1. “All our times have come…”
The music thumped in time to the throbbing of Eleanor’s head, the deep bass rumbling so loudly she felt it more than heard it. She shouldn’t have come here. The Halloween party was in full swing. Costumed dancers swirled around her, making her dizzy and slightly nauseated. It was a masquerade affair, and the ornate masks worn by the party guests obscured her view of their faces. Eleanor squinted and scanned the room looking for someone she knew. She really wasn’t feeling well, and she needed to find her host to politely thank them for inviting her before she could duck out and head home to her soft bed so she could sleep off this migraine. It was the worst one she’d ever had, leaving her feeling not only deep, throbbing pain, but also fuzzy-headed and dizzy. Everything was just a bit off. She saw no familiar faces as her eyes once again swept the crowded room, and she realized that her situation was rapidly deteriorating. She felt beads of sweat trickle down her back into the corset and bustle beneath her ball gown. Why had she worn such an elaborate costume when she already wasn’t feeling well? It was going to be a nightmare to get out of. She stumbled woozily to the refreshments table and poured herself a cup of crimson liquid from the crystal punch bowl, hoping it was nonalcoholic. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to be able to drive home. She swallowed the cool liquid gratefully and then realized she didn’t have her keys with her. She frowned, her feverish brain working overtime to try to retrace her steps. Where had she left her purse? Had she even brought a purse? Her large, utilitarian bag definitely didn’t go with this costume…but she had to have brought her keys with her if she had driven here, right? Her heart began to race in her chest as she searched her mind and came up blank. She had to have driven herself here. She hadn’t come with a date. But she couldn’t remember driving here, couldn’t remember parking or walking in. She closed her eyes to help her focus as the room spun around her, but her mind was empty. If only she could find…whose party was this again? It was on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. If she could just find her host, they could help her. They could help her find her keys, help her to her car…but who was her host again? She couldn’t conjure a face or think of a name… Then she had a sobering thought—had she driven here drunk? She was feeling very strange, like nothing she’d ever experienced before…but then she rarely drank…had she had some liquid courage before the party to help loosen her up, and that’s why her memory was full of holes? She was panicking now, breathing rapidly and shallowly. The room swam around her, the couples dancing out of sync with the too-loud music. What was happening to her? 2. “Seasons don’t fear the reaper…” She felt him before she saw him. A calm began to flow through her, warm in her chest and spreading outward with every beat of her heart. She knew somehow that this calm was being imposed upon her from an outward source, that it wasn’t her own, and yet she didn’t care. In fact, she was grateful for it. Her heart slowed. Her breathing calmed. And then she saw him. He was tall, taller than the people around him, making him stand out. But then, he wasn’t the kind of man to blend in. Half of his face was covered by a skeleton mask, but the half she could see was chiseled, striking, devastatingly handsome. His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light, and they were fixed directly on her. She knew she had never seen him before (who could forget a face like that?), but she also knew that he was meant for her, somehow. “Figures,” she thought, standing up a bit straighter, “that I’d meet Mr. Right exactly as I’m coming down with the flu from hell. I probably look like a Victorian orphan.” He began to walk toward her, and she was transfixed by his fluid movement, his grace. It was almost as if he weren’t waking at all, but floating… And then he was standing before her, his intense gaze burning into hers. “Eleanor,” he said. Just her name. (How had he known her name??) And yet it was a benediction, an answered prayer. She had no reply. He held out a hand to her. “Dance with me,” he said. It wasn’t a request. She tried to speak, but her voice came out a croak. She was feeling almost too ill to be humiliated by this. Almost. She cleared her throat and began again. “I really shouldn’t. I’m not feeling well. I need to get home.” She pulled her eyes from his, freeing herself from his hypnotic gaze, and began once again to scan the room looking for her host, a familiar face, her keys…anything to help her shake this horrible feeling of unreality, like she was walking through a dream, or a nightmare. Again, a warm calm began to move through her, and this time she tried to fight it. Whoever this Mr. Sexy Pants with the mind control powers was, she couldn’t deal with him right now. She needed to get home to her pajamas and her kitty, Bongo, who hated Halloween in spite of his midnight-colored fur. But fighting against the feeling was like trying to fight the sleepiness brought about by anesthesia: impossible. Her eyes were pulled back to the face of her companion. “Do we know each other?” she asked, her voice too soft to be heard over the music, yet he nodded. “Indeed, we do,” he replied, and gave her a small smile that made her stomach do a back flip. “Really?” Eleanor asked, incredulous. “I’m skeptical. Because you’re stupid-hot, and I think I would remember meeting a handsome vampire or ghoul or whatever you’re dressed as.” He chuckled at this, eyes downcast, and took a moment to return his face to its mask of impartiality before looking back up at her. “I’m not a vampire,” he replied. “I’m the grim reaper.” She looked him up and down, taking in his black slacks, his white button up shirt, beneath a black vest, his satin tie… “You sort of look like the phantom of the opera but without the cape,” Eleanor declared, and this time he brought up one hand to smother the guffaw that threatened to erupt at her observation. . “But a handsome phantom, right?” he teased. “A ‘stupid-hot’ one?” She could feel her cheeks flushing and blamed her loose lips on whatever was causing her fuzzy head and missing memory. “Dance with me,” he said again. She hesitated only a moment. Who was she to turn down a dance with death? 3. “Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity…” “What’s your name?” Eleanor asked as she took his outstretched hand. She tried to ignore the electrical current that passed between them when they touched. More flu symptoms. Hot flashes, perhaps. He took her into his arms, holding her a bit too closely but also not nearly close enough, and they began to sway to the music. “What do you want it to be?” he murmured, his eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. “Look, dude, this isn’t Pretty Woman, okay? Just tell me your name.” He gaped at her for a moment and then laughed out loud. They moved in slow circles as his laughter died and then he looked at her quizzically. “My name…” he trailed off. “It’s been a long time since anyone has asked me that.” He looked at her with what seemed to be affection. “Yeah, well, I didn’t see a nametag,” Eleanor quipped, and he smiled. “Call me Damien,” he said, and she nodded. “Damien,” she replied, liking the way his name felt on her lips, thinking that it suited him perfectly. Dark, sexy, and mysterious. Being around him, feeling that warmth he somehow poured into her, had nearly made Eleanor feel better enough to forget that she had been looking for her keys to head home, but not quite. “Could you help me?” she began. “I need to find my keys. I really should head home. I’m not feeling well at all, and—” He moved a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and suddenly her pain was gone. She gaped at him, mystified. “Is your head feeling better now?” he asked, trying to look innocent. “I…yes…how did you…” suddenly Elenaor’s eyes narrowed. “I never told you I had a headache. How did you know that’s what was wrong with me?” “Lucky guess,” Damien said, winking at her and once more tugging her closer, as though he could dance all her worries away. But then after that little stunt he’d just pulled, maybe he could. “I had the worst headache of my life just a few minutes ago,” Eleanor said sagging against him, the sudden absence of pain such a relief it made her weak in the knees. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured in her ear, and goosebumps erupted over her arms as his lips brushed against her earlobe. “You…you aren’t?” Though her pain was now gone, the fuzzy feeling hadn’t left her. She still couldn’t remember much leading up to the party, and she certainly felt drunk, even if she couldn’t remember having had any alcohol. But now it was a sort of happy, sleepy drunk, not the queasy, panicked way she felt earlier. She attributed that to her mysterious masked man. “I mean…the music is terribly loud in here. It’s no wonder your head is hurting,” he offered by way of explanation. “Right,” she murmured sleepily, and smiled up at him. “Hey, Damien? If you’re the grim reaper, where’s your staff?” He frowned. “My staff? Like, servants?” Eleanor shook her head. “No, no. Your staff. Like, your big stick.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why, Eleanar, we’ve only just met and already you’re asking to see my ‘big stick’?” Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Nooooo,” she protested. “Your hooked thingy.” He barked out a laugh at that, and she pulled away from him to cover her burning cheeks with her hands in dismay. “My scythe?” Damien asked, putting her out of her misery. “Yeah, that guy. Do you have one?” His gaze turned serious once more. “I do…” he said softly, gesturing to the corner of the room where a very realistic looking scythe leaned against the wall, the sharp edge glinting dangerously in the dim light. She could see a long black cloak draped over the back of a chair nearby. “Wow, you went all out!” Eleanor said. “Those don’t look cheap.” “They aren’t. They’re actually priceless to me.” She smiled. “Family heirlooms? Do you come from a long line of reapers?” “Something like that,” he replied. Their song was ending, but the couples around them continued twirling, seemingly oblivious as one song ended and another began. Something about that brought her earlier feelings of unease back to her, and Elenaor once again attempted to clear her head so she could gather her things and head home. “Thank you for the dance,” she said politely, pulling herself out of Damien’s arms. “You’ve been lovely. I really do need to get home. And I apologize for being a bit…ridiculous.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly at that. “It’s just…I don’t feel well at all, you see, and I think I’m coming down with something.” “Please don’t apologize, Eleanor. I have enjoyed our time together. In fact, I have enjoyed it so much that…” now he looked down, dismayed, “…I just can’t let you go.” “What?” Eleanor felt a flicker of fear in her stomach. What did that mean? “I can’t let you leave tonight, Eleanor.” Damien said, voice laced with regret. “You have to come with me.” 4. “We can be like they are…” He was crazy! Her girlfriends had often lamented that all the hot guys were either taken or crazy—they must have been right. And now this creep, who had somehow found out her name and followed her here, was going to kidnap her! She fought hard against that comforting warmth he continued to douse her with. “Help,” she breathed, backing away from him. Then, louder, “help,” and finally she screamed it at the top of her lungs, “Help me! Please!” Not one masked dancer even glanced her way. They continued to bob and sway around her, their rhythm not matching the music. Eleanor sank to her knees and began to sob right there on the crowded dance floor, and the couples danced in circles around her, completely oblivious to her plight. What was happening? The throbbing in her head was returning, and the panic she had tried to keep at bay was clawing its way out of her ribcage. She couldn’t take it anymore. