914 Bittersweet Ln.: A Cherry Falls Romance

by Frankie Love

  "You sound like a good guy."

  "Fair enough." I say, "but not a good old boy. That connotes a high school football star who's schmoozing with the head cheerleader."

  "That wasn't you?" she asks.

  "No, that wasn't me. That's not me. I'm no... I've been the quiet guy my whole damn life."

  "There was never the girl that got away?"

  "Nope. I guess I've always been holding out for the one."

  "Really? You didn't have some serious relationship that broke your heart or some girl whose heart you broke?"

  I chuckle. "Can we get back to the toe-curling orgasm?”

  Paisley laughs, "Fair enough. I guess not everyone has a true love at a young age. Huh?"

  I shake my head. "Nah, I didn't. Did you?"

  "No. My love story hasn't been written yet," she says.

  "Have you thought about it?" I ask her.

  "Oh God, you should see the journals I wrote,” she says. “I think between the ages of 15 and 17, all I did was think about my one and only. Writing songs about the man who was going to come and sweep me away."

  "Was he a good old boy?” I can't help but ask.

  She laughs hard. The music from the bar fills the parking lot and we unroll the windows, sitting back in the seats of the Chevy.

  The stars are out. The moon hangs high, the sky is dark. It's a perfect September night. "No, none of the songs I wrote were about a good old boy. That was never the type of guy that I imagined myself with."

  "What kind of man did you dream of then?" I ask her. I reach for her hand, her fingers lace with mine. My cock, damn, it's still hard thinking about that kiss. That perfect kiss on the dance floor. Her dress slides up her thigh right now and I see her skin. She's so beautiful. So damn perfect. She has no fucking clue.

  "I'd write about these guys who were the opposite of the men my mother would date. My mom somehow would find the worst kind of men. Drunks, assholes, guys who hurt her and hurt us. Who were so good at making sure none of us felt safe. Ever. Who were so good at making us feel so damn small. I always imagined a man who wasn't scared to let me be big, my own size, safe in my own skin. I wrote about men who could let me stand on my own two feet. Who could wrap their arms around me, not because they wanted to hide me, but because they wanted to protect me." Paisley looks over at me now, her fingers laced with mine.

  "That's fucking beautiful," I tell her.

  "Yeah," she says, "I don't know. The songs were kind of wistful."

  "Will you sing one for me?" I ask her.

  "You want to hear me sing?" she asks. She swallows and then she opens her mouth and sings me a verse.

  There’s a fucking angel in my Chevy. Screw the radio, I have a songbird at my side and I swear to God the heavens are cracking open right here, right now.

  When she finishes, I fucking brush tears away from my eyes. "Fuck, Paisley Cassidy. You should be a country music star."

  "Stop it." She pushes me away, her hands on my chest.

  I reach for her wrists, still them, I don't let her go. This time, I draw her close. I kiss her again, harder now, fuller. She sinks deep against me. The kiss intensifies, our mouths collide and crash.

  "Holt," she whispers, "don't stop kissing me."

  I kiss her again, longer. Our mouths part, her tongue's pressed against mine. I wrap my arms around her in a way I know she needs, deep, tight, hard. My fingers run through her hair, tight against her back. She smells so good. Like lavender and honey, like sunshine and lemonade. And I don't know how this girl who came from nothing ended up so damn much, but she is everything. She feels like everything to me. I want to be everything to her, and in the space of one damn night, everything's changed. I want to be the man she needs.

  She said she's tired of living a life of disappointment. She's had the bittersweet end of everything, but 21 years of that is too many.

  "We can't take this any further in the parking lot," I tell her between kisses, my mouth on her ear. Desire on my lips. She's tearing at my shirt and I know she feels my cock. I want to taste her pussy, touch it, sink myself inside of it. She nods understanding.

  "Then take me anywhere," she says, "because Holt Stone, I'll go anywhere you want to go."

  Paisley

  "Whose land is this?" I ask him when he pulls the pickup to a spot I don't recognize, an old dusty road in the Ranch Lands.

  "It's my land," he tells me. "It was my pa's and my granddad's before that. It's been in my family for a long time."

  "Nobody's ever done anything with it?" I ask.

