by Banks, R. R.
Resting my hand against her belly, I turned it so that I could continue to stroke her with my thumb. Within seconds Rue cried out, one hand pulling up on the comforter beside her while the other dug into my hair. I felt her walls closing around my tongue and I pressed further into her, closing my mouth over her core and drawing lightly against it to further her sensations. The climax sent a new rush of fluids into my mouth and I lapped them up, the combination of the slick heat against my lips and the taste of her making my cock even harder.
I stayed where I was until I felt Rue coming down from the most intense peak of the orgasm and then I stood. I walked to the nightstand beside our bed and withdrew a condom from the box I kept in the top drawer. Taking my place at the end of the bed again, I rested the condom on the tip of my cock and unrolled it to the base. Rue was watching me, her eyes hungry even through the veil of sleepy satisfaction that had taken over. I leaned down and touched a kiss to her lips before tucking a hand beneath her hip and flipping her over onto her belly. She gasped as I pressed one thigh up to bend by her side and leaned down to lick from the lowest point of her back up her spine to her neck. Stretching out across her back, I grasped hold of my cock and led it to her opening. I sank inside of her easily, welcomed by walls softened and made slippery by her arousal.
Soon I was fully within her and I wrapped one arm under her chest, cupping her breast in my palm. I pressed the other hand to the mattress beside her to give myself leverage and began to rock my hips. The position drove me deep within Rue without causing me to pull away from her, and I moaned at the sheer luxury of her body melding with mine. I propped one knee up on the mattress, using it to support the leg that Rue had bent at her side, and picked up my pace. I kissed along her neck and shoulder as I thrust into her, my breaths tearing out of me in ragged gasps as the powerful pleasure that her body created spiraled higher and higher until I felt that I couldn’t tolerate any more of it.
I dropped my head back and roared as the rush of my orgasm slammed into me and I felt my cock harden, pulse, and spill into Rue. She pressed her hips back, rocking them in time with my own tiny thrusts so that she continued to stimulate my cock, riding me through wave after wave of blissful climax. I grabbed onto her hips and lifted them slightly, holding them in place so that I could thrust all the way into her and hold myself in place. I took the other hand and wrapped it around her hips, finding her wet clit again and rubbing it intensely, not letting up even when Rue squirmed and cried out. She rose up on her knees, spreading them far apart so that I could force even deeper into her and my hand moved more freely against her pearl until she screamed, and I felt another powerful orgasm rush through her.
The feeling of her walls spasming around my cock sent me into a second wave and I pounded into her with ferocity, wanting every drop of the overwhelming pleasure that both of us were experiencing to linger on. Finally, she dropped forward on the mattress and I collapsed down on top of her, gathering her up into my arms and nuzzling my face into the curve of her neck. Our breathing synchronized and slowed gradually as our bodies cooled and relaxed. We felt like one, completely melded, absolutely contented and at peace.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rue
My body was still humming, and I was feeling a contended glow over me as I latched Clementine into her car seat and settled beside her. I knew eventually I was going to go back to riding in the front seat of the car like a normal adult, but for right then I wasn’t a normal adult. I was a new mother and there wasn’t anything that was getting me out of the seat right beside my tiny daughter. If I was sitting in the front seat and I peeked around back, all I would be able to see would be the back of her seat. I needed to be right there beside her where I could look down into her seat and see her perfect little face. Sometimes I thought about the bright pink plastic mirror that I had gotten at my post-baby shower a few weeks before. It was designed to hook onto the handle of the car seat so that if I was sitting in the front I could look back and see the reflection of her. It seemed like a good idea in concept, and like one of those things that I would have raved about before I got pregnant and would probably have even gotten for a pregnant friend and puffed up my chest in pride at having given her something so very useful. Now that Clementine was here, however, there was no way in living hell I was going to rely on a reflection to feel confident that my baby was alright.
What if she was choking?
What if her harness gave out?
What if a giant spider crawled out from under the seat and started climbing around on her wanting to lay its eggs in her soft spot?
I wasn’t going to be able to take off my seatbelt and fling myself backwards over the seat to get to her in time. Nope. I was going to keep my place firmly beside her until I was sure that she was going to be safe during the entire trip or Richard started teaching her to drive. Whichever came first.
As we drove toward the orchard one county over we passed by the old wooden sign for Galloway’s Farm. The paint was faded now and if I didn’t know that’s what it said, I might not be able to read it. Old Man Galloway, who had been called that since before I was a child and was probably now more like Close to Dust Man Galloway, hadn’t ever seemed too motivated to refresh the sign. Everybody in the tri-county area knew where the farm was, so they didn’t really need a sign to direct them. Unfortunately, it seemed in recent years that even knowing where to find them wasn’t enough to get many people out to the farm. I could still remember when I was younger and every year we’d go out to Galloway’s Farm to pick pumpkins and eat the hot doughnuts that Mrs. Galloway would serve out of the little wooden stand she set up near the front of the pumpkin patch.
