1

The old gate clanged against the post as I climbed into the truck and dropped it into drive. Gravel crunched under the wheels and dust rose up around my tailgate. This was an old utility road, one the government first forgot and then sold for more than it was worth. A casual driver on a lazy weekend afternoon would never believe that at the end of this dirt and gravel road sat a grand three-storey house looking out over the Tennessee River.

I took in a deep breath of dust as I closed the gate. A coughing fit ensued. I leaned over the tailgate and looked up at the trees as the dust settled around me. The leaves were almost full, growing into another spring. How could I have possibly missed that?

The answer was crystal clear, like a little voice in my consciousness keeping me up-to-date on my love life: perhaps because you’ve been heartbroken for the last six months. The man needs you and sometimes he wants you, but he damn sure doesn’t love you. What was that old song? Two out of three ain’t bad, baby.

I got into the truck and slammed the door behind me. I rolled up the window and gunned the engine, hit the gas hard, and tore down the driveway before the dust caught up with me. I didn’t want to breathe that shit in, and I damn sure didn’t want to think.

The extra set of keys jangled on the seat. My friend Ronnie was out of town for a family emergency and I was checking on the house for him. When I got to the end of the quarter-mile road, I came to a stop in the wide driveway and looked up at the mansion. Covered in fine cedar siding, the house tried desperately to look like a rustic cabin, but the sheer size of it belied the wealth of the man who had built it to his every specification. From the wide hardwood floors to the intricate ceiling fans and carefully chosen furniture, it was a home built for comfort and style.

I made my way around the wide porch, pausing once to move a pot of flowers closer to the protective railing – storms were forecast and that pot would tip over with the first strong wind. The dogs romped onto the porch, happy to see me and eager to be fed. I tried my key in the lock of the front door while I batted a Labrador away with my other hand.

The door swung open – it was already unlocked.

Unlocked?

A creepy feeling of fear and unease struck me. I swung around to look back at the driveway. My truck was the only vehicle there. The garage was closed up tight. Both bays were empty. Nothing seemed out of place.

I pushed the door open wider and let the dogs scramble into the house. I watched them as they made themselves at home. There was no sense of danger in their intelligent eyes. They were comfortable. No one here but us, their wagging tails said.

Satisfied, I made my way through the house. The floors were a mellow pine, covered haphazardly with rugs in every color imaginable. The kitchen was modern, filled with stainless steel appliances and slate countertops. I walked through it to the utility room, where the dog food waited in old-fashioned liquor barrels.

The dogs pranced happily at my feet. I set down bowls for each of them and then put more in the corner of the back porch, under the protective eaves. No matter how much it rained, they would have dry food for the evening if they chose to venture out of their backyard houses.

I listened to their low growls of satisfaction as I prowled through the house. I studied each window and each door, making certain everything was locked. The house was neat and clean, but in the bedroom the covers had been thrown to the floor, and the pillows were everywhere. I pushed one aside with my foot and smiled. Somebody had had plenty of fun before they left the house.

I pulled the covers back up and threw pillows on the center of the bed. I looked out the wide picture window at the blue water below. Boats kicked up wakes and, in those wakes, men and women rode on skis. Kids splashed near the shore. Gulls flew every which way, hoping for fish churned up to the surface by the boats.

Looking at the water made me think of Michael, and the pain took my breath away.

I sank down on the edge of the bed. The mountains of Tennessee seemed to be light years away, not just a few hours. If there were only miles between us, I’d be there in a day’s drive – but there was more than that. There was her.

I tried to shake the images in my head, the ones that haunted me every night since he had said he wanted to sleep with her instead of me. Her, the woman who came before me, and the woman he might be seeing again now, for all I knew. He had told me so many things during those long nights while we made love until the sun came up, and soon I learned that the fantasies he weaved with his words weren’t fantasies at all, but memories.

There was one image that never left my mind, no matter how much time had passed. The image of her tied to that weight bench he loved so much, the sordid things he described to me long before I knew it wasn’t a fantasy at all. It was a memory that he held so sacred he let it taint everything about our relationship.

