The Light Before Us

by Stephanie Vercier

  We look forward to you discontinuing this nonsense and returning home to all of us.

  Mother and Father

  I’d been so full of emotion the first time I read it that I hadn’t been able to see their valid points, the ones about how much the wedding cost and the now worthless dress. I couldn’t disagree since the dress was now crumpled up in my closet with my veil having been lost to some pastureland. I wish I’d been stronger when the wedding was still being planned and told them to stop it, saving them the obscenely large amount of money that had surely been spent. I’d pay them back if I could, just to let go of the guilt I now feel about it, but what I could now afford in restitution wouldn’t even make a dent.

  But I still roll my eyes when I get to the part about Michael in the letter, how he’s beside himself and is willing to take me back. If Michael had ever truly loved me, he would have kept his dick in his pants and shown his love and devotion to me in actions, not words. And while my parents focus on the embarrassment they’re feeling, I doubt they’ve really taken my feelings into consideration at all.

  I turn my phone off and set it aside, desensitized enough to the words that I can now let them slide off. I’m sure I’ll get to the point where I actually do delete their email, but for now I’m able to at least set my thoughts to the day ahead and not to my past.

  It isn’t a surprise to find Jack gone as I meander through the house. He’d told me last night he was planning to run into town early to get more supplies for his construction projects. He’s nearly finished with the back porch, focused mainly on finishing details. I pop out back just to admire it, amazed that he can be a top-notch surgeon while also having the construction thing down. During one of our evening discussions, he told me he’d worked construction during the summers he was in college.

  “I wanted to contribute and not sit on my ass all summer,” he’d said.

  It was a need I could relate to.

  We’d both been born into wealth and privilege, and I liked to imagine I didn’t take it for granted. Often times, I felt like I didn’t even want it. Not that I had any desire to be struggling just to get by of course, but money really doesn’t solve all of your problems—in fact, it can often just create more.

  Having got a few good lungfuls of fresh morning air, I head back inside and catch up on laundry and clean the cabin. Blue’s presence in the house adds lots of hairballs and matted fur on the living room furniture and the bedding, but I don’t mind it. If anything, he reminds me of both Pedro and Peco and how much I’ve missed having a cat around.

  “You’re awfully lucky that Jack loves you so much,” I tell Blue who is following me around as I dust and sanitize, vacuum and wash windows. “You know, we should do something for him to thank him for sheltering the both of us. What do you think?”

  Blue just meows back at me, then jumps up on the back of the couch and dances around until I pet him.

  “We should definitely try to feed him since he’s not a very good cook,” I say, trying to keep hold of Blue’s shedding hair so I don’t have to vacuum again. “Maybe a picnic?”

  During my summers at this cabin, my grandma would often put together a picnic basket so just she and I could have our lunch at the shore of the lake. Grandpa would sometimes join us and, less often, so would my parents. We’d throw remnants of our food to the birds and squirrels who dared to come close enough to us, then head back to the house where I’d help Grandma wash up any of the dishes we’d dirtied. Those memories were among the best I’d had out here.

  “Definitely a picnic,” I tell Blue. “And that’s all the petting you’re getting until I can find your brush, okay?”

  His loud meows tell me it’s probably not okay, so I end up petting him for another five or so minutes and then vacuuming up all the hair he’d shed.

  After I’ve done a good cleaning of the place, I take a shower, head up to my room and slide on a summer dress and heeled sandals. I put on makeup and let my hair fall over my shoulders. I decide the picnic will be a nice surprise and a way to thank Jack for these last few weeks, especially for the way he’s made me feel during them. While I’m still attracted to him, and I sense that he is to me, we’ve both worked hard on just being friends, and he’s been wonderful through all of it. He’s acted as an emotional crutch for me on the days I feel weak or unfocused, reminding me not to give in to the negativity that still seeps in sometimes when I think about the life I left behind. And there are days I do the same for him, knowing he still misses Marjorie and the life he’d planned on having with her.

