by Sara Hazel
I impatiently push the touch screen of the GPS to get back to her house, waiting for Google Maps to load, then drive. No one is out at one o’clock on a stormy night; I see nothing but rain with images of her flashing through my mind the same way lightning flashes through the sky. I know I probably shouldn’t be driving, but I just can’t stop myself.
I pull into the driveway and hesitate, staring at the deluge pouring onto her greenhouse. What am I doing? This is insane. This is some toxic masculinity bullshit that makes me want to throw her down and—
I’m at her door and knock insistently as the rain pounds down on me. I know it’s likely to scare her, but I can’t help it. I can’t help anything but my desire for her, to be with her, to touch her, to smell her and kiss her.
I stand shivering in the rain in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans and wait while I hear her creeping toward the door, see the outline of her through the glass. She opens the door cautiously, eyes narrowed as she holds a baseball bat at the ready.
She drops it when she sees me.
Chapter Five
Steph
I answer the door with a baseball bat, shaking nervously. Who the hell is at my door at one a.m. in a rainstorm? I know that it’s crazy, but somehow I know who it is once I put my hand on the doorknob. I know it’s Will, soaking wet and crazed with the same need for me that I feel for him. I can’t ignore the instant attraction I felt to him the moment his eyes met mine over that fence; my body screamed for him, my mind and soul called out for him.
It’s insane. I’m insane. I can’t do this. He probably forgot his hammer or something and is coming at one a.m. to retrieve it and—
I open the door and let the bat drop. He silences my running thoughts with a kiss, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me close to his slick body. I can feel his muscles beneath his skin flexing against my soft flesh. “You need to dry off,” I murmur against his lips in protest.
“Shh,” he urges me, deepening the kiss, pulling me closer with his hands on my ample hips. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around his waist.
“I’m too heavy,” I protest, groaning as he leans down and nips at my throat.
“You’re perfect,” he says harshly. “I told you that this afternoon. You’re so fucking beautiful, Steph, and I feel so connected to you.”
I moan as his tongue and his teeth tease at my throat and the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I cling to him with my nails as I squirm against his body. “Bedroom? Where?” he says huskily. His voice rolls over me like the thunder, shuddering down my spine; I know that whatever he has to give me tonight is exactly what I need.
“I feel connected to you, too,” I say finally, managing to talk past his lips on mine. “Down the hallway. On the right. Please.” I feel like I can’t speak clearly, I can’t think, as his fingers dig into the thick skin of my hips, my ass. My breasts are pressed tightly against his chest and I moan as my hardening nipples rub against the rough fabric of his wet shirt. My nightshirt is already soaked through from his clothes. I shiver in his arms.
We’re in my bedroom before I realize it, and he sets me down on my twin bed with the antique wooden frame as gently as I think he’s capable of. His eyes are on fire, and I can feel myself responding, growing wet with desire as he lowers himself over me, pressing his lips into mine. “I want you,” he growls softly, digging his nails into my hips again. “But Steph…”
I moan as he presses his knee between my legs, rubbing against my plain white panties with the little pink bow. “Yeah?” I whisper breathlessly, and my hands are all over his chest, rubbing his muscles, clawing at his skin, raking over his nipples. He hisses as I score his nipples with my nails, and I can feel him growing harder against my side.
“Once I have you, you’re mine,” he warns me. “I won’t let you go. I can’t. I don’t know what it is about you, honey, but I can’t let you go.”
A shudder runs down my body, wracking me with pleasure at his words. I don’t know what it is, but this domination of my body, this desire to make me his, hits something primal within me, a need to be his. I whimper impatiently, unable to wait, reaching my hands down and grasping his cock through his jeans. I groan in surprise as my hand cups him; he’s so thick, so long, and I can’t imagine how he’s going to possibly fit inside of me.
But oh, do I want it.