The popularity of the patch had waned over the years, though, and recently the farm had stayed mostly quiet all through the autumn months. This year, though, things seemed to have taken a bit of a turn. As we drove by I noticed several trucks heading down the curvy dirt road that led to the farm and could hear faint sounds of construction work coming through the woods. I had heard rumors that there were some big goings-on over there in the last couple of weeks and it was good to see, at least for now, that they weren’t just mutterings like old Samson Greene’s Great Ghost of Whiskey Hollow Lake hubbub from a few years back. That one happened after a particularly moonshine-filled evening and involved a missing goat, three petticoats from a clothesline, and a couple of teenagers who I dare say will never go skinny-dipping again.
The drive to the orchard was peaceful with Clementine nodding off to sleep a few minutes in and the golden late morning sun making the fall foliage seem even more magnificent. When we reached the gravel parking lot of the orchard it seemed that nearly everyone else had had the same idea as we had. We had to park all the way in the back of the lot where we ended up somewhat tilted into an old tractor track.
“I bet you’re missing your limo and driver now, aren’t you?” I teased as I watched Richard climb out of the car and come around to my door to get Clementine and me out.
“Not at all,” he said. “You’re the one who said we didn’t have anything to be late for. If we had left when I said we should, we would have a front row parking spot and be up to our eyeballs in honey crisps right now.”
“And you would have wanted to leave right then?” I asked, giving him a suggestive look.
I held the baby close to my chest as I got out, and Richard wrapped an arm around my waist to sweep me up against him for a kiss.
“Not at all,” he repeated, his voice lower and more velvety now. “Besides, if I ever do have need, I have Abraham on speed dial.”
I smiled up at him, admiring the way that his hair was falling a little longer now and the tense lines around his eyes had relaxed in the time that he had spent in Whiskey Hollow with me. He still had his house in the city and his business dealings were only on hold, not permanently gone, but I would take every one of these calm, quiet moments with him that I could.
Richard took Clementine into his arms and we walked ha
nd-in-hand toward the entrance to the orchard. Around us families were filtering through the parking lot and milling around in the little market area that the Crozet family had built up for those visiting their orchards. Here women would sell jars of jellies and preserves, the smell of hot cider filled the air, and craftsmen from all of the surrounding area would display Christmas ornaments, quilts, wood carvings, and other wares. I knew many people who got a head start on their holiday decorating and gift lists right here. Clementine cooed in her sleep in her papa’s arms beside me and I couldn’t help but sigh happily right along with her. Nothing made me happier than knowing that she was going to grow up knowing this place the way that I did, and that she would carry on even after me. The house was safe. The land was protected. The additions that Richard had made only worked to improve our lives and the lives of those who lived here, but it didn’t change it. I might have roamed a little, but in my heart Whiskey Hollow was always my home, and now that I had fully returned, I knew that there was no place that would ever compare, no place that I would rather be.
After taking a few minutes to wander through the market and mention to the people running the stands what I had my eye on, so they would hold them for me, we picked up baskets from the overflowing wheelbarrows at the entrance to the path that led down to the orchards themselves and started toward the trees. The Crozet farm boasted several varieties of apples and eager families were scattered throughout the different groves, picking the almost impossibly perfect fruit from the branches. Grass grew soft and thick among the trees and children nested in it between the rows, eating as many of the apples as their little bellies would hold. Most of what their parents picked would end up getting turned into apple sauce, apple pies, chutneys, and stewed apples, some of which would be featured prominently on Thanksgiving tables in a couple of months. Today, though, the little ones would get their fill of the fresh fruit and sit down to picnic lunches with no room for their cold fried chicken and potato salad.
Clementine opened her eyes just long enough for us to prop her up against one of the trees in her blanket, tuck an apple in her lap, and snap a picture of her. I looked forward to putting it in her scrapbook so that when she grew up and might not want to come back here every fall and pick apples with me, at least I could remember when she was this tiny and really didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Ah, parenthood. Squeezing a lifetime of memories into the years when your children will go along with you and then taking what you can get afterwards.
We hadn’t brought a picnic with us so when we finished filling our baskets with apples and put them in our car, we took the trek back to the market and got in line at Bubba Ray’s food truck. He grinned out at us from the window when we got to the front.
“Well, hi there,” he said. “Beautiful day to be out picking apples.”
“It sure is, Bubba Ray,” I said. “How’s business?”
“Can’t keep up,” he said proudly. “I can’t thank you enough for this. Used to be I had to wait for people to come into the restaurant, and while I had my regulars and there were some people who would stop by for a bite after seeing my Christmas bowls, it just wasn’t all that I wanted it to be and I was starting to get a little worried, if I can be honest with you. But this food truck,” he reached out and patted the side of the shining white vehicle with all the pride of a father patting his quarter back son on the back, “this thing is making my dreams come true. You know that someone called me the other day from the Daley fair? They want me to go all the way out there and set up my truck. Prime spot, too. Right near the Ferris wheel.”
