by Kylie Scott
The two men just looked at each other. Then a car zoomed past, the doorbell jangled, and a customer entered. Nothing had changed. Angry words didn't stop the world from turning round.
"Just do me a favor," said Andre. "When you go back to the coast, call your sister occasionally. Maybe even Pat now and then, okay?"
A nod.
"Thank you."
"Lydia and I have plans," said Vaughan, reaching for my hand. He squeezed my fingers tight, his grip sweaty. "I'll catch you before I go."
"All right."
"It was good to see you again, Andre," I said, offering a brief smile.
"You too, Lydia." He stepped forward, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Take care."
We were out of the shop, down the street, and into the Mustang in under a minute. Two steps for every one of Vaughan's, I almost ran to keep up, puffing all the way. He didn't talk until the key went in the ignition, the engine revving, loud and proud. Slowly, his shoulders descended, the walls came down. But they didn't disappear. Not really.
Not for him and not for me.
"Sorry about that," he said, gaze firmly on the road ahead.
"It's fine."
"Better get back, finish that work on the house."
"Right." I fussed in my seat, gripping the handbag in my lap.
Someone once told me that when people pass in assisted care facilities it's common for men to be found holding their penises. Women, however, grab hold of their handbags. Our money, our identities, our lives, are stuffed into those things. All of the bits and pieces we've collected over the years. Everything we might need to make it through any minor, or major, emergencies.
Men are so much less reliable than handbags.
"I need to read the documents from the Delaneys," I said, putting my priorities back into place. "I should pack my stuff properly too. Nell and I just threw everything into boxes. It'd be horrible if more got broken in the move."
A grunt from the man temporarily at my side.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Hey."
The man lying spread-eagled in the backyard raised a hand, then let it fall back to earth.
"For you," I said, passing him a beer.
"You're an angel." The sweat on his body glistened in the moonlight. Dark wet tendrils of hair clung to his face. He chugged a good three-quarters of the beer in four, five seconds max. It was impressive. Very manly.
Just as well I'd brought out a six-pack.
The scent of cut grass filled the air. Every bush had been neatly trimmed. Instead of an Idaho Amazon, the backyard now resembled a neat suburban garden with an awesome stone fire pit at its center I sat on one of the surrounding rocks, sipping my beer. Stars twinkled overhead. The moon shone. Soon enough, Vaughan finished off his beer and I passed him another.
He sat up, elbows resting on his knees. "You going to say something?"
"About what?" I asked, looking round. "The garden? Great job."
"I meant about the fight with Andre."
I raised my brows, taking another sip. "No."
Nothing beat ice cold beer on a summer's night. I'd showered and changed into a loose cotton dress. After the dust of the garage and repacking almost everything I owned, it was necessary to clean up. Wet hair sat up high on my head in a topknot. All the better for adding a bit of bounce to it tomorrow. It also left my neck exposed to the beautiful cooling nighttime breeze, a definite bonus. It felt so good after the heat of the day.
He looked at me, then he looked around. A process he repeated quite a few times, occasionally stopping for a mouthful of beer.
"I don't know you, Vaughan," I said, when I couldn't take the silent questioning any longer. "Not really. And you don't know me."
His brow furrowed.
"What Andre said was enough to send you spiraling into some sort of frenzied gardening bender. I'm not going to add to it."
"The yard was just a job that needed doing," he mumbled around the top of his beer. "No need to make it a big deal."
"Right. Just a job that needed doing ... for seven hours without a break."
One shoulder lifted. "That's how long it took."
"In your underwear."
"It got hot." He took another mouthful of beer. "Thanks for putting out the bottles of water earlier."
"No problem."
For a while, we drank in silence. Up high the tips of the old pine trees swayed in the breeze like they were waving at the stars. Someone somewhere played Simon and Garfunkel a little louder than necessary. Otherwise the night was peaceful, nice.
"Good thing about the fences," I said eventually.
"Hmm?"
"Otherwise the neighbors would have had a wonderful time watching you trim the hedges in your boxer briefs."
