The Arrival of You

by Cranford, B.

  “That’s them. We went to primary and high school together and then different unis. Universities.” He turned his head toward me again and I just sort of stared at the way he looked in the glow of the streetlights as we drove the short distance from his parents’ place to his. “I made new friends at Uni but I’m not as close with them as I am with Maxie and Ry.”

  “Maxie and Ry. What do they call you?”

  “Bob.”

  “Bob? Why?”

  He chuckled. “Former Prime Minister of Australia, Bob Hawke. Of course.”

  I nodded even though I’d never heard of the man he was talking about. “Of course.”

  “So, tell me more about Ashton.” He reached one hand out and dropped it on my thigh, the warmth of his palm making my body zing. I know, I know, again. But it wasn’t like I could help it—the zinging seemed to be an involuntary response to him.

  Besides, I didn’t want to help it. I quite liked it, to be honest.

  “Ash? Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “What did she think about your ex?”

  My stomach dropped a little at the fact that Lucas was bringing up Mason, though I could understand his curiosity. After all, we’d been sharing a whole hell of a lot—and all that hell of a lot was as intense as could be. “She liked him right up until he did me wrong.” I paused for dramatic effect and because I felt emotional at the strong way Ashton had come down on my side after I told her about Mason’s affair. She was deeply, irrevocably Team Bianca, like all good besties would be, even though she’d known Mason for almost as long as she and I had known one another.

  I’d never shared with her some of the other things that he’d done, or that his family had said, that might’ve raised her eyebrows. To Ash, Mason was still the guy I’d met and fallen in love with during college.

  “And then?” Lucas prompted.

  “And then she wanted to take the sharp little knife they keep behind the bar at The Avenue for cutting fruit and stab him through first one, then the other of his balls.”

  Lucas cringed, shrinking his body in like he was imagining having to protect the family jewels from Ashton. “So, I guess when she told me I had to be good to you, she meant ‘Be good or else I’ll slice and dice your nuts’?”

  “Ah, yeah. More or less.”

  His hand tightened on my thigh. “Good. Good, you should have a friend who’d be willing to get their hands dirty for you.”

  “I’d do the same for her.”

  “I know you would, pretty girl.”

  The ease with which he said that—that he knew I would care for and protect my friend—sent my heart into overdrive. For him, it wasn’t even a consideration that I’d care about Ashton, that I’d avenge her if the need ever arose. Not that I expected it to, now that she was with Andrew. “You’re so confident.”

  He shrugged, removing his hand from my leg as he slowed at a light and turned left. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t know how to answer that exactly. There was something about the fact he could be so certain that had me wondering about timelines and timeframes and whether you could ever really know a person.

  Maybe you could. Maybe you could know a person like I’d known Mason and he’d known me, and then suddenly realize one day that you didn’t want to know them anymore.

  Was that what had happened in my marriage? Had he just decided he didn’t want to know me anymore?

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but from the way your eyes just narrowed, and your hands just fisted, it can’t have been good.”

  I looked over at Lucas to see him looking back at me. “Your eyes should be on the road, Mr. Hawke,” I joked, choosing the simplicity of that over the complication of responding to his implication.

  He brought the car to a slow crawl, then pulled over onto the side of the road. “I know these roads like the back of my hand—”

  “Is this where you look at your hand and exclaim about a mole you’d never noticed before?”

  “No deflecting. Also, don’t you dare suggest that isn’t quality Dad humor right there. That’s sacrilege.”

  “Oh, my apologies.”

  “Tell me what you were thinking.” He paused. As if realizing how demanding he’d sounded, he added, “Please.”

  “It’s nothi—”

  “It’s not nothing. Spill it, Evers.” He reached out and grabbed my hand, working my fingers out of the fist I’d made and linking mine with his. “I can stay here all night.”

  It wasn’t the threat—I wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d wait me out, nor did I feel all that worried about spending the night in a car with him. It might be a little uncomfortable, but he and I, we’d already proven what we could do with tight spaces. No, it was the way he’d softened his voice and the interest I heard there.

