Hale Maree

by Misty Provencher

  I move to swing my leg onto the floor, but Oscar grabs my hips, pulling me back down to him. He lays his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

  “I’ll stop,” he says, “but you’ve got to talk to me. I need to know how to make you comfortable with this. You want to be married before we do this, is that it?”

  “I guess,” I say. I’d say anything to escape it right now.

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Oscar says. “We don’t have to have sex yet. But can I touch you? Can we do anything else?”

  “I don’t know,” I blush, looking into my lap, which means I’m also looking into his too. He feels so good against me; I don’t want to stop. But I’m scared to go further.

  “Hey,” he says, lifting my chin so our eyes meet. His are so dark and deep. I don’t want to stop. How do I say I don’t want to stop, without saying I want to keep going? “I’m asking you to make the rules. I promise not to cross the line, but I need you to tell me where the line is.”

  And the words slip out. “I don’t want to stop.”

  Oscar smiles. “That’s okay too,” he laughs softly. He lifts my hand with his enormous ring on it. “You see this ring? That means I’m staying. That means you belong to me. And by accepting it, that ring also means you’re staying, and that I belong to you.

  “We can wait until we’re married, if it makes you comfortable. Or we can have sex before we’re married, and that’s okay too. We belong to each other, Hale, and sex or no sex, nothing’s going to change that.”

  “I’m scared that it’s going to hurt,” I say. Oscar nods, like he’s absorbing my words.

  “It probably will,” he says. “But only the first time. After that, it should feel good. But for our first time, we’ll go very slow and I’ll be as careful as I can.”

  “Okay,” I say. My eyes fill up, but it’s not all from nerves. Oscar chuckles again.

  “If you’re okay, than what’s the matter?”

  “You said...” I start to cry. Oscar tries to comfort me, rubbing my back and whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay, Hale.”

  “You said you wanted me to cook and clean and.” I begin to hiccup and can’t finish.

  “Oh no,” Oscar says with a smile. “I said you needed to be good in bed. That’s what you’re worried about?”

  I nod.

  “Hale, this is all new to you, I get that,” he says. “I don’t expect you to know what you’re doing at first. In fact, I’m glad you don’t.”

  “But what if I’m never good at it?”

  “You will be. I’m not worried about that,” he says. My head begins to throb a little and I put my hand to my temple. Oscar lays his hand gently on mine. “Is it hurting again?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Let’s do this,” he says. “I’m going to get you some aspirin and get you up to bed. We don’t need to talk anymore about this tonight.”

  Oscar lets go of me, and we both get up from the couch. He twines his arm around my waist and we walk upstairs together. A bed has never looked as good as this one looks now. He deposits me at the side, and I perch on the edge.

  “I’m going to grab that aspirin,” he says. He jogs downstairs and brings back water and medicine before I can even kick off my shoes. I swallow down the pill he gives me. Oscar moves the shopping bags off the bed, but picks up the nightgown I bought.

  “Do you want to wear this to bed?” he asks. My head is going bomp bomp bomp and he wants me to get into a nightgown. And getting into a nightgown means getting out of clothes, but it’s that middle naked part that usually leads to trouble.

  “I can sleep in this.”

  “I’m not going to jump you, Hale,” he says, and without waiting for an answer, he lifts off my shirt. Almost without blinking, he removes my bra and slides the lime-green fabric down over my head. “Stand up a second,” he says and when I do, he reaches under my gown to hook his fingers into my shorts. He slides them off, along with my panties, and smoothes down my gown, before pulling back the covers on the bed.

  The rain starts then, soft drops on the skylight. I lie down, and the pillow feels cool and good.

  “I have another present for you,” I say, as Oscar unbuttons his shorts.

  “Another?”

  I nod and point to the shopping bags he’s put on the chair. “The big one.”

  Oscar gets the bag. He opens it and pulls out the pajama bottoms I bought him. He holds them up with a grin.

