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Knox County Ch. 01

By: Rehnquist



KNOX COUNTY

This will be a long story set out over a series of chapters. There will be many characters, and not all of them will be getting some in every scene. Actually, as currently plotted, some of them won't be getting any for quite some time.

I hope you will give the story a go and let me know any suggestions you may have. The fun part about creating characters and maneuvering them through a story is allowing them to be themselves and, to a certain degree, be normal while still allowing for unusual and unexpected twists in the plot. And, of course, for steamy sex.

Thanks to all, and any and all comments, even negative comments, are greatly appreciated. But please don't just tell me the story sucks; tell me why you think it sucks. I'd also appreciate comments on which characters you like, dislike, are intrigued by, and so on. Thanks again!

CHAPTER ONE

Sean McMahon stood in the receiving line, murmuring and shaking hands. He no longer heard what they said; it was always the same. "Sean, I'm so sorry," or "It's a blessing, Sean," or "She's happier where she is, Sean." The words no longer mattered. They were a blur, and he only murmured in response to most of them and shook their hands, thanking them for coming and their kind thoughts.

Roger stood next to him, and he noticed Roger clapping backs and chatting amiably. Sean heard him tell more than a few mourners that he'd be fine, he'd pull through. But the words didn't register. His mind was getting hazy, and he only wanted the night to end.

Sean didn't get his focus back until the ride home. He was in the passenger seat of Roger's Jaguar, Emily scrunched up in the back amidst piles of documents and prints.

"You should take some time off, try to get past this," Roger said. Sean looked out the window at the dark landscape. The outlines of the trees caught his attention and he drew them in his mind. "Did you hear me?" Roger pressed.

Sean didn't look at him. "Yes, Roger," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

"This has been a dreadful time for you," Emily chirped in from the backseat. "You should do what Roger says."

There were cows on the far end of the field now, a few standing, munching on grass, most of them laying in the pasture.

"Well?" Roger said.

Sean sighed. "I'll think about it," he offered.

"Then it's settled," Roger said. "I'll send Emily around with some brochures, some ideas for you. This weekend shall we say?"

Sean nodded.

When they pulled into his driveway, Sean left the car without a word and went into his home. House really, he thought. It wasn't a home anymore, not with Holly gone. It seemed empty, bare, devoid of life. Like Carlin said, just a place to put his stuff.

He went into his office, sat behind the desk, and reached down for a bottle of Jameson's stashed in the bottom drawer. He pulled it out and poured himself a solid glass of pure booze. Once done pouring, he tossed the whole glass down, tasting nothing, feeling the burn as it made its way down his throat into his stomach. He poured another and left the glass next to the bottle on the desk. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, he began to make out shapes. There, on the wall, a painting of Holly just after a long afternoon of gardening. On the table beneath it one of Holly's dried flower arrangements. The leather armchair in the corner, deep burgundy leather, picked out by Holly. He scanned the room and it was all Holly. All except his diploma, placed there by Holly in a frame picked out and purchased by Holly.

"Aw fuck," he said, sweeping his arm across the desk and sending it all crashing to the floor below. He sunk his head in his arms, crying. He reached out for the glass of whisky and, when he couldn't find it, slumped in the chair for a moment before getting up to clean the mess.

When he rounded the desk and looked down, his eyes were caught by how it had all fallen. The heavy tumbler had hit the corner of the desk and broken into six or seven pieces, the half-drained bottle resting in the remains of the bottom, liquid seeping into a couple of paperbacks and onto a desk calendar, pens and pencils scattered from their cup. And, in the middle of it all, a small picture of Holly on their wedding day, smiling out in sepia tones from the crazy angle at which the frame had come to rest against the desk.

Sean looked at it from all angles: top, floor level, each side, across the room. He turned on the desk lamp and repeated the process. No, he thought, not yet. He turned off the desk lamp and turned on the reading lamp next to the armchair. Better, he though, but not quite yet. He unplugged the desk lamp and placed it in the corner, next to the reading lamp, plugged it in, and turned them both on. That's it, he thought.

He left the room and hustled back in a few minutes later, charcoal pencils and erasers in one hand, a large sketching pad in the other. He laid on the floor, the shadows sweeping from left to right across the dark hardwood floor. His tears were dry, his eyes focused, and his hands started racing over the paper.

* * *

Cynthia Holloway cruised along Route 36, ignoring the speed sign when she entered Armitage, Pop. 8600. The top was down, the moon was up, and the winds were sweeping down the car and up into her short tennis skirt. She felt the excitement build as her eyes swept both sides of the road. It was a little after nine, and she was on her way home from the Club. Her regular Tuesday afternoon of tennis, Tuesday evening dinner with the girls accompanied by a few cocktails, her regular route home.

There was nothing else to do on Tuesday nights. David rarely came home before midnight on Tuesdays–hell, he was rarely home before eight any other day of the week. She figured–no, she knew–he was having an affair. She didn't know who with, but he was fucking someone else. There was no other way to figure it, no other reason for him to be there so late, so long after all of his employees had left. So fuck him, she'd do what she wanted. Consequences be damned.

A quarter mile in, just past the Tastee Freeze, she saw him pull out, the red lights spinning. Shit, she thought, must've been behind a truck in the lot. She flipped on her turn signal and turned left on Ashburn Street, a half block from John Glenn Middle School.

The cruiser slid in behind her and flipped off the dome lights. The street became darker, barely lit by the streetlights on each corner. The first thing Cynthia noticed was the breeze, the cool night breeze blowing across her skin, raising light goosebumps on her arms and the exposed tops of her breasts. The second thing she noticed was the officer getting out of the car and walking toward her.

He was tall, about six three, and well built. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow, his forearms muscular. She saw thick light brown hair peeking out from beneath his hat, and a wide grin across his face denting his cheeks with dimples. He was late twenties, maybe seven or eight years younger than her. And his walk told her that tonight he meant business. She sucked in her breath.

"May I please see your license and registration?" She handed them to him. He gave them a cursory glance before speaking again. "Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma'am?"

She smiled. "No. Was I doing something wrong?"

He smiled, revealing a perfect row of white teeth and, again, those dimples in his cheeks. "I had you clocked at 47 in a 35," he said. He raised an eyebrow.

She said nothing, only smiled in return.

"Ms. . . uh," he looked at the driver's license and continued. "Ms. Holloway, have you been drinking this evening?"

She shook her head. "No, just one or two."

He nodded. "Ms. Holloway, I'm going to ask you to pull your car into the parking lot over there." He pointed behind the school. "I'm going to ask you to go over there, stop the car, and exit the car. Do you understand these instructions?"

"Why, Officer?"

"Because," he said, tucking her license and registration into his pocket, "I'm going to have to ask you to submit to a sobriety test. And I don't want to do it on this dark street in the middle of the night."

She nodded, started her car, and did as she was told. He followed behind in the police cruiser.

She was already out of her car before he came to a stop and killed the engine on his cruiser. She was leaning against the cool metal of her BMW, waiting, anticipating, lightly rubbing her ass through the thin materials of her skirt and panties against the cool metal of the car door.

"I'm going to ask you again," he said as he approached her, "how much did your drink?"

She shrugged in response.

"That's what I thought," he said, unfastening his gunbelt and throwing it across the trunk of her car. "I'm going to have to give you a breathalyzer test," he continued, unzipping his fly and tugging his cock out of his pants.

"I sure hope I pass this time," she said, standing up to kiss him deeply while reaching down to tug at him with her hands.

She felt him grow hard in her hands, and he groaned around his tongue into her mouth. His hips began to sway, helping her. His left hand went behind her and grabbed her ass, squeezing it and pulling her into him, his right hand massaging her breast roughly.

Her kisses became more frantic, more deep, her tongue darting around his mouth intertwining with his tongue. She took her hands away and reached around him, grabbing his ass and grinding herself yet harder against him. She felt his cock, now hard as a rock, pushing into her belly. She groaned and started kissing his neck, her tongue darting at his earlobe and around the collar of his shirt.

After a moment, she felt him grab her ponytail and pull her head back. "I said a breathalyzer," he hissed, pulling her head down by the ponytail.

She complied and knelt before him. Her hands never left his ass, and she kneaded them as she drew level with his exposed cock. "What's this?" she said, licking up the underside. She felt the ridges with her tongue, the pulsing of the veins throbbing against her lips as she reached the base. She reached one of her hands around and undid his belt buckle and button, opening his pants and pulling them, and his boxers with them, down to the middle of this thighs.

"I think we need to be more thorough, don't you?" she said, looking up. He nodded through half-closed eyelids, and she started stroking and squeezing his balls while her tongue went back to work. She traced her lips up and down, slowly, flicking her tongue the whole length until she got to the top. Her tongue then stayed out, tracing a slow circle around the rim of the head of his cock, then over the whole head, then back to the rim.

She heard his breathing, shallow but steady, and she knew he was watching her. Her brown hair, tied up in a ponytail, moving back and forth. Her hand, stroking his balls. Her pert ass, pooched out as she knelt before him. Oh yeah, he's getting quite a view, she thought. I may be thirty-six, she though, but I have the body of a college cheerleader.

She heard his breathing pick up as her hand left his balls and wrapped firmly around the base of his cock. She started stroking him, long and slow, and opened her mouth and took him in. He gasped, and she started moving her mouth up and down in time with her hand. She started shallow, just the head, but soon her mouth was following the top of her fingers as they traveled in synch up and down the length of his cock.

She started sucking, too, gobbling him in with her tongue, trying to get him further and further. To the back of her throat, then into her throat. He was gasping now, saying Oh yeah over and over, a few Oh Gods thrown in for good measure. He reached down and took her wrist, prying her hand off his cock with one hand and grabbing the back of her head with the other, pushing her further down, keeping her there.

She took him in as deeply as she could and held it there, feeling him pulsing and throbbing, his head lodged in the back of her throat, her tongue now going crazy against the length of him. Just as the lack of air caused her to choke, he slid out for a moment. She sucked in air, the cook night air, looking up at him. "I don't know," he said, "can't tell if you're drunk or not." He pushed his cock back at her lips and she took him back in. He started moving his hips back and forth, sliding back and forth into her mouth.

She reached down with her now free hand, snaking her finger into her panties. She was soaking, her panties soaking, her lips hot and swollen. She traced the length of her slit, concentrating on the cock in her mouth as she pulled her finger back against the hard nub of her clit. She heard more moaning now, and she knew it was herself, moaning around his cock as it started picking up speed in her mouth. Her finger started rubbing more frantically, circling her clit repeatedly before sliding into her wet folds. She held her finger there and pressed back with the side of her hand against her clit, the hard tendon of flesh running from her clit deep into her folds, her other hand now clawing at his ass as he thrust into her.

She felt it building from deep within her pelvis. The warm glow, tingles, her nerve endings dancing with sensations, all starting at her clit and spreading deep into her. Her moaning around his cock was getting more insistent.

"C'mon, baby," he said, holding her head still as he pistoned his cock back and forth in her mouth. "C'mon, I can feel it."

Then it crashed, engulfing her whole body, her limbs shaking. She pulled him deep into her mouth, nearly passing out from the lack of oxygen. Her hand was soaked by her juices, and she pressed them harder and harder into her, against her clit, trying to make it last longer.

"Oh yeah, baby," he said. "C'mon, keep going."

She did, pulling her mouth from his cock, hugging his legs tight, her body shaking, gasping as her orgasm ripped through her.

When her breathing returned to normal, she looked up at him and smiled. "Did I pass?"

He grinned and reached down to lift her up. "Not yet you haven't," he said. He spun her around and pushed her over the hood of the car. She felt her skirt go up and her panties were torn down to her ankles. "My turn now," he said.

She felt his hand in the middle of her back, keeping her down on the hood of the car. She tried to turn and look back at him, but he was pressing her down too hard. Then she felt it, the head of his cock, rubbing up and down the length of her slit, spreading her juices.

"Is this what you want?" he said.

"Yes," she gasped. She tried to push out against the intruder, but his hand on her back kept her from impaling herself.

"How about this?" he said. She felt the head travel upwards and rest against the knot of her asshole, pushing in lightly.

She said nothing, biting her lip in response.

"How about it?" he said, increasing the pressure a little more. "You want me to tear into your ass?" She raised up, onto tiptoes, trying to realign it with her pussy, but his height put her at a disadvantage.

"Please no," she said, trying to lift her legs. "Please fuck my pussy. Please."

She felt him lower his cock and rub it again up and down the length of her slit. "This?" he said. And before she could answer, she felt him thrust into her as hard as he could, filling her to the hilt and knocking her breath out. He pulled back out and thrust in again, back out and in again.

She grunted with each thrust, the force hurting the back of her thighs. And she loved it. Her back arched, her head lifted, and she moaned to the night sky. "Yes, just like that. Fuck me, punish me. Of fuck yes."

He said nothing, but she could hear his breathing going shallow as he tried to keep up the pace. She felt his fingers between her legs, gathering up her juices and sliding them upwards. She felt them brush against her asshole before returning for more, again and again, covering her in a sea of her own excitement. This was peripheral, though. All she really felt was the invasion deep within her followed by emptiness, invasion then emptiness. He was going his entire length every time, hard and fast, and she felt another orgasm building.

She closed her eyes and moaned, concentrating in the tightening of her muscles. Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt a pressure against her rosebud, an insistent pushing into the crinkly knot of her asshole. She couldn't concentrate on it, though, because the slamming in her pussy was causing sensory overload.

"Oh God yes," she cried, lowering her cheek back to the now cool metal of the hood and moaning into the crook of her arm. Her legs were spasming, her stomach tightening, her nerve endings again aglow. She felt a piercing in her ass and gasped with the unexpected suddenness of his thumb plunging in, filling her to the brink. She was full, so full, and she tried to thrust back against him. But she couldn't. Her legs were all wobbly now, the muscles twitching with the force of the orgasm that began rocketing through her.

She was overwhelmed, on fire everywhere. She felt her pussy throbbing, her asshole clenching and unclenching around its invader, and waves of pleasure wash from her core through her abdomen and out to the ends of her rock hard nipples and the roots of her scalp. She heard screaming–yes, yes, yes–and felt a hand clamp over her mouth, muffling her cries. And then, over her own muffled screaming, she heard him. "Just. Like. This." With the final word came the final thrust and she was filled with his throbbing cock, buried deep within her, convulsing with each spurt. Six, seven times she felt it convulse as her orgasm continued. Six or seven times she felt the spurts of molten lava shoot deep into her. And six or seven times she felt brief, almost illusory peaks in her own orgasm.

