by MJ Fields
“This place. It’s yours?”
I decide to hold off on telling her it’s actually hers until I get her inside. “Come on. It’s hot as hell out here.”
She slides out of the seat. “I’d strongly suggest you never buy a place in Florida. You wouldn’t survive the summers.”
We walk up the sidewalk and to the door. I slide the key into the hole, something nearly foreign to me, and open the door. I must say, I’m impressed that Julia was able to set it all up on such short notice. This place is impressive. “After you.”
She walks in, and I close the door behind us. She’s looking around at the interior, complete with dark oak paneling throughout the foyer and an enormous wood-burning fireplace in the center of the living room. The kitchen doesn’t look new, but it’s worn in the way only excellent cabinetry can pull off. Surprisingly, it’s even more beautiful than the photos I saw.
The doorbell chimes, and I realize I’ve but five seconds to explain myself. “There are plenty of bedrooms here, four, I believe. The master bed is exceptional.” I open the refrigerator, happy to see that it’s filled. Another point for Julia. “Lots of organic food and many of your favorites.”
She leans against the back of the couch, her arms still hugging her chest. “Are you going to ignore the fact someone is at the door?”
“Whomever it is can wait. This place is leased for six months, which should give your landlord sufficient time to fix the issues with your place, or for you to find other—”
“Um, hold on, Beckett. Back up—”
“You’re a smart woman, Sarah. I’m sure you’re well caught up. When I come over, it will be preplanned. As a matter of fact, you can text me what time I should stop by tomorrow evening. If you like, I could bring dinner before I fuck you on every surface of your current home. I will not interrupt your day or evening. No one who works at the resort lives in the area, so I can be your filthy little secret without the worry of scandal when I head back across the pond.”
“You can’t do—”
“I can, and as a matter of fact, I already did. Now I trust you will consider looking at replacing your vehicle. It’s unsafe, Sarah. You’re contracted with me.” I walk toward the door. “And you are to make sure nothing comes before our time together.”
I open the door.
Julia and Layla walk in casually, with smiles on their faces. Layla can barely contain herself; she squeals with delight. “I love this place!” she exclaims.
“Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
“Bye, Mr. Hawthorne!” Layla grins, waving.
I don’t care for children, but the fact that she’s missing her two front teeth is utterly adorable. “Good evening, little one. Make sure to visit the hot tub.”
Chapter Thirteen
.
Der mentsh trakht un got lakht.
(Man plans and God laughs.)
- Yiddish proverb
Sarah
Before I even have the chance to spell out the words, What the fuck, to Julia, so Layla doesn’t hear the f-bomb, Layla strips off her clothes, showcasing an adorable yellow polka dot tankini.
“I’ll be in the tub!” she squeals, running across the house as if she knows this place. Wait a second.
I turn to my best friend, putting my hands on my hips. “What in the fuck is going on?”
“Well.” She clears her throat. “It goes something like this. Mr. Hawthorne has me as his full-time assistant. It came with a pay raise and better hours. I can also work from home when I want, which has been a dream.”
“And this?” I throw my hands up in the air.
“Sarah. This is your luck.” She smiles so genuinely that I’m stunned.
“My luck?”
“Yes. You have been through so much in life. Your mom’s death. Your father’s move to Florida after you graduated from high school. Your cancer, and every horrible thing that stemmed from that. You are the best friend I could ever ask for, helping me with Layla at a moment’s notice and being a shoulder for me to cry on. Reading legal shit with my fucking ex. Laughing with me. Being my friend in every sense of the word.” Tears fill her eyes.
“You are a beautiful, amazing girl who sent her best friend an email exposing her fantasies. And by luck, a man you had an incredible one-night stand with winds up reading this email and decides to give you everything you desire. With an end date! You can be totally free with him, without worrying about any possibility of him in your future, which I know stresses you out. Okay, sure, so he’s into some intense sex. But maybe it’ll be amazing, huh? You seemed to like it well enough for your one night?”
“And this house?”