  He really wanted to know.

  And I really wanted to answer.

  “I was thinking about time. About how much time you need to really know someone. And about what happens when you decide you don’t care to know them anymore.”

  I didn’t add that I was thinking about that in relation to me and Mason, but I didn’t need to. Lucas nodded, then proved with his next question that he’d figured that out all on his own. “Do you think that’s what happened with your dickhead ex?”

  I snickered at the way he said dickhead—a curse word made even cursier (let’s just agree that’s a word, shall we?). “I don’t know. Maybe. I just—you seemed so sure earlier, with your family, that my work would be good. And just now, that I’d be there for Ashton if she needed me.”

  “So?”

  “How do you know that? I could be anyone, anything. I could be a really shitty human who’s trying to soften you up and steal from you once I’ve earned your trust.” I looked at him pointedly. “What made you think you could trust me?”

  He didn’t answer right away, instead shifting in his seat until he was facing me. It felt like something big had climbed into the car with us and I honestly didn’t know what to say—if there was anything I could say—to break the silence.

  After a while, he held out his hand, silently waiting for me to slide mine into his. Which I did, of course, without hesitation. He used it to pull me gently closer, then turned it so my palm lay flat over his heart. His heartbeat was strong and steady—not speeding, not racing, not pounding.

  Calm and certain.

  Just like his voice when he said, “This did.”

  * * *

  I stood awkwardly at the end of Lucas’ bed wearing a pair of short shorts and a thin tank top. He was already lying down and, as far as I could tell, totally and completely naked.

  He was also trying to tell me his bed had a “no pants” rule, which I wasn’t sure I was buying. Not that I objected to the rule itself—I was more objecting on principle and because I was having a blast listening to him try to convince me to go along with him.

  “If you’re not naked, how will I wake you up with sex?” Eyes wide and pained, he threw back the covers and revealed that, yep, he was naked.

  Must’ve got that way while I was in his bathroom getting ready for bedtime. Or maybe when I’d ducked into the quiet living room to call my mom and give her my Australian contact number and check in with her. Either way, I could do nothing but stare as the fantasy I’d vocalized for Lucas on the plane became a little more real. When he gripped his length in his hand and started slowly stroking it, it no longer mattered when he got naked, just that he was, and that I was there to reap the visual benefits of it.

  “Lucas,” I whispered, pressing one knee onto the end of the bed and continuing to stare. For real staring. Intense, crazy eyes glued to his hand, oh god, will I ever be able to look away staring. His movements were precise and hypnotic and, as I watched, his cock hardened until the head was ruddy and a drop of clear liquid beaded up there.

  “I want to lick it.”

  “I want you to lick it too, pretty girl. There’s nothing sto
pping you.”

  I nodded immediately, wondering why I’d even thought of teasing him, tugging at my sleep shorts like the impediment that they were. “Keep going. Please keep going.”

  “We missed the part where you push me back onto the bed.”

  “We’re also not in my bed,” I pointed out, recalling that small detail from my mile high confession. “But I don’t really think that matters at this point. As long as you don’t stop.”

  “Don’t stop? You say that like I’m physically capable of stopping right now.”

  I laughed at the pained amusement evident in his voice, but the laugh quickly died when he thrust his hips up, pushing his cock further into his fist, a long, rough groan escaping his lips.

  “Jesus Christ, Luc.” My eyes followed his movements and it was only a matter of moments until I was bringing my other knee onto the bed and shuffling closer to him. To his rigid length, which was making my mouth water with want. “I’ve never seen anything as hot as this.” I brought my eyes up—with a great deal of effort, mind you—and met his so he could see exactly how serious I was. “Never.”

