Sail Away with Me

by Susan Fox

  “Then come to bed with me.” She stepped away and pulled the blinds. Then she untied the sash of her yukata and, without ceremony, slipped out of it. Underneath, she wore skimpy panties, and she slid those off as well.

  An erection was rising, stretching the clingy cotton of his underwear.

  She tugged his boxer briefs down his legs and he kicked them free. Then she pressed her body lightly against his, her breasts flattening against his hard chest, his erection cradled between their lower bodies. What she felt included physical arousal but went beyond that. It was about honesty, nakedness of the soul. It was about need, and the desire to give and share and merge. To become an irrevocable part of each other.

  She stepped back again and skimmed her fingers, light as butterfly wings, across his cheeks, brushing away the tracks of his tears. Down over his shoulders, all bone and muscle and sinew, shoulders that had carried such a burden yet not broken under the strain. Along the outside of his arms, the arms that held his guitar, his other half, the instrument that had saved him. Finally, she caught his hands, the fingers that sent music flying into the air to touch hearts, to change lives and—she had no doubt—to even save them.

  Stepping backward, tugging him gently, she moved toward the bed. He came with her. Not letting go of his hands, she sat on the edge of the bed and then eased up to lie diagonally across it, pulling him along until he lay sprawled half over her.

  He freed his hands and adjusted his position so he lay between her spread legs, his forearms on the bed framing her face and taking some of his weight. Gazing into her eyes, he said, “You are a lovely woman, inside and out.”

  She had always hoped, wanted to believe, that one day a man would see her that way.

  “I’m honored you want to give me this gift,” he said. “I don’t deserve it, but no—”

  No! He couldn’t turn her down again.

  Perhaps he saw alarm flare in her eyes because he gave a slight, rueful smile. “Let me finish. No, I won’t refuse your gift.”

  Relief washed through her and then his lips were on hers and, as they kissed, she felt a softness inside her. A yielding, a readying.

  Before, when they had fooled around, she’d learned from him but sometimes taken the initiative, trying out things she’d read about. This time, she lay back and left it all to him, letting her reactions tell him how much pleasure he gave her as he explored her body with gentle, slow caresses that teased and aroused every inch of her.

  When she was a flushed, damp, nerve-tightened mass of need, he took a condom from the wallet she’d placed on the bedside table and sheathed himself. She bent her knees, expecting him to enter her, but instead he lifted her lower body, bending down and bringing her to his lips.

  She was so ready that it took only a few strokes of his tongue for her to come undone.

  As she quivered with aftershocks, he came up the bed, his hips between her bent legs, and slipped into her, easing in bit by bit as her trembling body adjusted and opened for him.

  She wrapped her arms around him, readying herself for pain.

  His thumb pressed her clitoris, startling and distracting her, and with a quick, decisive thrust, he broke the barrier. One heated burst of pain, and she was no longer a virgin. He paused then, his only motion the gentle rub of his thumb across that tiny, taut bundle of nerves. “Okay?” he asked, the intense blue of his eyes dazzling her.

  “More than okay,” she responded, knowing she would never be the same. And glad of it.

  His face lit, just tiny movements around his eyes and mouth, but she read affection, need, and a touch of humor. “This is when the fun begins.”

  He stroked slowly, smoothly, and her body learned this new sensation. There was still a little residual pain, yet sex felt like dark chocolate, the slight bitter edge only making the sweetness more luscious. He dipped his head to kiss her, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his penis, and she welcomed it with her tongue.

  His eyes were open and so were hers because this was Julian, this was her making love for the first time ever, making love with Julian, and she wanted to experience it with all her senses. The concentration on his face; the wet slap of their bodies as he withdrew and then thrust back into her; the harsh sounds of their breath; the scent that was salty, musky, headily erotic. And of course there was touch, the best sense of all. The gentle abrasion of five o’clock shadow against her chin; the flex of his buttock muscles under her fingers; the seductive in-and-out pumping that aroused her in a way she’d never imagined.