“That’s wonderful, Bubba Ray. Congratulations.”
“Well, it’s all because of you.”
“No,” Richard said, shaking his head. “It’s all because of you. This is just a truck. You’re the one with the ideas and the food.”
“Well, you’re right about that. And speaking of food,” he stepped back from the window and held out his arms as if to encompass the entirety of the truck and all that was in it. “why don’t you let me rustle you up something to eat? My treat.”
“In celebration of your ever-growing success, I think I’ll try the County Fair-jitas,” Richard said.
“And I’ll have the chips and queso,” I said.
“Make that two.”
I turned toward the voice behind me, knowing that it couldn’t possibly be who it sounded like. My heart jumped when I saw Christopher standing behind me, the tiny red and yellow apples embroidered on his shirt the perfect touch for the day. He smiled at me and opened his arms, gathering me in a hug that smelled distinctly of cinnamon.
Dear lord I loved this man and his details.
“What are you doing here?” I asked when we stepped back from each other.
“I thought I would do a little apple picking,” he said.
“Do you think that I can pull this off?”
Tessie’s voice was distinctive in the bustle of the market and I turned to see her coming toward us. Her arms were laden with packages and bags from the various vendors and she wore an enormous hat with a pale blue blusher, satin ribbon, and what looked like a cluster of frosted cherries.
Dolly Simpson made that. I would know her monstrous creations anywhere.
“It’s gorgeous,” Christopher said. “You could wear that to church.”
“I will,” Tessie said, coming to my side. “I’m going to wear it to the Homecoming picnic with my blue pantsuit. Jesus will like it. I will wear it for his glory.”
I loved when Tessie suddenly reached down into roots and got deeply spiritual for no particular reason.
I shook my head and hugged her, trying to duck out of the way of the brim of the hat so that it didn’t hit me in the eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I asked again. “I’ve never been able to get the two of you out here without dragging you kicking and screaming.”
“Not true,” Christopher said. “We came to your post-baby shower.”
“Via satellite,” I said. “Beaming you into the room through a laptop screen doesn’t count as you actually being there.”
“We recreated all of the decorations and games in Tessie’s living room,” he protested. “Besides, it’s not our fault that we weren’t technically invited and that the one that we planned for you was going to be so much better that we didn’t want to waste any of our merriment.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, but it still doesn’t answer my question as to what has dragged the two of you out of your concrete playpen and into my neck of the woods.”
“So, so literal. So literal,” Christopher said, shaking his head. “Where’s my child?”
I gestured toward Richard, who handed Clementine to Christopher before accepting our plates of food from Bubba Ray. I noticed that he had snuck a couple of orders of Choreos in and was now trying to lift his plate up to his mouth to take one without aid of fingers.
“We missed you,” Tessie said.
“I missed you, too, but you’ve been missing me for weeks. Why now?”
“I invited them.”
The slightly muffled sound of Richard’s voice told me that he had managed to get the cookie and was munching his way through it as he tried to talk. I had to laugh as I reached up and brushed a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t too long ago that he never would have done something like that. The thought of eating a deep-fried Oreo would have been enough out of his comfort zone to make him shudder, but to do so while speaking and wearing clothing that didn’t have his monogram inside would have been just too horrible to fathom. While I never would have wanted him to be a totally different person than the one I met, after all, it was that man who I fell in love with, it was nice to see him soften up and discover the simpler pleasures of life. And to be fair, I wasn’t exactly frowning about the upgrades he had made to the house, the second, much larger house that he was building just behind it, or the new closet that I was steadily filling with clothes. We had blended into ea
ch other, and it was more wonderful than anything I could have imagined.
Almost.
“You did?”
He nodded and gestured for us to follow him.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
We walked past the market and beyond the old farmhouse that had been converted into a year-round Christmas shop when the Crozet family built another house on the other side of the orchard. Soon we were away from the bustling of the market and into an open area that I could imagine was once a pasture for the animals that would have worked the farm when it was still in operation many generations before. There was a truck sitting in the middle of the pasture, and for a second I thought that it was just an abandoned vehicle, or possibly one of the trucks that Billy Crozet used to gather up the apples that fell on the ground and bring them around to the neighboring farms to use for feed.
When I looked a little harder, however, I realized that it was the same beaten-up old truck that Richard had bought from Cletus and brought to my house the night of our first real date, the night Clementine was born. It had been painted completely white, though none of the dents or scratches had been filled up or fully covered. Richard smiled at me when I looked up at him curiously and continued toward the truck, the rest of the group in tow. As we approached I realized that the bed of the truck had been spread with a quilt and a picnic basket was sitting on the tool box at the back. He settled the plates of food onto the wheel well and helped me up into the bed before climbing in after me. I expected Christopher and Tessie to come in as well, but they hovered back several yards away from the truck, talking to Clementine as though they had become her parents and for a few minutes they were their own little family.