Closer and Closer Read online

  Someday that freckle and how I like to kiss it will be a secret between us, Walt.

  When his fingers delved deeper, the idea was gone like flashpaper dipped over a flame. I closed my hand around him in response, and we groaned together, finding need and want again and turning them to stroking, circling, raking, plunging.

  “Have wanted this…mmmm…fuck…” His hand circled my hips once more and grasped the fleshiest part of my rear. “This delectable ass in my hands since I saw you.”

  I was too gone, drunk on the sound and feel of his words beside my ear as they reverberated through my torso, to argue delectable and my ass were not meant to meet in thought or speech. Instead, my body opened further for him. I let out a moan in response to the sight of his much larger hand closing mine around his erection.

  When he angled my hip and guided himself inside me, he hissed a round of delicious, erotic expletives that made my throat open with panted responses. Our foreheads fell together as Walt lay back on the sofa pillows behind him, taking me with him. My arms circled his neck and I sank against him, giving over direction of my body to him.

  He used his muscled thighs to lift me higher. His hands guided me against him, rocking my hips in slow, deliberate undulations that brought him inside me at perfect cadence. Our breath came heavier, the humid warmth of his tickling the beads of perspiration at my hairline. The sounds and feel, even the scent of us together, engaged part of me that refused to keep careful watch over my own speech. I found my lips at his earlobe, nipping at the swell of smoky-spiced skin.

  “Mmmmm…” I purred in his ear. The voice—it was mine, but completely unrecognizable. “Fuck yes…Walt. Harder.”

  He responded with a gravelly moan in my ear, and his body arched toward mine, answering with much harder. The hums and gasps we made mingled, climbing in proportion, until he pushed deep into me, his body rigid as his muscles quaked between my legs.

  “God…damn.”

  A final thrust dragged me into my own orgasm, a bright surge that made me whine, clawing at his shoulders when a second, much more forceful tremor flared much deeper inside me. As the shocks faded, his hand glided along my back, resting at the base of my skull as his fingers trembled against my spine.

  Stilled against each other, we kissed. Again and again. We panted out heavy breaths and returned to each other, lips on lips.

  His kiss was divine.

  “Damn,” he said. His unoccupied hand found another stretch of skin on my backside and he pushed, urging me against his broad, sweat-damp chest.

  “Wow.” I nodded, still shaking. A drop of sweat rolled across my eyelid, forcing me to blink it away. When I opened my eyes, Walt was studying a ring of oblong, purpling marks circling my breast. The contrast of color against my skin was startling, but the memory—what he’d done to put those fingerprints on my skin—made me want him all over again. I smiled and drew my finger across the marks he’d left on me.

  “You okay about that?” He watched me warily. “Those are going to be pretty heavy.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me?” He laughed and drew his palm across my arm. “And you’ve never played—anything?”

  I hushed a yawn. “No. Nothing.” His shoulder looked warm and solid. I leaned against it. “Stay?”

  His fingers paused then resumed their path across my skin. “Yeah. Okay.” I felt him nod against my cheek. “Yeah, I’d like to.”

  Chapter Seven

  I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING with a man in my bed.

  He wasn’t simply in my bed; he’d taken up a good portion of it, including my preferred side. But I couldn’t find the will to be annoyed about the loss of space. Walt looked very…well, it seemed a little odd, thinking of a man so tall and so muscular as adorable, but when he slept, he made soft, snuffling sounds as he burrowed his head under my pillow. His body had stayed close, facing mine, all night. We’d fallen asleep holding hands. Talking.

  The last thing he’d told me, between deep yawns, made me stare at him, squinting across the pillows in the dark.

  “Lu’s pretty much my sister. And Tate and Claire, but me an’ Luce and Bra—well, we’ve all been together since we were pretty much still kids. They’re my people,” he said, the last words drifting into steady, slow breath. “My family.”