He stood there when he was done, catching his breath, beginning to grow soft inside her as her body turned to jelly and melted into the hood of the car.

"Holy shit, Cynthia," he said, pulling his thumb from her ass. She felt it close up and seal around the tip.

She only nodded, her cheek still against the hood.

"Holy shit," he repeated, and she heard him start giggling. "Fuck, you must've woke up the whole neighborhood.

"Fuck 'em, Tim," she murmured. She felt him pulling her panties back up, and she pushed her hips away from the car to allow him to get them the rest of the way up. Then he flipped her skirt down and rubbed her ass through the material.

"Someday," he said. He kept rubbing, kneading her cheeks. It felt good, relaxed her even more, almost putting her to sleep. She could only murmur her appreciation. "Yep," he continued, "someday I'm gonna fuck this ass." He gave her a final squeeze before stepping back and pulling his own pants up.

She lay there for a minute until she knew he was done buckling up. Then she slowly turned around and pushed herself up from the hood, leaning back and supporting herself with her arms. "Why the fascination with my ass?" she said.

He leaned forward and nibbled her hear. "Because it's so tight," he whispered into her ear.

She hugged him to her. "Then maybe someday," she said.

He pulled away and reached into his pocket. "Best not forget these," he said, handing over her license and registration.

She took them and watched him walk back to the car, start it, and slowly pull away. He didn't turn on the headlights until he hit the entrance to the parking lot.

She looked around herself, taking in the dark cornfields at one edge of the lot and the darkened building at the other. In the distance she heard traffic from the highway, saw the occasional pair of headlights flicker through the trees and corn. It was silent, even the crickets were quiet. All she heard were the leaves rustling in the trees, the flag flapping in the breeze.


Knox County Ch. 01



"What the fuck am I doing?" she said to the night.

* * *

David Holloway sat at his desk, gazing into the monitor, working the code from back to front and back again. He couldn't find the glitch. He was so close, almost done with the software, but it kept crashing on the timing calculator.

Telecommunications software and hardware was his business, and he kept around forty people busy making the latest and greatest in secure teleconferencing equipment. He had a partner, Mike Green, who concentrated on the hardware and circuitry. He concentrated on the software, highly secure encryption software for military and high-end corporate use. What you do is you gather ten scientists around a table and the equipment in a conference room at Cal Tech, you gather another ten around a conference table across the country at Langley. They can talk to each other, hear each other, see each other, even send documents through an attached fax, and it's all secure. No one can listen in and decipher what the hell is going on. Assuming, of course, they bought their equipment from MG Telecommunications. Which they did, and it had made David Holloway and Mike Green very rich men.

To stay ahead of the spooks, though, they needed to constantly advance the software. Once you got a good thing going, the little men in white jackets at the NSA, MI6, Mossad, and all the others bought it and tried to decrypt the communications constantly going out. This meant keeping ahead of the curve. This also meant the software went with a licensing agreement, and the end users paid a hefty monthly fee to keep the latest and greatest software in their devices. This also meant, of course, that the hardware sometimes needed updating as well. Either way, it guaranteed a steady stream of income from all current users that only grew with the sales of their units. It also guaranteed long nights for David trying to stay ahead of that ever expanding curve.

David chose Tuesday nights to try and work around Cynthia's schedule. Since they had joined the Club two years after their marriage, just when the business was taking off, she spent every Tuesday afternoon playing tennis. David didn't play tennis, and didn't really like the Club all that much, so he stayed late and tried to coincide his return from work with her return from the Club. That used to be at seven or so every Tuesday, but it started getting later. He'd come home at seven thirty and wait an hour or so before falling asleep on the couch; then he'd push it back to eight thirty, and he'd be dozing off when she traipsed in at nine; so he made it nine and she'd be out until ten. He finally gave up, decided it was best they each have a night to themselves, and decided to spend his nights in the dark solitude of his office, working on coding in advances to the software.

He had been working on this latest glitch for the past hour, and he was getting nowhere fast. He looked at the digital readout at the bottom of his screen. 11:37 PM. He yawned and decided to call it a night. He saved his work to the hard drive, backed it up to a card, popped the card in the fireproof safe, and left his office.

When he got outside, his was the only car in the parking lot. He had heard the cleaners leave hours ago, and this was nothing new. What was new, though, was the manila envelope he saw stuck under his windshield.

He walked to his car and slipped the envelope from beneath the wiper. "I thought you should know," the script said. Neat, feminine handwriting. He bent the metal clip, opened the envelope, and reached inside. He pulled out a stack of eight by ten photos and looked. He couldn't make out the photographs by the light of the sliver of moon. He opened the door to the car, slid in, turned the ignition, and turned on the dome light. He looked again at the top photo.

The clarity of the photos was lacking, and he looked closer, pulling his glasses down as he did so. The lines became better. He could make out two cars, one a police car, parked bumper to bumper. He saw two figures at the hood of the front car, one bent over and the other–in a hat, a police hat, tall–standing behind. He couldn't make out the faces, but he recognized the car in front. Cynthia's red BMW convertible. He looked in the bottom corner and saw the time stamp. 9 AUG 2007 2119 HRS.

David shuddered, his eyes glued as he flipped to another photo. This one showed the same couple from the front of the BMW, her legs splayed, his groin against hers. Time stamp was four minutes after the first. He felt a ringing in his ears, his heart beating in his chest, his stomach turning in knots.

The next photo was much the same, but the time stamp was different. It was from the week before, about the same time, and this time she was on her knees giving him head. The next photo was the same night, ten minutes later, her ass on the hood and legs around the cop as he pumped into her from the front.

David flipped though the photos faster, the ringing in his ears growing louder, his stomach clenching in a fist. He barely saw the photos, only long enough to confirm it was some version of the same, but concentrated instead on the time stamps. It was the same: two photos of each encounter, each photo showing what was now undeniably Cynthia and a cop, a tall cop, banging each other senseless. A total of twenty-four photos, going back to late April. He flipped back and forth, trying to find the missed Tuesday. Then it registered. The two Tuesdays they were in Hawaii, late May. The best sex of their marriage. The two weeks of bliss when she couldn't get enough of him.

He slipped the photos into the envelope and leaned back, trying to think. What the fuck was she doing? How long had this been going on? Who was he? The cop? He tried to convince himself that this could be rape, maybe not even Cynthia. But it went back months. If this was rape, if his marriage were real, she'd have come to him. He couldn't think, couldn't figure it out. His world seemed to be crumbling and he couldn't get to rational thought. The one thing he always did so well, analyze dispassionately and rationally seek a solution. It was gone in a whirlwind of confusion.

What the fuck am I going to do? he thought.

He didn't notice the shadow at the end of the building disappear around the corner.

* * *

Aimee Rogers slipped away quietly. He got the photos, saw them, and now he knew. Just like she knew, had known for almost four months. Her husband, Officer Timothy Rogers, was really Officer Friendly. And Cynthia Holloway wasn't the only one, either. He had a fucking stable of them, three or four nights a week he was doing this, sometime more than once a night. No wonder he was rarely in the mood anymore.

It was an accident, really, the way she caught him. She was an art teacher for the Armitage District No. 26, which meant she taught at John Glenn Middle School and Jane Addams Elementary. Not exactly what she'd hoped for while in school, but she knew she didn't have it–that indefinable it that made you a great artist. So she was content with teaching, marrying her high school sweetheart, and settling down in her home town. One night, though, she was rummaging around looking for her checkbook to pay the bills. It was nowhere to be found, though, and she was ready to give up until she remembered paying for girl scout cookies at work that afternoon. Probably still on my desk, she had thought. So she went to her car, drove to the school, used her keys to get in, and went to the art room. The first floor classroom with a view of the parking lot. The parking lot with two cars and two people. Fucking. Right in front of her.

She'd recognized Tim immediately, of course. But she didn't know what to do. He had always been like this, she knew now. Always flirting, always trying to get in as many panties as possible. She thought he loved her, though, and had given it up. Settled down. Was ready to start a family and live the steady, comfortable, boring American dream. She saw then, in the parking lot before her, that that normal life with Timothy was not to be.

She knew her life, at least her current version, was over. Tim was gone, history, and she'd have to start anew. Yet she had no idea what to do, how to accomplish this straightforward task. She wasn't angry. Hell, she knew what she was getting in to with him. She saw that now, realized she'd known all along how this was going to end. But she didn't want him getting away with it anymore. And she didn't want this fucking tramp in the parking lot to get away with it, either.

No, she didn't know what to do. So she bided her time. And she started following Tim around on her evenings. After all, there was nothing else to do. He worked three to midnight, Wednesdays and Fridays off, and she was alone almost every night.

It took awhile to get the hang of at first. Following someone around wasn't as easy as they made it look on television. And taking pictures at night wasn't that easy, either. No, it all took practice. But after the first month, she had the routine down flat. And she had the names and addresses of the stable, as well. All of them, including their husbands or boyfriends.

She knew most of them, too. That was the hard part. She knew these people and had for years. There was, of course, Cynthia Holloway. She'd seen her around town, driving her little red Beemer, short skirts, getting her hair done all the time and generally acting like a stuck up bitch. She didn't know David Holloway, but it was easy enough to follow his car out of the driveway in the mornings before school and track him to work.

Then there was Jenny Silverman. Little Jenny Silverman, such a sweet girl always looking out for the next adventure. She'd been like that since Aimee had taught her to draw. That was Aimee's first year teaching, eight years before. Jenny was now twenty, and she'd grown into a very pretty twenty. Long skinny body, long brown hair, tiny titties, constant smirk of self-satisfaction. She knew George Silverman and his wife, Sarah, wouldn't be too happy about their precious little bitch out rutting with Officer Friendly. Neither would Andy Palmer, for that matter. But he was just another in a long line of Jenny's boy toys, and Aimee figured there'd be little he could do about it. But George? Oh, George would go fucking nuts.

And Sally Rodriguez. Cute little Sally, about Aimee's age, married, three kids. A little on the pudgy side, but her acrobatics on Thursday nights made up for it. After she got over her disgust, Aimee was more than a little impressed with Sally's love for sex, her experimental streak, and her insatiable appetite. Thursday nights were always a one-a-night for Officer Friendly. Aimee figured Sally Rodriguez flat wore him out. Just like Julio Rodriguez would flat wear out Tim's ass when he found out Tim was tapping his wife. Julio owned his own auto repair shop, and he usually did the oil changes and tire rotations on Aimee's car. He was a sawed off little shit, but his arms were huge. And tatooed. Aimee hoped it was gang tatoos. Think maybe then Tim will get the point?

And there were more. Some were one night stands, some were semi-regulars, three of them were same-time-next-weekers. Aimee decided to ignore the one night stands–she figured those may not have been entirely voluntary–and focused on all the others. If they showed up three nights or more, Aimee kept the pictures stored away on her computer.

After four months of getting the pictures right, Aimee decided to start. She had decided to begin with the easiest one, the one most likely to not immediately run right out and kick Tim in the balls. The smartest one. And, Aimee thought uncomfortably, the one most likely to be totally in the dark. The software dude, slaving away late into the nights so that slut could prance about in her Beemer and designer slut wear.

So she parked a few buildings over, walked to the parking lot, and left the envelope under his windshield wipers. Then she walked back and waited behind the bushes at the end of the building, maybe forty feet from his car.

Maybe a half hour later, he came out. She watched him take the envelope, open it, squint, and get in the car. Then the dome light went on and she saw him tip his glasses down and look at the pictures. She saw his mouth open, and his eyes peer intently then dart back and forth, flipping the photos. After about five minutes of this, she watched him slip the pictures back into the envelope and toss it on the seat beside him. She watched him stare into the night, squeezing his eyes shut, rubbing his hands up and down his face, tilting his head back.

Aimee could see the shock on his face, the angst, the overwhelming sorrow. She bit her lip, wondering if she'd done the right thing.

* * *

Elizabeth Han glanced down at the envelope in her purse, reading the address again, before looking back at the number on the townhouse in front of her. 1219, this is it, she thought. She had butterflies in her stomach, the light queasy feeling she still got after ten months of this. The what awaits behind that door feeling. It was worse when she first started, and she was getting better, but the feeling was still there. Always there.

She knocked firmly on the door, then stood back and smoothed her blouse into her skirt. It was a simple gray skirt, starched white blouse, nylons, sensible black shoes. To passersby she would appear a young business woman, which was what the Agency and the clientele usually wanted.

The door opened. "Hello," said a man, late twenties, short cut brown hair parted on one side.

"Hello yourself," she said, sticking her hand out. "William Sherman?"

"Will," he said. He took her hand and shook, firm but not crushing. "You're Elizabeth?" She nodded, and he said, "Please. Come in." He stood back, held the door wide, and she stepped in past him, looking him up and down as she did so. His face was open, boyish, with large brown eyes and long brown eyelashes. He could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty, but she inclined toward the latter based on his expensive abode in the fancy part of the city. He was in suit pants, light blue dress shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, barefoot, an awkward smile on his lips. Inwardly, Elizabeth sighed, the tension beginning to uncoil in her stomach. At least he wasn't some fifty year old potbellied pig.

The townhouse was nice. They usually were, she thought. These young stockbrokers–or lawyers, or accountants at some big firm–had one thing and one thing only: money. What they didn't have was time. They worked ninety hour weeks billing their clients and slaving away in their tiny little offices or trading on the floors and building their client base. Either way, it rarely left time for finding, let alone keeping, wives, family, or girlfriends. So they turned to the Agency, which gladly and discreetly met their needs in a simple, anonymous way.

These young professionals comprised the vast majority of Elizabeth's clients, which wasn't so bad. She was twenty-four, so they were usually within five years of her age. And they were usually at least mildly cute, slim, good dressers, well mannered. But they were also, almost to a man, alpha personalities. Not mean, but used to being in charge, taking what they wanted. This made it easier to just get the night over quickly without emotional attachment. Unfortunately, it also invariably led to her being unfulfilled in any way by the evening. She was there for them, and they didn't seem to notice or care about her needs.

"Would you like a glass of wine? Beer?" he said.

"Wine would be nice," she said.

He went to the kitchen, her trailing behind. Tastefully decorated, she noticed. Not too manly, no Michael Jordan posters on the walls. There were some pictures of what appeared to be family on top of the entertainment center, prints on the walls, soft tan leather sofa and love seat. It was clean, tidy, no dirty clothes or shoes laying around. There was a light scent, cinnamon, and she saw a candle burning on the counter as she entered the kitchen. Sink clean, counters spotless, a coffee maker, toaster, and some utensils in a ceramic vase all neatly lined up in the corner of the counter.