  He shrugs as he kills the engine. "No," he says, "it’s just empty farmland."

  "You want to do something with it?" I ask him.

  "I don't have any big dreams like that," he tells me. "I don't want to start a ranch or anything."

  "No?" I ask.

  "I like working at the Cherry Blossom Ranch. I don't have lofty ideas of running some massive place. I like the managerial position that I've got now. I can imagine moving up in the company, but I don't want to run a big ranch. And I didn't go to business school. Hell, I went to school planning on running a baseball team, not a ranch." Holt laughs, but I see the pain in his eyes. Still.

  He shrugs. "My mom has a nice little house, but..." He shrugs again. "Look, it's a nice three-bedroom rambler. It's a nice, modest home. It's where I grew up and I’m staying there now, but I can't imagine living there forever. Eventually, I might build a house out here."

  He shrugs again, and I can imagine that is quite enough heavy conversation for one night.

  "Hey," I say, taking his hand. "We don't need to go over all that tonight.”

  "Okay," he says. "We can go back to that toe-curling fantasy?"

  I nod. "Yeah, please."

  "I mean, if you insist," he says.

  "But," I tell him, running my hand through his hair like I've been aching to do for hours. "I do want to hear about that house you're going to build one day out on this land. Maybe you can build yourself a little field of dreams."

  He smiles. "You're too young to know that movie."

  "Hey," I say, frowning. "I know lots of things. I'm smarter than I look."

  "You look pretty damn smart," he tells me.

  I smile. "Yeah? Tell me more."

  "You look pretty damn sexy, too. This dress, it's fucking working."

  "Yeah? You like me in peach?"

  "I'd like you out of peach, too," he says with a grin.

  "How's this going to work in this truck?" I ask. "You know, I think I might need a little bit more room to move, considering this is my first time."

  "Your first time, first time?"

  I nod. "Yeah. I am completely untapped."

  "Like completely, completely?"

  "How explicit do I need to be?" I tease.

  "You're an unpopped cherry in Cherry Falls?"

  I nod. "Yeah, the one and only unicorn."

  "Fuck," he says. "Paisley, are you sure you want this?"

  I nod. "I do." I press my palms together. "I can beg again."

  "Don't beg," he says. "I mean, it's fucking hot when you do that, but is it me or does this feel really fucking special, whatever's happening here?"

  I smile, my heart tight in my chest in a way that makes the butterflies flip-flop and my knees go to jelly and my whole body light on fire. A million different metaphors that are all jumbled together in the most perfect kind of way happen at once.

  "Yeah, something's happening here, Holt Stone."

  I smile, my lips pressed together. My eyes close.

  "What are you doing?" he asks, cupping my cheeks and kissing me softly.

  I admit the truth. "I'm making a wish."

  "What's your wish, Paisley?" he asks, his voice soft, precious, sweet. Not at all condescending, like he understands.

  "I'm just feeling like all of this might disappear in a moment, like it's too good to be true. And I'm trying to memorize it, because I'm scared that I'm going to wake up tomorrow and none of thi
s will have happened."

  "This is real," he tells me. "I promise. I'm too old for this to have been fake. I don't believe in make-believe anymore."

  "That's sad. See, I still believe in make-believe, because I have four younger siblings who watch the Disney Channel, so I'm very well-versed in fairy tales."

  "See? You're lucky," he tells me. "You still have that childlike magic happening on a day-to-day basis."

  "That's not luck," I tell him. "That's tragedy. I should not be having all of that magic in my day-to-day life because along with that magic comes making sure there is lunch money and filling out field trip forms and parent teacher conferences and..."

  Holt exhales. "Fuck, I know. That's a lot."

  "I'm sorry," I say. "We're supposed to go back to the fantasy. Take me to the fantasy." I press my palms together. "Please, please? Pretty please?"

  "There's that begging again."

  "I thought you liked the begging."

  "I do."

  He kisses me. This time, it's not as chaste as the last. I sink into the kiss. Into him.

  "Come on," he says. "Let's get out of here."

  "Where are we going?" I laugh. There's no house to enter, no home to walk into, no motel room he's booked.