“What about this house? It’s amazing! I searched high and low yesterday. And guess what? It was listed for forty-five thousand dollars a month, and when I told Mr. Hawthorne the price, he had me pay the landlord six months in full so that we could have the keys that same afternoon.”
My heart rate seems to slow down. She can’t be serious. “Forty-five thousand dollars?”
“You heard right. Welcome to the heart of Aspen, lady.”
“I’m in shock. Like, seriously in shock.” I take a good look around at the enormous windows. The views. The wood-paneled kitchen with stainless steel appliances.
“Be in shock. I get it. But can you be in shock with wine at the fire pit? I want to watch Layla.” She moves into the kitchen, which I now realize she must have stocked just for me. My heart? It pulses.
“It’s not just Mr. Hawthorne who wants to spoil you. As your friend, I want this for you, too. So, if you need to let your conscience off the proverbial hook, tell it you’re doing this for me, your best friend, and for God's sake, enjoy it!”
We sip our wine with a fantastic cheese plate, crispy calamari, a shrimp cocktail, a delicious salmon Niçoise salad, and even truffle fries, or “frites,” as Julia reminds me. She had it all delivered from some small French bistro in the area. Who would have thought, me, dining in with French food, in a house like this?
We laugh as Layla jumps into the hot tub over and over again, enjoying this freedom. There is even music in the background, playing something sexy that I’ve never heard before. It’s a beautiful beat, and the singer has a gorgeous voice. Actually, it seems like she’s singing in Gaelic.
I nod toward Layla and jokingly say, “She’s getting used to the good life. You better be careful, or she’ll end up like Sonia.”
Julia laughs out loud as we reminisce about Sonia, a girl we used to hang out with who ultimately ditched us when a rich old man showed interest.
“What did she used to always say? Something like, you guys are awesome, but I’d rather live a life of luxury.”
“Yeah.” I nod, shrugging. “Last I saw on Instagram, she has turned herself into some sort of fashion blogger. Taking pictures of herself around Europe in designer clothes and with enormous Chanel bags. And the food she eats—looks insanely delicious. Why does everything European just look better?”
“Like, European coffee always looks so decadent with those chocolates on the side.”
I nod my head, laughing. “Yes! Or like, European clothes. Who wants to wear something made in Indiana when you can wear something made in Paris?”
The fire pit crackles between us. “Well, I hope she’s happy. To the good life.” She raises her glass, and I clink mine to hers.
I exhale. “I’m still in shock, though.” I raise my head to the mountains, amazed by the beauty of the world. I know that I live here in Aspen, but somehow, in this moment, the beauty of it feels so much more obvious. Maybe it’s the house and the view. Maybe it’s that I am sitting front row, or because I finally find myself relaxing. Maybe Julia is right— it’s the world handing me something special.
“Shock is okay. But I want you to let this...thing, whatever it is, to just happen to you. Stop fighting it. Stop making it harder than it has to be. Three weeks of that man, plus six months of this incredible home. It’s karma’s way of giving you back the six you
spent hunched over the toilet during chemo.”
I nod my head, feeling myself becoming a lot more amenable to the situation. Between the orgasms I’ve been having, this supremely gorgeous and comfortable house, and my best friend talking me into it, it seems like the easiest thing in the world to do is just listen to her. What do I have to lose? “I need a tour.”
“Yes, you do!” She stands up, refills our wine glasses, and then steps over to the hot tub. “I’m going to give Sarah a tour of the house. Why don’t you hop out for a few minutes and just keep your feet in or warm up by the fire pit until we get back?”
“But I’m a good swimmer—”
“I know. But it makes me worried for you to be in the water alone. Plus, there are four perfectly chilled shrimp calling your name!”
“Okay, Momma.” She climbs out of the tub as Julia pulls out a plush white towel from a bin in the corner, wrapping her daughter up. “Snug as a bug in a towel!”
Layla giggles. “No, Momma. It’s snug as a bug in a rug!”
“Oh, you’re right. Snug as a bug in a blanket.”
