“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes...”
― Byron
~Jennifer~
I had brown hair.
“Are you sure we’re not supposed to bring something? Not even a casserole?” my mother fretted, twisting her fingers as we drove along Moth Run Road toward the Winston homestead.
“I’m sure. They were very adamant that we just bring ourselves.”
I felt my mother’s eyes on me and she sighed sadly. “I’m not used to seeing you like this yet.”
I didn’t respond. I was tired of talking to her about my hair.
The Monday after Jethro’s wedding, my momma and I came to an agreement on my terms of employment. She’d also signed over my BMW to me as a show of good faith. Or as a bribe. One or the other, and possibly because at Sienna and Jethro’s wedding I’d been approached by a famous pastry chef based in Los Angeles.
I’d dyed my hair back to what I assumed was my natural color just before the trip to New York, after seeing Cletus off for his boar hunting trip to Texas. The color had caused hysterics from my momma. I did my best to tolerate her waterworks. Instead I concentrated on organizing the bakery in preparation for my three-day absence.
She’d been crying non-stop since kicking my father out. At first I had worried she would take him back, but then she explained that she wasn’t crying because she was missing him. She was crying because she realized how much his nasty and vile behavior and selfishness had cost her family. She’d nearly lost both her children. It was then I realized how much I did love my momma, and wanted to give her the chance to know the real me. And perhaps, I might get to know the real her, too.
Presently, I was a little nervous about my hair. Cletus hadn’t seen me yet and I hadn’t told him. I wore blonde wigs for all my social media posts and pictures, and during the meetings with the talent agent.
“Am I dressed okay?” She smoothed her hands down her pants and fiddled with her third finger on her left hand, where her wedding ring no longer belonged.
“You look great.”
She did look great. I’d insisted we go shopping while in New York and had pushed her into trying on a pair of pants. They looked fantastic. I then talked her into buying them. I also splurged and grabbed a few items, one of which I was wearing now, a dark orange sweater dress. I’d liked how Cletus looked at me in the blue knit dress and I thought this one complimented the color of my hair.
“You also look very nice,” my momma said, patting my leg.
I struggled for a moment. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I decided to say, “Thank you, Momma.”
But it felt like a big deal. It was the first time she’d complimented me about anything for months, since I’d painted my nails burgundy, in fact.
I was anxious to see Cletus. We’d been texting as much as possible, but where he’d been—out in the middle of nowhere Texas—didn’t get good reception. Also, when I’d returned from my trip, I’d been working non-stop at the bakery fulfilling seven hundred Thanksgiving orders for banana cake.
Then he’d returned from Texas late last night.
I missed him.
But today was the day. The cakes were baked. The orders were delivered. I’d talked my momma into taking the day off and going to the Winstons’ with me for Thanksgiving.
“This will be fun,” she said, as though trying to convince herself, still twisting the vacant spot on her finger.
I parked my car and then reached for her hand, squeezing it until she met my eyes. “It will be fun. The Winstons are really nice. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself.”
She nodded tightly, but I could see she was panicked. Maybe she didn’t know how to relax. Or maybe she didn’t know how to enjoy herself.
Sighing, I left the car, waiting for her to also exit before climbing the steps to the porch. We walked to the front door together and I rang the doorbell, a little flutter of excitement in my stomach growing and reaching a crescendo as the door was pulled open.
I grinned. “Cletus.”
He grinned, his eyes devouring me. “My Jenn.”
He was so handsome, but I didn’t get much of a chance to count the ways because he pulled me forward, wrapped me in his arms, and gave me the most magical of all kisses, cupping my jaw with one hand, tilting my head to one side then the other, tasting me from every angle and making my toes curl in my shoes.
I clung to him, my heart racing, my blood singing in my veins—more, more, more.
And then my mother cleared her throat.
And so did someone else, followed by a voice chiding, “We’re going to move that mistletoe, Cletus. That’s the twelfth person you’ve kissed tonight.”
Cletus lifted his head and turned an angry expression on Beau. “That is a falsehood. I’ve kissed no person for ten days.”
Beau elbowed him out of the way and reached for my mother’s hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it and saying, “Please excuse my brother. He usually has better manners. Won’t you come in?”
My momma gave Beau a tight smile. “Yes, thank you for having us.”
“Our pleasure,” the redhead responded graciously, offering his arm.
Despite my kiss haze, I could see Beau’s gentle politeness had worked as my mother walked by. She was by no means relaxed, but perhaps I needed to give her some time.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to say a word on the matter because Cletus pulled me to the porch, shutting the door behind us, pressing me against the side of the house, and kissed me again.
