Chapter 21
She heard her brother's voice, understood what he was saying, even managed to respond occasionally, but she was definitly not present in the conversation.
Her mind was simply elsewhere, floating around in a different dimension as she tried to stay focused. However, it seemed damn near impossible for her to concentrate on anything. Everything was still in a beautiful spin, a mess, a complete and utter disarray of thought and emotion.
The day was bright and a ray of sunshine hit her squarely in the face, even though she tried to evade it. There was not a hint of rain, no snow, nothing to suggest that it was the day before Christmas Eve. The only possible indications were the lackluster decorations on the window of the convenience store adjacent to the gas station.
The "Merry Christmas" spray painted in blues, reds, and whites across the glass was lopsided and there was a pathetic looking Christmas tree drawn right beneath it. Luke kept talking, switching the subject from the dreaded Christmas dinner with his in-laws to the presents she sent for him and his wife.
She was happy he was excited about them, but she couldn't find it in herself to respond with equal fervor. Instead her eyes fell upon the side mirror; what she found there made her shiver and press her thighs together, a secret smile spreading over her lips as Turner grinned back at her, blue eyes never wavering from hers as he pumped gas.
Despite the fact that they were about to go see this Evans kid and that whatever information they found might threaten the perfect Christmass he had envisioned in her head, one look from Turner was all it took for Watson's mind to completely drift away.
While her brother tried to guess what gift she bought him, Watson's thoughts fixated on something else entirely and she couldn't contain the blush that rose on her cheeks, spreading heat from her throat up.
She couldn't sleep last night. After leaving her office and gorging on stacks of blueberry and banana pancakes, they curled up on her couch, intent on watching a movie, anything to take the edge off and maybe return a few things to normalcy. However, it didn't work.
Sometime after the opening credits, Watson could no longer fight the exhaustion seeping deep into her bones, returning full force thanks to the food sitting contentedly in her stomach. She fell asleep only to wake up in her bed a few hours later with no memory of how she got there.
Turner was dozing beside her, but woke up the second she slid out of bed. He gave her a warm, sleepy smile, and she couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss him. He responded eagerly, and it felt like forever since they'd kissed. Warmth blossomed in her belly, growing, making her toes curl, and in a sudden flash of desperation, Watson wished she could stay like this forever.
His soft lips contrasted nicely with the hardness of his body as Turner held her close, making her wish that he would never let go. Still, it never escalated. Eventually, Turner pulled back and Watson settled herself without comment atop his chest, legs and arms draped over his body, holding him tight.
They didn't speak all day. Aside from some banter over breakfast, they tried so hard to stay away from discussing their impending trip, that the rest of their conversation seemed stilted and uncomfortable.
Watson didn't want it that way, but figured it couldn't possibly be otherwise, not after the argument they had. Most people went to cool off, took time away from each other, but not them. No, instead in all their dysfunction, they clung to each other, fighting silently against the unease each felt.
It was only when they laid in her bed that Watson could finally let herself relax and push thoughts of everything else away. That was the influence Turner's touch had on her.
Later they made dinner, working side-by-side in companionable silence. It reminded her of Thanksgiving, leaving her with a sense of calm she hadn't felt since before Turner had spilled his news to her. They had split a bottle of wine and finished the movie they neglected earlier. However, despite the constant yawns and the drowsy tug of the alcohol, sleep seemed as elusive as ever when they slid into bed, the next day's plans weighed heavily on their minds.
As soon as the dark of night settled, the realization of what they were about to do crept up on Watson, jolting her entire system, keeping her alert for hours on end. Turner lay dutifully beside her, never saying a word as she tossed and turned, perhaps aware that there wasn't really much he could say to quell her fears at the moment.
Watson could sense his apprehension, knew in the back of her head that as self-assured and calm as he usually was, Turner wasn't oblivious to the implications of what they were about to face. Though he stayed quiet, his arm never left its position around her waist. Although the gentle soothing motion of his palm against her hip as they spooned didn't bring sleep, it allowed her a few precious hours of solace, holding the tension only slightly at bay.
Eventually however, the room proved to be too stifling and her mouth was suddenly parched. Turner's breathing had evened out considerably at some point, so she managed to slip out of bed without disturbing him, belting her housecoat before escaping downstairs.