  Looking into every cupboard and closet, I find that the picnic basket my grandma had when I was a kid is long gone, so I settle for a small ice chest Jack bought. He uses it to keep his beer cold when he goes out on the boat, but he’s done much less of that as his focus has turned to working on the cabin.

  There’s enough food in the fridge to make sandwiches, and I follow a recipe to make a small batch of potato salad that actually turns out pretty good. I put everything in the chest before adding a couple of beers and some sparkling water. It’s probably not the best or biggest picnic meal ever, but I’ve made it with my own hands, so that’s something.

  Now, I just have to wait for Jack.

  He really must be grabbing a lot of supplies in town because it’s taking forever for him to return. And the longer I wait for him, the more I feel like a bundle of nerves. I can’t really start a new project to take my mind off the wait because I don’t want to risk being a sweaty mess when he arrives. I want to look good for Jack, even if he might never touch me again the way he’d done when I’d first arrived. It feels so long ago now, and yet I haven’t forgotten a moment of the way he held me against the kitchen sink with fire in his eyes.

  That moment had transpired many times over in my dreams, and I’d woken more than once from them needing to physically relieve the pressure it had created within me. But regardless of those feelings or fantasies, I’d remained respectful of the boundaries between us. That doesn’t stop me from getting a little lost in my affection when he finally pulls up, the back of his truck full of lumber.

  My heart jumps with anticipation, and I hurry outside to meet him.

  “Hey!” he says. “Wow… you look nice.” His eyes do that quick up and down thing and remain on me for longer than necessary, something I take as a compliment.

  “I thought we’d have a picnic, that is if you don’t mind waiting to start up on your projects again?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “A picnic?”

  “Yeah, down by the shore. Me and my grandma used to have them when I was a kid. I just thought it might be nice.”

  “It’s very nice,” he says without a further moment’s hesitation. “But if we’re doing the whole picnic thing, I should probably go in and change to match your effort.”

  “I think a T-shirt and shorts are fine.” I could tack on that Jack looks good in anything, but I don’t dare.

  “Oh, come on, I look like a slob. Just give me a minute, okay?”

  “You don’t, but, if you insist, then sure.”

  I hate the extra time it takes waiting for Jack to change, but when he reappears, I’m totally glad he did. He looks all kinds of amazing in a pair of slim fit khakis and a crisp, white, short-sleeved button up. Without his hat, I’m reminded how thick his dark hair is, and I have a sudden urge to run my fingers through it.

  “You look really nice,” I tell him, to which he gives me an upturned smile.

  “Not anywhere near good as you.”

  Instead of allowing him to see the blush that I know is creeping across my face, I run to get the ice chest. Of course he insists on carrying it, so I grab the much lighter blanket and try to get Blue to tag along with us. But he goes no further than the back porch, then turns and saunters back through the cat doors, probably wanting to take a long, afternoon nap.

  After we spread the blanket out and open up the ice chest, I slip into my bare feet. I reach for a beer and hand it to
Jack.

  He takes it, peeks in the chest and says, “This looks really good.”

  “It’s not much,” I say, removing the food. “It was spur of the moment, so I can’t say a whole lot of planning went into it.”

  “Hey, it’s perfect for me. Saved me from having to make lunch or forage at one of the places in town.”

  He unwraps a sandwich and takes a bite, then pops the top off of his beer. I grab a sandwich too, but my nerves flare, and eating is the last thing on my mind.

  “I want to thank you,” I begin, feeling as though I’ve never expressed my gratitude to him in just the right words. “You didn’t have to keep my secret—and I’m sure it bothers you having to keep things from my parents—but I really do appreciate it. For the first time in my life, I feel independent, like really independent, I mean, save for having to pay rent and all.” A nervous giggle escapes my lips.