“I missed you,” he said between kisses, “so much.”
“I missed you,” I said when he gave me three seconds to gasp for air, but I didn’t mind. Not at all. I just wished we’d had a moment before now to catch up.
Eventually the kisses turned less frantic and frenzied. His lips softened. His fingers relaxed and smoothed down the length of my torso instead of gripping my hips with punishing fingers. We rested our foreheads together and attempted to catch our breath, neither of us willing to cease touching.
“I was very rude to your mother. I will have to apologize and compliment her pants.”
I nodded, laughing lightly. “You noticed my momma’s pants?”
“Yes. Of course. My whole life I’ve never seen that woman in pants.”
“Did you notice anything else?” I lifted my head and peered up at him, lifting my eyebrows in expectation.
He studied me, a confused frown on his forehead. “She’s not wearing her wedding ring.”
“No. Not about her. About me.”
His frown deepened and his eyes widened, like a deer caught in headlights. “You . . . changed your . . . toothpaste?”
I glowered at him. And then I smacked his arm.
“No, wait. You changed the address on your voter’s registration card?”
“Cletus.” I smacked him again.
“Sorry, of course, I’ve got it. You changed your mind about me sucking your toes.”
Despite myself I laughed, but I also smacked his arm a third time. “You are extremely irritating.”
Grinning, he captured my cheeks and pulled me forward, placing a soft kiss on my lips, then pulling away. His clever eyes moved over my head and he pushed his fingers into my hair.
“You are lovely, Jenn. No matter what color you paint your hair, I love it and I love you.” His gaze returned to mine and he added on a rumbly whisper, “But it’s your goodness, kindness, and heart that makes you beautiful.”
***
My mother didn’t stay long after dinner. I could see she was trying, but I also understood that being faced with a boisterous, happy family like the Winstons must have been painful on some level. She’d had two children, invested a lot of herself into us, and nothing had turned out like she’d hoped.
I walked her to my car and gave her a hug. She’d returned the embrace, kissing me on the cheek, and drove back to the lodge. She’d been staying there since splitting from my father. My father wasn’t at our family house either. My mother had changed all the locks and froze all the accounts. The gossip mill was having a field day with Kip Sylvester’s sudden disappearance. I endeavored to ignore the lingering looks and whispered questions.
I didn’t know where he was. He hadn’t made any attempt to contact me.
I tried not to think about it, about him. My life was full of too many wonderful things. I decided I didn’t have time or energy to waste on pointless endeavors.
Dessert was served outside, around a large bonfire as we all bundled up in blankets. Cletus passed out shot glasses of moonshine while Drew and Ashley passed out pie.
“I wonder what Duane and Jess are up to.” Roscoe picked at his pie, eventually discarding his fork in favor of the shot of moonshine.
“They’re probably asleep.” Cletus refilled his youngest brother’s glass, then capped the jar and moved to me. “It’s the middle of the night in Italy.”
“They should have stayed for Thanksgiving,” Ashley lamented, frowning at the fire.
She was sitting on Drew’s lap and he rubbed her back. “But then they’d never leave. After Thanksgiving it’s Christmas, then New Year’s, then birthdays, and such. It was time for them to go, they’d put off their fernweh long enough.”
Cletus motioned for me to stand from my seat, so I did. Then he claimed it and opened his arms. “Come cuddle with me,” he said low enough for only me to hear. “I still miss you. I need you close.”
I grinned at that and settled myself in his lap, covering us both with the blanket.
“Speaking of adventures, how was boar hunting, Cletus? Did you bring home much meat?” Jethro was lounging with Sienna on a blanket. He sat upright with his legs stretched out before him and she rested her head on his lap, sucking on a lemon candy I’d made her. She said they helped with the nausea, but still wanted the custard cakes. I was happy to oblige.
“Don’t you worry about my meat, Jethro.” Cletus lifted his eyebrows at his oldest brother, holding me close. “I brought home plenty and more is on its way. Jenn and I are going to make some sausage pie.”
“Sausage pie?” This question came from Billy, and he swapped a knowing look with Beau.
“That’s right. Sausage pie.” Cletus pushed my hair over my shoulder and encouraged me to snuggle closer.
“I see.” Beau nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “So Jennifer is going to let you put your sausage in her pie.”
Cletus stiffened. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Roscoe pressed his lips together, staring at the fire and clearly trying not to smile. “Beau is just asking after your sausage, and we know how much you like talking about it.”