He opened the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of wine. She leaned against the counter and noticed the contents the refrigerator. Ketchup, mustard, mayo, Chinese carry-out, diet soda, some bottles of various beers, and a couple of bottles of wine. More like a typical bachelor.

He kept his back to her as he reached into a drawer, pulled out a wine opener, and started uncorking a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Nice figure, Elizabeth thought. He had a tight ass, narrow waist, and shoulders only slightly broader than his hips. He wasn't tall, only three or four inches taller than her five feet seven. But he looked to be in good shape without being musclebound. And she really liked the ass.

He grabbed two glasses of wine, poured some, and turned around. "Shall we?" he said, holding up the two glasses on one hand and the bottle in the other. She nodded, and he walked past her back into the living room. He placed the glassware and bottle on the coffee table without spilling any and sat on the corner of the couch, waving her to the other end. She sat and crossed her legs, sinking into the soft leather. He reached over, picked up the glasses, and held one over to her. She took it from him and took a sip, watching him over the top of her glass.

"Thank you," she said. "It's good." He smiled. She continued. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Will?"

"Not much to tell," he shrugged. She raised her eyebrows, surprised. These guys, especially these guys, usually loved to talk about themselves, brag about their accomplishments.

"Well," she said, "what do you do for a living? Where do you work? Where are you from?"

"Lawyer. Hart Shafer and Coombs. Iowa." He sipped his wine and looked her in the eyes. "Elizabeth . . . is that what I should call you, what you like to be called?" She nodded. "Elizabeth, I've never done this before." She waited. Many of them said that. Most of those were lies, but she believed this one. He seemed so . . . so . . . like a puppy dog? No, so earnest. And innocent.

"Then why now?" she said.

He looked away and gulped his wine. "I don't know. I've been so busy lately. Last seven months, actually. Big antitrust case went to trial, I was second chair. Eighteen hour days for seven months." He looked back at her. "I had a girlfriend. A trader at one of the commodities houses. She worked long hours, too, so it usually wasn't a big deal. But this was. A big deal, that is. And she dumped me. Said I needed to get a life. On the phone. Didn't even come over. Said I was too busy, which I was, and had no time for her."

He stared into her eyes–not her tits, like most of them–as his words poured out. She leaned over and poured him another glass of wine, held it out to him. He took it without stopping, spilling a little on his lap without noticing.

"So I go to the partner, the guy running the case," he continued, taking a quick sip of wine. "When it's all over. The trial. I tell him, I say, 'This cost me my girlfriend. The only one willing to put up with these hours and it was too much even for her.' He laughs, throws his arm around me. Says, 'Get used to it, Will. I'm on wife number three, and it took me twenty years, two houses, and a shitload of alimony to find someone who is content to see me a few hours a week, spend my money, and put out when I need it.' Then he digs around in his desk, hands me a card, tells me to call your employer. Says a lot of the guys do this. You're discreet, no big deal. Gives me a huge bonus for the case. We won, so the firm got a ton of dough extra, the partner tells 'em to share some with me. They agree, give me the bonus. So I call."




Knox County Ch. 01



She nodded, finishing her wine and placing her glass on the coffee table. She kicked off her shoes under the coffee table and curled her legs in front of her, hugging them in her arms. "He's right," she said. "You're pretty much my typical client for pretty much the same reason."

He looked down, into his glass. "So I'm nothing new to you? Special?"

She smiled at his hurt feelings. "Of course you're special. But you're not some kind of deviant. Not the way you think you are, at least. I haven't gotten to know you well enough yet to tell just how deviant you can become." She flashed a smile, raised one eyebrow. "Can you be deviant?" she said. He didn't seem to understand so she changed the subject. "Let me ask you something." He looked back into her eyes, tensing. "If you hadn't gotten the bonus, would you have called us?"

He shook his head. "Oh no," he said. "Never."

"Why not? You obviously make enough money to . . . ."

"Sure, but that's not why I do this. You know, downtown lawyer." He took a drink of his wine before continuing. "I hate this. Too many hours, pressure, most of the work's boring and routine. But they pay so much, and I want to pay off all my bills. You know, student loans, mortgage on this place. And I want to save up enough to get out of here. Open my own office."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here," he said. "Some small town. You know, just hang my shingle and help regular folks. Normal people. Wills, trusts, stuff like that."

She was surprised. This was new. Most of them loved their jobs; loved the long hours and the excitement of working for big corporations; loved hobnobbing with celebrities and rich folk. "Well, Will," she said, "I believe I spoke too soon. You are not like the rest of them."

"Really?" he said. He smiled, then just as quickly went straight faced. "In a good way?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "In a real good way."

He finished his second glass of wine and put the glass on the table. He looked back at her, but she said nothing. Wait for him to make the first move. That's important, always was. Let him take control, set the pace. After a few minutes, though, she realized he wasn't going to. "Something wrong?" she said.

He shrugged. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"You know. This. I don't know what the rules are, how to act."

She smiled. "You're not a virgin, are you?"

He blushed. "No," he said. "I just, you know. This is my first time with . . . well, you know. I mean, am I allowed to kiss you?"

"Sure. This is not Pretty Woman, and I am definitely not Julia Roberts.

"Oh no," he said, leaning over toward her. "You're way hotter than Julia Roberts."

He leaned in toward her, tentative, slow. She could smell the wine on his breath, a faint smell of cologne from his chest–spicy, she liked it–smell the cinnamon candle burning. He was on his knees on the couch, his hand on her right arm, soft, scared to touch. She reached her hand up to his cheek, brushing it, waiting for him. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered. He pecked the corner of her mouth. Her hand snuck around to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He pecked the other corner, then kissed her lower lip. "I hope this is good for . . . ."

She cut him off, snaking her tongue out and flicking his lips. His mouth opened and their tongues met. A little at first, slow, afraid. With her free hand she pushed against his shoulder, sitting him back against the couch and swinging her hips over to straddle him. Still they kept kissing, exploring each other's mouths, tongues entwined. He was a good kisser, tender and gentle, not aggressive with his tongue half way down her throat. Oh my God, she thought, I could kiss this guy all night long.

Between her legs, she felt him getting hard. She lowered a little, touching it through her panties, before rising up and going back down again, teasing him, feeling him getting a little harder with every contact. She was in no hurry, still letting him set the pace. And he seemed content as it was, taking his time, which was fine by her.

She felt his touch on her arm, still tender. Then she felt another brushing, though her blouse and bra, against her breast. Her nipple began swelling and she wanted more. She wanted him to grab it, roll it, but he was in no hurry. She was getting excited, more than she'd ever been this early in the game with any of the others. She leaned over to his ear, licking then blowing softly. "What do you want me to do?" she breathed into his ear.

He unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse. "This is good," he said. She felt his lips on her neck, his tongue darting out and sending shivers down her spine. When he got to the base of her neck, he used his tongue more, pulling the shoulder of her blouse over and tracing the outline of her collarbone, into her cleavage, the tops of her breasts. She felt herself gasp as he reached the second breast, and she pushed her hips down against him. She started grinding back and forth. She felt his hardness through the thin silk of her panties and the thicker material of his slacks and briefs. Her breathing went shallow, both her hands on his shoulders, grinding back and forth, trying to build herself up.

This is unfuckingbelievable, she thought. It's never like this. Not with clients. Still, she realized he was setting the pace, and she'd be damned if she'd stop him. She leaned her head down and over, her mouth next to his ear. "Please," she said, one of her hands going to the buttons of her blouse. She kissed up and down his neck, into his ear. "Please," she said again.

He got the hint and unbuttoned the blouse the rest of the way, tugging it from her skirt. "Is this good?" he asked into her ear, reaching around and unclasping her bra with one hand, starting to grind his cock up into her.

"Yes," she said, moving her lips to his and kissing him. Her kisses were getting more urgent, but he met them slowly, keeping his tongue out of reach before darting it against hers, then sucking on, licking, her lower lip before again meeting her tongue with his.

Her grinding was getting more insistent. She felt herself getting wet, felt her clit harden and send shivers through her each time it rubbed over him. His hands slid under her bra, pushing it up and back, his hands cupping her breasts. "Yes, please," she moaned. "Squeeze them." She bent her arms back to shake her blouse and bra off, jutting her breasts into his hands. She felt him shifting, then she felt his lips suck in her nipple, his tongue lashing it and twirling around. He started soft, but soon he was sucking it in harder, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. She moaned, her nipple engorging in his mouth, her climax starting to build. One of his hands went to her other breast, stroking it, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. His other hand went to rest on her hip, guiding her movements.

She started pushing down hard against him, rubbing her clit in circles over his hardness. Her breathing turned to panting through her sealed mouth. His hand and mouth switched breasts. He started licking around her other nipple with his tongue. Slow, lazy, his tongue like fire against her areola, her nipple beginning to stick out. He blew gently, then licked his tongue over it, blew, licked. Her lips parted and she was expelling her breath in gasps, her hips grinding harder. She felt the crotch of her panties slip to one side and her wet vulva meet the coarser material of his slacks, the diamond cutter hardness of his cock, the ridge of his zipper. She reached a hand down to stroke her clit, almost there, her back jutting and shoving her breasts into his face. He sucked in the nipple, hard, and didn't let go, picking up the pace with his hips at the same time.

She felt it rising up and coursing through her body. The sweet release. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she said over and over again, unable to contain herself.

"Come on," he encouraged before sucking her nipple back into his mouth and nibbling, sucking harder than before.

That drove her over the edge. Her back and legs went taut, her muscles twitching in time with her heartbeat, and she was gasping louder. "Oh yes, oh God yes, yes, yes," she yelped. And still he didn't stop, his mouth kept lashing her nipple, his hand squeezed her other breast, his other hand pushed down against the top of her ass, pressing her harder into his grinding hips.

After what seemed hours but was more likely about a minute, her orgasm began to subside. The relief of her release cascaded from her head to the ends of her nyloned toes. She grabbed a clump of his hair in her hand and tilted his head back, leaning forward, mashing her lips against his. He kissed her back just as hard, soft moans escaping through his mouth and into hers, their tongues now stabbing at each other, twisting and pushing, tasting.

"That was fucking awesome," she murmured through their kisses, barely intelligible. He only moaned back in response. She started tearing at his buttons, trying to get them undone as quickly as possible. Once done, she tore at his belt buckle, getting it unclasped and pulling his shirt out of his pants. He kept kissing her, his hands sliding over her ribs, his pelvis still grinding into her.

She pushed his shoulders back and broke the kiss. "Your turn," she said, crawling down between his legs, kneeling between them, her back against the edge of the coffee table. She unzipped his zipper and tried to pull his pants down. He raised his hips and helped her, pushing off slacks and briefs until they were at his ankles. He tried to kick them off, but she stopped him, kneeling over them and grasping the base of his cock with her hand, squeezing. She looked him in the eyes and smiled, ear to ear. "Nice," she said. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue over the pre-cum oozing from the tip. It tasted clean, a little like seawater. He gasped, and she said, "Very, very nice."

She started stroking, slow but firm, the length of his cock. She felt its pulsing heat radiate into her hand. Her eyes traveled the length of his body, liking what she saw. He was slim, not muscle bound, but firm. Some hair on his chest, but not much. He watched her, gasping and shuddering, his eyes staring deep into hers.

"What are you going to do now?" he said.

She leaned forward and took him all the way in, not stopping until her lips were pressed against his pelvis and his cock firmly lodged in the back of her throat.

"Oh my God," he moaned, his hips arching up to meet her mouth, trying to move. But she held him there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his spongy head pressing against the back of her throat, almost causing her to gag, but his response turning her on all the more.

She pulled back up and off, gasping for air as her mouth broke free. She looked up at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his back arched off the couch, his ass starting to slowly sink back down a moment after she released him.

She went back down again. All the way. And his hips again rose to meet her. She didn't stay down as long this time, though, coming back up after a few seconds and lashing her tongue in the vee on the underside of his cock, sucking and slurping. Her hand returned and started pumping him, her mouth staying on the head, working on him for all she was worth.

"Oh yes," she heard him mutter. "Yes, just like that." So she didn't stop. She kept at it, and his hips started gyrating under her, a hand stroking her cheek, fingertips tracing around her ear. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her mouth staying on his cock. He was staring at her, his mouth open, breath coming in gasps.

"I want to taste you," he murmured, but she ignored him. She was there for his pleasure, not hers, and it was time he got some of what he was paying so much for. But he wouldn't let it go. He tried pulling his ass further into the couch, trying to get her mouth off of him. When she wouldn't let go, he bent forward and reached under her arms, pulling her up and off of him.

"Please," he said, his hands going to the zipper at the back of her skirt. "I want to taste you."

She smiled. "I've had my fun," she said, sliding the skirt to her feet and kicking it aside. "Let me give you some fun now." She leaned back forward, but he put his hand out and kept her there.

"No," he said, kissing her above the top of her panties. "I really want to. I want this to be good for you, too." He pulled her panties down to mid thigh and stared. "It's beautiful," he said, staring at her trimmed bush, the small landing strip captivating his attention. He leaned forward and licked where the landing strip met the top of her vulva, brushing his tongue lightly against the top of her clitoral hood. She gasped. "I could stare at you forever," he said, leaning forward again and darting his tongue, soft, darting, against the top of each vulva. "I could eat you forever," he said, reaching behind and grabbing her ass, one cheek in each hand, squeezing and pulling her to him.

She gasped and spread her legs a little, splaying herself in front of him. He took his time, though, and lavished his attentions on the lips, only occasionally raking his tongue over the engorged nubbin sticking out from the top. Her hips were turning, trying to guide him, but he swayed his head in time to her and kept up the light licks and traces, never pressing hard, staying away from her center. His hands were squeezing, spreading the cheeks of her ass, guiding her back and forth to his mouth. His magical mouth. She felt the knot of her rosebud spread then tighten as he worked her ass, making the whole thing more erotic than she'd ever experienced.

Her hands were stroking his hair and shoulders, her nails tracing over the skin of his upper back. She watched him, mesmerized by his patience. She'd never been with a man like this, so good at this. She'd been with a few women in her time, in college and again since working for the Agency, and they knew how to do this. And they did it just like he was doing it. There was nothing eager or frantic about his kisses, his lovemaking. He was soft, patient, tender. He was in no hurry, and he seemed to know this would increase her pleasure. He was right.