They laugh together as Julia dries her hair, and I can’t help but drop my eyes from their intimate scene. I'll never have that.
“Okay, lucky lady. Let’s do this.”
We walk up the main staircase to find three perfectly square bedrooms, each with its own luxury white marble bathroom. They’re all painted a soothing cream color. I make a mental note to find out what paint this is because it’s the perfect warm white without any yellow undertones.
“And here,” she opens a heavy door, “is the master suite.”
“Oh. My. God.” My mouth hangs open. The shades are up, and all I can see are enormous mountains lit up. Just like I can see it from the twelfth floor at Hawthorne. “The view,” I gasp.
“I know. To die for, right?”
Silently, we walk around the bedroom, pausing at each window. I look down at my feet, wishing I had no shoes on. The carpet looks so soft and luxurious. The bedspread is a powdery blue, matching the backdrop to perfection. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say, thank you, God!”
We laugh together and sit down on the bed, jumping up and down on our butts like kids, when I yell, “Thank you, God!!!”
Julia and Layla head home after a wonderful night, and I’m home alone in this big, gorgeous house. I slowly take my time walking through the halls, taking stock of all the beautiful details. The hand-crafted molding is to die for! And the views from each room are gorgeous. I make my way back down to the living room, noticing the wood-burning fireplace, surrounded by heavy gray stones that reach all the way up to what looks like a twenty-foot ceiling. I smile, imagining my Irishman cutting wood and lighting a fire for us. Shivering, I exhale. I should call him. Thank him. I know I put up a fight, but I guess you could say I’ve officially come around. I’m going to take this chance and just enjoy it.
I pick up my phone off the marble kitchen counter. Should I text or call? If I call, maybe I’ll look too aggressive. But then again, isn’t the whole point of this relationship to be specific on what we want? Who has time to play games, anyway? I dial his number, and he answers on the third ring.
“Hello.”
I smile. “Hey. So, I just wanted to thank you for renting this place out for me. I guess you’d say I’ve had a rough go in life, in some ways. And it makes me nervous, I guess, to let someone help or take care of me. I’ve done a lot on my own, and it’s hard to relinquish that control. But I guess it would be good for me to do that, for a little while at least. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m willing to do this with you. For some reason, and I’m not sure why, I trust that you won’t actually hurt me. Physically, I mean. I think that we’re both in this to feel good, right? So, as long as you don’t actually hurt me…Oh, God, I’m blabbering, and—”
“Don’t worry, Sarah. I understand.” He pauses. “I can tell you with complete honesty that I’ve never had an arrangement such as this one before. Still, I feel like I should be transparent with you. I like you. I find you to be quite attractive. You make me laugh, too. Our sexual relationship has been explosive. Is this going to turn into an incredible love affair followed by marriage? Absolutely not. But from what I’ve gathered from our meetings together—and your email to Julia—you strike me as the type who isn’t looking for that, either. You’re looking to escape for a while, and I’m looking for something temporary but enjoyable. This house I’ve gotten for you is only meant to keep both of us comfortable. And after I leave, to keep you comfortable, aye? This isn’t long-term, but you aren’t some random fuck, either. You’re a decent girl, meant to be treated well. And I can guarantee that while you’re with me, you will be treated well.”
I find myself nodding, feeling both more secure and happy. “No long-term strings, right? Just fun?”
“Just fun. But there’s nothing fun about my need for you, Caile.”
I swallow hard, the heat between us transferring between the line. “Want to come over?”
“Be there in a bit.” He hangs up.
I head up to the master bathroom, practically skipping up the carpeted staircase. I want to brush my teeth and wash my face before he gets here. Finding myself in front of the bathroom mirror, I notice the glass isn’t flush against the wall. Slowly, I touch the edge and pull. It opens into a gorgeous medicine cabinet! I wonder what other secret compartments exist in this bathroom.
I see a switch on the wall, and I flip it on. It takes only seconds for the marble beneath my feet to heat up! My God.
