End Scene

by Elise Faber

  His eyes never left mine. “You know how long I’ve had that candle?” he asked, carefully putting the lid back on.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “I bought it for your birthday.”

  My breath shuddered out. “But I was already gone.” I’d hit the road as soon as school had gotten out for our senior year, not caring that my eighteenth birthday was a week later.

  “I know. I almost threw it out when you left, but . . . something stopped me.”

  Probably the same something that stopped me from throwing the peach bracelet out the car window and never looking back. “Aaron,” I whispered.

  His hand covered mine, lifting it to his chest where I could feel his heart beating steady and sure beneath my palm. “I’ve brought that with me everywhere over the years. I’ve kept that little piece of you with me on my journeys. Careful to only burn it for a few minutes at a time because I knew, just knew that when it was gone, I wouldn’t be able to get it back.” His eyes lifted to mine. “Get you back.”

  I inhaled, released the breath slowly, my body melting against his. “But I’m here now.”

  “Yes.” His expression went soft. “Yes, Peaches, you are.” He cupped my cheek. “I love you. I always have, and I’ll never stop.”

  Heart rolling over in my chest, its underbelly exposed, the organ belonging solely to this man, I covered his palm with mine and told him the truth that had been in my mind and soul for almost my entire life. “I love you, too.”

  His eyes flared hot, fingers spasming against mine.

  And I don’t know if he bent and kissed me or if I rose on tiptoe to press my lips to his, but all I knew was that I was suddenly in his arms and he was kissing me like he was starving.

  And so was I.

  Ten years led to this moment.

  One hand ran down my spine, clamping over my butt, angling my hips against the hard jut of his erection. I gasped, moved closer, wanting there to be nothing between us, wanting him over me, pressing into me.

  His tore his mouth away, fingers digging into my ass, a little rough, but not painful, and his other hand woven between the strands of my hair, hot against my scalp. Rapid, damp exhalations coated my lips. “Peaches?” he asked, hips thrusting forward.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is this time for Maggie Logic? Or Spreadsheet Logic?” He thrust a thigh between mine, rolled his hips, making me gasp. His cock like granite where it pressed against my stomach, the fingers on my ass encouraging me to ride the long, hard thigh.

  Stars were sparking to life behind my eyes, but I managed to get out. “Maggie Logic. Definitely Maggie Logic.”

  “Thank fucking God,” he said, sweeping me up into his arms and carrying me to the bed.

  He dropped me to the mattress, but I didn’t so much as bounce, he was on top of me that quickly. Bracing himself with one hand by my head, his lips found mine, tongue sliding home, other hand slipping beneath the hem of my T-shirt.

  “So. Fucking. Soft,” he groaned.

  My breath caught when his fingers moved higher, teasing the undersides of my breasts through the satin of my bra, a shiver coursing through me when my nipples beaded against the material.

  I reached for his T-shirt. “Off,” I ordered.

  He sat up, tore it over his head, and I’d tried to take advantage of him moving away to remove my own shirt.

  But I wasn’t fast enough.

  All that quickly, he was back on top of me, only now I had the gloriousness of his naked chest against my bra-covered one, the silky material of my blouse bunched over my shoulders.

  He chuckled, a low, masculine sound that had moisture spreading between my thighs. “Trapped, Peaches. Just like I like you.” He trailed a finger through the valley of my breasts, sending shockwaves of heat in every direction, my nipples beading and aching for his touch.

  A shuddering breath. “A little help?”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, dipping his head, taking a nipping bite at my side, just beneath my ribcage. “What if I said I like you like this?” I bucked when those teeth closed over my nipple through the fabric of my bra. “Helpless and subject to my every whim.”

  I groaned when he slid the material aside, sucked my nipple deep, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my nerve endings. “I’d say,” I managed to get out as he slowly kissed his way over to my other breast, “that I don’t mind being trapped and subject to your every whim.” He froze, and I sucked in another breath, got another sentence out. “Especially when the result is your mouth on my breasts.”

  His breath hissed out between his teeth.