  “I’ll wear a pair tonight,” he says. “But just so you know, I usually don’t allow clothes in my bed. They’re bad for the atmosphere I like to create.”

  I giggle and clasp my head, closing my eyes as he removes his boxers and slips on the bottoms I bought him. He climbs into bed as the rain kicks up. He turns me away from him and curls up against my back.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispers, leaving a kiss on my neck. I drift off to sleep, listening to the rhythm of the raindrops overhead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  OSCAR GENTLY SHAKES ME AWAKE. The moon is hanging above the skylight, blurred by the rain, and the faux bedside candles are flickering.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Oscar says. “Just need to wake you up every few hours to be sure you don’t have a concussion.”

  “I’m awake, so I guess I don’t.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “I think it’s okay.”

  “Do you want some more aspirin?”

  “No thanks.”

  We lie on our backs, looking up at the mirrors over our heads. “You can go back to sleep,” Oscar says. I try to close my eyes, but I’m wide-awake now and every time I look up, I see the outline of Oscar’s powerful body under the sheet. Then I see him looking back at me.

  “The rain is really coming down,” I say. “Have you been awake long?”

  “I haven’t gone to sleep,” he says. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. I went through all my phone messages though.”

  “Sophia?”

  “Mostly,” he says. “But my father called too. He said that the news reported that there is going to be an autopsy done on Tatum. They’re reporting that there aren’t any leads. They still suspect foul play because of how he hit his head, but they want to rule out the possibility of drugs. If he has drugs in his system, they might assume it was a drug deal that went bad.”

  “I hope they find drugs,” I say, and immediately feel the heavy mixture of guilt and hope drop into my stomach.

  “If they do, it would put my father at ease. But if he was on drugs, the whole thing with Amy is even more haywire,” Oscar says. He slides his arm beneath my pillow, and in the mirror overhead, I watch his muscles ripple as he moves closer beneath the sheet. The rain taps even harder on the skylight. “But there’s no point in worrying about any of it right now. Nothing we can do about it.”

  “I guess not,” I say, and my stomach jumps as Oscar’s hand grazes over it. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Just touching you,” he says innocently. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “It’s okay,” I say, as some thunder rumbles in the distance.

  “Storm’s coming,” he whispers.

  “I used to hate storms when I was little,” I tell him. “I used to hide between my parents in their bed, even though my mom would try to send me back to my own bed.”

  “Your mom would?”

  “Yeah, she would.” I say. “But my dad would always let me stay. I think he was just as scared as I was.”

  Oscar chuckles at that, and his hand returns to cup my stomach. “Would you kick our children out of our bed, or let them stay?”

  “Children?” I gulp. Children. He didn’t even just say child. He said children. I’ve never once thought about having children. That’s always something that happened to older people, during parts of life that were too distant for me to worry about. But now, Oscar’s put the idea front and center, and it makes me feel like I�
�m in the front row of a movie theater, tipping my head back and trying to make sense of this new, bigger picture.

  “I want children, don’t you?” he says.

  “No,” I say quickly. “Not now. Not soon. Maybe not ever.”

  Oscar just laughs. “You’ve got time to think about it.”

  “What if I never want to have kids? What if the answer is never?”

  “I’d be disappointed,” Oscar says.

  “You don’t think I’d be disappointed?” I squeak, pushing him away. “Never getting to go to college, or have career, or a life of my own? You don’t think it’d be disappointing to just sit home, squeezing out baby after baby, while you’re off doing...I don’t even know what you’d be doing!”

  “I work with my father,” he says. “Financial investments.”

  I pull back the sheet and sit up, so I can tower over him. “So, while you’re off, having a life, you want to trap me at home with a screaming, whining football team? And you can’t see how I’d be disappointed?”

  Oscar’s stomach muscles jump when he laughs. “I don’t think it’d be like that at all, Hale. You can have your career. We could have a nanny.”

