Truth or Beard

“I’m making love to you.” Duane’s eyes moved between mine, his soul completely bare, and I knew. I knew he loved me. He hadn’t said the words yet, but it didn’t matter. His eyes told me everything and the certainty was bone-deep.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” I chanted, holding on to him, hoping my saying the words would encourage him to open his heart and admit the truth.

He didn’t. Instead he kissed me. The friction between us became a smooth glide and I moaned into his mouth, not recognizing the sound I made at all. I closed my eyes.

It was at this point I realized I was teetering on the edge of my release, and I wanted desperately to share it with him. I wanted us to move together. I didn’t want to push. I wanted him to come with me in tandem, of his own free will.

I opened my eyes, found him watching me, and was nearly made breathless by the intensity of his focus, the force of his gaze.

“Jessica, I…” he whispered, starting then stopping. It was enough.

I moaned in response, higher pitched this time, and again not a sound I recognized as one I’d ever made before. Nonsense words and promises I didn’t know I was going to say tumbled from my lips.

He didn’t respond, just continued his delectable conquest, spreading my legs wider and bringing my knees to my shoulders.

“Duane. I need you, I love you so much, so much…”

He cursed, tensed, growled in a way that sounded like a surrender, burying his face against my neck and biting my shoulder. I was tossed skyward again. This time he was with me.

And we held on to each other, like the world was ending and beginning, long after our shared ecstasy was over.

CHAPTER 22

“The three saddest things are the ill wanting to be well, the poor wanting to be rich, and the constant traveler saying 'anywhere but here'.”

? E.E. Cummings

~Jessica~

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, breaking our hour long silence of touching and petting and kissing.

“Sure…” he said, his voice sounding drowsy and not at all sure.

We were cuddled together in the bed, my back to his front. I faced the interior of the cabin, the fireplace directly in front of me. I was completely relaxed. Really, malleable was the right word for my present state, caught in that dreamy world of satisfied to the point of exhaustion, but too excited for sleep. Not yet. Again, I wanted to hold on to the moment.

“Do you always have condoms in your wallet? Or only when you come to your fortress of solitude? Are there random wood-women who come to the cabin and service hillbillies?”

I felt his tension ease, and he chuckled while nuzzling the back of my neck. “That’s three questions.”

“Okay. Forget the last two.”

“Yes. I always have condoms in my wallet.”

“Hmm…”

“What? What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“It’s just that, I never took you for an optimist.”

His renewed laughter made me smile.

He clarified while stroking my hip possessively beneath the covers. “I’m not. Billy does random wallet checks. And every year for Christmas he stuffs our stockings with condoms. I think he’d sterilize us all if he could.”

Now I was laughing, and that meant we were laughing together.

My laughter tapered and I spoke as I thought, “I really like your brothers.”

Duane was quiet for a beat; his beard tickled my shoulder when he finally spoke. “Yeah. They’re okay.”

I smiled at his affectionate and dismissive remark, letting the subject drop. I wasn’t ready to invite anyone else—not even via discussion—into our lovely slice of heaven pie. Not yet.

The fire was burning low, just coals at this point, embers of red glowing in chalky black cinders. I loved how wood fires smelled, tart and smoky. They reminded me of dessert, s’mores and hot lemon curd baked in a pie iron. My daddy was my Brownie pack leader growing up; he’d taught me all the campfire dessert shortcuts.

“How did you get here, Jess?”

“Pardon?” I’d been lost to my thoughts, desserts and campfires. Now I’d associate wood fires with Duane. This thought made me happy.

I felt him shift behind me, lean up on his elbow. “Did someone drive you?”

“No. I drove. I have…well, I have a car now. It’s a long story.” I frowned, remembering I hadn’t spotted his parked car when I arrived. “By the way, where’s your car? Where’s the Road Runner?”

Duane dithered, his body tensing behind me. At last he cleared his throat and said with a sigh, “I wrecked it.”

I choked on nothing, my eyes bulging, certain I’d heard wrong. “You…you what?”

“I wrecked it, last weekend at The Canyon.”

I twisted in his arms so I could see his face, a rush of alarm making my muscles tense.

I rested my palm on his cheek, needing to touch him, as my eyes moved between his. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.”

I wanted to search his body, see for myself. But then I reminded myself of the sex cartwheels we’d just finished. If he’d been injured then he could hardly have accomplished such a physically demanding activity.

He didn’t look sad or mournful about the car, and his lack of reaction did not compute. “You loved that car.”

His expression didn’t change, not really, but he shrugged. “It’s a good car.”

“Why aren’t you more upset?”

“It’s not a person, Jess. It’s a thing. Things can be fixed. Eventually, maybe, I’ll fix her up.”

“But…that car is awesome. And you never lose.”

“I wasn’t quite myself last weekend,” he mumbled distractedly, his attention dipping to my chest as his hand lifted to cup my breast. He touched me like he appreciated my texture, using his thumb to draw circles on my skin.

“Then why would you risk it?” I ignored the pleasure radiating from where he enjoyed my body because I wanted to understand how Duane could be so dismissive of his badass car.

“I only risk what I’m willing to live without,” he said, still with an air of distraction. He moved, guiding me so my back was against the mattress and he was above me again. Just before he bent his head to my chest he licked his lips. The wet, slick heat of his mouth closed over my nipple and he sucked, swirling his tongue in a circle.

Despite my best efforts to remain focused, my breathing became erratic.

“Duane,” I struggled to remain sensible. “Duane, that’s not real risk at all. It’s only real if you risk what you need.”

“I need to be inside you again, Jessica,” he half whispered, half growled and I felt his need press into my inner thigh.

“Okay…” I sighed, adding absentmindedly. “But you should know I’m still mad at you for not taking my call on Sunday.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve taken your call.” He nipped the underside of my breast.

I squirmed, my eyes closing. “You have to promise me, I need you to promise you’ll never do that again.”

I sensed him falter, his movements stilled, and several long seconds passed where the only audible sounds were our combined breathing and the crackle of the dying fire.

His continued stillness prompted me to open my eyes and lift my head. He was still over me, his mouth parted like he was going to speak, but needed to think first on the words. Duane’s sumptuous eyes examined my face, searching. His expression was enough to give me pause, and I was about to withdraw, push him further for the needed promise.

But then he said, “As long as we’re together, I’ll never ignore your call, I promise.”

Something about the assurance felt off, too careful. I was groggy, therefore I replayed his words in my head three times before I caught the disclaimer.

“No.” I shook my head, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to stay focused. “No, no disclaimers. Just a promise. You need to promise me you will never ignore me again. For the rest of our lives you will call me back, ’til we’re dead and buried.”

He continued to stare at me, and as he stared I watched Duane war with himself. After a protracted minute, he rose to his knees, his eyes conducting a quick but heated sweep of my face, hair, body, and then he climbed off the bed.

He paced the short distance to the fireplace, then the table. He halted there, his hands on his hips, giving me his glorious backside. I watched his broad shoulders rise and fall and propped myself up on my elbows, waiting. The longer I waited the heavier the sinking sensation twisted in my belly, giving me vertigo.

“Duane?”

Abruptly he turned and stalked back to the bed, careful not to touch me. He sat on the edge, grabbing his boxers from the floor, and pulled them on. I watched him dress, at a complete loss as to what he was thinking.

“What are you doing?”

He gave me his decidedly stormy gaze. “You’re asking too much. I can’t promise that.”

Again, I replayed his words in my head three times before I understood. When I did, I’m sure my expression mirrored the explosion of anger catching my brain on fire. I scrambled from the bed, taking the sheet with me, and stood over him as he yanked on his jeans.