  Jack sets his sandwich and beer down. “I’m glad to do it. I didn’t know you all that well growing up, Natalie, but I could tell Michael wasn’t the right guy for you, and I could see your parents pushing you in that direction. I guess I figured it wasn’t any of my business. And I’m sorry for that, for not taking your dad aside and telling him he better rethink things where you were concerned.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I reach out and touch his arm. It’s only a very light graze, but it’s enough to send a flurry of feeling below my stomach.

  He looks down at my hand, and I think he’s about to pick it up and remove it and then give me a stern talking to about how he’s meant to be my protector and nothing more. But he holds onto it and doesn’t let go.

  “You going to see that guy again… that mechanic?” His voice is suddenly low, his eyes intense.

  I shake my head, somewhat surprised he’d bring Will up after all this time. “No, it was just that once. I’m not interested in him.” I swallow hard and ask him something I’ve wanted to know as well. “And you… you and Camille?”

  He looks confused. “Me and Camille?”

  “The waitress at Al’s. She’s crushing on you hard, Jack. I’m sure she hasn’t given up.” She’d told me she was going to be more coy around Jack, but I’d been way too embarrassed to ask Melissa if she’d noticed anything between the two during those early mornings he’d sometimes go in for breakfast.

  “I don’t take much notice what she does,” he says.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Come here,” he says. He pulls me closer, and I don’t question it, not even when he lifts my rear, placing me in his lap.

  We both seem to lose our breath at once, that fire in his eyes coming back. Like in a dream, he glides his hand along my hair before pushing it away from my face and tucking it behind one of my ears. And then, before I can even process that this is real, his thick, full lips are on mine, and I respond in kind, opening my mouth for him as every nerve in my body thrills at his touch, heat rising in my core.

  Listening to my body and not my brain, I reposition myself so that I’m facing him head on, my legs wrapping around his waist, the bottom of my dress bunching up between us. It’s now that I feel the full firmness of his cock jutting into me and can actually imagine seeing it, holding it in my hands or feeling it inside of my body. I’m so lost in him that it takes me a moment to realize he’s pulled away, that his wet lips are no longer on mine. I place a hand on his chest, as if to steady myself, then look into his eyes again.

  Is that shame I see?

  He shakes his head, seeming to be startled by what he’s just done, as if kissing me were some horrible crime. Maybe I should feel the same way, but my heart won’t let me. Instead of allowing him to beat himself up for doing something I’ve wanted him to for so long, I begin fingering the buttons of his shirt, then unbutton them one by one.

  “Natalie…” he murmurs in a low growl. “We can’t. You know it’s not right.”

  “Why isn’t it right?” I challenge him. Every fiber of my being is telling me it is.

  “Your father is my friend,” he says like every single syllable is painful, but he does nothing to stop me from continuing to unbutton his shirt.

  “So what?” I push the material of his shirt apart, exposing the chest that is covered with the perfect smattering of dark hair, hair that I can’t help but to slide my fingers through, his muscles hard beneath my palms.

  “I’m not going to be able to stop,” he tells me with desperation in his eyes, his rock-hard cock pushing harder into me.

  “I don’t want you to.” And I don’t. I’m desperate for him.

  In one swift motion, he grabs underneath my thighs and wraps his arms around to my rear. And then, keeping perfect balance, he stands to his feet, carrying me with him as if I weigh absolutely nothing.

  He lets my feet slide down his legs to the ground, then kisses me again while dragging his hand up my thighs and lifting my dress up. He drags it further and further up my body until I have to step away from our kiss in order to pull it up and over my head.

  With his hungry eyes all over me, I unclasp my bra, dropping it to the ground while at the same time slipping out of my panties.

  Jack holds onto my naked hips, his eyes roving the entirety of my body, the bulge below his pants straining to get out.

  “You know how fucking beautiful you are, Natalie?” He only slips his hands away from me to undo his belt and then to unbutton and unzip himself. I’d already opened up his shirt, but he now pretty much rips it off of his torso. “Do you?”