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. The touch was soft, warm, comforting. She knew it was Damien, and she was so exhausted from the evening’s events that she didn’t have it in her to fight off his mental manipulation. She welcomed it, in fact, and used it to help calm her breathing until she was gulping and hiccupping through the last of her crying fit. “You don’t have to be afraid,” Damien said, and she heard his calm, quiet voice perfectly despite the music. In fact, his voice seemed to be projected directly into her head. “And why not?” she mused. He could control her mood and read her mind—apparently he could communicate telepathically as well. She could add that to the list of things that had happened that night that made absolutely no sense. “What’s happening?” Eleanor asked, looking up at him through still-teary eyes. “What is happening to me?” His face was kind, sympathetic, and she knew with certainty that she didn’t need to fear him. Whatever this was, he was trying to help her though it. “I haven’t lied to you once this evening, Eleanor,” he replied. “My name is Damien, and I am the grim reaper. A reaper, more accurately. One of many. And tonight, I need you to come with me.” “Okay. You’re a reaper? I mean, your hooked thingy looks realistic enough.” He smiled in spite of himself at that. “I’ll buy that. But why do I have to come with you? Don’t reapers collect the souls of the dead? Like, usher them into the afterlife or whatever?” He nodded, his face solemn. “Yes, that’s what we do.” She frowned. “Then why did you say I have to come with you? Are you recruiting new reapers?” He was quiet, his dark eyes intent on hers. “Damien?” Eleanor felt things shifting insider her mind, like puzzle pieces coming together, and slowly she began to see a picture take shape, a memory. “My keys,” she murmured, seeing in her mind her keys dangling from the ignition of her little silver Honda. “My car.” Windshield wipers worked furiously to combat the torrent of falling rain. A flash of headlights and the screeching of tires as a car coming the opposite direction crossed into her path. A deafening crash of twisting metal and breaking glass as the two cars collided head-on. “My head,” she whispered, putting a hand to her head, not surprised to see blood on her fingers when she lowered her hand. “Did I…am I…?” she asked, her voice quavering, her eyes unable to meet his face. She couldn’t say that word out loud. Not yet. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor,” he said quietly, and when she looked up at him, they were no longer at the masquerade ball. They were outside, beneath the cold Halloween moon and next to what remained of her car. The wreckage smoked and sizzled as it was pelted with raindrops that Eleanor could see and hear but somehow couldn’t feel. “Is this…is this my car?” she asked unable to tear her eyes away from the horror in front of her. “You went out to get cat food. For Bongo,” he said, his soothing voice at odds with the churning of her stomach and the pounding of her heart. And as soon as he’d spoken the words, the memory flashed before her eyes, like she was watching herself on a movie screen. Realizing that Bongo’s food bowl was nearly empty, she had hastily thrown on her coat and told Bongo she’d be right back, that she was just going to the store to get him some more chow, and that if he was a good boy, she’d get them some vanilla Haagen-Daas, too. That was his very favorite treat. He had licked his kitty lips appreciatively at her as she hurried out the door, hastily pulling up the hood of her coat to protect her from the rain. “The rain made your windshield fog up. It was hard for you to see. So when the driver who hit you veered into your lane, you couldn’t react in time to miss him.” “Is he…did he also….did I kill him?” Eleanor asked, terrified. It was bad enough what had happened to her—she didn’t think she could bear it if the other driver had suffered the same fate she did. “No,” Damien answered her quickly, seeing the misery she was in and hoping to cut it as short as possible. “You did not kill him. You couldn’t have--the accident was his fault, remember? The other driver was a 67 year old man who suffered a heart attack behind the wheel. He died instantly, before the impact with your car.” The range of emotions flitting across her face as each new piece of information was revealed to her would have been comical under different circumstances. Relief: She hadn’t killed him. Sorrow: But he had died. Relief: But it wasn’t her fault. Anger: But he had killed her! Guilt: He hadn’t done anything on purpose, and he had paid dearly for what had happened. He had paid with his life. “He didn’t suffer,” Damien continued as Eleanor worked to process the information. “He had a good life, a happy life. He married; he had children. It was his time.” “And is it my time?” she asked, sounding more than a little bitter. “I’m only 23! I didn’t get to get married or have children. I never even got to—” She abruptly stopped speaking, her cheeks burning beneath his gaze. “I know that things don’t seem fair to you right now. There is a lot of, uh…behind the scenes information that you’re not privy to. That even I’m not privy to. There’s a lot we have to leave up to trust, to faith…” he trailed off. “Is this it, then?” Elenaor asked him, still not quite believing that she was dead, that her time on earth was at an end. Then a darker thought crossed her mind. “Oh god—am I going to hell??” she shrieked, looking at him in horror. “No,” he replied quickly, putting his hands up placatingly. “No, it’s not like that at all. There is no heaven or hell as humans understand them. Humans get a great many things wrong, and one of their very worst creations is religion.” She wearily sat down on the curb before her knees gave out on her in relief (could she sit? She didn’t have a body any more, per say….) “Besides,” he continued, “you wouldn’t exactly be a candidate for the bad place. You volunteer at a soup kitchen every week, and you tutor your nieces after school. I mean…you’re even the stereotypical virgin sacrifice.” Eleanor’s head whipped up to him in shock. “How did you know that?” she hissed, equal parts furious and humiliated. Could he read her mind? “Being your reaper makes me privy to certain information about you. We get a briefing about each client before the harvest, you see, and…” The way she winced at the word “harvest” reminded Damien that he was talking to a human, and a very tender-hearted one at that, so he redirected. “I know a fair bit about you, yes. I can’t read your mind,” he said, and then laughed at the incredulous raise of her eyebrows. “Although I suppose I can see why it might seem like that to you...” “Is that how you knew my name at the party?” And suddenly she remembered the party as though it were a dream she had been startled awake from. “Holy shit, the party! What the hell was that? A nightmare?” “No, not a nightmare. Did you find it nightmarish? I tried my best to make it appealing to you.” “I mean…had I not been dead, I’m sure it would have been grand,” Eleanor deadpanned, and Damien chuckled. “You made that party? How did you do that?” “Reapers have certain abilities. We’re not human, remember. We can create alternate realities of sorts. We do this to ease humans’ transition from the physical realm to the spiritual. We want it to be as easy and as painless for you as possible. We’re not the bad guys, remember. We’re your guides. We’re here to help you.” “That’s quite a sales pitch” Eleanor muttered. “So that masquerade ball was supposed to be the way you brought me into the afterlife? “Yes. The information I was given about you included that you were a romantic, that you particularly enjoyed romantic comedies and dramas involving dashing, handsome heroes and elegant dances.” Eleanor eyed Damien for a long moment and then asked, “Are you my handsome hero?” He hadn’t thought it was possible, but he felt his cheeks heating and knew he was blushing. “I…well…” Eleanor laughed out loud at his obvious discomfort and then decided to change the subject. “If the dance was your way of bringing me to wherever I’m going after this, then what are we doing here, at the scene of the crime, so to speak? Damien looked down and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Things didn’t exactly go as I’d planned,” he admitted. Eleanor stiffened. “Is something wrong? What’s wrong? You’ve already told me I’m not going to hell. No take backs!” “No, nothing’s wrong,” he said hastily, and came to sit beside her on the curb. He looked at her earnestly. “It’s usually easier to get people to come with us. We set the scene, hit them with a bit of our sense of calm, and they’re pretty compliant, happy to be out of whatever pain brought them to us. But you were different. You were…difficult.” She snorted. “Difficult? I was difficult? What does that mean? Just because I don’t want to die I’m difficult?” “It’s not that the others want to die,” he clarified, “it’s that they’re easier to manipulate. People are pretty self-centered creatures; it’s easy to get them to believe what they want to be true. They don’t often ask a lot of questions. You were one the first person in a long time to even ask me my name.” “I remember you said that…” “So yes, you have been a challenge for me, but don’t mistake me. It’s a welcome challenge. I told you that I’d been completely honest with you this evening, and I have, including when I told you how much I have enjoyed your company. I am not just a part of the background with you, like the dancing couples at the masquerade ball. You see me. It’s…refreshing.” “I do see you, Damien. You’re pretty hard to miss.” He once again felt his cheeks redden beneath her gaze, and marveled at the effect this girl had on him. “Okay, so you created this…masquerade ball so you could dance me into the afterlife, but I was ‘difficult,’ too inquisitive, yadda yadda, and now here we are?” “Yes, once you become aware that you’ve passed on, our visions no longer conceal reality. I can usually get people through the veil before that happens, but I wasn’t able to with you.” He smiled. “Most people are happy to have the effects of our mood control. We’re like anti-depressants, like drugs that bring about euphoria and peace. I’ve never had anyone fight against the effects of them quite the way you did.” Eleanor chuckled. “I was determined to find my keys and get the heck out of dodge, it’s true. I just didn’t realize that I’d already left dodge. And my body.” Eleanor and Damien both laughed out loud at this, and then she affectionately bumped her shoulder into his. “So now what, Mr. Reaper Man?” 5. “Come on baby…” “I’m supposed to take you through the veil.” “Will it hurt?” she asked quietly, and he took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Not at all. I can promise you that. There is no more pain for you now.” At his words, she realized that he was right—since leaving the ballroom, since accepting that she was, in fact, dead, she hadn’t felt any physical pain. That was quite a relief. A thought occurred to her then. “Where is everyone else? The police? Hunky firemen?” Damien made a face of mock indignation at that. “Am I not hunky enough for you, Eleanor? I’m wounded.