The Lovers

by Eden Bradley

  These seem to become increasingly sensual to me, even sexual, particularly Jack’s additions: strokes, kisses, releases. Or perhaps this is simply where my mind is going. But on the next round the result is “The imprisoned archer arouses the incredulous fire.” And then “The imperious neophyte fucks the slumbering harvest.”

  “Jesus, Jack, are you sure you’re not an erotica author?” Leo asks, laughing.

  “Maybe I should be,” he says, trying to look serious, but his dimple is flashing in his cheek.

  Or maybe he should just take me down to his cottage and fuck me senseless.

  I squirm in my chair. But I don’t say this. Of course I don’t.

  I turn to Jack and smile, as in on the joke as anyone else at the table. Maybe more so. And he winks at me, a sly wink no one else can see, with his head turned in my direction.

  I don’t know what to think.

  I am on fire.

  Even worse when Jack strokes my thigh beneath the table. And it is no innocent touch. Oh, no. His fingertips trace a line over my knee, upward, then dipping down, up my inner thigh. I jump a little, turn to look at him, and he is still smiling at me, but he stops, moves his hand away. I turn away, my cheeks heating.

  Unbearable, the ache between my thighs, in my breasts.

  We play a little longer, switching places at the table, and therefore our parts in constructing the sentences. But Jack manages to use sensual language, the language of sex, every time. I can hardly stand it.

  Is he sending some message to me? I’d like to think so, but probably this is just Jack being Jack. I have no idea now how serious he was when he whispered to me earlier, or if he was simply teasing me.

  His brief touch was a tease. But again, I have no idea how much intent is behind it, if any.

  Torture.

  We play for nearly two hours before Kenneth begins to yawn.

  “I’ve had too much wine. I need to get to bed,” he says.

  “Probably a good idea.” Viviane stands up. “I want to hit the big farmer’s market in Santa Barbara early tomorrow morning. Anyone coming with me besides Patrice?”

  “I was planning to sleep in, but I might make it.” Leo says, gathering our discarded bits of paper from the table.

  “Wait, let’s save these.” Jack takes the folded scraps from Leo’s hand, who shrugs and hands them over.

  “Tina? You coming tomorrow?” Viviane asks.

  “Yes. Sure.”

  “I’ll come,” Jack says, surprising me.

  “I’ll stay here with Sid, if you don’t mind, Viviane,” Kenneth says, yawning once more.

  “Of course. All right, we leave by eight. I want to get there before everything is picked over. Everyone to bed. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  Viv looks at me, gives a small nod of her head, a reassuring smile.

  Everyone wishes each other a good-night, and I head outside and down the path to my cottage, not wanting to know if Jack will follow me, invite me to be with him. But my heart is pounding.

  The night air is cool, and I pause outside my door to look beyond the gnarled cypress trees. The moon is nearly full, shining down on the dark ocean, its silver orb reflected on the calm water. So beautiful it makes me ache inside. Or maybe it’s not the beauty of the nighttime ocean. Maybe I’m just aching.

  Sighing, I step up to the door, put my hand on the knob. And freeze when I hear footsteps behind me. “Bettina.”

  I turn and find Jack standing there. The moonlight is casting planes of light and shadow on his face, his beard stubble making his features appear darker, more mysterious. But he is a mystery to me, this man, despite his honesty.

  “Hi, Jack. What are you doing here?”

  He smiles, his teeth a flash of white in all those shadows. “I came to see you, of course.”

  I hate the hope shimmering in my system, fluttering in my belly. “What do you want, Jack?”

  He steps forward. “I want to be with you. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

  God, that’s all I wanted to hear. All I needed.

  I don’t want to think about how badly I’ve needed to hear this all day.

  He steps forward and I am unable to move as he descends upon me. And that’s what it feels like, as though he is closing in. I feel his warmth, the sheer size of him, even before he touches me. My skin is cool from the evening air, but when he wraps his arms around me the heat of his body comes right through his shirt and mine.

  He’s nuzzling my hair, and I am melting, like some character in a romance novel. But I really cannot stop myself. I don’t want to.

  “Take me inside,” he says. “I meant what I said earlier. I can’t wait any longer.”

  He slides an arm around me and opens the door, pushes me inside. He’s taking my clothes off as he walks me backward, until I fall, naked, onto the bed. He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp and I watch as he strips his clothes off, revealing tantalizing bits of smooth, lean muscle, golden skin, and finally, his cock. It’s hard and beautiful and I sit up, lean forward, grab his hips and close my mouth over the swollen head.

  “Ah, Bettina…” He sighs. “That’s perfect, baby.”

  He tastes like he smells, that clean scent of fresh laundry, mixed with a bit of musk. I take him into my mouth, trying to swallow him, making my eyes water a little. But I don’t care. I just want to suck him, to please him, to fill my body with his, somehow.

  Using my hands, I pull him in closer, grasping his tight buttocks. I can hear his panting breath, his quiet moans. And I’m growing wetter and wetter, my pussy swelling with need.

  Soon enough. Right now I am happy doing just this.