Soon she felt familiar sparks going off, and she reached down and pushed his shoulders back.

He looked up at her. "But I wasn't . . . you haven't cum . . . ."

"Let's compromise," she said. She pushed him further down, her hands squeezing his nipples, his firm pecs. When he was on his back, she turned around on him and leaned forward, taking him back into her mouth. She heard him moan and felt his hips rise again to meet her. She swung her legs over the top of him, planting one knee on each side of his head.

She concentrated on his cock as his hands went back to her ass, squeezing and spreading her cheeks back and forth. He was panting again, his hips rocking into her, and she slid a hand under his ass and squeezed his cheek, her other hand kneading his balls softly. She lowered her hips to him and, a few brief seconds later, she felt the white hot dagger of his tongue trail her from stem to stern. It was slow–agonizingly slow–and shallow, and he paused in the trip, trying to build her up. When he got to the top of her, she paused in her bobbing, waiting for it.

"Waiting for something?" she heard him say, reading her thoughts. He flicked a tongue out and flicked at the tip of her clit, sending fire through her loins. She moaned loudly around his cock, sucking harder, her hand seeking the crack of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. "I didn't hear you," he said, his voice taunting, his tongue going back to the bottom and again starting its slow journey to the top.

She was groaning loudly now around him, her breath spilling out and making her job more difficult. She felt him spread her cheeks wider and shift his hands, then she felt a fingertip brush over her crinkly back opening just as his tongue reached her clit and stopped again. The finger was feather light, circling, the tongue concentrating all around, yet staying away from, her clit.

"What do you want?" he said, raking his tongue across her clit then pulling back and blowing on it softly. She whimpered, frustrated. "You have to tell me." She knew he was enjoying this, but so was she. A lot more than he was. The sweet, sweet torment building then ebbing, back and forth from near total release back to just friggin' awesome.

She wasn't going to give in. Not yet, anyway. Two can play this game, she decided, pressing her finger against his asshole and pushing up. "Oh, oh yes," he sputtered at the unexpected invasion, pushing himself up into her face. Her mouth pushed back, swallowing the length of him until he was again in the back of her throat. After holding him briefly, she raised her mouth back to the head and started pumping her hand on his shaft and sucking harder and faster, her insistent finger finally breaking through the seal of his ass and staying there, circling to loosen him.

It worked. He pulled her closer to him and took her clitoral hood into his mouth, his lips clamping down and sucking, his tongue pressing against her clit and circling insistently. He was gasping on her, his breath pushing out spastically. His hands on her ass cheeks kneaded her harder, his finger no longer brushing or circling, but pressing tighter against the center of her ring. She'd never allowed this, never let anyone near her ass, but her body was overwhelmed by the sensations, and his insistent ministrations were adding to the overload.

She was moaning louder and louder around his cock, trying to speak but not wanting to stop his pleasure. She felt his fingers reach down and slide her juices up to her ass, smearing them around, pushing again. She knew what was coming and arched her ass up trying to make it easier for him. At the same time, as if to encourage his actions, she pushed her own finger deeper into his ass, to the first knuckle, searching for the bump of his prostrate.

At this, his hips pushed up from the couch and his mouth broke contact with her. "Yes, yes, just like that," he panted. "I'm gonna cum, oh God I'm gonna cum." He tried to twist his hips away from her mouth, but she only went down deeper on him, trying to suck harder. Then she felt it, a brief jolt in her rectum as his finger pushed through and in. There was fullness as he pushed in deeper. And deeper. He went back to her clit, circling it insistently with his tongue, and she felt his cock begin to convulse as the warmth swept through her body, her neurons firing in a million places.

She was screaming and moaning around his cock, trying to keep at him through her orgasm while pushing her own hips further onto his finger and tongue. It worked for both of them. Her orgasm started ripping through her, causing her body to jolt. At the same time, she felt his cock start to throb, felt him break contact with her and pant out, "Oh yes, yes, I'm . . . . Oh God yes."

She stayed down as the warm, thick jets shot into her mouth. She felt his finger pumping her asshole, prolonging her orgasm as he came. And he came in buckets, spilling out from her mouth around the side of his cock and down to her hand at the base of his cock. She kept pumping until he was dry, his hips settling back into the couch, and his mouth going back to her.

Her orgasm subsided, though, and she was sensitive. "No," she whispered, trying to raise her hips away from his mouth, "you've gotta let me rest a minute here."

In response, he started brushing his lips over her inner thighs while her body relaxed. He was murmuring though the kisses. "You're the most wonderful . . . the most beautiful . . . . Jesus Christ."

"Jesus Christ is right," she mumbled, resting her head on his hip, her hands stroking the sides of his ass and upper thighs. "Downright religious."




Knox County Ch. 01



After a few moments like this, she turned and lowered herself, snuggling herself between him and the back of the couch. He placed his arm around her naked shoulders and turned to face her. They lay there, belly to belly, hips to hips, their legs interlocked, and his right hand brushed her hair from her face.

She looked into his eyes. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

He smiled, seemed embarrassed. Rather than answer, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, his tongue sneaking out a little. She kissed him back and pushed her hips against his.

After a few minutes of this, she broke their kiss and again looked at him, her left hand going down and stroking the side of his hip. "I'm serious," she said, leaning over and pecking him on the lips. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"What?" He leaned over and pecked at her lips, moved his head back and smiled.

"I've just . . . well . . . I'm not exactly inexperienced here, and that was the best." She his ass into her and brushed her tongue over his lips. "So I want to know where you learned that."

He closed his eyes and tucked his head under her chin. "I read a lot," he said.

She stroked his hair. "What do you read a lot?" She was smiling. When he said nothing, she prodded him with her hips and said, "Come on, don't be embarrassed. Tell me."

"Magazines," she heard him mumble.

"What magazines?"

"I'd rather not say."

She shimmied down the couch and touched her forehead to his. "Come on, Will. If you got this from magazines, I want some subscriptions, okay?"

"You know, Vogue, Cosmopolitan, those kinds of magazines."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, tilting his head and looking into her eyes, "I want to be good at it. You know, make it good for both of us."

"Well," she said, "speaking for myself, of course, I'm pretty sure you're more than just good at it."

He smiled, and she leaned in and kissed him. Long, tender, deep, meaningful. "You're an awesome kisser," she said, rubbing her lips over his. "Everywhere. You kiss really good everywhere." He kissed her first this time, pushing his hips into her as he did so. She felt him getting hard again.

"How long has it been?" she said, grinning at him.

"Longer than I'd care to think about," he said, one hand going to her ass and pulling her closer.

"Well then why don't we find us a bed and see what else you've learned in your studies?" She rolled over him and onto the floor, standing and taking his hand, tilting her head toward the stairway.

He grinned like a little boy, his eyes growing wider as his eyes met hers and drank in her lascivious grin.

At the top of the stairs, he got closer and pushed her with is hips toward the door at the end of the hallway. She entered, found the light switch, and flipped it up. The room, she noticed, was like the rest of the house. Spotless, king-size bed neatly made, not a speck of dust on the dressers. Another candle was burning, and the room smelled like clean linen or cotton sheets hanging in the wind to dry. She liked it.

She walked toward the bed and turned around, sitting on the mattress. She was holding both of his hands, and he spread them out and looked down at her.

"You really are very beautiful," he said, gazing at her from head to toe.

"And so are you," she replied. "Now, how about we take you for a test ride?" She leaned over and sucked him into her mouth, her hands still holding his, only her lips and tongue on his hardening cock. She felt him tense then relax, the tension going from him, his legs almost collapsing before he regained his senses. He guided one of her hands to his hip and the other to his flat tummy. She stroked his smooth skin, taking her time with is mouth. He was stroking her skin as well, one hand going into her hair and brushing through it. He didn't guide her, piston into her. No, she realized, he touched her, felt her, and let her set the pace.

When he was hard as before, she broke away from him. Her lips found the area just above his cock and kissed, tasting him. She moved to his hipbones, then up his belly, darting her tongue into his belly button. Still his hands brushed over her, in no hurry.

"I didn't think it would be like this," he whispered.

"Like what?" she said between kisses, her mouth now reaching the bottom of his chest. 

"Making love," he said. "I thought this would be just fucking, you know?"

"It can be," she said, sticking her tongue out and tracing around his nipple, flicking the tip. "It's up to you." She looked up and met his gaze. "If you want it different, you just let me know." She leaned forward and sucked his nipples into her mouth, first one, then the other, before leaning back and blowing on them softly.

"No," he said. "I want it just the way it is. Just the way you want it."

He leaned down and pushed her shoulders back until they reached the bed. He started kissing her again, laying down beside her as he did so. They lay like that for ages, just kissing, their hands roaming each other's bodies, getting familiar, enjoying the embrace. She was worried he would flag, but his occasional grinds into her confirmed he had plenty of stamina and was enjoying himself.

She tried to break the embrace and go back down on him, but he pushed her back and said, "No, it's my turn to enjoy you some more."

He started at the base of her neck with his lips and tongue, and his hands were brushing her belly and breasts. He'd run his palms over softly, reach a breast, gently squeeze, then brush back down to the swell at her pubis. She was writhing, her breaths low and even, shallow, and she writhed with his touches, wanting more but enjoying the sensations.

His head moved lower to her breasts and kissed all around them. Tops, bottoms, sides, areolae, nipples, he paid attention to all of her. His hand slid lower, as well, his palm traveling from the back of her knee, up the side of her leg, over and around her pelvic bone, and over the top of the juncture of her leg. Then back again. Like his lips, though, his hands followed no set pattern. Instead, they moved back and forth at random, keeping her from anticipating the next move and surprising and pleasing her with the attention. 

She heard him talking to her through the kisses, his voice low. "I could taste you forever," he said. She heard wonderment in his voice. Again, he was like a little kid and she felt like his first time. "You are just so beautiful. So perfect." And that's how he was making her feel, she realized. Like the center of his universe. It heightened her arousal. He was right: They were not fucking; they were making love. This hadn't happened in the ten months she'd been working for the Agency. Hell, she thought, this has never happened to this degree in my life.

His body slid down the bed and she felt his mouth trail downward and to the side, kissing the hollow area next to her pelvic bone. No one had ever paid attention to her there, not like this, and her hips arched up off the bed in response. She was no longer thinking. Instead, she let her body melt into the soft comforter and respond to him as it wished.

She didn't even notice when his hand slowly pushed her knees apart. She was focusing on his lips and tongue as they worked over to the top of her lips. She was wet. She could feel it, her juices trickling down the length of her slit and joining at the crack of her ass before continuing the journey into the crack of her ass. Holy shit, she thought, he hasn't even touched me there–not in almost an hour, at least–and I'm already hotter than before.

She heard herself whimper when his tongue continued around and past her, going to the other side of her hips. Then she was reminded of his hand. His touch was so light she sensed his fingers before she felt them, traveling up her inner thigh.

"Is this what you want?" he said, a fingertip brushing her vulva before pulling back. Her hip jerked in response, a soft groan escaped her closed mouth, but she said nothing.

His mouth traveled back toward her core and the finger again brushed her, a wisp of a touch, before pulling back. "I'm not going to do it, you know," he said.

She lifted her head and stared down the length of her torso. He was looking up at her now, a smile and arched eyebrows telling her that he wasn't kissing.

"Please," she said.

"Please what?" She wasn't sure what he wanted. She knew he wanted her to tell him, but she wasn't sure how he wanted her to tell him. She bit her lip, not wanting to talk too dirty and ruin the mood, but still wanting him to prolong this. She needed this. She'd never had it before, never realized she could want it this badly now.

"Please touch me, taste me," she finally said. "Please." She raised her hips and tried to push them toward his hand.

"Touch you and taste you where?" he said. He was still smiling, but it was turning into a grin.

She was so hot her mind was a blur. "Anywhere," she said. "Everywhere. I want you to touch me everywhere. To kiss me all over. Please."

He kissed the top of her landing strip. "Your wish," he said. He kissed lower and his hand brushed up higher. She raised her hips up from the bed, anticipating. "Is my command," he finished.

She felt them simultaneously. His tongue snaked down to her clit, his finger pushing into her slowly. She laid her head back on the bed, her arms outstretched and pushing down on the comforter to support her as her hips rose to and ground against his mouth. His finger kept pushing in, slowly, until she felt the knuckles of his other fingers prodding her vulva. He held it there for a minute before pulling it back out and going back in slowly. His tongue went to the underside of her clit and pressed, then licked up, over, and around her hood.

She felt his hand pushing one leg back toward her. She let him guide her, keeping her leg there. Then she felt his finger withdraw and his mouth go lower, his tongue going into her. "You're on fire," she heard him mumble before he stuck his tongue in as far as it would go. Her hips bucked involuntarily. She felt his lips pressed against her pussy, his tongue swirling around deep inside her.

Then she felt him going further south, over the sensitive wrinkle of her perineum. His tongue was darting there, flicking against her, setting the sensitive nerve endings aglow. She felt his other hand push her other leg back, and again she allowed herself to be guided. She knew what was coming. She'd never done this, never allowed anyone else to do it to her. But then his thumb started circling her bursting clit and her sensations took over and clouded her inhibitions.

His tongue was light at first, a gentle tweak over the starfish of her ass. She felt herself tighten then loosen, the muscle involuntarily reacting to his attentions. Then she felt his tongue dart at the center and push. Insistently, firmly prodding into her, and she loosened.

When his tongue entered, she lost it. Her hands gripped the sheets and she was whimpering, almost crying with the force of the explosion ripping through her. The crescendo picked up still further when his tongue started moving back and forth in her ass. She heard herself, as if from far off, encouraging him on. "Oh yes, please tongue my ass. Please, yes, of fuck yes." Over and over she cried out, unable to stop herself. The physical sensations wracking her body shrouded her mind in a deep mist of pure pleasure and she realized she didn't want it to stop.

She didn't notice when his tongue left her, his thumb pulled away from her clit. Her body was still convulsing when he pushed into her, slowly but steadily. This picked her orgasm back up, and she barely heard him moaning his approval.

"You're on fuckin' fire," she heard, and her hips thrust out to meet him. Her legs lowered and scissored around his hips, pulling him into her and holding him there.

His hands went under her, grabbed her ass, and he started moving. He pulled out slowly, almost until he was out of her, the head brushing the nether walls of her lips. Then he pushed back into her.

"Come on," she said, pushing herself up by her hands and looking at him. He was looking down at their juncture, and she looked down between her legs and watched him going in and out. "That's so hot," she said, mesmerized by the sight.