  I untucked my thumb from his, brushing over the imprints of his fingers on my skin. He’d had the fortitude to keep going, leaving evidence on my body of how hard he could be with me, and still vulnerable enough to fall asleep claiming three friends as his only family. He knew the names of butterflies. He walked me across dark highways, watching for any threat in the distance. He made my birthday my own day, not shared with the sister who had always claimed everything first.

  Returning my thumb to his, I closed my eyes and said, “Good night, Walt.”

  His fingers had squeezed mine. Just a little. Enough to know he was there.

  Erin brought him home before eight. She woke him after she was freshly showered and scrubbed, wearing a starched white shirt tucked into a gray skirt that made her ass look even better than those little shorts she’d worn the day before. Painful as they were to ignore, Walt tucked away hazy impressions of the warmth her body had left on the sheets beside him, the sway of her ponytail as she walked around her bedroom dressing, her voice in his ear telling him it was time to go, and promised to revisit them once he was home and in his own shower.

  He had called Tommy about his truck, dodging questions about how he’d managed to make it home. Once dressed in his clothes—which Erin had gathered and placed, folded, on an old steamer trunk at the end of the hallway—he had found her in the kitchen. Her perfume, mixed with fresh coffee, washed over him.

  “I don’t have any milk—I’m out—but I do have some hazelnut creamer.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t perfect. Creamer? Hazelnuts?

  “I’m okay. Just some water, thanks.” He accepted a bottle from her and drained it in four long swallows. “Let’s talk tonight, okay?”

  “Um…okay,” she said. The little stubborn crease between her eyes said otherwise.

  “What’s that?” He smoothed at it with the pad of his thumb. “No ‘Um…okay.’ That was intense, last night. We probably should probably talk a little bit. Make sure we’re on the same page about a few things.”

  The crease deepened. “Like?”

  “Like, me doing what I did to you—or anything close to the rough stuff—it’s not going to happen again until we talk about you. About your limits. About going slow.”

  “Limits. Okay.” She had looked up at him, through the top rim of her glasses. He’d never cared for innocent-acting bottoms, but Erin, with her pale cheeks and wide blue eyes looking back at him made him wonder if he might still have a few unexplored kinks too.

  “Stop,” he said, leaning down to her ear. Fuck it, he couldn’t resist. “Pout and you’ll get spanked.”

  She flushed, deeply. Walt had added the knowledge she pinked up easily to his list of things to remember later.

  He couldn’t stop remembering any of it, though. All morning, even after he roared out as he came hard against the tile in his shower, he kept seeing the near-translucent skin on her wrist and hearing her mutter to herself over some work email she read while they waited out a red light. By the time Sam trundled away from the visitor center’s front desk for his lunch break, Walt was so wound up he was ready to cuss and stomp on something until it broke. Or sneak back to his cabin before lunch and jerk off again. He stalked across the honed bluestone floor and busied himself with one of the local attraction displays.

  “Wanda, you’re mouthbreathing again.”

  Ah, perfect.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Walt looked out to the parking lot, empty just seconds before.

  “You answered your own question, precious.” Lucy was dressed for work. A high-end, sexed-up version of the conservative office attire Erin wore, but unlike Erin, Lucy was
carrying a wicker picnic basket, not an overstuffed black messenger bag. “I brought you a present from the pit. Shouldn’t have too much sulfur on it.”

  “Lunch?” He was so busy with his morning activities, he’d missed breakfast.

  “Lunch—and other treats.” Lucy adjusted the wide gold cuff on her wrist. “Come with me.”

  As they crossed to the cabin, Walt noticed a gleaming black luxury sedan. “Who’s the suit?”

  “Client. Sandy Cutshill.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it? A guy trying to butch up for his family in the South wears that much bronzer and still goes by Sandy? Gold link bracelet and a pinkie ring too, Lord help us. I’m putting together some plans for a renovation to a few of his daddy’s time-share properties near Asheville. Barely half-sold. Daddy’s very disappointed.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be the one chauffeuring him around, sweetening him up?”

