Speak From The Heart: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  As the song nears its end, I lean away again and look up at Jess. The electric crackle between us is like the flickering of lights during a thunderstorm. His mouth lowers to mine, and we move together. No longer swaying to the music but rocking against one another. The kiss heats as do other parts, and Jess lowers his lips to my jaw and then my neck. He tugs at my T-shirt collar and nips the juncture near my shoulder.

  “We should stop,” he states. “But God help me, I don’t want to.”

  I step out of his embrace, reach for the final light in the room, and turn it off. We fall into darkness minus the soft glow of the old radio. When I return to Jess, I slip my arms up over his shoulders. With lips reattached, we move around the room as best we can until we reach the couch. I lie back on the cushions, and Jess follows.

  It’s another slow dance involving the removal of clothing. My shirt. Then his. My shorts. Then his. His mouth travels over my chest, kissing me everywhere before tugging down a cup of my bra and diving for a breast. The warm cavern of his mouth sucks at the swell before his tongue circles my nipple, tugging at it until the sharp nub peaks. He nips at me, and I groan. With my breast trussed up by my bra, Jess moves to the other breast, paying it equal attention before removing the silky material and dropping it to the floor. He stares down at me.

  “You’re so perfect,” he says, his voice full of worship in a way I’ve never heard before. The warmth of his chest heats the sensitive peaks of my breasts when he returns to kissing me. The skin-on-skin contact isn’t enough. I need us touching everywhere, and my hands slip into his boxers, struggling to tug them over his hips. Jess presses off the couch, stands and removes them, and I stare at the thickness protruding toward me. I reach for him, but he gently catches my hand.

  “Not yet.” He slides his fingers under the edge of my underwear and slips the material down my body slowly, drawing out the torture before tossing it to the floor. He stares down at my languid position on the couch, lying across the cushions, and I watch him.

  “I liked you over me the other night,” he admits, and I sit up. As he’s still standing, I reach for him once again, curling my fist around his stiffness. He groans as I squeeze before guiding him closer to me. I lean forward, open my lips, and take him in. At first, I draw him all the way to the back of my throat and then take my time to release him. His fingers comb into my hair as he hisses.

  “This isn’t what I intended for tonight.”

  Does he mean this shouldn’t happen, like he said about our first kiss?

  I release him and he looks down at me. “I mean, I want to be with you. I’m not here for only me.” He bends at the waist, taking my mouth with his again and then moves us so he’s the one seated, and I straddle him. My legs tremble as my inner thighs meet the tops of his where his coarse hairs prickle on my skin. My core pulses as my sensitive folds brush against his thickness. His hands coast up my sides and circle my breasts before skimming down my belly, touching as much of me as he can.

  He releases my lips and looks down at his hand, fingers reaching for me. When he swipes over my slick skin, I’m instantly on fire. Wet and willing, I want him more than I should.

  He groans again as he feels how ready I am.

  “Jess,” I purr. I don’t need the foreplay. I only want him. I want to move over him. He pulls his fingers away and lifts my hips, aligning me with the tip of his length.

  “Condom,” he whispers as an afterthought, and I freeze. He’s right. We need to be responsible. I sit back, knowing I don’t have any, and he reaches for his shorts. I watch in heated anticipation as he rolls one on and returns me to my previous position. I balance over him for only a second before lowering onto him. Time stills as I sheath him in me. He’s thicker than anyone I’ve experienced before, and my movements are measured, almost torturous. He’s also long, and when I take him to the hilt, I feel him in places I didn’t know existed inside me. His fingers dig at my waist while I pause, taking a breath to absorb the depth of him.

  “Jess,” I whisper, knowing I can’t offer any more than his name. Can’t tell him it’s never felt like this. Can’t tell him it will be so difficult to walk away. Gradually, we move, him thrusting upward and me pressing down. We rock—a sultry dance where I grip his shoulders and undulate over him as he surges upward, tapping a place deep within me. If feels so good, better than anything, and I don’t want us to ever stop, but the tension is building. My toes tingle. My belly drops.

