Sex in the Sticks

  And fuck me, it gets better every time. Her body takes me with such eager anticipation, such ease now, that I seriously think it might be addicted to my cock. I know without a doubt I'm addicted to her pussy.

  "Just. Needed. One. Last. Time." I grunt each word out as I thrust into her roughly. My voice is harsh, breathless, and I'm right on the edge. "Not going to be much opportunity, baby, at my parents' to fuck."

  Valentine doesn't say anything, but she often can't string words together when I'm working her over hard this way. But she does manage to huff out, "Why's that?"

  "Because you can't be quiet," I growl as my hips move faster, racing to the finish and dragging her right along with me.

  She makes a scoffing sound sort of mixed with a moan, but manages to say, "I can so keep quiet if I need to."

  I'm too far gone with pleasure to laugh at her, but I bring my hand between her legs and give a quick, hard rub to her clit as I hammer into her pussy. Her orgasm ignites quickly, catching her off guard, and she screams.

  "Yeah, you're so quiet." I laugh as I push in deep one last time and join her in release.

  She giggles and leans her head back against my shoulder. My arms go around her and we just embrace for a quiet moment under the hot spray. But then I remember we're running late, and I reluctantly pull out of her, giving a sharp slap to her ass that makes her yelp. I grin at her. "Hurry up and finish your shower."

  "I still have to wash my hair and shave my legs," she grumbles. "Then I need to dry my hair. Twenty minutes at least."

  "Then get to it," I order her as I step out of the shower and grab a towel. Valentine doesn't do as I ask, instead looking longingly at my dick that's still half hard. She looks at it knowing what I know...she could totally get me fully hard without little effort at all if we had time. Valentine's the only woman I've ever been with who can get me recharged so fast, which gives credence to my earlier statement. Pretty sure I'm addicted to her.

  To that pussy.

  That body.

  That smile.

  That laugh.

  That warmth.

  That charm.

  That kindness.

  That goofiness.

  Fuck...I'm just gone for her.

  I dry myself off as I walk to my bedroom, looking at the two suitcases on the bed. Mine is a duffel bag, and Valentine's is the biggest one she brought. She was going to pack another but I put my foot down and told her she had to figure out how to pack for less than a week in one suitcase. She merely lifted her chin and said, "Got it."

  I cocked an eyebrow at her.

  "I said I got it," she said firmly.

  So I kissed her.

  Just a quick one before I rubbed my nose against hers. "Good girl."

  And now that girl was coming home to meet my parents. I wasn't lying to Valentine when I told her this trip had already been planned for several months. But my inviting her was definitely more than just a whim. I wanted my family to meet her and then I was going to pick their minds to see if they saw what I saw.

  Someone I could make a life with.

  Not sure how that would work, though, as my career is pretty locked tight in East Merritt. Valentine is definitely mobile and doesn't have tethers from what I've learned. She's not close to her family, has no close friends other than her cousin Jeremy, and she really doesn't have a career. It's something I want to talk to Valentine about sooner rather than later, because without her having any set agenda as to what she's doing, she could just up and decide to return to New York one day without us having the chance to really talk things out about how we feel.

  I drop my towel to the floor and proceed to get dressed. My travel wear to Seattle isn't any different from what I'd wear here, although I can't help but grin as I see Valentine has laid out some rather stylish-looking clothes. Sassy lies beside them, watching me curiously, but she hasn't seemed to get wigged out over the suitcases on the bed. Sarah's going to come by later today and grab the dog, promising to keep her until we return.

  My cell phone rings and I immediately recognize my sister Tabby's ringtone. She's the youngest of our brood, but I'm closer to her than my other siblings, although I love them all dearly. It's just I am the oldest, and Tabby is the youngest, and thus I've been her protector most of the time. There's a seven-year age difference, which puts her closer to Valentine's age, and I'm hoping they hit it off nicely.

  "What's up?" I ask her as I grab a pair of socks and sit on the edge of the bed so I can put them on. I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can multitask.

  "Hey, Logan," she says, and I can tell by the quiet tone something's wrong. "Glad I caught you before you left."

