by Rebecca Shea
“Do you trust me?” he asks, maintaining constant eye contact with me.
“With my life,” I whisper.
“You tell me to stop, and we stop. Understand?” I nod as he leans over me, attaching the first cuff to my left wrist. Looping the last cuff through the wooden slat on my headboard, he raises my right arm and cuffs it. Both arms are raised above my head and attached to my bed. I wiggle my wrists to find there is no slack; there is no getting out of the metal cuffs unless I ask him. He is in complete control.
“You okay?” he asks as he pulls his t-shirt off over his head and pulls his athletic shorts down, kicking them onto the pile of my clothes. His erection hangs heavy and I catch my breath as he joins me on the bed. Running a single finger from my pelvis up to my neck, his erection presses against me. My legs fall apart, inviting him, but he stays at my side. He pulls my nipple into his mouth, sucking it into a hard little peak. “Beautiful,” he says as he moves to the other breast.
While his tongue works my nipples, his hand snakes its way down my stomach and in between my legs. My hips buck wildly as his finger slides its way between my labia, teasing—stroking. He groans against my breast as he finds my entrance and inserts a finger, causing me to clench around it.
My breathing is rapid and my chest rises and falls quickly with the myriad of sensations assaulting my body. “Close your eyes,” he says, his voice husky and low. He pulls his finger out and leans across me as I close my eyes. He moves himself between my legs and spreads them, bending me at my knees. I’m wide open to him and a wave of anxiety courses through me.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he says again. “Breathe.” I take long, cleansing breaths and gasp suddenly when I feel the cold drops start at my chest and move down my stomach to my pelvis. I can smell the sweetness of the shake before he begins to rub it across my chest, massaging it around my breasts. He licks and rubs and rolls my nipples between his teeth and my back arches off the bed. He holds my legs open with his hands on my knees as he licks his way down my stomach, licking the shake from my belly button. The sensation of his tongue circling and licking me has me aroused and wanting more.
“Fuck me,” I growl at him, causing him to chuckle. “Now.”
“Not yet, baby.” He continues licking and kissing his way down as his fingers push at my labia, exposing my clitoris. I feel his warm breath hover just above as I throb in anticipation. My hips buck, inviting him to touch me, lick me, do anything to me.
“Landon,” I whimper as he takes his time teasing me. I finally feel his soft lips pull my clit into his mouth as his tongue works circles around it. The pressure of his sucking has me damn near close to losing it. My hips begin rocking steadily as he continues to lick, suck, and pull. He easily slides a finger inside, then two curling them to hit the spot that only he can find. My hips begin to buck wildly as he inserts a third finger and gently guides them inside and out.
“Oh God,” I moan, not sure I’m going to be able to last much longer. My arms instinctively pull downward, wanting to touch him, reach for him, but I’m immediately stopped by the metal cuffs.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers again. “Just feel.” His fingers slide out of me and I feel his other hand pressing on my thigh, holding my legs open. Pulling his fingers from me, he settles between my legs and I can feel his erection pressing at my entrance—teasing me. He inserts the head and pulls back out, repeating it again.
“Please,” I beg him as he pushes himself inside me, finally all the way. He groans as I raise my hips, accepting him as far as he can go.
“Fuck,” he says as his pace becomes steady. My arms are becoming tired from fighting the cuffs.
“Oh, God,” I cry out as I feel myself release for the first time.
“Good girl,” he says, his pace quickening. “But you’re not done yet,” he growls. His thumb finds my already swollen and sensitive clitoris, and he rubs small circles around it, pulling it between his thumb and forefinger. With each touch and pull, my back arches off the bed and I’m closer to climaxing again. A warmth invades my abdomen and the tingling sensation takes over again. My thighs shake uncontrollably and I feel Landon harden inside of me.
With two hard thrusts, he finds his release, filling me. He gently pulls himself from me and pulls my legs together. My eyes fall open and find his blue eyes peering into mine. “Think you can take these off of me?” I ask, jingling the cuffs.
“I like having you tied up,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because then I can do whatever I want to you.” He smiles at me.
He pushes himself up from the bed and digs through the bag, bringing a small key over, and inserts it into the center of the cuffs. Each arm falls when the clasp is opened and I notice how sore my shoulders are. He tosses the cuffs and keys onto the nightstand and lies down beside me, pulling me to him so the fronts of our bodies are touching.
We lie in silence, studying each other, reading the words in each other’s eyes that neither of us is willing to speak. “I love you,” I finally whisper, knowing he won’t repeat the words I want so badly to hear. I’ve grown used to saying them and getting nothing in return. I will never miss an opportunity to tell him what he means to me. He closes his eyes and pulls me closer to him, tightening his grip on me. “I love you, Landon,” I say again, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Always.”
I hang my head as the warm water washes away the sticky ice cream from my body. I squirt some body wash onto the sponge and begin rubbing small circles across my body. “Let me do that,” he says as he steps into my shower and shuts the glass door behind him. Taking the sponge from my hands, he gently cleans my entire body, removing any trace of strawberry shake residue.