  Her body tightened again, reaching, preparing for orgasm and clamoring for it. It was a stronger, sharper, more all-consuming sensation than she’d ever experienced.

  Julian’s eyes glazed and his strokes lost their rhythm, becoming fast and uncontrolled. His thumb again found her clitoris. “Iris, come with me,” he gasped.

  That tipped her over the edge. “Oh, Julian!” she cried as she experienced the glorious sensations of climaxing all around him, and feeling his orgasm take him deep into her center.

  * * *

  Saturday morning, waking with Iris spooned in his arms, Julian felt surprisingly good. It was the Iris effect. Telling her about Jelinek had physically and emotionally drained him, and yet her acceptance and generous lovemaking had refilled his reserves.

  He raised his head to check her alarm clock, seeing that it was just past seven. The motion was enough to make her stir and stretch. She made a purry, feminine sound. “Julian,” she said in a satisfied tone, wriggling her butt against his rising wood.

  “Good morning.”

  “It feels very good.” She wriggled again, then lifted her head to look at her alarm clock.

  “Do you have to work today?”

  “I’m supposed to. Aunt Lily did handle the party at the store last night, but she probably wouldn’t mind filling in for me. She’d want to come home and get fresh clothes, so—”

  “Iris, don’t change your plans. I’ll get out of your hair. I need to arrange a family meeting, for tonight if I can.” His body clenched at the thought. “I think I’ll see if Sonia and Forbes can spare me for the day. I could use some quiet time, just me and my guitar.”

  “You can use Windspinner. I have spare keys here. You know how the furnace works, and the stove. There’s hot chocolate, soup, crackers.”

  A haven on a cold winter day. “That would be great. Thank you.” His erection was full and hard now, urging him to thrust against her warm, curvy butt, but he resisted. They’d made love a couple of times last night, and likely she was sore.

  She gave a suggestive wriggle. “We have lots of condoms.”

  He’d had one in his wallet, and she’d surprised him by getting a box from her bathroom cabinet. Somehow, Iris had found the nerve to shop for condoms. “Are you sure? I bet you’re tender. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Sometimes a little pain is worth the pleasure.”

  He hated the thought of bringing her even a small amount of pain, but he wanted her and knew she wanted him. So he rolled her onto her back and then slipped under the covers, kissing her gently and caressing her with soft fingertips, working his way down her body until, between her thighs, he licked and teased her. Her fingers gripped his head, holding on for the ride as he coaxed her to orgasm.

  Then, when she was all soft and warm and wet, he sheathed himself and slipped into her, moving in and out in a slow, easy rhythm. Her slim, graceful body was perfection under his, silky and warm and womanly. Her arms curved around his back, holding him securely, and her long, flexible legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. She smiled at him, her eyes glistening pools of melted chocolate, her lips pink and a little swollen. Irresistible lips, and so he kissed them and she kissed him back, and he felt like he was home.

  They kept the pace slow, rocking together, until her breath quickened and her body tightened. He speeded up, being careful not to thrust too forcefully, and they climaxed together.

  After, when their breathing slowed,
she said, “I hate the way it came about, you and me getting together like this. But I’m so glad we have.”

  “Me too.” He lifted himself off her and dealt with the condom.

  She slid out of bed. “Tell me we’ll do this again,” she said, pulling on her robe.

  “Yes, please.”

  Her back to him, long and slender in the flower blossom kimono, her hair shiny and tousled on her shoulders, she cast a glance over her shoulder and smiled. Then she walked over to the patio doors and opened the blinds. “It’s nasty out there today.”

  Naked, he came over to see. He was greeted with the slap of rain against the glass doors, driven by a fierce wind. “Oh, great. Weather that matches up with the tasks ahead of me.” The pretty Christmas lights were almost obscured by the storm. “I’m going to ruin Christmas for my family,” he realized.

  “No. Your family will be stronger for knowing the truth.” She took his hand and tugged him over to stand in front of her wall calendar. “Julian, read this month’s message.”

