Cider House Fools, page 22
He drops the curtain. The door slams shut behind him. And all I can do is stand under the needling ice cold water and scream.
Chapter twenty
December 2 Friday
Balthasar
Her screams penetrate the walls of the house, my truck, and my soul. They are the primal, raw, throat shredding sounds of a dying, wounded animal. I launch myself out of the truck and rip open the door to the house. Franklin is sitting at the kitchen table his head bowed, his hands clenched in his hair. “What the fuck is going on?” I demand. I tear my coat off and turn to run down the hall, but he shoves the chair back, blocking my path. “Get the fuck out of my way!” I bark, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him.
“She needs this. We have to wait until she’s done.”
“Fuck you, you crass bastard. How can you—” I shove him hard and twist past him, running the few short steps to the bathroom. There is no steam coming out of the room. I yank open a cupboard door a pull out a stack of towels, then reach over the toilet and pull the curtain back.
The screaming stops. Bennett is standing in the tub, fully clothed, dripping wet like a drowned rat. Her lips are purple, her teeth clacking hard enough to break. “Bennett, Jesus, come here.” I crank off the water and hold up a towel. “Did he do this to you?” I demand.
“I—I—I Duh—duh—deserved it,” she chatters.
“Arms up,” I command. She lifts them up. I grasp the sodden material at her waist and pull it over her head. Her soaked T-shirt is next. When I reach for the edges of her bra she claps her arms across her chest.
“Nun—Nuh—No.” Her voice is scratchy, grating out of her swollen, raw vocal cords.
“Now is not the time for modesty, Ben. We need to get you warm.”
She glances out the door. “Gi—get Fa—Fa—Franklin.”
“Are you serious? That prick isn’t coming anywhere near you.” She flinches and then attempts to straighten her jerking, twitching shoulders. Dusky lips are pressed flat as her bloodless nares flare in defiance. I stare at her in disbelief as she stands firm. As firm as a violently shivering woman can. My heart is still racing from the terror that overtook me the minute I heard her screams. There is an animalistic need roaring through my nervous system to pound Franklin’s face flat. I take a deep breath just so I can take stock of the situation. The danger has receded far enough that I have the faculties to figure out snapping at her isn’t going to fix anything. I wrap the towel around her shoulders and tap her leg. “Pants. Now. Move it.” She pulls the towel tight around her and pushes her pelvis forward. I take that as permission and unbutton her jeans. “You want your panties left on?” She shakes her head no. I hook my fingers through both articles of clothing and tug them down. Woodenly she lifts her legs and steps out. I grab another towel and wrap it around her waist. Then I scoop her up and carry her to her bedroom.
Franklin is hot on our heels. A perfectly timed kick slams the door in his face.
I stand her up and unwrap her. I strip off my own clothes, down to my boxer briefs. I pull back the covers and hop in the bed. She climbs in next me and burrows into my side. She’s so cold goosebumps bloom over my skin. I press her cheek against my chest and speaking into her wet dripping hair. “Why won’t you let me take the bra off Bennie?”
I wait a beat, but she doesn’t answer. “Bennie, It’s wet. And freezing. You doubt I can get it off without looking? I’m hurt.”
“Promise me you won’t look,” She stutters, shaking.
“I promise. Just let me get you warm baby, please.” I don’t understand her obsession with keeping her breasts hidden. Bennett always had gorgeous breasts. They were tiny, almost flat, and I loved them. It was obvious the first time I saw her they were bigger. I assumed she had them done. And I didn’t give any more thought to the subject other than wishing to get my hands and mouth on them. I’ve always been an ass and legs guy, but I’m equal opportunity breast lover. I appreciate them in all shapes and sizes. I hook my heel around her calf and pull one of her legs between mine to increase the amount of surface area of contact while she draws her shaking hands in and fumbles with the hooks between her breasts. Gently, with a little jostling, I slide the garment off her shoulder and down her arms and toss it to the floor.