He rips his shirt off and shimmies mine off my body, pressing us chest-to-chest. My nipples are rock hard against his wet, cold skin. “Do you want me?” he whispers, reaching between my legs, rubbing against my panties with gentle fingers.
“Yes,” I moan, rocking into his hand eagerly, unashamed. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him. “I want you.”
He slides my panties aside and runs his fingers up and down my slit, spreading my growing wetness across me, over me, all up and down my skin until I’m the one who’s soaking wet. He slides out of his jeans to reveal that he isn’t wearing any underwear. He’s big and thick and perfect and I reach for him, desperate to touch him.
“Oh, no,” he breathes, and settles over me, nestling his cock between my lower lips. “I’m in control of this one.” Will rocks slowly, rubbing his cock over my clit, over and over again, and I moan loudly, throwing my head back as he presses into my throbbing flesh. I’m so ready, so needy for him that I can’t help it: I start to beg.
“Please, Will,” I moan, arching my hips into his, rubbing into him with no shame. “Please!”
“Please what, baby?” he whispers, and his voice is ragged, barely controlled.
“Make me come,” I beg. “Come all over you. Come inside of me. Give me everything.”
“Everything?” he teases, rubbing his cock against my entrance, dipping just barely inside, in and out, teasing my hole as I shudder and moan. “Everything… give you my come? My babies? What do you want from me?”
“Oh fuck,” I cry out, shoving against him as hard as I can; he slips on my slick skin, pressing into me hard. He enters me roughly with a cry, spreading my flesh. I feel him swelling inside of me, so thick and hard that I can barely handle him—and it’s amazing.
“What,” he gasps, and that’s all it takes, he starts to fuck me, in and out, so slowly that I wiggle impatiently against the bed, raking my nails up and down his chest, making him bleed.
“You said...giving me your come,” I moan. “Your babies. Everything. I want everything,” I cry, throwing my head back and moaning louder, spreading my legs and wrapping them around his waist, rocking into him fervently, rubbing my clit against his pelvis.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and I can feel him throbbing against the deepest parts of me as he starts thrusting, harder and harder. I scream, sobbing my pleasure as he reaches between us and rubs my clit.
“You’re so amazing,” he gasps, and his eyes are glowing gold as I thrust back against him, grinding my clit into his fingers. I feel a soft fluttering from the deepest parts of me as my body is wracked with pleasure. I can’t even feel ashamed of sleeping with him the day we met; I can feel his soul touching mine as he thrusts into me, as he stares into me, holding me so gently even as we frantically make love. “I don’t know… I don’t…” he gasps.
“Me either,” I whimper, and cling to him with my thick thighs around his waist, rubbing my slick flesh against his balls as he bottoms out inside of me. I feel at home in his arms; I feel like I’ve belonged here all along. And as I feel myself starting to clench around him, my inner walls clamping down on him, massaging his cock inside of me, I scream his name, raking my nails down his chest.
He holds me tight against the bed, burying his face between my breasts and moaning into my sweat-soaked skin, his body shuddering and tensing. “I’m gonna come for you, honey,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Gonna come so hard inside of you.” He grunts suddenly, a low, guttural moan, primal and intense as he pushes me down by my shoulders, burying himself inside of me as far as he’ll go. I can feel him coming with me, ou
r juices mixing inside of me. I cling to him, rocking and shivering.
“Fuck,” he moans, laying his head against my ample breasts. We’re out of breath, gasping together. As he looks up at me, I swear I can see a tear in his eye.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I don’t know how, but I love you. And you’re mine.”
I say nothing, too stunned by the revelation, too bowled over by the orgasm to move. I lay trembling against the bed in the safety of Will’s arms, wondering what the hell just happened.
Chapter Six
Will
The sun is shining weakly as I wake up next to Steph. It can’t be more than five in the morning as I rest my hand on her belly, stroking her soft skin. There was something about the way we’d talked yesterday about children—the longing in her voice, the heartbreak in mine—that made me wonder if maybe… I shake my head. I can’t believe that all of this has happened so fast—yet it feels so right. Everything about her feels right, like we were meant to be. The way that I feel when I’m inside of her, the way that she feels in my arms.