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Why is it so quiet? I would think after a huge wreck like this there would be sirens everywhere…” “There were. There will be. There are.” She looked at him quizzically. “What does that mean, Confucius?” “We exist outside of time here. We are no longer physical, remember?” “Okaaaaay…” she furrowed her brow, trying to take in this information. “Is this real, though? Not like the fake masquerade ball?” “Yes, this is real.” “Okay,” she said, and somehow this was important to her, that she had seen the actual accident that had taken her life. “So…how do we go through the veil” she asked finally. “That can be up to you,” he replied. “You need to feel joy, pure happiness in your heart. It creates the light that you need to go into to cross over.” “You’re kidding, right?” she scoffed. “I literally go into the light? What a cliché!” “Laugh if you must, Eleanor, but that’s how we do it,” Damien said with a shrug. “I tried to bring you happiness with a Halloween masquerade ball, but that didn’t exactly suit your fancy as I’d hoped it would. So you tell me—what would make you happy? How would you like to cross over?” Eleanor looked into his eyes for a beat too long, and then her eyes moved to his lips as her cheeks grew red beneath his gaze. “You can tell me, you know. I’ve been a reaper for hundreds of years now. I’ve ferried many souls into the afterlife. Your request won’t seem foolish to me. I promise. I want to make this easy for you, enjoyable for you. Beautiful, even.” She closed her eyes, cheeks still aflame, and then Damien had an inkling of what she might want from him but was too embarrassed to ask for. He placed an arm tentatively around her shoulders and spoke softly in her ear, his voice husky. “I know you’ve never had the chance to…be intimate with a man. It’s an experience you feel you’ve missed out on, isn’t it? I could fix that for you…” Eleanor’s eyes flew open at this, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. “E-ex-excuse me?!” she spluttered. “It’s not a method I use often, but one way I can bring you through the veil is by making you orgasm.” “Jesus Christ,” Eleanor groaned and covered her face in her hands. “Are you kidding me right now?” Her voice was muffled by her palms. “No, I’m not kidding. I don’t always enjoy the company of the soul I’m transporting, so I usually avoid this method. But, as I’ve said, I’ve enjoyed our time together, and…I think this could be fun for us both.” At this Eleanor peeked through her fingers at him. “You…you want me?” He took one of her hands in his. “I think you’re quite beautiful,” he said, his voice husky, and he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. She shivered in response. “And from what I know of you, you’re funny and kind. What’s not to want?” Her eyes softened. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, a small smile on her lips. He nodded and raised their laced fingers to place a kiss on the back of her hand. “I think you’re beautiful, too,” she said, and then, “Wait! Is this really what you look like? Or is your hot bod a façade, like the masquerade was? Are you really a great googly moogly underneath all that tall dark and handsome?” Damien laughed out loud. “A ‘great googly moogly?’ Where do you come up with this stuff??” “Listen, I don’t know, okay? I’ve never died before. Give me a break.” He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes before answering her questions. “No, this isn’t my true form. I can’t say that I know what a ‘great googly moogly’ is, but I’m reasonably certain I’m not one. I chose this form to appear to you in because I thought it would be pleasing to you. Does it please you, Eleanor?” She blushed at his question, looking away. “Yes,” she replied, her voice squeaking, and she cleared her throat. “You’re kinda sorta super gorgeous.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to him. “Thank you, Eleanor. I think you’re pretty gorgeous, yourself.” He looked into her eyes and then at her lips. “May I kiss you?” Her lips parted, her lids grew heavy, but she managed a nod. He leaned in and touched his mouth to hers, just a brief brush of lips, but it completely stole her breath away. If kissing him was like this, what would *that* feel like? “So…” she murmured once he pulled back away from her. “Are you going to fuck me to death right here on the side of the highway, or…” Damien threw back his head in laughter. “It wasn’t what I had in mind,” he told her. “I figured I’d whip us up another scene? What would suit you, Eleanor?” There was a long pause while she thought. “Can you take us to the beach, Damien? I’ve always loved the beach.” “The beach it is,” he said with a wink. 6. “Baby I’m your man…” Eleanor closed her eyes, and before she could open them, she knew they were on the beach. She felt warm sand beneath her, heard the crash of the waves, and smelled the sea air. “That is some parlor trick, Damien,” she said, opening her eyes and taking in the beauty before her. The sky was the pink and purple of sunset, the water clear and sparkling, the sand white. She couldn’t have dreamed a more perfect place. “Why thank you, Eleanor,” he said, smiling at her, and suddenly they both felt a bit shy. Eleanor bit her lip and ducked her head, waiting for him to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and walked behind her and then sat down, legs spread on either side of her, his arms around her middle. He held her like that for several moments, quietly, and she leaned back against him in contentment, watching the ocean. “Are you sure this isn’t heaven?” she asked. “Because it pretty much fits the bill, if you ask me.” He had his mouth pressed to the back of her neck, and she felt his lips form a smile there. “It is heaven, in a manner of speaking. It’s our heaven. Yours and mine. And while I can’t be glad for what happened to you, I am so, so glad you’re here with me right now.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and her heart fluttered. She could so easily fall for this man (Reaper? Dude? Guy?)… She turned in his arms so that she was facing him and put a hand to his face, felt the tickle of stubble beneath her palm. “I’m glad, too,” she whispered, and then because she couldn’t go another minute without his lips on hers, she leaned forward and tilted her head up for his kiss. Damien was happy to oblige, pressing his lips softly against hers, and then more firmly, before opening his mouth to her and running his tongue along her bottom lip. She whimpered into his mouth before returning his kiss, her tongue tentatively stroking his, then more boldly as she judged from his reaction to her that she wasn’t doing an awful job in the kissing department. He leaned them back until she was lying on a soft blanket (when had that gotten there?) and then gingerly put his weight on her, never breaking their kiss. “Damien,” she breathed, as his mouth trailed down her neck, nipping and licking and sucking. “Yes, darling?” he murmured against her skin. “Where did you learn to kiss like this?” He chuckled. “I may not be a human, but I’m also not a monk or a priest. I’ve had sex a time or two in my 692 years.” He winked at her. “Gah, you dirty old man,” she replied, and they both laughed. He bent his head down to kiss her once more, and this time she felt his hand at the hem of her top, fingers sliding beneath, sliding upward… “Hey, wait,” she panted, and his hands immediately stilled. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. Hadn’t he just dazzled her with his excellent kisses? “Nothing’s wrong, I just…You can make any scene, right? Any setting?” “Do you not like the beach I made for us?” he asked, disappointed. “Are you worried about getting sand…in places sand shouldn’t be? Because you don’t have to worry about that, I promise you.” She smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Can you…can you change me, too?” “Change you?” he frowned. “What do you mean?” “Oh, you know, bigger boobs, toned abs?” She forced a laugh. Understanding dawned on his face. “Ah. Okay, I see where you’re going now. Eleanor, please believe me when I say that all I expect out of this is for you to be exactly who and what you are. You don’t need to try to impress me. I’m already impressed. Besides, it’s not like I can turn you down, you know? I’m kinda on the clock.” He waited for her to smile or laugh or otherwise acknowledge his joke, but instead she cringed, and he quickly apologized. “Sorry, sorry. That was in poor taste, and I didn’t mean it.” “I just…I never have…I’ve come close, you know, with a couple of guys, but…this is a big deal to me.” “I know. I know it is.” She took his hand in hers and led it beneath her shirt, up her abdomen, where, with her fingers guiding his, she ran them across the pink, puckered skin of a scar. “I had my—” “You had your gallbladder taken out, last year” he interrupted. Her eyes widened. “How did you…?” “Reaper, remember?” he tapped his forehead lightly. “I know stuff. Here, let me…” Slowly Damien led their joined hands down her stomach, down into the waistband of her shorts (apparently Damien had magic-ed them up some beach attire). He ran his fingers and hers over a scar on her lower stomach. “Your appendix ruptured when you were 16, and you nearly died then. And as much as I want you, I would NOT have taken you this way as a teenager, so I’m very glad you pulled through that little episode.” She laughed then, the coil of nerves in her stomach slowly unwinding. He pulled their hands from the waistband of her shorts and brought them down to her ankle, trailing their fingers over a small, crescent moon shaped scar there. “The neighbor’s dog bit you when you were 8. And you lied to your parents about what happened, because you knew if you told them, the dog would be taken and maybe put down. And you knew that dog was the only companion of your neighbor, Mr. Willis, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him being all alone.” “I…I never told anyone about that,” Eleanor breathed, her eyes wide. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. I know you. I want you. Let me take you. Let me love you.” He brought his mouth again to hers, kissing her between words with increasing fervor. “I’ll make it so good for you, Eleanor, darling. Let me make love to you.” Her stomach clenched deliciously at his words, at his kisses, and she finally let go of every last reservation she had. He felt her letting go, and he kissed her deeper, then kissed down her neck and across her breasts, over the fabric of her top. Her nipples puckered deliciously beneath his lips, and she gasped. She looked down to see her nipples reaching for him obscenely through her thin shirt. “You couldn’t have magic-ed me a bra, Damien?” He smiled wolfishly up at her. “Ooops. I must have forgotten.” And then he bit down gently on her left nipple. “Holy Christ” she whimpered, and he loved the way the words were pulled from her lips. “That’s my girl. You can be as loud as you want to here. There’s no one to overhear you, no one to interrupt us…no one to save you from me.” He bit down lightly on her other nipple and then pulled it, fabric and all, into his mouth and swirled his tongue around and around it. When he lifted his head, the fabric covering her breast was soaked from his mouth and clinging to her swollen flesh. He blew lightly over it, and the feeling went through like lightning. “Jesus fuck!” she gasped, and Damien chuckled to himself. “My, you swear quite creatively when you’re turned on.” “Sorry? You’re welcome?” her eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, chest heaving with each intake of breath. He thought she looked absolutely breathtaking. “I’ll take the latter,” he said, and then nuzzled his face into her stomach before sitting up and tugging her top up and over her head. The perpetual sunset bathed Eleanor’s breasts in a golden glow, making her look ethereal and angelic. Well, angelic except for the way her nipples were straining for his touch, for his kisses. He obliged them. Damien reached up and cupped her heavy breasts in his hands as he kissed her sweet lips once again. He caressed their sensitive undersides before strumming his thumbs over her nipples, making her moan into his mouth. This wasn’t the clumsy fumbling she’d experienced with boyfriends in the past. This was…something else entirely. She wanted more of him. Her hands, which had been clenching his shirt and pulling him closer to her, went to the hem and then tugged it up. He broke the kiss and leaned back so she could pull his shirt over his head, baring his chest to her. When he pulled her back into his arms, they both gasped at the sudden skin to skin contact, her soft breasts pressing into his hard chest. “Ellie,” he groaned, nipping her bottom lip, and she giggled. “No one calls me that.” “Oh really? I guess that particular name for you is mine. Just like these pretty nipples are mine,” he said, pinching one lightly. “And just like your little pussy is mine,” he breathed in her ear, and he saw the way she shivered in response. “Let’s take these shorts off,” he said, and she blinked, still in a stupor from his sexy words. “Mine or yours?” He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Let’s start with yours,” he said, and she obediently lifted her hips so he could shimmy her shorts off. “Ooops—I guess I forgot to magic you panties, too. Sorry, Ellie.” Her cheeks reddened at that, but she said nothing, too focused on anticipating what deliciously dirty thing he would do or say next. “Has anyone ever kissed you here?” he asked, running his