  I hitched a leg around his waist, arched up. “I’d just prefer your cock inside me while you’re doing it.”

  “Fuck, Peaches,” he said gruffly, the rough words skating down my skin, making my pelvis tilt, and I shamelessly rubbed myself against him. “You’re killing me.”

  I twisted my arms, trying to free them. “I’ll kill you some more if you help a girl out.”

  Silence.

  Then movement. The shirt that had been stuck over my shoulders, obscuring most of my vision, pressing down on my nose and mouth, was gone.

  Only, it didn’t go far.

  Aaron tugged it over my head and used it to keep my hands trapped above me, twisting the material to keep my arms in place. “Your breasts,” he said, sliding down and rubbing his face against the body part in question, “are the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’ve seen them be—”

  I broke off when he slid the cups of my bra up. I gasped when he took one nipple in his mouth, when he rolled the other between thumb and forefinger. I moaned when he spent long minutes sucking and petting, driving my desire higher, making me arch and buck against him, desperate for more, for him to be inside me.

  Then he kissed his way down, dragging his hot tongue along my skin, flicking open the button of my jeans and yanking them off my legs.

  I thought he’d leave my panties in place, tease me through them.

  But a moment later, they were gone, slid down my thighs, tossed aside carelessly. He didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath, to wonder if I’d taste okay. His mouth pressed to my pussy and he licked me up with a long, slow stroke of his tongue.

  I screeched, bucked hard, but thankfully Aaron just held my hips in place and kept his mouth and tongue moving. He remembered all the secret spots we’d discovered together during all those firsts we’d shared, during all of the warm summer nights when we’d snuck into the orchards or into the back of his car or even in one or the other of our bedrooms. The memories were as heady as his tongue, his fingers, and I wound tighter, flew higher, hips moving against his mouth, hands wrapped tight in my shirt, breaths coming in such short gasps I didn’t think I’d ever draw in enough oxygen.

  And then I froze, perched on the cliff for one long, taut moment.

  He pressed his tongue hard against my clit.

  I shattered, plummeting over the edge, catapulting toward Earth as wave after wave of hot, delicious pleasure coursed through my body.

  Limp, eyes bleary, it took me several minutes to just catch my breath. But as I did, I slowly became aware of Aaron next to me, holding me close, running his fingers along my side as he gently coaxed me back to the present.

  “I think I like Maggie Logic,” he murmured, bending to kiss me gently.

  “Me, too,” I said, lips curving as I went to lift my arms, wanting to stroke his face, to hold him close. But the shirt was still tangled, and when I went to free myself, he caught me, held me in place.

  “I thought you didn’t mind being at my whim.”

  I wrapped a thigh around his waist. “Only if you promise to give me more Maggie Logic.”

  He grinned then kissed me until my lungs screamed for air. “I can do more Maggie Logic.” Fingers between my thighs, sliding through the dampness, slipping inside. His finger brushed my clit, and I jumped. “Too sensitive?”

  I nodded.

 
He kept the movements light and steady, coaxing me back up, my skin hot and tight, my pussy wetter than it had ever been. This time when he touched my clit, I groaned, pressed up into the touch and said, “I hope to God you have a condom.”

  “Shh,” he said. “For now, just let me touch you.” He teased me for a few seconds longer, until my eyelids were heavy, until a sheen of sweat had broken out on my skin, and my hips were undulating against his thumb, his palm. I needed release, but I needed him inside me more.

  “Aaron,” I cried out, arching roughly, head tossing from side to side on the pillow. “Tell me. You have. A fucking condom.”

  Oak-colored eyes on mine, the flames of desire within them easy to discern.

  “Please,” I said. “I need you.”

  A nuzzling kiss to my throat, my jaw, my ear. “Okay, Peaches,” he said and reached into the nightstand, extracted a plastic-wrapped square.

  “Thank God,” I breathed.

  He chuckled and the raspy, masculine sound nearly sent me over the edge. But then the condom was on, and he was between my thighs. “Okay?”

