by L. C. Morgan
Motioning for her to follow, I showed her John’s old room first. I almost felt guilty for all the things she didn’t get a chance to see.
“There was a border, but it was falling down. It had an assortment of balls on it.”
She shot me a playful smile, and we both giggled. “That’s sweet,” she said, her laugh flowing into a thoughtful hum. “He’s big into sports.”
I left her to roam the rest of the halls alone and went in search of Joe. We had things to talk about, big things, things that were making it a little difficult to breathe in that wreck of an unfinished house.
My lungs opened as I stepped outside, letting the cool afternoon breeze in. Blocking my eyes from a bright beam of sun, I scanned the grounds, hearing him before I found him tinkering with a muddy dirt bike inside the shed.
Leaning against the littered workbench, I watched as he worked.
“So, you knew John?” I asked, focusing on his oil-covered fingers, how they gripped the wrench handle. A sinewy strain of muscle rippled up his forearm, torturing my insides with every twist and crank. The look he flashed me before looking back down left me lightheaded and weak-kneed. My legs buckled. God help me, I could never stay mad at him.
“Yep.” Throwing the wrench aside, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. I gummed my lips, breathing in through my nose, not the least bit satisfied with his answer.
Yep …
Would it have killed him to elaborate?
Would he die?
“We hung out some the summer before he left.” He shrugged, and my heart stuttered, racing with anticipation, the way it always did when he started to open up. “We fixed his termite problem, and in return he got us a good deal on some weed.”
My legs quivered, and I buckled again, thankful for the support of the steady workbench. The way he spoke about the drug so freely sent a rush down my spine, its warmth sinking deep into the space between my thighs. His ease made me hazy, wet and ready at the drop of a word. He kept those latent teenage hormones in a constant state of frenzy, and they were becoming a real bitch to deal with.
Glancing toward the door, he looked back down at the bike. “I met Rey on a trip to Portland. J. needed help with a few things, and I was in town anyway.” He ran his hand along the metal covering on the tire and then gestured toward the shed doors. “She called a couple days ago askin’ if I could fix up the bike for his birthday,” he explained. “What you saw was a thank you.” I knew exactly what he was thinking, smirking up at me from under his unfairly long lashes. He was enjoying this, watching me blush with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
My belly flipped when he stood and stalked over, his white shirt and ripped jeans covered in splashes of fresh oil. Placing one hand on the bench beside my waist, his stomach pressed up against mine when he reached around me with his other. Dipping down, he placed his mouth against my ear.
“You think so little of me?” he asked, smelling like him, but covered in sweat and grease. His damp heat radiated in waves, penetrating my skin and making it impossible to breathe. But I was. I was breathing so hard I thought I might pass out.
“I don’t know what to think of you,” I told him honestly, turning my head and grazing his cheek. The beard tickled my bottom lip. My ribs rubbed against his abdomen with every inhalation. There was no doubt he could feel my heart pounding between us.
It was more than I could bear, being this close to him yet feeling so far away. I was in desperate need of something, something more than what he’d already given me. And I was desperate for it now more than ever.
Bringing my hands up to rest them on his sides, I wrapped my arms around his waist, skimming my nose along his cheek. I encouraged with a nudge before kissing him there, where Rey had kissed him before.
Did he think so little of me?
The warmth of his palm spread across my waist, his fingers digging into my sides as he turned his head toward mine. The coarse bristle of his beard was soothed by his lips and his steady breath blowing against my cheek. A thrill shot through me as he brushed his lips over mine.
“Excuse me.”
So close. We had been so close.
“Sorry to interrupt again,” Rey apologized with a small smile, so sweet I couldn’t find it in me to be mad at her. “I’ve gotta get going. Is it ready?”
Backing away, Joe nodded. He grabbed the handles and kicked up the stand to walk the bike outside. I watched from the shed door as he threw one leg over and straddled the seat. My whole body warmed when it roared to life, revving with every sharp flex of his forearm.
Beards and now dirt bikes.
I was discovering new weaknesses every day.
I hugged Rey goodbye as Joe secured the bike to the contraption hooked onto the back of her car. I fought a smile as he double checked the connection of the brakes, waving while she made her way back out of the driveway.
Heat replaced the red of her taillights, and I closed my eyes, leaning back into Joe when he latched onto my neck. Talking was the last thing on my mind when he easily hoisted me up, turning us both to head back inside the shed.
The sun set behind the surrounding thick trees, leaving just the porch light to illuminate the dusty space. I sucked in a silent breath as he lifted the skirt of my dress above my waist, pressing his body into my backside and my stomach into the cold wood of the workbench.
My hands landed in a thin layer of sawdust, the tiny shards a soft contrast to the way he roughly pulled down my panties and slammed into me.
With his lips pressed to my bare shoulder, we slipped right back to where we started. No words, no thought, just two bodies joined in passion, trying to forget.
***
Holding me face down into the mattress, his knees spread apart my thighs, his hardened length pressing against my opening.
He didn’t have to ask and hardly ever did, but tonight he wanted my permission. He wanted me to beg.