He snorted. "True. Those fences aren't tall enough to keep out runaway brides, though."
I breathed in through my teeth, making a hissing noise. "A nasty invasive breed. I'd be surprised if anything could stop them."
He motioned to the neat line of hedges with his half-empty bottle. "This is how Dad used to keep it, all neat and tidy. Then Mom would plant flowers everywhere she could fit them. They'd be spilling out all over the place. Total chaos."
"Yeah?"
"I'm pretty sure she did it just to drive him nuts." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Every year she'd do a different color. All white flowers one summer, all yellow the next, and so on. Want to hear another of my embarrassing stories?"
"Hells yes."
"One year, I accidentally broke a lamp. I was throwing a ball around inside the house, completely against the rules," he said. "Anyway, I blamed it on the dog. This yappy ball of fluff Nell had begged them to buy her for Christmas. She even called the stupid thing Snowball."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Well, Mom knew I was lying about the lamp, but she couldn't prove it."
"What about your dad?"
A laugh. "He hated the dog too. Gave me the benefit of the doubt."
"Poor Snowball."
"Mm. He had to spend more time outside after that," he said. "Nell wouldn't talk to me for weeks and Mom was definitely not impressed."
"I bet. You sound like a terrible child," I joked.
"Hold on, I'm not finished." He turned my way, his smile definite this time. "So I was having a water fight in the backyard for my eighth birthday party. Had been planning it for months. I'd stockpiled all these water balloons and me and Eric spent weeks building these giant forts out of cardboard boxes. It was going to be excellent. Absolutely no girls allowed."
"And?"
"Mom planted pink that year. And not just light pink, oh no. Big bright pink flowers everywhere. They were hanging in baskets and filling pots. She went berserk with them, far worse than normal." He paused, drank. "You couldn't come out here without being struck blind by it all. It looked like a flock of flamingos had exploded."
"Oh, no," I cried out dramatically. My senior year drama classes were finally proving useful, thank god. "Your poor burgeoning masculinity and street cred. Gone!"
"Right? I was completely humiliated." He stretched out his legs, semi-reclining back on his elbows. "Eric wanted to dig them all up right before the party and try blaming it on Snowball. But I really didn't see how that could work twice."
"Probably a wise call."
A nod.
"You mom sounds awesome," I said with no small amount of wonder.
"Yeah. She was."
With no ace parenting tales of my own to share, conversation lapsed again. This time, however, it didn't feel awkward. We were just two people hanging out, star gazing on a summer night. It was all good.
"I do know you," he said quietly. "You're wrong about that."
My gaze jumped from the stars to him. Both equally stunning. His eyes shone in the moonlight, which was singularly useless. I couldn't read him at all. I needed more light to see his expression, so I could figure out where this was going.
"You've done nothi
ng but show me who you are since I met you," he said.
And that right there was the problem. "I'm not sure it's fair to judge me on recent events. The last few days have quite possibly been among the most bizarre and traumatic of my life."
"Lydia, you've broken into my house, punched a lying asshole in the nose, stayed with me when I didn't want to be alone, stepped in to help my sister's business, forgiven me when I behaved like a dickhead, cleaned me and my house up after a brawl, and pushed me into having rough sex with you."
"... yeah."
"Yeah," he repeated. "I like you. But more than that, I trust you."
"Wow. That's what you get from all that?"
"That's what I get."
I raised my brows, looking away. It was a lot to take in. More than I needed or less than I wanted, I couldn't quite decide. Confusion of the heart is a bitch. Assuming like, the same as love, came from the vascular muscle, of course. Crazy obviously came from the head and the loins.
So while the sane part of my head was saying things like "it's only temporary" and "take it easy," the crazy part was shouting "ooh look, it's Vaughan, he's so pretty and shiny and makes you feel good" and "jump on the man, for fuck's sake." And that part was much, much louder. Crazy was a bit of a whore, god bless her.
At any rate, my body was at war. Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream would hit the spot. Insert heavy sigh here.
"What was that for?" asked Vaughan.
"Ice cream."
