Craft

by Adriana Locke

  The air smells of water and dirt and my hair is going haywire in the wind. He takes both of my hands in his and pulls me close.

  “I love you,” I tell him. “In case I haven’t said that.”

  “I’ve known that for a long time. I mean, how could you not?”

  Snorting, I let him bend me backwards in a long, leisurely kiss. Once I’m upright again, I take a deep breath.

  “If Britt comes back, you’re done with her, right?” I tease.

  “Who is she?”

  Laughing, I snuggle against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, predictable, as we sway back and forth in the middle of the road.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.

  “I’m sure if you ask me that again, I’m going to throat punch you.” His chest shakes under my cheek. “If this works out between us, think of all the kids we could adopt. Kids like Ollie. We could have a house full of them.”

  He kisses the top of my head.

  “I do have one condition though,” I say, looking up at him.

  “Good. Me too.”

  “You first.”

  “The lock on your door has got to go,” he growls. “I’ve never been so pissed off in my life.”

  Laughing, I watch as our fingers lace together. “Fine. Joe won’t be happy he has to take it right back off, but I’ll make it happen.”

  “I’ll take it off. It’ll make my day.”

  “Fine. Done. Now my turn.” A nervous wiggle spirals through me. “I don’t want to be the kind of woman who tells you what to do. And I’m not sneaky and snoopy because if I have to do that, I don’t want to be with you anyway.”

  “Just tell me what it is,” he chuckles.

  My cheeks heat. “I want you to delete the app.”

  “I already did.”

  “Really?” I ask, not sure I believe him. “I didn’t mean to see it on your phone when we were baking with Ollie, but it was sitting there and an update came on and …”

  “And that’s when I deleted it. I hadn’t used it since you messaged me there last and the update notification reminded me I still had it.”

  Swinging our hands back and forth, I breathe in the clean, country air. I’m not sure if it’s that, or Lance’s cologne, or the way he presses a kiss up the side of my neck, but I tug him back toward the car.

  “What are you doing?” he laughs, following me.

  “You need to take me home. Your ten minutes are up.”

  He spins me around and pins me against the side of his car. “If I wasn’t completely clear, I want you. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

  I don’t respond because I can’t. My throat is too tight, my eyes too watery, my mind too buzzed by the look in his eyes.

  This man, Lance Gibson, the man I’ve wanted and fantasized about since the first day I met him, the man who promised me he’d never settle down with one woman, loves me.

  Me.

  How this is even happening, I don’t know. The last few months feel like a blur but the only thing that matters is he’s standing in front of me, imploring me to listen.

  I’ll listen. I’ll listen as long as he’ll speak.

  “Nana told me to search for happiness in the right places. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you,” he whispers.

  As I take in the two of us, I realize how sometimes the most complicated relationships really aren’t all that complicated. At the core, Lance and I love each other. Everything else is just noise.

  “There have been a lot of dark times in my life,” he says. “I prayed for a lot of things and didn’t get many of them. Now I see why.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They were all a path to get me to you, so I’d be the right man for you when I met you. Without the accident and Britt leaving and even my parents’ death in a lot of ways, I wouldn’t be the same person I am today.” A slow grin slides across his lips. “I wouldn’t be nearly as smart.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Or as handsome,” he adds.

  “Right.”

  “Or as charming.” He takes my hand and guides me around the car. “I’m about to say something I never thought I’d say.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait for this,” I say, looking at him.

  “We’re in a word ending in ship, right?”

  “A relationship?” I tease. “If you’d like to ensure I don’t call the coach back and take him up on his offer of dinner …”

  “I’ll kill him,” he growls.

  My giggle pierces the air. “Then I guess we are.”

  “I guess we are …” His voice trails off as he goes to the front. He pauses by the hood and looks at the hill that changed his life. Then he looks at me and grins. It’s that look, one filled with a soft strength, that changed mine.

  Thirty-Three

  Mariah

  The door to my house swings open. Lance is behind me, his hand on the small of my back. I don’t think he’s broken contact since he got back in the car.

  We step inside and he closes the door behind us; the Mandarin orange candle I burned last night scents the air.

  “Two things,” Lance says, taking a moment to take in my living room. “Make it three.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, let’s reiterate we’re exclusive. No apps, no coaches, no random men or women in the grocery store that ask for our numbers. Cool?”

  I grin. “Does that happen to you often?”

  “Look at me. Of course, it does,” he winks. “It’s actually never happened to me there, but I wanted to cover all our bases.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  “Good. Number two,” he says, sauntering over to the window. His muscles work under his shirt, the light hits it just perfectly so I can see every ripple in the fabric. “We have to be honest. Maybe that’s a normal requirement in a relationship,” he cringes, “but with the divorce rate as high as it is in this country, I’m not sure.”

  “I’ve been honest with you. It’s you who’s been the little omit-ter.”

  “No omissions,” he says, turning around. The sincerity on his face slays me. “We have to make this work and ground rules at the beginning seem the smartest way to go.”

  “What’s number three?” I ask.