  “I… I want you so bad, Jack,” I tell him, my voice yearning.

  “God, I want you too.” In another quick movement, his hands are back under my thighs, and he picks me up so that I’m straddling him. Never taking his eyes off of mine, he whips me around and gently lays me onto the blanket. He nudges at my thighs, spreading my legs before he pushes his pants and boxers down.

  And that’s when I see it, his cock springing to life, so hard and thick and big that I just know it’s going to hurt like hell going in, and yet I’m just as desperate for it now as I’ve ever been.

  He grips himself, then positions his body above mine, his thickness pressing up against my naked thigh. Instinctively, I spread my legs wider. He pushes his hardness just along my opening, and I’m so wet that it embarrasses me.

  “Are you sure? Are you really sure?” He keeps his eyes on mine when he asks, some kind of torment in his tone.

  “Yes, Jack… I want it. Don’t make me beg.”

  Relief seems to flash over his eyes, and then he’s opening me up, spreading me as he forces himself in.

  I cry out because it hurts so damn much, but I hold tight to his shoulders, wanting all of him, trusting the pain won’t last forever.

  “You okay?” he whispers, halting his progress while bringing his lips to my neck, my chin and my lips.

  “I just want you,” I get out before biting my lip and strengthening my grip on him.

  At my okay, I can feel him rearing back and then pushing in again, stretching me to my limits with his girth. I’m overcome with a mix of pain and pleasure like I’ve never experienced or found myself able to understand before. No dream or self pleasure has ever brought me anywhere close to this all encompassing feeling of wanting Jack to remain rooted inside of me.

  He’s lets out a pleasurable moan as he begins to thrust, me feeling like he’s tearing my insides out but not caring because my sexual need trumps whatever discomfort there is in this.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he continues to thrust into me, the pain beginning to subside slightly as an exquisite kind of enjoyment overtakes it.

  “And you’re my first,” I manage, wanting him to know, wanting him to realize he’s the first man to ever be inside of me, the first and hopefully last man to make me feel this way.

  He stops when all I want is for him to keep going. His head jerks up, and he narrows his eyes at me. “What?”

  “You’re my first,” I repeat
, clutching his wide shoulders, not wanting him to move the weight of his body off of mine.

  “I am?” His tone is uncertain. “You and Michael… never?”

  “No. Never.” I love the feel of Jack inside of me so much that I’m beyond thankful I don’t have to deal with a memory of what it might have been like with Michael.

  “So… you’re a virgin.” His voice cracks, like he can’t believe it.

  “I was… until…” I slide one of my hands down his back. “Please, Jack. Don’t stop.”

  There is a moment where I think he’s considering doing just that. I’d have kept my mouth shut had I imagined he’d think me being a virgin was a bad thing, that it would add to whatever guilt he was feeling about having sex with his friend’s daughter. But he doesn’t keep me waiting. His need overtakes those ridiculous notions as he rears back and eases all the way into me, never taking his eyes away from mine.

  Warmth gushes through my entire body at our continued connection. I’m floating on clouds while at the same time being grounded by a heavy sense of need in my gut and a burning, almost unquenchable desire between my legs. I’m my authentic self with Jack, not having to make up or exaggerate the cries of pleasure that escape my lips. And the pain is finally buried by my intense need for him, for every last inch.

  I drag my fingers through the hair of his chest, trailing down, all the way until I’m just above his cock, watching with excited interest at the place where our bodies meet, where he disappears into me. When I bring my eyes back up, his eyes have never left me, and then it’s a perfect storm of everything meeting because I feel something I’ve never felt before, like the lifting of my body and the vibrations of every last nerve and a contrasting pressure that pulls and pops until I feel as though something has just burst and I can’t help but shudder and cry out in a pure form of ecstasy.

  Jacks kisses me with his thick lips and speeds his powerful thrusts, the friction of his cock inside of me punctuating my reveling in the other-worldly orgasm he’s given me.