by Nessa Connor
“Alone.” She mumbled it, and that made her think of Brian and his unstable father. She fought back tears. Why wasn’t there anything she could do to make sure he was safe? “I should call child protective services,” she said.
He sat beside her and slowly poured two glasses of the red wine. “For Brian or you?”
“Me? His father is crazy.”
“Yes, I suppose he is rather out there. At least he has some unnerving ideas and concerns.”
“Brian is alone with him.”
“Does his father hurt him?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“I know you know this, but I’ll say it anyway. It’s possible for a person to be crazy without being in the least dangerous. It’s even possible for a person filled with hate to love their child.”
“But he gets irrational and he intends to send a message.”
“Sending a message could mean anything. And we all get irrational. The people at child protective services are about as irrational as anyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their ideas of protection can be traumatizing. The knee-jerk reaction of pulling the child out of his home, thinking they are making things better is crazy. Sometimes, for a kid, losing their parents is just the last straw as far as the child is concerned. Not that they are not smart or caring people, but rules tend to be generalized solutions, and laws don’t take into account the uniqueness of every situation. Not only would I worry about him if they took him from his father, it sounds like the real concern isn’t that he’ll do something to Brian, but that he’ll do it for him. Take Brian away and he might do something really nuts.”
“Brian thinks his father is about to do something that will get him noticed.”
“Do you know that and is it necessarily a bad thing? It depends on what kind of notice he wants. Maybe it will help him if he gets noticed. He might be trying to get some attention. Besides, what can you do? There are limits to how much you can interfere with another person. It’s hard enough to help the kids—you can’t help all the parents too. You need to let go of the things you can’t control.”
She sipped the wine. “Saying it that way, making it a casual suggestion, makes it sound easy. It isn’t.”
He put his hand on hers. “No, it isn’t. You care a lot and that means you’ll suffer for it. I’m not saying you shouldn’t care, just making the point that every year you’ll have children who aren’t living as good a life as you think they deserve, and to be honest, if you can’t deal with that it will drive you crazy.”
She knew he was right. “It really could.” She sighed. “I can’t stop caring.”
“No, and you shouldn’t. Caring about people, especially kids, shows you are human. I care about Brian too, if only because Carly tells me he is a good kid who isn’t having a fun time right now. I can’t save the world, but what I can do is say I’m ready to help out if there is something you or I can and should do.”
“What do you mean?”
“We act just like any emergency response team—take note of a situation that could potentially be a problem and get ourselves ready to act. We don’t anticipate, because you can’t possibly know what he might do. Just be flexible. You monitor Brian’s situation and I’ll keep listening to what Carly tells me. If we need to act, if we can think of a positive step to take, we’ll take it. As long as he isn’t in danger… Remember, I’ve been there, Melanie. The system is not a home. Right now Brian has a home and a father he seems to care about. It seems like he’s more afraid for his father than of him.”
She looked in his eyes and melted. He was right—caring didn’t necessarily mean acting. Not until the time was right. “Waiting is hard. I need help to be patient.” She looked at him, put her hand on his cheeks and let herself be drawn into those amazing eyes. “I need your help. I need you.”
He studied her face. “Are you sure?”
Knowing he understood made her heart pound faster. Was she sure? She wasn’t sure about much of anything except this one thing, her desire for him.
She opened her mouth and let herself say it. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. The shock of his warm lips on hers sent a shock wave through her, and when she returned the gentle kiss it grew inflamed, impassioned, setting her on fire. He had his arms around her, holding her, and began tugging at her clothing. His touch became urgent, the feel of his hands on her bare skin as he opened her shirt and caressed her breasts was overwhelming. Her breathing was shallow and she gasped when he bent to take a nipple in his mouth to suck it hard. With her shirt open he pushed her back on the couch and did the same to the other creamy breast. His hands moved down to her waist and began undoing her jeans, unsnapping them and pulling the zipper down. As he tugged her jeans down her hips, he ran his hot kisses down from her breasts, over her belly. He tipped her legs up and pulled her jeans out from under her, up her legs and then tossed them aside and attacked her cotton panties, doing the same with them.
She lay on the couch, exposed to him, feeling deliciously vulnerable, and sharing the hunger she saw in his eyes as he slid his hands under her ass cheeks and brought his face between her legs. The stubble on his cheeks burned her thighs and then his wet, fiery hot tongue kissed her moist lips, tasting the tender flesh of her pussy. She moaned and hooked her legs over his shoulders, digging her heels into his back and arching hers as he began to devour her, sending sparks through her that ignited fires that hadn’t burned in far too long. She let it happen, let his tongue, and then fingers, working in her pussy send her mind reeling. As he fucked her with his fingers, his tongue found her clitoris and attacked it, making her body convulse in that sweet agony that led her upwards, winding her up into a hard ball of emotion, until it abruptly released. She came with a shriek as the long-dormant volcano of passion exploded inside her. She dug her heels into his back and he continued to work his fingers and tongue inside her as she rode her orgasm to the end and sagged, limp and gasping under his face.
