Cassidy

 

I’ve read enough books and seen enough TV shows and movies to know that a first date is a big deal, and though nothing about our relationship has been conventional, this is one thing that I’d really like to get right.

When I was at the store today, aside from picking up a ridiculous number of condom boxes (six, to be exact, which was all they had in stock), I bought some citronella candles, wine, cheese, two steaks, and batteries for my transistor radio. I can pick up WSYY-FM in Millinocket on a clear night, and this one is going to be about as clear as it gets. I also picked up some marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers because I promised Brynn a campfire, and it would be a shame to have one without s’mores.

I moved the kitchen table outside, on the grass, and I’ve covered it with an old tablecloth and set it proper-like, with plates, napkins, and wineglasses. It’s Blues Night on the radio, which is fine with me, and the candles flicker cheerfully in the evening breeze. I took an outdoor shower and shaved my beard, then slipped in through the outside door of my room to get dressed. I’m wearing clean jeans, a white T-shirt, and a plaid flannel, because there’s a nip in the air tonight.

There’s still a little time before I have to “pick up” Brynn, so I pour the wine and uncover the sliced Cheddar I bought at the store. Mostly I’m feeling excited, but the way I’m bouncing around tells me that I’ve got some nervous energy going on too. I want to sleep with Brynn tonight. I’m ready to give my virginity to her. But I want it to be good for her too. I can’t tell her I love her, because I can’t keep her here, and sharing feelings like that would make it harder for her to go. But when we sleep together later tonight, that’s exactly what it will be: lovemaking. I’ve never loved anyone—not Mama, not Gramp, not anyone—as much as I love her.

I turn away from the house and face Katahdin.

Behind the summit, the sky is a riot of color, which airbrushes the clouds in a way that feels otherworldly. Garish orange. Intense purple. Delicate lavender.

Baxter Peak isn’t a pitched peak like you’d see in a child’s drawing of a mountain. It’s smoothed out and mellow, the highest point at a little over 5,200 feet. Compare this with jagged Everest, which stands at almost 30,000 feet. But Katahdin’s been around for 400 million years, created when an archipelago collided with the continent of North America, whereas young’un Everest was formed a mere sixty million years ago. Katahdin might be an old lady, but she holds her own. The most experienced climbers in the world have come away from Katahdin calling her a beast, and for whatever reason, that makes me proud.

Most important of all, she brought Brynn to me, and for that I will be forever grateful. That said, however, lately I’ve started to wonder how I will bear living here once Brynn is gone.

As I drove to and from the store this morning, I thought that, when she leaves, maybe it’s time for me to leave for a while too. Maybe not forever, but for a few seasons. I have more than enough money to start over somewhere else or just travel around for a while. Not only have I lived frugally, but I’ve got a complete skill set for off-grid living. I could just . . . disappear.

But there will be a lifetime of hours to ponder these thoughts later.

Not tonight.

Tonight there’s a beautiful girl inside my house, and she’s waiting for me to pick her up for our date.

Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I grab the bouquet of wildflowers I’ve collected and take the porch steps in a single leap, opening the front door and striding through the living room. At the curtain that separates her room from the rest of the house, I pause, acknowledging the bubbles in my belly before knocking on the doorframe.

“Anyone home?”

“Come in.”

Her voice makes me smile, and I sweep open the curtain to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at me. She’s wearing a light blue denim sundress that dips just over her full breasts and ends right above her knees, and an open white cardigan sweater. She wears the braided bracelet on her slim wrist, and it makes my heart swell a little because I gave it to her. Her shiny, chestnut hair has been gathered in a ponytail over one shoulder and tied with a light blue ribbon, and her feet are bare.

Christ, how I wish I never, ever had to let her go.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at me.

I offer her the flowers. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She leans down to smell them, then looks up at me with sparkling eyes and upturned lips. Aw, Brynn, Brynn, how I love you.

“I’ve got a vase somewhere,” I hear myself say. “I’ll track it down for you.”

She lays the small bouquet on the end table, stands up, and spins around. “I had no idea your mom had a few more things in the trunk. Most of her dresses were too small, but I thought I could get away with this one if I wore a sweater.”