hand along her right hip. Goosebumps erupted over her belly, and she shook her head. He leaned over her until she was lying on her back on the blanket, and then gently nudged her legs apart. “What about here?” he asked, trailing a finger down the crease of her upper thigh. “Huh uh” she mumbled, breathing quickly. “And what about right here…” his index finger slid up her slit to her clit, which he lightly tapped with his index finger, and she couldn’t answer him. She was beyond words. “I suppose I had better get on that, then,” he murmured, and lowered his head to kiss slowly and softly up and down her soft thighs, getting close to the juncture between them only to hover over it and then back down her thigh without ever touching her there. He continued this torture until she finally whimpered, “Please.” “Of course, darling. Of course.” He placed a soft, sweet kiss on her mound and then the tip of his tongue delved between her lips, tasting how much she wanted him. She made a long keening sound, and he hand to hold her hips down to keep her within licking distance. He nuzzled his nose between her pussy lips and nudged her clit with it a few times before sliding his tongue into her. She was sure if her eyes hadn’t been closed, they would have crossed. “Oh my god,” she moaned, and he reached up to caress her nipples before giving her clit a soft lick. “God isn’t here, Eleanor. Just me.” And then he thrust his tongue into her once more. “Damien, Jesus, God!” her head thrashed back and forth on the blanket, her hands fisted in his hair. “Okay, I supposed I am god-like,” he quipped and then brought his hands down to secure her hips so he could taste her more thoroughly. Eleanor didn’t know what he was doing to her, but she knew she wanted him to never, ever stop. She felt her orgasm building, and before she could stop it, it crested over her in a wave, and she was crying out his name. His tongue slowed it’s movements and then stilled as she panted, one arm thrown over her eyes. “Oh my goodness,” Eleanor breathed, and then she moved her arm down and peeked down at Damien. He was still there, still on their private beach. Nothing had changed. “Am I dead now?” she asked, and he smiled. “You were already dead, Eleanor, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but, like, you were going to magic me to heaven with some reaper sex, right? So did it happen? It doesn’t look like it happened.” “We haven’t had sex yet,” Damien answered with a wink, and her cheeks pinked. “Of course,” she said quickly, “how foolish of me! Here you just made me cum like a freight train and I haven’t even offered you a BJ or a handy or anything. I promise I’m not always this selfish…” He laughed at her once again (and she was sure he was laughing at her rather than with her). “Ellie, I didn’t expect a ‘BJ or a handy’ as you so romatically put it. This is for you, remember? But yes, we still have the main event to go…” With that, Damien stood and pushed his shorts down his hips and then lowered himself so that he was lying next to her on the blanket. He was absolutely mouthwateringly perfect in every way, and Eleanor would have been intimidated by this, but knowing that he had created this body for her made her want to give in and appreciate it. “Damien…may I kiss you?” His eyes darkened. “Please,” he whispered, and she leaned toward him, not kissing his lips, as he’d thought she would, but instead kissing his neck, down his chest, licking at his nipples, and then kissing down his abs, down… She whimpered as she felt his hands in her hair, pulling it slightly as she reached the place she had been wanting to explore with her mouth. “Here? May I kiss you here, Damien?” She looked up to see his eyes closed, teeth clenched, jaw tight—he was a sight to behold. He nodded his consent. She kissed him, soft, sweet kisses, up and down his shaft, at the very tip, and flicked out her tongue to taste him, licking up one side, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock, and then licking back down the other side to plant kisses on his balls before traveling back up, repeating her steps. While her sexual experience was limited, she had given a few blowjobs in her day, and it was something she enjoyed just as much as the man receiving it. “Ellie,” Damien breathed, and she felt a clench of wanting at the sexy sound of his voice, so full of hunger for her. She hummed as she trailed her lips against him yet again, and then finally, finally took the tip into her warm, wet mouth. “Holy shit, Ellie,” he moaned as she moved her mouth up and down, sliding her tongue along his skin, and she beamed inwardly. She was making him feel this way. It was a powerful feeling. And then his hands were pulling her up. She pouted in protest as his beautiful cock slid from her lips, and he brought her face up to his for a long kiss. “That was…I’ve never had anything quite like that,” he panted, and she grinned at him and began to move back down his body to continue, but his hands brought her back up to him once more. “Wait…not like this. I need to be inside of you.” Her body clenched again at his words. She nodded, and then he moved so that she was on her back, and he was hovering over her, holding his body weight off of her with his elbows. “Are you ready, darling?” he asked, and she nodded again. “Damien? Can you…will you kiss me when you…?” Somehow after everything they had just done, she found herself too shy to say it. He smiled softly at her. “Of course,” he replied, and he touched his lips to hers as she felt him hard and hot, nudging at her entrance. He began to slide in, little by little, and she moaned into his mouth at the delicious feeling of being stretched, being filled, being taken. Being completed. It was magical and everything she had dreamed of. Finally he was completely inside her, and they stayed that way for a few moments, mouths moving together, enjoying being connected before he started to move. After a beat, Eleanor matched the rhythm of his thrusts with her hips, moving up to meet him as he pushed into her, and she found that he was brushing against her clit with each movement, bringing her precariously closer to the brink faster than she thought possible. “Oh…Oh god….Oh Damien….please,” she moaned, her voice sounding needy and desperate even to her own ears. “Yes, Ellie. Yes. Let it happen. Give yourself to me. You’re mine now. Cum for me, my darling. Cum with me.” At his words, she shattered in his arms. His voice in her ears, the sight of his handsome face, the feeling of him pulsing and throbbing within her was almost too much to bear. She was completely consumed by him, overwhelmed in the best way, and her climax continued to crash over her in smaller and smaller waves until finally there was quiet, just the thrumming of her heart against his as they lie chest to chest, still joined, right there on the beach. Finally, as Damien lifted himself back up to his elbows, Eleanor gasped. The sun had finally set in their little beach escape he had created, and the sky was navy blue and sparkling with a million stars; now, in the darkness, she could see a glow blazing from her chest like a campfire. This was it… 7) “She had become like they are…” Damien took her hands in his and smiled down at her. “This is it, darling,” he said quietly, and she felt a flicker of fear, but she knew that she trusted him completely, and that he wouldn’t do anything that would harm her. “It’s time now. It’s time for you to go into the light.” His voice continued to murmur reassuringly as the glow began to spread over her entire body. She was engulfed in a feeling of complete warmth and love and peace. Images flickered before her eyes as memories raced through her mind. Childhood birthday parties and holidays, her parents, her siblings, her friends…she had lived a life filled with love and laughter and it was as though she was experiencing a lifetime’s worth of love all at once, here, now. Tears of joy filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. The light grew so bright around her that it all but blinded her; she could no longer see Damien, but she could feel the reassuring squeeze of his hands on hers and hear faintly the timbre of his voice as he spoke to her, encouraging her to continue on her journey. As the light engulfed them both, something he said stood out to her. “I can’t lose her yet.” But she was too far gone to speak. She was floating, soaring. She was flying into the sky, into the stars, into pure and beautiful-- 8) “The door was opened and a wind appeared The candles blew and then disappeared The curtains flew and then he appeared…” Beep. Beep. Beep. What was that beeping? And what was that horrific pain in her head? Damien had promised her there would be no more pain. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she saw a sparse, white room. Surely this was not her heaven. “Oh my god! Bob, she’s awake!” Was that…was that her mother’s voice? Then her mother’s tear-streaked face was hovering over her, and her mother grasped her hand, squeezing it too tightly. Surely her mother couldn’t be dead also… And then her father’s face appeared next to her mother’s, his eyes also filled with tears. Her father never cried, never ever. What on earth? She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue felt swollen and dry, and her lips felt cracked. “No no no, don’t try to talk, honey,” her mom said, the words coming out as sobs. “You’re in the hospital. You gave us such a scare. And not the good, Halloween kind of scare.” She smiled through her tears. “We almost lost you,” her dad continued, and he broke down in sobs. Her mother held onto one of her hands and put her other arm around her father. “It’s okay, now Bob. She’s awake. She’s come back to us.” “Wait just a minute,” Eleanor thought to herself. “I’m ALIVE?” She couldn’t help but feel an initial pang of disappointment. All of life’s mysteries, all of the secrets of the universe had been about to be revealed to her, and now here she was, back to her usual, boring self. Plus everything hurt. Like, HURT. Like she’d been hit by a truck. Which, she sort of had, she supposed. An SUV, more specifically, but that was a technicality. “Mom,” she croaked, and her mother pulled herself away from her father and hurried over to pour a cup of water from the small pitcher on the bedside table. “Here, honey. Drink some water. It’ll help.” She held the cup up to her daughter’s lips and tipped it forward. Eleanor gulped the cool water gratefully. “What happened?” Eleanor asked. “You were in a car accident, baby,” her dad answered, taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket and removing his glasses to wipe his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. The other driver…he didn’t make it. And you almost didn’t make it either. You had to be…” He trailed off, obviously choked up, so her mom finished for him. “You had to be resuscitated. Oh honey. It was…it was so scary.” Her lower lip trembled as though the water works were about to resume, but she gave her head a quick shake, and then put on a brave smile. “But you’re here! You’re here with us now.” “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Halloway.” A voice came from the doorway, and the beeping of the heart rate monitor next to her bedside picked up its pace. Eleanor knew that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere. “Damien?” She tried to sit up, wincing at the sudden surge of pain in head, in her ribs…basically everywhere. “Don’t strain yourself,” she heard him say, and then he was leaning over her bedside, his handsome, kind face smiling down at her. Eleanor’s eyes bugged out of her face. “Damien?” she said again. “Call me Dr. Reaper,” he said, and she could have sworn he winked at her. “You gave us quite a scare,” he continued. “We nearly lost you, Ellie. But something must have decided that it wasn’t your time.” “Did you…?” She coughed and then winced at the sharp pain in her ribs. He leaned down and whispered, “I pulled a few strings. I’ll explain the rest later” and then straightened back up and smiled at her parents. “You’re very lucky to have your girl back with you.” “Thank you, Dr. Reaper. We can’t tell you how grateful we are that you saved our daughter.” Her mother’s eyes once again filled with tears. “Of course,” he replied simply. “It’s all in a night’s work.”
