Lorena

 

 

Cindy’s out for the night. James and I drink my new tea and chat about everything; his mother, Andrea’s huffy departure, and about how each of our Christmases went with our families. It’s warm and easy, the only awkwardness coming from the deepening longing inside of me as we spend time together.

 

I still want him so badly I can barely think around it.

 

Finally he asks the question I wish he wouldn’t. “Lorena … did Andrea find you and say anything to you? She was trying to discourage my mother from hiring you while she was packing to go.”

 

I set my mug down a little too hard in disgust. “Of course,” I say finally. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I know it needs to be brought up.

 

“You know she’s terrible, right?” His eyes widen slightly. “Did she threaten you into backing off?”

 

I actually have to think about that. “Well, I didn’t feel safe around her. But it’s more that she brought up worries that I already had.”

 

He rubs his face, setting his own mug down. “I was afraid of that. What did she say?”

 

I don’t want to go into every ugly detail of it. “She told me that you would use me.”

 

His face reddens and then pales, and he glares down at his hands before covering his eyes with them. “People planning to use you don’t go to these lengths,” he says in an almost pleading tone, gazing directly into my eyes once more.

 

“Andrea does,” I remind him, and he sighs.

 

“Well, yes, but she’s obsessed. Why do you think she couldn’t move on without trying to ruin things for me with the woman I’m interested in?” He stares down at his hands again, looking sick—sick and angry. I want to hug him but I can’t.

 

“If I really believed her, James, I wouldn’t let you into my house.” My low, pointed tone cuts though the tension between us and he lifts his head to look into my eyes. “I’ve had a crush on you for almost half my life. But somehow I’m supposed to set that aside, and take it slow, and protect myself and my little girl from being hurt.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt either of you,” he says softly. He reaches over and brushes a curl of hair off my face. His fingertips leave tingling trails against my skin.

 

I draw a huge breath. Tell him to go. But my nipples are already tightening under my blouse, and I can feel my body relaxing as his hand drifts to my shoulder. “I want to believe you.”

 

He stares at me with something like desperation in his eyes, and then … draws his hand back. “I should go,” he says hoarsely. “If I stay, I’m going to kiss you, and if I do, we may both regret it.”

 

I take a deep breath and nod, standing with him to see him to the door. Drawing closer to him only intensifies the heat between us, and I pause, trembling. I don’t want him to go. My yearning for his presence feels like a physical need, essential, like my need for air.

 

He won’t be interested in anything beyond sex. It’s too soon to expect anything else.

 

But there’s another part of me, hungry and neglected, that has craved him for years—has craved any kind of touch—and whispers back, would that be so bad?

 

“Let’s see what it’s like outside,” James mutters in a cautious tone. He pulls aside the blue window quilt on one of the hallway windows—and blinks. “What the hell?”

 

“What is it?” I ask as he brushes past me and goes for the door. I follow him—and when he unlatches it and pulls it open, a blast of wind shakes the house and throws the door wide.

 

Snow swirls into my home in roiling clouds and I stagger back, gasping. James wraps an arm around me to steady me and forces the door closed against the onslaught with one hard shove. The door bangs shut, and he hastily latches it. “Ugh, that was stupid of me.”

 

In the quiet afterward, I can barely hear us panting beyond the ringing in my ears. “What’s … going on out there?”

 

“The storm’s turned into a total whiteout. I can’t drive in that.” He turns his heated gaze back to me, and there’s a faint note of desperation in his voice.

 

We stand there craving each other, and I murmur, “You’ll have to stay, then.” The rush of tingles through my body at the thought tells me that I’m in dangerous territory. Having him stay is too tempting.

 

“I’ll … sleep down here on the couch,” he offers breathlessly. We’re standing too close together. His arm is still around me.

 

“It’s probably a good idea.” I turn inside of his arm so I’m facing him. I feel a long shudder move through him, and see the way his eyes hood and smolder. “I can’t afford to make a mistake.”

 

“What if you’re not making one?” he whispers against my lips.

 

The wind shakes the house again; I stiffen, and then hear a frightened cry from upstairs. “Mommy!”

 

James lets me go at once and I turn and bound up the stairs, back on mom duty, trying to ignore him walking up behind me. If Cindy is too upset, I’ll send him off back downstairs.

 

I walk through her door to the side of her small bed and see her balled up under the blanket, eyes wide as they peek out from behind its edge.

 

“What’s going on?” Cindy whimpers.

 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I murmur as I go to sit on the edge of her bed. I wrap an arm around her. “It’s just a bad snowstorm. It can’t hurt us if we stay inside.”

