by Kira Blakely
He grabs my waist, keeping me still. With one swift move, he switches our positions and atop me, he performs his own dance, hips rolling, jerking, his cock pounding into me.
He captures my mouth. I cling to him even as I struggle to breathe.
“Lauren.”
He lets my lips go for a moment then holds them captive again, moves faster, harder.
The time for slowness and tenderness is over, his body moving to its own wild beat.
This is the man I love and I am all his.
He takes me, burying himself deep inside me. He explodes while I tremble around him, moaning into his mouth and gripping his shoulders as I squeeze him of every drop.
His body convulses, then he collapses on top of me.
It’s an eternity, but finally, I catch my breath, both of us lying still and silent in that motel room.
Finally, he stirs, gets off me and pulls me into his arms. He squeezes me a little too tight.
“Chase?” I ask, looking up at him.
He says nothing, pressing my head against his chest as he plants a kiss in my hair.
I don’t say another word. He’s already told me what I wanted to hear and the memory makes me smile against his skin, my chest flooding with joy again.
He pulls the quilt over us and I snuggle even closer to him, smelling the soap on his skin mixed with a fresh layer of sweat. Moments later, his breathing deepens and evens out.
I lift my head to stare at his face, his eyelids shut.
He really must be exhausted. As for me, it’s strange but even though I’ve had a lot of sleep, I’m starting to feel sleepy again, which is probably because of the peace in this perfect moment lying beside the man I love.
Love.
I never thought I’d experience it. I didn’t even know I needed it. Yet here I am, overwhelmed with Chase’s love and with my own for him.
Resting my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, which eclipses the thunder outside, I fall back asleep with a smile on my lips.
Chapter 16
Chase
I stand in the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
A man with sunburned skin, a mustache, and the beginnings of a golden beard creating an uneven fringe on his jaw, stares back at me.
I run my fingers over my lips and chin, noting that it’s the thickest layer of hair I’ve ever had on my face.
It was uncomfortable at first, itchy even, but I’ve gotten used to it, almost like a second skin. It’s time to get rid of it, though.
I grab the tube of shaving cream from inside my shaving kit and squeeze a generous amount on my palm. I put the tube down, then spread the cool, minty paste over the lower half of my face. I massage the cream into my skin, letting it linger for a few seconds. Then I pick up the razor and start shaving.
The blade glides across my skin, the white-coated strands of hair fall into the sink clump by clump.
So much has happened. I became a farmhand. I learned how to graze cattle, to milk cows. I cleaned stables. I made fences. I helped sheep give birth. I fed little lambs. I dried hay. I survived a tornado. I fixed pipes and windows. I slept in a barn.
And most importantly, I fell in love with Lauren.
What I told her isn’t a lie.
In a short amount of time, she’s made me feel things I’ve never felt before, realize things I’ve never known.
It’s precisely why I have to do this.
Right now, I’m a nobody. I have no IDs, no credit cards. I have no family. I have no car to my name. Heck, I’m not even supposed to be alive.
I have no weapon and no allies. I don’t even have a certainty of what I’m up against. I could very well end up dead.
I am not in a good position to fight but now, more than ever, I have a reason.
The pile on the sink grows, my skin visible. When I’m done, I tap the razor on the side of sink then turn on the faucet, watching as the water washes the entire pile down the drain. I lift my head to stare at my reflection once more, running my fingers over my chin. It’s smooth now. It feels clean. It feels new.
I’m new.
No. I’m the old Chester again, the real Chester.
I put away the shaving supplies and go back outside to the room.
Lauren is still asleep, her arm draped over the pillow that has my scent and my residual body heat.
She’s sleeping soundly. Her hair, though a mess, gleams under the light of the lamp. Her curved eyelashes create a veil. From beneath the quilt, I glimpse the top of her breasts, her chest rising and falling.
She stirs, snuggling against the pillow. The corners of her lips arc up to form a smile.
A smile.
Her smile, peaceful and content, makes her face even more radiant and beautiful in spite of the disarray she is in. It takes my breath away. It should have made me smile, too. But it doesn’t.
Instead, my chest tightens, clamping under the weight of my decision and pulling my head and shoulders down. Outside, a bolt of lightning flashes actinic blue, and something inside me splits open. Thunder claps.
I’d rather stay cooped up in this room with Lauren. Better yet, I’d rather run away with her to someplace no one has heard of, where no one knows who we are. But I can’t.
I have to set things right.
I have to take my life back, to sort out my past. Only then can I start a life with Lauren, share a future with her.
And I have to do it alone. I may not have been able to stop her from leaving the ranch but I refuse to drag her into my mess any further. I refuse to put her in harm’s way.
True, she’ll feel hurt when she wakes and finds I’ve gone. But at least, she’ll be alive.
She’ll be safe. And that’s all that matters.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I reach for the notepad on the nightstand and begin scribbling a letter.
She might not even read it. Even if she does, there’s no guarantee she’ll understand me, much less forgive me. She might choose to forget me. That’s fine.
