Above All, page 27
Because there could be no more running for them. No more uncertainty, no more doubt. The look in his eyes, the beating in her chest. This was it. It was now. She ran her fingers over his lips and cupped his jaw in her hand, feeling the smooth skin of his fresh shave and the sweet comma cut into his chin—his dimple when he smiled at her.
His eyes held hers as he kissed her palm, then the inside of her wrist, then rubbed his lips along the soft, delicate skin of her forearm. When he raised her arm to graze the ticklish crook of her elbow, she reached to run her fingers through his hair and held on tight, tilting his head. He was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and she edged over to kneel above him, looking down as his neck craned up.
When she at last pressed her mouth to his, it felt like coming home. He tasted of fire and smoke and earth, and fresh bread and soap and something so clean, so pure, it was like spring water on her lips.
In that one kiss, all the moments they had shared together came flooding back. The first night in the cabin, the rock ledge on the mountain, the rowboat, the lake, the woods themselves. It was all that and more.
Candlelight flickered over their shadows on the wall, the darkness taking them further and deeper than they ever knew they could go. Their half-eaten dinner lay forgotten on the paper plates. Casey stood and he stood with her, and together as one, they moved to the pallet he’d made.
They sank down into the heap of soft blankets as if they were falling into a cloud. Casey slid off his sweater and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. The smooth contours of his chest reminded her how strong and assured he had looked working in the bakery that morning. He pulled up her shirt and fluffed up the blankets, cocooning her in the soft, downy warmth.
They had explored each other before but somehow it still felt new. His warm back, the ridges of his clavicle, her fingers in his hair. The taste of wine on his lips. She kissed every inch of him, memorizing his body with her tongue, the salt and sweat and sweetness of him, the arch and breadth of each line on his well-trimmed, muscular form. Running her fingers down his lower back, she paused at the deep chiseled angles that had made her breath catch when they first met and said a tiny prayer of gratitude that he was hers again.
Then he was kissing her, moving down her body, his mouth on her breasts, trailing south as she squirmed in blissful anticipation. He tugged off her jeans, trailed her panties down. And then his tongue pushing, probing, spreading her open, finding the treasure buried within her folds. He pressed the button that unlocked her and she was taken away again.
She undressed him as if it were the first time, a revelation. When he slid on a condom and entered her at last, she knew she could never get enough. Could never plunge him deep enough, hard enough, fast enough to satisfy every pulse of her desire, a fire that burned deeper the more of them it consumed. She bit his shoulder, clung to his hair, dug her fingernails into the tight mounds of his ass that tightened with his every thrust, pulling him into her as she cried out his name.
“Oh Casey,” he practically sobbed in her ear. “I’m coming, I’m coming for you. Oh Casey,” he crooned again.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She raised her hips to meet his and spread her legs in a wide vee overhead, pulling him ever deeper inside. She held onto her thighs to keep her legs open, every inch of her devoted completely to him. That was where he belonged, deep inside where everything felt right and fulfilled.
He was using her harder and faster than she’d ever been before, bucking wildly into her. She was split open right down the middle and still she begged him with every fiber of her being to give her more.
It was her cries, her pleas to be filled, and harder, and yes, and more. It was the catch in his voice when he said her name in that way that only he could. All this and more sent them so far over the edge they were nothing but their bodies, together. His body, and hers. With one quick, deep thrust he buried himself up to the hilt and gave her every drop of his love, pulsing slow now to savor every liquid tremble that they shared.
But it was far from over. Ben rolled onto his back with Casey sitting tall on his cock still hard inside her. She groaned as the waves of pleasure kept washing over her. She raised and lowered her hips, riding him sensual, slow, then building up speed. She angled him right where she wanted him, pressing deep inside her, and ground her pelvis against his so the circles of her hips hit every tender, singing nerve outside and in.
She wanted it to last forever but knew she couldn’t hold on. Her fingers in his hair, his hands pinching her nipples so tightly she gasped, the roll of his hips as she met him over and over again. She couldn’t keep going, at the same time that she never wanted to stop. When she came, it was as if a storm had flooded the apartment, the tide so strong it knocked her down. She felt every tremble, every quiver between her legs and knew that Ben felt it, too. She collapsed forward and lay gasping on top of him, sweaty and spent, so full she thought she might explode.
They drank the rest of the wine lounging naked in the blankets, fingers intertwined, laughing, whispering, touching, kissing, talking long into the night. Later they lay down again, arms wrapped around each other. When the candles burnt down low, Casey got up to blow them out one by one.
She felt his eyes on her as she crossed the room, bending to extinguish each light. She put the plates in the sink and stuck the gnocchi in the fridge, then padded back to where Ben was curled up in the blankets, content as a well-fed cat.
“What’re you looking at?” She tried to take a blanket from him to cover herself but he grabbed it up and pulled it away.
“You know I want to look at you,” he said, a smile dancing across his happy face.
“Only because it’s dark.” She knew that he desired her, but still she reached for the cloth.