There’s a knock at the door. I glare at it viciously. “Get the fuck out of here Franklin,” I shout over Bennett head. “That complete and utter cunt. Smith is going to raze his ass right into the foundation of his next project.”
The door bursts open. “I have a heated blanket.” He unfolds it and finds the cord, plugging it in behind the dresser. He spreads it over the both of us.
Bennett is racked by shivers. “The blanket isn’t enough,” he states.
“It will have to be,” I snap, tossing Franklin a dirty look. “Get out.”
“No.” Bennett presses a kiss to my chest. “I want him in here.”
My hand glides up and down the cold flesh of her back. I’ll never understand women’s obsession with vampires and their cold skin. I feel like I’m holding a dead body. “Bennett, love, you aren’t thinking straight. Your brain has gone Otter Pop.”
Her giggle redirects the morbid path my thoughts were on. “I love Otter Pops.” Her hand snakes up from under the blankets. She grasps my chin between her thumb and her index finger. “If you let him in, I’ll…I’ll tell you why I don’t want to remove my bra.”
“That’s not necessary. There’s no amount of cold water that could make your tits look like anything less than perfection.” I sniff, pulling the blankets up around her back and tucking them in. Franklin looks tore up, but at the same time he does not look guilty. My rational adult brain tells me it’s illogical to assume he’d do anything to hurt Bennett. They’ve been inseparable for years. Their lives are so intertwined they’re knotted like an alpha dick in an omega verse. I don’t even know why they bother with the bullshit best friend routine. It’s obvious they’re in love with each other. Franklin can’t decide if he’s mad, if he should tear her out of my arms, or if he should strip and jump in the bed with us. An hour ago, I would have welcomed his presence. Now all I want to do his blacken his eye.
I can tell the minute he gives up. His shoulders slump in defeat. Soundlessly he backs away, turning and slipping out of the door like a ghost. It’s quite a feat for guy his size. Good riddance asshat.
The blanket Franklin brought heats up in a few minutes. Bennett’s shivers slow, becoming less frequent. Her breathing evens out and her eyes stay shut as her cheeks slowly pink. I hold her tight, ignoring the beads of sweat rolling down the length of my spine.
Maybe I was being a little overdramatic. Lord knows I’ve taken plenty of cold showers in my day. As soon as I complete that thought though, the sound of her screams echo through my brain and I’m ready to kick Franklin’s ass all over again. I drop my nose and breath in the sweet, pastry and buttercream as her temperature rises.
I hold her in that position until I’m covered in sweat. When the color begins to return to her lips and the pale blush of a warm sleep steals over her cheeks I gingerly climb out of the bed. I brush a drying, wavy strand of blond hair off her forehead, wondering when her hair had changed. When we young her hair was platinum and straight as a pin. What other changes has she made that I haven’t noticed yet?
I slip my clothes back on and make my way back into the kitchen. Franklin is sitting with a whiskey bottle and shot glass in front of him. There’s an empty shot glass sitting across from him. I shrug and sit down, assuming the tiny glass is an invitation. I reach over and grab the bottle and pour myself a shot. When I reach for his glass, he shakes his head and holds his hand over the glass. “I’ve had two. That’s enough.”
I throw the beverage back and close my eyes briefly as the burn sliding down my throat. Now that Bennett is tucked in and toasty and the danger to her physical well-being has passed, I might be capable of a rational conversation. “You want to explain what that was all about?”
He leans back and stretches, exhaling, before slumping over the table again. “I do. I just don’t know how much I can say without crossing her boundaries. Part of it was me pressing her to tell the three of you things that she doesn’t want to.”
I nod. “I’d still like to know what happened.”
“We were kissing. I touched her, with her consent, in a place that’s a trigger for her. She withdrew, and then attacked. She said things I know she doesn’t mean, words that are going to cause her more pain than they did me when she has time to reflect. It was basically a repeat of the driveway. So I tossed her into a cold shower to shock her out of her thought path.”