The kitchen was shrouded in darkness and the floor felt refreshingly cold against her bare feet. She shivered for a moment as she watched the water streaming from the faucet fill up her glass. She didn't have a chance to take the sip of the much needed refreshment, however, because a pair of very familiar arms encircled her from behind, the length of his warm, strong frame barely pressing against her, but it was enough.
It was enough to let her know what he wanted, what he needed, maybe what both of them needed to make it through the next day, the reassurance both physical and emotional that their bond could transcendany obstacle, any hurdle that was yet to come.
She didn't say anything, didn't move; instead concentrated on the path of his fingers as they slid down her front, applying slight pressure that sent a familiar wave of anticipation all the way down to her toes and back up again.
Watson expected him to untie her robe, slide his hands inside, yearned for his touch on her bare skin, but instead Turner did something unexpected, something that quite possibly made her love him even more. Resting an arm around her waist, he pulled her back against him, moved the hair away from her neck, and whispered in her ear.
"I don't want to lose this with you."
He pressed his lips against her shoulder and even though it was just a faint brush against her skin, almost imperceptible, it still ignited a spark, one that quickly burst into a flame with the first words he had spoken in hours. She spun around in their embrace, pulling his mouth to hers with an urgency unlike she had ever felt before.
His words breached the dam, releasing all the doubt and anxiety that she tried to suppress, to swirl with his own unvoiced concerns, building into a frightening maelstrom. In an effort to tuck this overwhelming feeling away somewhere it couldn't touch her, Watson tried to clear her mind. Drawing on her dogged determination, she forced herself to focus only on this moment, regardless of what would happen tomorrow. She pulled back from the kiss only momentarily, just long enough for them to lock eyes, silent understanding passing between them as Turner hoisted her onto the counter. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.
Together, they tumbled into a welcoming cloud of skin and heat. All she could see, smell, and touch was Turner. Every stroke of his fingers, every brush of his mouth against her skin as his hands slipped beneath her nightgown, washing away the nagging tension in both her muscles and her heart.
Her hands weaved their way into his curls, fingers threading through them, shivering as he pressed himself against her. His hand slipped between them, pushing her closer and closer to the brink of sanity as she fought to support herself against the counter, heedless of the clatter of her water glass tumbling into the sink .
Not even the crack of glass or the edge of the cupboard digging into her shoulder could distract Watson from the burning inside her, that indescribable sensation that threatened to overtake her all too soon.
She wanted to feel him badly, wanted to wrap her entire body around him. She was almost embarrassed by the instantaneous reaction of her every nerve whenever he was close to her.
However, Turner was in his own world, spreading feverish kisses over her neck and shoulders, cheeks and nose, before finally settling on her lips. His hands never stopped moving, fingers slipping underneath her clothes, molding perfectly to her breast, the flick of his thumb drawing out a moan and an accompanying dig of her heels into his lower back.
Watson tugged him even closer, trying to alleviate the delicious ache consuming her, but he only taunted her with the promise of more while leaving her helplessly on the edge.
It was what she loved most about Turner as a lover. He took his time, even in the most urgent of circumstances, even when she wanted raw, mindless, and frantic, he always delivered it with a twinge of patience, indication of underlying strength and composure.
She had only seen him truly come apart once, the first time they had been together. It had been such a build up, such an accumulation of tension, and untapped emotions. Exhausted of running, of hiding from these feelings between them, of sublimating the passion that couldn't be contained even after years of mastering the art of restraint, he had given in.
Somehow despite the disarming pleasure she enjoyed at the time, Watson felt a far deeper ache now. She wanted to see him let go, needed him to stop hiding completely, so when his mouth finally resettled on hers, tongue tracing her lower lip, always coaxing, never demanding, she pulled back, capturing his face between her hands.
She didn't need words, green eyes sliding over his features, communicating everything silently. She feared that she would ruin the moment with unnecessary speech, and as soon as the line of confusion etched into Turner's forehead dissolved, Watson slid her heels down his back, hooking her toes into the waist band of his pants and pushing them to the floor.
Drawing her legs back up, she shuddered as his skin glided against hers. It felt like velvet and silk interlacing, warmth everywhere, staving off the chill of the kitchen air as Turner pulled her nightgown over her head, fingers delicately tracing her spine as they traveled to her hips.
He seemed to be handling her with such care, such vigilance, that she didn't anticipate him grasping her thighs and roughly pressing himself flush against her. She gasped when she felt him, but then the tightness in her stomach and the intensity of his dark cobalt gaze instilled in her a sense of confidence only this kind of intimacy could bring. This time it was Turner who groaned against her shoulder as she ran her fingers down his torso, over the smooth planes of his stomach, before going lower still, teasing him with her touch, reveling in the way he seemed to shudder, almost tremble against her.
