Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “What time is it?” she asked when she opened her eyes that were soft with sleep and, he hoped, happiness to see him.

  “Early,” he said.

  The flame that sparked in her gaze had him leaning down to kiss her again, this time on the padded curve of her collarbone, which he also swiped with his tongue, eliciting a quiver.

  “Do you have plans today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you like to take a trip with me?”

  “Anywhere,” she responded, the desire and honesty in her husky-voiced words leaving him momentarily speechless. “When do we leave?”

  He rolled on top of her, and she opened her thighs to cradle him automatically. As he gently entered her, he was humbled and pleased by the warm welcome of her heat, how wet and ready for him she was, how she responded to his touch so openly and unabashedly. Moving within her with deep, leisurely strokes, he luxuriated in the feel of her pussy gripping him, her arms holding him close, the soft little sighs she released, and let the pleasure take him.

  “We can leave now,” he said after they’d both found their release.

  She laughed and hugged him tight.

  “We should probably get dressed first. Maybe pack a bag?”

  “If you insist, but pack light. I don’t expect you’ll be dressed too much of the time.”

  An hour later, he carried their small bags to the driveway.

  “Um, Elah?” she said tentatively.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you mind if I drive? We’ll be driving, right?”

  “Sure, and yes. Anxious to get out on the open road?”

  “You have no idea,” she said, excitement lighting her eyes. “I want to let my baby fly.”

  “Well, then, let’s go, speed racer,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat.

  After directing her to the highway, he relaxed in his seat and watched the scenery pass, enjoying the comfortable silence of the car. He hadn’t felt this at ease since he was a child, probably not since his mother had died, and certainly not since he’d lost his father. And she was the reason. And that still scared him—even worse, it made him hope. He dared not delve into that feeling, give that hope shape and texture that would make him hurt so much worse when it was gone.

  But maybe you can keep it, keep her… his mind whispered.

  He didn’t want to believe it possible, knew that staying detached was the only way he’d make it, but he couldn’t; she wouldn’t let him. And somewhere deep inside, he knew he was doomed to failure. He’d met his match, and no matter how much he pretended otherwise, he loved it.

  “It’s far too early for that face,” she said, glancing at him quickly, a smile on her lips.

  “And what is ‘that face’?”

  “I’m not quite sure. It isn’t grim, exactly, but not happy, either. Sad, almost wistful, but hopeful as well. Like I said, a much too heavy face for this hour.”

  Another sign that she was getting to him. Elah’s inscrutability was legendary; he counted it as one of his greatest assets. He decided to tell her so.

  “I make it a point not to be overly expressive. It’s unfortunate I gave so much away.”

  She chuckled lightly. “You usually don’t. I almost never know what you’re thinking. I just got lucky. But if it makes you feel better, it’s just you and me, alone together.” She chuckled again. “You can let a little out.”

  Her eyes sparkled when she glanced at him, and he felt himself smiling at her.

  “We’ll see,” he said. But in truth, just taking her to their destination revealed a lot, much more than he’d ever shared with anyone else. He chose not to reflect on what that meant.

  ••••

  Three hours and a grocery store trip for supplies later, Charlotte turned off the main road and drove down what appeared to be a very long driveway. After about a quarter mile, a small cabin appeared, and Elah directed her to park. She got out and looked at her surroundings. The building was a traditional cabin shape, but the wood of the outside walls was a variety of colors.

  “It’s reclaimed,” Elah said as Lottie walked over to touch the material.

  “One of your projects?” she said, and he nodded.

  Tracing her fingers along the wood, she glanced out toward the trees and smiled. “It’s so peaceful here. It feels like we’re the only people in the world.”

  “It does,” he said as he joined her and grabbed her hand, conveying without speaking how special this place was to him.

  They stood still in the silence for a few minutes, watched as the early morning sun melted the last of the lingering mist.

  “Let’s go inside,” he finally said.

  He grabbed their bags and she got the groceries and they went inside. Lottie smiled at her first sight of the interior. The living area was surprisingly large given how small the exterior seemed. One side of the room was a modern kitchen that had basic appliances and a small table; the rest was a living space, complete with a sofa, two chairs and an entertainment center. The decor was a stark mix of woods and white walls, functional, attractive without being overdone; it was quintessentially Elah.

  “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “Thank you. Make yourself comfortable. The bedroom and bath are that way.”

  He gestured toward the door opposite the entrance.

  “Okay,” she said and grabbed her bag and headed to the bedroom.

  Looking around quickly, she laughed at the large bed that dominated the room and noted that the simple, elegant decoration carried through this room as well. She unpacked her bag and then threw herself across the bed, too happy and excited for words to be here with Elah.

  ••••

  He found Charlotte sleeping and decided to let her rest, both because she looked so peaceful and perfect there and because he could use the space. He still wasn’t sure what had compelled him to bring her here; he never brought anyone here. But he didn’t second-guess himself, so he’d gone with the instinct. Now, though, the deeper meaning of having her here hit him full force. And to his surprise, fear and discomfort weren’t at the fore of his mind. No, the idea of letting someone in, letting her in, how good it would feel after all these years alone, was what preoccupied him.

