by Katy Regnery
“Shhhh, sweet girl,” I murmur, sweeping her into my arms and sitting down on one of the porch rockers with her cradled on my lap. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be all right.”
“It won’t be,” she whispers, her breath teasing my neck. “I’m t-trying to be b-brave. But it will b-break me in h-half to say goodbye to you.”
I force myself to swallow the sudden lump in my throat because her words mirror my feelings. Oh, God, if only we could run away.
But there’s no running from what I am, from who I am. It’s selfish enough that I am taking these two weeks from her. I can’t take more. I won’t.
But I don’t want to hurt her either.
I clear my throat, grimacing because the words I’m about to say taste bitter. “Maybe . . . maybe we should stop here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . . we don’t have to go any further, or make this any harder. We could, you know, end it now. This. Us.”
“No!”
“Brynn—”
“No! We agreed to two weeks.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, reaching up to rub away the burning in my eyes and wishing I wasn’t who I am.
She has been cuddled on my lap, but now she sits up and leans away from me, staring out at the mountain that was here long before us and will still be standing long after we’re gone.
“I’m going to be a little sad now and then,” she says, “because it aches to think of leaving you.”
“Which is why—”
“But I want you any way I can have you, Cassidy Porter,” she says, plowing over my words as she turns on my lap to look at me and raises her hands to palm my cheeks. “I don’t know why you can’t see the same future with me that I can imagine with you. I don’t know what secrets you hold that make you think we need to be temporary. But I know that every beat of my heart happens now because you saved me, so, in a way, it belongs to you as much as it belongs to me. And whatever time I can have with you, Cass, I will not surrender it.”
She kisses me passionately after this short speech, her silken tongue gliding between my lips as her fingers curl into my hair. When she pulls away, her breasts rise and fall rapidly with her panted breaths, and her eyes are as black as night.
“I want the candles and the wine and the fire, but first,” she says, sliding from my lap and standing before me, “I want you.”
Backlit by the sunset behind Katahdin, she reaches for the sweater and pushes it over her shoulders, letting it glide down her arms. Reaching behind, she unzips the dress, pulling her arms from the straps and letting it whoosh softly to the floor. She isn’t wearing a bra, only white panties, and she slips her thumbs into the waistband and tugs. I watch as they sluice down her legs. She steps out of them and stands before me, naked in the dying sun.
“Cass,” she murmurs, her voice ragged and deep as she holds out her hand. “I need you. Come with me.”
I haven’t dared to breathe since she said, I want you, but I fill my lungs as I take her hand and stand up, following her back into the house.
Her fingers twine through mine as we cross the living room and enter her room. The light of the sunset bathes the small room with ethereal warmth as she turns to face me and backs up to the bed. Holding my eyes, her hands rise to my shoulders, and she slips her fingers under my flannel shirt, smoothing her palms over my skin to slide it down my arms. Her hands flatten on my chest, then drop to the hem of my T-shirt, which she pulls up to my neck. I reach for the bunched cotton and pull it over my head, my heart racing with love and anticipation as I stare down at her.
Her lips twitch with a grin as her hands skate slowly, side by side, over the ripples of my abdominal muscles. They part ways at my pelvis, and she follows the V-shaped lines of muscle and bone to the waistband of my jeans. Raising her chin just a touch, she reaches for the button at my waist and unsnaps it, then unzips my jeans.
As she pushes the denim over my hips, she looks down, gasping in surprise to discover that I don’t wear underwear. When I step out of my jeans, I’m as naked as she is.
Without touching, we stand facing each other, our dark eyes locked. In my peripheral vision, I can see her breasts rise and fall with her breathing. No doubt she can see my erection, thick and straining, pointing straight up between us and pulsing with every beat of my heart.
She is beautiful.
She is offering herself to me.
She is giving me something I never even allowed myself to hope for.
I hear a low, guttural sob fill the room, and at first I don’t realize it’s me, because I’m not crying.
I’m just . . . in awe, and that’s how awe sounds.
I don’t know how to feel this much love for someone.
It hurts to love her this much.
And yet I wouldn’t trade this moment even to cleanse my blood of my father’s poison. Every second of my life, every step and misstep, every breath, every choice, every bit of luck and grace and mercy, has led me to this sacred space. If I have to be me—if I have to be Cassidy Porter, Paul Isaac Porter’s son—in order to find myself here, in this beautiful moment, with this sweet, stunning woman, then I will own who I am. And for the very first time in my life, I am grateful to be me.
“Cass,” she whispers, “do you trust me?”
I nod once. Slowly. “Completely.”
“Stay still,” she murmurs, smoothing her hands down my arms and lowering herself to her knees before me, her back against the bed.
Lowering my gaze, I watch as she gently winds her fingers around the base of my erection, then licks a trail from base to tip before taking me into the warm, wet heaven of her mouth.
I cry out, my fingers fisting and releasing air, looking for somewhere to hold on. I reach for her dark hair, winding it through my fingers as I close my eyes.