“Please.” Lifting my hips, it allowed just the tip inside. It was good—the stretch, how it slid just past the fluttering walls of my entrance. It didn’t matter how many times we’d done this before, I was always surprised by how big he felt.
Rocking back and forth, I teased myself more than anything, moaning out as he pushed all the way in, pinning his groin to my backside and me to the bed.
He liked torturing me this way. He liked seeing me helpless and panting, writhing and squirming just to feel him twitch inside me.
Went without saying, I liked it, too.
Lifting my head, I looked back to watch him as he started to move, his biceps cemented in a sculpted bulge in order to keep himself up and his weight off of me. His hips clenched deliciously, tightening up and in with every quickened thrust.
“Lay on me,” I told him, tired of the distance. I wanted to feel him sweating, his skin sliding against my skin.
I wanted to feel all of him.
“Please.” His hips stalled, and a smarmy smile tugged at my lips when he lowered himself, hooking his arms underneath mine, his chest feeling hot on my back.
“Yeah, like that,” I encouraged him, giving under his weight.
Crush me.
Kill me.
I don’t care.
What woman would?
Being wanted by Joe was the only thing that felt good, the only thing I had to look forward to. It didn’t matter that he only seemed to want me in this position—face down and away from him.
He still came around constantly, still spent every day and most nights at my place, fixing what needed fixing then filling what needed filling—namely me. While we weren’t exactly being responsible each time we were together, I couldn’t find it in myself to care. Being close to Joe was the only thing that was important. Few words were spoken, but I was more than frustrated that he wouldn’t kiss me, especially after the talk we had the day Rey came to visit. It seemed he was determined to keep his lips as far away from mine as he could after that day.
I didn’
t understand.
Was my breath bad?
I didn’t know because I didn’t ask. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and my legs wide open, continuing to take him however I could get him because what else was there?
My eyes fluttered shut with the scrape of bristled hair against my shoulder and the hot breathy kiss he placed on the crook of my neck.
“Mmm …” I moaned, sounding all the approving noises I could muster. I wanted him to know I liked it and I wanted more of that mouth, and I wanted it wherever he’d put it.
I kept sane by telling myself he just didn’t like kissing—kissing, as in on-the-mouth kissing. I was pretty sure that was a thing, a preference some people had, like being tied up, or getting turned on by feet.
“Oh.” Another moan escaped as Joe picked up speed, pushing up against that special spot over and over again. His labored breaths spurred me on, so gruff and feral. It made me feel good to make him feel good. It made me feel wanted, powerful in my weakness over his strong body.
But it was more than that.
Above everything else that he made me feel, he made me feel safe. Underneath him like this, trapped and turned on. My toes curled and my belly tightened as he thrust deeper, pausing for a few short pumps to push me over the razor-sharp edge.
Joe may have been shit when it came to communicating, but he was a God in bed. He was a God when it came to a lot of other stuff, too.
Manly stuff.
The man could fix anything, even a broken heart, even if just to end up breaking it all over again.
I would know.
Contrary to what I initially thought, he had the ability to fix and then re-break mine over and over again.
It was stupid that I felt pins prickling at the corner of my eyes, stupid that I desperately wanted him to flip me over so he could give my mouth that same kind of love and affection.
It was stupid that he wouldn’t.
I shivered as he pulled away, grabbing my hips and taking them with him. My body easily complied, limp as a lifeless jellyfish. I was putty in his large, capable hands, far from ticklish once he started grinding into me, loosening his fingers to feel and fondle the crease of my thighs. Pressed so tightly to him, I could feel it stirring already—the steady build to my second orgasm of the night.
Pushing into me, he paused as I peaked, convulsing against his firm groin and quaking under the heat of his splayed palm. I was still shaking when his fingers dug into my hips, making me knee-jerk and pull away as he pumped forward, holding me in place.
Joe was far from a selfish lover, but once he knew he got me off, that self-serving bone took over. That was when he really got rough, lost in the slick joining of our bodies. His breathing changed, speeding up with each thrust.
I loved it when he lost control like this, grunting and groaning, using my body to make his feel good. His noises alone had the power to fuel my pleasure. That and how he pounded repeatedly into just the right spot.
It was funny, but before moving here and having my closed-off world rocked, I was under the impression multiple orgasms were a thing of fantasy, a myth, something women faked like Meg Ryan, but in pornos. There was no way a woman could enjoy herself that much and for that long of a time.
Five minutes.
Five minutes was the longest Mark had ever lasted. It was the longest I’d needed to imagine another man, any other man I could cook up in the recesses of my mind.
When it came to Mark, I always needed more, something besides the man on top of me to turn me on and push me over. To be honest, I didn’t know if Mark had ever done it for me. Maybe, when we were just starting out. But lying here, splayed out under the man who did do something for me, I couldn’t think of an exact moment in time when anyone else ever had.
The sloppy way Joe started thrusting, I knew he was close. His fingers dug deeper into the flesh of my hips, his breaths hard and labored. Pumping one, two, three times, he pulled out, growling through his release. Humming, he lazily bumped into my backside and bent to place kisses along my spine before he wiped me clean and pulled me down to hold me from behind.
