Bess
Lane was in my house. Rather than his usual expensive suit, he was wearing worn-in jeans and a dark blue thermal shirt, standing in the middle of the sitting area with his mouth covering mine.
In Pennsylvania. In my little house.
I was freaking out—baking and suggesting a hike—when all I really wanted to do was lead him back to my bedroom. Although I had vowed that one weekend with Lane was enough when I returned home, then he texted me. And I’d relented, because once would never be enough when it came to him.
My life was still complicated. AJ and I were not in a better place, but our swords had been drawn. He knew where I stood and wouldn’t accept that, but I was holding to it.
I was lonely other than my occasional time with Shirley. Being alone and cold with no one other than Brooks to warm my feet was getting old. And I liked Lane more than a little. Maybe even a lot. I just couldn’t figure out how he fit into my carefully crafted life. But now he was in my house, kissing me silly.
So when Lane interrupted my thoughts with, “A hike sounds perfect,” I quickly took him up on it. It seemed the smart thing to do at the time.
We hiked through the woods, taking a path from my house. Brooks followed along off leash, but Lane noticed he wore the collar he’d sent in his second package. He also noticed the giant container I was using for Brooks’s treats that he’d sent in his most recent package.
I thought that would be my last package and cherished the tiny mementos of our weekend he included. The miniature snow globe with a swimming pool inside sat on my window sill, and the votive full of sand and shells held a permanent spot on the mantel. He probably noticed those too, but I didn’t point them out.
As we made our way along the narrow paths wearing almost matching puffy vests, we held hands and had conversations we shouldn’t have been having.
“So, you got this dog pretty much under your little finger?” Lane asked as we rounded a bend and Brooks came as soon as I called him.
“I don’t know about that, but we came into each other’s lives when neither of us had anyone else. I think he knew how much I needed him.”
I stopped and caught myself from going on and on about a time of my life that would certainly bore anyone.
“Hey, go on,” Lane insisted, grabbing my hand and keeping us moving through the trees.
“Really? It must sound so silly and touchy-feely.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” he said, and pumped my hand.
“Well, it was right after I left rehab and was on my own for the first time in ninety days. The worst was behind me, I hoped, but I still felt really alone. My dad wanted to come and be with me, but we were never close like that, and I grew up without a mother.”
Bess paused for a moment in her story, reaching out her free hand to stroke Brooks’s head as he trotted beside her. “So I got a dog. One Saturday I went over to the pound, and they had a litter of puppies that had been abandoned in a barn. I felt so bad for those little guys, I wanted to take all of them. But I could barely take care of myself, let alone eight puppies.” She tugged affectionately at Brooks’s ear. “And then this one tumbled over to me. He was tripping over his own big paws and kept trying to jump in my arms. I picked him up and didn’t put him down until it was time to get in my car to go home.”
This time, Lane came to a halt and grabbed my cheeks, bringing me in for a kiss before he said, “Bess Williams, you are magnificent.”
Brooks sat down right at our feet in between us and stared up at us like we were the two weirdest creatures he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Would it be wrong if I said I want to turn around and go back to your house and strip you naked?” Lane said, interrupting my thoughts.
“No,” I choked out, already breathless and barely able to speak.
Practically racing back up the hill, we made it to my door in record time. I unlocked it, let Brooks in, and by the time he was finished shaking the moisture off his fur, we were ripping our coats and shoes off, leaving a trail of clothes behind us as I led Lane to my bedroom.
We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Lane helped me scoot over, smoothing the hair around my face as my head fell into the pillow, lightly tracing down my neck and collarbone with his tongue. A hot trail formed where his warm breath laid tracks barely cooled by the mountain air swirling around my room.
My hands and hips reached for him of their own volition, betraying any rules I had put into place where it came to my heart or unwanted disruptions in my very organized simple life. Apparently my body didn’t mind complications as long as it meant Lane was inside me.
He slowly licked a path up my inner thigh, taking so long that I was squirming when I begged, “Lane, now!”
“Be patient,” he breathed out, and went back to teasing me.
My heart pounded in my chest, my own breathing coming in pants, and when he finally landed where I wished he would, my body yelled, Yes!
His strokes were both tender and rough, patient and urgent—a living, breathing contradiction, much like our lives and paths crossing.
With a final sweep of his tongue, I came. My orgasm was hard and furious, my body angry that I’d waited so long since I last saw Lane, sending chills spiraling through me that were almost punishing.
With my tremors still running their course, Lane slipped on a condom and was inside me. He pulled me up to meet his chest, my nipples rubbing against his very hard body, the friction causing peaks to form as he shifted me back toward the headboard, and I caught a glimpse of his six-pack working hard.
With one hand on the headboard, the other holding me tight, his tip hitting the spot that drove me wild, I was pretty sure I was going to come again when I felt Lane pick up speed, hunting down his own release. As soon as he started jerking and I felt him losing it inside me, I followed suit.