I take a step toward her and drink her in. “I’ve never seen a woman as pretty as you, Brynn Cadogan.”

She blushes, and for just a second I feel like the king of the world because my actions and my words somehow manage to touch her. I’m not worthy of her, but she’s here, with me, her cheeks pink and her eyes tender.

“You shaved,” she says.

“Gramp’s old straight razor,” I say, rubbing my soft jaw.

“You’re crazy handsome, Cass.”

“Right.” No one’s ever called me handsome before. Well, Mama. But mamas don’t count—they have to think their sons are handsome.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Scorching hot.”

Though I’ve never heard this expression before, the darkening of her eyes tells me it’s a good thing to be scorching hot, and I can’t help grinning down at her, my blush likely matching hers. “Okay. Um, thanks, I guess.”

“I thought I heard music,” she says, looking over my shoulder.

“You did. I got batteries for my radio.”

“And was that candlelight I saw through the curtains?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if I’m not mistaken, I heard a cork popping.”

“I can’t vouch for the vintage, but yes, I got us some wine.”

“A candlelight dinner with music and wine,” she sighs, her eyes soft and tender. “Now you’re spoiling me.”

It’s because I love you, I think, but I just nod, offering her my arm. “Shall we?”

She takes my arm with a soft chuckle, placing her hand in the crook of my elbow.

“Tonight is my first date,” I say as I escort her across the living room and through the front door. “I’ve been waiting for it for a long time.” We step out on the porch together. “I hope I got it right.”

She gasps when she sees our candlelit table, with the blazing campfire just beyond and Katahdin in the distance.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “You nailed it.”

It’s my turn to laugh with pleasure, loving her reaction. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” She nods, then sniffles, reaching up to swipe at her eyes. “It’s really b-beautiful. Thank you.”

“Hey. You’re crying,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face me. “Why are you crying, angel?”

“You’re the angel,” she leans forward, sobbing against my chest, resting her cheek on my shoulder. “You saved me. You breathed life back into me. I . . . I . . . oh, Cass . . .”

Her shoulders shake under my hands, and I don’t know why she’s so sad, but I hate it, even though sadness is a part of the Brynn I love. Her trust in the world was stolen when her fiancé was shot, and again when she was attacked on the mountain. She has a right to her tears, and I am honored to be the person she turns to when she needs to cry.

“Shhhh, sweet girl,” I murmur, sweeping her into my arms and sitting down on one of the porch rockers with her cradled on my lap. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be all right.”

“It won’t be,” she whispers, her breath teasing my neck. “I’m t-trying to be b-brave. But it will b-break me in h-half to say goodbye to you.”

I force myself to swallow the sudden lump in my throat because her words mirror my feelings. Oh, God, if only we could run away.

But there’s no running from what I am, from who I am. It’s selfish enough that I am taking these two weeks from her. I can’t take more. I won’t.

But I don’t want to hurt her either.

I clear my throat, grimacing because the words I’m about to say taste bitter. “Maybe . . . maybe we should stop here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well . . . we don’t have to go any further, or make this any harder. We could, you know, end it now. This. Us.”

“No!”

“Brynn—”

“No! We agreed to two weeks.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, reaching up to rub away the burning in my eyes and wishing I wasn’t who I am.

She has been cuddled on my lap, but now she sits up and leans away from me, staring out at the mountain that was here long before us and will still be standing long after we’re gone.

“I’m going to be a little sad now and then,” she says, “because it aches to think of leaving you.”

“Which is why—”

“But I want you any way I can have you, Cassidy Porter,” she says, plowing over my words as she turns on my lap to look at me and raises her hands to palm my cheeks. “I don’t know why you can’t see the same future with me that I can imagine with you. I don’t know what secrets you hold that make you think we need to be temporary. But I know that every beat of my heart happens now because you saved me, so, in a way, it belongs to you as much as it belongs to me. And whatever time I can have with you, Cass, I will not surrender it.”

