Chapter 35
Lucy
Present Day
Fisher and I walk silently, hand-in-hand through town. A storm started brewing while we were at Trip’s house and a few raindrops begin to fall as we make our way back to the inn. By the time we get to the end of Main Street, the couple of raindrops have turned into a full-on downpour and we run the remaining blocks to Butler House. Fisher holds the front door open for me and I race inside, shaking out my wet hair and wiping off my face as I head towards the kitchen.
It’s late and Ellie turned off most of the lights on the first floor before she left for the day. The hallway leading to the kitchen is dark except for a couple of electric sconces that glow with soft lighting on the wall, guiding my way. I hear Fisher’s heavy footsteps following behind me as I go and I’m tempted to tell him to go back to Trip’s. That story he told us tonight was almost too much for me, hit too close to home, and I need some time alone to think. I can’t think rationally when Fisher is close to me. I can’t breathe for fear that something bad is looming, just waiting to ruin this little fairytale we’ve created the last two months. The more I listened to Trip, the more I realized this is not a fairytale. There’s still something standing between us that I haven’t been able to bring myself to confront him about and I can’t take it anymore. Subtlety is clearly not working, because he’s still holding himself back with me and we can’t move forward until all of our issues are out in the open and he finally lets go.
“Man, can you believe Trip?” Fisher asks as we walk into the kitchen. I don’t bother turning on the bright, overhead light as I pull open a drawer and grab a dishtowel to dry off my face and arms. There’s a small lamp plugged in on the counter that gives off enough light that I can see what I’m doing.
“I can’t believe he told us all of that tonight,” Fisher continues as he walks up behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders.
I pull out from under his hands and take a few steps away from him before turning around. “What the hell are we doing?”
Tossing the towel onto the counter, I cross my arms and stare at Fisher. He’s so Goddamn gorgeous that it takes my breath away. He still hasn’t shaved, only trimming his stubble every couple of days when it starts to get out of control. His wet shirt molds to his body and I can see every line and ripple of his muscles. His hair is dripping down his face and I watch as he runs his hand through the damp strands in irritation.
“What do you mean, what the hell are we doing?” he asks.
“I mean, what the hell are we doing?!” I argue, raising my voice slightly. “We see each other every day, we’re falling back into old habits like nothing has changed, but EVERYTHING has changed! We’re both different people, but it’s like we’re trying to be who we used to be. I can’t do that, Fisher. I can’t be the person I used to be and neither can you.”
He takes a step towards me, but I hold up my hand and step back.
“Jesus, are you trying to pick another fight with me?” he asks in exasperation. “What the hell am I doing wrong that you constantly want to argue?”
I’m so angry and frustrated with myself because he’s right. I’ve been picking fights with him nonstop over the stupidest things, just to get a rise out of him. Just to see if I can force him to lose control and show me some of that passion he did in the alley and that night in our kitchen a few years ago. It’s stupid and it’s silly, but it’s something that I think about constantly and I need that part of him. I need him to realize that I’m not going to break and I’m not afraid. I need him to see that my perfect man isn’t one who’s calm all the time and never loses his temper. I need him to give me every part of himself or this is never going to work between us.
“You’re not doing anything wrong, you’re doing everything RIGHT, that’s the fucking problem!” I shout.
He throws his hands up in the air in annoyance and shakes his head at me. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about right now. If I’m doing everything right, why are you so angry?”
I watch it happen right in front of my eyes, just like every time. He realizes he just raised his voice, he just lost a little bit of his calm and he instantly feels bad. His face loses its tightness and his shoulders lose their rigid stature as he slowly melts into the cool, peaceful man that he thinks he needs to be for me.
“Do you really think this is going to work between us when you can’t even be who you really are in front of me?” I ask him sadly.
“Lucy.”
He says my name softly and it’s full of love and caring. It should warm me from the inside out, but all it does is leave me feeling cold.
“Do you know what I did the night you came back to the island and we saw each other for the first time at Barney’s?” I ask him.
Bringing this up right now is either going to make things go really wrong, or really right. At this point, I’m willing to try anything to get him to stop treating me like I’m a piece of glass.
Fisher shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything.
“I brought Stanford back here and I did everything I could to get him to fuck me,” I inform him.
My eyes flicker to his hands, slowly clenching into fists at his sides, and I continue.
“I straddled him, I ripped his fucking shirt and clawed at his skin, begging him to give me more. I wanted him to give me everything. I wanted to erase you from my mind and from my body. I wanted him inside of me so I could stop thinking about you all the damn time!”