  "What's wrong?" I ask as I drop my socks and hold the phone with my hand as I stand from the bed.

  "Listen," she begins slowly. "Meredith just called me, and then she sent me some stuff about Valentine that I think you need to see. It's not good."

  My head spins with confusion. "Wait a minute. Our cousin Meredith? In New York?"

  She's a television news producer and we don't see each other often, but we keep in contact regularly via Facebook and such.

  "Yeah...she apparently reads this blog written by Valentine French," Tabby says, again with a voice that sounds tentative. "I had messaged her on Facebook you were coming to visit and bringing a girl; told her she was from New York, and when I told her Valentine's name, she immediately knew who she was."

  "So she writes a blog and Meredith reads it," I say flummoxed. "So what?"

  "Well, Meredith doesn't read it religiously," Tabby explains. "Hadn't for months actually, but once I told her Valentine had been in Alaska for a few weeks, she pulled it up and read it. And, well...I think you need to read what she wrote."

  Those last words and the dread-filled angst with which she said them makes my blood go cold. "Email them to me."

  "Already did," she murmurs. "And, Logan...just try to read them with a grain of salt."

  My spidey sense is tingling so hard from the ominous way in which Tabby tries to prepare me that I just disconnect the phone without even saying goodbye. I pull up my email, vaguely noting the shower has gone quiet, and I know Valentine will be doing her makeup next, then her hair. That's her routine.

  I tap on Tabby's email and it has five links, each one appearing to be a different blog article. I click on the first one and read.

  By the time I read the last one, I am beyond furious.

  I walk out of my bedroom into the bathroom and find Valentine stroking a brush across her cheeks. Her wet hair is slicked back and she's got a towel wrapped around her body, tucked in tight over her breasts. She looks at me in the mirror and grins. "I'm going as fast as I can, so I'll remind you again that it's your fault we're running late since you got in the shower with me."

  "You don't have to worry about being late," I say in a low voice. "You won't be going to Seattle with me."

  Valentine's hand stills and she lowers the brush from her cheek. She tilts her head in confusion, still looking at me through the mirror. "I don't understand."

  "I just read your blog," I tell her softly. "Well, at least the articles you wrote since you came to Alaska--"

  Valentine spins around, her eyes filled with apology. "Logan...I'm sorry. I was going to tell you but I wasn't quite sure how."

  "Save it," I bark at her, fury boiling hotter than ever knowing that she knew it was wrong and still didn't tell me. I lower my voice to a dead calm. "You came here with the intent to date multiple men and write about them. I got trapped in that, and not only did you write about me without my permission, but you shared intimate details about our sex life."

  "Logan--"

  "And you know what I find most abhorrent about what you did?" I ask quietly.

  She doesn't say anything, but shakes her head slowly.

  "That this is apparently all a game to you."

  "That's not true."

  "You told intimate details about our sex life and you did it to embarr
ass your family," I snarl at her. "That's what your article said. But did it ever cross your selfish mind once that it would embarrass me? Or my family?"

  "I didn't think they'd ever see it," she says lamely.

  "Get all your stuff packed up, Valentine," I tell her as I walk out of the bathroom and head back to my room. I can hear her scurrying behind me. "I want you out of my house by the end of the day."

  I quickly put on my socks and boots. I pick up my duffel bag and swing it over my shoulder.

  Valentine moves quickly and puts herself right in my path, her hands going to my chest. "Logan...wait...please just let me explain."

  There's a part of me that doesn't want to hear a damn thing she has to say, but there's a part of me that might be a glutton for punishment that does. "You've got two minutes."

  "I did come here with an agenda," she says quickly, as she knows I'm not going to give her a second over that two minutes. "I was going to date the men and then write witty articles about them, comparing them to New York men."

  "Yeah, I got that much," I say dryly.

  "But I didn't factor in you," she says softly. "I didn't know how great you were, and when I did find out, I was still stuck in that mindset that I had to report to my fans about what I was discovering. And I was discovering that you were a man unlike any other I've ever known. You made me feel things I never knew were even possible."