  “You’d let some stranger raise your children?” I snap. “If we had children, there’s no way someone else would be raising them. That’s ridiculous.”

  “ I’m glad you’re thinking about it, at least,” Oscar says.

  “I’m thinking you’re nuts,” I say. The wind picks up and the branch-women, outside, wave their arms, throwing frantic shadows against the wall. The thunder rumbles even closer, and a flash of lightening startles me as it illuminates the room. Oscar’s hand is on my wrist, pulling me back down into his arms. He throws a leg over both of mine.

  “I think you’re still just a little scared of the unknown,” he says, tipping my face toward the ceiling as he kisses down the side of my cheek. I watch him do it, mesmerized by the way the cut of his jaw looks, as his mouth moves along my skin. I turn my face toward him, to return his kiss, but under his breath he mumbles, “No, no. Just watch,” as he gently pushes away my lips.

  I look up into the mirror, and watch as his leg releases me and his hand passes beneath the sheet. He pulls it from me, and goose bumps rise up across my chest, not from the temperature of the room, but from how close he is. From what he is going to do.

  His lips move down my neck as he slips a hand beneath the silk bodice of my gown. My nipples rise up to the warm ceiling of his palm. A shock of lightening flashes overhead, momentarily blinding me.

  But his fingertips are soft on my stomach, making their way down my side to finally rest at the top of my thigh. I let my gaze drift downward, but the moment I do, Oscar whispers into my hair, “Are you watching, Hale?”

  As I look up, his head lowers to my breast, taking my nipple into his mouth. Streaks of lightening course through me, and Oscar’s tongue vibrates deliciously with his low rumble of pleasure. I close my eyes and then, as if it is punishment for doing so, Oscar’s lips close around me and he gives the point of my breast a sharp tug.

  My eyes flick back to the ceiling reflection of his long fingers, as he gathers up my gown in his palm.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Good.”

  I swallow, as he continues to ease up the fabric until I am exposed from the waist down. One of his hands slides between my legs, drifting a finger lightly down the inside of my thigh. My knees jerk apart with the tickle.

  “Good,” Oscar chuckles, the sound as low and deep as the thunder. He leans over me, the muscles of his back flexing, as his dark hair moves over my stomach. He kisses the bottom of my sternum, the soft upper part of my belly, and slips his tongue into my navel. I giggle, and Oscar smothers his laugh in kisses that make a crescent moon shape around my belly button. He leans across my leg, peeking between my knees, and his pleasurable groan rumbles against my thigh. I feel his breath, hot and warm, as he shifts his body weight, easing his torso between my knees.

  I tense as Oscar spreads my legs further apart, wiggling between them.

  “Let me,” he whispers, and when he catches me looking down at him, he smiles and moves his gaze up to the ceiling, in reminder. I lay back again and stare into the overhead mirror as his head dips between my thighs. At first, I curl my toes, embarrassed, but then his breathe steams against my opened flesh, and his moist finger moves between my folds. A moan rips from my chest.

  In the strikes of lightening, I watch Oscar lift his finger to his mouth, sucking it before he drops his hand back down between my thighs and slowly eases it back into me. The tip of his finger caresses me deeper and deeper. He lowers his mouth against me, and at the same time, my body takes over, trembling against the mattress. Oscar spreads the palm of his free hand against my stomach, but he doesn’t stop. He swirls his tongue against me, and the involuntary begging breaks through my lips, one plead after another, as he slips a second finger inside me, gently stretching me even wider.

  “Does that feel good?” he asks, and I breathe my answer. He nips the inside of my thigh as he withdraws his fingers. He slips off the pajama bottoms I gave him, dropping them off the end of the bed. In the reflection, I stare down at the hard cords of his shoulders, past the flat muscles in his stomach, and I see his length, extended toward me as his hands rub along my thighs.

  He moves off the bed and I watch his body, caught in flashes of the storm, as he retrieves something from his bag on the floor. When he returns, he holds a bottle of liquid in his hands and drops some condoms on the bedside table.