"Right. We don't have any." A pause. "I think there's some of Nell's flourless chocolate cake in the fridge. Will that do instead?"
"I suppose so." God, life was so hard. I took a swig of beer, firmly pushing all my deep and insane thoughts aside. Enough already. "Do you feel any better now that you've done the garden?"
He took his turn releasing a heavy sigh. "Honestly, I don't know. Being back here ... Andre was right. It is fucking with me."
I kept quiet, letting him work it through.
"I keep expecting to see Dad come out of the garage. Hear Mom yell at me from the kitchen about something." Light glinted off his bottle as he held it to his lips and drank deep. "Away from here, I could just ignore their absence. Pretend they didn't die in that car crash, like the funeral was just some shitty dream."
In a sudden burst of rage he surged up, throwing the bottle of beer at the back fence. It didn't shatter and break. There was no satisfying smash of destruction. The bottle just hit the fence and fell behind the bushes, landing in the dirt with a soft thud. Such a weak, useless response.
"Fuck!" Vaughan lay back down, staring up at the night sky. Pain and anger flowed off him in waves, filling the darkness.
No light was needed for me to feel it. And it hurt.
"Babe," he said, voice guttural. He lifted his hand, beckoning me forward with his fingers.
I set my drink aside, going to him without thinking. The man just had that kind of power over me. "What can I get for you?"
No response.
"Vaughan?"
I knelt at his side, better able to see him up close. Sweat or something else dampened his face. Dirt and grass stained his beautiful body. The man was a mess. He sat up, grabbing hold of my face and bringing his mouth to mine. Hot wet kisses and frenzied hands. The taste of him drove me wild. It all happened so fast it was dizzying. First his thumbs stroked my cheeks, hands holding me in place. Then he had one arm around my waist and a hand gripping my thigh, maneuvering me over him. Knees pressing into the manicured lawn, I found myself straddling him before I even knew what he wanted.
Luckily I'd worn a dress.
Touching the man made me high. All that bare skin and violent need, just for me. He fed me passionate kisses, making my insides melt. My thigh muscles quivered, the feel of him hardening against me was breathtaking. Immediately my girl parts kicked into gear. They knew how superb it felt to have him inside and wanted him to make a return visit.
If he needed it, I'd fuck the fear of death out of him, chase away the hurt of old memories.
If he wanted it, I wouldn't think twice.
Fingers pushed down my panties. Not that they could go far. He kneaded my ass, still kissing me senseless. I ground myself against him, panting. So good. His tongue in my mouth, his breath in my lungs. Making out like crazy in the backyard of his childhood home. I couldn't care less if anyone could see.
"Lydia." He pressed kisses across my cheek, then down along my jawline. Teeth grazed across the sensitive skin of my neck.
Goddamn vampire.
Meanwhile, his hands had apparently tired of feeling up my ass. One dug into my hair, while the other tugged my underwear aside. Fingers slipped in between the lips of my pussy, trailing lightly back and forth in the damp, teasing me. Everything low in me tensed, a vibrant sensation racing down my spine. I didn't know whether to move or stay still. The pad of his thumb decided it for me, drawing circles around my clit. It dipped down into the moisture lower then returned with a vengeance.
"Look at me," he muttered.
The thumb brushed over my sweet spot, making me shiver. Crap, that was good. If he'd just keep going a little longer, pressing a little harder ...
"Open your eyes, babe."
The fist in my hair tightened sharply, stinging my scalp. It was completely unexpected. My whole focus had been on my pussy, where it belonged. My eyelids flew up, mouth open. "V-Vaughan."
"That's it." The lines of his face stood out starkly, his eyes huge and hypnotic. He nipped at my bottom lip, then kissed it better. "Don't leave me now."
"No." I shook my head emphatically. Our time wasn't up. Not yet.
"Need you here," he said, still manipulating my clit with expertise. His clever thumb never stopped, touch varying from light to hard, teasing to almost rough. How he knew where the all-important line between pleasure and pain lay, I had no idea. I guess Fender girl had taught him. If the woman ever crossed my path, I'd kiss her. My hair stood on end, sweat was beading on my back. He could have been writing the American Constitution down there. I didn't care. So long as he didn't stop.