I could hear the voice of the man I loved so much, saying things I couldn’t stand to hear: ‘I fucked her so hard I moved the weight bench across the floor . . .’

Suddenly angry as hell, I kicked a pillow across the room. It bounced off the wall and lay innocently, alone on the carpet. Just as alone as I felt.

One of the dogs came up the stairs and sniffed at the pillow. I stared out the window and thought of other things, anything at all, until the images started to fade. I watched a man on a jet ski. I watched a boy on an inner tube. I watched the gulls pick up fish and then fight over them. I watched a Coast Guard cruiser make its way into the channel. By the time it was out of sight, my tears were gone – this time.

I went down the stairs. The dogs already wanted to go back outside, so I opened the back door and let them go. As I turned to leave, I noticed the basement door was ajar.

I pulled the keys out of my pocket and looked them over, then looked back at the door. The basement housed what was lovingly called the Jungle Room. Filled with mounted animals, pictures of safaris and guns big enough to bring down elephants, the room was definitely a man’s domain, not the kind of place children or most women would go. The walls were lined with gun cabinets filled with every kind of weaponry imaginable, and I knew better than to ask if all of them came with proper permits.

That door was kept double-locked, for good reasons of both safety and security.

And now the door was open.

That creepy feeling hit me again; it was the same mixture of fear and anticipation that had assaulted me at the front door. This time I couldn’t write that open door off as an accident. This time two happy dogs wouldn’t be able to sway me into thinking everything was OK.

I was not alone in the house.

And whoever was there with me was much closer to the guns.

I stepped back into the shadows. The back door was right there, a quick escape route. But the whole backyard was visible from the wide windows of the Jungle Room, and someone with a mind to shoot would be able to pick me off without much effort. There was the phone, there on the kitchen counter. The front door was still open, and I could make a run for that.

So why was I still here?

There was no way I was going to be shot in the back while retreating. Something in me was determined that would not happen. Perhaps it was the image of Michael that came back to me, the way he had blindsided me on the day he said he would fuck that woman again. Perhaps it was the shock of knowing he had loved her all along.

I would not be blindsided like that again.

There were eight high steps between me and the basement door. I descended them one at a time, careful to keep my feet on the edges and avoid the squeaky centers. The insanity of what I was doing was screaming at me to run. One part of me wanted to listen to reason. And another part of me just didn’t give a damn.

I reached out and pushed the door. It swung open silently on oiled hinges. Sunlight flooded the little space at the bottom of the stairs. It glinted from the metal and steel in the cases, from the leaded glass in the cases themselves. It was almost blinding, and I raised my hand to shield my eyes.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ a deep voice growled. He was there in the corner, standing by an open cabinet, reaching for a rifle with one hand and raising a pistol with the other. The business end was pointed directly at my heart.

I stared at the gun. The realization of what I had done slammed into me, along with a startling kind of peace. This man was going to shoot me. What frightened me was my lack of fear.

This man was going to shoot me, and I wasn’t sure that I cared.

I slowly held out my hand and opened my fingers. The house keys tinkled in my palm. I held them up as if holding an apple up to a skittish horse. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. All I could do was stare at the pistol and listen to the shocking mantra in my head.

I don’t care. I don’t care.

He slowly lowered the gun. The shot he hadn’t fired seemed to echo through the house. We both listened to the roll of it in the silence. My eyes left the gun and traveled up a tall body, to a shadowed jaw and wary brown eyes almost hidden under an old battered baseball cap. He moved towards me and swept the keys from my hand. I watched him as he looked at them, then looked back up at me, his eyes still filled with shock.

‘You didn’t flinch,’ he finally said.

We both looked down at the gun in his hand. He knelt and slowly slid it across the polished surface of the long low coffee table. It came to rest beside a mounted quail. His hand shook as he moved it away from the pistol. He stood up to face me.

‘You didn’t flinch,’ he repeated.

‘What good would it have done?’ I asked him. His brown eyes were assessing every word and every expression, as though he could see right through me.