Fisher knows I didn’t sleep with Stanford, but I never went into detail about other things we did because it didn’t feel right to torture him with that knowledge.
I see his chest rise and fall rapidly and his nostrils flare while I throw all of this stuff at him, fully aware that I’m poking the beast and trying to get him to show his damn face.
“I let him put his hands on me, I let him touch my breasts and I let him slide his hands between my thighs until he—”
Fisher is on me instantly, his arms wrapping around me tightly, pulling my body roughly against his.
“Stop… just fucking stop,” he begs on a ragged whisper.
His eyes are wide with jealousy and anger and his chest bumps against mine each time he takes a deep breath. I can see him mentally counting in his head, trying to calm down, but I won’t let him.
“NO! You fucking stop! Stop treating me like I’m going to break and like I can’t take what’s going on inside of you!” I shout into his face. “I let another man into my life! I let another man touch what should have only been YOURS! Does that piss you off?”
“YES!” he roars right back at me. “YES, it fucking pisses me off and you know it! Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”
His arms are banded so tightly around me that they shake with the anger he’s barely keeping in check.
“I’m doing this because I’m sick and tired of you hiding this from me! I can’t handle you thinking that I can’t take your anger or I can’t stomach you losing control with me!”
He shakes his head back and forth in denial. “Stop, please, Lucy. I can’t do that with you. I can’t hurt you like that. Why do you think I stayed away for a year? Why do you think I pushed you away to begin with? I can’t be that person anymore.”
I untangle myself from his arms and push him away roughly.
“Don’t you get it, Fisher? You ARE that person. I know you aren’t cruel, I know you would never physically hurt me, but I also know that this Zen bullshit where you refuse to let anyone ruffle your damn feathers is not you. You’re passionate and full of life and you’re hotheaded and get angry and jealous. It’s who you are and who you’ve always been. How do you expect me to be with you when I can’t be with ALL of you? Did it ever occur to you that I WANT your passion? That I’ve been pushing your buttons lately because I want you to let go?”
He runs his hand through his hair again in frustration.
“I let go with you once and I hurt you. I left bruises on you, Lucy. I destroyed our fucking marriage because I couldn’t control myself!” he argues.
I can see the guilt all over his face and it all clicks into place. Why my entire world fell apart right after he came home from his last deployment, why he started drinking more and talking to me less.
“Do you really think you hurt me the night you came home from that last deployment and fucked me against the kitchen wall?” I ask in shock.
He winces at my words and I can tell he honestly believes his loss of control that night is what cost us our marriage.
“Oh, my God, you do,” I mutter, taking a step closer to him. “If you would’ve talked to me instead of internalizing everything, I would’ve told you that it was the hottest damn experience of my life!”
He scoffs and looks at me like he doesn’t believe me, so I continue, moving closer until I can touch him. I run my hands up the front of his wet shirt, clutching it in my hands.
“I have never wanted you more than I did at that moment. Do you know what it’s like to know that your husband wants you so badly that he can’t spend another second outside of your body? That you’re all he thinks about and all he needs and he doesn’t have to speak or explain it, he just needs to claim you and own you, bruise you with the force of his need for you?”
I take another step closer until my body is pressed up against his.
“If you’d talked to me, you would’ve known that I loved seeing those bruises on my hips. I loved knowing that you wanted me that badly and I was sad when they disappeared, especially since you wouldn’t even look at me, let alone touch me by that point.”
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back and I keep going, closing my eyes right along with him and thinking about another night when he made me feel alive and wanted.
“And that night in the alley, a few months ago. You have no idea how much I wanted you. How much I needed your hands on me and how much it turned me on that you were jealous and you wanted to mark your fucking territory. Did you hear me begging for more? Did you hear me scream your name while I was coming? You’re the only one who makes me feel that way.”
My eyes fly open in surprise when my body is suddenly whipped around. I gasp in shock when Fisher pushes his body against mine and my hips bump into the kitchen table. He slams into me and I have no choice but to bend over the table and smack my hands down on top of it. He’s right behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he breathes heavily in my ear.
“Goddammit, Lucy, what the hell are you doing to me?” he growls. His hands fly underneath my skirt and he rips my panties right off of my body.
“I ALWAYS want you so much that I can barely breathe from it. All I think about is fucking you until I forget about everything but how it feels to be inside of you.”