Her lips move slowly over the ridges of my throbbing skin, and I can feel every swipe of her tongue, every swirl, every lick. In all my life, I’ve never experienced anything nearly as erotic or half as sensual, as this woman bathing my sex with her mouth. I close my eyes, still running my fingers through her hair, as I feel the pressure in my balls building.
And suddenly I realize that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. My eyes flare open, and I take a step back, pulling back my hips, my pecker disconnecting from her gorgeous lips with a loud pop.
Her neck snaps back, and she looks up at me with wide, worried eyes. “Not good?”
“W-what?”
“It wasn’t good? Too much? I can—”
“N-no. It was . . . it was the . . . the b-best thing I’ve ever . . .” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m about to . . .”
Her mouth opens to an O, and she grins at me, nodding with understanding. “Oh.” She pauses, then grins at me again. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t want to . . . I mean . . .”
Still on her knees, she cocks her head. “Cass, it felt good?”
“G-God, yes. Yes. You’re . . .”
“Then come back here.”
I feel my brows crease, but I take a step forward, and she reaches for my rigid sex, stroking it gently.
“Cass?”
“Hmm?” I mumble, trying to keep my eyes open while her touch creates a gathering, an awesome tornado of swirling sensation picking up speed inside me.
“I want you to come in my mouth,” she says, clamping her lips over the head of my erection.
That’s all it takes.
I roar my pleasure, the sound starting as a low growl and growing to a sharp clap of animalistic thunder that fills the room. I rise to my tiptoes as I let go, releasing my tribute into her mouth in pulsing jets of unspeakable pleasure that make my ass clench and fingernails draw blood from my palms.
With my eyes tightly closed, I don’t see her stand up and sit on the side of the bed, but when her fingers thread through mine, I force my eyes open and look down at her. She smiles, widely, her lips bee-stung and slick in the twiligh
t.
“Hi,” she says, her expression teasing. “You’re back.”
It’s my turn to drop to my knees in gratitude and reverence, and I do, kneeling before her in absolute devotion and utter fealty. I search her beautiful face, feeling my heart swell so painfully full, I almost can’t speak.
“Brynn, I . . . I . . .”
“What?”
I reach for her face, cradling her cheeks in my palms, staring intently into her eyes, wishing I could tell her how desperately I love her.
“Thank you.”
She smiles, twisting her neck slightly to kiss my palm. “My pleasure.”
“How . . . how do I make you feel like that?” I ask.
She leans forward and presses her lips to mine, then takes a deep breath. “The same way.”
Still perched on the edge of the bed, she doesn’t look away from me as she spreads her legs and lies back. I can smell her scent as I lean my head forward and find I’m anxious to taste her the way she tasted me. Unlike the women in my magazines, who are shaved, Brynn has a soft triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. I flatten my hand over it, reveling in the softness before spreading her lips to seek out her clit.
Bright pink and glistening, I assume that it will feel as good when my tongue touches it as it did when her tongue touched me. I lean forward and place a gentle kiss on the slick skin, and I am instantly rewarded with a moan of pleasure that sends a bolt of heat from my lips to my groin, making me stiffen all over again.
With my shoulders keeping her thighs open, I lap at her sex, reveling in the noises of bliss—moans, whimpers, sighs, and cries—that fill the room. When her thighs clamp my shoulders and she screams out my name, her whole body stiffens for a split second before it loses control, writhing in rhythmic ripples as she pants through her orgasm.
I lean away from her as the tension in her thighs recedes, and I stand up, looking down at her on the bed. Her head lolls back and forth, and her eyes are clenched tightly closed. I love her so desperately, I lower myself to the bed, pulling her against my chest and pressing my lips to hers.
We taste of each other’s most sacred parts blended together, sweet and salty, and a potent reminder of the intimacy we’ve just shared. We kiss fiercely, our teeth colliding and tongues entwining as I roll her to her back and shift my body over hers, bracing my weight on my elbows so I don’t crush her.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling sharply, and it brings me back to reality—to the fact that my pecker, throbbing with readiness for her, has lined up at the entrance to her body, and she has raised her knees to welcome me in.
“Brynn. Angel. Wait. Wait for me.”
I roll off her, my feet landing on the floor with a thud. The plastic bag from the store is in my room, and I race down the hall, grabbing it from my bed and running back to her. When I get back to her room, she’s lying on her side, elbow planted on the bed, propping up her head.
“I wouldn’t have stopped,” she confesses. “I would have kept going.”
“I can’t do that,” I say, taking a box of condoms from the bag before placing it on the rocking chair.
She takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly as she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I know.”
I sense her disappointment, and it makes me hate myself. The last thing I want to do is make her feel anything less than perfect, anything less than beautiful.
Placing the condom box on the bedside table, I sit down on the edge of the bed, with my back to her, then look at her over my shoulder.
“Do you want to stop?”
Brynn
Do I want to stop? No.
Am I a little disappointed not to feel him huge and bare inside me? Yes.
Did I actually consider letting him come inside me and get me pregnant so we’d never be free of each other? Absolutely.
But . . . do I want to stop? Absolutely not.
“No,” I say, sitting up behind him. I spread my legs and press my front flush against his back, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his torso. I lay my cheek against his warm, strong back and say, “That’s the thing, Cass. I never want to stop.”