“You know what.” I could hear the warning in Cletus’s tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cletus.” Beau held his hands up as though he surrendered, but he lost the fight against his grin. “I’m just remarking on the fact that you’re going to slip your famous sausage into Jennifer’s hot, moist—”
“Do not use that word.” Ashley raised her voice over Beau’s and made a face. “Everybody hates that word.”
“Fine. Hot, wet—”
“Pie crust is not wet. It’s flaky,” Jethro put in.
Sienna added, “I think using the word moist for cake is okay.”
“Using moist for cake is the only time it’s okay,” Ashley confirmed. “Otherwise it’s a no go.”
“Wait a minute, that’s a good point.” Beau pointed at Ashley, then at me. “Let’s talk about Jennifer’s moist cake for a minute.”
“Beau. Stop it.” Cletus did not sound amused. “Quit.”
I straightened and sat forward, meeting Beau’s twinkling and teasing gaze. “I think it’s pretty obvious why my cake is so moist.”
Everyone—and I do mean everyone—frowned, blinked, and turned their startled gazes to me.
Despite all the eyes leveled on my person, I managed to sound completely reasonable and calm as I said, “It’s the banana. The banana in my cake makes it wet.”
A stunned silence followed, during which the men—Cletus included—gaped and the women grinned.
Sienna’s burst of laughter broke the silence. “I love her! I swear, Cletus, if you don’t marry her then I will talk to Jethro about making her my sister-wife.”
I turned a bright smile to Cletus and he gave me the side-eye. “You’re pretty sneaky.”
My smile grew because it was uncontainable. It was uncontainable because I was surrounded by warmth and love and Cletus. I knew, without a doubt, that this was where I belonged. I’d found my tribe. I’d found my people.
I’d found my person.
And I’d found myself.
***
I fell asleep on Cletus’s lap in front of the fire. The ebb and flow of the conversation, the laughter. The good and warm feelings lulled me, relaxing me, until I could fight my exhaustion no more.
I woke up in Cletus’s arms and it took me several seconds to comprehend we were in my house. Apparently, he’d driven me home and carried me inside.
“You’re not still worried about my feet, are you?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep, my words slightly slurred.
He chuckled, kissing my forehead, and whispered in the dark. “I’m still thinking of your feet. They need to be protected.”
I laughed, coming more awake, twisting my arms around his and kissing his neck. “What time is it?”
“Late,” he said, setting me down on my bed and kneeling in front of me.
Cletus reached for my right boot and pulled it off. Then he worked on my left. His eyes followed his movements, his face impassive as his hands pulled off my socks and tucked them away. Then he sat next to me on the bed and pushed my hair over one shoulder. His fingers searched for the zipper at the back of my dress.
“The other one didn’t have a zipper,” he mumbled, finally finding the pull.
My room was dim, just the light from the hallway spilling in through the doorway, so I couldn’t see very well. But I felt him, felt his thigh against my thigh, his fingers on my neck and back, his breath against my cheek.
Suddenly, I was awake. And I was restless. And I’d missed him terribly. I shifted, swallowed, tensed as the zipper lowered down my lower back.
He leaned away and I felt his eyes on my profile. “Are you okay? Do you need my help to undress?”
His question, so calm and kindly meant—almost detached—made my heart twist and ache. He thought I was tired, he thought I was still sleepy. He wanted to make sure I was okay.
How Cletus cared for me was both exhilarating and exasperating.
Didn’t he know I wanted him? Didn’t he know how I longed for his touch, for both the sweet and the rough? Every night we’d been separated I thought of him, of his hands and mouth and tongue and fingers and . . .
“Jenn?”
His tone was patient, composed, infuriating.
I stood, stepping in front of him, and pulled down the sleeves of my dress. He lifted his chin and his eyebrows arched as well. Our eyes met and tangled. I wondered, could he read my thoughts? Did he know what I wanted?
Or will I have to show him?
As his eyebrows lowered, settling into a thoughtful position, his lips parted—his glorious, kissable lips—as though a question were on the tip of his tongue.
My sweater dress fell to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my undies and bra. I quickly removed the bra. And then my underwear. And then I was naked.
He blinked at me, confusion and desire gathering behind his gaze. His hands fisted, grabbing the comforter, as though he were trying to control himself, hold on to something tangible.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked roughly, his voice suddenly gravel, his throat working, his expression a mixture of torment, hunger, and determination.
He didn’t understand, not yet.
So I shook my head, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. I reached for his shirt, tugged it up and over his head. He obliged by lifting his arms, tossing both to the floor at the foot of the bed. I paused, devouring the sight of his bare chest, of his stomach and arms, his shoulders. He had really beautiful shoulders.