He snatched it away again. “Not a chance. If I had more than one lamp in here, all the lights would be blazing.”
“And you’d still be hogging the covers?” Casey folded her hands over her breasts indignantly.
Ben wiggled side to side, still clutching the blankets—his way of saying yes.
Casey walked over to the window and blew out the last candles on the sill. There were no curtains, but it was darkness as far as the eye could see. With the lights off inside the apartment too, no one could look in and see her naked by the window, even with the slice of moonlight streaming through.
“Mmm,” Ben rolled over on his side to watch her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“I like it.”
“You don’t even know what’s good for you. I’m old and you feed me too much. You should be with someone young and perfect and cute—they’re a dime a dozen in Brooklyn and I know they were throwing themselves all over you, don’t deny it. You’re going to grow up and come to your senses and get sick of me and then I’m going to be hideous and alone for the rest of my life.” She looked out the window and sighed. She was joking, but only a little.
The covers rustled as Ben relinquished his hold on the comforters and crawled out of the cocoon to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, skin pressing against skin, his nakedness against her as they’d once stood in her cabin. She leaned into him as he rested his chin on her shoulder, still holding on.
“Nobody stays young forever,” he said, stroking her side. “What about when I’m old and have three chins and no hair like my father, and his father before him, because you don’t know it yet but according to family history, I’m doomed. You like me now but how do I know I’m not your little fantasy, and you’re the one who’s going to come to your senses and realize you should be with someone established and grown up? Someone who at least owns a table. And a bed.”
“Have you seen my table? It hardly counts. Besides, I already have one. I don’t need another.”
“I’m serious,” he said, rocking her gently as they looked out the window together at the expansive, rolling blackness that the morning light would resolve into peaks and valleys and endless trees brilliant green against the blue summer sky.
“I am too.” She stretched her arms behind her so she was hugging him back.
“I don’t want someone who only wants me when things are going well,” he said. “I want someone who wants to be with me through everything. Who’s going to still look at me through the long, decrepit years of my thirties, and then some.” His chin pressed into her shoulder as he smiled.
“Just wait, I’m going to keep getting worse,” she warned.
“Mmm, I hope so.” He kissed her neck and bit her earlobe. “Because I’m fully planning on it, myself.”
He ran his hands over her back and then reached around to cup her full breasts, playing with her nipples until they grew hard again under his touch. He rolled the sensitive buds between his fingers, stroking the soft tender flesh.
“Casey, if this is you getting old, then I hope you get worse and worse. In fact, I can’t wait.”
Casey let out a giggle that dropped into a moan. Because now he was touching her stomach, reaching between her thighs, discovering the delicate skin between her legs. Their last round hadn’t been that long ago, but they had a lot of catching up to do.
She spread her legs wider for him. Gently he leaned her forward. She was wet and throbbing already and he reached for another condom. Then he rubbed the tip of his cock over her slick entrance, making her whimper for him before he planted his hands on her hips and plunged inside. Her back arched and he grabbed onto a thick fistful of her hair as he pulsed in and out of her, both of them trembling with every inch of what they had to give.
Everywhere Casey saw only darkness and the thin light of the moon. She pressed her hand up against the window, the cool night of the windowpane a shock against the heat of his body behind her. She leaned her forehead against the glass. In the morning the prints would still be there, reminding them of all they had shared.
When she came her whole body shook, knees trembling as her sounds filled the night, crying out as her body burst into flame. Ben was an explosion inside her, shooting his warmth deep within. She bent forward, pulling him into her, making sure he gave her everything he had. He collapsed over her, his arms wrapped tenderly around her, his check pressed against her back. Neither of them wanted to let go.
When they staggered over to the comforters, she held him as close as she could, knowing that now she was truly gone. Now she could never let him go.
They fell asleep curled against each other in a sea of blankets until dawn flooded the windows, transforming the blackness that had captured them into all the shapes of their life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ben’s alarm on his phone went off early. Neither of them wanted to move.
“I have to open up the café,” he groaned.
“Go,” she pushed him away, but only because she knew he had to. And because she wanted the rest of the blankets.
“I know there’s no lake, but will you stay here? You can take an ice bath if you need a substitute.”
“Ha ha, funny man.” Casey grabbed the comforters from him when he stood. “Ah, now it’s my turn for revenge.” She grinned as she watched him pad across to the floor.
“Don’t look at me!” he exclaimed and she burst out laughing.
“I’m sure everyone tells you what a great ass you have, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut and admire with my eyes.”
“A great ass? Mmm, tell me more!” He retraced his steps and slid on top of her, pinning her under the comforter as he kissed her again.
“Don’t you have a business to run? They’re going to be banging on the doors demanding their galettes, and you’re going to be up here mooning about! I don’t want any of them to know that the good stuff is up here and not down there.”
He reluctantly slid off her, planting kisses on her lips, her chin, her breasts.
“You seem to think I’ve had legions of women throwing themselves at me and my behind,” he said. “But I’ll have you know that not everyone has found me as irresistible as you seem to.”