I watch her sleep, exhaling slowly and whimpering a little as she dreams. I run my fingers up and down the length of her side and settle close to her. The bed is small—too small for her, sure as hell too small for both of us. That’ll be the first gift I give to her: a beautiful bed that we can make love in, together.
I realize that eventually I’m going to have to get up and go next door. And I realize that Mr. Charles is going to see me coming out of Steph’s house at dawn. I’ve known him for a while; he’s sharpened a lot of tools for me, and I know that the old man has a seriously great sense of humor. But what I don’t know is how protective he is over Steph.
I pull on my clothes, now dry after last night’s storm, and smile at her as she sleeps. I told her the truth last night: if I made love to her, she’s mine. There’s no way that I’m letting her go now. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, now that I’ve been inside of her—there’s nothing I can ever do that will make me feel like I’ve had enough of being with her. I think about her laughter, about the way we’d talked afterward about our future together.
She wants a future together. At least, I’m pretty sure she does. I stretch slowly, feeling unused muscles straining, and grin. I’m sore from how tight she is. And if I play my cards right, I get to do it all over again tonight—and every night.
I creep down the hallway, trying to avoid waking her. I know that she probably wakes up early anyway to be up with her flowers—but that doesn’t mean I can’t give her a few precious moments of sleep before she does. I make my way to my equipment I’d left at Mr. Charles’ house, and find him looking at me calmly through the back window of his house.
Ah, shit.
He stares at me as I stand there, looking like an idiot, clearly looking like I’d just crawled out of bed with his neighbor. And then he winks.
Oh, Jesus. I laugh, shaking my head, and turn my back to him, staring up the ladder to take the tarp off the roof of the barn. I find myself humming; I’m in such a damn good mood that I can’t stop myself. It’s almost annoying to be in such good humor after spending so long feeling sorry for myself, but it’s so good to laugh again.
As I start working the nails out of the tarp, I hear singing again, and turn just enough to see my princess working in her greenhouse. The door’s open and the sign is banging lightly against the glass in the breeze; her hair is shining, and her voice is low and clear.
God, I love her already.
She turns around, and I see the shirt she’s wearing: a low-cut, pale pink tank top with lace touching her soft breasts. I twist to watch her, jaw dropping, as I see her pencil skirt hugging her hips and her ass. “Damn, woman!” I call to her through the open windows of the greenhouse. “Am I gonna have to chain you to the bed to keep other men from looking at you? How do you think I’m going to be able to work with you looking like that?”
She laughs, and the sound follows me for the rest of the day.
Chapter Seven
Steph
The barn is close enough to my greenhouse that we can holler at each other all day. As Will takes the tarp off the barn, I can see that the damage is far greater than what I’d thought; there are holes everywhere, rotted beams and damaged shingles. I don’t know how Mr. Charles’ horses made it through the winter without snow freezing their little noses.
“So, what’s your favorite flower?” he asks, as he carries equipment up onto the platform he’d set up.
“Orchids, now,” I tease him, laughing. I stretch slowly. My body is sore from the workout last night; it aches in such delicious places that I feel like I’ll never forget what he gave me. I don’t know how we managed to find each other so quickly, how we forged a connection so immediately, but I have absolutely no regrets.
“No, really,” he replies, a hammer and a crowbar now attached to his belt.
“Peonies,” I answer, and we work in companionable silence for a few moments until he gets a chance to respond again.
“What do peonies mean?”
“Romance. Prosperity. Good luck. All things…” I pause, looking away from his golden-brown eyes. “Things I never thought I’d get to have, honestly.”
He sits back on the ladder after tossing down broken, rotted planks. His eyes are serious this time, his expression curiously grave. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore,” he says, almost too softly for me to hear. “I’ll be your good luck charm. I promise.”
