by Megan Hart
Alice to Mick
I am drunk on the memory of your touch.
The taste and smell of your skin. The feeling of your breath on my face and your arms going around me, pulling me closer, and how you let your mouth drift along my cheek to kiss the corners of my eyes, because you said you like the lines there.
You said I was beautiful, and it made me want to cry. Not because I didn’t believe you meant it, but because I did. There in that moment, I was as lovely as I might ever be.
I needed to leave, but could not make myself go. Stay, you asked me. A half hour more.
And I did.
—Alice to Mick
Chapter 7
Alice didn’t make a big deal about heading back to the house. She waited fifteen minutes, giving Mick plenty of time to get there and everyone else the chance to pretend they weren’t noticing that she was also leaving. It wasn’t that she cared, exactly, if any of them thought she and Mick were hooking up. She just didn’t want to have to talk about it.
Why she’d followed him was a question she couldn’t quite answer. Last night’s adventure on the swing had seemed inevitable at the time, after the kiss in the hallway. After the hours of lingering looks and casual touches. When had she ever been able to resist him? Even when she’d hated him, Alice had been unable to stop herself from wanting him. And she hadn’t actively hated Mick for a long time.
She didn’t hate him now, neither.
What she felt for him couldn’t be described. Lust, of course. Longing. She’d been unable to stop thinking about kissing him. Touching. She’d worried the thoughts of fucking him the way she was prone to probe and fuss with a snagged nail or the rough edge of a tooth . . . poking something that should be smoothed away and forgotten.
She shouldn’t have kissed him. Definitely should not have touched him. Yet here she was again, on a path to self-destruction that confused and exhilarated her. She could tell herself all she wanted that it had been a one-time thing, a mistake made from a little too much wine and a little too much time.
Yet here she was again, letting herself in through the sliding glass door to the basement, pausing to slip off her flip-flops. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, blinking so her eyes could adjust to the dimness inside. She could just go upstairs, she told herself. Take a shower in the bathroom she and Dayna were sharing. Slip into her own bed and fall into a nap. She didn’t have to do this.
Except, oh, how she wanted to.
She didn’t knock. He hadn’t locked the door, and she slipped into the dark room, her bare toes making only a whisper on the hardwood floor. The blinds on the single window had been drawn so only the tiniest crack of light shone through, but after a minute or so she was able to see well enough. The basement room was outfitted with a double bed, dresser, and overstuffed recliner, with a small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and she took all of this in before letting her gaze settle at last on the bed. The shape beneath the covers.
He breathed softly, in and out. Sleeping, she thought with some relief. She hadn’t woken him. She could still back out. Save herself.
But of course, Alice didn’t. For better or worse, they’d both jumped on this train last night, and she was still riding it. She moved toward the bed, careful not to make a sound. She didn’t want to startle him awake. Instead, she gently drew back the covers to reveal inch after inch of his naked flesh, her throat closing at the sight. When she’d pulled the covers low enough to catch a glimpse of the hair low on his belly, her hands started to shake. She had to pause.
“Alice.”
The sound of her name sent a whirl of emotions through her, so fierce she had to close her eyes against them. Mick’s hand circled her wrist, keeping her hand from tugging the blankets any lower. She waited for him to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. Maybe even to tell her to get out.
He pulled her closer, instead. Eyes still closed, hands still shaking, Alice slid into the bed next to him. They were entwined in a moment. His mouth on hers. His hands diving into her hair, tugging it out of the elastic so that it tumbled down all around them. She gasped at the press of his tongue in her mouth, and Mick drew the breath out of her.
When his lips left hers to move along her jaw, his teeth nibbling, Alice arched into that caress. She said his name. His fingers twitched, pulling her hair, tipping her head back so he could get to her throat. The press of his teeth there left her shivering, nipples tight. Her pussy throbbed, the sleek fabric of her bathing suit rubbing her clit until she squirmed.
Mick shifted, sliding his thigh between hers, then moving on top of her so that the thickness of his hard cock pressed against her. In the darkness she could only glimpse the barest hint of his features, but she didn’t need to see his expression to imagine the heavy-lidded look of his desire. She could hear it in his groan. Feel it in the nip of his teeth on her throat, then the soft swipe of his tongue in the same spot. In the way he moved against her, his cock rubbing, rubbing like magic on her swollen clit as though the thin material of her bikini bottom existed only to create just . . . that . . . much . . . more . . . pleasure.
They rocked together. Moving in time. Over and over, Mick rolled his hips to slide his erection along her. Alice cried out, low, when his mouth moved lower to take her nipple between his lips. Sucking hard, then biting through the cloth. She wanted him to strip her naked and fuck her, but that would mean he’d have to stop what he was doing now, and the thought of that was unbearable.
“Oh, fuck, Alice, you feel so good.” He kissed her, hard and bruising, and she didn’t mind the pain.
“Harder,” she whispered.
He moved. Faster. Harder. Her top came undone, and he buried his face between her breasts as one hand went beneath her ass to tip her closer against him.
So close. So. Fucking. Close.
