She woke up for good when Garrett entered her, hot and hard. She opened her eyes, his face inches from hers, his features revealing his desire as much as his boldness. Not unlike a man in the wrong.
“I apologize, Tracy. I woke and sleep eluded me.”
“So you thought it would be terrific if I didn’t sleep either.”
He paused to let her adjust to the intensity of his lust, and she grinned to show she was teasing him. He started explaining then probably thought better of it because a mischievous light glimmered in his gaze. “Well, not as such . . . However, if you long for rest, I shan’t impose myself on you.”
With this, he began slowly moving in her once again, trying to entice her. Although he was a confident man, she’d have bet anything he wasn’t completely aware of the impact he had on her.
Already she could feel her limbs waking up and answering his primeval call, her body yearning for his, surrendering to his will. Concealing the rushing need in her veins, she decided to toy with him a little.
“Garrett, I—”
“Hear me, I pray you. Tiredness is but a diversion of the mind. No, my lady, I trust . . .” He stared into her eyes, never ceasing his unhurried motions, arousing her from the inside in the most unexpected manner.
No way. She knew he was going to launch into a long speech so she clenched her inner muscles to cut him short.
He gasped under the pressure, his eyes wide open, instantly robbed of his fluency. “Good Lord.”
His utterance made her shudder and she did it again. And again, bringing him deeper, hard as a rock. “Heavens, Tracy, you . . . I . . . not too fast.”
She felt the extent of her power over him when he shut his eyelids, his hectic breathing ruled by her forceful squeezes. A grin lifting the corners of her lips, she relaxed, giving him a chance to steady himself.
“Honey, do you want something?”
She needn’t ask, somehow knowing it was true. She ran a hand through his thick hair, seeking confirmation in his captured gaze.
“Your body is a shrine. Dare I say I wish to worship you not as a lord to a lady, but as a man to a woman?” He looked at her with expectancy, his whole body strained against hers.
But his words confused her. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“My beloved, I wish to worship you with my lips.”
“Oh . . . that.”
“Your approval would bestow felicity on my humble soul, and I deeply desire it could be you for the first time.”
His turn of phrase imprisoned her heart and she nodded fervently, smiling in spite of his awkwardness. The first time? There was no way he was talking about her, but she couldn’t figure out how it was to be his first time. “How so, Garrett?”
“I haven’t been intimate with many women, and most of my acquaintances deem this practice as shameful and discreditable. I’ve never, I mean, I hardly think I’m in any position to ask of you . . .”
He sounded embarrassed, and she almost moaned with want when he ceased his playful movements inside of her. Gosh, but this nineteenth century surprised her at every turn.
She put a finger to his lips to shush him. “That would be my pleasure.”
His stare darkened before he slithered down her body, slipping out of her, sliding his hands under her buttocks. He found her folds with his mouth, his tongue fondling and caressing her flesh. He was somewhat clumsy in his approach, uneven in his moves, sometimes not bold enough or too enthusiastic, yet she couldn’t have cared less because his touch was paradise.
He sucked her long and deep, electrifying her, pulling eager cries out of her, sending her far down the road to love, bringing her very close to climax. When he lifted his head up, looking totally wired, she sensed the enjoyment he also derived from this act. She also knew he stood on the brink of release when she heard his tone.
“I fear this is too much excitement. I’m sorry, I cannot stop myself.”
He was on his knees, the passion written on his face reaching out to her soul.
She came to kneel opposite him, legs apart, just inches from him. “Look at me, Garrett.”
Gazes locked, she took his shaft in her hand and gently began rubbing his tip on her swollen clitoris. The sensation was so fierce that an unbroken moan came out of her, echoed by his low grunt of surprised pleasure. His eyes seemed to expand to their limits, his rapid breathing turning into hectic panting.
“Goodness gracious,” he growled.
“Not yet, honey. Bear with me.” Flesh against flesh, she switched to a circling motion, looking straight into his eyes. She quickened her movement when she felt herself about to come.
His face almost in pain from restraint, he reacted instantly and their twin wails of extreme pleasure filled the room as they climaxed on each other before collapsing in each other’s arms.
They lay side by side. Tonight he’d made love to her as if he was making memories for a lifetime. Maybe so, but for the time being, she rested in his arms and whatever happened, she’d remember this night forever.
Tomorrow, she’d think about the future. Their future. Tomorrow, she’d find a way to change his mind. Tomorrow. As they drifted off to sleep, he clung to her, his last words echoing in her mind.
“My love.”
Epilogue
William Richardson sneaked out of his room. The ray of light brightened his back but didn’t quite dispel the shadows of the landing. Silence engulfed his house on Bonita Street as the double-glazed windows shut out the drone of traffic.
He tiptoed in the semi-darkness along the hallway, confident the faint shuffle of his slippers on the floorboards wouldn’t rouse Tracy. When he reached her bedroom door, he pushed it ajar, an inch at a time, and listened.
Her regular breathing warmed his heart. She’d sleep through the night, allowing him to do what he must do.
She’d been so weary after their trip to the hospital. As she sat on a plastic chair in the waiting room, two interns came to lead him to another unit. He followed them solely to put her mind at rest.
They ran some tests on him before indicating they’d keep him under observation for twenty-four hours. Like he didn’t have better things to do than waste his precious time lying on a hospital bed.