‘None,’ he said softly. ‘I’m a damn good shot.’

The arrogance of the statement and the wry smile that accompanied it broke the dam inside me, but, instead of tears, what came out was a peal of laughter. I sank to the floor and buried my face in my hands, laughing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

Soon the man was sitting in the chair closest to me, laughing as hard as I was. The nervous tension in the room was disappearing. By the time we were both done, the dogs had come in through the open front door to inspect the cause of the noise. I wiped tears from my eyes and looked up at the man who had almost shot me.

He was a bit older than me, but not by much. He had the shoulders and build of a well-muscled athlete. His brown eyes were no longer wary. He had removed the cap and his deep-brown hair fell across his forehead, far too long and unkempt. His face could use a shave. But his smile was friendly and open, and I wondered how he ever could have pointed a gun at me.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘House sitting. I was supposed to come here every day and check on the dogs. Just keep an eye on the place. What’s your story?’

‘That is my gun,’ he said, pointing to a rifle he had pulled from the open case. ‘And that pistol is mine, too. Ronnie and me, we go hunting all the time. I have the same set of keys you do.’

‘I didn’t see a vehicle?’

‘I rode the four-wheeler. It’s out in the back by the patio. I live a quarter-mile down the river.’

We looked at each other, unsure of what to say. He went back to the thing that was still occupying his mind. ‘You didn’t flinch when I held the gun on you.’

‘I am utterly without fear,’ I said.

He eyed me suspiciously, unsure whether to take me seriously or laugh out loud. I took a deep breath.

‘I’m hurting over someone,’ I clarified. ‘Let’s just say a bullet to the heart might be easier.’

The man looked directly at me. ‘You would rather be shot than lose him?’ he asked. It was a direct question, blunt and to the point.

‘No,’ I said automatically, then considered my answer. ‘Maybe a few months ago, I would rather have died than be without him. But maybe not today.’

He smiled, and his whole face again had that open gentle look. ‘Of course you don’t want to die today – we already dodged that bullet, so to speak. Besides, how could you possibly die before you get to know me?’

I laughed. ‘First you try to shoot me. Are you hitting on me now?’

‘Depends. Is it working?’

I shook my head, still amazed at the audacity of this man and the circumstances under which we had met. ‘To be honest, I’m not over my ex. Hitting on me might be a lost cause.’

‘Tell me about him.’

I rose to my feet. The man stood up at the same time. He was a good five inches taller than me and much broader than I had first thought. He could have been a very intimidating man, but his attitude was more gentle teddy bear.

‘Don’t you have some place to be? The telling could take a very long time,’ I pointed out.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘A long time with you sounds very good.’

I laughed again, and slowly realized I hadn’t laughed so much in months. Nervous tension, I reminded myself. Nervous tension does that. And being scared to death does that, too.

‘What is your name?’ I said.

‘Tom.’

‘Can I call you Tommy?’

‘No.’

‘OK. I’m Kelley.’

He smiled. He had one dimple in his cheek, which made him look suddenly years younger than he was. ‘You were going to tell me about your ex, so we could get that out of the way. Then you were going to tell me about you. Remember?’

I looked out the window, deciding. The dogs nosed around our feet. The sun still glared from the line of gun cabinets, but my eyes were accustomed to it now. Through the window I could see the sailboats moving like toys across the bay. The gun on the coffee table seemed to wink back at me as I looked at it.

‘I wonder if Ronnie has any beer in the fridge,’ I mused.

‘Let’s find out.’

Sure enough, there were beers in the fridge. We each popped one and sat down at the kitchen table. The dogs romped outside, happy again now that everything seemed to be under control. Tom draped his jacket over the back of his chair. His arms were lined with muscles, bulging under his T-shirt. His chest was like a barrel. It was the body of a man who loved the gym.

The horrible thoughts about Michael’s weight bench and the things he did on it popped into my head again, taking me completely by surprise.

Tom saw me looking at his arms. ‘I probably work out too much,’ he said, almost in apology.

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘You don’t look like you believe that at all.’