“Impossible.” Casey shook her head.
“Well, then how about I have found them much easier to resist than it’s been to resist you.”
“Also lies, but lies that I like. Now go!”
He grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon Casey heard the sounds of running water. But the thought of him standing there naked and soapy was too much to keep her lingering in bed, no matter how comfortable she was. Bracing the cool wood floor, she tore across the room to join him in the steaming shower. He could be five minutes late to open up downstairs.
Maybe ten.
Maybe fifteen.
SHE STAYED AND CLEANED the dishes from last night while he scampered down the stairs, his shoes still untied and his hair a mess. She bit her lip, wondering whether anyone would notice that her car was out front but she wasn’t in sight. Somehow though it was hard to care what anyone might say. The burnt down stubs of candle wax filled her with giddiness, a reminder of the long, beautiful night.
But it was more than how good the sex was. There was something deeper—she felt it. This time she knew neither of them would be running away.
She was wiping her hands down her jeans after washing the pot and heading over to throw the comforters into their heap when she stopped to crane her neck sideways and look at the books Ben had piled up horizontally on the floor. As soon as she saw it, she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it already—as if somehow it should have immediately leapt out at her, some beacon from her former life announcing itself for the whole world to see.
But it was only because she was scanning the titles, a mix of undergrad philosophy textbooks, contemporary fiction and cookbooks at the bottom, that she noticed the bright-orange spine. Nicholas St. Clair. It looked like a stranger’s name, lined up there on its side. Like any other author on the pile.
Carefully she wedged the book out of the tower and held it in her hands. As if instinctively her fingers leafed through, past Ben’s bookmark that hadn’t moved, until she hit the final pages and the acknowledgments that had so floored her that first time. She read the words again. His praise for his agent, his editor, his parents, his readers, with no mention of the one person who had read his drafts and carried him so much of the way.
Again her eyes lingered on the last line. Above all... to Aubrey... my muse.
She braced herself for the punch to hit. The shock, the revulsion. The ache in the pit of her stomach that she’d once felt upon reading those words.
She waited, searching for something. Anything. But it was like reading the words of a stranger, a message sent across time and space to someone she’d never met. Both these personas, Nicholas St. Clair and his muse Aubrey Peterson, seemed as fictitious as the characters on the page.
All the orange cover really reminded her of now was the first time she had met Ben. And that was a memory that only made her smile.
She closed the book, turning it over in her hands and then carefully put it back in the pile where she’d found it. It was strange the way time worked. When she first drove north up 87 and followed the signs to Bonnet, she never could have anticipated a time when reading Nick’s words wouldn’t cause her tears. She never would have believed that she’d read his public declaration of love to another woman with little more than a passing shrug.
She’d hardly known Ben when he first handed her the book. She’d had no idea how her feelings for him would develop. No idea he would be the one.
But now she was sure of it. No matter where they lived, or what they did, or what unforeseen things brought them together or pulled them apart, he was, above all, the one she wanted. She only hoped that she could be the same for him.
She slid on her shoes, stepped outside and padded down the wooden stairs. She walked into the café, hearing the pleasant jingle announce her presence, and saw Ben look up from the back of the kitchen, up to his elbows in flour again, his sleeves rolled up and his face flushed from the heat of the ovens. He gestured for the woman working the register to come over and whispered to her, pointing at Casey. She nodded and poured a large cup of steaming hot coffee.
“I’m Anna,” she said with a smile. “I moved up from Syracuse a few months ago. Ben said to be sure to meet you.”
Casey introduced herself, trying not to shoot too many glances over at Ben while he was working.
“Coffee’s on the house,” Anna said. “Also Ben says you should help yourself to whatever you want. I definitely recommend the spinach and tomato omelet with goat cheese, if you’re hungry.”
“Sounds irresistible, I’ll take it,” Casey said with a smile toward Ben, who had gone back to folding pastries, the flush in his face now from more than just the warmth.
Casey perched at one of the stools by the window and read the paper, watching the Sunday breakfast crowd come and go. It would be quiet over at the campsite, but as the morning wore on she figured she should swing back to the grounds and check on everything there. She stuffed a generous tip in the jar by the register and said goodbye to Anna, promising she’d see her again soon.
When she stopped back upstairs, she rooted around for a pen and paper to leave Ben a note. Finding nothing, she spilled a pile of flour over the counter top.
But then she didn’t know what to say. Call me was too trite, even though she hoped that he would. XO also didn’t capture what she meant.
She knew then that she didn’t really have to say anything. If Ben had looked up at her once while she sat in the café, he would have known what her smile said. There could be no question what she wanted from him. She no longer had any doubt that he wanted it too.
She traced her fingers in the flour and then wiped her hand on her jeans. On the drive over to Paper Lake, she imagined him coming up the stairs when he was done, or in the middle of the shift, wondering whether she was still there. He would poke his head into the apartment, calling her name. He’d see the dishes put away and smile at the candles left all over the floor, reminding him of their night.