 

“It woke me up,” she grumbles, relaxing against me. I stroke her hair, and she shivers, flinching at every rush of wind. But I stay calm, and eventually she picks up on that and relaxes. “It can’t hurt us?”

 

“It might cause a blackout, and then it will be cold. But we’ve got lots of blankets, and James will help us get a generator going if we need power.” I kiss the top of her head, and her mouth opens in a huge yawn.

 

“James is here?” she asks sleepily.

 

“Yes, he’s here right now. He brought our coats.”

 

“Good,” she murmurs. “You should make him stay. You smile more when he’s here, Mommy.”

 

I blink down at her. This kid. “I’ll … think about it.” Then I tuck her in and go back out in the hall to where James is waiting.

 

“Is she all right?” he asks gently as I emerge, and I nod, shutting the door and then moving closer to him. The door to my bedroom is right down the hall.

 

“She’ll be fine. She’s just never been in a snowstorm this strong.” The wind shakes the house again and the lights flicker, but my daughter doesn’t make a sound this time. She trusts me when I say she’s safe.

 

Do I trust him, when he says that I am safe? Can I afford to?

 

I move up to him and brush my hands down the outsides of his arms. It’s reckless, and it could get me hurt. But he’s stuck here now, and I suddenly can’t avoid the situation.

 

He moves up close to me again, and this time it feels unavoidable when we press together and he lifts me in his arms. His kiss has an edge of desperation to it that I match; he pushes me up firmly against the wall beside my bedroom door and works a thigh between my legs as his kisses intensify.

 

Deep down, I struggle with guilt as I remember my decision to take things slow. But when I feel him trembling against me like he’s almost too excited to restrain himself, the burning heat he stokes inside of me crowds out everything else.

 

The wind rises to a roar again outside, covering our small sounds of pleasure as we feast on each other. Finally the kiss breaks, and he leans back, looking down at me with his chest heaving.

 

“Are you all right with this?” he rasps with the last of his self-control. His heart is pounding against my breasts and I can feel his erection pressing into my belly.

 

“You just asked me a question that I can’t answer,” I murmur against his lips. “If I hide from the answer … I’ll be hurting myself anyway.”

 

What if I’m not making a mistake? What if not taking the risk … is the mistake?

 

His grip tightens on me and he kisses me again, a small, feral sound escaping his throat. We kiss each other’s lips until they’re sore, and when he sets me on my feet I take his hand and lead him into my darkened bedroom.

 

I don’t know what decides it for me: James’s promise not to hurt us, the proof of that in his actions, Cindy wanting him to stay too, or the growing desire to spite Andrea. But even as my mixed feelings leave me shivering, I know that whatever reason I want to hang it on, this is where I wanted things to lead.

 

The room is small and a little drafty; I had to make window quilts from old blankets, and even with them and the plastic I shiver a little as we walk in. The iron bed is a pale shape in the dark. He nudges me toward it, kissing, nibbling, caressing the whole time, gentle and delicate but never letting up.

 

My bottom strikes the high edge of the mattress and he presses against me, scooting me up onto it with his hands on the small of my back. One of my flats falls off with a thump. I don’t even look; I’m too wrapped up in the feel of his mouth on mine.

 

His hands slide my cardigan off my shoulders and toss it aside onto the bedside chair. His mouth slides down to my neck, kissing and nibbling, his teeth just brushing my flesh until I moan softly and he starts to suck.

 

Manny was always just as nervous as I was when going to bed. Part of it was that we were both virgins when we met, and didn’t actually have that much time between deployments to sort out things like sex. But James has two decades on my late husband, and apparently, he’s learned a lot from them.

 

He doesn’t hesitate. He explores. I tremble under his hands as he slides his fingertips over every part of me, first through my dress and then up under it, caressing my thighs through my stockings. I can feel his cock pressing against me through his pants, rubbing against my bottom as I run my feet over the backs of his thighs.

 

I know he’s marking my neck with his mouth and I submit to it, sobbing for air, the unfamiliar pleasure making me dizzy. I want to feel this good always, and forget everything.

 

I hear him grunt with pleasure against my neck and feel him move lower, unfastening my dress buttons as he goes and kissing a trail down to the top of my breast. He nibbles at the soft curve of skin just above my bra, and then covers it with kisses.

 

He’s teasing me. He pushes a little, moves his hands up and down the outsides of my thighs through my stockings, then up to the bare skin just above their garters. The brush of his big, warm hands against my chilled skin makes me cling to him, and I impatiently start sliding my own dress off my shoulders.