  “Jess . . .” I warn. The thrill moves like electricity racing to an outlet, ready to connect. A power surge of energy collides with the next thrust from him, and I give in, sparks flying in all directions as I come. My arms wrap around his neck, and my mouth falls open.

  “Scream, dammit,” he growls. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

  “I-I can’t . . .” I whimper, trying to take in oxygen. “You take my breath away.”

  His mouth leaps for mine, crashing against me. His tongue delves forward as he begins to move me with more purpose. One minute, we’re making love in this upright position, and the next, we’re transitioned to vigorous sex. I pant and he grunts as I slam down on him and he bucks up. The friction sends aftershocks through me until I realize, “I’m going to go again.”

  Surprise fills my voice, and it cracks as I sit back, watching where we move together as if I can see what’s about to happen to my body.

  “Jess!” This time, I bellow his name, drowning out the music on the radio and the rushing in my ears. All I hear is the thundering of my heart as a second orgasm rumbles through me as intensely as the first.

  “Fuck yes,” he whispers with his lips at my throat, my chin resting on his head. He hammers into me, dragging me to the edge of my pleasure, and then he stills, holding me in place over him. I feel him jolt but not fill me. Protection keeps his seed from seeping into me, and I almost cry out with disappointment. I want everything from him. Reality will register later how that wouldn’t be a good decision, but right now, as my arms circle his neck, clasping him to my breasts, I want every drop, every kiss, every heartbeat of his. I want all his sounds like he wants mine.

  His forehead presses against my shoulder, and he kisses my skin.

  “That was—”

  Please don’t say ‘not supposed to happen.’ My eyes close. My shoulders begin to slump.

  “Incredible,” Jess says, a chuckle in his voice.

  For some reason, I pull back and question him. “Yeah?”

  “Oh yes,” he emphasizes, reaching for my mouth and kissing me once again, remaining inside me until he no longer can.

  Once we clean up and dress—Jess can’t stay because of Katie—he invites me to another family party.

  “I have so much to do,” I say, glancing around the house. It needs fresh paint no matter what I decide, and I still need a new kitchen sink. All this time, I’ve been using cold water from the bathroom when needed.

  “Let me come over and take another look at the sink. Then I can take you to the party with me.”

  He tucks a piece of hair behind my ears, and I smile at the ease with which we stand together.

  “I can’t. I have a meeting with Nana’s lawyer tomorrow in West Bay.” The larger town is three over from Elk Lake City and rests at the mouth of the West Bay, thus the name. It’s still small-town Americana but on a grander scale.

  “Okay, well, tomorrow night for the party and the following day for the sink.” He leans in for a kiss before I can answer, and breathlessly, I realize I won’t refuse his invitation. He only has to ask, and I’d do anything for this man.

  Maybe even stay.

  Rule 13

  Make-believe is a real thing.

  [Jess]

  “You’re so grumpy,” my sister Tricia says as I carry another pile of logs to the firepit in Tom’s backyard. He lives along an inner lake, and his yard is the perfect spot for a gathering. Soon, people will be slowly trickling into town as the annual Harbor Days festival kicks off in the middle of next we
ek. Family reunions happen. Old friends get together. It’s a celebration, but it’s also a rite of passage. The party marks the end of summer even though another month remains before kids head back to school. I don’t want to think about the beginning of fall, when Emily will be gone, and Katie will start kindergarten. So much has happened in such a short period. I’m not ready for more changes.

  I’m also getting pissed Emily isn’t present. I drop the pile of firewood, letting them tumble to the ground with a thundering sound and turn on my sister.

  “It’s nothing,” I state a little too roughly.

  “What’s his problem?” my other sister, Pam, asks. I haven’t seen her lately. She’s lightened her sandy locks and chopped it all off to her chin, making my hair longer than hers. She’s only eleven months behind me, making us Irish twins. It was quite a shock, my mother always said, as well as a blessing. When they lost their second child as an infant, they didn’t think they’d have more than Tom, but three more arrived after him. I’m thinking these family tree thoughts when I hear said brother bellow across the yard.