I know he’s been holding his breath because his lungs release in a sigh of relief.
“Then help me with this,” he says, reaching for the box of condoms and putting a thin foil packet between my fingers.
“Turn around.”
I press a kiss to his back and untangle my legs from his body as he shifts on the bed to face me. His cock stands tall and hard, and my breath catches when I consider that it’s been over two years since I’ve had sex. I gulp softly and hope that he’s slow and gentle, or that my body remembers how to do this. I don’t want it to hurt. That said, I’m also hoping that the blow job I gave Cass a few minutes ago helps him last because I’ve been in a state of intense arousal for days, and I’m dying for release.
I stare into his eyes as I raise the packet to my mouth and bite it open with my teeth. Peeling the halves away, I pull out the condom and look back up at him. “Ready?”
For a split second, I wonder if we should talk for a few minutes before he loses his virginity to me, but one look in his eyes tells me that the time for talking is over. This is happening. As soon as possible. And we’re both more than ready.
He pulls my hand to his cock.
I pinch the tip of the condom and cover the strong, slick crest of his erection with latex, using my fingers to roll the sheath over his straining skin.
“I know you don’t want to hear it,” I say, placing my hands on his shoulders to sit on his lap, positioning myself over him, “but, Cassidy, I lo—”
“I know,” he says, his voice an urgent and strangled whisper as he cuts me off. “And I want you to know that if things were different for me, Brynn . . . if they were different, I swear . . . ”
His voice trails off as I lower my body onto his, impaling myself on his throbbing sex with a sharp gasp, followed by a blissful sigh. He is big inside me—thick and hot—but I stretch to accommodate him, and we are an exquisite fit. I don’t know how he has this much self-control, but his eyes remain open the entire time, thin circles of blue and green framing wide black pupils as he willingly spears me, making me his, if not forever, then definitely for now.
“You are . . .,” he murmurs breathily, moving his hips up experimentally as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, “the greatest . . . treasure . . . of my entire life.”
Tears collect in my eyes, gathering until his face is a beautiful blur and I feel them course down my cheeks. These words are dear to me, so beloved, in fact, that I clench my muscles around him as hard as I can, willing him deeper, wanting him as close to me as he can possibly be. I wrap my arms around his neck, rocking into him, pressing my breasts against him as he thrusts up again.
I am crying and I am laughing at once as he finds a rhythm. To feel such profound love for him in my heart and to feel him, hot and pulsing, deep within me, has my climax speeding up, drawing near with every pump of his hips. His erection massages the walls of my sex with every thrust, and I whimper close to his ear, biting blindly until the soft flesh of his lobe is between my teeth. He gasps, then groans, the sound deep and heavy. His hands clasp my hips firmly, careful to avoid my injuries, as he thrusts up within me.
He is panting against my throat, and I suck on his ear before releasing it. I skim my lips over the smooth skin of his cheek to his mouth, demanding his lips with mine, shifting my hands to cradle the back of his skull and spreading my fingers through his hair.
“I want this,” I whisper in a breathless rush, leaning back to look into his eyes just before my orgasm crashes around me. “All I want . . . all I w-want, Cassidy . . . is you.”
I scream in pleasure, tight, frenetic contractions starting in my sex and spreading out all over my body, making me shudder against him as he thrusts up inside me again and again, faster and faster. I am floating. I am limp. I only exist because of the man makin
g passionate love to me.
“Brynn!” he cries, his arms clasping me to him like I am his salvation, his only savior, and he calls out my name like it is the only prayer that has ever existed, ever mattered. “Brynn! Brynn! Bryyyyyyyyyyyynn!” And then he adds, his voice ragged and destroyed: “GOD, PLEEEEASE!”
A desperate plea.
An anguished, almost despairing entreaty.
I don’t know why he screams in supplication to God, maybe for the imminent release that he’s never known before this moment. I only know that there is me and there is Cass and there must be God too because only God could have imagined our unlikely pairing, because only a God who loves us could have led us to each other.
His body jerks sharply against mine with a sob, before the contractions inside me, filling the condom, become pulsing waves. His forehead falls forward, resting on my shoulder, his lips brushing against my throat mindlessly, instinctively.
We are so close, we are one person, our hearts pounding against each other, our bodies still shuddering, though we clutch one another fiercely, desperately, still intimately joined together. He takes a deep, ragged breath, then groans against my sweaty neck, his breath hot.
I have known love in my life, but I have never felt like this before, and I never want to leave the sanctuary of Cassidy’s arms.
I press my lips to his neck and close my eyes.
I love this man, and I am his treasure.
I must figure out, in the days ahead, how to keep us together.
It’s the only thing that matters now.
***
A week goes by in the blink of an eye.
A happy week goes by even faster than that.
When I was in college, I kept a diary, and as I longed for whatever boy my heart had seized on, my entries were steady, many, and verbose. But when I reread those diaries, years later, I noticed a trend. I could tell the moment he looked my way or asked me out because the entries would cease. During those times, I was too busy to write. I was too happy to pause and evaluate my life in any real way because I’d gotten what I wanted the most and was walking on air for a while.