She felt him lean over and she lifted her head, her lips meeting his and kissing him deeply. She pulled him back onto her until her back was on the bed and he above her, one elbow supporting his weight and the other still firmly clutching her ass. Her hips rose to meet each thrust. Still they kept kissing, each of their breaths expelling air in grunts with each bottom out stroke.

"Faster," she said, "a little harder." He responded, picking up speed a little and thrusting in harder with every stroke. She felt the rough patch of his pubic hairs against her clit with each thrust, causing her to tingle again. "Just like that," she said, leaning around and sucking on his earlobe. "I think you're gonna make me cum again."

With that, he pushed in even harder, grinding against her when he bottomed out.

"Yeah, just like that. Keep going." She felt his hand slide into the crack of her ass and probe again against her rosebud.

"Do you like this?" he asked, looking into her eyes. She only nodded. "Then what do you want me to do?"

She bit her lip, leaned her head back, and thrust her hips harder into his thrusts. "I want you to fill me. To finger fuck my ass while you pound my pussy," she said. She looked back at him and kissed. Her juices made his finger's quest easy, and she felt him break through. She gasped through the kiss and tried to move in two directions at once, jam herself down on his finger while thrusting her clit against his pounding attack.

Deeper and deeper his finger went. Deeper than anyone's had gone before. Slowly but surely, she was overcome by a feeling of fullness, in her pussy and in her ass. Then she felt the finger moving, pushing against the walls toward the cock in her pussy.

"I can feel myself," he said, attacking her face and neck with kisses. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes," she panted. "Please, do it some more." She felt his finger start sliding back and forth, breaking free a few times before pushing back in, rubbing all round, joining his cock in its assault on her.

Then she felt another finger push against the opening, trying to join the first, and she thought he was going to split her in two. "Do you want?" he said, seeing her biting her lip. She hesitated then nodded, and he pressed more firmly, still thrusting her hips out to meet his cock. When it broke through, she flashed a grimace of pain, but then waves rolled through her belly.

"Will," she gasped into his ear, "I'm so full. So full of you, so . . . ." And the waves started again. She threw her arms back and fell back onto the bed, her body shaking all over. He fell into her, his fingers still in her ass, moving back and forth now, his cock pistoning into her.

"Oh my God," he cried, picking up speed and pushing in for all he was worth. She felt him, felt his fingers rubbing against himself through her walls. Her walls felt the cum as it started shooting the length of his cock and pouring into her. She thrust up to meet him, to pull him in further, and he held her tightly against his hips with the hand lodged in her ass.

Her orgasm subsided soon after his, and she felt his fingers slowly withdraw from her ass. He collapsed on the bed next to her. Both of them panted, trying to catch their breath.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth rolled over into him and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, feel it thumping against her ear. He reached his left arm around and stroked her hair, his right hand went to rest on her clavicle.

"I've never let anyone do that before," she said into his chest. "Not even boyfriends. Some of them tried–most of them tried–but I wouldn't let them do it."

"Do what?"

"You know, where your fingers were. And your tongue at one point, if I remember."

His hand lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he said. "I really am. I didn't know." He looked sad, and that's not what she wanted.

She smiled. "That's not what I meant. I wasn't saying you did anything wrong."

He crinkled his forehead, frowning.

"What I'm saying is I never let them do it. I was afraid it would hurt, that they'd hurt me, ya know?" He nodded, the frown softening but the confusion still there. "I'm saying that I knew you wouldn't hurt me. That I could trust you, you'd take care of me. You'd make it feel good. And if it didn't, if it hurt, you'd stop. Ya know?"

He nodded. A shy smile came over his lips, his eyes looking deep into hers. "I don't want to hurt you. Didn't want to hurt you."

She slid up until her face was level with his. Her hand stroked his cheek and she looked deep into his dark brown eyes. "What I'm trying to say is you're nothing like the others. Nothing like anyone I've ever been with. Understand?"

He nodded, his face serious. She continued. "A couple of hours ago, when I first got here, you seemed hurt by that. By being like all of my other clients. But you're not. You're nothing like them. You're nothing like any man I've ever been with."

She leaned in and kissed him, her lips rubbing against his, her tongue seeking his. He kissed back, but slowly. It was long, and their hands went back to feeling the other's parts, rubbing and brushing, touching and tweaking. They did this for twenty minutes, maybe a half hour. It was slow, loving, languorous. She felt no need to get off again. She just wanted, enjoyed the contact. She sensed he did, too.

For the first time ever, her client cuddled her afterwards. All the others, every single time, quickly fell asleep and kept her awake with their snoring. But this time she fell asleep first, into a deep, peaceful sleep in his arms.

When she awoke the next morning, they were still intertwined, his head snuggled into the slope above her breast. So she did another first, and he awoke in her mouth. And her final first, a morning lovemaking session with a client, starting in the shower and ending on the bedroom floor with her on top this time.

When she left, she phoned the Agency and told them to never, no matter what, allow him to book her again. She couldn't afford to fall in love.

* * *



Knox County Ch. 02



When Cynthia awoke, she reached over for David. He wasn't there. She flipped on the light and saw that his side hadn't been slept in.

Oh great, she thought. An all nighter with whoever the fuck she was. She got out of bed and shrugged a robe around her shoulders, tying the sash tight against her slim waist.

When she descended the stairs, he was in the corner next to the couch, cradling his legs in his arms. His eyes were red, tears dried on is face, dark bags under his eyes.

"David, honey, what's wrong?"

He didn't seem to hear. He was rocking gently, in his own world. She approached and kneeled down in front of him. She reached out and touched his cheek. It was hot, feverish.

"You're burning up," she said. When he said nothing, she lifted his chin. He looked at her, seeming to notice her for the first time. "Baby, you need to get to bed," she said, her voice low. "You're sick."

"How could you?" he said, turning his chin away from her hand and looking at the walls. His rocking picked up.

"How could I what?" she said.

"Sleep with him. Fuck him."

Her eyes went wide and she drew back from him.

"Fuck who? What're you talking about?"

"That cop," he said. He turned back and looked at her. His eyes were glowing now. "In the parking lot. Every fucking Tuesday night. How could you do that to me? To us?"

How did he know? she thought. Her mind raced. She was afraid to say anything, needed to sort this out.

"Answer me," he said, his voice cracking.

She said nothing, only stared at him. She was frozen.

"I never cheated on you," he continued. "Ever." He was almost yelling now, his voice on the verge of breaking into sobs. She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She was convinced–hell, she was positive–he was banging someone at the office. Secretary or some such. His eyes, though, and his voice told her she was wrong. She'd been wrong all along.

She felt tears well up and stream down her cheeks. She reached out to touch him, to tell him she was sorry.

"Get the fuck away from me," he shouted, pushing her hand back. He started crying, burying his head in his arms, rocking. "Just get away from me," he sobbed.

She was going to be sick. The knots in her stomach were churning, the bile rising in her throat. She was crying now, too. "Please David, please."

But he ignored her, sobbing into his legs, rocking.

She felt it rising and dashed to the bathroom, trying to get the toilet seat up before she vomited. She wasn't quite fast enough.

What have I done? she thought, covered in vomit and sobbing against the cool toilet seat.

* * *

"Hart Shafer and Coombs," the voice on the other end of the line said.

Elizabeth hesitated, not sure she could go through with this.

"Hello?" the voice queried.

She sighed. "Will Sherman, please."

"One moment please," and her call was redirected.

He answered on the second ring. "Will Sherman."

She bit her lip. "This is Elizabeth," she said. When he said nothing, she continued, "From the other night."

"Of course," he replied. He sounded giddy. "Just one sec." She heard him tell someone to shut the door, then he was back on the line. "How are you?"

She said nothing for a moment, and he seemed content to wait her out.

"Will, I'm not really sure how to say this. To ask this."

"Ask what?" She signed. "The other night. We didn't use any protection. You know, a condom."

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No, it's not that. It's just, well, you know. Do you have any–"

He laughed. "No," he said. "Nothing like that. I'm clean."

"Will, it's not that simple. I need some proof."

"Like what? Why?"

"Like a blood test." He wasn't laughing any more, and she was afraid he'd hang up. "Listen, this is really important. I'm really sorry, but I gotta know for sure. I'll pay for it. Pay you back."

"You don't have to do that," he said. "My fault, too, I guess. It's just that, well, you know. Heat of the moment and everything."

They were both silent for a moment. She was reliving the evening, and she was almost sure he was as well. He broke the silence.

"I'll break away this afternoon, get a quick test. Give me your number."

"Why?"

"So I can call you when the results come in. Should probably only take a day or two."

She hadn't thought it through to this point. She didn't want to give her number, was unsure where that would lead.

"How about I just call you back in a couple of days?" she suggested.

"Sure," he said. "Couple of days then." They said their good byes, and she flipped the cell phone closed.

* * *

Sean was in his studio. Engrossed in the details, he didn't hear the doorbell. The music was loud, something by Springsteen, but it was only background noise. His focus was on the canvas, on the delicate tip of the brush as it curled just the right amount and applied the perfect shimmer to the edge of the reflection of the bottle against the picture frame.

This was his favorite part: Taking the colored shapes and gradually honing them until they were lifelike, jumping off the canvas at the observer. Such realism was commonly derided in the art world. They mocked Rockwell and Wyeth as illustrators, revered Pollock and de Kooning as innovators. Sean understood the slams against Rockwell. Too kitschy, idealized, cutesy. But Wyeth? Sean loved Wyeth, thought he expressed more in a perfectly executed portrait or landscape than Pollock ever did with a shitload of drips. Where was the technical skill in dripping paint, for Chrissakes? No, Sean was convinced, the real artists combined technical virtuosity with deep emotion; their paintings said something more than "My, isn't this cute" or "What the fuck is that." The real geniuses conveyed pain, suffering, and ambiguity all at once. And they conveyed it realistically.

So engrossed was he in perfecting the shimmer that he didn't notice the door to the studio open. As a result, he almost jumped out of his skin when Roger spoke.

"The painting looks beautiful," he intoned. "You look like shit."

Sean's hand skipped into the painting and he turned, throwing the brush across the room against a wall. "For Chrissakes, you know how to knock?" He reached down and grabbed a clean brush, trying to fix the glop of paint now marring the shimmer. A few flicks of the brush and most was dabbed away, the balance feathered in.

"Very nice," said Roger, watching over his shoulder.

"My God, Sean, when's the last time you slept?" Emily said.

"I'm on a roll," he said, waving the brush toward the corner.

Roger and Emily walked over and looked, first from ten feet or so, then getting closer.

"You've never done still life," said Roger. When Sean didn't reply, he continued. "They're powerful. Very powerful."

Sean kept painting. He glanced now and again at the drawings to his left and squeezed paints onto the pallette at his right arm. The brush danced over the canvas, dotting in color, making the bottle come to life, the amber liquid glow . The rug was so real you could touch it, feel its coarse, damp texture.

"Grab me that brush," he said, holding his hand out, his eyes never leaving the canvas.

Emily retrieved it and placed it in his outstretched palm. He went to finer detail, tracing in the shadows of grain across the hardwood floor where the it met the edge of the rug.

He felt her hand on him, but still he focused. "You need to stop," she said. "You need some rest."

He ignored them. "I'm fine."

* * * Roger made tea in the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ," he said, waving his arm over the counters. Emily's eyes followed his hand and took in the moldy bread, hardened cheese, and a sink full of dirty coffee mugs.

She nodded. "We've gotta do something here Roger."

He shook his head. "But what?"

He looked at her. She said nothing, still taking in the mess. Her body sagged and she started cleaning. The food went into the garbage can. Roger started running water in the sink, rinsing out the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

After fifteen minutes of cleaning, the kitchen was again at least somewhat clean. They sipped their tea, and Emily broke the silence. "He needs someone. He's gonna kill himself out here."

"Doesn't look like he's had a proper meal since before the funeral."

"Housekeeper or girlfriend?" Emily asked, looking at Roger.

He leaned back against the counter, sipping his tea. "Both I should think."

Emily nodded. She'd done this before, for other clients. Artists could be so damned single minded when they got going. When they were done, the high of creativity led to depressing lows. Drugs, booze, womanizing, they all reared their ugly heads in spirals of self destruction. She'd dealt with it dozens of times in the past. The trick was to get them back to even keel, let them relax and sort things through before they crashed and burned.

She made two calls. One to place an ad for a live-in housekeeper in the Knox County Herald, the second to the William Rose Escort Agency.

* * *

Aimee watched David Holloway pull out of the garage and turn onto the street. She pulled from the curb and followed him, turning on the outskirts of town into the Saunter On Inn. After a few minutes, she followed him into the diner and looked around. He was alone at a booth in the corner, his eyes staring past her, gazing at nothing.

She walked over and stopped in front of his table. "This seat taken?" she said.

That seemed to startle him out of his reverie. His mouth opened, but he seemed unable to speak. She slid in across from him. He looked about forty, thinning light brown hair, with sad hazel eyes. He was shorter than Tim, just shy of six feet tall, and looked to be in good shape. Right now, though, his face was haggard and gaunt, his eyes vacant, dark bags puffy under them.

"It was me," she said. 

The waitress approached, short, plump, on the other side of sixty, all business and no nonsense. She ordered a cup of coffee and toast.

When the waitress left, she looked back at David. He was staring at her, his mind in a daze. "I left the pictures."

He said nothing, only stared, and she didn't know how to proceed. He seemed brittle, about to break. This was worse than she'd expected.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't really–"

"Why?" he said. His eyes were glistening and she tightened.

The waitress approached, placed a cup of coffee in front of her and slid a plate of pale toast toward her. She topped off David's coffee and placed the ticket in front of him.

David's eyes didn't leave Aimee the entire time. "Why?" he repeated.

She looked down, into her coffee. "I don't know," she said. "I just wanted it to stop. Still want it to stop. And I figured that. . . . Well, that if you knew, if all of them knew what he was doing, that he'd stop."

"Who is he?"

She looked up and into his eyes. "My husband."

He said nothing, looking away from her and around the room. He was trying to hold back tears, she saw. Pressing his lips together, his neck tensing, blinking in flutters.

He was shattered. She saw that, saw it more clearly now than when he'd first seen the pictures. He couldn't cope with this, and she'd done it to him.

"I don't know what to do," he finally said, his voice little more than a whisper. "I don't want to lose her, but I think I already have." He turned back and looked at her. "I think I lost her a long time ago. Just never noticed. Too busy. Too busy making the perfect life to actually live it."