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“Can you give me a hand with this?” I puff, carrying a box of books that is too heavy for me to get up the front steps. My husband, Bill, grunts in reply and takes the box from me, carrying it through the still-open front door. I rub my aching forearms in relief and squint into the late morning sky. Moving is always the pits, but when you’re a bookworm, like I am, and a bit of a packrat, also like I am, it’s even worse.
“Mom, can we have lunch now?” Charlotte asks, somehow managing to sound both annoyed and bored. That’s my girl—nine going on nineteen, already a petulant teenager. “You bet, sweets,” I say, and she rolls her eyes at the term of endearment. “Go get your brother and take him inside to get washed up, and I’ll see if I can find the kitchen boxes and a pot to make mac and cheese in.” She went off in search of her brother, who was in the backyard playing with the dog. I used the rare moment of alone time to sneak my phone from my jeans pocket. No new messages from him. Dang. I sighed and slipped the phone back into my pocket and headed into the house. My husband and I passed each other in the hallway and exchanged weary smiles and an air high five. He’s not a bad guy, my husband. I feel like I need to say that. I know so many women who have it so much worse than I do. Their husbands are physically or emotionally abusive, absent, or otherwise awful. I have no justification for my foolishness, really, except that I require more affection and attention than it is possible for one human man to give me. And so I flirt. It’s harmless, I tell myself for the thousandth time, as I begin digging through boxes on the kitchen counter. I’m not sleeping with these men that I flirt with online. I’m not meeting up with them at all. So it isn’t *really* cheating, I say, attempting to rationalize my behavior. I know how wrong it is that I crave their eyes on me, their compliments, their desire. I want so very much to be seen, to be wanted, and it doesn’t seem like something that will ever happen in my daily life, where I am a mother and a wife, a sister and a daughter, a meek and quiet plain Jane who is largely happy being invisible. But how lovely it would be to feel longed for with an intensity like that in the trashy romance novels I read on the sly. I had convinced myself that the things I wanted, the stuff of rom coms and daydreams, simply didn’t exist. Men just didn’t give out dreamy compliments like they did in the movies, or if they did, they didn’t give them to girls like me. The men I chatted with online were complimentary, sure, but so many of them lacked the ability to carry on a coherent conversation. A muscular physique or dimpled chin is nice to look at in a profile pic, of course, but when I see messages like “your so beautiful!” I cringe, and my mental red pen comes out in full force. All I wanted was a handsome, smart, kind, funny man to worship me utterly and completely. Was that so much to ask?! Craig, a man I had been chatting with recently, definitely ticked several of those boxes. Almost all of them, in fact. As I finally unearthed a pot suitable for macaroni making, I warned myself against becoming too attached to him. “He’s just a friend, a flirty friend,” I repeated over and over as I filled the pot with water and put it on the stove. Our new stove. In our new house. This was a fresh start for us, and I would do well to keep myself focused on my future and my family and stop worrying about whether a strange man on the internet had sent me any messages. “Hey, Angie, our neighbors are here to meet us,” Bill called from just outside the front door, and I smiled as I quickly smoothed down my hair and hoped I didn’t look as sweaty and disheveled as I felt. We had friendly new neighbors, at least. I stepped outside, a bright smile on my face. I might be shy and awkward, but these people didn’t know that. Yet. I could at least attempt to make friends before I scared them off. “Hi,” I said, walking over to where Bill stood at the border between our house and the house next door. “I’m Angie! It’s so nice to….” I trailed off as the man next to Bill turned and smiled at me. Was that…. No. It can’t be him. Can it? “Hi, Angie,” the man said with a smirk. “I’m Craig.” I was so screwed. “What in the hell are you doing here?” I hissed once Bill and gone back inside and I was alone with Craig. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Of all the houses we had to move into, what were the odds we’d move next to someone I’d been quasi anonymously talking with online?! This was my punishment for being semi unfaithful. Were I religious person, I would be repenting as we speak. “I live here,” he replied, still looking smug. “Yes, I’m aware of that. But what….I mean, how…..what in the hell??” Craig laughed and said, “I’m not used to such language from you, Angie!” I had the audacity to blush at his words. I rolled my eyes at myself even as I could feel my cheeks heating. It’s true, I’m not a swear-er. “What the hell?” is just about a full on code red for me, the equivalent of an f-bomb to most people. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” he asked, and I realized that in my shock and anxiety I hadn’t even considered that possibility. “I….yes,” I said finally. And it was true. I was. It was nice to see the person I had been talking to the past few weeks, nice to be close enough to touch, even… I quickly squashed any of *those* kinds of thoughts despite the sparkle in his eyes. “I’m glad to see you, too,” he said. Then, I had an epiphany. “Wait a minute,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Why weren’t you surprised to see me like I was surprised to see you? Did you know we were moving here? How could you possibly have known that?!” “Well…” he said, and the mom in me recognized that guilty look all too well. “I can tell that you did,” I said frostily, already thinking the worst. “Is this some kind of a trap? A set up? Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Are you secretly a private detective that my husband hired to spy on me?” Craig’s face went from slightly guilty to incredulous and then to almost angry. “Do you really think that of me?” he asked quietly. “All those conversations we had, the things I shared with you, personal things, and you think I’d do that to you?” I instantly felt awful. “No, I—of course I don’t think that. I don’t know what to think. I’m just…surprised” I finished lamely, and he chuckled. “I’m friends with the realtor you worked with. He happened to mention a few weeks ago that his client was a sexy redhead named Angie. I asked a few questions, nothing too invasive, but I knew. I knew it was you.” That was a much more reasonable explanation than the one I had concocted in my mind. “Is it really so bad that we live next door to each other?” he asked quietly. “Not exactly….” I trailed off. “We can still be friends. Just like we are now.” I watched his face as he said the word friends, saw the slight uptilt of his lips, the rise of one brow. I wasn’t going to flirt with this man. Not with my husband only feet away from us in our new house. I was drawing a line. “Friends” I said firmly before turning and marching up the driveway. I went into the house and leaned back against the now shut front door. What on earth had I gotten myself into? ******************************************************************************************************** I was losing this fight against Craig. Okay, let’s not kid ourselves. The fight wasn’t with Craig—it was with myself. Every time we were together, he would push the boundaries, just a little bit, just enough to get my heart racing and my brain rationalizing. We were neighbors. We were friends. Friends hug each other, I would tell myself, even when Craig’s hand would stray a bit lower on my back than allowable in a socially acceptable friend hug. Friends can be affectionate with each other, I insisted, as Craig’s hand stroked mine in an intimate gesture we could never pass off as a handshake. “Just friends,” was a mantra I had repeated so often to myself in the past few weeks that I nearly blurted it out in greeting when I bumped into Craig on the way to the mailbox or while getting the newspaper from the driveway in the morning. Just friends. And I intended to keep it that way. Except…. “Can you come over, please?” I asked, my voice wavering. I was trying desperately not to cry and feeling incredibly foolish. I knew he’d be home. His car was in the driveway. And you know that old adage about desperate times. “Angie?” I could hear the worry in his voice through the phone. “What’s wrong?” “Please,” I said again, “just…just come.” “Okay,” he said, just as I knew he would. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He was still stumbling into his shoes as I watched from my front window as burst from his front door, clearly hurrying. I opened my door before he could even knock. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, his arms already open as if to scoop me up, “what is it? What’s wrong?” “There’s a giant hairy spider in the bathroom, and I’m too scared to kill it,” I admitted, half laughing and half crying. “Bill and the kids are out tonight at scouts, and I’m all alone. I didn’t know who else to call.” Craig looked at me for a long moment, incredulously, and then he burst out laughing. I giggled again, in spite of my tears. “Angie,” he gasped, still laughing, “you had me really worried! I didn’t know what to expect when I got over here,” “I know, I know” I said, hiding my face behind my hands, feeling myself blushing. “I’m sorry. I’m just….I’m terrified of spiders. Like, deathly afraid. I once found a spider in the house when Bill was out of town on work, and the kids and I went to spend the night at my parents’ house so I wouldn’t have to face it,” I admitted, feeling more and more stupid by the moment. He laughed anew, and then pried my hands from my face and held them in his own. His thumbs stroked soothing circles into my wrists, and his touch made my tummy squirm. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” he said, smiling kindly at me. “I get it. We all have things we’re afraid of. I’m afraid of snakes.” He grimaced even as he said the word snake, as though even the word was more than he could bear. “You are?” I asked, blinking away the last of my tears of fear/embarrassment/laughter. “I can’t stand them. The way the slither, ugh” he said shuddering, and I laughed. “I think snakes are cute,” I admitted, and he grimaced. “Cute?! They are the biblical representation of Satan and you think they are CUTE?!” I shrugged and then laughed at his expression. “Fine, the next time I find a snake on my doorstep,” he paused to collect himself at the thought, “I know who to call. I’ll be your spider slayer and you can be my snake charmer. Deal?” “You have yourself a deal,” I said smiling. “So….are you ever going to let me in so I can kill the spider or what?” he asked. “Yes, yes, come in,” I said, pulling him through the still-open front door, aware of the fact that our hands and been entwined for longer than was socially acceptable at this point. I led him into the kitchen, unwilling to give up the comfort of his touch yet. “Which bathroom?” he asked, and I nodded my head to the half bath just off the living room. “Okay, you stay here, where it’s safe,” he said, winking. I rolled my eyes, but in truth I was unwilling to get any closer to the bathroom than this while that *thing* was still in there. “I’ll go slay the beast and return before you even have time to miss me,” he said, pressing his lips against my right hand in a gesture that both warmed my heart and gave me butterflies. Finally, reluctantly, I let go of him and watched him walk across the living room, definitely NOT watching his butt move in his blue jeans…. When he got to the bathroom he let out a shriek before he could help himself. There was a comical series of bangs and yells before Craig emerged, hair disheveled and sweaty. “Beast has been slain,” he said breathlessly. “Jesus, Angie, that thing was MASSIVE!” “I told you!” I said, feeling vindicated. “See? The big scary spider even scared my knight in shining armor. I guess I wasn’t so ridiculous after all.” “Oh no, you’re totally ridiculous,” he said, and I whacked his shoulder playfully. “Easy there, slugger,” he said, rubbing his arm where I’d hit him, and there was a moment of almost uncomfortable silence as we both realized that we were alone together in my house. I gulped audibly, and then we both giggled at our nervousness. “Thank you,” I said looking anywhere but at him. Maybe if I didn’t look at him, he would magically