  "The back of the truck," he says. He reaches behind the seat and grabs a few blankets.

  "Wow," I say. "You come prepared. You do this often?"

  "Never," he says, "but I do have some blankets and a few battery-operated flashlights. I got a few things back here. I'm old, remember? I have an emergency preparedness kit. I even got granola bars, a few roadside flares. Hmm, what else do I have?"

  He rummages through the bin behind his driver's-side seat. "I have jumper cables."

  "Okay, point taken. This isn't some rendezvous sex kit. It's just the basics."

  "Exactly," he says. "Now, come on. Let's get to the back of the pickup so I can see what I'm working with."

  I laugh, but I’m grinning at the same time. In the back of the pickup truck, he spreads out the blankets and I'm pleased to see that they provide enough comfort. "Now," he says, "come here." We crawl up into the bed of the truck, and he draws me close. We're on our knees and we're face to face. "Is this okay?" he asks.

  I nod. "You don't have to ask again."

  "I know, but I'm working with virgin materials here."

  "I know, but I'm not delicate. I'm tough."

  "I know," he says. "You're tougher than most girls."

  "All girls," I clarify.

  "Sure, but that doesn't mean you're not fragile."

  "I'm not fragile."

  "You sure about that, Paisley?" Holt looks at me then, runs his fingers through my hair, sees me in a way most men don't, no men do. He cuts through my bull crap. He sees me at my core.

  "How can I afford to be fragile?" I ask him. "If I am breakable then I could fall apart, and if I fall apart, who is going to pick me up? I can't be in a million pieces when Joanne, and Sarah, and Granger, and Parker all need me to be whole."

  "Damn, Paisley. That's the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard."

  I smirk. "Yeah, well, we're in the back of a pickup truck under the moonlight at the beautiful end of a summer night. You're about to pop my cherry, and I’m on my very first date. I don't know how to do this. You asked me a question, and I only know how to be honest."

  "Good," he says. "I'm glad."

  "Really?" I ask as he begins to unzip my dress and expose my breasts and my heart all in one fell swoop.

  "Yeah," he says. His hand stills and he looks at me. "Truth is," he says, "I wouldn't have you any other way. And beyond that, I think I'm falling in love with you." He looks at my eyes then, and I'd laugh if it didn't seem so serious.

  "Stop it," I say.

  "I can't," he tells me.

  "What do you mean you can't?"

  "I mean the zipper’s all the way down. Your dress is coming off, girl."

  "No, I mean your words. Stop them."

  "It's too late. They're out. It's over. It's done. You're mine."

  "Don't." Tears fill my eyes. Spill over.

  "I'm telling you. It's over. It's done with. It's happened." He looks at me.

  "Stop, Holt.” My voice cracks. “You just met me."

  He smiles. I blink back tears, and I swear to God, he does too. "Holt," my voice splits. That's the breaking part that I'm scared of. He feels that.

  "It's okay," he says, "I got you. I got you. See? If you break, I'm the one who's here. I'll catch you before you fall." He kisses me then. And I kiss him back. And maybe that part should terrify me. Maybe it should stop me in my very tracks from taking this any further. But it doesn't. Because instead of pulling away, I give in to the very thing I've been scared of my whole damn life.

  I give in to the possibility of being loved.

  Holt

  I know it's fucking insane to say those three little words so fucking fast, but I don't care. When I look at her, when I hear her, when I feel her, ‘I love you’ is all I can think, all I can say because it's the God’s honest truth.

  And that's what I am, heart and soul, real.

  So yes, I said something that might scare some people away, but I'm not scared of her, of this, us, now. I'm in it. And it might scare her, but that's okay. I'll hold her close, won't let her go. I'll do whatever the fuck she needs.

  But right now, I'm giving in to whatever this night might bring.

  "Are you okay?" I ask.

  And she nods. "Yes." She repeats, "Yes." She asks for more, and that I can give. Her breasts are small, perky, perfect. Her nipples, cute and hard. I run my fingers over them, my thumbs calloused, caressing her soft nubs. Her eyes are dreamy and hazy, blinking heavily.

  "You okay?" I repeat.

  She nods. "Happy."

  “You ready for that toe-curling orgasm?"