A tear was streaming down his cheek. Without thinking, she reached over to brush it off. He hadn't shaved, and the stubbles on his face were coarse against her fingertips.

"I can't stay here," he said. He stood, reached into his pocket and grabbed a ten, threw it on top of the ticket.

She rose with him. "Please," she said. "Don't go yet." He turned and looked at her. She walked to him and took his hand, leading him out to her car.

He sat without a word, staring straight ahead. She said nothing, unsure what she was doing. So she drove, aimlessly, far out into the country. The windows were down, the warm summer air blowing through the car.

After nearly a half hour, she pulled the car into a conservation district parking lot. She shut off the car, got out, and walked around to his side. She opened the door and he turned to look at her. She held her hand out, and he allowed himself to be guided from the car. "Let's go for a walk," she said, leading him to the overgrown path at the end of the parking lot.

They walked in silence, her hand in his loose grip. He seemed in a trance, not paying attention to the birds or the trees, the warm air. A half mile in, there was a small clearing with a picnic table. It was covered in dried leaves, the nearby fire pit overgrown with weeds and thistles.

She let go of his hand and bent over, clearing the bench on one side of the table. "Here," she said, sitting down and patting the bench next to her. He obeyed, looking at her.

"Listen," she started, "I really–"

He leaned over and kissed her, his hand going to her shoulder, his eyes closing, his lips pressing into hers. She was startled, and she didn't respond. But still he kissed her, his lips parting and his tongue seeking hers.

She opened her mouth and kissed him back, her tongue meeting his. With her response, he kissed her deeper. His left hand pulled her closer, and his right closed in and cupped her breast, squeezing around her nipple until it hardened in his palm.

"Make love to me," she whispered in his ear. She realized her need for this, needed to make him feel better, needed to love and be loved.

He pulled her shirt over her head and kissed her harder, his hands reaching around and unclasping her bra. She shrugged it forward and leaned into him, her hand pulling his head to her breasts.

He wasn't gentle. His mouth found her nipple and sucked it in roughly, his other hand squeezing her other breast, pinching the nipple until it was hard before switching her mouth over to it and sucking it in. He scraped his teeth against it, causing her to moan in a mixture of agony and pleasure.

She felt his hands fumbling at her shorts now, trying to unbutton them. She reached down to help him, to shed the rest of her clothes as quickly as possible. Once unbuttoned and unzipped, she lifted her ass from the bench and pushed them off, her mouth seeking his at the same time. They kissed again, long and deep.

Then she felt his hand press firmly against her sex, his middle finger pressing against the length of her slit. She was grinding her hips against him, the bench rough on the bare skin of her ass.

He broke the kiss and looked at her. He seemed angry, she thought. Then he spoke, his first words in nearly an hour. "Why?" he said, pressing his middle finger into her. She was still dry, and it hurt as it pressed in. "Why did you tell me?"

"Oh God," she moaned as his finger roughly pushed in. She felt tears well in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her body trying to back away from the invader. "I didn't mean to, didn't want to–"

"But you did," he said, jabbing his finger in deeply. She yelped, and he held it there. "You ruined by fucking life."

She felt herself getting wet around the invasion, her nipples hardening with the onslaught against her. "Yes," she gasped, leaning in and kissing him. He kissed her back, his tongue insistent, his finger beginning to saw in and out of her.

He broke the kiss and leaned into her breasts, sucking her nipple in forcefully. She arched against him, pushing her pussy back against his finger. He pushed another in and rubbed them hard against her upper wall, his thumb brushing over her clit. "Is this what you want?" he asked, mumbling around her nipple before sucking it back in harder. She ached with the pain, but his fingers were building her up. "To get fucked," he mumbled. "Your husband doesn't fuck you so now you want me to? Figure he fucked Cynthia, you'll get even by fucking me?"

"Yes," she said. "No." She didn't know what she wanted. She only knew she had been this aroused in years, since she first married Tim, young newlyweds happy and blissfully in love.

He looked back at her and saw the pain in her face, the confusion. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, guilt and shame overwhelming her and conflicting with her arousal.

"Oh my God," he said, pulling his fingers out of her. "I'm sorry." He wiped the tears on her cheeks, but she pushed him back. Her hands went to his pants and unbuttoned and unzipped him.

"What are you– "

"I need this," she said, pulling his pants down to mid thigh and sinking her mouth into his lap. His arousal had subsided, and she sucked his soft cock into her mouth. Her hands were cupping his balls, squeezing them.

She heard him moan. "No," he said. "We'll get caught."

She broke her mouth from his hardening cock with a pop and pumped him with her hand. "There's no one for miles," she said. He was growing rigid in her hand. "But we can't. This is– "

"What I need," she finished for him. "What we both need."

She lowered her head again and sucked him in deeply. He got harder and harder in her mouth, his breath now coming in shallow gasps as her lips traveled his length.

His hand was on her head now, on the side of her face, feeling himself through her cheek. When she figured he was as hard as he was going to get, she raised her head from him.

"Now," she said. He only stared. "Make love to me, fuck me hard, I don't care." She straddled over him and reached behind herself, guiding his prick to her entrance. She leaned over and kissed him as she slid down. She felt his breath push into her, his groan lost in their kiss.

When he was all the way in her, deep, the tip pushing against her cervix, she held there. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, starting to grind herself against his hips. She opened her eyes, seeing his shut tight, the pain gone from his face and replaced by concentration.

She felt his hands go to her ass, spreading her cheeks. The breeze was blowing against her exposed rosebud, tickling over her soaking length, sending shivers through her pelvis and up and down her spine.

His hands were kneading her ass cheeks, clutching, guiding her now up and down his length. She felt him starting to move, too, pushing himself deeper into her with every thrust, as if trying to bury himself totally within her.

He needed this. She saw that now. The contact. No betrayal, no questions, just pure physical need. She felt her orgasm building, and she broke the kiss, squeezing him tight. "Oh my God, yes, just like that." She was getting louder, her voice echoing through the trees, and she heard him grunting with the force of his thrusts.

She felt his legs squirming under her and realized he was kicking his pants the rest of the way off. But it didn't stop the thrusting, the spearing deep within her. "Yes," she cried, raising her head high and sobbing with relief as the warmth of her climax washed through her.

Her body went slack as her orgasm subsided and he took the opportunity to stand. He was still in her, holding her by the ass, her legs wrapped around his waist. He pumped into her forcefully a few more times before turning her around and laying her back onto the crackling dry leaves on the picnic table. She leaned back, and he reached forward, pinching her nipples, squeezing her breasts, one hand on top of her mound. His thumb pulled back the hood of her clit and started rubbing it in circles. His thumb wandered and gathered her juices before returning and rubbing more insistently.

She gazed at him through half closed eyes, her hips arching with his thrusts, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Fuck me harder." His eyes traveled over her belly and breasts to her eyes.

His breathing was shallow, his hips shoving into her hard. "Tell me how you want it," he said, pulling her hips to him as he thrust in to the hilt. He held her there and still he pulled her harder into him, bumping her cervix with the spongy head of his cock.




Knox County Ch. 02



She started groaning. "I want it hard," she moaned. "Fast and hard."

He pulled all the way out and she sucked in her breath at the sudden emptiness. Still his thumb was circling her clit, which was getting sensitive and chafed. It hurt, but somehow her discomfort added to her arousal. She felt his engorged head brush against her soaking lips and she squirmed on the rough table top, her hips seeking him out.

She saw a determined smile spread over her face. "Louder," he said. "Tell me what you want."

She squirmed, needing him back in her. "Please," she said, "fuck me hard."

He pressed against her wetness, his head spreading her lips and hovering at her opening. "Louder."

"Fuck me harder!" she screamed, and he plunged into her hard and fast, all the way to the hilt. The force of his assault drove her breath from her lungs as her head tilted back. Just as quickly, he fully withdrew before pistoning back in again, slamming her down the table, over the leaves, then pulling her back forcefully into him.

She was screaming now, shouting to all who could hear. Her mind was blank, focused solely on the punishing invasions deep within her.

Then she was empty, and she felt him push her over, and she rolled with it. Her feet on the ground now, her legs spread, her breasts bent over and pressed into her arms on the table top.

Then he plunged in again, deeper than before, faster. "You ruined by life," she heard him saying, and she felt a smack on her ass. Then another, and another, and they stung.

"I'm sorry," she said, sobbing with the violence of his assault. And he kept slapping her ass and pummeling into her, saying it over and over again.

She was exposed to him, to the world, and he was using her shamelessly. She needed to be used shamelessly, she realized, to expiate the guilt she felt for bringing his world crashing down around him. And she needed the contact, any contact. Tim all but ignored her, and she craved the desire she felt pounding into her.

She heard screaming, and she realized it was her own voice crying out. She was begging him, pleading with him to pound her harder. The warm breeze tickled her anus and cooled the juices that were running down her inner thighs, but she barely noticed through his angry onslaught. Her orgasm hit without warning, sending shock waves through her muscles. Her legs and ass clenched, locking in place against his slamming cock, and the slapping stung that much more. Her upper body was convulsing, her chest heaving into her arms, and her breath moaning out in one long, low groan. She was sobbing, tears streaming down her face with the force of her orgasm and the stinging slapping on her ass.

The slapping stopped and she felt him pull her back against him. Then she felt ropes of cum stream into her, heard his long, low groan over each pulsating throb into her womb.

When he finished, she felt him push her forward, staying hard and in her as she slid up the table and he followed her. When they were fully across the length of the table, he rolled to his side, his hand on her hip keeping them joined.

His breath tickled her ear and she heard him whisper. "I'm sorry."

She turned, looking over her shoulder at him. His hazel eyes were sparkling now, full of life. But his lips were pursed, his face tense, apparently afraid of what her reaction would be. She just smiled lazily, turned her head back and lay it on his arm beneath her, wriggling her hips back against him.

She wasn't sure how long they laid there like that, but she didn't want it to end. Neither spoke. Instead, he held her against him while the warm breeze cooled their bodies before the noon sun could burn them through the foliage.

* * *

Cynthia walked through the doorway and froze at the sight before her. Suitcases. Three of them. A note was taped to the top of the biggest bag. 'I want you to move out while I try to sort this through. I have put $2500 in the middle bag for you to get an apartment. Love (?) David.'

She knew this was coming. They hadn't spoken a word to each other in the six days since he'd confronted her. Still, it came as a shock. No argument, no confrontation, just a simple note. Bags packed for her, money put up to get her out. Typical David, she thought, unfailingly polite to the bitter end.

She knew where this was leading. Three days ago he'd left a copy of their pre-nuptial agreement laying on the kitchen table, flipped to the section entitled "Property Settlement In Cases of Adultery." Why the fuck did I sign that thing? she thought. Because you were young, in love, and were never going to cheat on each other, she answered herself.

She stalked through the house, searching each room for David, calling out to him. But the house was empty, silent. David was going to miss this scene, thank you.

She phoned Alexis, the only person she'd ever told about Tim. And about David finding out. She needed to stay calm, work through this, get Alexis's input. She had no skills, she realized. It was not like she could go out and get a job at the drop of a hat. She'd done nothing since graduating college and marrying David shortly thereafter.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming," Alexis said. Not scolding, mind you, but stating the obvious.

"I know," Cynthia replied. "Still, leaves me in a bit of a pickle."

"Do you need help packing?"

"No," she said, looking at the luggage. "He did that for me."

"Come on over then. We'll sit down and try to figure this out together."

So Cynthia lugged the baggage to her car, throwing two in the trunk and one in the passenger seat. She wheeled out of the garage and tore off down the street, watching the police car swing in behind her and flip on the cherries.

When she pulled over, she watched Tim approach.

"Not now," she said to him.

"What's wrong?"

She glared at him. "David found out. That's what's wrong."

His eyes opened wide, his mouth hanging open. "He's thrown me out," she continued. "So now I have no place to fucking stay. Understand?"

He nodded.

"So back off and leave me alone," she said, flipping the transmission back into drive and pulling away. She watched from the rear view mirror as he stood rooted to the street until she was out of view.

When she knocked on Alexis's door, she was greeted with a grinning Alexis, paper clutched in hand. "I think I've solved your problem," she said, pushing the paper into Cynthia's hand.

"You've convinced David to take me back?"

Alexis frowned. "No." Then her face lit up with a smile again–Cynthia was convinced she had severe Attention Deficit Disorder, her moods changed so quickly. "But I think I found you a job," she said, "and a place to live."

Cynthia raised her eyebrows and looked down at the newspaper, saw the ad circled. 'WANTED Full-time live-in housekeeper. Cooking and cleaning, light outside work. Interested phone. . . .'

"Where is it?"

Alexis shrugged. "I don't know."

"What does it pay?"

Alexis shrugged again.

Cynthia pursed her lips and flipped open her cell phone, dialing the number in the ad.

"Emily Cuthbert," a voice said.

"Ms. Cuthbert," Cynthia said, trying to sound calm and professional, "I'm phoning about the ad. The housekeeper position."

"Oh really?" She heard a click. "You're on speaker phone. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good," the voice chirped again. "I'm here with Roger Hollister."

"What's your name?" a male's voice asked.

"Cynthia Holloway," she said, then added, "sir."

"Can you cook and clean?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "It's all I've done for the past thirteen years."

"Very good," he said. "When can you start." Cynthia hesitated, and he repeated the question.

"Well, sir, before I answer that I really need to know a little bit more about the job."

"Like what?" he said, his voice growing impatient.

"Well, sir, like where is it. And how much does it pay. You know, are there children to take care of, that kind of thing."

She heard him sigh before answering. "Where are you phoning from?"

"Armitage."

"Then it's about twelve miles outside your quaint little town. He's an artist, and he needs someone to make sure he eats and has clean underwear every day."

"It's just him," she heard Ms. Cuthbert chirp in. "He's just suffered a terrible loss. His wife died. And he– "

"She doesn't need to know that," the Mr. Hollister interrupted.

"Yes she does," Ms. Cuthbert insisted. "And Ms. Holloway–Cynthia, do you mind if I call you Cynthia?–he really needs someone to take care of him right now."

"Five hundred a week," Mr. Hollister said over her. "That's what it pays. Plus room and board, of course. Do you have any other questions?"

"No," Cynthia said.

"Then when can you start?" he asked again.

"Right now I guess," she said.

"Good," he said. "Get a pen and paper. I'll give you the address. Meet me there in, shall we say, three hours? It'll take me that long to get out there."