As we lay there, tangled in each other’s limp limbs, I couldn’t help but continue to compare him to Mark.
Joe may have been less forthcoming when it came to his feelings, but I could say with absolute certainty I’d take whatever this was over what Mark and I had any day.
The thought was fleeting, but always revisited, that maybe I wanted Joe so much because he was so different, because he refused to give me everything, where Mark had smothered me with it.
If I thought about it, it wasn’t that farfetched.
Wasn’t that the human condition? Always wanting what we couldn’t have, never thinking what we did have was good enough?
Then I would think how that was somewhat insane, and there was no way my strong feelings came from a lack of Joe’s.
I wasn’t chasing after something I couldn’t have. I didn’t need the trouble or the undeserved pain.
I had him.
I knew I did.
The way he looked at me, the way he made me feel when he looked at me …
He had me.
We had each other, as untraditional as we were.
I knew Joe cared because he worked so hard, leaving his own house in pieces while he fixed and replaced most of the parts in mine—almost as if it were ours. He was attentive and kind, never with a conscious intention to hurt me, even though he did.
I tried not to be bothered by his subtle and sometimes glaringly obvious brush-offs. But I was. They bothered me more and more each day.
Playing with his fingers, I studied the back of his hand, my eyes memorizing every crease and fine crack of his weatherworn skin. Splatters of stubborn oil stained the tips, summoning my lips and speaking directly to the space between my thighs. I loved the fact that he couldn’t scrub the labor of his hard work off all the way. I loved that his hands weren’t as soft as mine and overpowered them in size and strength. It made me feel feminine and dainty, worthy of being wrapped up in something so big and strong.
His soft snores let me know he was staying, which was fine by me. He usually did anyway. I found it close to impossible to sleep without him next to me anymore. I’d gotten used to having him there twenty-four seven, waking up covered in both of our sweat.
That fateful morning was no different. Groggy and overheated, I couldn’t bring myself to climb out from underneath him, even to go to the bathroom. My bladder screamed as his breath blew, tickling the hairs at the nape of my neck. I sighed through the suffering, smiling when he groaned at the ding of my phone, pulling me closer and pushing his own suffering into my backside.
Flipping over, he brought me with him, a low rumble rolling from his chest as my hand slid under the sheets, lightly brushing up and down his silky length.
Twitching under my palm, he let out a groan, pushing into it as I wrapped my fingers around him, continuing to tease with feather-light touches.
Placing a kiss over his heart, I snuck a leg over his and climbed on top of him.
I breathed hard against his thick whiskers, working my way to his lips, but he was quicker. Holding me steady, he flipped us over to lay me back down on the bed.
“I gotta get going,” he said and kissed the left-center of my chest, stealing off and taking my heart with him.
***
I didn’t think any good would come from returning Mona’s early morning phone call. At least that was what I had thought before I pulled up and parked, an unexpected feeling creeping over me.
It wasn’t the same uneasiness I usually got when going to spend time with Mona, no. It was more of a thrill than dread. A tickle of anticipation stirring in the pit of my stomach.
Cutting the engine, I climbed out, dodging a few of Mrs. Martin’s cats when I noticed the cherry-apple two-door sitting in the driveway.
Mona hadn’t mentioned anyone else joining us. All she said was it had been long enough and I had dodged her too ma
ny times: feigning illness, or restoration issues, or a combination of the two. It was amazing the lengths that woman would go to keep a no good friend like me around. I was moody, shut off and basically thought of only myself.
I knew I had the makings of a horrible person, that I was too proud and compulsively angry, that I’d become blatantly selfish in the gaining of my own self-sufficiency. It wasn’t hard to be when that was all I had for so long. So naturally, that was the only thing I wasn’t willing to share.
Wrapped up in my own self-awareness, I found myself staring back at the little red car, my eyes squinting from the glare of the sunlight bouncing off the hood when the front door of the house swung open.
A woman I recognized from Mona’s photographs stood in the doorway. “Well, hello, please come in. I’m Martha, Mona and Joe’s mother,” she unnecessarily introduced. Joe was the spitting image of his mother. She waved me in. “You must be Laney.”
Nodding, I shook her hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her smile was genuine, wide and inviting, just like a mother’s should be. Teeth the whitest white, they matched the aged streak in the front side-sweep of her wavy, brown hair.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Following her inside and down the hallway, I uncomfortably adjusted the hem of my tank before turning into the kitchen.
Mona beamed from behind the center island, her “kiss the cook” apron covered in flour. It was the most out of sorts I’d seen her: messy and unorganized, luminous with the pregnancy glow. I accepted her hug, laughing and dusting off the powdery ingredient she’d left behind. However, her tears were a little harder to take.
“I can’t stop,” she said. No matter how hard she tried not to, she cried at everything these days. Especially the remembrance of poor Mrs. Martin’s favorite cat … the one Mona accidentally ran over a ways back. She’d been somewhat less remorseful then, but was sure as hell making up for it now.
Martha was a good buffer, sitting adjacent to her teary daughter, lovingly rubbing her back while keeping conversation flowing.
“So, tell me, Laney. What brings you to Big Bear? Mona mentioned you moved across state. You have family here?”