by Dawn Atkins
When she returned, he went for her lush mouth, catching sight of her gray eyes, her pupils wide and gleaming with arousal. He plunged deep with his tongue, his senses slammed with awareness of her scent, her sounds and panted breaths, the brush of her hair, her breasts against his chest, the way she squirmed and bucked beneath him.
The drive to tear away her clothes and get between her thighs almost overpowered him, but he forced himself to slow down, take his time, absorb all of her.
“For God’s sake, Marcus, do not slow down,” she gasped.
“I want to enjoy you,” he teased, kissing her throat. “Oh, no!” she said, shoving him to the side so she could whip off her top and bra. “Here. Enjoy.” She flopped onto the mattress, arms over her head, offering her breasts to him.
“Mmm,” he said, cupping the soft flesh, then tasting one.
She arched into his mouth. “Finally.”
“That’s right. Patience is not one of your virtues, is it?” He suckled her, making her buck and moan and rub herself against him so that he had to fight for control.
“We have to get naked now,” she said, breathless and desperate, going after his belt.
He got her out of her jeans too roughly, but she didn’t seem to mind, and she shoved his pants out of the way. Then they were nude, bodies pressed together. He held his weight off of her with his elbows and paused, letting them adjust to this new intimacy, the heat, the need, the anticipation of the act to come.
“You’re doing it again,” she moaned. “Making…me…wait.” She ripped open a condom packet with her teeth. He took the condom and slid it on. Christine opened her thighs, and dug her fingers into his buttocks, urging him to enter her now.
So much for being tender. With a quick stroke, he buried himself deep.
“Ohhh, so…gooood,” she said, clutching his back.
He groaned at her slick heat, the slide of her muscles, her curves and swells and swollen velvet flesh.
It was as if they’d waited for this from the moment their eyes met in the Harmony House garden, as if I want you had been a pulse between them all these days and weeks. Maybe it had.
CHRISTINE LIFTED HER HIPS to meet Marcus’s thrusts, deep and slow and soooo right. She could not believe how good this felt, how much she needed this. She’d been starving for this. Starving.
In sex, she was usually careful with timing, speeding up or slowing down to match her partner, but with Marcus she just let go. Wherever and however Marcus chose to take her, she knew she’d enjoy the ride. She trusted him, she knew him and he knew her. She let herself slip into pure sensation, reveling in the roller-coaster hitch upward toward the joyous drop to come.
This, this is what sex was supposed to be. This precious physical connection with another person, this intimate joining of need and yearning and lust and love—or at least affection.
Even as she bucked and tightened and rocked toward release, she wanted to hold on, make it last forever, take all the time Marcus could manage. Emotions clotted her throat—gratitude, amazement and joy. Tons of joy.
Then Marcus tensed, nearing orgasm, she thought. She sped her movements, catching up and holding on until she was flying with him through space and time, shivering, feeling spasm after spasm, Marcus’s along with her own.
This was good…. Sooo good.
When they both stilled, Marcus rolled onto his back and Christine rested her cheek on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast and hard beneath her own, which was also racing.
She became aware of the moment-to-moment miracle of being alive—brain waves, energy transfer, circulation, breathing, her trustworthy heart pounding away, 24/7.
The moon gleamed through the window, giving them both an otherworldly glow. She snuggled into the cocoon they’d created, their limbs tangled, their skins sweaty and slippery, so close they seemed to be one body, not two. She felt so relaxed, so relieved, so good. This had to be right.
Marcus rested his hand on the side of her face. “You okay?”
“I’m amazing.”
“You certainly are.” He chuckled, running his fingers through her hair, soothing her. He hugged her closer. She loved that. She’d loved how they’d been together, how she’d felt. Fully there. Not worried or scared or swamped with memories or regrets. Just enjoying it all.
She was settling in, relaxing, when Marcus patted her arm. “I’d better go,” he said, sliding away and sitting up.
“Not yet,” she moaned.