"Need you right here," he said, staring deep into my eyes.
I nodded, beyond words.
Then he moved his thumb away. It was the saddest thing ever. The back of his hand brushed against me, doing something. Without his interference, my underwear slid back over, a line of elastic dissecting my swollen labia. Not cool.
Before I could fix it, his fingers returned, pulling it back out of the way. The smooth broad head of his cock dragged across my clit, between the wet lips of my sex. And yes, hells yes. The moment I could, I slowly pushed down, taking him inside. My eyes rolled back into my head it was so good. Delicious, glorious, and all these things and more. I'd never felt anything like it. His hard cock sliding into me was pure bliss and I never wanted it to end.
I whimpered and moaned like a wanton hussy.
He swore up a storm.
If any neighbors, astronauts, or heavenly deities were out there watching, they had to be jealous as hell.
His free arm slid around my waist, holding me to him in an almost brutal embrace. Like I had any intention of trying to get away. The feel of him stretching me, filling me up inside, was just too fine. Every vein in his dick seemed tantalizingly magnified. My back arched, pelvis trying to rock but not getting far. Interior muscles clutched at him in pain and pleasure. I ached inside and only he could make it better. In frustration, I twisted against his hold, writhing on him.
It was sweet torture.
"I need to move," I pled, pressing my mouth to his face, kissing every inch of skin I could reach. Stubble scratched my skin, but no matter. "Vaughan?"
The controlling bastard tugged on my hair, turning his face to claim my mouth again. I kissed him as savagely as I could muster. Tongue stroking over his teeth, then tangling with his. Teeth grazing his firm bottom lip. Liquid copper hit my taste buds. I must have reopened his busted lip. Oh well.
"You going to fuck me, dirty gir
l?" he asked, voice guttural.
"Yes," I hissed back at him. Partially plotting his death, but mostly just orgasms.
"How hard?"
"Hard. I promise, so hard. Let me go, Vaughan."
"Say please."
Bastard. "Please."
"Do it."
His arm relented, setting me free. And I grabbed hold of his shoulders, using them for leverage as I rose and fell on his cock. I might not make it into the Kentucky Derby, but I did ride Vaughan into the ground.
Literally.
Grass and dirt were pulverized beneath my knees as I pounded myself down on him. I clasped at him with my insides. His moans were music to my ears. Skin slapped against skin, sweat poured out of both of us. Nothing mattered. Only feeling him inside of me and coming. Hands gripped my breasts, squeezing and molding them over the fabric of my dress and bra. It wasn't enough. I took control and pushed him back, angling my body forward. All the better to grind my clit against his pubic bone.
Yes.
A groan was torn from my throat. Nerve endings sizzled, hot pleasure pouring through me. It kept on building, getting bigger and higher and even more amazing. His hand cupped my face, trying to move with me, to keep the contact. His gaze swallowed me whole. All the time I kept moving, fucking him hard like he wanted. Like we both wanted. The muscles in my thighs screamed bloody murder. But the light inside me grew hotter and brighter until it became a flash fire.
I saw nothing and felt everything. My whole body gripped by the shattering pleasure. I came and came until there was nothing left. The ringing in my ears went on for a while as I fell limp against him. His hips bucked against me, still shoving his hard cock in deep. Hands gripped my hips viciously tight. Then he came too, exhaling hard, chest rising steeply against mine. Strong arms clasped me to him.
The night pressed in around us once again. Just doing its thing.
Vaughan's heart beat hard beneath my ear, the heat of his body keeping me warm. I don't think I needed anything else. At least, not right now.
"Hell of a set of lungs on you. Neighbors are going to think I was trying to kill you," he said.
"You basically were. It was terrible."
He snickered. "Babe, you came so hard you nearly broke me."
"Whatever." Who even had the energy to fight? I'd worn myself out fucking.
Then I felt it. A thick liquid oozing out of me. The dreaded sperm.
"We didn't use anything," I whispered.
"Shit."
*