Next, I notice a glass cabinet within the wooden vanity, with a temperature knob beside it. On my hands and needs, I inspect the towels within. They’re warm! I can just imagine stepping out of a shower into a cozy, hot towel. I exhale, wondering if there is time for me to jump in right now.
I hear a noise. Turning my head, I find Beckett leaning against the bathroom doorway. My eyes trail upward from his navy track pants, showcasing the outline of his perfect cock, and up to his tight white T-shirt, giving me the perfect view of his impressive, broad chest. And that tattoo sleeve, not hidden under a thing. But then the best part? His eyes. Green and smoldering.
“Er, uh.” I stand up, giggling awkwardly, as I swallow hard. “Sorry. I was just inspecting, uh, the bathroom. You know. It’s really high-tech. I never realized how cool bathroom gadgets could be.”
“Bathroom gadgets…?” He shakes his head as if to erase where the conversation train was headed. “I want you back down on your hands and knees like you just were. Now, Caile.”
Slowly, I lower myself to the floor. I want to raise my eyes to his, but I don’t. I wouldn’t dare.
“Turn so I can see your arse.”
Again, I do as he says.
“Lift it higher. That’s right.”
I’m glad my face is away from his view because my cheeks are burning. I’m embarrassed. I’m turned on. I’m scared, even though I shouldn’t be. I’m shaking.
“Now pull down your pants as much as you can without fully standing.”
I sit up to my knees, my back still facing him, and unbutton my jeans. Dragging them down to my upper thighs, I don’t think I can take them down any more than this.
“Good girl, Caile. Now get back on all fours, so I can see your needy little pussy glistening.”
His mouth…so, so filthy.
If any man but my Irishman spoke to me like this, I’d run for the mountains and never look back. But in an effort to always be honest with myself, when it comes to any men currently in my life—Beckett—or in my future—God willing there will be others because just looking at him makes me wonder how any other could compete with the memories I’m surely going to treasure. I am a sexual being, an adult sexual being, and I’m alive.
I hear him hiss and look over my shoulder. His voice is gruff as he looks me over with appreciation. “Perfect, Caile. Absolutely perfect. Now eyes forward and don’t look back.”
; My voice sounds and feels like a purr as I look forward. “Yes, Sir.”
I feel my body shake with anticipation as his pants drop to the floor. Heat builds inside of me as his crisp white T-shirt floats to the floor, and when the shirt covers my eyes, a gasp precedes the inferno that ignites at my core. The shirt smells heady. Woodsy and clean, just like Beckett.
“Stay still, Caile,” he commands as he tightens the fabric, blindfolding me, and ties it behind my head.
As quickly as he blindfolds me, he moves away. The warmth of his closeness causes a chill to cover my exposed skin, except…there. In that spot, there is still fire.
“Beckett.”
“One.”
“One what?” I ask anxiously.
“Warning, Caile.”
Shit! I called him Beckett! “Sir, I meant...Oh, God!” I cry as he slams into me fully, without so much as a warning.
Fully seated, his grip on my hips tightens almost painfully as he lets out a groan, one whose depth I can feel in my bones.
Reaching around me, his skilled fingertip runs circles around my throbbing clit, and my orgasm rips through me immediately.
He pulls me against him, his cock still buried deep...so fucking deep inside of me that I can feel him throbbing.
He pulls out just like he entered, abruptly.
Teeth scrape my ass before he tugs at the pant legs still partially on me. “Step out. One foot and then the other.”
He removes my pants and panties, then pulls the hem of my tank top over my head. “Your tits,” he groans, cupping one and pinching my nipple. “Delectable.”
Arm across my waist, he holds me tight against him, heated skin to heated skin, back to chest.
A shiver runs through my body when the tips of my nipples touch the cold hard marble of the bathroom countertop. I feel his other hand touch the back of my knee, raising it as he presses our bodies slowly forward.
“Your knee stays here.” He rests his palm on the counter. “Brace yourself, Caile.” His fingertips run from my knee to my hip causing my body to shove slightly. “How do you feel?’