He rose up, kissing his way up her naked body to suckle her breasts, first one, then the other. When he sat up, his face shiny with her juices, she reached up to unbutton his shirt and touch her fingers to his hard chest. He rose up, standing in front of the couch, his eyes glued to her as he began undoing his jeans. She held her breath as he pulled them off, and when he moved over her, his knee spreading her legs apart, she reached for his hard cock, feeling its incredible heat. He was large, and his shaft was swollen with a desire she shared. She ached to have him inside her, and she put her legs around him and held his cock, guiding it to her pussy lips, working it between them. When she felt the head enter her, she put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Fuck me, Greg,” she begged.
He kissed her as he drove his hips down, forcing that marvelous cock into her. He filled her with it, again tucking his hands under her ass and pulling her pelvis against his, burying himself inside her, letting her feel its heat going deeper as he penetrated her. And then, he began to ride her. They moved together on his couch and his powerful thrusts rammed all of his cock in her, and then pulled back, taking her in long strokes and moving with increasing speed.
She tried to watch his face, enjoying the way passion twisted it, but the sensations generated by his hard shaft moving in her soon distracted her. She was rapidly getting far too aroused to think about anything but how wonderfully he was taking her. As his piston-like thrusts drove her mad, he also sucked her earlobe, put his tongue in her ear. The combination of what he was doing to her head, her face, and her pussy brought her to another climax that had her convulsing under him. As she came, she focused her mind on the feeling of his cock inside her, tried to use her muscles to squeeze him harder.
Suddenly he moaned. “Oh, fuck.” His body tensed. He was rigid in her arms, with his back arched, his cock buried in her, and she felt the heat of his release as he came in her.
He collapsed on her and she took his delicious weight as
they caught their breath. When the room had almost stopped spinning, Greg got up and bent over to scoop her into his arms and straightened up. He carried her into the bedroom, and put her on the bed, taking her wrists in his big hands and moving them over her head as he lay on her. The pressure of his body began to arouse her again, and then he kissed her.
“Didn’t get enough?” she teased.
“Not nearly,” he said. “I have quite an appetite for you and we have all weekend to satisfy it.”
“Oh yes,” she sighed. The truth was that her worries hadn’t disappeared. Having a lovely time, a mind-blowing good time, feeling loved, didn’t eliminate concerns, but at that moment, with Greg lying on her, fondling her breasts, she was able to put them out of her mind. She reached up to stroke the stubble on his cheeks and he bent down and kissed her.
This kiss was more gentle, but just as erotic and as filled with promise. She ran her hand down his powerful arms and could tell he would fulfill that promise very soon.
CHAPTER TEN
Even after making love several times, on Saturday morning when she’d awakened early, lying on his bed in the soft predawn light, she wanted him again. She lay on her side, with him warm against her back, snoring, his arm over her. Without thinking about it, she reached down for him, to touch his cock, capture it in her fingers, delighting in the way it began to swell. She stroked it hard and watched his face as he came awake.
His breathing shifted and his hand began to play over her body. “That’s a lovely way to wake a man,” he said hoarsely in her ear.
“Show me how much you appreciate it,” she said. “Show me what you want.”
He kissed her cheek and his fingers toyed with her pussy, and when she was wet with desire, he pulled her leg back over his. Her fingers still possessed the throbbing flesh of his hard shaft and she guided it into her.
“Yes,” he said as the tip slipped into her. She moaned in delight and he thrust forward, penetrating her. As he took her from behind, she felt a languid, beautiful arousal building inside her. “A lazy weekend morning fuck,” he sighed contentedly.
Agreeing completely, she gave herself to the sensations as they melted together, with him thrusting his cock in her slowly, steadily, building her arousal to a new peak. She gasped with pleasure and felt him coming inside her as she crashed down the other side in a chaotic, wonderful, orgasm.
The rest of Saturday seemed to disappear, dissolved into wonderful memories of lovemaking, making pancakes in his kitchen, talking about little or nothing, making love on his couch, ordering pizza and returning to his bed.
On Sunday they’d slept late. He had her dress and they rode to an empty stretch of beach owned by friends of his. There were no houses, no beach umbrellas or screaming children. They were alone, and they played naked in the surf, which naturally led to him taking her on the beach. She’d never had sex outside before and found it a completely new and erotic experience. Greg himself was a new experience. She seemed to be waking from a dream, and at moments she’d be feeling nothing but passion and wondering how long the excitement, the newness, the absolute novelty could last. What would evolve when she knew him well, when they’d done all these things many times? For now she was insatiable, a glutton for whatever adventures he wanted. Would that forge a bond between them, or would they tire of each other?
She couldn’t possibly know. She couldn’t manage to consider the future seriously. The present alone overwhelmed her. But ultimately, the spell had to be broken, or at least put on pause. She needed to assert herself, establish a link back to her world. As they left the beach and walked to his bike, he took her in his arms and kissed her. That was the time, and she looked up at him as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “This is so fantastic, but I need you to take me home.”