Meeting his eyes was a struggle. I was sure he could see the pain in mine. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘So you said. And I have a long time.’

‘It’s baggage,’ I said. ‘Why do you want to hear all that?’

Tom took a long sip of his beer. ‘What is the first thing you do when you go on a long journey? You pack, right? What’s the first thing you do when you get to where you are going?’

‘You unpack.’

‘That’s right. You unpack, so you can enjoy your time there, however long that might be.’

I had to smile. ‘Well, that’s the most positive spin on baggage I’ve ever heard.’

‘Consider this unpacking,’ he said. ‘That’s what happens before you get to the good stuff.’

I started talking. Tom rose a while later to get more beers from the fridge, but told me not to stop. I told him about Michael and how we broke up, and the reasons why. I told him about the nightmares and the visions in my head. When I explained the dreams about the weight bench, Tom glanced down at his arms and gave me an apologetic smile.

‘That explains the look you gave me earlier,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry for what?’

‘Sorry that I reminded you of something bad.’

I smiled and touched his hand. ‘Talking about it helps,’ I said.

‘Then by all means, keep going. I’m listening. Can’t you tell?’

Soon we were standing side by side at the kitchen counter, preparing a late and unconventional lunch of eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits, which Tom insisted on making himself. He asked questions in the blunt way I was already accustomed to, and I answered them with as much honesty as I could muster. He asked me about Michael. About my job as a writer. About my life and everything that made me who I am.

While we ate on the patio overlooking the water, I learned that he had been divorced for six years, that his kids meant the world to him, but he rarely got to see them. He loved his job, and it kept him busy instead of lonely. He had been a soldier for well over a decade, going wherever Uncle Sam decided to give him a free ride, but now he had settled into a more sedate lifestyle – somewhat. He was a security guard for a small but very exclusive firm. Occasionally he went on the road with a rock band or someone even more glamorous, carried a few guns, saw the world and made a living while doing it.

‘I will never be a wealthy man,’ he admitted, ‘but I do what I love, and that matters more.’

He talked about his favorite hunting trips, about the new bow he bought the day before, and about the old truck that he had been working on forever. He told me about his family and his hometown and his plans for the future.

We carried the plates into the kitchen and started doing them by hand. He stood beside me and talked as he dried and put them away. We watched the boats out the window and listened to the dogs scuffling on the front porch.

I thought about Michael and the way we met, that first conversation that lasted for hours. I wondered how Michael would react if he knew I was here with Tom, talking about everything, including him. Would he care? Would he be angry that I had revealed so much about him? Would he be jealous about Tom? Or would he be relieved?

‘Bullet for your thoughts,’ he whispered in my ear. I smiled at the reference that had already crept so many times into our conversation.

‘I was thinking about Michael. Wondering how he would feel about this conversation I’ve had with you. Wondering if it would bother him at all.’

‘He would be jealous,’ Tom said. ‘Because he’s not the one doing this.’

Tom took two steps towards me. His formidable body pushed my smaller one into the corner between two countertops. He slid his hand into my hair and, before I could take another breath, his lips came down over mine.

My hands were covered in soapsuds. He had a dish-towel thrown over one brawny shoulder. He smelled like gun oil and tasted like orange juice. His lips were cautious at first, taking their time, exploring, but not moving away far enough to allow me to protest. I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed, the motion fueled by instinct and indecision. He gently took my hands in his and pulled them behind me. His body settled comfortably against mine as he threw caution to the wind and kissed me for all he was worth.

Soon I was kissing him back, all thoughts of protest forgotten. The sweep of Tom’s tongue against mine was maddening. He licked and sucked and nibbled on my lips before plunging deep again, kissing me hard enough to take away my breath. I slid my hands up his arms, memorizing every muscle. His hand tightened in my hair and those muscles moved under my hand, and I wondered what it would feel like to hold onto his shoulders while his hand was sliding all over my body.

Then I thought of Michael.

It took an effort to push Tom away. He moaned in protest. His hands didn’t leave my hair, but he did stop kissing me. We stood together, breathing hard. Tom read my mind.

