“Now you.”
She lifted her smile and then put it beside my ear. “I want to sit you up in that big bed and ride you until you burst.”
Mother of God. My head went thunking backward, hitting the wooden wainscoting on the wall. “I’m available, then.”
She giggled. “Good. Your turn.”
“All right.” My dirty mind was on board this little train. “I want to take you with all the lights on, so I don’t miss a thing.”
Her big eyes widened. “But of course. Now let’s see…” She chewed her lip for a second. “I want you to spread me out on the bed and fuck me from behind. Hard and fast.”
A wave of pure, heated lust washed through me, and, instinctively, I tightened up every muscle in my lower body.
“That’s a good enough start on our to-do list,” she said, eyeing my tortured grimace. She put her hands on the edge of the tub and leaned down to kiss me slowly.
I opened for her, drawing her in, making love to her mouth. I was so ridiculously turned on, and she threw fuel on the flames by rubbing her soft sex all over me. It was entirely possible that I was about to become the first man to ever burst into flames in a bathtub.
Lark’s flailing hand reached up to find a lever on the wall. She flicked it and I heard the drain engage, and the sound of water running out of the tub. We kissed, and the contact with her slick, soft breasts tortured my chest as the water level fell.
But she hit the lever again before the tub emptied. She lifted her hips off mine and I looked down to see that while my ass was still sitting in four or five inches of water, my aching dick was no longer submerged.
We dove in for another kiss, because any other action was impossible. I’d never felt so overpowered by need. My arms locked around her back. I swear, the building could have crumbled around us and I wouldn’t have noticed.
As we kissed, she levered herself higher on my body until she was right there, teasing the tip of my dick with her slickness. “Do it,” I begged.
On a sigh she lowered her tight heat over me. I was sheathed in bliss, and my moan was matched only by hers. Our desperate sounds bounced off the nearby walls as she began to rock her hips against mine.
Luckily it was close quarters, and she didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver. That’s what kept me from erupting on the first slide of her precious body over mine. I took sip after sip of her mouth and gave myself over to the moment, my hips rolling to meet hers. We were so close together that the sound of every tiny breath was magnified. The water droplets echoed. The click of our teeth was audible as we kissed.
Her brown eyes stared into mine as her body welcomed me inside again and again. When I looked into her big-eyed gaze I saw my own desperation reflected back at me. The need we had for each other was bottomless. I gripped her against me as if more of this glorious friction could drive away the vulnerability I felt whenever I pictured her leaving me.
She picked up the pace, and her breathing accelerated. Those beautiful eyes fell shut, and she pushed her face into my neck. “I need…to come,” she gasped.
“Show me,” I panted. “Come all over me.” I put both hands to her breasts, stroking my thumbs across the nipples. I’d never get enough of the way her body tightened wherever I touched it.
She bucked and mewled against me, her rhythm stuttering. I grasped her chin and lifted it, finding her mouth with mine, sucking on her tongue. She gave a muffled cry, and squeezed my cock with her body, gripping me like a fist.
My own climax roared through me then, sending me into freefall, blotting out everything but pleasure and release. My head fell back against the wall and I let out a bellow of satisfaction as her body milked me in sweet pulses.
A few moments later it was quiet again. The only sounds were the dripping faucet and our panting breaths. Lark was collapsed on my chest, and my clumsy fingers were woven into her hair.
“You cold?” she asked eventually.
“No,” I laughed. What was cold? I couldn’t even remember feeling anything unpleasant. “Are you?”
“Not yet. But we should probably rinse off and get out. Our fingers are probably pruny.”
“Totally worth it,” I mumbled.
She smiled at me as she peeled herself off my body. She turned on the warm water and rinsed that beautiful body off while I watched. Then she carefully got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a big white towel.
Reluctantly I stirred, too. “Can I take you to dinner now, before it’s too late?” I asked.
Her eyes darted to the clock. It was eight-thirty. “Let’s go before I tuck myself into that bed with you instead.”
As if I’d argue.
22
Lark
I put on a pair of dark-wash jeans, along with a cashmere sweater. They were the nicest clothes I’d brought to Vermont. I’d considered asking to borrow something from May, but then I chickened out. We hadn’t discussed Zach again, and her disapproval had really bothered me.
When we were both ready, Zach took my hand and led me to the tavern room for dinner. It was a gorgeous room—low and long, the ceiling and walls clad in dark wood. Candlelight flickered on every table.
“Sit anywhere,” a waiter in a crisp white shirt invited us.
Zach chose a small table by the fireplace and pulled out my chair. Then he sat down opposite me. There were two red stains on his cheeks, and his lips were still flushed red from our lovemaking.
“You clean up nice,” I teased, admiring the V of honeyed skin showing in the open collar of the shirt he’d chosen. “Who’d guess we spent the day selling apples off a truck?”
“As do you.” His blue eyes smiled at me.
“Not bad for a redneck.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and happy. “The growing season in Vermont is really too short to make me a redneck. Pink, maybe.”