  “Sorry I dozed off,” she said as she entered the living area. “Someone woke me up very early.”

  “I do hope it was worth it,” he said.

  She shrugged. “It was all right.”

  He laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Charlotte.”

  She smiled slyly and sat next to him on the sofa.

  “Do you want to go outside for a bit?”

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  They stood and headed out, and Elah walked her down the paths surrounding the cabin, making a point to note the wild roses that grew around the cabin and in the surrounding woods. A couple hours later, they returned and relaxed for a while before he decided to tackle dinner.

  “Stay right here, Charlotte. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

  As he cooked, the urge to lay his cards on the table, tell her everything about his past rode at him, and as he plated the meal, he decided to go for it. She took a bite and complimented him on the meal. He nodded his thanks and weighed his words carefully, the years of silence a habit hard to break.

  “My father was an artist with flowers, did things no one else could. But he was also a very proud, very stubborn man. He never talked about Armenia. Said it was a small but mighty country, but nothing much beyond that. I used to ask questions, try to get him to talk, but he never said a word. I hope whatever happened was less horrible than I imagine, but whatever it was, he put it behind him and focused on his new life. He loved America, said that coming here was the best thing that had ever happened to him, that it gave him my mother and me and his business.

  “She died when I was young, so it was just me and his shop, and he labored tirelessly at both. I used to resent him for making me work at the shop and tend the plants wh
en the other kids were off playing baseball or whatever, but now I understand that he was just trying to teach me as best he could, be my mother and my father, my whole family, really, and keep his head above water. It was dicey sometimes; it wasn’t uncommon for us to stay at the shop when we were ‘between’ apartments. But things got better. People saw his magic with the flowers, and his reputation grew.”

  He paused and looked at Charlotte, who stared at him with rapt attention.

  “You should have seen the shop on Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, et cetera. What looked like a million flowers, every size and color that a kid could dream of, all lined up, just waiting. I even got pretty good at some of the simpler arrangements, and we’d work for days on end around those big holidays, just me and him and the flowers. We were able to hire a bookkeeper and a cashier, had a small house near the shop, and after years of saving every penny, he even bought the shop outright. Things were good.”

  He grabbed his discarded fork and tapped it on the edge of the table, needing to do something with his hands. Charlotte’s solemn expression told him she knew something bad was coming.

  “So one day, a fancy suit comes in. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Guys like that used to pop in from time to time, buy flowers for their wives or girlfriends or both. But this guy wasn’t interested in flowers. Said he wanted to take the property off our hands, would give a more than generous offer for it. But my father turned him down cold. The guy came back a couple of times, offered more money, tried to change his mind, but my dad always said no.

  “Then one day, we got a new visitor.”

  He stopped again to look at Charlotte, and her stricken expression intensified. She shook her head slightly.

  “My father…?”

  “I didn’t know it at the time, but yes, it was your father. He was unfailingly polite, said that Dad would be paid handsomely, and even better, he’d be helping the whole community because the development that had been slated for the spot would bring untold economic benefit to the area. But my father refused, so the other man nodded and thanked him—said he hoped my father would take care. Three weeks later, I came home from school to find firefighters putting out the last of the shop. The whole building, including the nursery out back, had burned to the ground, my father with it.”

  Her sharp intake of breath had him glancing at her, and the sympathy, almost pity in her eyes had him looking away.

  “They said it was an accident, that he’d mixed some chemicals that had caused an explosion.”

  “Is that…? I mean, could it be possible that he did?”

  “No!” he said sharply, and then he lowered his voice at the expression on her face. “No. He was old school. Didn’t use pesticides, barely used fertilizer. It didn’t make any sense. I tried to tell people that, about the visits, but no one would listen to a grieving teenager.”

  He unclenched the hand he didn’t even notice he’d clenched and looked at Charlotte, trying to keep the memory of those dark, helpless days at bay.

  “A couple of the other shop owners put together some money so I could bury him, but that was that. A couple weeks later, Councilman Trufant came to visit me at our house. I was living alone, but I guess I was old enough that it didn’t matter. In any case, he told me how sorry he was for my loss, said he knew the burden I was carrying, especially being so alone so young. He gave me an envelope with ten thousand dollars cash in it. Even through the grief, I was blown away. I mean, ten thousand dollars? To my mind, it was a fortune.

  “Then the councilman turned somber, told me that now that I was alone, I’d need to make tough choices, said he knew I couldn’t rebuild the shop, that I was too young, too poor, but that he would make sure the property was taken care of, that my father would be proud. He gave me some papers to sign and I didn’t even read them. I just signed, and he left.”

  “B-but you were a kid.”

  Of course his sweet, naive Charlotte would think something like that mattered. He held his tongue, though; he was emotional and didn’t want her getting hurt because of it.

  Instead, he said, “About a month later, all the other shops had sold and there was a groundbreaking ceremony for the development.”