  “Emily Post of Chicago,” Tom announces as though the queen has arrived, and I look up, ignoring the drilling eyes of my youngest sister and hearing my second sister purr, ahh, as if she understands something.

  They know nothing. Still, I stalk over to Emily, almost colliding with her.

  “You came,” I said, my voice still rugged as I near her.

  “I told you I would,” she states, her own voice lowering and her face flushing in the dim evening light.

  “And that’s what we like to hear,” Tom guffaws, slipping an arm around Emily and pulling her into his side. I glare at him, and he laughs once more. “Right.” He releases her and steps away.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she says as she brushes back the hair near her face.

  “Come here.” I reach for her hand, tugging her behind me until we round the back of Tom’s garage. It’s near the edge of his property facing the lake and hides us from prying eyes. It’s also where the wood pile is stacked, only I’m not here to retrieve more wood. My hands cup her face, and my mouth crashes against hers. I need to taste her after what we did last night. I can’t believe I made love to her on her grandmother’s couch as the sultry music in the background guided our rhythm. She moved with me like none other, and I don’t know how I’ll let her go.

  Her fingers fist in my hair, which is loose tonight, and when she tugs, I want to press her up against the garage exterior and slam into her. Forget the party. Forget my family. I want inside her again.

  “Whoa,” someone says to my left, and I break away from Emily’s mouth, unable to catch who interrupted us. She giggles and leans her head against my chest.

  “We should get back,” she says. “I don’t want to make the wrong impression.”

  I shake my head. I know all about her grandmother’s former profession, and I suppose it’s one reason Emily came across as better than me when we first met. She has class, and I mistook it for snobbery.

  “Why were you late?” I ask, hating the roughness still evident in my tone.

  “I had a meeting with Nana’s attorney, remember?”

  “That was long,” I add. She looks away from me, and suddenly, I don’t feel right having questioned her. She’s here because I want to distract her from her loss by offering her a break from all she’s going through, not because I want to quiz her. “What? What is it?”

  There’s something else in her eyes when she looks back at me, and I grip her chin, holding her focus.

  “It’s nothing,” she whispers, but a nagging sensation in my chest says it’s something I can’t dismiss.

  “Did something happen with the lawyer? Who is the lawyer?” I don’t know why exactly I ask the second question, but it feels like a brick sits in my belly.

  “Gabe Carpenter.” Her voice lowers and her eyes attempt to shift away from mine, but I hold fast to her chin.

  “Gabe!” I choke, and then my eyes narrow. “What did he do?”

  “It’s nothing, Jess. I’m just sorry I’m late.”

  Her eyes continue to avoid mine.

  “Emily, I can’t stand liars or cheaters.”

  Her eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not cheating on you.”

  It’s a strange retort, and it’s my brows that hitch next. “I meant lying.”

  “I’m not lying,” she says, but she licks her lips.

  “But you didn’t mention Gabe was the lawyer.” I would have gone with her had I known. I don’t trust him. I never have and for good reason.

  “I didn’t tell you because I know you don’t like him. He didn’t actually do anything.” She still isn’t telling the full truth, so I press on.

  “But . . .”

  “He hit on me.” Her eyes close. “He asked me to dinner, and I said no, but I did take him up on his offer of a drink. I was trying to be nice since he was Nana’s attorney. It was a mistake.”

  “Did he touch you?” I’ll kill him. It’s bad enough he looks at her or thinks he has a right to speak to her.

  “No, but he propositioned me.” She stands taller, facing off with me. She’s a beautiful woman, and she can hold her own. She’s done it with me. She told me she’s a journalist, and I bet she gets hit on all the time. Random men thinking they can come on to a pretty lady. Strangers wanting in her pants. The thought hits me hard. Isn’t that what I’ve done? We hardly know each other, but the connection is strong. Still, does she give in sometimes? We haven’t shared our sexual history, other than her knowing I was married and had whatever with Sami, but I don’t know about her. Does she hook up with men she hardly knows, like she did with me?

