by J. L. White
We’re fully clothed, standing up, and already I feel like Connor is making love to me. Oh god, I can’t fight this. I don’t want to. I kiss him with all the feeling in my heart, longing for him even though he’s right here.
He pulls away just slightly, holding my face with both his hands, holding my eyes with his. Our breaths are hot and shallow. We’re just looking at one another, and our gaze deepens. I look at him, and slide right in.
Still holding each other’s eyes, we slowly start removing our clothing. When I’m down to nothing but my panties, and he is completely nude in front of me with an erection that makes my core molten and a look that makes my heart ache, he brings me to him. His arms are around my waist. My bare chest is against his. I’m falling.
We kiss as he helps me pull down my panties. When they fall to the floor, he turns me and backs me up to the bed. We come back onto it and he sinks in on top of me. I bring my knees up and he settles in against me, his hard desire for me pressing against my throbbing folds. I want him. Not just him inside me, but him. My heart starts to ache.
He kisses me and caresses me so lovingly, and I’m doing it right back. He reaches for the drawer next to the bed, and we don’t stop kissing. I hear the crinkling of the little package as he pulls out a condom, hear the soft pant of our breaths, and we don’t stop.
Our embrace tightens, and tightens, and we roll over as one body, him on his back now and me on top. His hands behind me are working to open the package, and we break our kiss just for a moment as he finishes the job and rolls it on. I watch his face, then dip down and kiss his jaw.
I tug on him indicating I want to go back to the way we were. He kisses me, his tongue tasting me, and rolls us back over. I sigh with satisfaction as his weight settles on me. Holding him, I run my hand into his hair and slowly wrap my legs around his waist. Holding my jaw with one hand, he takes hold of himself with the other, and gradually slides himself inside me. I exhale softly and tilt my head back, unable to maintain our kiss as he stretches and fills me.
He kisses my neck and brings his hand up so he can tuck his arm under my shoulders and hold me. My grip tightens in his hair and around his waist. I bring my eyes to his. Holding my gaze, his parted lips just brushing against my slightly open mouth, he begins to rock himself inside me.
My heart is aching, but I don’t pull back, because no one’s ever made love to me the way Connor is right now. We rock together as one, kissing and caressing, our hot breaths blending together.
Then our rhythm picks up slightly, and our kiss deepens. I feel it in the core of my very soul. I feel his soul brushing against mine, feather light and on fire.
My body is burning. I spread myself for him, wanting all he can give me. And as he works himself inside me, and I rock my hips to feel him more, and our pace quickens, and our kisses alternate with shallow gasps for breath, our eyes never leave the other.
I feel the climax building in me, pushing higher and hotter, and see it climbing on his face as well. And still we watch each other with tenderness. Then the pleasure begins to peak so much that I can’t keep from closing my eyes and whimpering before looking at him again. And this is how it goes on. Connor stroking me from within and our mouths coming together and away, eyes closed, then open and searching for one another, arms and hands moving then hanging on.
And now our movements are more intense. Stronger and faster. He grips the back of my head. I tuck my nose into the crook of his neck. I’m stretching more and more open and he’s getting harder and harder and I almost can’t breathe. I gasp and rock my hips up, needing more. He grips my shoulder, grips my hair, sucks on my neck, increases his speed, and I feel the heat blazing up through my chest and face.
I cry out once, twice, as my impending orgasm grips my entire body. “Yes,” I gasp, hanging on to his back, his muscles hardening as he climbs too. “Ye—” I gasp for breath, stretching open hard, pressing my forehead against his neck. “Yes,” I bite out.
His hand grips my head and he pumps me faster and the pleasure in me pushes hard and fast to its peak. My climax breaks through me and I’m letting out a long, slow cry of release as he works himself even faster. When he stiffens and moans himself, the waves of pleasure are pumping through me so hard I hear the blood pulsing in my ears.
And still I hang on to him. And he hangs on to me. And our holds on one another stay firm as we ride out our orgasms together. It goes on and on, and when I come down, I come down slowly, throbbing with pleasure and panting with shock. Because this makes things different now.
As we gradually relax and slow, our breaths come deeper. Our grip on one another softens, but we’re still tucked into one another, and his hand is still on the back of my head. He rubs it gently, lovingly, and puts a tender kiss on my shoulder.
In that moment, I become more his than I’ve ever been.
By the time we get back to his place, I’m feeling shaken. We walk into the living room, but instead of going up the stairs, I sink onto the couch, rubbing my forearms.
“Are you okay?” He sits next to me. “You’ve been really quiet.”
I’m looking at the floral vase on the table next to the chair, the satin throw pillow, the ornate lamp. I’m scared to tell him what I’m thinking.
“What’s wrong?”
“This doesn’t really seem your style,” I say, stalling.
“Well, that’s because it’s not. It’s Lizzy’s style. This is her place.”
I look at him full on, my mood getting even more serious. “Because you’re only here temporarily?”
He’s watching me carefully, trying to figure me out. “I don’t want to get a place until I know what I’m doing.”