And then I knelt in front of him and reached for his belt buckle.
He grabbed my hands. “Jennifer, what are you doing?” He sounded breathless.
I ignored the question, instead straightening and lifting my chin, capturing his mouth with a kiss as my pebbled nipples grazed his chest, making him shudder and sigh and groan. He released me and cupped my breasts, groaning again, massaging and caressing, as though helpless to fight against the reality of boobs.
Good to know.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I redoubled my efforts with his belt, then made quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping his fly. I shifted away and he followed, his hands seeking my skin. I stood and he stood, kissing my neck, biting my shoulder, then bending to lick the flat of his tongue against the center of my breast.
My breath hitched, because the hot, wet friction felt essential and startling. But then I remembered myself and what I wanted. I pushed his pants down first, then his boxers, then I pushed him.
He fell backward on the bed.
“Take off your shoes,” I heard myself say, my eyes greedily savoring the sight of a naked Cletus.
Well, almost naked. His pants were around his ankles, blocked by his boots.
He glared at me and it felt furious. It felt desperate. Again he balled his hands into fists. He shook his head.
“What are you doing?” His tone now gruffer, angrier, raw. He was breathing hard and appeared to be barely retraining some dark urge.
Give in to it.
I swept my long hair to the side and bent to remove his boots, pulling the laces, then tugging them off along with his pants and socks.
Now he was naked. We both were. And his jaw was clenched.
My beautiful man.
I placed a knee on the bed and he flinched, shaking his head, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I don’t have a condom.”
“And I’m not on birth control,” I whispered, laying my hand on his shoulder.
He flinched again at the contact, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away. His eyes flashed and I saw what I hoped to see: Desire. Reverence. Longing. Devotion. Lust. Love.
His control was slipping.
“What the hell are you doing, Jenn?”
I don’t know.
Placing my other knee on the bed, one on either side of his hips, I lowered myself, my open center sliding against his erection.
We both trembled. His eyes snapped to mine.
Watching him—a starving, wild thing—I rocked my hips, pressing myself more completely against him, and I whispered, “Make love to me.”
He growled, a savage, strangled sound. His hands finally, finally came to my body and he flipped us. My back hit the bed and he was on me, kissing me, his fingers between my legs, skillfully stroking my center.
I shivered, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away. “I want you to make love to me with your body. I want you inside me.”
“I know.” He growled, claiming my mouth quickly, not relinquishing his place, still stroking. “But you’re not ready yet.”
“I am ready.”
He shook his head, then lowered his mouth to my neck, then lower to the valley between my breasts. Then lower to my stomach.
My protest died as his tongue settled against my entrance. He parted me with his thumbs and licked me, hot and wet and at once overwhelming but not enough. My hips bucked and he pressed me down, holding me in place with his strong fingers as he lapped and sucked and savored.
“Cletus, I want you . . . I want you inside me. I don’t want to . . . not like this.”
He groaned, but he didn’t stop. I lifted myself weakly on my elbows and saw that he’d grabbed himself, held is magnificent penis in his fist. At the sight, and against my will, I came.
My back arched and bowed and my entire body tensed. I pulled in a desperate breath, the excruciating pleasure of his mouth on me pulling me apart and putting me back together.
I came cursing him, tears of frustration gathering in my eyes as wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy pulsed through my veins.
I was so angry.
I wanted him, and he’d held himself back. He’d held himself away.
Gasping for air, I prepared myself for a fight, but my body was too pliant, too relaxed and satiated.
And then he was there. He was over me, his erection still in his fist, his eyes on mine. Cletus settled himself between my legs, his hard, thick length sliding against my still sensitive flesh. I shuddered.
“Cletus.”
“Now you’re ready,” he growled, his fingers threading through my hair, pushing it out of my face.
Using his powerful thighs, he spread me wider, sliding into my body.
My breath hitched and my hands searched for him, for purchase, because as exquisite as my orgasm had been, now I felt mostly pressure.
His eyes searched mine, but he didn’t ask. Holding my wide gaze, he thrust his hips forward and I gasped. A sharp, pinching pain making me stiffen and moan.
“I was going to be patient.” His voice hushed, gruff. “I was going to be so good.”
He withdrew and the pressure eased, but then he thrust again. I tensed, wincing, prepared for more pain, but it didn’t come. His hips moved slowly then, rocking, pushing, then withdrawing. His eyes held mine captive, cherishing and predatory.