Toppling down on me, yet careful to hold some of his weight back, he slid the condom off and tossed it on the nightstand. While I lightly scratched his back, he held me until all the sensation passed.
We spent most of the afternoon this way. Lounging and talking with lingering touches.
Tucked in the crook of Lane’s neck, our bodies sticking together in the sweaty aftermath of sex, I didn’t want to move. I said in a hushed whisper, “Wow, Spain. So that’s where you were?”
“Mmm,” he said into the top of my head.
“Was it amazing?” I asked, unable to keep a touch of melancholy from my words. Not sure where it was coming from, I couldn’t help but feel a longing to travel and explore with Lane. But that would never be possible.
“It was work. Of course, it is a beautiful country, but I was there for work,” he answered, before rolling me on top of him and smiling. “But it would have been better if you were there.”
“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m not. Actually, I’ve never really traveled much with anyone else. It would be fun with you, and hot.”
Our eyes met, and I blinked back the wetness in mine. “Lane, let’s not get carried away. I’m a waitress in rural Pennsylvania. You’re a mega-successful entrepreneur from South Beach. I’m a recovered addict and you’re essentially a playboy. Even I’m smart enough to know this has a short shelf life, whatever this is. What I’m not smart enough to do is to say ‘no thanks’ to you and your fabulous offers, but I know this will end sometime soon.”
And I hope I don’t fall apart. I pray I’m strong enough not to crumble.
“Bess,” he whispered, steadying my face with both his hands so I couldn’t look away. “Don’t make this into some awful self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t know what this is either, but like I told you on Christmas, I feel drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt before. I can’t stop the pull and neither can you, so we shouldn’t. And for the record, when I’m with you, I don’t feel like a playboy. I’m a man chasing a woman, scared I’m not gonna catch her.”
He didn’t use any more sweet nothings to capture my heart, only actions.
After another round in the sheets, this one slower and less frantic than our first hit, we drifted off to sleep. As dusk deepened outside the house, I was jolted awake with a swift punch to my ribs.
“Ow,” I mouthed, unable to make the sound come out with the pain rushing through me.
Lane was thrashing in the sheets, his hands fisted, punching the air. “No! No! What did you do? What?” he yelled, his cries hoarse and raspy with emotion.
“Lane,” I whispered while holding my side after shifting to the other side of the bed. “Lane,” I said quietly again, afraid of what might happen if I said it louder. I wasn’t equipped to care for someone this way. I’d been tasked with doing it for myself all my life, and look how shitty that turned out.
What was he screaming about? Was it the darkness that lingered in his eyes, that indefinable something I’d seen in him before?
Luckily, Brooks had gotten up from the corner of the room where he had been resting, and came straight to the side of the bed where Lane was sleeping. Apparently concerned, Brooks poked his wet nose into Lane, jarring him out of his nightmare.
“Shit,” Lane said, coming awake. He ran a trembling hand along his forehead, then pushed it back through his messy hair. He wasn’t facing me, but I could feel anger and an unwelcome embarrassment radiating from him. Whether he admitted it or not, he was a playboy, and this wasn’t how playboys drifted off to sleep after fucking their girl.
Unsure of what else to do, I placed my hand on his shoulder and asked, “Lane, you okay?”
He slowly turned my way, his eyes no longer the cornflower blue of a bright sky, and they were certainly no longer happy. They were muddled and pained, a sea of roiling emotions that I couldn’t dive into. I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer.
“Shit, Bess. Fuck!” He sat up in bed and rummaged around for his shirt, whipping it on before grabbing his boxer briefs and throwing those on in a fury. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stood up and paced beside the bed, his brow furrowed, his mind more than likely racing between fight or flight.
His breathing was heavy, his eyes frantic and wild, and I felt the need to go to him. Gingerly, I brought my feet out of bed, pain jabbing my side from the movement. As I stood, I held my ribs, trying to act like I was stretching. No such luck.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” Lane asked, marching over to me when I should have been running to him.
“Nothing. You just clipped me in your sleep,” I said, trying to be vague.
“Don’t do that, Bess. Don’t be all naive and pretend what just happened didn’t freak you the fuck out. One minute I’m making . . . I mean, we’re having sex, and the next I’m punching the shit out of you and waking up in a terror.”
“Well, I was worried,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. “But you’re up and we can talk about it now if you want.” I ran my hand down his cheek.
Isn’t that what I should say? I felt like I needed to call Shirley or May. I was at a loss, clueless about what to do next.
He swatted my hand out of the way and stepped back. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s an old bad dream. Haven’t had it in years, and now it’s back. Probably stress.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond because before I could open my mouth, he turned away and said, “I gotta roll. I’m really sorry, but I have to cut this visit short. I can’t stay and risk hurting you.”
Lane was out the door and peeling down the gravel driveway in his Jeep before I could even wrap myself in my robe and get to the door to watch him pull away.