  I stare at her stonily, none of her words really making a difference to me.

  "I struggled with what to do," she continues. "Keep giving my readers what they want, or stopping. And Logan...I chose not to give them any more. There came a point where I couldn't share what we had with everyone. Not since that day you forced me to drive your truck down your driveway, and I was scared shitless, and you made me do it anyway, and then you were so proud of me at the end that I just couldn't share you with them anymore. You were real and everything else wasn't. So I stopped writing."

  I flinch, because I wasn't expecting her to say all of that. I sort of suspected that perhaps this thing between us had a more defined expiration date, and my gut is that Valentine was probably going to leave in the near future to go back to her life and leave me here none the wiser.

  "Logan," she says desperately. "I am so very sorry, especially that I embarrassed you. But I wouldn't take any of it back even if I could."

  I jerk and blink at her in disbelief. "What?"

  Valentine's eyes fill with tears and her voice quavers when she says, "I wouldn't take back any of that stuff I wrote about you, because that would mean that it didn't happen. It would mean that I would have never met you, and had breakfast with you, and had you take me clothes shopping, and find me in the woods. I wouldn't have any of that, and you're right...I'm selfish. I want those memories. I can see in your eyes that this is over, but I'm never giving up those memories."

  If I didn't know any better, I'd think I'm having a heart attack with the sudden pain that tears right through my chest. I ignore it, though, and swallow down any compassion for her story. "I get what you were doing, but you abused my trust and my feelings for you."

  She nods, tears now starting to fall. "I know."

  "Out of here by the end of the day," I remind her softly as I turn toward my door, not even taking time to get a good last look at her.

  I'm not even all the way through it when I hear her say in a voice so low I almost don't hear it. "I love you, Logan. But I don't deserve you."

  Got that right, I think as I walk out of my house and get into my truck.

  Chapter 23

  Valentine

  Two weeks later...

  "This is just pathetic," Aubrey says as she stands in the doorway to my bedroom and stares at me with judgmental eyes and perfectly coiffed blond hair. "Even your dog is depressed."

  Jeremy sits in a chair by my bedroom window, one leg crossed over the other. His elbow rests on the arm of the chair and his chin sits in the palm of his hand. "Aubrey's right. You're just pathetic."

  I choose to ignore both of them but make a mental note to change my locks when they leave. I flip carelessly through a fashion magazine, my dull eyes not really taking anything in.

  "At least she's dressed," Aubrey says to her husband.

  "And it appears she washed her hair," Jeremy adds.

  "The apartment is a disaster," Aubrey comments, and then walks back out of my room but calls over her shoulder, "I'm going to clean the kitchen."

  I don't say anything, just flip through the magazine. I'm in my bed but I'm sitting up in it. Cross-legged with yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. My feet are bare and I'm sure I need a pedicure. But hey, at least I'm not hiding under my covers, sleeping for twenty hours a day, which admittedly I did when I first returned from Alaska.

  Since then, Jeremy's been coming by almost every day trying to poke me back into some type of normalcy. I refused to budge, only getting out of bed to feed Sassy or myself.

  This lasted three days and then Jeremy brought in the big guns.

  Aubrey.

  Knowing I despised her.

  That evil, evil man.

  That first day, she came into my apartment and sat in the same chair Jeremy is occupying and told me in painstaking detail about every single minute of her honeymoon with Jeremy. And I mean every detail.

  It was so awful it forced me out of bed and I hid in the bathroom until she left.

  But those two weren't giving up on me. Every day they came by, and I could tell Aubrey was getting a kick out of it, because sooner rather than later, she was pissing me off and I was actually snarling and cursing at her at times. She'd just look at me smugly and say, "Wow...you actually have some color in your cheeks. Well done."

  Finally, I look up at Jeremy and tell him sincerely, "You two can stop coming over. I'm fine."

  He just arches an eyebrow at me.

  "Seriously," I tell him. "I've even made plans to have lunch with Jennelle Barstow tomorrow and then we're going to go shopping."

