Fisher's Light
She quickly shoves them towards me, staring at me with her eyes wide and her mouth open. I snatch them out of her hand, flip to the last page and sign my name on the line right next to Fisher’s. When I’m finished, I thrust them back at her. “Send them back FedEx. Next day.”
Tossing the pen on top of the desk, the fingers of my right hand wrap around the wedding and engagement rings on my left hand. It takes a little effort to twist and turn and pull them, but after a few seconds, I manage to tug them off and smack them down on top of the desk. “Throw those in the envelope, too, while you’re at it.”
Walking around the desk, I head towards the front door.
“Where are you going?” Ellie shouts after me as she chases me out the door and onto the front porch.
“I’m going to Barney’s. I’m going to buy an entire bottle of vodka and sit there until I am completely fucked up wasted,” I inform her as I stomp down the stairs.
“Well, Jesus! At least give me time to get my purse!” she shouts back.
Chapter 10
Lucy
Present Day
Stanford’s soft hands slide into the vee of my dress and move with confidence until he’s cupping one lace-covered breast in his hand. His tongue teases my lips and I open for him, letting him circle his tongue around my own. The fire he lit when we got back to the inn crackles in the hearth a few feet away and warms the chilly room. Even though it’s May, the breeze from the ocean when the sun goes down drops the temperature significantly, and with the windows open, the fire is a nice comfort in the room. I wish I could say Stanford is responsible for the warmth on my skin, but that would be a complete lie. Sure, it feels nice to be touched and held and kissed, but that’s the problem—it just feels nice. His face is too smooth against my jaw, his hands too soft. With my eyes closed, I can easily picture hands that are rough with blisters and callused from years of working with wood and holding firearms touching my breasts. I can feel the scratch of a month’s worth of stubble stinging the skin of my cheek as it slides against it down to my neck.
My hands tangle in the hair on the back of Stanford’s head and I clench it between my fingers as he moves away from my mouth and kisses his way across my cheek and down to my neck. I’m sitting sideways on his lap and I can feel his erection pressing against my ass. I move subtly and hear him groan softly as he nips at my skin where my neck connects to my shoulder. His thumb brushes over my nipple and I squeeze my eyes closed even harder, picturing another thumb, another mouth, another voice whispering how good my skin tastes.
I press his head against my neck and will him to open his mouth and sink his teeth into my skin, squeeze my breast harder, say something crude instead of something sweet. The feel of his hands and his lips on me, though different and not what I need, are enough to confuse my mind between the past and the present until I’m so lost in old memories and old feelings that I can easily imagine something else…someone else, doing all of these things to me.
The smooth, clean-shaven face suddenly becomes rough and course with stubble and I moan loudly when I feel it slide up my neck and back to my waiting mouth. The gentle tongue that slides past my lips immediately becomes a punishing and forceful one, claiming my mouth and swallowing me whole. The manicured hand that has never even picked up a hammer turns into a rough touch, pinching my nipple between callused fingers. I’m so lost between fantasy and reality that it doesn’t even occur to me that none of these things are happening. My body is already ten steps ahead and the tingling between my legs is so strong, I feel like I could come without any help. I don’t realize how far gone I am when I quickly twist my body around so that I’m straddling thighs that are slimmer than the muscled ones in my mind. With my hands still clenched in his hair, I yank his head back roughly until he’s staring up at me. Even with his clear blue eyes looking at me in shock instead of the brown ones I see in my mind, it still doesn’t penetrate the haze of lust and need that has consumed me.
With quick hands, I grab onto the front of his button-down shirt and yank it open, buttons flying off and falling clickety-clack all over the floor. I need this. I want this. I need to feel how much he wants me, how much he needs me. I need him to take me and claim me and bruise me with his hunger for me.
“Whoa! Jesus, Lucy, slow down!” Stanford shouts in surprise and a little bit of irritation.
His smooth, cultured voice is what brings me back to the present, brings me back to myself. It’s not the raspy Southern drawl I was hearing in my mind. His thin lips are not the full ones I was feeling against my mouth and his smooth hands are definitely not the rough ones I was feeling against my breast. My face heats with mortification and shame as I quickly scramble off of his lap and take a few steps back from the couch.
Stanford stands up, holding his ruined shirt together with his hands as he looks at me like I’m insane. I probably am. Screw that, I definitely am. My total loss of control is a direct result of seeing Fisher tonight. Seeing him again, even though I knew it was coming, threw me for a loop, invoking feelings in my body that had long been dormant. He shouldn’t be allowed to look even better than he did the last time I saw him. It was the stubble, that’s what it was. That fucking stubble and those damn dimples that popped out when he smirked at me. His face was covered in coarse, dark hair and it reminded me of that day in our kitchen when he came home from his last deployment. It made me think about everything that I dreamed about, fantasized about and craved that I kept to myself. I’d become a sex-starved, bumbling mess of hormones and I’d attacked Stanford like he had the magic stick that would cure what ailed me.