“Temptation,” he nipped at my lips, grazing his lips against my jaw, “you feel so good, so fucking good, so fucking good.” His breathless and chanting confession sounded mindless, as though he didn’t realize he was speaking.
I felt myself relax, the earlier tension dissipate, and I reveled in the feel of him above me, his body sliding against mine where we mated.
“You feel good, too,” I whispered.
“Do you like this?” Cletus’s wild, needful eyes moved between mine, his grip on me tightening.
I nodded, panting. “I love you.”
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, an unsteady exhale escaping his lungs. He was fighting his release and I thought I knew why. He wanted me to come again. He wanted my first time to be amazing.
It was.
He was.
Because of his care for me. Because I loved him. Because he loved me
I tilted my chin, capturing his mouth, teasing his tongue until he gave it to me. His hands found mine and our fingers entwined. The way he moved above me, with rhythm and grace, like I was an instrument, and he was a musician, and together we made something more, something beautiful.
I felt my body straining, reaching for something just out of its grasp. It felt exciting and I moaned, sighed, and moaned again.
He growled in response and his powerful body increased the tempo. The feel of him became more pleasure than pressure and I arched, tilting my hips to meet each of his thrusts.
His eyes flew open and collided with mine. “Jenn—”
“What does that feel like?”
“Heaven. Paradise.”
I rolled my hips and he sucked in a breath. “Don’t.”
“Let me be your paradise.” I kissed his neck, my nails trailing down his chest, between our bodies. “Let me be your heaven. Because you are mine.”
Cletus groaned at my words, coming apart before my eyes, a heady range of emotions flashing over his features, just before he crushed my mouth with a fierce, covetous kiss. And when he was spent, he stilled, his breathing labored.
Eventually, he rolled to his side, gathering me to him. His heart thundering as he placed passionate kisses over my face and neck and breasts.
I threaded my fingers into his hair and enjoyed the friction of his beard against my skin, his hot mouth on my body.
He continued kissing me, devouring me, for a long time. Meanwhile, I felt stretched and twisted and worked and used, supple with lovemaking and the adoration of his eyes and hands and mouth.
Folding me in his arms and crushing me, as though he were afraid I’d leave him, he shook his head. I sensed he was about to speak, and I also guessed that what he had to say wasn’t what I most wanted to hear at this moment.
“I don’t regret what just happened,” I announced, “I loved it, and I love you, and I can’t wait to do it again. Don’t you dare say a single word to the contrary.”
Huffing a laugh and squeezing me tighter, he searched for my mouth. Finding it, he took my lips with a soul-searing kiss, shifting just an inch away to say, “Even if I wanted to, even if you wanted me to, I would never regret making love to you.” He kissed my nose and waited until my eyes met his. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to do it again.”
A protest ripe on my tongue, he cut me off.
“Just two days, three at the most. And then we can do it whenever you like,” he kissed me again, “as often as you like,” he kissed me once more, “and wherever you like.”
I grinned and his hand slid from my hip to my breast, his thumb tracing a circle around the peak. God, I love his hands. I loved how he touched me.
“You promise?”
He nodded. “I promise.”
“Then prepare yourself, because we’re going to do it all the time. Until I’m an expert.”
“Then what happens?”
“Then we’ll do it even more.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, kissing me and sucking on my bottom lip like he couldn’t help himself. But then his smile waned as he drew away. It softened and his eyes sharpened.
“Jenn, if we’ve made a baby, then I won’t stop badgering you until you have me as your husband.” Achingly vulnerable, his tone was also solemn with promise.
I smoothed my hand over his chaotic curls. “I know. And I wouldn’t stop badgering you until you have me as your wife.”
“Do you want to be my wife?” His smile returned, but this time it was subdued, hopeful.
“More than anything.”
Cletus’s mercurial eyes moved between mine, his hand petting and stroking from my shoulder to my hip.
“Then marry me,” he whispered the command, his tone thick with passion and sincerity.
I stared at him, at this man, who had been so proud. Who was clever and powerful and good. All those months ago, when I’d pressured him into helping me, I never thought things would end this way.
I missed him. Even here with me now, I missed him. I wondered if I would ever stop.
“Yes,” I said simply, nodding, feeling the rightness of him and me and us to the marrow of my bones.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at me, like I’d hung the moon and designed the stars to match.
Tucking me against his body, his powerful legs tangling with mine, Cletus lay perfectly still, and so did I, living in the moment. After a time, the weight of my happiness exhausted me, and I grew drowsy. My eyes drifted shut.
But I thought I heard Cletus whisper against my ear, just before I succumbed to sleep, “This is just the beginning.”
~The End~