  “Now,” I countered, using my legs to pull him down. The shirt fabric had slipped up to my wrists, and was more hindrance than restraint at that point, allowing me to clutch at his shoulders as he slid home.

  “Fuck,” I moaned, the hot brand of him stretching, filling me with more than just desire. It filled me with peace, with home, with love. This man was it for me. He’d always been it, from the first time he’d kissed me beneath the peach trees back in Utah. We’d gone our separate ways, done our damnedest to shatter the ties between us, but while the bond could be buried or muted or ignored, it couldn’t be broken.

  This was him. This was me.

  This was us.

  His lips found mine as we moved together, winding higher and higher, need skyrocketing, desire just mere moments away.

  “I love you, Peaches,” he whispered against my lips.

  And I exploded, crying out, convulsing around him, his thrusts gaining in intensity and speed, drawing out my orgasm, aftershocks of pleasure sparking to life throughout my body until I froze, groaning as he planted himself deep, and his release carried him over the edge.

  It took a long time to catch my breath, to come back to my body, but when I did, Aaron was propped over me, eyes warm as he watched me. “Hi,” I murmured.

  “Hi,” he said back, brushing the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. “You okay?”

  “I’m great.”

  “Good.” He leaned back, tugged my shirt the rest of the way off my arms.

  “Wh—”

  He came close again, eyes gone hot, burning. “Again,” he murmured then pulled me close and slanted his lips over mine. His kiss was everything, incinerating me, somehow filling me with need even though I’d just come twice. I shouldn’t be ready to go again, after Aaron had just so effectively taken me over the edge, but I found that as he kissed me, I was right there with him, my desire ramping back up, my need filling my every pore.

  Ten years to make up for, I supposed, lacing my arms around his neck and kissing him with everything I had.

  His fingers slid south, teasing, making me cry out for wanting him.

  Then those fingers went east again, into the nightstand, extracting another condom.

  We came together on a pair of matching groans, and I reveled in the rightness, in the way our bodies remembered each other, were able to wring every bit of pleasure from within.

  Thus, it wasn’t until much later that I made it outside to my car to retrieve my loaves. The icing wasn’t melted, had actually stayed perfectly in place.

  Which was a good thing, because Aaron’s secret pasta recipe wasn’t in great shape—the pasta had boiled to mush and the sauce was burned, a thick black ring in the pan that told me it would be way too much effort to try and scrub it off.

  We tossed the pot in the trash, along with dumping the pasta mush, and took the loaves to Aaron’s bed, cuddling close as we broke off and fed each other pieces of cinnamon apple bread.

  In the process, the icing warmed and got sticky, coating our fingers.

  We got crumbs everywhere.

  But that was okay, because more than half the fun was licking them up.

  A week later, Aaron, Talbot, and I were lounging around Artie’s pool, soaking in the afternoon sunshine as we devoured some delicious deli sandwiches that Aaron had picked up.

  He and Talbot had developed an easy rapport within about five minutes of Aaron showing up.

  But that wasn’t a surprise, I guessed.

  The quickest way to Talbot’s heart was food, and between the giant sandwiches and three bags of chips, along with the several bottles of wine Aaron had brought—and Tal’s heart was stolen.

  I was just happy to have some sustenance to replenish the calories I was burning off.

  I hadn’t had this much sex . . . since I was a teenager.

  But we were trying to soak it all in before Aaron left for Italy. He would be gone for several weeks to finalize some details for their European market and transportation chain.

  My world traveler.

  Grinning, I let my gaze drift to the sky, watching the white puffs of clouds drift by as Tal and Aaron talked wine.

  “The 2018 vintage—” Aaron’s phone rang. “Sorry,” he said, glancing at the screen where it lay face up on the table. “It’s the Utah winery. I’ve got to get this.” He grabbed his cell, swiping a finger across the screen and lifting it to his ear as he stood up from the table.

  In a food and wine coma, I let my eyes go back to the sky, but when I heard Aaron’s terse, “What?” I straightened in my seat, concern washing over me.