She'd almost forgotten that his hands and lips were still on her until a jolt of pleasure shot through her entire system as he began to move his hand in unison with hers. The other buried itself wrist deep in her hair as he pulled her into a kiss, mouth hot and heavy against hers. Her control threatened to snap as he explored her mouth, teeth scraping gently against her lips, tongue teasing, at first languid, and then urgent, zealous, driving her to pull him even closer, until there was no space left between their bodies, no room to breathe.
She could feel his heart beat against her breast and she knew that if they didn't move apart soon, there'd be an imprint of her mother's cross on Turner's chest.
Watson didn't care. She could concentrate on nothing else except the man in front of her, who was now staring back at her, seeking silent confimation. She eased herself closer still, and despite the counter's edge digging painfully into her thighs, and didn't stop until she felt him inside her.
No matter how many times they did this, Watson couldn't quite shake a hint of disbelief, a quiet marvel inside of her whenever she felt him this close, enveloped in his heat, in his scent, in his warmth. This time, however, was different. Regardless of what the future held, looking into Turner's eyes, Watson felt a connection that hadn't been there before, like the sharing of a well-kept secret, one that had been kept under lock and key.
They remained still for a moment, reveling in the feel of each other, the strength, courage, perhaps even love, that bridged the gap between them. However, the tide pleasure that swelled beneath the surface threatened to rise and before Watson could catch up with the moment, Turner began moving.
They became a heady blur of skin gliding, ragged breaths, and frantic kisses. Turner kept his mouth on hers the whole time, absorbing the shallow gasps that escaped her throat. His hands were everywhere, her breasts, her legs, her neck, cheeks, ribcage.
When she finally managed to open eyes that she couldn't remember closing, shuddering in his arms, her breath caught in her throat as the tight rope of self-control she'd been treading finally snapped, the intensity of his gaze only hastened her release.
The heat completely undid her, fluid elation coursing through her veins as every nerve ending, every pore in her skin seemed to be reacting, reeling, aching from complete abandon. Still, she was very much aware of the sounds being drawn from Turner as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, his whole body moving against her, tightening inside her. Fighting the lassitude that hreatened to overtake her, Watson wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking the damp hair at the base of his neck, her lips grazing his ear, whispering his name...before pulling him into a soft kiss.
She wanted so desperately to watch him let go, to memorize his face in that moment of ultimate release, but she couldn't bear to pull away from his lips, taking secret pleasure in the guttural sounds escaping him as his body moved to an unknown rhythm. It pulled her along, reminding her that he could make her fall apart all over again without even trying.
The delicious torture peaked unexpectedly as Turner shuddered against her for a final time, bringing her down with him, a cocoon of bliss and exhaustion enveloping them as they pulled back from the kiss, foreheadsresting against each other, eyes still closed, shallow breaths circulating as heartbeats began to slow to a normal pace.
They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, though it was likely only several minutes, but something happened in those few silent moments. There had been plenty of intense exchanges between them before, both romantic and angry, both clothed and naked. As she opened her eyes, searching out his distinctive blues in the light of early dawn, Watson realized she'd never felt closer to anyone than she did right that second, and she knew Turner felt it too.
Suddenly, she couldn't stop herself, couldn't hold back all the questions that plagued her mind, the ones she had wondered about for months but never managed to find a way to raise. She couldn't guess what tomorrow would bring and she was done putting it off.
So she asked.
She asked everything and he answered her. They didn't move from the counter; they didn't bother with covering themselves up or pulling away. All that mattered were the words coming out of Turner's mouth, the explanations to everything she had been wondering about for what seemed like an eternity.
He told her about putting his old house on the market, about how he had to get his realtor to pack away his furniture, because he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He told her about his shame knowing that all his daughter's things and his wife's beautiful piano were now gathering dust in some storage locker while his realtor shamelessly used his sordid past as a selling feature.
That guilt also kept him away from the waterfront property he bought shortly after. Still he considered it a small victory that he was able to move on at least a little bit, that he managed to stop spending nights beneath the faded remnants of his family's demise. With a soft smile, he admitted that a lot of that had to do with her and the feelings he had been denying for months.
He told her how that night on her porch had forced him to acknowledge that while his mind wanted to dwell on the past and obsess about vengeance, his heart was moving on and he was powerless to stop it.