“Didn’t you say David would be saying good-night?”
“Oh. Yes! That’s right.” She’d forgotten. She checked the clock. It was barely ten. Whew. David’s curfew was midnight. That had been careless of her. She’d gotten too lost.
She watched Marcus pull on his jeans, slip on his shirt, button each button with those strong fingers she wanted to feel on her body again.
“With that look on your face, you’re not making it easy to leave.” He leaned down to kiss her, cupping her cheek. He gave her a look so tender it took her breath away.
She wasn’t done with him. Not at all. In the bed still warm from their lovemaking, she wanted more. “Can we do this again?” Next time they could slow down, discover the touches that pleased each other the most.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“I haven’t felt this good in such a long time. I really needed that. If we’re discreet around David…?”
He smiled at her, then opened his mouth to speak.
“Do not give me a folk saying, Marcus.”
“Like all good things must come to an end?”
“Exactly like that.”
“It sounds good to me,” he said on a sigh. “But let’s think about it before we decide.”
“You are terminally sensible, aren’t you?”
“Most of the time, yes. Not around you, it seems.”
She smiled, loving that she’d made him lose his self-control.
He went to the door, opened it a crack to peek out. “I can’t believe I’m sneaking out like a teenager.”
“It’s worth it, Marcus. Remember that.”
“I will. You can count on that.” He gave her a last smile, then slipped out the door.
Restless, Christine dressed and went for a glass of rose-hip tea, deciding to wait out front for David. She felt so good, her body relaxed, her joints loose and graceful. She didn’t remember the last time sex had felt this good.
Maybe it was being in this offbeat place, away from the daily pressures and rush. Or maybe it was Marcus and her together. Some people set each other on fire, didn’t they?
She took her glass to the porch and lay back in the hammock. She loooved the hammock. She looooved the cool breeze, the summer sounds, the smell of the river in the air. Tonight, she looooved everything she could see, smell, taste, hear or touch. Her mind was clear and her worries gone. David was better, after all, and she’d had great sex for a decent reason. Tonight, all was right in her world.
Headlights woke her as a car pulled up to the house. She blinked, then realized she’d fallen asleep in the hammock. Evidently the twins had brought David home early.
Maybe she and David would have a chat like in the old days. No pressure, not too many questions, so she wouldn’t exasperate him. No point pushing her luck.
David stumbled out of the backseat, slammed the door and staggered toward the stairs to his room. Was he drunk? Christine’s heart sank to the dirt.
CHAPTER NINE
“DAVID?” CHRISTINE CALLED. He didn’t acknowledge her, just kept weaving toward the stairs.
She trotted to catch up with him. “David! What’s wrong?”
“Leave me alone,” he said, waving her away.
She stayed with him. “What happened to you?”
“I’m drunk, so beee ’appy. Alcoholz bedder, right? ’S legal.” He lifted his face to hers. She saw that blood had clotted on a raised bruise on his forehead.
“You’re hurt.” She tried to look closer.
“Quiddit.” When he lifted his hand to block her she saw his knuckles were scraped and swollen. He ran then, but lost momentum at the stairs and collapsed on the bottom step.
She sat beside him. “Were you in a fight?”
“I lost Brigitte,” he groaned. “She was ’sposed to come.”
“Brigitte was coming…here?”
“Grandma told me to invite her.”
“She what?” God, Aurora. How was that backing Christine’s authority? She’d okayed a secret visit from Brigitte?
“You got what you wanted,” David said. “I can’ gedder back.” He lay against the steps, which had to be digging into his spine.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t lie. You’re glad.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She’d hoped he’d lose interest in Brigitte, not get dumped. She’d give anything to take away his pain. “I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but there will be other girls. You’re so young and Brigitte is—”
He jerked upright. “Don’t you dare trash Brigitte.” His eyes blazed at her, his face pale in the moonlight. He had so much heart and he was so vulnerable. “Brigitte sees whoIam, not like you. You wan’ me perfec’. You don’t see me at all.” Then, abruptly, his body tensed, and he threw up into the dirt beside the stairs.