‘You haven’t kissed anyone since Michael, have you?’

I nodded. I was fighting the tears, but it was a losing battle. Tom pulled me hard against his shoulder and held me there while I got my emotions under control.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked me after a few minutes of silence.

No, I wasn’t all right. I suddenly pushed Tom away and bolted for the bathroom, where I gave up everything I had eaten for lunch. The emotional upheaval was just too much. Images of Michael flashed through my head over and over and over, but this time they were interlaced with images of myself, standing in a kitchen and being thoroughly kissed by someone else.

Tom didn’t come to the bathroom to check on me. I heard him pop open another beer. The guilt assailed me and I lunged for the toilet again. Nothing came up.

Michael was my ex. He wanted to stay that way. He had been given every opportunity to work things out with me, but he hadn’t made any attempt to do so. Why did I feel guilty?

I washed my face and used the mouthwash. I looked at myself in the mirror and heard Michael’s voice again in my head: ‘The climax was a toy in her ass, while I fucked her so hard . . .’

‘Stop it,’ I said to my reflection. ‘Stop it now.’

When I came out of the bathroom, Tom was outside on the patio. He put his arm around me and we stood together, watching the boats on the water.

‘Was it the food?’ he asked. ‘Or the kiss?’

‘It was the emotional turmoil.’

‘How do you feel now?’

‘I don’t know what I feel,’ I said. ‘Other than lost. I feel completely lost.’

He handed me his beer and smiled down at me. His eyes said there was no reason to apologize. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out an old scarred compass. He flipped it around with the ease of an expert, lined it up with something on the waterline, and kissed my forehead with his warm lips.

‘Good thing I’m a boy scout. You won’t be lost for long.’

‘I thought that was a Skoal ring in your pocket,’ I said, nodding at the compass.

‘No, that’s the other pocket.’

‘Ah.’

‘My house is down there.’ He motioned to the waterline. I took a few steps to the railing of the porch, and from there I could see the corner of a cabin with wide windows that looked out over the water.

‘I see it. Is it as big as this one?’

‘Almost. I want you there for dinner. I’ll cook. Bring yourself and a good red wine.’

I didn’t say yes or no. What I did say amused him greatly, and shocked the hell out of me.

‘Tom. Do you have a weight bench?’

He smiled a low easy smile. The compass made a tiny click as he closed it up. He slipped it into the pocket of my jeans and let his hand linger there on my hip. This time when he pulled me close, I didn’t protest. I melted into him as if he had touched me a thousand times. He whispered into my ear right before he started to kiss that sensitive spot right underneath it.

‘Baby, I have a whole gym.’

His lips were playing along my throat. I sank my hands into his hair and he groaned against my skin. His hips pressed firmly against mine and I suddenly felt what I had tried to ignore in the kitchen, the evidence of how aroused he was. I ground against him and he suddenly sucked in a breath.

‘If you do that much more, I won’t be able to wait for the weight bench.’

His hands were hard on my hips, holding me in place without any effort at all. He was just as strong as he looked. The thought of all that strength unleashed on me set my body afire in places that hadn’t been touched in far too long. I ran my fingertips over the muscles in his arms. Then across the muscles in his chest. Then down his belly, where he was a little softer, but still definitely carrying a six-pack. His back was strong and didn’t give at all under my hands as I pulled him up against me.

‘I don’t know what I want,’ I said. ‘But I think maybe I want you.’

He chuckled against my lips. ‘That’s a damn good start.’

I kissed him. My tongue slipped across his soft lips and he took in a long breath. He let it out in a tortured moan as I ground up against him one more time.

‘Be sure,’ he whispered against my lips. ‘Be sure, because, if you don’t stop now, I’m going to fuck you right here on the picnic table.’

‘Good.’

‘Be sure you mean that,’ he said again. He took my hands and pulled them away from his shoulders, locking them behind me in a grip that was impossible to break. ‘You might feel guilty later. You might regret me.’

‘Are you going to disappear after you fuck me?’

Tom snorted in laughter. ‘Hell, no. You’re fascinating and I want to get to know you. You know that already, or you wouldn’t even be thinking about sex.’