Now it’s all starting to sink in. “So all this furniture is hers?”
He nods. “What’s wrong?” he asks again, concerned but still trying to work out what’s going on.
“Is there anything you own you couldn’t pack up on your boat and take with you if you left?”
He hesitates, and the look on his face tells me he may understand what this conversation is about now. “Does the car count?”
I don’t know if that counts. He would have to buy a car to use here regardless of his ultimate decision, right? “Did you buy it, or are you borrowing it?”
He sighs and takes my hand into his. “Neither. I inherited it.”
“So you haven’t done anything to put down roots here?”
“I’ve... spent the last eight months working here. That’s something.”
I nod. “Yes. It is. But you don’t know if you’re staying or not.”
“No. I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry?” I try to ask like it’s no big deal, but my voice is betraying my emotions and I’m starting to tear up. Shit. I didn’t want to do this. I turn my head away, blinking back the tears and trying to get myself under control.
“Whitney...” he says softly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not trying to make this difficult.”
“You’re not...”
“It’s just that I... I think I—” I abruptly stop myself from saying what I was going to say and just as quickly change tracks. “I know you said we shouldn’t start again because it would be too hard so I shouldn’t complain but I think I’m falling for you.” And there it is. The thing I wasn’t going to say just two seconds ago. I close my eyes and fall back against the couch. I press my palms to my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you.”
“No I....” He gently pulls my hands down from my face and holds my eyes. “I’m pretty fucking fond of you, too,” he says thickly, and my heart starts to pound. “More than fond.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye again.” I hate the pleading sound in my voice.
“I don’t either.”
I exhale in frustration. We didn’t want to say goodbye last time, but that’s not what I mean. “I mean, I really, really don’t want to say goodbye.”
He puts his hand
s on either side of my face and hold my eyes. “I know what you mean. I don’t either.”
He has my attention now. Does he mean what I think he means? “What are you saying?” I’m afraid to hope, but of course doing it anyway.
“I’m saying… things are different now. Would you be open to a long distance relationship?”
My heart lifts and my lips part as I exhale softly in relief, but I’m still holding back on the reins. My brain is spinning. What does he mean things are different? “So, the thing about not being able to make promises. You feel you can now?”
He hesitates, and I hold my breath. He takes my hands inside of his and looks at them.
“I want to say yes, but the honest answer is I don’t know.”
My heart falls. “So how are things different?”
“They’re different,” he says looking at me, “because before I would’ve said I definitely can’t make promises. But now... I don’t know. Maybe I can. Look, we don’t have to talk major commitments right now. But,” he says, looking at me earnestly, “I want to at least try things. Don’t you? No, I can’t make promises, but I don’t know if anyone could make promises at this early stage. Not even normal people.”
I let out a small laugh. “Normal people, not hopeless wanderers?”
He smiles. “Right. I mean, are you in a place where you could make the ultimate promise to me?”
I don’t know. Maybe. But I see his point.
“But I do know this.” He takes my face in his hands again. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever. This—” He strokes my cheek so tenderly I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know this kind of feeling really existed. I can’t let you go, Whitney. Not again.”
My heart lifts right out of my chest and I don’t want to stop it this time. “So it’s not goodbye?” I ask, smiling.
He shakes his head, smiling too.
I’m so relieved, I don’t just kiss him. I kiss him over and over and crawl onto his lap and give him a full body hug. He laughs and hugs me too, and when I pull back to look in his face, his eyes have a spark in them that I feel in my heart. We’re both past smiling. We’re beaming at each other.
“This makes me so happy,” I say.
“Me too.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t live too far.”
“It doesn’t matter how far away you are. I’d cross the globe for you.”
I’m still grinning at him. “You’d cross the globe for a hat.”
He laughs, then holds my face again and gets that serious look in his eyes. “You’re worth far more than a hat.”
Chapter 21
Connor
God, I really hope I don’t fuck this up. But things are to the point where I have to at least try. The thought of Whitney leaving and that being the end of things was driving me crazy. Her actually leaving wasn’t great either, but we’ve made plans to see one another again next weekend, so that helps. Today’s Monday, so I only have four more days before I get to see her again. I’m taking off early on Friday and flying up there.
I’m seriously considering buying a plane. Hell, the resort needs one anyway, doesn’t it? Okay, maybe not. We’ve survived this long without one, true. But if we had a private plane I could go up to see Whitney anytime I wanted. I could send the plane for her anytime she wanted to come down.
Back when I was living on the boat, I’d thought about buying a plane then too. It would definitely make overland travel a lot easier.
But I’m not going to think about my wandering days. I’m going to see if I can do the roots thing.
Even if the thought of a permanent commitment here is just as unsettling as it’s ever been.
I don’t know why. I do like the work here, and it’s no small part of me that wants to stay. Rayce and Lizzy want me to stay. Whitney wants me to stay. So I’m going to try.
Rayce comes into my office, holding a folded up newspaper in his hand and looking cross. Here’s a step I haven’t taken: I haven’t said anything about this to Rayce. All he’s wanted from me is a decision, or at least an indication of which way I was leaning. I finally have something I can give him... but I don’t feel ready to tell him yet. I don’t know why.