I say goodbye, though it certainly hurts to say it.
I finish the letter, put it back on the nightstand beside the notepad, moving the clock on top of it to keep it in place. Then I open the first drawer, retrieve my wallet. I take out most of my bills and fold them, place them beside the note.
Lauren left the house with no money so these should be enough for her to pay for gas and to get home, maybe even buy a decent breakfast before leaving.
I slip my nearly empty wallet into the back pocket of my pants then go to the corner. Sitting on the chair, I put on my shoes, the sound of the downpour drowning out the shuffling of feet and the rustling of clothes.
Then I stand up, grab my jacket and then my backpack.
I put them on and stand over the bed.
Lauren is still asleep, probably having a good dream, completely oblivious to what I’m about to do.
I want to run my fingers through her ebony hair one last time, to plant a kiss on her soft cheek. But I don’t. I can’t risk waking her.
Instead, I lift my fingers to my lips and blow her a kiss, hoping the one I’ve left behind, still visible as a reddish patch on her skin, will remind her of me.
Turning off the lamp, I drag myself to the door. If I linger for a minute more, I may not be able to leave, my mind already screaming for me to stay.
Why did I have to find the perfect woman only to have to walk away from her?
I ignore the voice in my head and turn the doorknob.
I slip out, out of the relative safety of the motel room where the woman I love sleeps, into the pouring rain, back into the world of Chester Donahue.
Chapter 17
Lauren
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the silence, which I find strange since I remember the patter of rain during the night.
The next thing I notice is the absence.
Chase isn’t beside me on the bed, just the pillow, which immediate
ly raises my suspicion. I sit up, clutching the quilt to my bare chest.
I find no sign of him in the room.
Maybe he’s in the bathroom?
But no. The bathroom door is open and the light isn’t on.
Maybe he went out?
Wait, there’s a note and the wad of cash on the nightstand. My stomach drops.
I lift the clock so I can get the folded piece of paper that’s under it. I unfold it.
Lauren,
As you read this, I’ll be far away. I’m going to set things right once and for all. No more hiding or running away. I’m going to find the truth, face it, and deal with it. I’m going to take back what is mine and my mother’s.
Don’t look for me. Don’t follow me. Stay safe. Wait for me if you can. If I survive, I’ll come back for you when all this is over. If I don’t, forget all about me and have a good life. Leave the ranch. Spread your wings. Go for your dreams. You are an amazing woman, Lauren, and you deserve to experience the world and all the best it has to offer.
I was able to – through you.
If you can’t wait for me, I’ll understand, too. Just be happy.
Love,
Chester
P.S. Say sorry to Isaac for me. I never meant to hurt him. I wish you both not just a little peace but all of it.
I fold the note, which is now stained with a few teardrops, then let it slip through my fingers, falling on my lap without a sound.
For a moment, I sit there, frozen. I play the words over and over again in my head so they can sink in.
When they do, I lay back down, letting my head dent the pillow and pulling the quilt up to my shaking shoulders as I sob uncontrollably, my emotions spilling out.
How could Chase have left me? He said he loved me.
I hug the pillow beside me tighter, my tears forming a puddle on the cover as I breathe in what’s left of Chase’s scent.
Forget him, he said. But how can I when his touches are carved into my skin, his smile embedded in my memory? How can I forget him when he’s the first man I’ve ever had sex with, his cum still between my thighs?
How can I forget him after what he said to me, after all the things we’ve done, all the things he’s made me feel? How can I forget him when he’s the only man I’ve ever loved?
I run my fingers over the bruise left by his kiss, remembering it. It’s still tender, still reddish. A souvenir, he called it. A parting gift.
But not if I have anything to say about it.
I sit up with the pillow against my chest, and wipe my tears with the back of my hand. I read the letter again, trying to make sense of it.
I can’t. It doesn’t make sense.
Why would he go off and leave me here when we left the ranch together?
Fine. Maybe he didn’t want to bring me along. Maybe he did because I was stubborn, insistent. He couldn’t shake me off.
Well, now, he’s done that.
At least, that’s what he thinks.
Chase thinks I’ll drive back home to the ranch, reconcile with my father and go on with my life until he shows up again, as unexpected as he did the first time.
But no. I’m not going home. If he’s not going to run away or hide, neither will I. If he’s going to set things right, I’ll help him. I’ll help him take what is his back and then I’ll take back what is mine.
I fold the note again, toss it onto the nightstand, then get out of bed and head for the bathroom.
I know. I know he said not to follow him but I’m not. I’m following my heart. And it will be dangerous. But that’s all the more reason for me to go after him, to go with him. It’s too dangerous for him to face alone.
Besides, he said he loved me and he still does, having mentioned the word toward the end of the note. He signed with his real name, which means that regardless of who he is, he loves me. He truly loves me.
I won’t let him do this alone.
I wash my face, taking note of the bits of hair stuck to the sink, which weren’t there yesterday.
He shaved?