She looked at her watch. Three hours would be four thirty. She said that would be fine and he hung up without further pleasantry.

Alexis was gleeful, like a little girl, almost jumping with joy. "You got it?"

"Looks like it," she said.

* * *

Elizabeth's phone rang and she looked at the caller identification. HSC. She flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"It's clean," Will said. "Same day service, and it's clean."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you." She pursed her lips. "How did you get this number?"

"Caller ID."

Should've used a pay phone. No wonder he hadn't pressed for the number. "Can you mail it to me?"

"You don't trust me?" "Listen Will, I really just need to see it, okay?" AIDS was her biggest fear, always hovering in the background whenever she was with a client. She had to see the proof.

"Then how about I deliver it. Personally."

She knew this was going to happen. She needed to avoid it. In the past ten months, two other clients had tried to take it beyond a simple business relationship and things got sticky. The last thing she needed was a stalker.

"Elizabeth," he said, reading her mind, "I'm not asking for anything more than a cup of coffee, maybe dinner. When we're done, you're free to leave."

She relented, seeing no way around it. She had to see the results, confirm she was clean before she could work again. "When?"

"How about now? I can get out of here in about a half hour."

"No," she said. "Tomorrow night. I need to get a babysitter, make arrangements on how to get there."

"Where are you coming in from?"

She ignored the question. "Let's say six. Jackson's on Adams Street."

"See you then." She could hear the giddy excitement in his voice when he rang off.

* * *

Cynthia drove to the address given her, getting lost once before turning around and finding Ferris Road. She'd lived in Armitage for fourteen years, yet she'd never traveled these roads in the far southeast corner of the county.

She didn't know what to expect. She was torn between a decrepit old widower with tufts of gray hair sprouting from his ears and nose and a fat, balding, middle-aged queer in kimonos playing the part of impresario and sophisticated gadfly. She didn't know which she'd prefer, but she wasn't looking forward to either.

She found the mailbox and pulled into a long gravel driveway cutting through dense woods. The drive curved and, nearly a quarter mile in, she saw the woods break to a sweeping expanse of lawn, a little more than an acre, with a sprawling Mediterranean-style ranch in the middle.

Pleasant surprise number one: At least it wasn't a drafty old farmhouse with tiny rooms and ancient plumbing. Unfortunately, this confirmed she was going to be housekeeping for a fat fellow in silk robes.

The dread was further confirmed when a tall, chunky man in a jacket and tie opened the front door as she got out of the car.

"Ms. Holloway?" He had an accent. Somewhere out East. Not New York, but maybe Boston. It was the voice on the phone.

"Mr. Hollister," she said, walking to him and shaking his hand. Limp handshake, clammy skin.

"Please come in," he said, stepping back and ushering her into an expansive great room.

The room was bright, tall windows with drapes diffusing the evening sun as it filtered through the trees. And it was a mess. Dirty plates, bowls, and cups on most of the flat surfaces, newspapers and magazines scattered on coffee table, chairs, and stacked on the floor.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at Hollister.

He saw the look and spoke. "You'll have your work cut out for you."

She said nothing, walking past him into the kitchen. More mess, the floors dirty with spilt milk and dusty shoe prints. If the rest of it looked like this, she'd be cleaning this place for a week.

"We're worried about him," a chirpy voice said behind her. She turned and saw a tiny woman, maybe forty-five, hair in a bun, black skirt, white bouse, black jacket.

"Ms. Cuthbert," Cynthia said. They shook hands, Emily's grip more firm than was Hollister's.

"Please, call me Emily." She turned and walked from the kitchen, speaking as she went. Cynthia followed. "This is the dining room," she said, waving her arm in as they passed. "Bathroom. Den. Sean's bedroom and bath." She was striding, pointing at doors as they passed. Most were closed, but she assumed they were as bad as the rest.

The house was huge, almost four thousand square feet, and they passed two more bedrooms and an open sitting room before they reached the far end. "This is the guest bedroom. Where you'll stay." Emily opened the door and stepped in, Cynthia following.

It was nice, nicer than her bedroom at home. David's bedroom now, she realized. There was a sitting area with two soft, padded chairs and ottomans in front of a fireplace, a king size bed, and a door leading to the bathroom. It was also clean, she noticed. The air smelled stale and there was a fine layer of dust on everything, indicating no one had been here in months. But that wouldn't take much time to air out and straighten up.

"It's very nice," Cynthia said, patting the comforter. It was thick, light, and luxuriant. Real down feathered comforter. Not cheap. She opened a window and drew back the drapes to let fresh air in the room.

Hollister stood in the doorway. "Probably time to introduce you to your charge," he said. She looked at him and said nothing, so he continued. "His name's Sean McMahon. Have you ever heard of him?" She shook her head, to which he pursed his lips. "Not surprising out here, I suppose." He turned and walked back the way they came, talking loudly as he went.

"Sean is one of the preeminent artists alive. Probably in the top five. His works fetch hundreds of thousands, which is rare for living artists."

They were reaching the other end of the house and she heard muffled music from behind the door at the end. Rolling Stones?

"His wife, Holly, died a few weeks ago," he continued, stopping in front of the door. "It took a long time. Almost a year. And he cared for her night and day."

"But it was a blessing," Emily chipped in. Cynthia could tell she was always a bundle of energy, one of those who were always looking at the bright side. "She wasted away to nothing. Just skin and bones."

"And constant pain," Hollister added. "Sean was with her to the very end. Afraid he's taken it all rather hard. These types do, you know." He rapped hard on the door. There was no response, just Mick Jagger leering that women though him tasty.

Hollister continued. "He barely painted while she was ill. Seems he's making up for lost time now. He hasn't stopped since the funeral. Churning them out left and right. Maybe the best work he's ever done." He opened the door.

"Then what's the problem?" Cynthia said. "Why a live in?"

Hollister ignored her, rapping harder on the door as he opened it and stepping in. "Sean," he yelled over the music.

Cynthia followed him in. It was a brightly lit studio, high ceilings with plenty of natural light through open windows. In the middle, at an easel, stood a small man, staring intently at a canvas and dabbing paints, his head flipping back and forth between the canvas before him and a sketch pad laying on a stool beside him. He didn't seem to notice their presence.

She approached closer, seeing him better, her eyes growing wider as she looked at him. He wasn't small, but he wasn't large, either. Maybe five nine. He had wide cheekbones and firm jaw line drawing straight across to a rounded side of pointy chin. Dark brown curly hair–natural curls, she guessed by the rest of his appearance–swung low on his forehead and ears, stopping at the top of his collar, streaked here and there with gray. He was slim, painfully so, and the white button up shirt, cuffed at the collars, and faded jeans hung on him loosely. He obviously hadn't shaved in days, and his pale, almost translucent, skin told her he hadn't spent much time in the sun in months. He looked frail, like he'd break if squeezed, but intense at the same time. He could be anywhere from thirty to fifty, couldn't really tell until he was cleaned up. His body was burning energy into his work, and she could see the intensity in his focus and the movements of the brush.

"Mr. McMahon," she said, stepping closer and putting out her hand, "I'm Cynthia Holloway. I'm your new housekeeper."

He ignored her, his concentration remaining on the canvas.

She could smell him now. Pungent. He hadn't bathed in days. She dropped her hand and looked back at Emily and Hollister. The latter tipped his head to the door and they departed.

When they were back in the great room, Hollister spoke. "He's like that, I'm afraid. Not being unfriendly, mind you. Just in his own little world."

"That's why he needs you," Emily said, her voice going quiet for the first time. "He's not eating, not bathing. He's going to kill himself unless someone looks after him."

Cynthia said nothing, taking in the mess around her before turning back and staring at the studio door at the end of the hallway. So this is to be my life now, she thought. Trying to keep Pablo fucking Picasso alive long enough to keep the cash rolling in.

"So you'll do it then," Hollister said. Not a question, a statement. She thought she now detected concern in his voice as well.

Then she thought back to the collapsing bundle of energy behind that door. She couldn't do this. Hell, she couldn't take care of herself. She'd all but destroyed David. She didn't need this, didn't want it. Still, she felt her head nodding, and heard her voice saying clearly, "I'll take care of him."

Emily stepped in and hugged her tight. "Thank you."

Hollister seconded that, and they left. She stood alone in the great room, looking at the mess before her. Then she found the garage, dragged in a garbage can, and started cleaning.

* * *

Aimee stood behind the tree, the warm glow of the street lamps far behind her. They had no idea she was there, but she could see them clearly, backlit by the night lights of the school.

She was startled by a rustling behind her and she crouched lower.

"It's me," she heard him whisper. David Holloway approached, crouching low to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" she said. "How did you find this?"

"The school was in a couple of the pictures," he said. He was looking at the two cars, at the couple making out passionately about seventy-five feet away. He was mesmerized by the scene, his jaw tense.

"It's not her," Aimee said.

"Jesus," he said, "she's a child."

Aimee frowned. "Not exactly. Close, but not quite. She's about twenty, maybe twenty-one."

David looked at Aimee. "You know her?"

Aimee nodded. "Jenny Silverman."

"But I thought Tuesday nights were– "

"They are. They're usually your wife. But not this Tuesday. Jenny's usually Thursdays, sometimes Fridays, too."




Knox County Ch. 02



David said nothing for a moment, his eyes going back to the parking lot. The girl was topless now, and they watched together as Tim lowered his head to her chest and sucked in almost her entire breast in one mouthful. She was squealing, rubbing the back of his hair.

"What're you going to do?" he whispered.

Aimee thought for a minute. He'd seen the camera around her neck, probably suspected her purpose. "I don't know," Aimee finally said.

He looked at her, a question on his face. "David, I didn't mean to do to you what I did. I need to think this through some more, before I hurt– "

He interrupted her. "You didn't hurt me. Cynthia hurt me. He," he jerked his chin toward the couple in the parking lot, "he hurt me."

Aimee looked back out at the parking lot. He had her shorts off now, his pants his ankles. She was jerking him, pressing his head to her breasts, his fingers up between her legs. She heard the gasping from where they stood, Jenny Silverman's long, skinny legs riding up and down with his fingers, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight.

"If you hadn't given me the pictures, she'd be out there. Right now. He'd be doing this to her. Behind my back." He looked back at her before continuing. "And she'd have never told me. She'd have just continued with her escapades."

Aimee looked at him. The anger and confusion were gone. Sometime in the eight or nine hours since they'd parted that morning he had dealt with it. "She's moved out," he confirmed. "I packed her bags and left them there with a note, some money. Told her to move out. When I got home about an hour ago, they were gone. The bags. She was gone."

He looked back to the parking lot. She was on squatting between his legs. Tim was holding her head on each side, his cock pistoning back and forth into her mouth. He could hear her gagging.

"Never done that," he whispered.

Aimee's eyes followed his and took in the scene. "Me neither."

She lifted the camera, adjusted the lens, and snapped a picture.

"I'm sorry about today," he said, still taking in the scene.

Her eyes remained riveted on the scene before her as well. She was afraid to respond, wasn't sure where to take this. The dull ache in her crotch and the chafing of her jeans against her ass cheeks reminded him of what he was talking about. She smiled inwardly at the memory, but didn't think she wanted to get involved any further.

When she said nothing after a few minutes, he continued, his voice lower. "I don't know what came over me. Really I don't. But I'm sorry I hurt you."

She smiled. "You didn't hurt me," she whispered. "You screwed me senseless, spanked the shit out of me. Never done that before either, by the way. But it didn't hurt. Not the way you think."

"Still."

Aimee raised the camera again. "I don't think you're going to want to miss this one," she said. She snapped a picture, heard Jenny screaming No, not there, as he pushed his cock against her ass.

She and David were silent, transfixed by the scene before them. They watched Jenny trying to squirm away from the pressure, but David was holding her hips tight and pushing in. Oh my God, it's too big, she screamed, but still he didn't stop. He was moving slowly, and they could see he was only barely in her. Still, they saw the pain evident on her face, heard her cries as she struggled to stop him.

After three or four minutes, the fight went out of her as he was fully seated in her slim backside. They heard her moaning now, getting used to the presence filling her up. Her screams were becoming low groans as he slowly eased back and forth into her.

"Never done that, either," David whispered. "You?"

She shook her head before snapping another picture. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she felt David reach over and brush them off.

"What's wrong?"

She looked at him. "I've never done most of this stuff with him," she said. "And he's my husband. For six years. And he does all of this with them. Here."

He hugged her, pulling her to him and holding the back of her head into his chest. He smelled good, she noticed, freshly laundered shirt mixing with the smell of cologne. Then she heard him talking. "I know exactly how you feel," he whispered.

His embrace was intimate, but there was no sense of longing. He was right, she knew. Of all people, he knew exactly how she felt.

She heard Jenny in the background. Slower, keep it down, yeah, just like that, yeah. She looked over David's shoulder, and he turned around to take in the scene again.

David was still moving slowly, but he was pushing in all the way with each thrust, and they could hear Jenny grunting with each stroke. Her hand was underneath, between her legs, and Aimee knew she was rubbing herself.

"She's loving it," he said. "He looks like he's splitting her in half, and she's loving it." There was wonder in his voice.

"Not her first time," Aimee said. "She didn't like it so much the first time. She's kind of used to it now, I guess."

They watched until Tim finished, shooting off deep into her. Then he pulled out quickly and lifted her to the hood of the car, his face going beneath her legs. Aimee shot another picture as he ate her to orgasm in front of them, her fists pounding on his shoulders as she came. A few minutes later, Jenny hopped in her car and drove off. They watched Tim reach to the ground and pick up her panties, stuffing them into his pocket before getting in the car and leaving.

"What now?" David said when they'd gone.

"I don't know," she said.

"How long are you going to keep watching this, pretending you don't know?"

She shrugged, staring at the empty parking lot. What was she going to do? Was she going to go home, wait for Tim, pretend this wasn't happening? Was she going to keep sneaking out here in the woods, watching him stud himself out to half the women in town?

When her mind snapped back to the present, David was gone. She was alone, in the woods, in life.



Knox County Ch. 03



Will was waiting for her at a table on the sidewalk. She turned the corner, a half block from the diner, and saw him looking around, his face lighting up when he saw her. He waved, but she kept her hands jammed in her pockets.

"Hi," he said, standing as she approached and holding a chair out for her. She sat and he pushed the chair in after her.