It might be because there’s still something restless inside me, gnawing at me. I hope not. Maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow.
“Do you have the Haven Group report?” he asks. It’s not late. He’s just obsessing. He’s in one of his grouchy moods again. He didn’t use to be this way, but ever since Mom and Dad died...
“I’m finishing it up now,” I say, glancing at him. My hands don’t stop on the keyboard as I continue a sentence I’m writing. “I’ll send it over soon.”
“Can you give me an ETA?”
“Yes. The estimated time of arrival is five minutes after I finish it.” I can’t help it. It irks me when he acts like this.
He huffs and plops the folded up newspaper on my desk. This time I do stop what I’m doing and look to see what headline he’s showing me this time. It’s been awhile since there have been any articles in the local paper about the resort, or us, and I’ve been more than happy to be off the radar.
Before I even see which paper it is, I see the picture. It’s one of Whitney and I dancing on Friday night. It’s pretty hot, actually, and it’d make for a hell of a picture if it weren’t in the stupid paper.
I don’t even have to look to know this has to be Rita Becker’s gossip column in the Voice, but my eyes skip over to the byline to verify it anyway. Yep, there it is. Headline: “Wild Child Living Up to the Rivers Name?” I roll my eyes. It must be a slow day in Swan Pointe for the Voice to consider my dancing at Martini Ranch to be gossip worthy.
Swan Pointe’s local Indie rag can be categorized by mostly intelligent (if sometimes scathing) editorial essays, trendy feature articles, thorough coverage of Swan Pointe’s Indie arts and music scene, and personal ads wherein local residents can find their next gardener, accountant, or masseuse willing to give them a happy ending. I’d like their publication a lot better if they didn’t pump up Rita’s ego by giving her regular print space.
“Did you see this?” Rayce asks.
“No.” I return to my report, wondering if I need to give Whitney a head’s up. I probably should. She won’t see it in San Francisco, but she should know about it anyway.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“No.”
I’ll read it later. I’m just trying to be difficult. But he’s the one who came into my office with attitude. I haven’t even done anything to him today.
“You should be more careful,” he says, gesturing to the paper.
“We were just dancing.”
“Uh huh. At least have the common sense to go somewhere private, instead of, say, making out on the grounds for everyone to see.”
I glance up at him. Someone must’ve seen me kiss Whitney in the labyrinth, but I’m too irritated to ask who. Whatever’s going on with him, I wish he’d get over it already and stop taking things out on me. Maybe he’s the one who needs a girl. Who the fuck knows.
“We weren’t making out.”
“That’s not what Olivia Walsh said. She came to Lizzy crying because she saw you and that girl making out in the gardens.”
“Her name is Whitney, and why would Olivia Walsh be crying about that?”
“Because she’s secretly in love with you.”
“Oh, god,” I say rolling my eyes. “Stop being such a drama queen. Do you want me to finish this report or not?”
“You know, you represent this resort, Connor.”
“Yes,” I say. “I know.” I’ve heard this before. God, I’ve heard it for years, and I do know it’s important. I don’t take that lightly. But at the same time, you can’t let this kind of gossip bullshit get to you. Rayce knows this. But these days, everything gets to him. He never used to have such a short fuse.
“People are watching us now. They’re waiting for us to screw up and
prove we can’t do what Mom and Dad did here. We need to be careful.”
I soften a bit at this. We’ve all felt the pressure of being handed our parents’ legacy years before we were ready for it. “Everything’s fine,” I say, letting go of my inclination to poke at him and really looking him in the eye. “The resort is fine. And the papers have moved on to the next story. This is just Rita getting her jollys.”
He softens too. God, the way we have to tiptoe around each other these days. I miss like hell the way it used to be.
I gesture to my computer screen. “Fifteen minutes, all right?”
He sighs and nods. “All right. Thanks.”
Ten minutes later I’ve sent Rayce the report and am on to the next thing.
I’ve been feeling restless all morning and am resisting the urge to go the Activity Manager’s office to see if there’s a zip line guide who’d like a few hours off. Not that I ever have any trouble convincing someone to give me part of their shift; I don’t want to take away from anyone’s income, so they still get paid. Working the zip line is one of my go-to strategies for when things get to be too much.
You might think it’s Rayce who’s getting to me, but it isn’t. I mean, I don’t like how things are right now with us, but that’s not it. My itchy feet just get the better of me sometimes and I have to get out of the office. I’ll take a group down the zip line or run a kayaking excursion or something. Often I’ll have to work late to make up for it, but it’s worth it.
I’ve been having more problems with this over the past couple months. More and more frequently I’ll wake up, like today, feeling like I’m going to go crazy if I can’t get the hell out of dodge.
Lizzy’s called me out on it recently, too. About a week ago, we were all feeling the pressure building thanks to our upcoming meeting with George Hollister and my continued inability to make a decision about whether or not I’m here to stay. Lizzy confided something I found unsettling. She said, “I fear that one day I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”