disappear, as would all the delightful sins in the back of my mind. As if he had read my thoughts, Craig put his hand on my chin to turn my face towards his. Reluctantly I looked up into his eyes. Oh my. He was just inches from me. I could feel his breath on my face, could see the way his nostrils flared when I licked my lips. There was a moment of sizzling electricity between us and then his mouth was covering mine, his arms wrapping around me. Finally that first kiss, the one we’d been waiting for and dancing around for weeks. I buried my hands in his hair and whimpered against his lips as one large hand groped my bottom and the other wrapped around the back of my neck. I couldn’t get enough of him, the way he smelled, the way he tasted. Greedily I ran my tongue against his bottom lip, asking for entrance to his mouth, and groaned aloud when he nipped at my bottom lip before running his tongue along the inside of my lip and then thrusting it deep inside my mouth. My hips, with a will of their own and inspired by the very sexual nature of his kiss, bucked against him, but he was so much taller than I was I couldn’t quite fit my hips against his. Without breaking the kiss, Craig scooped me up and plopped me on the kitchen counter. I had a fleeting worry that we’d upend the Kool Aid pitcher and I’d soon be mopping up fruit punch, but Craig was mindful of the clutter. Once I was nestled on the counter, Craig finally tore his mouth from mine and looked purposefully at me, placing one hand on each of my knees and then wrenching them apart. I gasped as he took a step forward and I felt just how much he was affected by the kiss, huge and hot and hard and pulsing against me right where I was burning for him. “Oh god,” he groaned before leaning in to kiss me once more. But we both froze when we heard a key in the lock and the knob turn. Like lightning Craig was standing on the other side of the kitchen, untucking his shirt (presumably to hide his giant hard on) and I hopped down from the counter and smoothed my hair, hoping we didn’t look like we’d just been caught fooling around (even though we had been). Bill and the kids appeared in the kitchen a moment later. “Hey, sweetie,” Bill said, coming over to kiss my cheek. I cringed. What if I smelled like Craig? Or like sex? “Hi!” I replied too loudly, smiling too brightly. “I see we have a visitor,” Bill leaned over to shake Craig’s hand. “What’s the occasion?” “There was a big spider in the bathroom,” I said, hoping my husband would attribute my breathlessness to my irrational fear of spiders. “Oh boy,” Bill replied, laughing. “Did she rope you into coming to her rescue” he asked, and Craig smiled. “Of course, I was happy to come to the rescue of my favorite neighbor.” “That was nice of you to do,” Bill said. “I’m glad to know that Angie is in good hands while I’m away.” I felt shame bubbling up within me. “Good hands,” I thought, and my right ass check burned with the memory of Craig’s big hand gripping me. “Well, I’d better get back home,” Craig replied, and Bill walked him out, the two talking about yard work concerns. My knees trembled with relief as I sagged back against the counter. I needed a minute to collect myself before going to help the kids with their homework. That had been way too close. I simply couldn’t allow anything like that to happen ever again, spider or no. If I found any more eight legged friends in our house, I’d just have to cope with them on my own. Craig and I were just friends. Just friends. l I looked at him from the side of my eyes as he finished putting up his tent, watching the movement of his muscles beneath his shirt as he bent and stretched. Was he tormenting me on purpose? Quite probably.
I finally turned my back on him completely and began looking for twigs we could use for kindling for the campfire that evening. Rob and I had been flirty friends for a few years now. He entered our friend group when he got a job working with my then boyfriend Tom. He became a regular at our Friday trivia nights at Shandy’s pub, birthdays, and other celebrations. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him from the start. Something about his brown eyes and his capable looking hands gave me butterflies. And to be honest, there were moments I thought he might be attracted to me too. Sometimes his lingering smile or casual hand on my back as we were walking made me daydream of the possibilities… But timing was always against us. He had started dating Michelle just before the great “Tom comes out of the closet” debacle which had left me questioning my entire existence as a woman, so he became the one who was attached while I was newly single. And then, just as I started seeing Dylan, Rob broke things off with Michelle, saying simply, “She isn’t the one.” I couldn’t help but wonder if I might be closer to “the one.” And then, just last month, Rob asked out Tiffani, who he’d met online, and I had discovered Dylan in bed with his “friend” Yesenia. So now, on this camping trip we had been planning for months, I was sans my plus one, and Rob had decided to bring Tiffani along. Our stars were not aligned. As you would expect, we always want what we cannot have, so all day, as we had unpacked our cars and set up our campsite, Rob had looked extra handsome, and I was feeling extra lonely. “How much wood do you think we’re going to need? It’s just a campfire, sis!” I cringed at the sound of Tiffani’s nasally voice and donkey bray of a laugh. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t been paying attention to just how many twigs I had acquired as I meandered around the periphery of the campsite. I did have quite an armload. I forced a smile. “Thanks, Tiff,” I said, emphasizing the nickname I knew she hated. If she insisted on calling me “sis” she was going to be “Tiff.” “I guess I was lost in my thoughts. You know how that goes.” I stifled a laugh at the momentary furrow of her brows—Tiffany was decidedly not a thinker. I walked back to the campsite and dropped my armload of twigs before she could respond. I didn’t want to fight with her. I wanted this to be a good weekend, so I was going to try to stay as far away from Tiffani as possible. Rob had finished setting up his tent and was now sitting with Jesse, Ivan, and Ricky. I heard his laughter ring out at something Ivan had said and felt a little pang of sadness. I guess we’d never get to be together. Amanda, Jesse’s girlfriend, came over and gave my elbow a friendly bump with hers. “How are ya holding up?” she asked quietly. I sighed. While I had tried to keep my crush under wraps, Amanda was my closest friend in our group, and she had seen the way I looked at him. “Our timing sucks,” I said, deciding not to beat around the bush. “And I hate Tiffani. What is he doing with her?!” Amanda giggled. None of us really liked Tiffani. She just didn’t click with us. She took a quick peek around the campsite to make sure that we weren’t overheard and leaned in close to me. “I’m going to take care of Tiffani for you this afternoon. Go get your man.” I could feel my eyes bulge. “Take care of her” I asked, “what are you going to do, throw her in the river?” Amanda’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “No!” she whisper-yelled before continuing quietly, “I’m going to have her give the girls makeovers.” Tiffani sold Mary Kay products and was forever recommending lipstick shades with stupid names like “Love Me Pink” or face cream for “those prominent frown lines” I apparently had between my eyebrows. Truly I think they only appeared when she was around. “You would suffer a Tiffani makeover for me?” I asked, touched. Amanda smiled. “It’ll be worth it. You can finally snag Rob, and then we’ll be rid of her for good.” “Good point,” I said with a laugh. “You got this,” Amanda said winking and then walked off to find Tiffani. I took a deep, steadying breath. Now was my big chance! “Hey, Rob?” I called over, interrupting his conversation with the rest of the guys. “Can you come help me with something?” I could hear snickering from Jesse, Ivan, and Ricky, but Rob just good naturedly rolled his eyes at them before getting up and walking over to me. “What’s up?” he asked once he was standing next to me. He was close enough that I could smell his clean scent, was in danger of losing myself in the rich brown of his eyes. He looked at me expectantly, and I cleared my throat. “Um…the zipper on my sleeping bag is stuck.” He quirked an eyebrow at me, and I inwardly cringed. I was not usually the damsel in distress type. I had unloaded my car and put up my tent by myself, and now I supposedly couldn’t work a zipper? Oh well. I just needed him to come into my tent long enough for me to jump him… “Just…just come look at it, okay?” He was still looking at me like I was crazy. “Oooooookaaaaay….” He replied as we ducked inside my tent. “So what happened?” he began. “Is the zipper broken, or is there fabric jammed in—" Before he could finish, my lips were crashing into his. He was momentarily stunned, and then his lips began to move against mine before he grabbed me by the shoulders and gently pushed me away from him. “Dana?” he asked, looking surprised, but not disgusted, which I was taking as a positive. “What are you doing?” “I hate Tiffani!” I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, and I could feel myself blushing. Rob had the nerve to burst out laughing. “What?” he sputtered, looking equal parts amused and bewildered. I took a deep breath before continuing. “Tiffani doesn’t fit in with our group. She’s not right for you. She’s such a….dipstick! You deserve someone better.” I could see understanding flash in his eyes and felt an answering flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I was actually going to go through with this. “So you think I should be with someone else?” he asked quietly, taking a step toward me. “Yes. Someone who is smart. Someone who really knows you. Someone who gets along with all your friends.” As I was talking, he took another step toward me, and I could feel the electricity crackling between us. “I deserve someone like you?” he asked, now standing just inches from me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. This was supposed to be my big moment to seduce Rob, but suddenly I was feeling like the pursued rather than the pursuer. But then….he stopped, just like that. He really was going to make me make this leap, this confession. “I….I think you’re delicious,” I said and then cringed at my less than suave choice of words. Rob smirked. “Is that right?” “It is,” I hurried along before I lost my nerve. “And I think you like me, too. Our timing is crap. We always seem to just miss our opportunity to be together. I’m tired of waiting for opportunities. I want you.” I wasn’t sure who moved first, but we both sort of lunged at each other after that. We were a tornado of lips and tongues and hands, moving everywhere all at once. He tasted better than I had imagined, and I had done a fair bit of imagining. But then, in spite of how much I wanted him, I decided to slow things down. I had waited for this practically forever. I didn’t want a rushed quickie in a tent to be our first time. I wanted to savor him. Running my hands over his chest, I found the hem of his shirt and, my lips never leaving his, tugged to let him know I wanted him to take it off. Breaking the kiss, he leaned back so he could pull the shirt over his head and then moved to take me in his arms again, growling low in his throat, a sound that I felt all over my body. His lips broke away from mine and then began to trail down my neck, and I moaned loudly. “Shhh,” he chastised, kissing his way back up my neck so he could speak quietly in my ear. “We have to be quiet, baby. Our friends are just outside. If they hear you moaning like that, they’ll know just what we’re up to. They’ll know that you brought me in here to seduce me. But based on the sounds you’re making, you’re the one being seduced.” He gently bit down on my earlobe and then flicked it with his tongue before kissing back down to my neck. I bit back another moan at his words, my knees wobbly. My hands were roaming over his back and broad shoulders as his mouth moved lower, into the v-neck of my top. “Can we take this off?” he panted, tugging at my shirt and looking at me questioningly. I nodded and pulled the t-shirt over my head, trying to be brave beneath his gaze. This was just Rob. My friend. My friend whom I had lusted after for years now. Deep breaths. “Your tits are gorgeous,” he breathed and then leaned forward to place his face between them, his tongue lapping at my cleavage as he moved his hands behind me to unhook my bra. The