She kisses me passionately after this short speech, her silken tongue gliding between my lips as her fingers curl into my hair. When she pulls away, her breasts rise and fall rapidly with her panted breaths, and her eyes are as black as night.

“I want the candles and the wine and the fire, but first,” she says, sliding from my lap and standing before me, “I want you.”

Backlit by the sunset behind Katahdin, she reaches for the sweater and pushes it over her shoulders, letting it glide down her arms. Reaching behind, she unzips the dress, pulling her arms from the straps and letting it whoosh softly to the floor. She isn’t wearing a bra, only white panties, and she slips her thumbs into the waistband and tugs. I watch as they sluice down her legs. She steps out of them and stands before me, naked in the dying sun.

“Cass,” she murmurs, her voice ragged and deep as she holds out her hand. “I need you. Come with me.”

I haven’t dared to breathe since she said, I want you, but I fill my lungs as I take her hand and stand up, following her back into the house.

Her fingers twine through mine as we cross the living room and enter her room. The light of the sunset bathes the small room with ethereal warmth as she turns to face me and backs up to the bed. Holding my eyes, her hands rise to my shoulders, and she slips her fingers under my flannel shirt, smoothing her palms over my skin to slide it down my arms. Her hands flatten on my chest, then drop to the hem of my T-shirt, which she pulls up to my neck. I reach for the bunched cotton and pull it over my head, my heart racing with love and anticipation as I stare down at her.

Her lips twitch with a grin as her hands skate slowly, side by side, over the ripples of my abdominal muscles. They part ways at my pelvis, and she follows the V-shaped lines of muscle and bone to the waistband of my jeans. Raising her chin just a touch, she reaches for the button at my waist and unsnaps it, then unzips my jeans.

As she pushes the denim over my hips, she looks down, gasping in surprise to discover that I don’t wear underwear. When I step out of my jeans, I’m as naked as she is.

Without touching, we stand facing each other, our dark eyes locked. In my peripheral vision, I can see her breasts rise and fall with her breathing. No doubt she can see my erection, thick and straining, pointing straight up between us and pulsing with every beat of my heart.

She is beautiful.

She is offering herself to me.

She is giving me something I never even allowed myself to hope for.

I hear a low, guttural sob fill the room, and at first I don’t realize it’s me, because I’m not crying.

I’m just . . . in awe, and that’s how awe sounds.

I don’t know how to feel this much love for someone.

It hurts to love her this much.

And yet I wouldn’t trade this moment even to cleanse my blood of my father’s poison. Every second of my life, every step and misstep, every breath, every choice, every bit of luck and grace and mercy, has led me to this sacred space. If I have to be me—if I have to be Cassidy Porter, Paul Isaac Porter’s son—in order to find myself here, in this beautiful moment, with this sweet, stunning woman, then I will own who I am. And for the very first time in my life, I am grateful to be me.

“Cass,” she whispers, “do you trust me?”

I nod once. Slowly. “Completely.”

“Stay still,” she murmurs, smoothing her hands down my arms and lowering herself to her knees before me, her back against the bed.

Lowering my gaze, I watch as she gently winds her fingers around the base of my erection, then licks a trail from base to tip before taking me into the warm, wet heaven of her mouth.

I cry out, my fingers fisting and releasing air, looking for somewhere to hold on. I reach for her dark hair, winding it through my fingers as I close my eyes.

Her lips move slowly over the ridges of my throbbing skin, and I can feel every swipe of her tongue, every swirl, every lick. In all my life, I’ve never experienced anything nearly as erotic or half as sensual, as this woman bathing my sex with her mouth. I close my eyes, still running my fingers through her hair, as I feel the pressure in my balls building.

And suddenly I realize that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. My eyes flare open, and I take a step back, pulling back my hips, my pecker disconnecting from her gorgeous lips with a loud pop.

Her neck snaps back, and she looks up at me with wide, worried eyes. “Not good?”

“W-what?”

“It wasn’t good? Too much? I can—”

“N-no. It was . . . it was the . . . the b-best thing I’ve ever . . .” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m about to . . .”