He was right. If I had thought he just had sex on his mind, I never would have felt the urge to kiss him, much less let him do anything more.

‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t shoot me?’ I whispered into his ear.

He stood completely still, controlling himself with an effort, waiting for what I might do next. My hands were held tightly behind my back. My whole body was aching with need. It had been long months since I had been touched, and every last lonely moment was settling between my thighs in a raging fire.

‘You are so gorgeous like that,’ he said. He twisted his hand, and my shoulders burned with the pressure. He carefully watched my reaction, his eyes gauging the pain and pleasure in mine.

‘I feel like a bitch in heat,’ I gasped.

‘You like it rough.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘I like to be controlled.’

‘Like this?’

Tom spun me around so quickly that I lost my balance, which was exactly what he wanted. He caught me around the waist and pushed me down face-first on the worn wood of the picnic table. He caught my hands behind my back. He was rough and gentle all at the same time, and the combination was explosive.

I wiggled my hips in invitation. The compass in my pocket dug into my thigh. Tom pulled my hair off my neck with his free hand and then laid a kiss on my nape. His teeth came next, biting me hard, marking me while I whimpered and put up a token struggle. He ground against me, moving his hips forwards and back, mimicking what he would love to be doing inside me at that very moment.

‘Please,’ I gasped. All coherent thought was long gone.

‘Please, what?’

‘Please fuck me, Tom. God, please. Please.’

‘You have one last chance to tell me no. That chance is right now. If you tell me anything but no, you’re going to get fucked good and proper, the way you deserve it. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you want?’

I closed my eyes. Behind them I saw Michael, naked and standing over a weight bench.

But that woman tied to the weight bench was not me.

‘I want you to fuck me,’ I said out loud. ‘Right now.’

He reached around my waist. My jeans opened with a fast snap, and the zipper came down even faster. I wiggled my hips to help as he pulled the jeans down. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath them, and he groaned when he saw that. I kicked the jeans off my legs and away. Tom pulled me up against him and worked the buttons of my shirt one at a time, taking his slow and agonizing time with each and every one. Birds sang merrily around us. If anyone chose to look up at the grand houses lining the river, would they see us?

‘The first time is going to be very fast,’ he warned me. ‘Because I want you so bad, and because it’s been so long. And then I’m going to take you up to the bedroom and I’m going to fuck you in there. And then tonight I’m going to tie you to that weight bench and fuck you in every way humanly possible. Is that what you want?’

‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg.’

My shirt was open. My nipples were hard as rocks. He pulled the shirt back until it almost fell from my hands, and then he wrapped it around my arms. The expert way he did it told me that he was much more familiar with bondage than I had suspected.

‘Boy scout,’ I gasped as he pushed me down on the table and spread my legs with his hands.

‘Always prepared,’ he said. ‘Do I need to use a condom?’

‘No.’

The sound of his zipper struck both fear and anticipation in my heart. I could hardly breathe. I knew I might regret this later, but passion had pushed me past the point of all reason. I hardly knew this man but I knew he could give me what I needed, and that was enough.

Tom pushed the head of his cock against me. I gasped as the sensation rolled through me. My mind and body were a blank canvas. I was open to whatever he might want to do.

‘Please,’ I whimpered one more time, and that small sound was all it took to send Tom’s control over the edge. He pushed into me with one long thrust. He filled me completely. I arched my back as he ground his hips hard against me, and I cried out loud when I felt him touch places that hadn’t been plundered by anything but sex toys in years and years.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he growled. ‘You’re so damn tight.’

I bit my lip and pushed back against him. My nipples scraped against the wood, sending shafts of desire all the way down my belly. I trembled as he held very still, letting me adjust to the newness of him. I wanted to be able to see his face, to know what he was thinking by looking into his eyes. I had to settle for taking all my cues from his body. From the way he was throbbing inside me, he was enjoying every long second just as much as I was.