  "Are you lying to me?" Jeremy asks suspiciously.

  "No," I say truthfully. "I'm sick to death of this apartment, and I'm tired of moping over Logan. I've got to move on."

  "Going to reopen Valentine's Couch?" he asks, but then Aubrey calls in from the kitchen, "Val, can I throw away whatever this is in the green container in the fridge? It looks disgusting."

  "No," I yell back. "That's Sassy's. Raw moose meat."

  I can hear Aubrey say, "Ewww."

  Whatever. The one thing I took away with me was that Sassy looked and acted the healthiest she ever had since I've had her, and it could have just been the clean, crisp air, but it could have been the unusual raw food diet I had her on. Fortunately, it was nothing to find a boutique grocer who would special order the stuff for me and deliver it.

  "Valentine's Couch?" Jeremy asks again.

  "No," I tell him without a trace of sadness or regret. "That's gone forever."

  Which I know isn't exactly true. Once something is on the Internet, it's forever. But before I even left Alaska, as I sat at the Ketchikan International Airport with April, who kindly saw me off, I logged onto my Web host and deleted my entire domain. I obliterated Valentine's Couch with just a few key taps. While it was something that I enjoyed and kept me amused, it was also something that cost me very dearly and I couldn't even bear to think of those articles I wrote about East Merritt and its people, and most especially Logan, remaining live.

  "I'm sorry you're hurting," Jeremy says softly. "Want me to go out to Alaska and kick his ass for being such a prick to you?"

  "No," I say glumly. "I deserved it. I had no right to ever put those things out there."

  "Oh, bullshit," Jeremy says as he sits forward in the chair. "It's what you did, Val. It was your job...your shtick. You wrote an advice column that was shit for advice but was so fucking funny everyone read it. You never did anything with malice, and as far as Logan goes, you were respectful of him. You may have given a little too much detail, and you apologize
d for it, but you were respectful. Period. End of story. If he doesn't get that, he's a moron."

  I just blink at Jeremy after he finishes his tirade. "Respectful? I embarrassed him."

  "Big fucking deal," Jeremy says with a shrug. "Now everyone knows he's got a big dick. He's probably strutting around East Merritt now."

  "And probably has every female in Alaska after him," I say morosely. "Now that they know he hands out orgasms the way Willy Wonka handed out candy."

  "Maybe you should call him," Jeremy suggests. "He's had time to cool down. Maybe he'd like to talk to you and he's too scared to reach out since he was such a tool when you parted ways."

  I glance down at the magazine on my lap for a moment, and then sigh. When I look back up at Jeremy, I ask him, "Know what the last thing I told him was before we parted ways?"

  "That you loved him?" he guesses.

  "I said that, but that wasn't the last thing. I told him I loved him and then I told him I didn't deserve him."

  Jeremy doesn't say anything, so I push my chin out and look at him expectantly.

  "What's your point?" he asks with confusion.

  "I don't deserve him." I articulate each word. "After what I did, I do not deserve someone like him. I'm where I'm supposed to be and he's where he's supposed to be. Time to move on."

  "Fine," Jeremy says as he raises his hands and stands up from the chair. "You seem to have everything under control. Lunch plans and shopping tomorrow and firm acceptance of lost love. I think our work here is done."

  Jeremy starts to walk out of my room.

  "Wait a minute," I say, and he stops, looks over his shoulder at me. "Aubrey going to finish cleaning my kitchen?"

  Jeremy just rolls his eyes and leaves. Within moments I hear both of them walking out of my apartment and shutting the door behind them. With a sigh, I toss the magazine onto my night table and roll off the bed. I pad into the kitchen, Sassy following along, and I prepare her dinner of raw moose meat. I feel only slightly nostalgic as I do it.

  While Sassy eats, I boot up my laptop, which hasn't been turned on since I left Alaska, intent on perhaps ordering takeout. I take a few moments, finally deciding on a Lebanese restaurant down the block that delivers. My gaze drops down to my email icon and I see I have a grand total of 732 emails waiting for me.