  “No, honey. He needs me.”

  They stopped in the driveway. Walt turned on his heel and started for the visitor center.

  “I’m not taking Roxanne,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Of course you will,” she replied, linking her arm around his as she caught up with him.

  Roxanne was Lucy’s baby. A 1979 Mercedes Benz 450SL Roadster, left to her by her grandmother Percelle Estes. After the cold shoulders and colder stares he and Lu got at Percy’s funeral, Walt figured the final connection to her family was severed forever. Then, six weeks later, the car was delivered to Lucy, right on campus at Clemson. A cashier’s check with more zeros than Walt had ever seen on one check was tucked inside the owner’s manual, a single piece of paper under it with the words Show ’em scrawled in heavy, black ink.

  “No. Lucy. I thank you, but no.”

  “You need a way to get around, and don’t tell me you’ll take the state truck, because you know as well as I do you’re risking your ass if some uptight local sees you driving it outside the park.” Lu followed him across the parking lot, her heels clicking against the asphalt. “Stupid politicians and their stupid budget bullshit—don’t they know state employees can’t pay their bills with IOUs?”

  “Careful, you’re startin’ to sound like me,” he said as he stopped to scuff at a wad of chewing gum molded to the new sidewalk he’d finally gotten funding for the previous winter.

  “Peanut butter works better.” Lucy folded her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes.

  “And invites the six-legged locals to come for supper.” He covered the remains with a few stray leaves and deposited the mess in one of the bear-proof trash cans. “Lucy, I appreciate it, but I can’t drive that car around. It would cost more than I make in five years, before I pay the tax man, to replace it. And it’s not replaceable, anyway. If something happened—”

  “If something happens to it, it’s insured.” She shoved the key fob in his work pants. “And I added you to the policy, so don’t argue with me.”

  Walt looked back to the dark red coupe parked in front of his cabin, its tan top tucked inside a matching cover. Behind his on-site quarters was the park vehicle, a leaf-dusted Chevy Blazer that was, at best, a much older brother to his own truck. His own currently inoperable truck. He buried the heavy sigh he wanted to let out. Instead, he reminded himself he was lucky to have friends with enough money to not give a shit he had very little of it. He swore it was just until the bill for his granddad’s care was settled for the quarter.

  “Thanks, darlin’.” He wrapped an arm around Lucy. “See you tomorrow night?”

  “Wait, you.” She thumped the picnic basket against his leg. “We still have our lunch to eat, and you have some beans to spill.” She looked much hungrier for the story than the lunch.

  “Don’t you need to catch up with your copilot over there?” Sandy Cutshill was still waiting in his new Lexus, adjusting his tie in the rearview mirror as the engine idled away.

  “Stupid boy. He can wait.”

  “I can’t. Time rolls fast in the high-stakes world of park management.”

  “Oh? Need to lead a family of raccoons to their spring accommodations?”

  “I got a walk to lead in twenty minutes. Why don’t we catch up tomorrow night at Tate’s?”

  He leaned down for a quick kiss on the cheek and, grinning, snatched the picnic basket from Lucy’s hand.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Yogi,” she drawled, walking after him. “I heard where you slept last night.”

  “And how did you hear about that? Thought Miss Percy taught you not to pay attention to gossip.”

  Lu pulled him from the doorway. “So? How was she?”

  “Lu. Stop.” He huffed at her rolling eyes. “Okay, I like her. You and Claire called that one right. Damn the both of you.”

  “Of course we were right. That was obvious Saturday night. You followed her around like a little puppy, right out the front door.” She swatted at his ass with a throaty giggle. “Glad you’re back on the horse, Wanda. I’ve missed having you around.”

  “Wait a minute. I want to date this gir—woman. Maybe figure out if I like her before we play.”

  “You already said you like her, Sport.” She flipped back the collar of his uniform shirt. “And it looks like she figured out she’s not opposed to your presence, either. God help her.”