A waiter hurried up with two menus. “Good evening. Here is our wine list. There is also a selection of local craft beers, and I’m told we just received a new shipment of local ciders by Shipley…”
Zach and I burst out laughing, startling the waiter.
“Sorry!” I said. “We delivered the cider.”
“Oh.” He gave us a polite smile. “I guess I don’t need to describe it, then.”
“Not to us,” I said. “We’ll probably choose a bottle of wine. Cider is our day job.”
He left us with the menu, and I realized I was starving. “Ooh, oysters! Are you a fan?”
Slowly, Zach shook his head. “I’ve learned to eat a ton of new foods since I came to Vermont. But those don’t do it for me.”
“They’re supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” I teased.
He beckoned to me, and I leaned across the table. “Just smile at me. That’s all it takes.”
My heart contracted with happiness. Zach was a beautiful person inside and out. And for some reason he chose me. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t understand why, and my confidence was shot to hell. But whenever he calmly put a hand on my back, I felt less alone. And when he held my hand he reminded me that I hadn’t always felt this way.
That it might get easier.
I ordered the red snapper with Israeli couscous and he ordered the saddle of rabbit with porcini risotto. “Red wine okay?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I chose a bottle of chianti.
When our food came, it was rich and satisfying. This restaurant was fancier than the word “tavern” suggested, without being fussy.
Zach examined the crystal goblet in his hand. “I like this place, but it makes me feel like an impostor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every other guy in here is probably named Ethan and drives a Mercedes.”
“Well, maybe.” I glanced around. It was a weeknight, which tended to bring out the retired couples. And Woodstock was one of the most moneyed towns in Vermont. “But the point of staying in hotels isn’t to worry about whether you fit in. Nobody does. We’re all
just borrowing a little corner of someone else’s world.”
“Hmm.” He sipped his wine and smiled at me again. “So I’m an Ethan for the night?”
“Exactly. And I’m…” What would Ethan’s girlfriend be named? I took a sip of wine and tried to decide. Jessica? Emily?
“Beverly,” he suggested.
“Beverly?” I tried not to aspirate my wine. “Ugh. That’s not sexy.”
He shrugged. “If I’m Ethan, you’re Beverly.”
“Fine,” I gave in. “You’re my insurance salesman, and I’m your interior designer. We fell in love over an annuity contract.” I found his feet under the table and tucked mine against them.
“Later I’ll show you my policies.” He lifted his eyebrows at me, and I giggled.
* * *
After dinner we made a half-assed attempt at pretending we weren’t in Woodstock for the sole purpose of having lots of sex. We walked up and down the town’s adorable Main Street, window shopping, since all the stores were closed for the night.
Zach was always more talkative when it was just the two of us. He held my hand and told me a funny story about Audrey’s first time picking apples this season.
“She said, ‘Griff, there’s something wrong with this one tree.’ And he said, ‘That’s okay, baby, you won’t find apples on it because that’s a plum tree.’”
“Aw! When does Griff get Audrey back?”
“Three weeks? Something like that.”
The words three weeks just sort of hung in the air for a moment, making us both glum.
We headed back up the Inn’s long walkway, toward the elegant porch. “Where did the fall go already?”
Zach didn’t say anything, so I checked his face, which was downcast.
Shit. “Hey. Thank you for being the only person who hasn’t quizzed me about what I’m going to do about that letter.” I squeezed his hand.
He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t care, but I assume you’ll let me know when you figure it out.”
“I’m frustrated with them, but also myself,” I admitted. “I’ve never been a drama queen. I’m not fearful. I don’t hide from anything.”
Zach squeezed my hand as we walked through the double doors and the lobby toward our room. And he listened. Like he always did.
“But I don’t feel like I can walk in there and sit down at my old desk and handle their bullshit anymore.”
“So don’t,” he said. “Maybe a different job would feel better. You could work for someone who doesn’t make you angry.”
“Except I don’t know who I’m angry at,” I admitted, pulling out the room key and swiping it past the reader. I pushed the door open. “It’s not their fault that I didn’t listen to instructions. They’re not the ones who grabbed me off the street. God, I’m so sick of being inside my own head. I’m so sick of me.” I flung myself down, stretched across the giant bed.
Zach lay down beside me, his chin on his arms. “I’m not sick of you.” He slid a hand down my hair. “And I won’t ever be sick of you.”
I tipped my head to the side, and the sight of his kind face calmed me down. He stroked my head in a way that was more comforting than sexual. “I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”
My eyes burned at the idea. I did know that. It scared me, too. And I didn’t know why.
* * *
“Lark. I’m here. You’re fine. Wake up for me,” Zach’s voice urged from somewhere in the distance. “Please,” he begged.
But the comforting sound came from too far away.
* * *
I’m back in the dusty shack. It’s been weeks since I felt safe, but Oscar is here and he has something for me. A candy bar! The wrapper is the same design I’ve known my whole life. I marvel at it, because nothing else here is connected to the world I know.