She was coming, then, every nerve exploding in the pleasure of him hitting her just right, over and over. Her nails raked his back. Mick groaned and shook. In the next moment, his heat splattered on her belly and breasts; the sensation of it sent her over into another round of climax that left her spent and shuddering.
Mick propped himself on his hands, thrusting a last few times, this time in the slickness on her bare belly. His cock, so thick and hard and hot, fit perfectly against her, and she slipped a hand between them to cup him for a moment as he collapsed on her.
In the silence that followed, he nuzzled her neck. Then he rolled off her. Beneath her still-cupped palm, Alice felt the sticky sweetness he’d left behind, but she could not rouse herself to move.
She didn’t have to. Without a word Mick got out of bed and went into the bathroom. The water ran in the sink. In another minute he was back with a warm wet cloth that he used to swipe along her skin. Carefully cleaning her up, then running his hands over her body to make sure he’d done the job right.
Mick’s hand fit between her legs, the heel of it pressing her still swollen clit. “I think I made a mess of your bathing suit.”
She rolled to face him, pushing a leg between his and fitting her face to the hollow of his neck and shoulder. “It can be washed.”
Mick pulled the covers up over both of them, then settled back against her. His hand stroked her hair, over and over. He kissed the top of her head. She was going to fall asleep here, and that would be awkward.
“The others will be back soon,” Mick said in a low voice.
“Yeah.”
“We should get up. Shower or something. Maybe open a couple bottles of wine for dinner.”
She tilted her head to look up at him, though she still could see nothing more than shadows. “You don’t want them to know.”
“Do you?”
“No. Yes. I don’t care. No,” she said again. “It might make them feel weird, you know?”
“To see us back together?”
She propped herself up on her elbow at that. She’d had no trouble picturing him before, but was unable to imagine his expression now. �
�We’re . . .”
Not back together, she meant to say, but the sound of voices and laughter and footsteps on the deck overhead cut her off. She sat up. Both of them moved at the same time, and even in their rush to hide what they’d been doing, Alice couldn’t help noticing how in sync they were. She went left, he went right, both got out of bed. She gathered her flip-flops and towel, wrapping it around her waist.
“Back stairs,” Mick told her. “They’re all going into the kitchen.”
It was like the first time they’d been together, as furtive and giddy, and she bit back laughter as she started out the door. He grabbed her wrist to hold her still. Kissed her, licking at the corner of her mouth before swatting her ass lightly and opening the bedroom door for her.
Alice took the back steps two at a time, reaching the hallway just as she heard the lilt of Dayna calling her name. She jumped through the bedroom door, tossed her towel to the floor, and hurtled into the bathroom, where she leaped into the shower and turned on the water as she stripped out of her suit, all just as Dayna rapped on the door connecting the bathroom to her bedroom.
“Alice?”
“Hey.” The water had not warmed up, and Alice bit her tongue to keep her teeth from chattering. “I’ll be out in a few.”
Dayna, who’d never had much of a problem with personal boundaries, peeked around the door. “No rush. How was your nap?”
“Very . . . refreshing.” Alice scrubbed at her skin, washing away the last evidence of Mick’s touch, and prayed he hadn’t left any marks that couldn’t be swirled down the drain.
Or maybe hoping he had, she thought as Dayna chattered away and Alice let her hands roam over all the places he’d so recently touched. She ducked her head beneath the spray, letting the frigid water pebble her skin into gooseflesh. She cupped her breasts briefly, then slid a hand between her legs. He was all over her. Everywhere.
Mick McManus was never going to be washed away.
Mick to Alice
I know I disappointed you. I know I let you down. I guess most guys are a little used to that feeling—we want to make you happy, but we don’t know how to do it, and sometimes we’re too stubborn to ask you exactly what you need from us. And sometimes, you have to admit it, you don’t or won’t tell us, or maybe you can’t, so it’s this clusterfuck of misinterpreted emotions and desires, and nobody ever wins. Someone’s always angry or hurt. I knew it, at the time, that what I was doing couldn’t end well. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from hurting you. It doesn’t make it right. I know that. All I can say is that when I look back on what happened, how it all ended, there were things I blamed you for, but never for telling me to fuck off.
—Mick to Alice, unsent
Chapter 8
“No, no, no.” Dayna, laughing, shook her head and got up to demonstrate what she was talking about. She jerked one way, then the other. “It was like this. I mean, he danced like he’d been pithed.”
Paul got up to join her, grabbing her by the hips to do a bump and grind. Moments after that, everyone was on their feet, gyrating. Booze helped, Mick thought as he took Dayna’s outstretched hand and twirled her. Then Cookie’s. And then, eventually, inevitably, Alice’s.
She fit so right against him that though the time came almost at once for him to let her go so she could dance with another partner, he didn’t do it. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling her closer. Gripping her a little harder. It had only been a few hours since they’d been dry humping like a pair of teenagers, but smelling her now, soap and water and that subtle scent of Alice, his cock twitched all over again.
She must’ve seen something in his expression, because with a smirk and a toss of her hair Alice pushed him away to dance with Bernie, then Jay. Dayna moved into Mick’s arms. For a moment she looked over at Alice and gave him a knowing smirk, but Mick pretended he didn’t see it.