Her mouth opens to an O, and she grins at me, nodding with understanding. “Oh.” She pauses, then grins at me again. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t want to . . . I mean . . .”

Still on her knees, she cocks her head. “Cass, it felt good?”

“G-God, yes. Yes. You’re . . .”

“Then come back here.”

I feel my brows crease, but I take a step forward, and she reaches for my rigid sex, stroking it gently.

“Cass?”

“Hmm?” I mumble, trying to keep my eyes open while her touch creates a gathering, an awesome tornado of swirling sensation picking up speed inside me.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” she says, clamping her lips over the head of my erection.

That’s all it takes.

I roar my pleasure, the sound starting as a low growl and growing to a sharp clap of animalistic thunder that fills the room. I rise to my tiptoes as I let go, releasing my tribute into her mouth in pulsing jets of unspeakable pleasure that make my ass clench and fingernails draw blood from my palms.

With my eyes tightly closed, I don’t see her stand up and sit on the side of the bed, but when her fingers thread through mine, I force my eyes open and look down at her. She smiles, widely, her lips bee-stung and slick in the twilight.

“Hi,” she says, her expression teasing. “You’re back.”

It’s my turn to drop to my knees in gratitude and reverence, and I do, kneeling before her in absolute devotion and utter fealty. I search her beautiful face, feeling my heart swell so painfully full, I almost can’t speak.

“Brynn, I . . . I . . .”

“What?”

I reach for her face, cradling her cheeks in my palms, staring intently into her eyes, wishing I could tell her how desperately I love her.

“Thank you.”

She smiles, twisting her neck slightly to kiss my palm. “My pleasure.”

“How . . . how do I make you feel like that?” I ask.

She leans forward and presses her lips to mine, then takes a deep breath. “The same way.”

Still perched on the edge of the bed, she doesn’t look away from me as she spreads her legs and lies back. I can smell her scent as I lean my head forward and find I’m anxious to taste her the way she tasted me. Unlike the women in my magazines, who are shaved, Brynn has a soft triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. I flatten my hand over it, reveling in the softness before spreading her lips to seek out her clit.

Bright pink and glistening, I assume that it will feel as good when my tongue touches it as it did when her tongue touched me. I lean forward and place a gentle kiss on the slick skin, and I am instantly rewarded with a moan of pleasure that sends a bolt of heat from my lips to my groin, making me stiffen all over again.

With my shoulders keeping her thighs open, I lap at her sex, reveling in the noises of bliss—moans, whimpers, sighs, and cries—that fill the room. When her thighs clamp my shoulders and she screams out my name, her whole body stiffens for a split second before it loses control, writhing in rhythmic ripples as she pants through her orgasm.

I lean away from her as the tension in her thighs recedes, and I stand up, looking down at her on the bed. Her head lolls back and forth, and her eyes are clenched tightly closed. I love her so desperately, I lower myself to the bed, pulling her against my chest and pressing my lips to hers.

We taste of each other’s most sacred parts blended together, sweet and salty, and a potent reminder of the intimacy we’ve just shared. We kiss fiercely, our teeth colliding and tongues entwining as I roll her to her back and shift my body over hers, bracing my weight on my elbows so I don’t crush her.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling sharply, and it brings me back to reality—to the fact that my pecker, throbbing with readiness for her, has lined up at the entrance to her body, and she has raised her knees to welcome me in.

“Brynn. Angel. Wait. Wait for me.”

I roll off her, my feet landing on the floor with a thud. The plastic bag from the store is in my room, and I race down the hall, grabbing it from my bed and running back to her. When I get back to her room, she’s lying on her side, elbow planted on the bed, propping up her head.

“I wouldn’t have stopped,” she confesses. “I would have kept going.”

“I can’t do that,” I say, taking a box of condoms from the bag before placing it on the rocking chair.

She takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly as she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I know.”

I sense her disappointment, and it makes me hate myself. The last thing I want to do is make her feel anything less than perfect, anything less than beautiful.

Placing the condom box on the bedside table, I sit down on the edge of the bed, with my back to her, then look at her over my shoulder.

“Do you want to stop?”