“Now?” His eyes showed his disappointment.
“I need to get ready for school on Monday. I hadn’t expected to be away from home all weekend.” She kissed him. “To avoid any confusion, that was not a complaint.”
“Then how about doing this again next weekend?” he asked. “The time has gone so fast, I feel like we’ve just started to learn about each other, about what might be possible.”
Silently she thanked him for asking. Nothing in the world sounded better to her than spending another weekend like this one.
“How about Friday night? Come over about seven. I’ll fix dinner, ply you with wine and kisses, and then, if you’ve been good, I’ll take you to bed.”
“I have to be good?”
“Good. Not nice.”
He smiled. “It’s a date.”
With the promise of another glorious weekend resonating in her, she was aroused. She climbed on his bike thinking the air had never felt better, and as he took her home, she put her fantasies of taking him into her bed out of her mind—for now.
* * *
On Monday morning Melanie was sore and incredibly happy. For two days they’d talked, made love, gone for rides and made love again. She’d never had such an intense weekend emotionally or sexually. Returning to her universe, her school, her routine, seemed like making a re-entry to planet earth from some alien land. She’d never been to a resort in Mexico but she thought it might be the same thing if she was coming back from a month-long vacation at one. The weekend had been, as Greg said, far too short. No matter how long it might have been, when it was time to return, the vacation would seem too short.
Even so, getting back into the swing of the school week turned out to be far too easy. The day started with paperwork, which always set the tone. She found that Donna Turnbull had put a message in every teacher’s in box about some special events that required changing the class schedule, there was a reminder about reports that had to be turned in by the end of the month, and another about new rules and guidelines for lesson plans for the next semester.
Bureaucracy is the natural enemy of passion.
As she settled in, the weekend, her grand and incredibly romantic adventure, slipped into the background. She had sweet memories that glowed and made her feel warm whenever she had a brief moment to look at them, but her brain was back at work.
Between classes, while talking with Donna Turnbull, she got a call on her phone from a number she didn’t recognize. She answered but no one was there.
“I hate it when people hang up without letting you know who it is,” Donna said. “That’s just rude.”
“Probably someone trying to sell me something.”
“Or telling you that you won a free cruise.”
“Which is the same thing.”
They had a good laugh about it.
During the morning she thought that Brian looked a bit better than he had, but he still dragged himself around, reluctant to do much of anything. But his eyes were clear and he was prepared for class, maybe better prepared than she was. That was a relief. At recess she noted that Carly talked with him, or at him, because it appeared that all she got for her trouble was an occasional smile or shake of his head.
She thought of talking to Carly, but then reminded herself that Greg was handling that and that Carly would be far more forthcoming with her favorite uncle. Besides, it gave her an excuse to talk to him and that idea sounded sinfully good. Not that she needed an excuse.
So looked for a chance to talk to Brian, but the busyness of the full day made it difficult and the first real chance didn’t come until after lunch. The kids had eaten and milled about in the schoolyard. She came out of her classroom and ran into him coming out of the bathroom. When he saw her coming toward him, he braced himself visibly. Then, when she stopped, he volunteered what he knew she’d ask. “Things are okay at home,” he said. “Dad’s still angry with the world of course, but he was a lot calmer about it this weekend. I mean he wasn’t yelling or stomping around or anything all weekend.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. He spent a lot of time cleaning his guns and reading some new books. I don’t think they were about politics thou
gh.”
“Why not?”
“Because the political books get him upset.” He grinned. “Messing with his guns always calms him down even though he doesn’t hunt anymore.”
“He has a lot of guns?”
Brian grinned. “A few. He keeps them locked up, but I’ve seen them all. There are shotguns, rifles, and pistols… he’s always had guns—he loves them. He even taught me how to clean a rifle. I bet Carly doesn’t even know how to do that. I’m a good shot too, but I don’t like the noise, even though we wear ear protection.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t like that either.”
“He did say he had an idea about how to get people to listen to him, but he didn’t say what it was and I didn’t ask.”
“That’s probably wise.”
Brian raised an eyebrow. “You know, if I didn’t have to worry about saying something that upset him, things would be good.”
“You can’t worry about that all the time.”
“It’s better if I do.”
She nodded. “You’re a smart kid.” Then, seeing he was shifting his weight uncomfortably, probably eager to get back to recess, or at least away from her, she let him go.
He wasn’t just smart, he was a survivor. He’s managed to learn to deal with something a kid shouldn’t have to deal with, and he does it in a very adult manner.
It made her wonder if she’d handle a situation like that as well as her twelve-year-old student. Now there was a sobering thought.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The phone rang and she stared at it. “You going to answer that thing, or have you found a way to read the phone that the rest of us don’t know about?” Greg asked.
They were in a schoolyard at the end of the day.
“No new magic. I keep getting calls from this number, but the caller hangs up when I answer. That’s the fourth call today. I want to see if they leave a voice message.”
“Makes sense.” Greg looked around the yard. “Just a suggestion, but I wouldn’t erase the records of those calls or any messages the caller leaves.”