  “She’s nice. Easy to like.”

  “But is she kinky?”

  “Probably. Whatever that means.” He remembered Erin the night before, swaying over him, the noises she made and the sweet, carried-away look on her face when his fingers sank harder into her body. Walt tipped his head toward Lu, mindful of where he was. “I don’t care much about who passes the kink litmus test. It’s not enough anymore.”

  Lu looked up at him, a small, stiff smile at her lips. “You really are getting old.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think I mind.”

  “You leave the playpen and you’ll get bored, quick.”

  “Thanks for the lunch, Louis. Y’all have a safe drive back to town.” He waved, answering her raised middle finger, as the visitor center door swooshed closed behind him.

  How the hell did she know already?

  “Have a minute?”

  My back was turned to him, thank goodness. I sat my bags beside my desk, one by one. It gave me enough time to take a deep breath and remind myself that I was paid—and expected—to manage him. No matter what.

  “Alan. Good morning. Of course. Let me boot up. I’ll give you a call when I’m settled.” I turned to him, reminding myself to use the neutral smile, the one that didn’t say I’d rather suck rocks/eat dirt/stick my tongue in a blender, or any combination of them, than speak to you, Alan.

  He ignored me. Of course. Instead, he made a bit of show out of taking in my appearance. I clenched my teeth, still smiling.

  Neutral. Neutral.

  “Whoa, Erin.” On a slow beat, he nodded, crossing the width of my triple-sized cubicle, and sat at the round table I often used for impromptu informal discussions. ThinkMine’s culture encouraged “pick-up talks.” This kind of interaction was one of the skills I’d had to work hardest to learn. Alan Richardson, my newest admin, made me wonder if I’d learned anything about handling people. “Skirt and jacket? You’re dressed up today,” he said. His voice and manner indicated I normally looked to him like an unkempt charwoman rather than a hippopotamus in charcoal gray gabardine, as I apparently did this morning.

  “Alan, I want to go over that patch you installed last night so we can talk about what happened. There are a couple of lines of code I don’t recognize. Let’s talk around ten—”

  “Can’t. Steve Gomez and I are going to lunch.”

  The site director. My mentor in the management training program. How did he manage that? “Steve’s not an early lunch guy. I think we can work in a ten to fiftee—”

  “Gonna take a run first.” Alan clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched his legs well into the center of my cubicle. I imagined him slipping right out o
f the chair, thump-thumping to the carpet under him as his head bounced from his seat to the floor. “That rec trail we put in is great. Did you know about it? Stretches a couple of miles into the woods. Even runs along this river—”

  “It’s called Sawtooth Creek.” I smiled. Neutrally.

  “Is it? You sure? Never heard that, and I’m local.”

  The jerk didn’t believe me. And I knew he was imported from a small research start-up that went under when it lost a government contract that comprised nearly all of its business. In Cary. Over one hundred miles to the east, where he had moved when recruited out of Michigan State. Hardly local. I wasn’t, and I’d learned the Southern stance on how specific local could mean—and how important locality was to this tradition-focused region.

  Jerk.

  Walt’s voice rang in my ears from the night before. No, no apologies. The guy sounds like a dirtbag. So call him a dirtbag.

  Dirtbag.

  “I’ll ping Steve. I need to take a look at what happened last night with you.” I sat at my desk and began logging in to our intraoffice messaging system.

  “I’ll go grab him,” Alan said, scuttling to his feet. “We can look at our schedules together.”

  “I’ve got your schedule right here.” I tapped the screen in front of me. Each of my eleven team members and my lead admin filed weekly activity projections with me. I clicked on Alan’s name. “I see you’ve got a conference call with the Main House at eleven. Asset management project? Isn’t this a regular call-in? I thought we’re getting close to satellite site start-up phase. I need numbers from that census so I can estimate capacity needs for the virtualization project.”