Tom tangled a hand in my hair. His other hand traced the curves of my ass. The first slap he brought down on me was gentle, testing me to see what my reaction might be. I bucked up against him and he let out a startled grunt as he braced himself. The second slap was harder, and the tingle seemed to settle right between my thighs.

‘You like that,’ he murmured.

‘Yes . . .’

‘I do, too.’

He ran his hand gently over the places he had just spanked. He brought his hand down again. And again. I knew my pale skin was turning red. His cock jerked inside me every time the sound rang out into the trees. I saw myself through his eyes: a woman almost completely naked, her hands bound behind her back, bent over a picnic table in what was practically the middle of the woods, exposed for anyone who might happen to glance up, his hand in my hair and my ass showing the marks he had put there. I moaned at the images in my head.

When Tom pulled halfway out and thrust back in, I was taken by surprise. I had been so focused on the picture in my head and the sensation of his hand on my ass, I hadn’t realized that my body had adjusted to his size. He began to fuck me with slow deliberate strokes. But slow did not mean gentle; every one of them was hard, deep and punishing, and exactly what I needed. I told him so, with moans and whimpers and begging words that made him moan in response.

‘I told you I wouldn’t last long,’ he said. ‘I think maybe I overestimated myself.’

I laughed out loud, and Tom suddenly thrust forwards. His hands dug into my shoulders. His hips rose against me, forcing me harder against the edge of the table. He cried out and that’s when I felt it, the pulsing of his cock buried deep inside me.

I hadn’t been at all close to an orgasm, but his sent me over some invisible edge I hadn’t even sensed was there. My scream echoed over the water. He groaned in surprise. I came hard enough to force him out of me. The juices of both of us slid down my thighs. He collapsed over my back, breathing hard.

Neither of us spoke for a long while. His hands were gentle on every inch of me he could reach. He slowly untied the shirt and pulled it off my arms. He massaged my back and my hips, smoothed my hair and kissed every inch down my spine. When he got to the cleft of my ass, I shuddered in delight. He slipped a finger deep into my pussy and my knees buckled.

Tom laughed against my back. ‘OK, little one. Time to go inside so you can lie down.’

‘Is that what you want?’

He turned me around and kissed me slowly. ‘So eager to please,’ he praised. ‘How could any man let go of a woman like you?’

His words solidified the reality of what I had just done. Tom watched my eyes as the pain rolled through my very soul. He touched my face and kissed my forehead but said nothing.

Tom led me through the house and up to the bedroom. I looked out the wide picture window. The day was in full swing now; boats were all over the water. ‘Lie down,’ Tom whispered in my ear, and I crawled onto the bed. Suddenly shy, I pulled the covers up over my body. Tom smiled down at me while he took off every piece of clothing. I watched him. He was so handsome, in every sense of the word. An unaccustomed blush stole over my face.

‘You look absolutely gorgeous when you blush,’ he teased.

‘I haven’t done this in so long.’

‘If I have anything to say about it, you will never utter those words again.’

Tom crawled into bed beside me, under the covers. We lay there quietly, looking at each other. He took my hand and pressed it against his chest.

‘Touch me.’

I did. I explored every inch of his body. I straddled him and he gave me a wicked smile, then settled back to let me play however I wanted. His skin was soft and surprisingly flawless. He felt as solid as he looked. He was deeply tanned, and I enjoyed the contrast of that against my pale skin.

The thought of Michael’s deep tan crept into my mind. I froze, my hands pressed against Tom’s belly. I looked at the deepness of his tan against my hands and remembered doing that same thing with Michael.

‘You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?’ Tom’s voice was slow and gentle.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize. I know it will take time. What reminds you of him now?’

‘Your tan. He loves to tan. It’s one of his favorite things.’

‘My tan is from being outdoors so often. Not from a tanning bed. See?’

He pushed the blankets down and pointed to his waist. The tan line was clear. It made me smile to see that, and I knelt to kiss it. His hand tangled in my hair. I kissed lower, and his breath came faster. By the time I sank my mouth down over his cock, he was arching up off the bed, begging for it, just like I had begged him out there on the picnic table.