“I’ll never look at a strawberry milkshake the same way again.” I laugh. He sets the sponge in the shower rack and pulls me closer to him. I wrap my arms around him as we stand in the warm water, wrapped in each other’s embrace. There is nothing more comforting than his arms—they are my personal heaven.
“Landon,” I say, getting his attention. I back away from him just a bit so that I can look him in the eyes. “Remember when we were talking and I said we needed to be honest with each other and communicate?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to tell you something, but I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Both of his hands find mine and he laces our fingers together.
“Afraid of your reaction. Afraid you’re going to leave,” I admit and swallow hard.
“What is it, babe?” he asks, pulling me out of the water. He lets go of one of my hands and brushes the wet hair away from my face. I pause and suddenly feel nauseous again. Tell him.
“I don’t have the flu.” The words fall from my mouth so easily and so quickly. He immediately laughs at me.
“Good, because I’m not sleeping another night without you.” He presses his lips to mine and pulls me into him under the warm water. My heart races as he nips and sucks at my lips.
“I’m pregnant,” I confess quietly. My lips pressed against his collarbone, my arms wrapped around him tightly, hoping he won’t flee. His body stills. Not a movement, not a breath—nothing. The sound of the water beating against our skin is the only sound I hear. He pulls himself away from me, his eyes inspecting me from head to toe while he grips my upper arms.
“Say something.” My voice shakes as I beg him to talk to me.
“What do you want me to say?” His voice is hoarse.
“Tell me you’re not angry. Tell me it’s going to be okay—just tell me something,” I beg of him. His hands release me and he pulls them over his face, running them up through his hair. His face has drained of color and his look is distressed.
“Please,” I whisper and I reach out to touch his chest. He pulls away from me and opens the shower door, stepping out of the shower.
“Dry off. We need to talk.” He wraps a towel around his waist and disappears from the bathroom. I stand under the warm strea
m of water and wish the water could wash me away. I’m close to hyperventilating when I shut off the water and dry myself quickly before wrapping myself in my robe. I find Landon sitting on the end of the bed in a pair of jeans, no shirt on, with his elbows resting on his knees. He’s lost in his own thoughts as I walk over and sit down next to him.
“We’re not ready for this,” he states, but then corrects himself. “I’m not ready for this.” He looks at me, and I see a man so confused, so lost.
“I don’t want to do this alone,” I admit, a lump forming in my throat. “But I will if I have to.” My voice finally breaks. The fear I felt sixteen years ago floods me once again. Alone. I’m going to have to do this alone. His eyes are fixed on the floor as tension swirls around us. Finally, raising his head, he stands up and looks down on me.
“I have to go.” His voice is gentle, quiet… not angry as I expected it.
“Go where?” Panic sets in.
“Just give me some time, okay?” He pulls on his t-shirt and walks toward the bedroom door, anxious to flee as he always does.
“I know you’re scared,” I sputter, “but so am I. I don’t want to lose you. I need you—we need you.” My voice breaks and my chin quivers so badly I can’t continue speaking. He stands in the doorway with his hands in his front pockets, watching me.
“Don’t go, please,” I beg him. My stomach is in knots and I can hardly breathe. “Choose me. Choose us.”
“I have to go,” he mumbles with a weak voice.
I don’t know how many times he’s said those words to me, but this time it feels like it might be the last.
My life has been anything but planned. In fact, it’s always been a series of what ifs. I’ve lived life like it doesn’t matter because, until her—it didn’t. The three-mile drive home feels like three thousand miles. The weight of a million bricks is on my shoulders and I know I’m standing at the crossroads in my life. I need to pick a road and follow it; it should be an easy decision, right? For me it’s not. I can choose the road I’ve always known—comfortable and mind numbing. Easy sex, careless days and nights, and no plans—no commitments. Or, I can choose the difficult road—the one where I will have to fight my old ways to be what she needs me to be—the man that won’t hurt her, but will love her. To be what our baby needs—a father, a protector. That road is not comfortable, or easy—or planned, but something inside of me aches to choose that road, to choose her.
Two loud knocks pull me from my thoughts, as I see Lindsay standing outside my car window. I kill the engine and open the door.
“You’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes. I thought you were on the phone, so I didn’t want to bother you, but I need to talk you.” Her voice is almost frantic and she rubs her upper arms as if she’s cold.
“What’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”
“Inside.” She motions to the house. She scans the street as if she’s looking for someone.
“What’s going on, Lindsay?” I ask as she locks the door behind us.
“Sit down.” She pats the cushion next to her on the couch. I toss my keys on the coffee table and sit down. Her pale face has red splotches all over it, and her blue eyes are rimmed with pink. “I have to tell you something, but you can’t be mad. You have to listen to everything I tell you, okay?” God, why does this sound so familiar? I rake my hands over my face and release a deep sigh.
“Sure, my day can’t possibly get any worse,” I mumble under my breath.
“I bet it can,” Lindsay says, running her hands up and down her thighs anxiously.
“Just spill it, Linds. I’m tired and have a fuck-ton on my mind right now.”