  I release her chin. I’m pissed at the thought, but I know it’s none of my business if that’s how she operates. I step back and sweep out a hand, allowing her to step forward. She does and then stops.

  “I’m not with Gabe tonight, am I?”

  “No,” I snap. “Thank fuck.”

  “And I admitted it was a mistake to have a drink with him, correct?”

  I cross my arms and glare at her. “Your point?”

  “Just clarifying the facts.” With that, she walks away from the back of the garage, and I accept that she’s not wrong. She’s here with me, she said she made a mistake, and she apologized. Still, that brick in my belly weighs heavily.

  As the night passes, I introduce Emily to old friends and family members she hasn’t yet met, including my sister Pam and my mother, Mary Carter. Mom already knows a great deal about Emily. This woman is all I’ve talked about for two weeks, and Katie keeps drawing pictures of us together, like we’re a family. I try not to imagine it. I’d never considered marrying again. The friends-with-benefits thing seemed to work out okay, but I can’t say I’d go back. I need the connection, that triangular link between another woman, Katie, and me because I’m a package deal.

  After I grab Emily a drink, we sit in Adirondack chairs in Tom’s yard, near the firepit. My teenage nieces enter the backyard with Katie between them. My little girl wears a tiara and a homemade sash.

  “Presenting Princess Katie,” they grandly announce to the crowd, and people clap, drawing attention to Katie she doesn’t care for. She ducks behind Madison, the older one, until she spots Emily. Katie darts out from behind her cousin and runs to the woman next to me. Emily immediately sits forward and opens her arms, drawing my child in for a hug. It warms my heart when it should concern me. My eyes lift to find my mother watching me and my sister-in-law Karyn staring at Katie in Emily’s arms.

  “You look lovely, Katie bug,” Emily says, drawing my attention back to her and my daughter as Emily nudges Katie back a few inches. “Or should I say, Princess Katie, Her Royal Highness?” Emily twirls her hand between them and dips her head like she is bowing to royalty. Katie leans against Emily’s leg, and her lips curl into a hint of the smile that’s come more and more easily since Emily’s presence in our lives. In some ways, it still upsets me. I’ve wo
rked hard for every smile I’ve received, which have been rare, yet Katie gives them so freely to this stranger.

  This stranger who is beginning to mean a lot more to both of us.

  The thought agitates me for some reason despite the incredible time with Emily last night. She shouldn’t mean more to either of us.

  Katie wiggles free of Emily’s legs and runs away to rejoin the shenanigans of her older cousins, who drag her around like a plaything.

  “She’s really into that fairy-tale shit,” I say, my voice heated as I turn on Emily.

  “It’s not shit,” she defends. Her eyes twinkle in the firelight.

  “Don’t tell me you believe in all that. Princes and fairy godmothers and such.” I scoff.

  “There’s nothing wrong with believing in fairy tales,” she continues, affronted. “We all need to believe in a little magic in our life. A happily ever after doesn’t hurt.”

  “Is that what you’re waiting for? For someday your prince will come and give you a happily ever after?” I’m teasing her, mocking the Sleeping Beauty song I’m familiar with, but there’s still an edge to my voice.

  “I don’t need a prince to save me, but yes, I do believe in happily ever after. I just don’t think it comes as easily to some as it does to others.” She huffs as she looks off in the distance, following Katie’s movements as she runs across the darkening yard.

  “And why hasn’t it happened to you?” I ask, thinking of Gabe and any other man who might have tried to snatch her up.

  “Because I’ve been very career driven. I wanted things for myself before I gave myself to someone else.” Her head lowers, and her eyes focus on the flame in the firepit. “But then it came to a point when I was never picked. It was always the next woman someone settled on, not me. ‘It’s not you, Emily, it’s me.’” She deepens her voice to mock the words of other men. “It was always her, not me.” She sighs, and I stare at her. “I’ve never been picked. That’s why happily ever after hasn’t happened for me.”