  Jack’s hands are in my hair, but gently. He’s not one of those guys who force their cock down your throat, choking you. No, I’m doing that on my own, at my pace, even if it’s making my jaw ache, making it hard to breathe.

  “Christ, that’s so good,” Jack murmurs, his fingers tightening, his hips pumping slowly, his pace sensual. “I don’t want to come like this, though. I want to fuck you, baby. I need to. To be inside your hot little cunt. I need it now.”

  He pushes me down on the bed, his cock slipping from my lips. I would feel almost deprived if he weren’t already lowering his body over mine, holding my thighs apart. He has a condom in his hand, and he rolls it on quickly. Then he’s pushing my knees up, until my sex is wide open to him.

  “I love seeing you like this. Your innocent face, your wet pussy. God, what you do to me, girl.”

  My body surges, his guttural tone, his words, making me melt a little, my sex burning with liquid heat.

  “Come on, Jack. Fuck me like you said you would.”

  “Oh, I will.” He smiles, his face torn and loose with desire.

  He is too beautiful like this, looking as if he’s going to just come apart. I can’t believe I do this to him. It feels glorious. Powerful.

  He’s holding me down with one hand on my shoulder, almost painfully. His other hand is holding one of my knees, bent nearly to my chest. But I love feeling so much under his command.

  “Just do it, Jack,” I beg.

  He’s watching me, his gaze on my face, as he slides the tip of his cock into me.

  “Oh…yes, Jack.”

  Pleasure is like water, filling me up, making me swell with it.

  He pushes his way in, slowly, until he’s buried deep. He holds my face in his hand, his grip tight. His eyes are glittering, hungry.

  “Bettina,” he gasps, “I have to really fuck you now. Okay? I mean I have to just fuck you as hard as I can.”

  “Yes, please. Do it, Jack. I need it, too.”

  And I do. I need to feel taken over. I need to lose myself in him.

  He begins a hard, frantic rhythm, his hips pistoning into me, and I am impaled by his cock, over and over. He’s driving pleasure into me, forcing it into my body. And above me, his face is contorted with pleasure, but beautiful, still. More beautiful than ever.

  I am
at that keen edge, waiting, waiting, when he reaches down between us and pinches my clit. Immediately, I am coming, gasping, writhing, sensation driving deep. My sex clenches around his still-pounding cock, my climax hard and sharp and over quickly.

  But he is still fucking me in long, magnificent strokes.

  “I love it when you come, baby,” he says between gritted teeth. “I want to make you come again.”

  “God, Jack. I don’t…oh…I don’t know if I can.”

  He pauses, his breath coming in ragged pants.

  “Do you have a vibrator here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In the nightstand.”

  He smiles. “Good girl.”

  Slipping his cock from me, he reaches over and finds my vibrator. He holds the plastic instrument in front of him, examining the length of it with his hand, running his fingertips over the bumps and ridges. “Very nice. Turn over.”

  I do as he asks. I’m not sure exactly what he has in mind. Not that it matters. My body is burning again simply thinking about it.

  “Now spread those beautiful thighs for me. Yes, that’s it. God, your ass is superb. Perfect.”

  He strokes a hand over the flesh there, and I shiver. When he slides his hand lower, brushing my pussy lips, I moan.

  “You still want it, don’t you? You need more.”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  I push back, trying to let him see how much I want him.

  He snakes an arm around me, much as he did the first time he fucked me, pulling my body in closer, and his cock slips right in.

  “Oh, God.”

  “What is it, baby?”

  “It’s just…you feel so good.”

  It’s even better when he lowers the vibrator between my thighs, turns it on and presses it to my clit.

  “Oh…”

  He begins to fuck me again, his hips moving, pushing his cock deep into my sex. I love how deep he can go in this position, as though he’s hitting the very center of my shivering body. Pleasure is like a wave, cresting, receding. His thrusting cock, the vibrator, are almost more than I can take. I am assaulted by sensation. But it is exactly what I need.

  He leans in and bites the back of my neck, just hard enough that I wonder vaguely if it’ll leave marks. But I love that idea, that he would mark me.

  Make me his.

  Don’t think. Not now.

  No, now I need to give myself over to pleasure. To him.

  He moves faster, his breath panting in my ear, his cock driving into me, over and over. And the vibrator humming against my clit, as it grows harder moment by moment.

  “Ah, baby, I’m going to come. Come with me.”

  He tenses and drives into me, harder, faster, pummeling me. And I can’t take it; I come, shattering beneath him, with him. We moan together, gasp, shudder. My sex is clenching, his cock pulsing inside me, and I can feel the heat of his come through the condom.

  Lovely, all of it.

  Finally, it stops. We stay where we are for several moments. I love the feeling of his big body pressed so close to mine, his heart beating against my back. I love the scent of him, especially after sex. I love the silky texture of his sweat on my skin.

  I love…

  God, don’t go there!

  My heart is hammering in my chest, as much from what I’ve nearly allowed myself to think as from the sex.

  What is wrong with me? I’ve known this man for a little over a week in person, less than a year online, which hardly counts.

  Maybe my head is just spinning with endorphins. Two mind-blowing orgasms in a row will do that, surely.