The dancing went on until Cookie collapsed onto the couch and with a breathless command said, “I need a break! This old lady is going to expire!”
More drinks, more food. Bernie ushered them all into the basement theater area to watch old home movies from back in the days “before cell phones and selfies.” He’d transferred a bunch of footage from old VCR tapes and digital video to DVDs, and the group settled in to the plush leather recliners with popcorn and candy from the authentic movie theater display case Cookie had picked up at an auction. This was the life, Mick thought, only a little envious at the luxuries his friends had managed to accumulate. He ended up in the back row of the tiered seating, next to Cookie, who was controlling the light dimmer.
“Look how young I was,” she murmured as Bernie hit play on a series of videos taken during what looked like an epic Fourth of July party.
Mick hadn’t been at that party, which had happened before he met Jay, who’d been the one to start bringing him around. But Alice had. Her hair had been worn to her chin in a blunt bob when he’d met her, but in this video she wore it buzzed short around her ears, with some longer bangs on the top. Streaks of blond, some black tips.
“Oh, God,” Alice said. “You caught me in my punk rock phase!”
She looked, Mick thought, gorgeous. He looked at her now, sitting two rows up from him. Silhouetted in the light from the screen. Laughing. Happy, he realized. He was seeing how she looked when she was happy. There in the movie, and there in front of him.
Had she ever looked like that when she was with him? Maybe in the very beginning, before it had all gone to shit. But even then, her happiness had been overshadowed by the drama of their relationship. Whatever joy Mick had given her had been fleeting and probably eclipsed by the grief he’d caused her.
He’d spent a lot of years regretting the way things had ended with Alice, but until just now Mick had never truly realized how much he must have hurt her to take the light from her eyes in almost every memory he had of her. In the way they were still dark when she looked at him now, even when they were fucking around. Watching the Alice in that video, he saw her as she’d been before she met him. Vibrant. Alive. Free. A little wild, a little wacky, nothing close to the shuttered, chilly woman he’d once left sitting and waiting for him so long that she’d given up on him.
Watching her now, Mick saw not the woman she’d become, but the woman she must’ve always been . . . when she wasn’t with him. It didn’t sit well in his gut, seeing this. That somehow everything they’d been to each other had bruised and dimmed her. He’d known all this time that he’d been an asshole, that he’d been the reason for their breakup, that if he’d been a little less selfish and scared or a little more willing to take a risk, he and Alice might’ve had a longer run. Or at the very least, managed to part as friends instead of shattering so violently there’d been no way of ever putting anything back together. But what he hadn’t known, or maybe just refused to admit, was that no matter how much he told himself that time healed all wounds, what he’d done to Alice had changed her intrinsically. Irrevocably.
Unforgivably.
Alice to Mick
There are levels to the experience of making love. There’s the act itself. Being caught up in the moment. Pleasure. Comfort. Moving together, mouth to mouth, breathing in and breathing out. The language of moans and sighs tell the story of every touch and tease.
Then there’s what happens after. The next day, when you stop in the middle of a task, distracted by that faint bruise pressed into your flesh by your lover’s touch. When you lose track of what you were thinking because all you can remember is how it felt to be naked, skin on skin. The sound of his voice when he said your name, and how he arched and writhed when you stroked him. How you tried to leave but had to go back to bed to kiss him good-bye once, twice, three times, and how he gathered your hair in his fist to tug you closer so that another hour passed before you could finally tear yourself away. How you can still smell him all over you.
The memories last longer than the time it took to make them.
—Alice to Mick
Ch
apter 9
Alice ought to have been embarrassed by those old videos. Her hair, her clothes, the extra bit of pudge around her middle she’d spent the last ten years working hard to take and keep off. Yet Alice didn’t feel ashamed of any of it. The moments captured in these mini movies had, for the most part, been the highlights. It would’ve been easy to let herself pretend those happy moments had been the only ones.
For a second, she risked a glance back at Mick.
He wasn’t looking at her, thank God. That would’ve been embarrassing, to be caught like that. Never mind that they’d spent the afternoon getting each other off, or that last night she’d gone down on him on the tree swing. Heaven forbid she meet his gaze, Alice chided herself. She made herself look at him again, this time letting her eyes linger. Hoping he would look at her.
He didn’t. He kept his focus on the screen, or on Cookie beside him. He laughed at something the older woman said, leaning closer. Alice looked away, and after that, she didn’t try again to catch his eye.
“Oh, the wedding,” Cookie said from the back of the room. “Whoever told me that dress was a good idea, you ought to be kicked someplace soft!”
She’d worn a mermaid style gown with lots of flounces. Her blond hair in a sleek French twist. She was thinner now than she’d been back then, Bernie a little heavier, but the love they shared was obvious in every glance. The video clip wasn’t long. Three, maybe five minutes, tops. No dialogue, just some faintly cheesy dubbed music that nevertheless had Alice’s throat closing with emotion. Twenty years was a long time to love someone that much. She couldn’t keep up an interest in a television series that lasted longer than about three seasons. Loving someone for a couple of decades seemed impossible.