I shift on my seat, uncomfortable. I understand his thought process, but I’m not sure if their relationship gives him the right to do something like that. “You think maybe an appointment with a therapist might be more conducive? Everyone benefits from learning healthy coping mechanisms.”
A bark of derisive laughter echoes through the otherwise quiet kitchen. “Is that how the three of you have dealt with things?”
“Touché́,” I mutter, pouring myself one more shot. I sip this one. It’s a nice Macallan scotch, too expensive to shoot back mindlessly. “But tossing her under freezing cold water? You have any idea what the well temperature of water is around her in the dead of winter? And that screaming…that sound is burned into my psyche. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unhear it.”
“You won’t. I won’t either. It’s called primal screaming.” His eyes glaze for a moment. When he blinks, he’s fully back in the present, but he’s brought pain from the past with him. “I heard my mother scream like that once. My little brother was killed riding his bicycle to school one morning when I was fourteen. In April. It was the second or third nice day we’d had in a row, and he begged her nonstop, so she let him. My mother was rock through the whole thing. I heard her weeping quietly in her bedroom at night, but she never shed a tear at the visitations or the funeral or the luncheon afterward.
“Then about week after school ended for the year she got a report card in the mail. It must have autogenerated or something. My mom lost her shit. The screams that came out of her ripped me raw. I’ll never forget the sound of them. She wasn’t okay after that, but…I don’t know how to explain it. It was like she wasn’t buzzing as hard with all the pent up emotions? So no, Balthasar, if you’re insinuating I threw in the shower with the end goal of punishing or hurting her then fuck you. But I did want to shock her out of her train of thought. She was past listening or talking. And you go on ahead and try to get her to a therapist or grief counselling right now. I fully support it. But she won’t go. Not yet.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, my head snapping up from the mesmerizing glow of the whiskey. I latch on to his unspoken admission that he’s been down this road with her before. Franklin knows things about Bennett that I don’t. Things that traumatized her. Things we should probably know about if we are going to help her mourn Gran.
“That is not my story to tell. Fuck it. I need it after that.” He grabs the bottle and fills his glass to the top. The whiskey clings to edges of the glass, the surface tension the exact correct amount to hold the liquid in the glass. He lifts it with a steady hand, not spilling a drop until he gets to his mouth. A drop remains clinging to his lower lip after he swallows.
I choose to trust him. Bennett loves him. That alone tells me everything I need to know about his character.
“Don’t,” I warn him, rising out of the chair. I’m around the table in a flash. I grab his beard, tilting his face up to me. I lean down, my tongue darting out and curling across his lip as I help myself to the smokey peat of his mouth. My mouth is millimeters from his. “What do you propose I do to help her?” I ask, my voice low with desire.
“That is between the two of you,” he grates out. His hand snatches my hair roughly and he drags me back down for another kiss. He other hands slides across the front of my jeans, palming the length of my rock-hard cock. I straddle him on the chair as he kisses me breathless, his own sizable member as hard as mine beneath me.
My body is singing. This is the way it should be. We can love her and each other.
“Is it?” I ask coming up for air. “The way I see it, it’s between the four of us.” I attack his mouth again. Grinding my ass into his lap while regretting ever putting my pants back on, chills race through me as he plunders my mouth with his whiskey coated tongue.
“The four of us?” he asks speaking into my mouth. I love that he’s unwilling to break the contact between us.
“Smith,” I groan, grinding against him. With effort, I pull my mouth away from his. I need him to comprehend exactly what I’m saying. There cannot be any confusion. This conversation is about Bennett, but in order for me to make her happy, I need to make Franklin understand my brother. “He’ll decide he’s holding her back and leave out of some twisted belief that their love and her goals are mutually exclusive. There is no one he loves more than her, but, he’ll run. I guarantee it.”