True enough, he needed rest and a good boost to recuperate his strength but his own cocktails would do the trick much more efficiently than an IV drip. Why couldn’t those idiots realize he was fine?
He had to raise his voice and snatch his shirt from the stupid nurse before they finally understood he didn’t give a shit about their advice. He was going home. If they wanted to keep him, they’d have to physically restrain him.
They didn’t. He strode along the white corridors leading to the waiting room, grabbed his daughter’s arm, steered her all the way to the parking lot despite her reservations and pushed her into the car.
Probably thinking of Garrett, she kept silent as she drove to Bonita Street. That was fine with him because he didn’t feel like listening to her complaints. He knew what she wanted to hear but life wasn’t a fairytale. More like a blend of sweet and hard events that sometimes forced a parent to distress his child. For his own good.
He pulled her bedroom door closed, satisfied she wouldn’t wake up. Then he moved quietly to the top of the staircase and climbed down the steps. In the kitchen, he heated up some coffee, added sugar and dropped a spoon in the warm mug before heading to his study. Or as his wife used to call it, his sanctuary.
The small lamp he switched on gave off a pleasant glow. He circled his desk and slumped onto the armchair. Although the past days took a toll on him and he’d rather be in bed, he still had an essential task to accomplish.
He put the mug down on his desk, drew open the top drawer and retrieved the silver frame. No dust veiled the gorgeous
smile, the beautiful face he longed to touch, the kind gaze so similar to Tracy’s. With hesitant fingers, he stroked the cold glass covering the full lips and whispered to the picture of his dead wife.
“I miss you so much, Georgina.”
The smile remained gorgeous and frozen in time. Maybe he shouldn’t talk to an image but the act always heartened him.
“I wish you were here to advise me, to tell me I’m doing the right thing. Oh, God, Tracy might never speak to me again.”
He let his thumb caress the contours of the cherished face. Had she still been alive, what would his wife have said?
“You know, our daughter’s a lot like you. I can see the same courage and the same passion in her eyes. Just like you were at her age.”
Holding the frame in one hand, he reached for the mug and took a sip of hot coffee before looking at his wife again.
“Tracy’s amazing. She saved my life yesterday without a care for her own safety. You’d be so proud of her.”
The soft glow from the lamp fell on the picture when he set it on the desk. He reached for his glasses, slid them up his nose, settled his elbows on a thin stack of paper and tucked his chin over his fists.
“What would you do in my position? Tracy thinks I’m cold and calculating and she’s right in a way. You knew better though. You loved me in spite of my mistakes. Tracy, well, she’s too idealistic.”
No answer came from the face in the picture while he kept staring at it. No answer would ever come as he was the only voice of reason in the household.
“Georgina, I’m going to break her heart. That’s the last thing I want to do but there’s no other choice. Tracy doesn’t see the big picture. I’m well aware she won’t listen to me so I have to do it for her.”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathed in and out to even his respiration, then looked at his wife again.
“Garrett is an upstanding young man. I’m sure you’d approve of him. But you see, he’ll never be allowed to marry her. So what’s best for her? Keep her hopes up when I know the outcome will devastate her, or nip it in the bud?”
In the back garden, shadows swished as the wind ruffled a willow tree when he glanced at the window. His wife’s static stare made his hands twitch in spite of the loving smile captured forever.
“No doubt you’d side with Tracy. You’ve always been a sucker for passion and enduring love stories.”
The recollection quirked the corners of his mouth. How many dull, romantic movies had she watched while he worked for hours on end?
“But you’re gone and it’s down to me to guide her toward the best possible future. Even if she hates me for it.”
Two sheets of paper tumbled to the floor when he shifted his elbows. He bent over to pick them up then dropped them on the desk.
“I think it’s time to say goodnight, my love. I have a lot more to tell you but I’m tired now and tomorrow will be a difficult day. Don’t worry about Tracy though. She’s a tough girl, she’ll survive.”
He took hold of the frame and pressed a finger across his wife’s lips. With only silence around him, he placed the picture back inside the drawer.
“Bye, Georgina.”
The shutting sound of the drawer pushed him on his feet. Acting with purpose, he went around the cluttered desk, removed the blue carpet, activated the trapdoor, and climbed down to the basement.
The computers hummed. He moved past them to reach the center of the room and observe his invention.
He’d created the telepod with time travel in mind but the device somewhat turned out to be a half failure. Going to the past still proved impossible but on the other hand, he’d successfully designed a machine to cross over a parallel world. Different from what he’d sought to achieve, but interesting nonetheless.
Gliding his palm over the black surface, he felt the coolness of the metallic structure. Certainly an accomplishment to be proud of, although the consequences would now be tragic for his daughter.
Yet his mind was made up.
He crossed the room again and sat behind the largest computer. Eyes focused on the monitor, he asked for the Everett file. Charts filled the screen, numbers blinking past while he entered the core of the program.
Resetting the parameters didn’t take longer than a minute. Now he only had to save the modifications to ensure his daughter stayed in this world. Yes, she’d hate him for this but it was for the best.
His hand trembled, hovering over the keyboard. Alone in the brightly lit basement, he placed his finger on the enter key and closed his eyes.
“Forgive me, Tracy.”
Chris Lange, Hearts Out of Time
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