  As he stands at the side of the bed, I try to keep my eyes on the ceiling. He opens the bottle and pours some liquid into his hand, before bending down to kiss my chin.

  “Good girl,” he says, “Watch.”

  His fingers move into the opening between my legs again, this time cold and slippery with the oily liquid. He massages my sex, as he bends over me and takes my nipple in his mouth. With his hand inside me, and his hot mouth against me, another moan escapes my throat. I press my hips into his hand.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, pausing his fingers.

  “No,” I pant. There is nothing left in my vocabulary but the feeling of his fingers, his tongue, his lips.

  “I’ll go slow,” he says, as he climbs over my legs and spreads me apart. He kneels again, between my knees, rolling on a condom before stroking his covered length with more of the liquid. He bends down to kiss me, and I feel him tap against the opening of my sex, like a hard, slippery pole.

  “Open your eyes,” he says. His face is right over mine, his hand down between our legs, guiding himself against me. “If it’s too fast, say so.”

  I clamp my eyes shut, and he doesn’t ask me to open them again. Instead, he kisses me, nipping my lip as his tip enters me. I run my hands up his arms, to his shoulders, digging my fingernails into him as he pushes a little deeper inside me. My fingernails don’t stop him, and I panic.

  “I can’t,” I howl. “I can’t!”

  “Shhh,” he soothes me. He doesn’t withdraw, but he doesn’t go any further. He strokes my hair, kisses the corners of my eyes, and he breathes out a whisper, “Relax.”

  “I can’t!” I yelp, as he shifts and presses in a little deeper. I dig my fingernails into the thick muscles across his back, and feel him flinch, but he doesn’t stop.

  “Relax, Hale,” he says. “It will hurt if you don’t.”

  “It already hurts,” I say.

  “I won’t go any deeper, until you’re ready,” he promises, and he ducks his head down toward my chest. His hair tickles against my chin, as his mouth settles over my right breast. All I can concentrate on his the baseball bat between my legs, until his tongue swivels over my nipple. He sucks the tiny button, teasing it up to a sharp point. I pull down on his shoulders, to draw his mouth closer. He moves his head to my other breast and repeats the agonizingly delicious sequence. When he finally lifts his mouth from me, I arch my back for more. Oscar captures my mouth, a
nd bites down on the edge of my lower lip, as he thrusts deep inside me.

  I suck in a breath, and rake my nails down his back. He grunts with the pain, but he begins a slow, lazy rhythm, grinding in and out of me. It hurts, but at the same time, it almost feels good. He stares down at me, and I’m worried I’m doing it wrong. I still don’t squirm beneath him, because I’m sure it will hurt.

  “It’s never felt this good before,” he whispers.

  I draw his mouth down to meet mine. Catching his bottom lip, I suck it into my mouth gently, tugging it, and rubbing it with my tongue. Oscar groans. He drops onto his elbows with his release. When he opens his eyes, he’s smiling. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “Did you like it?”

  I’m too sore to move my legs, but I still tell him the truth. “Yes,” I say.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I WAKE UP BESIDE HIM, feeling weird. He is lying on his back, his face tipped away from me, asleep. The top sheet is draped just over his waist, but I can tell he’s still naked.

  I want to sneak away, to see how I’ve changed. I’m worried that the sheets will look like we spilled a bucket of red paint, but when I slide out and peek at them, there is only a tiny drop of red in the whole, ocean of white. I straighten up, realizing two things. One, is that I can’t find my nightgown and, two, everything from the waist down is a little stiff and sore. It doesn’t matter. Oscar’s still asleep. I turn and hobble, naked, toward the stairs.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” Oscar says, behind me. I look over one shoulder, feeling the deep red blush sink into every cheek I have. He’s still lying in bed, but he’s turned on his side, toward me, and he’s smiling. He repeats each word, drawing them out. “So. Damn. Beautiful.”