  His grin was subdued, like it cost him to curve his lips that way, and I wanted . . . I just wanted. Leaning down, I swiped my tongue across the head of his dick, the salty flavor of him bursting on my tongue and sending a spear of lust across every nerve-ending in my body. I felt like I was vibrating, shaking with my desperate desire to have him—not just like this, spread out before me on his bed, and stroking himself because I told him that’s what I fantasized about seeing.

  No, I was shaking with the desire to own him, possess him. It was a harsh thought, a demanding and arrogant one, and one that felt counter to who I was—or at least, who I’d been. Mason’s wife. It occurred to me that I’d never once felt like I owned or wanted to own Mason, but Lucas? Like this? Oh god, the possessiveness I felt scared the hell out of me.

  But not enough to back up and walk away, even if the small, still-active corner of my brain—as in, the part that wasn’t drunk on the heady, arousing display in front me—screamed at me that I had to. To protect myself. Because I didn’t know Lucas.

  “Come back, pretty girl. Please.” Lucas’ voice was strained, like he knew I wasn’t one hundred percent with him and he couldn’t stand the thought.

  I rushed to reassure him. “I’m here. I’m here.” I bent at the waist, engulfing his cock with the heat of my mouth, my eyes rolling back in my head in reflected pleasure as he shouted my name.

  I could’ve stayed there for hours, tasting him and sucking on him and licking at him, but I didn’t want to risk lockjaw. Let’s be real here: it’s a legitimate concern, especially when a man is working with what Lucas was. He was thick and long, and my mouth literally watered at the sight of him, but soon enough I was aching in not one but two places—my overworked jaw and my swollen, neglected clit.

  I pulled my head back, letting Lucas pop free of my mouth and leaned back onto my knees. “Lucas, watch.” I waited until his eyes—closed to heighten the pleasure of me working him, perhaps?—opened, then I lifted my tank over my head.

  “Pretty girl.”

  I smiled at the endearment and dropped the material to the floor before bringing my hands to the waistband of my tiny shorts. Somehow, I’d become so infatuated and distracted by his show that I’d never actually finished—or even really started—taking them off. “Keep watching.”

  “I can’t see anything but you.”

  His words made me pause, so reverent and nakedly honest, but only for a heartbeat before I shimmied my shorts down along with my panties and folded myself back off the bed so they could fall to the ground. Then, I climbed back on the mattress and lay down beside him.

  He rolled immediately until he was propped on one elbow, his eyes locked on mine as his hand landed on my stomach and slowly slid down until he was fingering my clit and making those little zings I felt every time we touched light me up.

  Wholly and completely and perfectly.

  I gripped the back of his neck with one hand, pulling his lips to meet mine. My mouth caressed his, indulgent, almost chaste kisses while he rubbed me, making me quiver and shiver all at once. Against his lips, I demanded, “More. Inside me,” because I felt empty and I wanted to feel full.

  I wanted to be full of him and feel our zing inside.

  He nodded, his lips never leaving mine as he rolled overtop me and removed his hand so he could use both for balance as he pressed the tip of his cock against my entrance and pressed forward, entering me in a torturous but slick glide. I was so wet—from watching him and from tasting him and from his fingers working my clit until all I could think about was him and the way he could make me forget everything else.

  “Perfect, baby,” he whispered into my mouth, before he used his tongue to massage mine, our kiss endless as he languidly moved back and forth within me.

  I cried out when he broke our kiss abruptly and moved his mouth to my neck. Feeling his teeth tighten around the skin over my pulse set my heart to racing even as a thought touched the back of my mind. “Condom, Luc,” I managed to utter, despite the fact that he was moving his lips, his bites, along the column of my neck in an artwork of sensuous torture.

  It was only when I managed to mumble, “Protection,” that he reacted, sliding his cock slowly from my body with a deep, regretful groan. “Ah, pretty girl. You make me lose my bloody mind.”

  “Same. It’s the same,” I agreed as he reached out to grab a condom from the drawer of his bedside table. His movements were swift and sexy, and in no time, he was gliding inside me once more, the momentary break having only heightened the sensations.