  “That I can touch you any time I want,” he grins, stalking towards me.

  He lugs me against him, his body as solid as a rock. His kiss is slow, methodical, his breath hot against my mouth. He works his tongue across my bottom lip and I melt in his arms.

  “Hey,” I giggle, as he presses kisses across my jaw. “I have a thing too.”

  “What’s that?” he asks against my throat.

  I pause to release a moan as his hands grip the globes of my ass. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this one,” I tease.

  He jolts me forward, pressing a wet, loud kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, just a few seconds from losing control.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Stepping back, feeling his gaze scald my skin, I lift the hem of my shirt over my head. His eyes get darker, broodier, as I get wetter. I’m tempted to stop all of this and just race into my bedroom, knowing he’d follow, but I enjoy this feeling a little too much. Besides, the rest will come soon enough.

  “Well,” I say, slipping off my shoes and hooking my thumbs under the waistband of my sweatpants. “Since we’ve been honest with each other and we’re firmly in a word ending in -ship,” I say, “I’d like an agreement we don’t use condoms.”

  He closes the distance between us in a half a second, picking me up before my pants are even off my feet.

  “Lance!” I giggle, my legs thrown across his arms. “Stop it.”

  “You’re driving me crazy on purpose.” He kisses me as he heads down the hall, my feet knocking a sconce off the wall on the way. He doesn’t care. Neither do I.

  I’m tossed on the bed. The pillows bounce along with me as I look up at him. He stands next t
o the bed, his clothes coming off as quickly as he can possibly shed them.

  “Is that okay?” I ask, working the latch of my bra free. “I really like the feeling of your cock sliding into me.”

  He crawls across the bed, his shoulders flexing. My mouth goes dry as I part my legs so he can hover over me.

  “I hope you like it,” he whispers. “I’m going to be sliding into you for a long fucking time.”

  Raising my hips, I lock my heels at the small of his sculpted back. “What are you waiting for?”

  He presses into me, filling me inch-by-inch. This time it’s different.

  It’s not simply a give and take of pleasure, an exchange of satisfying sensations like it was before. It’s not a kiss here, a stroke there, a lick for good measure—a “I need you right now” type of thing that has a start and an end.

  As he touches me, and not just on my skin but rather in places untouchable by the hand, he reaffirms the things he’s told me, the things he’s all but promised me.

  He shows me he thinks I’m beautiful, tells me I’m worthy. Not just of him, but of the one part of yourself you can give to only one person—his love. He caresses me tenderly and slams into me without mercy, owning me and building me and giving me the freedom to explore who I am in the safe bounds of his arms.

  This is different. A pre-lude to something else.

  And when he looks at me and gives me that cocky smirk, I laugh.

  “This is nothing to laugh at,” he warns as he shoves himself completely inside my body.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you. Or at this,” I add, raising up and kissing his shoulder.

  “Then what were you laughing at?”

  I don’t know how to explain, especially in this moment, that it was a laugh of joy. Of pleasure. Of feeling this comfortable in my skin.

  Instead, I look at the vaguely purple circle on his shoulder. “I was thinking of biting you in my mother’s pantry.”

  He rolls over, bringing me with him and positioning me so I’m straddling him. “You know what?” he asks, his voice gravely.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think I loved you then.”

  I capture his lips with mine. He sinks back into me.

  The sun sets long before we’re finished. My stomach growls, the only part of me not satiated, as I curl up under his arm and close my eyes.

  His breathing behind me is steady, his heart beating at my back in a gentle, continuous strum. I look out the window at the stars sparkling in the sky and fall into a peaceful, easy sleep.

  Epilogue

  Lance

  “Peck! Come on,” Nana hollers out the door.

  The rest of the family settles at the kitchen table, ready to dig in to a Sunday dinner of fried chicken. Machlan grabs a drumstick, bringing it to his mouth as discreetly as he can.

  “Don’t you think about it,” Nana warns him, swatting the back of his head as she walks by. “We haven’t said grace.”

  Machlan posts an argument, mostly for Nana’s benefit. She loves that Machlan loves her fried chicken—she told everyone at church today she’d have a hard time keeping him out of it until dinner was ready. This is his way of humoring her, making her feel good.

  I look to my right, at the beautiful woman moving Nana’s water glass so she doesn’t spill it as she sits down.

  It’s been a few weeks since the start of our relationship and the fact that the word almost makes me happy is still so weird. But if that’s what it takes to keep Mariah in my bed, in my bathtub, in my car for quick make-out sessions during lunch breaks, then so be it.

  Sometimes I look at her while she’s sleeping or reading a book and wonder how in the hell I got so lucky. That she, a smart, kind, classy woman would take an animal like me as her own. An animal like me just the way I am.

  I grab her hand as she sits back down and pull it to my lap. She smiles, used to it by now, because I can’t help myself but to touch her when she’s near. It’s not always a sexual thing, which surprises me as much as anyone. Just the feel of her skin reminds me she’s real, she’s mine, and she wants me. It’s like the best Christmas present ever every time it happens.