Oscar has snuck this in for me, and my mouth has begun to water just seeing the package. He can’t untie my wrists. Instead he unwraps the chocolate carefully so as not to make noise and holds it up for me. I eat it in three greedy bites, I’m so hungry.
Then he uncaps a bottle of water and brings it up to my lips. “I’d do anything for you,” he says in Zach’s voice.
NO, I want to shout, but I can’t because I’m drinking cool, clean water from the bottle he holds.
The door slams open and Oscar jumps. The water spills on my face, but I barely notice because The One In Charge is shouting. The words are fast and furious, and I know right away that this is bad. He unsheathes his knife, and I start to tremble.
Oscar looks terrified. And then the man orders him to do something so frightening that I feel like throwing up the chocolate bar.
And all I can do is watch it play out. I know I’m dreaming, but I’m dreaming what really happened, and my limbs are frozen in place. I want to look away as I always have before, but tonight I can’t.
Oscar doesn’t argue with his tormentor. He just stands there beside me and holds his ground. Even when The One in Charge trades his knife for a gun and shoves Oscar until he falls over my body.
Even when The One In Charge tells Oscar to do something that takes my breath away.
The shouting draws the other two men from outside. The words are still flying and I can’t understand many of them. But one word in particular is all too clear. And when the other men appear, there is amusement on their faces. They’ve come to watch the spectacle of Oscar and a challenge.
They are all staring at me now, but I can only look at Oscar. He watches me instead of the gun.
The One In Charge repeats his command. I feel my body shaking. I’m afraid that Oscar will do as he asks. I’m also afraid that he won’t.
I was just afraid. More afraid then I’d ever known I could be.
Oscar’s eyes are as round as saucers. I’d do anything for you, they say.
The One In Charge screams at Oscar and shoves him onto me. But Oscar rolls away, finally barking something back at the man with the gun.
A refusal.
The gunshot comes out of nowhere, deafening me.
* * *
I let out a bloodcurdling scream that finally woke me.
Zach scooped me up out of the bed and pulled me to his chest, the way you’d comfort a toddler. “Shh, sweetie,” he said, his voice shaking. “Shh. Shh.”
When I was finally able to focus on his face, his eyes were wet. That’s how I knew I’d been inconsolable for a while. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head and held me closer.
Tears began to drip down my face. Because even as I slept beside Zachariah in a luxurious king-sized bed on one-million-thread-count sheets, the dream came for me.
And now I knew how Oscar had died. Defending me from something awful. Sobs wracked me.
“You’re okay now,” Zach whispered. “You’re fine.”
But I wasn’t. Not at all.
Part Three: Late Season
Ashmead’s Kernel
Keepsake
Baldwin
23
Zach
Lark had told me that our night in Woodstock was a vacation that she’d needed. But afterwards, she seemed sadder than ever.
Nobody noticed except for me. May was busy with midterms and with writing a beast of a paper for one of her classes. The fall days ticked by, and Griff was eager for Audrey’s return. His kitchen renovation was almost done, too. He was still waiting on the countertops he’d picked out. He wouldn’t have plumbing until they were installed and the water was hooked up again. But it was close.
The harvest was in full swing, and Griff and I were pressing cider every night after dinner. A few times he asked me how Lark was doing, and I said she was fine.
I would later realize how big a lie this was.
In my defense, I was fooled by the fact that her bad dreams subsided. She was still prone to talking in her sleep, and reaching for me in the dark. But the screaming and thrashing had quieted. So I was able to convince myself that things were better.
Though her face told a different story. Whenever she thought nobody was looking, Lark wore a troubled expression. By now she was really good at faking it. She never walked into the farmhouse with anything but a smile. For the Shipleys, she put a brave mask on it.
Alone, though, she was broody. She’d lapse into silence while we drove to the market, staring out the window as the meadows rolled by.
I didn’t worry as much as I should have, because I didn’t want to see it. At night she kissed me like she was drowning and I was her oxygen. Sex was her escape, I think. We learned to do it almost silently, waiting until the chorus of snores started up in the bunkroom, then making love slowly, swallowing each other’s moans.
Part of the reason I didn’t pay enough attention was—and this always happens—I got sick. One Friday I woke up exhausted. Moving my body around the farm felt like wading through hip-deep snow. At lunchtime I actually fell asleep in my chair while Griff and Lark went over the market receipts.
“You okay?” Griff asked me after my head grew heavy enough to do that bobbing thing that’s so disconcerting. Even after being away from the Paradise compound for a few years, I startled awake, expecting the switch to land across my hands as it used to if I fell asleep in church.
“I’m fine,” I said, shaking myself awake. “Maybe I just need another cup of coffee.”
That afternoon Lark and I helped with the picking. May was there, too, since her usual class had been canceled. Even though I felt ill, it was relaxing to listen to the female chatter as we picked. And when I lifted my eyes to the mountain ridge in the distance, I saw the most beautiful color of red-orange.
Fall in Vermont was spectacular. That’s why people came in droves to pick apples and buy pumpkins on the weekend. It kept the hotels full and the tips high at the bars my friends owned. The air was crisp and scented with leaves.