  His face was tense, his questions snapped out. “When? How much is left? How long? Fuck.” He thrust his free hand through his hair. “Get Katie calling the nearby wineries, see if we can borrow theirs. Have Cal get a hold of our mechanic and if he’s not available, there’s a mechanic in Darlington with experience in heavy machinery.” A pause. “Yeah, that’s him. Okay, good job calling me right away. I’ll be on the next plane out and there as soon as I can. Keep in touch.”

  He hung up, dropped his chin to his chest for one long moment. Then he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “I gotta go, Peaches. I’m sorry.”

  My heart pulsed, but I pushed out of my chair, hurried over to him. “What happened?”

  “It was too cold when we harvested, the grapes were too frozen. The team was struggling to press them for juice.” He sighed. “They pushed the machinery too far and broke the whole damned thing.”

  “Oh shit.”

  He nodded, eyes furious except for a touch of humor at the edges. “Yeah,” he muttered. “A big oh shit.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  A shrug. “Things don’t go to plan sometimes.”

  I smiled, said lightly, “That’s Maggie Logic.”

  “I don’t think I’ll make it back before I head off to Italy,” he said, curling his hand around the side of my neck.

  Disappointment slid through me.

  “I know, Peaches,” he murmured, tugging me close. “I’m going to miss you, too. Although . . .” He trailed off when I glanced up at him in question “I was going to ask, albeit in a much more gently and coaxing way . . .”

  I frowned. “Ask what?”

  “. . . preferably after I’d given you several orgasms—”

  “Aaron,” I said, cutting my eyes toward Talbot and seeing he was riveted to our conversation, unashamedly listening in.

  “I’m a statue,” he said. “Forget I’m here.”

  I shook my head, sighed as I turned back to Aaron. “What were you going to ask me, baby?”

  “Come to Italy with me,” he said, brushing back a strand of hair from my face. “With just a brief stop-off in Utah. You can stay at the winery while I get things sorted, go see Tammy, my mom if you want. I know she wants to see you.”

  My lungs froze, and I started to shake my head. I couldn�
�t go to Utah. For a multitude of reasons, not the least of which I could admit had to do with my father being there and me keeping my promise to myself to stop being a punching bag. What if I went back and things were still the same? What if I didn’t stand up for myself? Then everything I’d been thinking and working on over the last months would mean nothing.

  Further that, I couldn’t just leave on a moment’s notice. I had a business. I had clients and responsibilities. “I can’t—”

  “Sure, you can.”

  I jumped, such was the power of Aaron—or perhaps it was the shock-inducing request he’d made—but I’d momentarily forgotten that Talbot was there.

  “No I can’t—”

  “Artie and Pierce are traveling with Brenna. Eden is on her honeymoon,” he said ticking the sentences off on his fingers as he spoke. “And I’m on a break and planning on doing exactly nothing for the next month.”

  “And Kelsey?” I asked. “Or the fact that you don’t have an assistant?”

  I regretted the question when I saw the flare of pain dance across his face, but when I opened my mouth to apologize he said, “Kelsey’s supposed to have her stuff out by tonight, and even a big-time Hollywood celebrity doesn’t need an assistant around to do nothing, does he? I’ll take the next few weeks to interview and hire someone.”

  “What if you need to go out? To pick up food.” I was grasping at straws here. “Or toilet paper.”

  He grinned, slipped his arm around my shoulders, and hugged me against his chest, one that was broad and muscular and probably a real shame that it didn’t send sparks of desire fanning through me.

  Of course, that would have made our working relationship more difficult.

  But Tal was like a brother, if I could have had a brother that rivaled a Greek god, who somehow didn’t make me feel one iota of sexual desire.

  “This isn’t 2020. Toilet paper is readily available in a variety of places.” He kissed my temple. “Plus, there’s such a thing as delivery.” His lips drifted to my ear. “You need to do this. You need to go home and put it all to rest.”

  “But—”

  He pulled back, glared down at me as only he could. “No, buts. No regrets and fears. Just live.”