She tried to hold his forehead as she’d done when he was little, but he pushed her away and retched again. When he finished he lay back on the stairs, gulping air. “Brigitte’s my life,” he said. “I…miss…her…so much.”
“How did you hurt yourself?” she asked gently.
“I punched a wall…rammed my head. So what? Forgeddit.” He pushed himself to his feet and tramped up the stairs, his hair flopping against his back, his boots thudding unevenly.
She followed him upstairs, even though she knew he’d shut her out. Sure enough, he slammed and locked the door. “Go away!”
She stood outside, helpless as ever. David wasn’t better. He’d cheerfully cleaned his room and set out flowers because Brigitte was coming for a secret visit. Invited by Aurora.
Marcus had warned her. Two steps forward, one back. Except David was not only not better, he seemed worse. He’d gotten drunk—possibly gotten the twins drunk, too—slammed his head and hands into a wall and was even angrier at Christine. If anything, he’d taken three steps back and no steps forward at all.
DAVID SWAYED ON HIS feet, surrounded by the evidence of his broken heart—the flowers he’d cut, the candles on the window ledge he’d used to prop up the curtain so Brigitte could see into the courtyard, the ice chest of food he’d hoarded.
When she hadn’t shown on time, David figured they must have left late, so he had called her—the cell signal from the highway was decent—to find out when they’d arrive.
But it turned out they’d never left Phoenix. Brigitte was at a party. A party, with laughter, music and yelling in the background the whole time they talked.
Her friends had had last-minute car trouble. She hadn’t been able to call him because she didn’t know the Harmony House number. I figured you’d call, she’d said, like it was no big deal. Another time… Later… Whatever… She’d just shrugged it off, happy to skip seeing him and party with her friends instead.
She was pulling away from him. He knew it then for sure. The twins had been nice about it, given him the vodka they’d swiped from their dad for themselves. They hadn’t made him feel stupid for crying, either.
He’d hoped the liquor would numb him out. Instead, he felt raw, like someone had ripped off his skin and left him a blob of jelly on jiggling legs.
He heard a howl right outside his door. Lady. It was as if she sensed his sorrow and echoed it with her own. He opened the door and she trotted inside. She’d never been in his room before. He crouched down and she walked right up to him and licked his wet cheek, then sat on her haunches, watching him. That was nice. She cared, at least.
David rolled a joint with some of the bud he’d saved for Brigitte, hoping it would settle his stomach and make him sleepy. Then he lit the candles for the flicker and glow and the good Brigitte smell. His brain was thick, his body heavy, his limbs like blocks of wood. He wanted to drift off and never wake up again.
But the pot didn’t zone him out. It got him thinking, wondering, scheming. Maybe he should call her again. If he could get to the highway where there was a signal…
He had to fix this, get her back. But how? His thoughts twined and twisted like the pot smoke hovering in the air before him. Maybe the problem was he wasn’t aggressive enough with her. Maybe he had to grow a pair, be a man. She’d prefer a guy who took action, didn’t pout or whine, just went after what he wanted. Sure. He’d been too passive. He knew what he had to do now. It was all so clear. What had taken him so long?
MARCUS AWAKENED TO THE sound of loud, rapid barking. Lady, of course, but he’d never heard her so frantic. He stumbled out of bed, then smelled smoke. Smoke? He yanked on his jeans and ran outside. On the terrace, Lady was scratching at David’s door, barking and whining. She glanced over at Marcus, then back to the door, her bark changing to a high, urgent yip.
He realized the smoke was coming from David’s room. “David!” he shouted, banging on the door with one fist, while trying the knob with the other. Locked. No answer.
Was David inside, overcome by smoke? Smoke killed in minutes, he knew. Marcus’s body went electric. Not again. He would not lose someone else he cared for.