  He’d noticed her calendar before but never taken a close look. Now he saw a photograph of a dark pond with a path of asymmetrical stones crossing it, and green grasses growing alongside. A quotation attributed to Horace said that when your path in life was steep, you needed to keep your mind even.

  “Even,” he said. “That’s not exactly crystal clear.”

  “That’s one of the things I love about this calendar. There’s always lots to muse on, over the month.” She leaned against his side, tipping her head onto his shoulder.

  He put his arm around her as she said reflectively, “I think it means not worrying about the obstacles to come, nor getting sidetracked by distractions. Finding your balance, your quiet place deep in your soul, and focusing on that when the going is tough.”

  Iris was the quiet place deep in his soul. “I’ll try to do that.” Feeling a little foolish, he said, “Will you give me something?”

  She looked up at him. “If I can. What do you want?”

  “Something of yours. A token, like . . . I know, one of those beach stones by your bed.”

  Arms around each other, they walked over. The pretty bowl of shells and stones was partially obscured by discarded condom wrappers. “Something I can put in my pocket, that I can touch and feel connected with you.” A pebble would also remind him of the calendar’s message.

  “I love that idea. Choose whichever one you want.”

  He cleared away the wrappers, considered, and picked a satiny smooth oval stone with delicate green veins running through it. Though Iris hadn’t asked for anything of his, he wanted to reciprocate. He wanted her to have a tangible reminder of their bond.

  He wanted her to have a part of him. And so he slid the old guitar pick off the edge of the table and rubbed it gently between his thumb and index finger. How many times had he done this, over the years? “It’s just an old pick. Twelve years old, in fact. I’m really glad you found it in my pocket and didn’t put it in the dryer.” He handed it to her. “I want you to have it.”

  She took it gingerly and examined it, then ran a fingertip along the crack. “A dozen years old? You had it when you were fifteen, when you left Destiny.”

  “It’s the one I was playing with, the day that old lady stopped.”

  Her head jerked up. “Oh, Julian.”

  “It’s just a cheap one, and it broke a couple of days later. But I was alive. I couldn’t throw it away, so I glued it together and I’ve carried it ever since.” That pick was a lot like him, broken but glued together and still surviving.

  “You can’t give this away.”

  When she held it out to him, he took it, tucked it into her palm, and curled her fingers around it. “Then keep it for me, in case I ever need it again.” His lips curved. “And don’t worry if it breaks. It’s been re-glued more times than I can count.”

  Her expressive eyes were limpid with tears again. “I will treasure it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Julian had called his family on Saturday morning, saying he wanted to schedule an “adults only” gathering as soon as possible. Everyone had consulted and decided to get together after dinner at Sonia and Forbes’s house. Luke said he and Miranda would find a babysitter.

  Julian had stayed on the boat all day, napping, fooling around with the guitar, heating tinned soup but not having the stomach to eat more than a few spoonfuls.

  Now here he was at seven thirty, driving the B-B-Zee van into the familiar neighborhood. Every day there were more Christmas lights and decorations, though not at his dad and stepmom’s house, because nobody’d had the time. Again he had the thought that he was about to spoil the holidays for the family he’d grown increasingly close to over the past weeks. The family he’d come to Destiny to help, not hurt.

  Even though Julian’s view of the family home was partially obscured by blustery wind-blown rain, he felt as if he saw it through fresh eyes. Vaguely, he remembered what it had looked like when Forbes and Sonia married, sold her old house and bought this one, and they all moved in. The house had been a mediocre rancher, run-down, with barely enough room for all of them, on a lot that was more wilderness than landscaping. It was situated on a dirt and gravel road that at the time was in the middle of nowhere. But Forbes saw the potential and could do the fixer-upper work, and Sonia had starry-eyed faith in her new husband.

  Her faith had been well placed. Over the past decade and a half, Julian’s dad had not only converted the old garage into a workshop and music studio, he’d expanded and renovated the house into an attractive two-story. He had strategically felled some big evergreens and he and Sonia had planted flowering trees and shrubs, and put in flower borders.