I melt, thinking about this man who practically adopted me as family the moment he met me. I don’t have any family left; I’m an only child. All I have is Mr. Charles next door… and now, Will.
We talk back and forth at every free moment, between sawing and pounding, pruning and arranging. I find myself making an arrangement of orchids for our bedroom—our bedroom. Because I know that he’ll be back again tonight, even if he doesn’t mean to be. Every time I turn to look his eyes are on me, smoldering. I have wet panties for most of the day.
I hear Mr. Charles and Will talking outside my window and smile, not listening in. I know that Mr. Charles has probably given Will about sixteen lectures from here ‘til Sunday about me already; there’s no way he missed Will walking out of my house this morning. Will is never going to live it down. Mr. Charles is going to tease him until the day he dies.
I laugh at the thought of my elderly neighbor fussing at this strong beast of a man. The day goes by in a steady stream of customers looking for a little bit of spring to brighten their days. I make small bouquets of daisies and big arrangements of carnations, a few sprays of roses and one sorrowful array of lilies for a funeral. It’s one of the more strangely rewarding experiences of my job; I never mind making funeral arrangements. It makes me feel as if I’m doing something to help celebrate the life of the person who’s been lost.
Lost in thought as well, my mind wanders as I prune my roses, watering little buds gently, humming to myself. It doesn’t take long for me to forget what I’m doing and wander among the flowers, touching each petal fondly; I inhale deeply, relaxing, until I hear a loud grunt and a yell.
I freeze, trying to figure out where the sound’s coming from—and it hits me. Before I know it, I’m out the door of the greenhouse and through the gate in the fence to Mr. Charles’ yard, where I see Will lying flat on his back, staring up at the sky.
My heart lunges in my chest and I shriek, unable to move until Mr. Charles rushes past me, moving as fast as he’s able. I’m crying without even realizing it as I see Mr. Charles helping a gasping Will to sit up, assisting him in leaning up against the barn.
I rush to his side. “Will!” I cry out softly, my hands fluttering at my sides. I don’t know what to do—how to help. As my eyes examine him, I see that his ankle is twisted at an angle that isn’t found in nature. I groan, instantly growing nauseous. His eyes are glassy; he reaches out to grip my wrist.
“Steph,” he says hoarsely. “That last step off the ladder sucked.”
I hit him feebly on the shoulder, tears streaming down my face. “I thought you were dead! Don’t make jokes! God, Will, are you okay?”
His eyes travel slowly down to his ankle, and back up to me. Struggling to focus on my face, his eyelids flutter as he groans, “I’m pretty sure I’m not,” before he passes out.
Chapter Eight
Will
I hear an old country doctor talking to Mr. Charles in the kitchen as I lie on the man’s old plaid couch. The fact that I was paying enough attention to the pattern of the couch told me that they’d given me some pretty impressive drugs, because my attention would definitely have been elsewhere.
Like on Steph. I gaze up at her adoringly as she sits by my side, holding my hand in both of hers. Her hands are cold and dirt stained. I rub them with my fingers, trying to warm her. “Shh,” she scolds me softly. “Don’t move. Just… just lie there and recover.”
My eyes wander down my body until I see my twisted ankle. I’m pretty sure that there’s no way that angle appears anywhere in nature. But it doesn’t hurt—it just feels cool and… can a limb feel floaty? It definitely feels floaty.
I look at her low-cut shirt and smile slowly. “I really like that shirt,” I offer as a gesture of peace. “As a matter of fact, all day I’ve been thinking about you in that skirt and—”
“Will!” she whispers, glaring down at me as Mr. Charles and the doctor laugh. I don’t know if they heard me or not, but I don’t mind if they did. I’ve firmly acknowledged the fact that Steph is mine. There’s nothing stopping me from claiming her forever. As a matter of fact—