That meant breaking down the door. He slammed his shoulder against the wood, but it was too solid. “David!… Fire!” he shouted. Every second he wasted, the flames consumed more of the oxygen David would need to survive.
He needed a prying tool. Shouting “Fire” and banging doors as he ran, he raced down the stairs, across the terrace to the utility shed, where he grabbed a crowbar and headed back.
Bogie met him at the bottom of the stairs. “What is it?”
“A fire in David’s room. Call 9-1-1. Wake everybody. Get Carl up here to help me with the door.”
Upstairs, Lady was still barking and scratching, but she backed away when he jammed the crowbar between the door and the jamb at the level of the knob. He threw his weight against the far end of the bar. Once, twice, but no good. He brushed sweat from his eyes, threw all he had against the metal rod, his skin tearing from the force of the blow. The door popped open, wood splintering, and smoke and heat exploded out.
Coughing, his eyes running, Marcus covered his mouth with his shirt, held his breath and pushed into the room. His skin tightened in the heat, but he moved forward, praying he wouldn’t find David’s body sprawled lifeless on the floor or in his bed.
The fire crackled at the back wall, yellow-white through the smoke. He felt as though his eyeballs were boiling in his skull.
He banged into a chair, shifted to the left, feeling his way toward the bed. When his shin hit the frame, he patted the mattress, praying the bed was empty.
It was. Thank God. David wasn’t in the room. He rushed out to haul blessed air into his lungs.
Tears streamed down his cheeks and he was coughing hard, but he had to make sure everyone was outside and safe. Carl met him on the terrace carrying a fire extinguisher. “Mitch and Louis are bringing the water sprayer. A hundred gallons.”
“It’s a start. Do what you can with that.” He nodded at the extinguisher. “We’ll start a bucket brigade.”
The fire crew would be volunteers and would likely take some time to get here.
Downstairs, he called to the milling residents, “Help me grab buckets,” then led the way to the greenhouse. At the entrance, he found Christine. “What happened?” she asked. It was surreal to think that only a couple of hours ago, they’d been in bed together. Since then all hell had broken loose.
He took her by the shoulder. “David’s not hurt, okay? There was a fire in his room, but he wasn’t in it.”
“He what? There’s a fire? How did—”
Her eyes were wide. “Where is he then?”
“I don’t know. Right now we’ve got to put out the fire. Come and help.”
She nodded, instantly focused on what had to be done, and hurried after him into the greenhouse.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Christine handed Marcus another water-filled plastic bucket. Her back and arms throbbed from the strain. “Have you seen David?” She’d kept an eye out but hadn’t seen her son.
Marcus shook his head, handing the bucket forward, breathing hard, his face and bare chest streaked with sweat and ash.
“He was so upset. Where would he go? Do you think he would run away? Try to go to Phoenix for Brigitte?”
“How would he manage that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the twins came back for him.” She felt sick thinking about it.
The whine of a siren made everyone pause to listen, then cheer with relief.
“We’ve contained the fire at least,” Marcus said, looking over the billowing smoke. “Hopefully, the damage isn’t too extensive.”
“What caused it? Surely not David, do you think?” The idea horrified her. “He’s not destructive.” She gulped, remembering the bump on his head and his beat-up fists. Surely he hadn’t done something as awful as start a fire.
“Marcus, I’ve got to find him,” she said, handing him the next bucket. “I’m sorry.” Without waiting for his response, she ran back to the house for her car keys.
When she returned to the yard, two fire trucks were pulling up, followed by a pickup bearing a New Mirage Fire Department insignia. The truck parked and David got out of the passenger side. Thank God he was safe. Relief flooded her.
“David!” She ran over. She wanted to hug him, but first she needed some answers. “Where were you?”
“Trying to get himself killed.” The driver of the truck, a woman in fire gear, glared at David. “You his mother? Because this young man needs a serious talking to. He was backing onto the road from the shoulder with no lights. I nearly T-boned him into next week. Real, real stupid.” She shook her head, then loped off to join the fire crew.