  Although Destiny was into protecting the environment, controlled development was ongoing and had affected this area. The road was now paved, putting the neighborhood within a ten-minute drive of the village and making this a popular area. The property must be worth four or five times what his dad and stepmom had paid for it, not that they planned to sell.

  Julian parked in the driveway beside Luke’s SUV.

  No, the place barely resembled the house he used to cycle to and from on his trips to school, the old commune, and Jelinek’s house. And Julian wasn’t that same kid, broken and ashamed, harboring suicidal urges. That didn’t mean he felt strong, though. In fact, a large part of him would rather run away again than face what he needed to do.

  But that wasn’t an option. He climbed out of the van and rain attacked him. The pale gray Henley he’d worn to Iris’s parents’ house last night had been soaked so many times he’d lost count. But what was a little physical discomfort compared to his emotional turmoil?

  He trudged along the path that led around the house to the back door.

  This would have been easier if Iris was by his side, holding his hand, brushing her cheek against his shoulder in that way of hers. She was so slender and delicate compared to him, but hers was the strength of a stalk of bamboo, a reed, a willow tree. The winds might buffet her and she would bend, but she wouldn’t break.

  He put his hand in the pocket of his black jeans, which were also getting wet again, and rubbed his thumb over the green-veined stone. If he’d asked her to come with him, she would have. But that hadn’t seemed fair to her nor to his family. Instead, he had this pebble: tossed by the ocean, ground against other stones, then collected and treasured by a special woman who saw the beauty in its history as well as in its smooth surface and subtle colors. This was his connection to Iris, his way of borrowing some of her strength. His reminder of her interpretation of the quote from Horace about keeping his mind even.

  The lights were on in the kitchen and no one had closed the blinds. Miranda and Luke sat side by side at the table, with Forbes in his usual seat at one end and a plate of cookies in the middle. At the counter, Sonia poured water from the kettle into the teapot.

  With his hand in his pocket, curled around the stone, Julian opened the door. Four heads turn
ed toward him, expressions of greeting and curiosity on their faces as everyone said some version of “hi.”

  “Julian,” Sonia said, “you’re soaked. Where’s your jacket?”

  “I forgot it.”

  “Go change into dry clothes,” she ordered. “I’m making Earl Grey. Do you want some, or would you rather have a beer or a cup of coffee?”

  Beer, definitely. But that would be a dumb idea. And caffeine was the last thing his jangled nerves needed. “Tea sounds great, thanks. I’ll be back in a minute.” When he’d thought about how he was going to do this, changing his clothes hadn’t entered the picture. But he was pretty sure his stepmom wasn’t going to listen to him until he did as she said. So he hurried upstairs, toweled his hair, and changed into an old sweatshirt and clean jeans, transferring Iris’s pebble in the process.

  Back downstairs, Sonia had taken her place opposite Forbes. In front of the chair across from Luke and Miranda sat a mug of tea. He picked it up, blew on it, and took a sip. The tea was hot, his clothes were dry and should be warming him, but still he felt chilled. Rather than sit, he went over to the counter. With his back against it, he said, “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry to wreck your Saturday night, but—”

  Miranda interrupted. “You’re not wrecking anything, Julian.”

  “Just wait,” he said grimly.

  That clearly got through to them. The cozy kitchen vibrated with tension.

  “You need to leave, don’t you?” Sonia said. “To go back to Vancouver and work on those new songs with your band.”

  “It’s not—”

  She cut him off. “Your dad and I have talked about this and he’s a lot better. We’ll be able to manage with a little help from some friends.”

  “Sonia, that’s not it.” Although they might want him to leave after he said what he’d come to say. “It’s, well . . .” He took a deep breath, the familiar nausea in his gut.

  He swallowed hard, and went on. “What I’m going to tell you will sound pretty awful. You’re going to be shocked. You’re going to want to stop me, to ask questions. To protest. But would you do something for me? Just listen. Let me get through it, all the way to the end, and then we’ll talk about it. Will you do that?”