His eyes drop as he mulls over my statement. “I see. That’s a problem, but it isn’t one we can fix right now. Right now, I want to bury my dick so deep in your ass I can feel your tonsils.” Franklin grabs my cock and squeezes it. My balls tighten as he stares into my eyes and tells me exactly what he wants to do to me. My dick is throbbing, straining against the denim of my jeans as my hips jerk and flex. If he keeps it up I might come in my pants like a horny teenager. “But these next few weeks need to be about Bennett. I feel like I’m cheating on her,” he confesses. “I shouldn’t be touching you without discussing it with her first.”
“I want you to touch him. I want you to pull your cock out. I want to watch him ride you until he’s screaming in ecstasy. And then I want him to fuck me until I come so hard I pass out. Right here, in this kitchen. While you watch.” Franklin’s head cranks around as I lean over. Bennett is leaning against the arched opening to the kitchen. She’s got a navy-blue T-shirt that skims her lower belly and nude cotton bikini panties on. Her face is flushed, her hair a mass of wild waves that is slightly smashed on the right side. Dark circles of exhaustion ringed eyes that are bright with desire. The left side of her lower lip is plumper than the right when it slides out from under her teeth.
“Ben, we should talk,” Franklin starts.
“We should, and we will. But right now, if you can forgive all the absolute bullshit I spewed out there, I’d like you to touch me. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hash things out. I want to feel something. Something physical, that doesn’t hurt. Or something that hurts the way I like to hurt. I’m not trying to avoid my grief, Franklin. I just prefer to fuck it out.” She takes a deep breath. “I can’t promise I won’t freak out, but I can promise you it isn’t because I don’t want it.
Everyone in the room is frozen waiting for someone to make a decision. I’m not an expert in counselling, but I have experienced grief. I don’t believe making Bennett feel good physically is detrimental to her healing process if it isn’t being used to avoid dealing with her issues. I do believe, with my whole heart, that the key to getting all of us through Gran’s death is bringing our family back together. Decision made, I stand up and swing my leg over Franklins lap. I keep my burning gaze locked onto Bennett’s eyes as I undo my pants and slide everything to the floor. The way she looks at my cock when it springs free makes me want to abandon her request and take her immediately.
But that isn’t what she asked for. It isn’t what she wants. She worries her lower lip again as one arm slides across her body and grips her other elbow. Her knees bend and shift, rolling in as she clenches her thighs. I’d like to rip her panties right off of her and inhale the sweet scent of what Franklin and I do to her. I’d love to part her legs and run my tongue right up the seam of her tight cunt until she’s writhing. And I will, as soon as I give her expressly what she’s asked for.
The message her eyes send to me is as clear as print. She wants us both. The same way she used to want Whittaker and I. She didn’t want to be here, in Stayman, but she’s never not wanted us. How different our lives would have been if we had realized that from the get-go.
I turn to Franklin. “Pants off.” He raises an eyebrow but complies. I’m eager to explore Franklin. He comes off as an easy-going, chill guy, but I’d bet the family farm he dominates in the bedroom and doesn’t bottom. If Franklin wants to play on team Balthasar he’s going to have to learn some new tricks. But for now, we are going to give Bennett the show she asked for.
“Bennett. Come here.” He’s challenging me, but I let it slide. Oh, how I’m going to enjoy the power plays. Whittaker’s brooding glare flashes in mind and a cold tingle races up my spine. The thought of Franklin joining the two of us almost makes me come on the spot. I reach down and squeeze the base of my cock, keeping my eyes on her as she glides across the floor in bare feet. “Strip my pants off,” he orders. I squeeze harder, until it hurts, wanting something to distract me from reacting if she puts an end to the game we’ve started. The most lickable flush is spreading up her neck, ripening the flush on her cheeks. Her eyes beg as she presses herself against his back and reaches her slender arms around him to unbuckle his belt. Her nimble fingers unbutton and unzip his jeans. She hooks her fingers in his waistband. Slowly she squats, drawing his pants down his legs.