“Well, be ready to add another fuck-ton or two,” she snorts. I shoot her a death glare, suggesting she hurry up with her news. “Lan.” She hesitates. “I found Mom. I talked to her. She lives here—in Wilmington.” Her sentences are short, to the point, full of emotion. Her eyes fill with tears as I sit in complete shock. “She wants to talk to both of us.”
“Fuck her.” I stand up and walk down the hall toward my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. In a matter of two hours, my entire world has shifted on its axis. As quickly as I shut my door to leave my reality behind, it flies open and Lindsay barges into my room.
“Listen, Landon. I understand you’re pissed off. So am I. But we need answers.”
“We,” I motion between her and me, “don’t need anything. I’m perfectly fine without her—you know, as it’s been for the last twenty-two years.”
“Why are you always so stubborn? You never give anyone a chance,” she screams at me. Anger courses through my veins and, for the first time ever, I get in Lindsay’s face.
“She doesn’t deserve a chance. She lost her chance when she walked out on us. I have nothing to say to her, and I have nothing to hear from her—especially her petty excuses for leaving us with that psychopath.”
“Then what excuse do you have for Reagan?” she snarls at me.
“This isn’t about Reagan. Leave her out of this.”
“You push everyone away. You never let anyone close—all I’m asking is that you hear Mom out.”
“Stop calling her that.”
“What?”
“Mom. She’s not our mother; she left us. Mother’s don’t do what she did.”
“Jesus Christ, Landon. I know. I get it. I’m angry and hurt too. But we need to talk to her.”
“Sounds like you already have. I’m good with that. Can you shut my door behind you, please?” I know I sound like an asshole, but I’m done with this conversation.
“No.”
“Lindsay, I’m not fucking around. I’ve had a really shitty day. This conversation is over.”
“No, it’s not. Not until you agree to give her fifteen minutes.” I sit on the edge of my bed and drop my head into my hands. I’ve never had a nervous breakdown before, but I imagine it’s close to what I’m feeling. “Don’t hate her,” Lindsay says quietly.
I release a loud sigh and rub my eyes. “It’s hard not to,” I mumble.
“Just fifteen minutes, Landon. Not a minute more, please.” I know she won’t leave until I agree to this.
“Fine. Fifteen minutes.”
“Yes. Thank you,” she whispers, a sign of her victory. “Now are you going to tell me what else is bothering you?”
“No.”
“Landon, you know I’m always here if you need somebody to talk to you, right?”
“I know, but this is about me. I have to work through this on my own.”
“You don’t ever have to work through anything alone,” she says, sitting down next to me on the bed.
“You always have me, and Matt… and Reagan.” She pauses. “This is about Reagan, isn’t it?” I nod my head and try to swallow past my dry throat. “I can’t tell you what to do—but can I offer you a piece of advice?”
“Yeah.”
“I told her not to give up on you multiple times, and she never did. Now it’s your turn. Don’t give up on her. She’s a strong woman, but she will need you now more than ever.”
“How do you know?” I give her a questioning glance.
She gives me half a smile and punches my arm. “I had to make an unexpected pit stop at CVS last night.” She shrugs. “But I do know that I’m going to be the fucking coolest aunt on the planet.” The mood is still heavy, but for some reason, my sister knowing makes me feel better.
“I told her I needed time to think.”
“Think about what? What is there to think about?”
“A whole hell of a lot of stuff,” I bark at her.
“It’s not that hard, Landon. You man up. You adjust. You have a great job; she has a great job. You make this shit work.”
“It’s not always that easy, Linds.”
“Do you love her?”
Those words gut me. I know I do, but something about saying them—admitting my feelings—makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Did you hear me? Do
you love her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then it’s easy. Love her. That’s all you need to do.” She leans against me and rests her head on my shoulder. “You always took care of me, and I know you will do the same for Reagan and your baby.”
I awake to the smell of coffee and something baking. Lindsay can’t cook for shit, so I’m immediately on alert. I reach for my cell phone and realize I must have left it in my car after I left Reagan’s yesterday. My alarm clock flashes just after seven o’clock a.m. and I realize that I have been asleep for almost fourteen hours. Tossing on some athletic shorts, I move toward the kitchen to get some coffee. I can hear soft voices talking and my heart skips a beat when I envision Reagan in the kitchen with Lindsay.
When I turn the corner, two sets of eyes meet mine and my stomach sinks. Twenty-two years and she looks nearly the same. Her blue eyes, the same eyes that Lindsay and I have, search mine as I find myself lost in the past and in the present. The little boy in me wants to run to my mother and pull her into my arms, but the man that I’ve become knows better. She has aged—not that I expected her to look exactly the same, but small wrinkles meet the outer corners of her eyes. Her light blond hair is now streaked with grey.
She sits on a stool at my kitchen island, next to Lindsay, who watches me closely—a sympathetic look in her eye.
“Landon.” Her voice cracks, full of emotion. A small smile pulls at her lips as she waits for me to react. Lindsay jumps up from the stool and meets me with a kiss on the cheek. She grasps my forearm to keep me from fleeing, giving me a slight tug toward the island.
“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee,” she says, guiding me toward a stool on the opposite side of the island.
“This isn’t exactly how I expected this to go down,” I tell Lindsay, loud enough so that my mom can hear.