That means he’ll be more easily recognized, which makes the situation even more dangerous.
I have to hurry.
I brush my teeth as fast as I can then put on the only clothes I have – the collared blouse and pleated skirt I was wearing yesterday along with the college sweater. Then I slip on my shoes and grab the cash Chase left me on the nightstand, along with the car keys in the drawer, which I toss inside my pocket. I grab the keys to the room as well and leave the room with the bed still unmade and the sheets stained with sweat, sex, and tears.
I take the stairs down two at a time and utter a silent prayer that I’m not too late, that I can find him before he gets into any real trouble.
There’s only one place he could be.
* * *
The Donahue mansion stands in front of me, towering over the black iron gates, grand and imposing as it was the first time I laid eyes on it.
That first time, I was filled with shock and awe, unable to believe the man I was attracted to was one of those preppy, billion-dollar guys. Now, I’m filled with dread.
Still, I swallow the lump in my throat, take a deep breath and walk forward.
I don’t dare approach the gate. I’m well aware of the cameras perched there and of the fact that no one will open the gate for me even if I ring the doorbell. Instead, I walk around the house, following the iron fence.
As I walk, my knees shaking, I stare at the mansion through the gaps in the fence and the aspens, peering over the trimmed hedge.
The side of the mansion is like the front, with columns and more French windows and elegant balconies. At least, the upper half is. Something’s going on with the back rooms of the first and second floors, the walls torn down and construction supplies lying around.
A renovation?
The windows upstairs are clear, but I duck to avoid the cameras. No Chase, but, wait, what’s that? Oh, just a maid in a black and white uniform shaking some linens on a balcony.
I continue walking, the voice in my head screams louder for me to leave. I ignore it.
Eventually, I reach the back of the house. My eyes grow wide at the pool, which I’m sure is as big as the ones they use at the Olympics, its sapphire surface glistening under the sun. I catch a glimpse of the greenhouse and the pavilion where the Donahues must hold their lavish parties.
Oh, Kelly would die to be at one of those parties.
Already, I can imagine the wealthy guests all dressed in expensive, designer clothes, the women with their hats, their gloves, and their diamonds and the men in their crisp, tailored tuxedos, signature colognes, and gleaming watches.
I imagine the flashes of cameras, the men and women in black and white uniforms carrying trays of champagne as they circle through the crowd. I can almost hear the music playing.
I shake my head. I’m not here to daydream. I’m here on a very important and dangerous mission.
I square my shoulders and walk on, trying to look for an opening in the fence.
Surely, there must be another besides the main gate, a smaller one that isn’t as tightly guarded, for the use of the staff.
I spot it – a back gate that’s black and made of iron like the one in front but much smaller, more narrow and harder to see, the bushes beside it almost concealing it.
Perfect.
I make my way there but stop. A hand grabs mine from behind. My face pales and numbs.
Shit.
Chapter 18
Chase
I let go of the breath I’ve been holding as the maid trundles down the opposite corridor. The tension in my shoulders eases.
I step out from behind the wood-carved statue of a Roman goddess, one my father commissioned years ago.
Thanks to the fact that he liked to collect odds and ends, rather large odds and ends, the mansion is filled with hiding places, some of which I remember using despite my governess’ stern warnings.
Some of the
m are missing, though, like the huge sandglass that had real sand from the Sahara Desert, the Egyptian sarcophagus, the potted barrel cactus, and the gilded mirror my mother loved so much. Weird.
Apart from those missing pieces, everything here on the fourth floor looks the same as I remember, a rich, blue carpet adorning the corridors, tapestries depicting ancient emblems hanging from the walls alongside convincing replicas of paintings in the Louvre and crystal chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling.
The same gold and white curtains dress the windows, the view from them overlooking the gardens.
I run my fingers over the glass, and it squeaks but is eclipsed by the hammering downstairs. I lift my fingers, the tips still clean, without the slightest layer of dust, and nostalgia besets me.
This is home. My home.
It’s too bad that right now, I can’t call it sweet.
I walk down the hall, pass by the doors leading to the balcony, the one where my father jumped to his death. The doors are barred now and covered with a black cloth.
Well, that’s new. Before I left, these doors were a shrine, my father’s portrait perched on a table against them, the entire balcony outside filled with flowers, all a part of my mother’s plan, of course.
Now, that black cloth is a warning to haul ass.
I should, of course, but I’ve already made up my mind. I won’t leave until I find the answers I seek.
I enter the library, pushing the door only slightly open at first so that I can peek inside. I step in – place is empty – and click the door shut behind me.
This room is also as I remember, books on the heavy wooden shelves built into the walls arranged by genre and author. A stained glass dome in the middle of the room scatters the sunlight into colorful patches on the white fur rug while another rug, black, is spread out in front of the marble fireplace.
Different kinds of chairs – armchairs, couches, stools, bean bags, and divans – are scattered throughout the room as well as coffee tables and lamps perched on round tables.
I sit on one of the divans, running my fingers over the plush purple upholstery.