ceiling and then right through it, and the moment grows altogether serious.

  “I have a confession to make.” My voice is shy of a whisper, my breathing once again out of control. My chest grows tight. My mouth runs dry. I can feel the tears coming, that intense painful knot forming in my throat, but I force myself to push right through it. “Nolan”—I cradle his cheek with my hand—“I’m in love with you. It’s always been you.”

  Nolan

  In all of the tricks my mind has played on me, in all of my desperate Misty Baker fantasies, not once did she say she loves me. Those words were so sacred, so cuttingly close to the bone, I couldn’t bring myself to manufacture the scenario. And here she is, in my bed, naked, the taste of her still fresh on my tongue, her beautiful angelic face, those hot lips looking up at me as they just uttered the words that have made my life complete.

  “Misty.” I lean up on my elbows to get a better look at her, alleviating the weight off my chest so, for God’s sake, I don’t crush her. “I love you, too.” I dot her nose with a kiss. “I love you so much it hurts, and I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but it’s the truth. I’ve enjoyed every minute of that sweet ache, but to hear that you feel the same—” My voice breaks. I’ve bedded my fair share of women, but never have I wanted anything more than to ironically scratch that itch. But Misty is forever. She is it for me. I knew it four years ago, and I know it just the same today. “Do you believe me?” I’m not sure why I felt the need to tack on those words. I did, though. I think we both know why.

  Misty tips her head back into the pillow and laughs, her teeth sparkling like diamonds in the dark. “Details.” She smacks her hand over my leg. “It’s time to ge
t scratching.”

  And I do just that. Misty opens up for me. Her cool legs riding against my back are enough to kill me. My mouth falls over hers, hungry and hot before she navigates my body where it needs to be. I push in slowly, carefully as I enter the woman I love, the only woman who has occupied my mind from the moment I saw her, and slowly, ever so carefully, beautifully I’m home. We’re home. Right where we need to be.

  My body, my mind slowly dissolve into the nexus of the moment. I’ve waited for this for years. I have craved Misty Baker since the moment I laid eyes on her all those long, hot summers ago.

  “I love you,” I whisper before carrying an all-out assault of my affection. Misty’s breathing, her audible panting, the way her fingernails race over my back, it all lets me know she’s right there with me. This love, this magic, these tender aching moments of pure indulgent desire are more than I could have hoped for. It makes me wish I had done this years ago, cut through the red tape of my ego, and shot straight for Misty the day the ink dried on her divorce papers. She never should have married that uptight asshole. It should have been me waiting for her at the end of the aisle that fateful wedding day. Misty is mine, and I will never let her go as long as I live.

  The two of us go on scratching, licking, teasing, loving, fucking long into the night and straight into the morning. Just about the time the sun sprays Hope Falls with a tangerine kiss, Misty falls asleep in my arms, and I watch her breathe and sneak tender kisses to her face, her hair. This is more bliss, peace, and ecstasy than heaven could ever give me.

  We lounge lazily wrapped in one another’s arms for the better part of the afternoon until finally rousing and showering—together, of course. Misty melts into my arms under the pouring hot water, and we go for round two—or more to the point, sixteen. Afterwards, I bundle her up in the warm and fuzzy complimentary robe and carry her back to bed where we peruse the room service menus as if we didn’t have it memorized—as if we didn’t have a hand in updating it way back when.