  Yes, my mind is blown.

  God.

  I really have to get my head straightened out. I just need to calm down.

  But later. Right now he is still with me, his body so close to mine, our skin stuck together, and it’s too good. And when he slips from my body, rolling onto his back, he pulls me into his side, his arm under my shoulders, my head on his chest. Like any other couple after they make love.

  I sigh.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yes, fine. I’m great, actually.”

  “Mmm, me too.”

  He kisses the top of my head, and I have to force myself not to read too much into the sweet gesture, into every little thing he does. But my mind is spinning, both good and bad swirling through: bits of images, shadows, worries and those final shimmering waves of endorphins from coming.

  I really am a mess.

  “Bettina,” he says, his voice sleepy.

  “What?”

  “I can feel you thinking.”

  It makes me laugh. “Okay, so I’m thinking.”

  “At least you waited until we were done. I think you did. It felt like it.”

  “Oh, my brain was turned off the whole time. Don’t worry.”

  “But it turns on the second it’s over?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And?”

  “God, Jack.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t really want to know what’s going through my head.”

  “Why not?”

  I blow out a long breath. “Because you’re a guy.”

  “Thanks for the stereotyping.”

  “Come on, Jack. You know what I mean.”

  He turns onto his side, facing me, and holds my chin in his hand, just as he did earlier, forcing me to look at him. “Bettina, I don’t believe in sleeping with someone I’m not friends with. And friends talk to each other.”

  I nod a little. “So…is that why you don’t want to be in a relationship? Because it’s better just being friends, even with someone you’re sexually involved with?”

  “Believe me, no woman would want to be in a relationship with me. I’m the classic artist—selfish, totally in my head when I’m working. It’s a helluva lot simpler to have sex with a friend. There aren’t the same expectations. It keeps everything in perspective.”

  “I guess it does.” I’m quiet a moment, trying to wrap my head around his reasoning. A part of me really wants to understand it, to believe it. “Is that why things work with you and Audrey?”

  “That’s part of it. It works because we both understand what it’s about. And what it’s not. There are no false expectations, no demands on each other outside of what happens in bed.”

  “And yet it bothers you sometimes.”

  It’s his turn to be quiet, thoughtful. “Yeah. Sometimes. But I get over it quickly enough. How about you?”

  “You mean the Audrey thing? It’s complicated. The whole idea of being with a woman is new to me, so there are other issues involved. She’s shown me new sides of myself, and I’m still processing what it all means. And to be with someone like Audrey, someone with such a powerful aura. Someone so…enchanting. She really made my head spin. But I’m not thinking of her so much anymore,” I finish quietly.

  Leaning in, he brushes a kiss across my lips, pulls back to look at me once more. He reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’m not, either.”

  His tone is so low I can barely hear him. It’s almost as though he doesn’t want to say it. Or he doesn’t want to believe it. But it feels true. Or maybe that’s my wishful thinking.

  God, I hope not.

  My heart is hammering again, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to calm down this time. He’s looking right at me, his eyes a liquid green, intense.

  “Jack, please don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

  “I never say anything I don’t mean. I don’t lie to my friends.”

  And there it is. That word. Friends. I’ve never cared before about being anything more to a man. But I do now.

  Fuck.

  This cannot be good.

  “Bettina?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to tell you something. I’m not sure why, but I do.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “It’s about Audrey.”

  “Okay.”
/>
  I’m not sure I want to hear this. I’m pretty damn sure I don’t. I hold my breath, waiting.

  “She has come as close to hurting me as any woman has since…since my girl in college. And I haven’t let her too close—that’s not the problem. Maybe it’s just that I want her, you know?”

  This is not what I want to hear, but I can’t ask him to stop.

  “The thing is,” he goes on, “nothing has ever made me feel better about her inevitable annual rejection than being with you.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I can’t say anything. What could I say, anyway?

  He pulls me in then, and I rest my cheek against his strong chest, trying not to let myself think that this only means I am still just second choice to him. That’s not necessarily what he meant, is it? We’re both quiet. Apparently he doesn’t need me to respond. Which is good, because all I want to do is blurt out that I’m falling for him.

  I will not do that.

  My pulse is racing, hitching unevenly in my veins. But eventually, as Jack’s breathing calms and his heartbeat beneath my cheek grows lazy, my body stills, and my mind follows.

  I’m sleepy, spent. And it feels too good here, stretched out beside him. After a few minutes I’m struggling against the drowsiness that wants to overtake me. The darkness is like a blanket around us, just outside of the small circle of light cast by the dim bedside lamp. And I can hear the roar of the ocean through the closed window. It has become familiar to me, comforting. Almost as comforting as Jack’s quiet, warm body next to mine. Eventually, I sleep.

  Demo version limitation

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  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I yank open the blue door to my cottage, every bit as furious now as Jack was. Maybe more so. I stomp inside, my flip-flop–covered feet making a sort of ridiculous slapping noise on the wood floor, which stops me and makes me think for a moment.

  He cares. There’s no reason for him to be upset if he didn’t.

  But he doesn’t care enough.