The feeling of power was an aphrodisiac. I took my time, teasing him right to the edge and then slowing down. His groans became louder, and I was thrilled to know he could make so much noise. I ran my nails down his chest while I took as much of him into my mouth as I could.

Tom let go of my hair and grabbed the headboard of the bed. He bucked up into me. When he couldn’t take any more, he didn’t bother to warn me. He came in my mouth. I swallowed every drop that he gave me, but took the time to taste him first. He was surprisingly bland.

‘You don’t taste like anything,’ I blurted, and he laughed as he pulled me up to his side.

‘Is that a compliment or not?’

‘It’s neutral. Like Switzerland.’

‘I taste like Switzerland.’

‘Sure.’

‘I wonder what you taste like,’ he mused, then grabbed the covers and threw them back. His eyes were bright with anticipation. ‘Let’s find out.’

I had rarely allowed a man to do that to me. It was something so intimate, so open, that I found it difficult to give that part of me to anyone. As a result, no man had gone down on me in years. But, when Tom gently pushed my knees apart, I lay back and closed my eyes, giving myself over to the exquisite sensations his tongue pulled from me.

His breath was hot and his tongue was rough, then gentle, then rough again. When he found my clit he wasn’t careful, but teased the hell out of it, just the way I needed it. He took in every motion and paid attention to every moan. By the time he held my clit between his teeth and stroked it with his tongue, I was on the verge of exploding.

‘I’m going to come,’ I wailed. Tom let me move however I wanted. When I came it was with a loud cry. Tom immediately crawled up between my legs and took me into his arms. I was trembling and breathless. My arms felt like lead weights as I wrapped them around his shoulders. He was so big, so strong, and it felt so good to give myself over to him.

‘You taste sweet,’ he said after my body had calmed.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His hair was tangled and damp with sweat. His eyes were playful and his smile was real, genuine, and destined to stay there a while.

‘I am sweet.’

Tom laughed as he settled next to me.

Long minutes later we lay together in the bed, his arms around me, my head on his broad chest. He played with my hair. Birds sang outside the window and from down on the water, a dog barked. I ran my fingertips along his arm. I thought about seeing his house, about watching him cook in his kitchen, about seeing him comfortable in his own space.

‘I’ve known you for less than twelve hours,’ I said. His hand slid lazily down my shoulder. ‘We haven’t even had our first date yet,’ he teased.

I giggled and pressed my lips to his chest. He hauled me up for a long lingering kiss. ‘I need to go to the grocery store to get stuff for dinner,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had a woman in my house in so long, I’m sure all the fridge holds is soured milk and a case of beer.’

‘We do have to eat. You need to have the energy to show me your gym.’

‘Hmmm. My weight bench.’

‘Yes.’

He gently spanked my ass and at the same time he pushed me towards the edge of the bed.

‘Let’s get up and get moving, little one. We’ve got a long night ahead.’

I watched him as he dressed. When he buckled the belt, I caught his eye. He glanced at my bare ass and actually blushed. It suddenly dawned on him why I hadn’t started getting dressed, and with a bashful smile he headed to the patio to get my clothes.

I lay back on the bed and looked out at the water. The sun was starting to think about going down. From below, Tom hollered for the dogs. The screen door whacked against the frame. A speedboat roared, throwing a massive wake behind it. Jet skis raced for it, jumping over the water.

I thought about Michael and the pain was there, but not as sharp as it had been before. I thought about the stories he told me, about the weight bench, about the things he hadn’t done with me. I wanted to do all of them with Tom. Someone else might have called it revenge, but I knew better. It was what I needed to do to find myself again.

‘Are you unpacking that baggage?’ Tom asked from the end of the bed. He laid my clothes at my feet and looked at me with those understanding brown eyes.

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t know where we’re going,’ he said. ‘But I’m ready to find out.’

‘Let’s start with steaks. And good wine.’

‘And a weight bench,’ he murmured, coming towards me for another kiss. I whispered against his lips, and he laughed out loud, a sweet and promising sound.

‘I’m glad I didn’t shoot you,’ he said.