  “Oh—” Realization dawned in her eyes, and her face took on an expression that was part pity, part pride. “That’s why your office is where it is? You stay there because of your father?”

  “Partly.” He shrugged. “And partly to remind myself. I sold my father, his dream, his life’s work for ten thousand dollars. I can’t ever forget that.”

  “Elah, you were—”

  “I was what?” he said, eyes narrowing. “I was just a child? My father was dead! Child or not, I could have fought for him, not just rolled over.”

  She disagreed; her eyes said as much, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment.

  “Do you think my father had something to do with the fire?” she asked.

  When he looked at her, it was her turn to be inscrutable. Her eyes were dark, her face unmoving. She waited for his response.

  “I know he did. He may not have struck the match, but he’s as responsible as the person who did.”

  “So you think he did that…to get the property and make the other people sell?”

  He nodded.

  Charlotte didn’t respond. She just picked up her fork and pushed the pasta around her plate, seeming lost in thought. A long silence passed between, and he regretted bringing her here, telling her this. For years he’d dreamed of destroying Trufant, taking everything he held dear, but in this moment, he felt no satisfaction. There was only sadness, a longing for the comfort he’d felt only minutes ago.

  When she stood and walked out the front door, he wanted to follow her but decided against it. Thinking about his father, telling her of the times he hadn’t spoken of in years had reminded him of the boy he’d been long ago, the one who’d loved his father with his whole heart, the one who’d never considered that the man could do wrong. That was Charlotte now, having to grapple with a reality she hadn’t imagined possible. And then it hit him. Maybe she was grappling with him, with whatever this was between them.

  Unable to sit any longer, he stood and cleaned off the table. As he put away the leftovers and cleaned up after the meal, he had to stop himself from running out after her. The more time passed, the more certain he was that she’d want to leave, so he repacked their belongings and stood in the living room, waiting. Ignoring the little hitch in his chest when she returned, he stood straighter and watched as she walked to the refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of water, waited as she took a few sips. When she finally turned to face him, time stopped, and he braced himself for what was to come.

  “None of the things people say about you are true.”

  She made the statement with such conviction that he could only agree.

  “No, they aren’t.”

  “Yet, you let people believe the worst. For what?”

  “It’s been beneficial. I’ve spent years acquiring information, finding everything I could about—”

  “My father,” she supplied.

  “Yes. Him, the people around him, anything that I could use to bring him down.”

  Finally, her emotions passed over her face, a mixture of sadness and confusion that made him want to reach out to her. But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

  “Elah,” she said, staring at him, “I don’t know what to believe. And you can’t expect me to think the worst of my father on your word alone.”

  Unfair as it was, he wanted just that. She must have sensed his thoughts because she walked toward him and then stopped in front of him.

  “But I know that I feel something for you, and I want to believe that. Can that be enough for now?”

  It was more than he deserved, and he said so. The smile he got in response made it worth it, and when she wrapped his arms around his waist and snuggled against him, he couldn’t do anything but hold her close. She ran her hands up his back and stood on her
tiptoes and kissed his neck, then his chin, and up to his lips. He groaned when she slid her tongue between his lips, questioning at first and then becoming surer, more confident.

  They kissed and caressed for several moments, moving closer and closer to the bedroom, their clothing falling away with each step. When they reached the bedroom, he peeled off her remaining clothes, then his own, and laid them both on the bed.

  “I want to try something,” she said between heated caresses. Elah smiled at her, curious. He didn’t know what she had in mind, but the sly expression on her face made him want to find out.

  “I’m at your disposal.”

  She smiled and reached over him, her luscious breasts brushing across his chest as she pulled open the nightstand. “I stashed this here earlier. Just in case,” she said as she retrieved a small bottle.

  He stared at it intently, then realized it was a container of lube.

  “Charlotte…” He grabbed her hand and stilled it.

  She leaned over and kissed his jaw. “No, I want to share this with you,” she said.

  He released her hand and lay back, watching as she opened the bottle and poured a small amount of the liquid in her palm, hardening in anticipation of what was to come. His excitement must have shown in his expression, for she chuckled and leaned down to rain kisses on his chest and down his side. His hips bucked up when she began stroking his cock from base to tip, spreading the lube she’d collected in her palm. She continued stroking him for a few moments, and he soon stood at full attention, his breathing becoming heavier.

  When she straddled him, the heat of her pussy against his cock hit him in a wave, and the slight tremor that went through her body at the contact had her breasts shifting in the most tantalizing way. She ran her hands down his chest, and when she reached his cock, she encircled him with her fingers. His cock jumped when she touched him, and he moaned when she placed his tip between her lower lips, the slight friction of her hair combining with the heat and moisture gathered in her folds to create an amazing sensation on his cockhead. She moved her hips up and slid his cock down, and he glided through her moisture and heat. She stayed there for a moment, the tip of his cock barely piercing her pussy, before she moved him lower, to her back hole. Up and down she went, spreading her juices, which were mixing with the precum seeping from him and the lube that coated him.