lacy material dropped to the floor, and immediately his big hands were on me, lifting and squeezing and caressing. My head fell back, eyes closed, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer wanting his mouth on me. He seemed happy to oblige, nuzzling my nipple, lapping at it with his tongue, and then finally sucking it deep into his mouth. I moaned loudly again before I could stop myself, and he pulled away from me, earning a whimper. “If you can’t be quiet, I have something right here I can put in your mouth to keep it occupied,” he said, grabbing my hand and placing on the impressive bulge in his pants, and my eyes widened. He was huge! And so hard. And I couldn’t think of a better “punishment” than tasting him. I dropped to my knees at his feet, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants and then pulling them swiftly down his legs so he was standing before me in black briefs that were barely containing his hard cock. “Yum,” I murmured, stroking him through the fabric before pulling them down and admiring him as he sprang free, hot and huge and hard. I licked him like a popsicle, up and down the sides, all around the tip, and then took him in my mouth, loving the feel and taste of him, loving the way his fingers were woven in my hair pulling me closer, loving the sounds of pleasure escaping him. Suddenly we heard the shrill, nasally voice of Tiffani just outside the tent. “Oh shit!” he hissed, shoving me gently off of him and grabbing my sleeping bag. I made myself into a ball on the floor, so he could lie down next to me and cover us both with the sleeping bag, hiding me completely from view just as Tiffani poked her head in the tent. “RoRo, are you in here?” I heard her ask. “Yeah, Tiffani, I’m down here. Dana, uh, needed some help with her sleeping bag.” There was a pause, then, “So she needed you to get in it?” Her voice was cold. Maybe she wasn’t as stupid as I’d always thought. “I was just trying to be a good friend, you know? It gets cold up here at night, and the zipper wasn’t working, and she’s all by herself…” His voice trailed off, and then, because it was pretty boring being down in this dark sleeping back, and because his cock was still deliciously hard for me, so I began to kiss his stomach as my hand snaked up his thighs and began to stroke him. Tiffani was talking now, something about needing her makeup samples, but I was tuning her out, focusing instead on tracing my fingertips over every vein and ridge in his hardness, memorizing it by touch. “Stop it,” he hissed under his breath, coughing to cover his words, and I could see just enough through the top of the bag to snicker at the panicked look on his face. He might be asking me to stop, but his cock was growing and throbbing in my hand, so it definitely wanted more. I strained my neck to be able to lap at the head of his cock while not moving too much and while staying completely under the cover of the sleeping bag. I had just maneuvered enough that I could start to suck him when I heard Tiffani whine, “Are you even listening to me, Daddy?” and I choked out a laugh around his cock in my mouth. Rob cleared his throat loudly and said, “Of course, baby. You need your samples. I understand. Give me just a minute to…um…finish up here, and then I’ll meet you outside and we’ll go get them, okay?” “Okay,” she said, and I could hear the hesitation in her voice, but true to her word she went back outside, and I immediately shoved the stifling sleeping bag off of us. “Daddy?!” I exclaimed, cackling. “She calls you Daddy?” and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You know, I always thought it was annoying, but I have to say I like the sound of it when you say it.” He smirked down at me, and as it to prove his point his cock, still in my hand, twitched enthusiastically. I felt liquid head spread low in my belly. “Is that right, Daddy?” I asked, my voice husky, and he swore under his breath, grabbing me roughly by my shoulders and pulling me up on his chest to press his mouth to mine. I moaned into his mouth, my nails raking down his chest, but too soon for my liking, he broke, the kiss, panting into my neck. “You have no idea how much I want to stay here and continue…this” he began, and I wove my fingers into his hair as if to keep him there. “Continue kissing?” I asked, deliberately pressing my hard-tipped breasts into his chest, and he groaned softly. “What I really want is to fuck you until you can’t walk,” he said, and I moaned at his words, my hips bucking against him. “But it can’t be like this. I invited Tiffani on this trip.” He could see the disappointment in my eyes and hurried on. “It would be a real douchebag move of me to dump her while we’re here, you know? Let me get through today and tonight. Tomorrow, when we’re back in town, I’ll break up with her. It’s the decent thing to do.” As much as I wanted him in my sleeping bag that night (I snickered to myself at the euphemism), he was right. He was a good guy, and that was one of the reasons I liked him so much. Well, that and his beautiful cock. “Promise?” I asked, worried that somehow something was going to keep us from each other, as it always seemed to. “I promise. Dana, I’ve always liked you, right from the first moment we met. I was too chicken to take a chance on it, though, and like you said, our timing sucked, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. Because I really, really like you. You aren’t a fling to me. You’re….special.” I flushed in pleasure at his words. “You’re special to me, too, RoRo.” I giggled as he grimaced at Tiffani’s preferred nickname for him. “You may be special, but please don’t call me that.” “No? You don’t like that, Daddy?” His nostrils flared, and he growled at me playfully. “That’s better,” he said, giving my neck a soft bite. “Come on, let’s get dressed before someone else comes in here to find us.” He helped me to my feet and then handed me my bra before standing up and pulling up and fastening his jeans. I was sad to see my new favorite part of him tucked away, but I knew we would be reunited soon. “Hey, Rob?” I asked, and he turned to look expectantly at me. Even still butterflies erupted in my stomach. “You’re not going to fuck her tonight, are you?” I asked, and he burst into laughter. “No, sweetheart,” he said, “I’m not. I’ll tell her I have a headache. That works for you ladies, right?” “Yes. Your head is only for me now.” “All yours, babe,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose as we finished dressing and inspected one another to make sure we didn’t look like we had been having a roll in the hay. “Presentable?” I asked, and he smoothed my hair a bit. “Presentable,” he nodded. He gave me one last soft kiss before heading out of the tent and into the bright, late afternoon sunshine. We might have to be apart for tonight, but we had the rest of forever ahead of us. Evelyn was a bit nervous, but excited, too. This was her first trip out of the house since she’d had the baby four weeks earlier. Oh sure, she had taken the baby to doctor appointments and things like that, but those didn’t really count as outings. They were obligations, and they were for the baby, not for her.
She loved being a mom 99% of the time, but oh that one percent. From the time she had found that she was expecting, her whole life had seemed to revolve around the baby: what she could eat, what she could wear. She just didn’t feel like herself anymore. So perhaps it was a bit silly of her to have butterflies in her stomach over a trip to Target, but she couldn’t contain her excitement. She had carefully applied makeup for the first time since the baby was born, had washed and blow dried her hair until it was sleek and shiny. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t just feel like a mom. She felt like Evelyn again. Truth be told, she felt even better than that. Because the Evelyn of the past was meek and mousy and not really happy in her marriage. She and her husband had been married for 5 years, so it had seemed time to tick off the “have a baby” box. But if she was being honest with herself, what she should have done was leave her husband and start fresh. Derek was nice enough, but he was as boring as dry toast. He went to work. He came home. He watched TV. He went to bed. About once a week they had bad sex. And he was happy with that routine. He never wanted to do any of the things she suggested, like go dancing or take a cooking class, and really it was her fault for resenting him for that now, because he had always been this way. She was the one who had changed, who now wanted more. It wasn’t fair for her to expect him to be anyone other than who she married. But instead of doing what she should have, she caved in to his request to start a family. She would never regret that decision, because it gave her sweet Anabelle, but just because she and Derek had had a child together didn’t mean that she was stuck in this lifeless purgatory forever. There was still hope for her to live her life on her own terms, the way she wanted to. And the first step in doing that was finding herself again within her “mommy” persona. This was a step in the right direction. After putting on a spritz of perfume and sliding into her heels (yes, she was even wearing heels for this occasion, along with her dark wash skinny jeans that she could *just* squeeze into again and a white button up top that accentuated her newly full post-pregnancy breasts), she was ready to go. She popped her head into the kitchen to see Derek warming a bottle for Anabelle, who was content in her baby swing. “I’m headed out now,” she said, and he didn’t even look up at her (which was typical). “Okay, have fun hun,” She rolled her eyes (which she didn’t even have to feel guilty about, because it’s not like he’d see—he never looked at her), and she walked over to Anabelle’s swing and bent down to kiss her soft cheek before heading out the door. She quickly ran through her mental checklist of all the things she needed as she got into the car and buckled her seat belt. Purse Keys Wallet Phone She debated whether she needed a few extra milk pads to tuck into her nursing bra just in case of leaks, but she had nursed Anabelle and then pumped the remainder about two hours prior, so even though she had quite a large milk supply, she should be able to manage this Target run without worrying. Happily, she turned on the radio to some mindless pop music and sang along as she made the short drive to the store. Once she’d arrived and entered the store, armed with a cart and a decaf latte, Evelyn was feeling pretty amazing. It’s funny how little it took to make her feel human again. Maybe she’d come to Target every night. She took her time, meandering through the aisles, looking at everything from makeup to cleaning supplies, to new release paperbacks. No product escaped her perusal. This was her time, and she was enjoying every second of it. After she’d been mostly window shopping for an hour (time flies when you’re having fun, after all), it happened: in the aisle next to her, a baby (a newborn, from the sound of it) began to cry. Her eyes widened, and she hastily put back the pair of jeans she had been eyeing, looking up to see how far she was from the bathroom. Because while she was currently having Evelyn time, her body was still very much in mama mode, and whenever Anabelle cried like that, her body responded, quickly. In fact, she could already feel her nipples tingling, warning her that her breasts were soon going to become fountains. She abandoned her cart and began walking quickly in the direction of the bathroom, but the woman with the baby was headed that way, too, so there was no escaping the sound of the baby’s cries, and then it happened—doing just what they were meant to do, her breasts let down, and streams of milk began to soak through the small pads inside her bra, then the bra itself, and finally made two great wet patches on the front of her top. “Why did I wear white?” she asked herself. It just made the wetness that much more noticeable. She could feel her cheeks redden in mortification as she continued, arms crossed over her chest, to the bathroom. She tried to reassure herself that what was happening to her was perfectly natural, that she didn’t need to be embarrassed, but she couldn’t help but feel like a small child who’d wet her pants. Just at that moment, a handsome man in a red shirt and khaki pants, clearly a Target employee, came around the corner, colliding into her. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her as she stumbled backwards. To maintain her balance, her arms had left their protective place over her breasts, and she saw him look down at her top first in confusion and then understanding, a light flush coming over his cheeks. “It figures,” she thought. “My humiliation wouldn’t be complete without a good looking man here to witness it.” He quickly removed his hands from her arms and looked away, clearing his throat, and she covered herself once more, moving to walk around him to the bathroom (to do what—to hide? At this point, redeeming the situation was futile), when he said, “Wait,” softly, and she looked up at him, wondering what fresh hell awaited her now. She was momentarily made breathless by the way he smiled at her. Jesus, he really was handsome. Figures. “Come with me to the employee breakroom,” he said, quietly so only she could hear. “It’s more private there. Easier for you to get cleaned up.” Thank goodness—a reprieve. She nodded and followed him through a door and up a stair case to an employee lounge which was thankfully empty. He indicated that she should sit on the couch while he went to a row of lockers and took out a t shirt and handed it to her. Then, his eyes lingering on the wet fabric covering her breasts just long enough to make her squirm, he said, “I imagine that’s….sticky.” and his cheeks colored once again. Despite the embarrassment both of them clearly felt, Evelyn began to feel aroused as well, and felt her nipples stiffen beneath his gaze. She shifted in her seat, and he blinked as if awakened from a trance. “Would you like….I mean, I can bring you a wet washcloth, if that would help?” She nodded, grateful, and soon he was back with a warm, damp cloth. Whether because she was already embarrassed beyond redemption or because she had become accustomed to nursing her daughter wherever they might be, she began to undo her top right there in front of him. He looked momentarily startled, but she continued undoing the buttons, matter of factly, and he seemed to reach a decision that if she didn’t mind undressing in front of him, then he would stay. He watched her silently; the only indication that he wasn’t entirely impartial to what he was seeing was the way his eyes darkened as he watched her and the slight flare of his nostrils. She slipped the shirt from her arms and looked for a place to put it, not wanting to put the wet fabric on the couch. He sensed her hesitation and took a step toward her. “Here,” he offered, holding out a hand to take the shirt from her. “I can take it to the sink and rinse it out for you.” “Thank you,” she said quietly, noting the electricity as their hands touched when he took the shirt from her. Now she was before him, topless except for her bra, which was soaked, and she glanced down at herself, unsure what to do next. “Do you want….” his voice was husky, and he cleared his throat and began again. “Do you want me to, uh, rinse out your bra as well?” Her cheeks reddened, but he was offering help, and she really did want to clean up a bit. There seemed to be no harm in it. “Okay,” she said softly, and reached around awkwardly to undo the clasp on her bra. “Here, let me help you with that,” he offered, and he crouched down in front of her and put his arms around her to unclasp her bra for her. She stiffened a bit at his touch, inhaling sharply and then realizing how delicious he smelled. As he undid the hooks, the straps on her shoulders slackened and began to fall down her arms. He pulled back from her and then placed his hands on her shoulders, watching her face to make sure she was still okay with this. It was a bizarre situation, but somehow she nodded, wanting him to undress her. So he did, pulling the straps down her arms, revealing her full breasts. He inhaled sharply, looking down at her breasts, seemingly transfixed. They were much larger than usual thanks to her heavy milk supply, and her nipples thrust out, pink and proud, just inches from his face. She was incredibly turned on, watching him watching her. As he took her bra from her, they both looked down to see that her breasts were still leaking, small drops of milk forming at each of her nipples and then falling onto her lap. Just as a drop was about to fall, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in and licked the drop of milk from her right breast. Evelyn gasped at the sudden contact of his tongue against her nipple, at his hot breath on her breast, and as he began to lean away and opened his mouth to apologize, she put her hands in his hair and pulled him to her. They groaned in tandem as his mouth closed around her nipple and he began to suck. She hadn’t been touched like this in she didn’t know how long: her husband wasn’t much for foreplay, especially not once she’d had Anabelle. He seemed repulsed at the thought of putting his mouth there, at the thought of her milk. But now, this stranger, whose name she didn’t even know, was skillfully and eagerly sucking her breasts, alternating between them so as not to miss a drop of her sweet, warm milk, making her feel desired and delicious. She moaned softly as his big hands came up to cup her breasts and lift them more fully to his face, and he made the sexiest growling sound, like a famished man who is presented with a buffet. Her hands tangled in his dark hair, holding him to her. She never wanted him to stop. But then, as luck would have it, they heard someone coming up the steps, and fast as lightning he wrenched his mouth from her body and she pulled the t-shirt he’d handed her over her head. They were just presentable when the door opened, and another employee came in, looking at Evelyn curiously. “New employee?” he asked. Evelyn’s quasi-lover shook his head, adding, “This is a customer. There was an…incident, and she needed some help.” "Okay…” the other man said, brow furrowed. Clearly this wasn’t a common occurrence, which Evelyn was grateful for. Now that their tryst had been interrupted, she was beginning to feel incredibly foolish. The intruding employee went to his locker and her silky-tongued savior offered her a hand to get up from the couch. He grabbed a plastic bag from a pile in the corner and put her still unwashed shirt and bra in them and handed it to her. “I’ll, uh, walk you out.” “Thanks…..” she glanced at his chest, hoping to discover a name tag there. “In Training?” He laughed loudly before supplying her with what she had been looking for: “It’s Josh. I forgot my nametag at home today.” “Thanks, Josh,” she added, enjoying the feel of his name in her mouth, and he smiled at her, a devilishly sexy smile. He must have enjoyed his name in her mouth, too, almost as much as he’d enjoyed other parts of her in his mouth… He gestured that she should take the lead. “Ladies first,” he said, and she smiled before heading out the door and down the steps. He was just behind her, one hand warm on the small of her back, protectively, and she very much enjoyed that. Once they were back into the main store, he removed his hand from her and stepped back to what was a respectable distance, and she mourned the loss of his touch. “Did you have a cart? I can get you checked out, if you want.” She thought back to the contents of her cart—all impulse buys and things she didn’t need. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just head on home now, I guess.” “Let me walk you to your car,” he offered, and she nodded, glad to have a few more moments with him. “Look I—” “I want you to know that—” They had both started talking at once as soon as they were outside the store, and they both laughed at the awkwardness of their situation. “Go ahead,” she said, and he smiled that sexy smile at her again, making her heart thump in her chest. “I just want you to know that I don’t do this sort of thing often,” he said once they had reached her car. “You don’t drink your customers’ breastmilk often?” she asked, and he laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. “Yeah, that has happened exactly zero times before. Anyway, I….I sort of feel like I should apologize, except that I’m not sorry. That was hot.” His eyes darkened. “I can still taste you.” Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes never left his. “I’m not sorry either,” she said softly, and his nostrils flared as though he was having difficulty maintaining a neutral face. “In fact, I only wish we hadn’t been interrupted.” He swore under his breath, and before she could say anything more he roughly pulled her against him and crushed her mouth against his. She whimpered against his lips and melted into him. God, this man and his talented mouth. He broke away from her after a moment, and she pouted, wanting more. He chuckled at her stuck-out lip and gave her one last sweet, soft kiss. “I don’t even know your name,” he said, and she covered her face in embarrassment. She must not have told him after he told her his earlier. “Oh my goodness, please excuse my manners! Or lack thereof. I’m Evelyn,” she offered, and then contemplated offering her hand to shake, but given that he’d had her entire breast in his mouth about 5 minutes prior, that seemed rather silly now. “That’s a beautiful name,” he said, and again she felt herself blushing. Was she so lonely, so desperate for human affection that she’d temporarily lost her mind, or was he really as charming as he seemed? She looked him over again, his wavy hair, his sparkling eyes, the dimple in his left cheek. No, he really was gorgeous. And that meant that he was dangerous. “I should really get going,” she said, breaking the spell between them, and she was pleased to see that he looked disappointed. “Sure, of course. Can I…may I call you sometime?” She considered that. She just couldn’t give her phone number to this man. Not yet. But this experience had confirmed to her that she was even more unhappy at home than she had admitted to herself before. She and her husband were long overdue for a hard talk. And after that had happened, then there would be room in her life for whatever this thing with Josh might turn into. “It’s complicated,” she began, and he opened his mouth to protest, but before he could respond, she said, “I promise, you’ll see me again. I have your shirt, right? I’ll need to wash it and return it to you, after all.” “Maybe don’t wash it first,” he said, and he smirked as she bit her lip. “Do you usually work this time? Thursday evenings?” “I do.” “Then I will see you next Thursday,” she said. She got into her car and rolled down the window to give him one last goodbye. “See you then. And Evelyn?” “Yes?” “This time I’ll bring some cookies to go with the milk.” He was sitting too close to me, and he knew it. I could see him smirking from the corner of my eye, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking directly at him. It was bad enough that my heart stuttered and I couldn’t breathe whenever he was near. He knew what his presence did to me. He didn’t need anything to make him more smug than he already was.
I moved a few inches away, but within moments he had scooted a few inches toward me, sitting even closer than he had been before. Of course. “Could you look at my paper this afternoon?” he asked, and I put on my politely distant professional mask as I turned to face him. “Sure,” I answered, hoping the tremor in my voice was inaudible to him. “Was there something in particular you wanted to go over?” His brown eyes were focused on my face, his gaze intent, and I struggled to keep looking at him and not break eye contact first. Wasn’t that some sort of show of dominance in the animal kingdom? I was the one in a position of authority here, a college professor; I was the one in charge, and this…this kid would do well to remember that. I quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond. “Actually yes,” he said slowly. “There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” “What is it?” I asked briskly, all business. He was just a student asking a question about a paper. This was my area of expertise. I had it in the bag. “Miss….would you like to kiss me?” He asked his question like he’d ask about the weather, casually, his eyes still on mine, and at first I was sure I’d misheard him. “E-excuse me?” I stuttered. He smiled then, and my eyes traveled down to his lips, so full and soft looking, and for just a moment I was sure my unadulterated longing was plainly visible on my face because his smile widened. “Do you ever think about what it would be like to kiss me?” He was so close to me now that I could smell the clean scent of him, could feel his breath on my cheek as he spoke. I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. Did I ever think about what it would be like to kiss him? A better question would be did I ever think of anything else? |
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