  She laughs. Her dress is at her knees. She lifts them up one by one, letting it slide to the side. Her cowboy boots are off. She's in nothing but her panties. They're white lace and damn she looks pure. "It's not fair if I'm the only one naked under the moonlight."

  "That sounds about right," I tell her.

  She begins unbuttoning my plaid shirt and I unbuckle my jeans. "I don't want to scare you away," I tell her.

  "I've been through a lot," she tells me, "I promise I won't be frightened."

  I lift an eyebrow, "Darling, you sayin’ you've never seen a man before?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Why don't we keep these on for a moment?"

  She nods. She bites her bottom lip. "I wonder if maybe you're the one who's scared."

  I chuckle. "I might be a little scared. Intimidated is maybe the right word."

  "What are you intimidated for?" she asks innocently.

  "Fuck, Paisley, you have any idea how damn perfect you are?"

  "Don't say that," she says. "I'm not perfect."

  I run my hands over her, drawing her to me on the blanket, on the bed of the Chevy. I've got a duffel bag that we can use as a pillow. And we lie back, looking up at the stars. I wrap her in my arms, cradling her, drawing her to me. Her tits press to my chest, her leg leaning over mine, my hand running over her ass. "I'm intimidated by you in ways you don't understand," I tell her. "You are so pure, so innocent. I don't want to ruin you."

  "Ruin me? Holt, you know where I come from? You know who my mama is? Hell, I don't even know who my daddy is. You've got a mom and dad. I know your family is broken, but not the same way that mine was, is. I've got baggage, Holt. You say you love me. I'm the idea of a girl, this broken girl you can fix. I'm this… this idea in your arms. Sure, my body's not covered in scars like my brothers’ and sisters’, but my heart is broken in ways you won't be able to fix with one night."

  "I get that," I say. "I feel like it might take years, a fucking lifetime to heal all that, but..." I lick my lips.

  "You want to try?" She closes her eyes and she kisses me.

  "Damn right, I do." I run my hands over he
r body, silky smooth, soft in ways I don't deserve. I run my fingers over her skin, kissing her inch by inch. And then drawing her onto her back, kissing her skin, her thighs, my tongue running over her.

  "Holt," she whispers, "oh God." She moans, whimpering in ways I know she needs. She wants her toes to curl, and by God, I'll make them curl.

  I run my tongue over her folds. She exhales low, slow, loud, and I like it. I know she needs it. I give it to her the way I know she craves, the way she doesn't know how to ask for, nice and slow. I flick my tongue over her, against her, up and down, deep inside, rolling against her clit in a way I know she's going to remember.

  Her toes, fuck, they curl. I feel it as she begins to pulse against me. My tongue, it rolls against her clit, circling her in a methodical and invigorating way.

  "Oh God," she moans. Her fingers claw through my hair. "Oh God, Holt." She whimpers loud, louder still. Her thighs clench against my head. Her body grinds against me as she begins to come hard, harder still. She's wet and juicy. I taste her. She tastes so damn sweet, sweeter than I thought was possible. The sweetest fucking thing that's ever entered my mouth and I can't get enough.

  Fuck, she's heaven. I fucking grind against her, unable to satisfy my craving. Once her pussy drips for me, I'm determined to get even more. I begin to finger her sweet little cunt the way she needs. Her virgin hole is ripe and ready. And if it's going to be ready for my cock, I need her opened up even wider.

  "Oh God," she whimpers, juicy and wet. "What's that? What are you doing?" she asks, eyes widening, as I begin to finger her in a way she hasn't imagined. One finger, two, easing a third in her sweet virgin hole, knowing if she's going to take my cock, she'd better be able to take a third finger. "Oh my God," she groans, her pleasure mounting in a depth that she hasn't fathomed. "Fuck!" Her scream pulses through the fields as she rides out her orgasm in a way she never dreamed. She rides against my hand, and I suck up her sweet release.

  My mouth is coated in her creamy juice, and fuck, it tastes like heaven. I finger-fuck my girl the way she needs and wants, the way I crave. My cock, it's fucking bulging in my boxers, and I'm ready to sink it deep inside her creamy cunt that's so ripe and ready, so wet for me.