I hear the button of his shorts fly off and ping against the kitchen floor as he rips them open. I whimper when he flips up the skirt of my dress and I feel the heat of his groin pressing into my ass and his cock sliding through me.
“Tell me you want this,” he demands. “Tell me you fucking want me like this.”
I arch my back and push myself against him until his cock is right at my opening.
“I want this,” I pant.
“I need this. Show me how much you want me, please,” I beg.
He clutches onto my hips, pulls his body back and slams inside of me so hard that the table legs screech against the floor. He lets out a roar and I moan, clutching onto the edges of the table as he begins pounding into me.
“I’m fucking claiming you, Lucy,” he mutters as his cock ravages me from the inside out.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant with each slam of his hips against my ass.
He leans over me, sliding one of his hands between my legs and circling my clit with the tips of his fingers as he continues fucking me relentlessly.
“You are MINE and you will always be mine,” he whispers harshly against my ear.
“Don’t ever fucking hide from me again,” I tell him as I thrust my hips forward against his fingers. “I need you. I need all of you.”
His fingers circle faster and his thrusts become harder. The table rocks beneath us, and if I cared about anything else but the orgasm creeping up on me, I’d worry about the legs giving out and us crashing to the floor and waking up the entire inn. The hundred-year-old kitchen table is practically the only piece of furniture in this place that Fisher didn’t build and its stability should probably be a cause for concern.
I forget about the table as Fisher takes me, claiming me just like I wanted, my body spiraling out of control at the knowledge that he’s finally letting go and giving me all of him. His hips smack against my ass rapidly and his fingers start tapping lightly against my clit until I’m clawing at the table and moaning so loudly I’m sure breaking the table isn’t what’s going to wake everyone up.
With one incredibly hard thrust that shoves my body roughly against the table, I realize I might have jinxed us. I hear a snap, followed by a crack and then Fisher’s arms wrap around me when I start to tumble forward as two of the table legs break in half, causing the whole thing to crash to the floor in a heap of pieces.
We both stare unmoving at the mess on the floor and before I can even manage a laugh at what we’ve done, Fisher is turning my body and pushing me up against the counter, his cock never leaving my body. I slap my hands against the granite and hold on tight as he resumes fucking me like we didn’t just destroy an antique table. I forget about the mess and let go of the worry over what the hell I’m going to tell people when they ask what happened to the table and just enjoy the pleasure Fisher is giving my body with each slam of his cock inside me.
He keeps one hand on my hip as his other hand slides back between my legs to resume the sweet torture with his fingers. Each gentle tap of his fingers against my clit sends waves of pleasure through me that are so strong it makes my legs start to shake and my hips move erratically as I reach for the release that’s right within my grasp.
“Every time I’m near you, I want to fuck you until I forget everything,” Fisher growls into my ear.
His hand tightens on my hip as he helps pull my body back against his cock with each hard thrust. The upper half of his body is pressed tightly to my back and I can feel his heart pounding against me as he pants against the side of my neck.
“Your body was fucking made for me, Lucy. Say it again. Tell me you want me to take you like this.”
He stops moving and holds himself still inside of me, waiting for the words I can barely form with the pleasure coursing through me.
“Fuck me harder. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” I beg.
I barely get the words out before he’s pulling back and slamming inside me harder than before, his growls and moans and muttered curses filling the room as he gives me everything he has.
His pleasure-filled voice in my ear, his fingers between my legs, his cock working tirelessly in and out of me and the sound of the rain falling against the roof all come together to create a symphony of pleasure through my body that I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. I tumble over the edge and my body clenches around Fisher’s cock as I come. His hand quickly moves from my hip and presses against my mouth, muffling my screams as my orgasm rips through me.
He follows right behind me, slamming his cock deep one last time before holding himself still inside of me. He buries his face into the back of my neck to muffle his own curses and shouts as he comes. His hips jerk against me as the tremors of his orgasm shoot through him until we both collapse against the counter, panting.
The rain continues to beat against the side of the inn and the room is suddenly lit up with lightning as Fisher keeps his weight on top of me while we catch our breath.
He finally speaks after a few minutes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll build you a new table. And Lucy?” he asks.
Pressing my cheek against the cold counter to cool it off, I reply to him with a sigh.
“Yes, Fisher?”
“Never, ever bring up Stan-Dick-Fuck-Ford in front of me again.”
He kisses the back of my neck before pulling himself off of me and I can’t hide the huge smile on my face as I turn and wrap my arms around him.