  Peck comes in, Cross at his side.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” Nana says, pointing towards a chair by the window. “Get a chair.”

  “I’ll get you a plate, Cross,” Sienna offers.

  “Let him get his own damn plate,” Walker says.

  “If he goes in there, he’ll make a mess and Nana will end up going after him and then Machlan will eat the chicken and Lance will pop something off to Peck and they’ll go at it,” Sienna says, making us all laugh. “I’m saving everyone time, babe.”

  She gets to her feet and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a yellow plate for Cross.

  “Thanks,” he says, smiling sheepishly, knowing he’ll get the raw end of this later from Walker.

  Peck removes his hat and says grace as is customary on Sunday afternoons. Mariah leans close, her head on my shoulder, as I trace a little heart with the pad of my thumb on the top of her hand.

  “Did you make these rolls?” Walker asks, looking at Mariah as we pass the plates of food around the table.

  “I did,” she beams. “It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “They’re great.” He stuffs a half a roll in his mouth, much to Sienna’s chagrin.

  “I got the recipe, but I’m not making them if you’re going to eat like a barbarian.”

  Walker chuckles. “I thought you liked when I ate like a barbarian.”

  I choke on my potato as Machlan bursts into laughter.

  “Ha,” he says, covering his mouth with a napkin. “Getting a little risqué there, aren’t you Walk?”

  Sienna’s beet red as she tries desperately to change the subject. “Want to go to the lake with me this weekend?” she asks Mariah.

  “Sure,” Mariah replies, looking at me. “We have dinner with my sister and her husband on Saturday night. I could try to get out of that.”

  I flash her a huge, annoying smile. “No. We are having dinner with Chrissy and Eric.”

  Sienna laughs. “I don’t want to know what that’s about.”

  “It’s about me trying to reconcile with my sister,” Mariah says, rolling her eyes at me. “Lance’s idea.”

  “Lance’s great idea,” I insist, sitting back in my seat so she can see Sienna again.

  “We could leave in the morning and be back by late afternoon, if that works?” Sienna asks.

  “I’d love to,” Mariah says. “Maybe Lance can get Walker to come over and help put up our new bed.”

  “Break it already?” Cross asks, picking out a chicken thigh. “You work fast, Lance.”

  “No comment,” Machlan says, stuffing his mouth full of potatoes as I glare his way.

  Peck signals my attention and winks when I look at him. “Hey, Cross. I heard at the gas station Hadley is coming to town.”

  All eyes go to Machlan. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of water and does not look at Peck or Cross.

  Cross clears his throat. “Well, she called this morning and said she’d be coming to town next weekend for Homecoming. I just, uh, hadn’t had time to tell y’all, really.”

  Machlan shoves away from the table.

  “Machlan, where are you going?” Nana shouts after him.

  “Let him go,” Walker tells her “Better he break shit outside than do it in here.”

  “Watch your mouth, Walker,” she chastises him. “Maybe you should go check on him.”

  “I’m not.” Cross shakes his head. “I’m always the bad guy when it comes to those two. Sick and tired of it.”

  Peck rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. He searches for the plate of fried chicken only to find it empty. So, he takes a chicken leg off Machlan’s plate. “I’ll go find him.”

  “You’re a good boy, Peck,” Nana tells him.

  “Sienna, you know who to call if I need medical attention,”
Peck sighs before disappearing around the corner.

  I settle back in my chair and take in my family. Walker and Cross are explaining the Hadley situation the best they can to Sienna and Mariah while Nana talks about antique china.

  This is a situation I never thought I’d be in, one I didn’t really know I wanted to be in. I was always the observer, always the one not quite participating.

  My arm lays across the back of Mariah’s chair, her hair brushing against my arm. As I watch her laugh at a lame joke Nana made about banana bread, I think of all the things I’ll tell her tonight when we get home. How I noticed the swell of her breasts as she passed out pamphlets at church. How I heard old man Dave talking about her to the farmers in the parking lot of the gas station. How I read somewhere that you can’t understand the word unconditional if you don’t understand conditions. How you can’t truly fall in love with someone if you don’t love yourself first.

  It took me being me—the real me, the flawed version I thought no one would ever want—to be open enough to love.

  Maybe there’s something to that.

  Mariah turns in her chair, her hand cupping my cock under the tablecloth.

  I look at her like it’s hard to believe she’s my girl. Because it is and she will be until the day I die.

  I’ll tell her all those things after I fuck her. Because, after all, I’m still me.

  THE END

  CRAVE, Machlan Gibson’s story, will be released in Spring 2018. Sign up HERE to get an Alert when it’s live.

  If you haven’t met Walker Gibson, you can read his story now. Check out CRANK on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited by clicking HERE.

  Sway, Landry Family Series book #1

  Available now on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited, as well as in audiobook.

  Alison

  “This is a single girl’s paradise.”

  “No,” I grimace, blotting the spilled cheese sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical island with a hot cabana boy at my beck and call ... and an endless supply of mojitos.”