Watson wasn't sure how to react to that, she still couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she played a significant part in Turner's first step to making peace, but she couldn't help the swell of elation that welled up within her at the knowledge.
Even now, as she looked at the piece of paper in her lap, Evans' address printed neatly in Turner's handwriting, she couldn't stop smiling as she thought back on everything Turner had shared with her just a few hours ago.
She hadn't said anything special, just thanked him for his honesty, for sharing something so intimate with her, and the disarming smile he had given her before suggesting a joint shower had been enough to dissolve her fears, at least temporarily.
They made love again after that. Under the incessant pelt of hot water, their movements became slow and languid, kisses were no longer frenzied, but luxurious leaving her body humming even as she shut her eyes, picturing the naked lust reflected in Turner's gaze as he hoisted her up against the shower wall.
Her brother had long since hung up, promising to call the next day, but Watson didn’t even remember saying goodbye; instead her mind was still fresh with memories and revelations. She didn’t regret her questions, felt like it brought them somehow closer together, something she thought they desperately needed right now.
She knew he needed her support, needed her quiet strength in all of this, and she was willing to give it to him now more than ever. Whether he meant to or not, he opened up a part of himself last night that had been a complete mystery to her.
It was a dark part that she hadn't wanted to probe, but now that she had scratched the surface she felt vindicated in her beliefs, in her decision to stand by him. Watson now knew that even before they got together, he had already contemplated moving on, not from his path of vengeance, but at least from the self-imposed torment he had lived in for years.
Learning that she had unknowingly contributed to that made Watson smile to herself, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she hoped the blush on her cheeks had subsided. Apparently it hadn't, because as soon as Turner slid into the driver's seat, his eye was suspiciously trained on her, blatantly sizing her up.
"What?" she asked, raising her eyebrow defensively in hopes of distracting him from the teasing that would undoubtedly ensue.
"Nothing," Turner replied, but the look in his eye was a little too innocent, enough to signal mischief as his lip curled into a half smile and he buckled his seatbelt.
"If you don't want to share," he began and Watson couldn't help the eye roll. Whoever said women were the only ones who were ever passive aggressive was seriously misguided.
She let out a sigh as his voice trailed off, mock hurt thinly disguised his teasing tone. She wanted to be playful, didn’t want the mood to be quite so serious, but she couldn't help the tightness in her chest, or the uncontained delight she felt at knowing he trusted her so implicitly.
Instead of teasing him right back, Watson moved her hand over the stick shift and rested it on his before Turner could turn the car on.
"I was just thinking about last night," Watson said vaguely and Turner looked at her with surprise and then with a devilish glint.
"Uh, well then I understand the smile and the faint blush on your cheeks. You my dear, get embarrassed far too easily."
For good measure, he reached over and ran his thumb across the apple of her cheek, even hotter to the touch now that he pointed out her condition. Watson had the urge to swat his hand away, childishly cross her arms, and glare out the window for the rest of the short ride, but a part of her wanted to prove to him that concealing how he felt behind endless jokes and deflected conversation did not have to be a full-time job.
She knew that even after how candid he had been with her last night and all the ones prior, Turner still struggled with being honest and open, with letting her see that part of him that he feared she would hate, so instead of perpetuating the levity, she merely squeezed his hand in response and smiled back serenely.
"Thank you for answering all my questions, for not pushing me away."
Turner seemed startled by her honesty, by her straightforward ness, but it quickly subsided and was replaced by understanding, gratitude, and a twinge of acceptance. She didn’t want him to say anything, no explanations, no afterthoughts, nothing.
She wanted to leave his secrets wrapped inside her mind, wanted to leave all talk of the night before behind. Their exchange was sacred, personal, and intimate in a way she had never experienced before, and it ran deeper than any connection she had with anyone in her life. She felt like any more talk, any more allusions to it would tarnish the significance and the singularity of everything Turner had shared with her.
She also kind of liked having the last word.
Before Turner could say anything, though he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to respond, Watson reached up and ran her fingers through his curls one more time. It was a loving gesture, one that was rare for someone who didn’t like public displays of affection.
"Ready?" Watson asked, the paper in her lap now feeling like a ton of bricks as she reminded herself of the task they set out to do. Turner nodded, taking the hand resting on his shoulder and kissing her knuckles.
"As long as you're with me."
And for a moment, she thought she could face anything.