  I gripped him to me, my hand floating up and down his broad back, needing to have more and more contact because I couldn’t get enough.

  I couldn’t get enough.

  Embracing the feel of him surrounding me, I surrendered to the moment, to our connection and to the realization that it wasn’t just that I couldn’t get enough—it was the fact that soon I’d leave and that might mean I’d never get enough.

  * * *

  The middle of the night was as quiet as I might’ve expected, except for the crickets. Or at least, according to Lucas, they were crickets. After joking that he wasn’t an entomologist—which was surprisingly the second time since I’d met him that we’d talked bugs—he’d explained, “They’re possibly cicadas, but Mum always called them crickets. I like how Australian that sounds. Maybe Boonie’s out there.” He’d smiled like a loon, which was way too attractive to be fair, and once I’d figured out that “Boonie” was the nickname of a former Australian cricket player, I smiled along with him.

  Except now I was listening to the crickets and waiting to hear back from Ashton, and all I could think about was Lucas. His smile. His apparent love of cricket players who had an abnormal tolerance for beer. The way he held me after we’d made love. The fact that he’d whispered something to me in the dark that made my heart drop.

  “You and me, pretty girl. It’s going to work. It has to work because you—you’re the one.”

  I think he’d thought I was asleep. He certainly didn’t say anything when I didn’t say anything.

  My phone dinged in my hand, and Ashton’s name appeared on the screen.

  Ashton: I’m ready. Call whenever!

  I swiped the screen and made the call immediately, because I was in desperate, dire need of my best friend.

  “Hey! You have a phone that doesn’t belong to a hot Aussie.” Ashton angled the screen so that I could see her and Kennedy, sitting on the floor of their living room. “You work fast. In more ways than one.”

  I waved to my pseudo-niece, making funny faces and loving her chubby baby cheeks. Was it perhaps a distraction technique? Absolutely. Did Ashton see right through it? You betcha.

  “Bianca, spill it.”

  “Spill what?” I asked, trying to act like I wasn’t internally freaking out, not just about Lucas’ whispered words, but about everythin
g that had led up to them. “I just went to a newsagency—it’s like a—”

  “Love you, totally don’t care what a newsagency is,” Ashton interrupted, giving me the look that had quelled me more than once since I’d known her. “Wait, did you call your parents already? I told them you would as soon as you could.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, a little earlier. Thanks for keeping them in the loop for me. I really didn’t expect to get a number so soon.”

  “Okay, good. Now, back to the topic at hand.”

  I played dumb. “Which was?”

  For the second time in as many minutes, she gave me that quelling look. “Do you remember the time in freshman year when I met that guy, Jaxon?” I asked, her look giving me a handy deflection strategy. “And I tried to tell you that it was nothing, just a kiss?”

  Ash’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, so I kept talking. “I think that’s the first time you gave me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The I know you’re trying to get out of telling me the truth look.”

  “Well, you were then—just a kiss, my great aunt Fanny, you let that boy practically maul you—and you are now.”

  “I didn’t let him maul me.” I waited a beat to drive home my punchline. “I asked him to and then returned the favor.” Cocking an eyebrow at my best friend, I waited for her to say something else about Jaxon, who did in fact maul me. Upon request.

  What? He was hot and I was in the mood. It worked for us both and I never saw him again.

  “You’re not fooling me into talking about ancient history, B. Spill it about the Aussie, because I know what you told me in the car wasn’t even the half of it. Spill it or . . .”

  “Or what? The baby gets it?”

  “Har har, you’re hilarious. Go. Now. Andrew will be home soon and unless you want his thoughts on this situation too, you’d best get to talking.”

  I heaved a put-upon sigh, thankful for a best friend that made me talk when she knew I wanted and needed to—but who I knew would’ve left well enough alone if I’d asked her to. “Fine. I told you he sat next to me on the plane, and I don’t know. We clicked, I guess you’d say. I mean, you saw him, right? Can you imagine anyone not clicking with him?”