 

I help him tug the dress down to my waist and push off the bed so he can get it over my hips and away. The demure slip under it is one of the few nice ones I have, and as he starts caressing my breasts and back through the silky fabric, I’m doubly glad I wore it.

 

The wind keeps shaking the house and the scouring whiteness outside sends a hiss through the room. He peels off his turtleneck and tosses it aside.

 

I run my hands up his sculpted body, and it occurs to me just how little I know about men. He’s definitely in the driver’s seat tonight, but I feel like being just a little bold. He groans softly as I explore his skin with the same hunger with which he explores mine.

 

He lifts me to my feet and loosens the slip across my shoulders, then slides the whole silken sheath off of me, leaving me in underwear and stockings, and one shoe that I kick off impatiently. That done, he lays me down and just ... looks at me.

 

“God, you’re lovely,” he purrs, and I stare at him through my lashes because I don’t have the nerve to look at him in the eyes. As I watch, he kicks off his boots then unbuckles his belt and slides his trousers down his hips.

 

The enormous tool that springs loose and tents out the front of his boxers startles me a little; I don’t have much experience with cocks either, and this one is the biggest I have seen. Will it hurt? I fight down a surge of panic.

 

He climbs onto the bed behind me and moves up close; I feel his breath stir my hair before he brushes it aside and starts kissing his way down my spine. I don’t expect it to feel as good as it does as he starts leaving a slow trail of hickeys down my back.

 

In minutes he has me lying on my side, my back bare, his hands unfastening my bra and pulling it off me while he keeps nipping and licking my back and hips. He moves up and kisses my neck from behind as he cups my small breasts, his big palms engulfing them completely.

 

I tremble, amazed at just how turned on I am. With Manny, it was all warm haziness and shy caresses, and him groaning in my arms while I held him. This is a whole different experience—still tender, but I’m on fire underneath my skin.

 

The pleasure leaves me drugged, thirsty for more, a little desperate. If he stops, I might lose my mind. I don’t have the words for what I’m feeling, just whimpers and sighs, sometimes muffled with the back of my hand or the bedding, sometimes with his mouth.

 

He’s crouched over me now, his eyes burning. The lights outside flicker again and this time, I barely notice. He bends down and fastens his mouth onto my nippleand I go rigid, my sharp cry lost in the rising wind.

 

He kneads my bottom through my panties as he suckles me, and then starts tugging them down. All I can do is hang on and try to keep from crying out as the heat and tension inside of me rise toward bursting.

 

The cold air on my hot, slick sex makes me gasp as he pulls my panties off. I don’t know what I need right now. My cunt aches, and I’m getting desperate. Then his hand slips around from behind me and starts to knead my mound.

 

I arch my back hard enough that my bottom leaves the bed as he caresses me, hand moving in time with his lips as he continues to lavish attention on my nipples. I hear myself begging breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

 

He doesn’t. Even as he tears off his boxers, even as he bears down on me as my back arches and I feel the hot length of his cock sliding into me, his hand moves steadily between my thighs.

 

He’s too tall to keep at my breasts while he’s inside me; instead, he braces himself on one hand and rubs the hood of my clit firmly as he thrusts in. He muffles his groan in my hair.

 

He starts rolling his hips, the springs creaking under us as I tangle my limbs around him and rise to meet him as pleasure teases my hips upward.

 

I’ve lost control. As he struggles to move steadily and gently, I throw myself against him, against his caressing hand, his thrusting cock, digging my nails into his skin, working my hips fiercely.

 

His back arches and he starts to pant and groan uncontrollably as I thrash under him—but he keeps his rhythm as the pleasure collects inside of me. It’s too much—too much bliss, too much need. But I grind against him anyway, as he starts to shout with every breath.

 

Suddenly the pleasure takes off, rocketing upward through my body and then exploding. His mouth swoops down on me and muffles my screams, then my frantic writhing sets him off and his long groan mixes with mine.

 

The waves of ecstasy wipe out my mind; I become an animal, all reflex and instinct. I feel his body shudder against me, and then slowly sag over me, leaving us both shaking and gasping for air.

 

A long, drowsy while later, he catches his breath and rolls off of me, pulling the covers around us. I roll over and look at him; his face is blurry in the dark, but I can see his smile as he pulls me close.

 

“Any regrets?” he asks me softly as he nuzzles my forehead.

 

I’m stunned. My whole body is loose and relaxed—satisfied in a way I have never felt before. And here he is, lingering and asking how I’m doing. I was right to take this risk, after all. Even if it doesn’t last, I will have had these precious days, and tonight.

 

“Not one,” I reply softly, and he smiles.

 

“Good.”