"Can I see it?" she said.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope, folded in half. He smoothed it out and slid it across. Northwestern Medical Center the envelope said. She tore it open and pulled out the piece of paper folded inside. A photocopy of his driver's license was on the front with his vital statistics and billing information. She saw the date of birth. He's thirty-one, she noticed, right around where she'd guessed. She scanned to the bottom. The results were clear: Negative for all sexually transmitted diseases, hepatitis, and HIV.

She folded the paper and slid it into her purse. "Thank you," she said. He nodded, smiling. She saw he was dressed much as before, light blue oxford dress shirt with heavy starch, red tie loosened at his neck with the top button undone, navy blue suit pants, and a matching navy blue jacket draped over his chair.

A waitress appeared, handed them menus, and took their drink orders. He ordered a bottle of Lite, Diet Pepsi for her. Then she turned back at him, raising her eyebrow but saying nothing.

He seemed embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he started. "You think I'm some kind of stalker or something. It's just that, well, you know. There was more there."

He was right, of course, but she could let him know that. She couldn't let this get any further.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"How much was the test?" she said.

He shook his head. "I don't care about the test. I want to know if I'm right. Was there something more?"

She sipped her soda, trying to dodge the issue. "Why don't you slow down a little," she suggested. "You don't even know me."

He took a swig of his beer before speaking. "Okay, you mentioned a babysitter. Do you have children?"

She smiled. "I have a little boy. Brandon. He's three now." He pursed his lips. "Scared yet?" she said. He shook his head. "No, it's not that. I just, well, I guess I never thought about it until you mentioned a babysitter. Didn't seem like. . . ."

"Like something a hooker would have?"

"You're not a hooker. You're. . . . I don't know. Different. But not a hooker."

"Just because I don't stand on the street in skimpy skirts, charging fifty bucks for a blowjob, that doesn't mean I'm not a hooker. I'm just an expensive one, which is the only kind I would be until I don't need to be one anymore."

He said nothing. The waitress came, took their order, and left. Still he didn't speak, so she spoke for him.

"I know you want to ask, so go ahead and ask." He looked at her, and she said, "Okay, I'll ask it for you. 'Why?' Right? That's what you want to know. How does a single girl with a little boy decide to do it."

He said nothing, but his eyes told her she was right.

"Because there's no other way for me to make money, pay for my school, and support my child. That's why."

"Where do you go to school?"

"I'm in the pharmacological program–the last year, thank God–at Wisconsin/Madison."

He raised his eyebrows. "A pharmacist? At Madison?" She nodded. "But that's three hours from here."

She nodded again. "Exactly. So my chances of ever running into a client are between slim and none."

"Then you live in Madison?"

She shook her head. "I'm not telling you that. Where I live." His face told her he was going to push the point, so she headed him off. "Listen Will, you're a great guy. Smart, handsome, sweet." She smiled. "Great lover. But we can't date. You don't want to date a hooker, okay?"

He shook his head. "No, you're wrong. You could give it up."

Her eyes flashed anger. "And do what? Feed my baby how? It's not that easy for all of us, Will. Sometimes you make choices, do things you never thought you'd do. But you do them because you have to. You have to so you can get a shot at something better. Something better for me. Something better for my boy." He reached over and placed his hand on hers, but she jerked it away. "No, don't. The problem's that when you make those choices, you give up certain things. You give up chances. Chances like coming here, to the Big City, and taking up a career. Chances like dating anyone because they'll get jealous and get in the way. Don't you see that?"

He shook his head. "But no one would know," he said.

She laughed. "Don't be naive," she said. "They already know. Can you imagine me going to some firm get together with you? Running into two or three clients? They'd laugh at me. Maybe not to my face, but they'd laugh. And they'd laugh at you, too. And that would probably be to your face. You'd be done."

He sat back, looking down at the table in front of him. His voice was low. "You're right."

They said nothing until the food arrived. "Come on," she whispered, "I'm starving. And I've got a train to catch."

He nodded, and they ate in silence. He walked her to the train station, and she let him hold her hand. But she turned a cheek to him when he leaned over to kiss her goodbye.

Watching the train pull out of the station, Will realized she'd never answered his question. Was there something more there?

* * *

David stood in the shower, playing through the whole scene again in his mind. He played it through in his mind, on the picnic table, exposed to the world, Aimee trying to comfort him, then allowing him to use her to channel his rage. She'd done that, all right. She'd gotten off on it, too. He was getting an erection at the thought.

She was beautiful, he realized. Fifteen or so years younger than him–mid-twenties tops–with short-cut red hair parted off-center and falling straight, fair skin with light freckles, and bright green eyes. She had an outstanding figure, too: Short, maybe five three, slim hips, and small breasts, pert and pokey with quarter-sized areolae. She looked so pure and innocent, young, not yet jaded. Yet he saw her last night, watching something that would send him purple with fury. He couldn't quite read her reaction. Was it curiosity? Sadness? Was she unconsciously turned on watching her husband fuck another woman? Probably a mixture, he figured.

Aimee was nothing like Cynthia, though. Sure, Cynthia was also beautiful, kept in shape, and had a great body, but she was different. His wife was older obviously, but still young enough to turn the heads of any post-pubescent male she passed. She was also more experienced, liked it rough sometimes, and was always ready with a devilish smile, a blazing look of desire that he knew only too well.

With that, his erection died. He missed her, and he wasn't particularly happy about that realization. Was some of this his fault? Maybe, he realized, he wasn't satisfying her the way he had. Maybe he was spending too much time at the office and not enough time with her. Still, he didn't want her back. He needed to move on, and he realized he could never do that with Cynthia back in his life.

But how? How the hell was he going to move on? He thought about it long and hard as he finished getting ready for work and drove to the office.

By the time he booted up his computer, he still had no answers. And before he knew it, he was again lost in his world of security codes and encryption.

* * *

By the time Aimee awoke, the sun was beginning to beat down. She wanted to close her eyes again, knowing that in only two weeks she'd be starting another school year when lazy mornings in bed would be restricted to weekends and holidays.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Tim said.

She rolled her head. He was on is side, hand propping the side of his head, staring at her and smiling. She smiled back.

"Mornin' Sweetie," she said.

Under the blankets she felt his hand reach over and brush her hip. He raised an eyebrow, stroking back to her ass and cupping a cheek in his hand.

What am I thinking? she thought, leaning over and brushing her lips against his. Morning breath and stale coffee wafted around her nose, which only aroused her further. His schedule made it difficult to make love during normal hours. As a result, when they managed to find the time to make love they did so in the morning, before either brushed their teeth or showered. This used to turn her off, but she barely noticed now. Instead, it triggered her body to what was coming.

He pushed her over and leaned in close, now stroking the flat of her belly. His lips lowered to her and kissed, his tongue darting out. "Frisky?" he whispered.

She only murmured in response. She ran her bare hands over his chest, tangling her fingers in the coarse, curly hair. He was muscular, his pecs ripping hard and his stomach washboard flat and toned, and she felt his hard physique through her fingertips.

His hand ran down her belly to the mound under her panties and pressed, his finger reaching out and rubbing her slit through the thin cotton. She felt her clit hardening and reached for him through his boxers.

He was already hard. He was always hard, she thought, her legs parting and hips rising to meet his finger as it ran the length of her. And he was always gentle, but apparently only with her. She heard his soft intake of breath as her fingers reached under the band of his boxers and grasped his cock. She squeezed, stroking him and feeling his hips pumping into her hand. Images started racing through her mind. He's bigger than David, she thought, but David was more forceful, more urgent than Tim had been almost since they first started dating in high school. She felt herself getting wetter and more aroused at the memory of David, and she wondered if there were marks on her bottom where he'd slapped her. She still felt tender there, but she knew she wanted it more rough.

She wanted it, she now knew, more like Tim gave it to all of them.

She pushed into him and broke their kiss. "I want you to fuck me hard," she said, looking into his eyes.

His smile vanished and was replaced by–what was it? Doubt? Surprise?

His hand stopped rubbing her, and she pushed her hips upward toward his hand. But he'd stopped and was staring at her.

"What did you say?"

She smiled. "You heard me," she said, licking her lips and pumping his cock faster. "I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me. Now. I don't want you to be gentle."

He was stunned. His mouth hung open, and his throbbing hardness started shrinking in her hand.

"What's wrong?" she said. She was taken aback. He was so forceful with all the others. She wanted that, wanted him to do the same thing to her, for her. She wanted him to ravish her and make her feel sexy and wanted. She didn't, she now realized, want the same old boring, gentle, tender lovemaking.

He only stared at her, and she felt her face going flush with anger. "What the fuck's wrong?"

"When did you become such a . . . a . . . . When did you start talking like that? What's come over you?"

She was flustered. She was worked up, wetter than she'd been since . . . well, since yesterday actually. But yesterday with David had been the best sex–the most exciting sex–she'd had in years. She knew she wanted that now. Maybe not always, but at least some of the time. And she wanted it with Tim.

She settled down and snuggled into him, trying to re-establish the intimacy. "Nothing's come over me, honey. I just, you know. It's just that we've been in a rut lately. Maybe not– " "A rut?" Anger seeped into his voice. "I'm not doing well enough for you? Is that what you're saying? You wanna try something different?"

She tried to interrupt him, but he was getting worked up now. "What the fuck do you wanna try? Maybe something you read in one of your little books? Something you saw on the internet?" He pushed himself off the bed and readjusted his boxers, glaring at her. "Something a boyfriend did for you?"

Her eyes went wide. "Fuck you!" she screamed. "Fuck you and fuck your whores!"

He froze, his eyes narrowing and his lips pressing together. "What did you say?"

She hopped from the other side of the bed, reaching for her bathrobe and tying the sash around her waist, her back to him.

"I said, what. Did. You. Say?"

Her shoulders sagged, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She felt his footsteps around the bed, felt his hand grab her arm and squeeze.

"I'm not going to ask you again," he hissed into her ear.

Her anger returned and she turned her face to his. "You heard me. I said fuck you. And fuck your whores. Every goddamned one of them. That's what I said."

"What are you talking about," he said. He was still angry, which made her madder yet. How dare he be angry at her?

She looked down at his hand on her arm. He was squeezing harder. "Get your hand off me. Now."

He looked down and saw his hand, then he looked back into her eyes. She felt his hand loosen, then drop away from her arm. Her eyes stayed on his, locking them in, blazing with fury.

"I know about them, Tim," she said. She shoved him away from her. "All of them. So quit playing Mister Fucking Innocent." She walked past him and out of the room, his footsteps following her into the kitchen.

"Who?" he said behind her. "What are you talking about?"

She spun on him. "Who? Jesus, Tim, I've got pictures of you with them. Pictures going back the last four, five, six months." His face went pale. "Yeah, hotshot. Pictures of you fucking the chick with the red convertible. Fucking the mechanic's wife." She laughed. "Fucking little Jenny's ass last night."

His face turned from surprise to shock, so she decided to pour it on even further.

"Oh yeah, Romeo. All of them. In living color. In the dugout at the little league fields. Behind the Ford dealership. And, of course, in the parking lot at school." She laughed at him. "Brilliant, Einstein. The fucking school I work at."

She strode past him and back into the bedroom. When she reappeared a minute later, he was still frozen, his eyes following her return. Then he saw what was in her hand, and his expression turned from shock to horror, his jaw dropping.

She stopped in front of him and thrust the panties to his nose. "Smell familiar?" she said. She reached down and shoved them in the front of his boxers. "Maybe you should give them back to Miss Red Convertible," she yelled, pushing them hard against his balls and feeling him gulp with pain. "And maybe you shouldn't leave them in your fucking uniform for your wife to find, Einstein."

She stormed past him again and returned to the bedroom. She went to the closet and scooped out all the uniforms she could find. She carried them back out to the kitchen. He had the panties in one hand now, the other rubbing his crotch. She threw the uniforms at his feet.

"Now get the fuck out!"

Her tears came back, welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps outside the door, heard him knock softly.

"Please, baby," he kept saying. "Please, can't we just talk about this?"

He did this for a half hour, but she wouldn't respond. She sat on the floor, her back against the tub, crying into her hands.

Ten minutes after he stopped and she heard the front door open and close, she went back out. Her tears had dried, but she was still sniffling. His uniforms were still sitting in a pile on the floor, the panties now on top.

She knew he wouldn't leave, so she went back into her bedroom and started throwing all of his clothes into garbage bags and piling the bags in the middle of the living room.

When she finished, she found a pen and paper and wrote him a note, taping it to the top garbage bag.

The note read, "Take your shit, get out, and stay out. If you come back, the photos go to Chief Lewis and the husbands and fathers of your whores."

* * *

Cynthia had stayed awake until nearly one in the morning her first day at Sean's house. She'd cleaned the kitchen and the living room thoroughly. The surfaces were dusted, trash disposed of, magazines stacked neatly on bookshelves, and floors swept, mopped, and area rugs vacuumed. She'd gone through the refrigerator and thrown away the spoiled foods, which was most of it, and done the dishes, wiped the counters clean, and mopped the floor. She was exhausted by the time she'd finished the kitchen went to bed, still fully dressed when she sank into the comforter and dozed off. The next morning, she awoke and wondered where she was. Then reality came flooding back and she looked at her wrist. It was nearly eight, and her eyes shot wide open as she sat upright and pushed herself off the bed.

When she entered the kitchen, Sean was standing at the refrigerator, staring in and rummaging around. He was dressed the same as when she'd seen him last night. My God, she thought, he hasn't been to bed.

He turned and looked at her briefly, then looked back into the refrigerator. "Where's the milk?" he said through the door. He had an accent. It wasn't heavy, but there was a lilt to his cadence and a slight rolling of the arrs.

She smoothed down her blouse and realized she must look like hell. "It was spoiled," she said, walking toward him.

His head peeked back up over the top of the door. "Who are you?"

His eyes were rimmed in red, his hair greasy and matted down, and big bags were under the eyes. His voice was calm, curious rather than inquisitive.

She smiled, trying to put him at ease. "I'm Cynthia Holloway," she said, stepping closer and holding her hand out. "We met yesterday. With Mr. Hollister and Ms. Cuthbert?"

"We did?" he said. He reached over and shook her hand. His hand was dry, his grip firm, and she thought she felt a tremble. She didn't know if it was fatigue or nervousness.

"I'm your new housekeeper?" she said, trying to jog his memory.

"Housekeeper?" He seemed lost. His voice and expression told her this didn't ring a bell.

She nodded. "Mr. Hollister said you need someone to take care of you for awhile."

"He did?"

"He did."

"Then does that mean you're going to go out and get some milk? For my tea?" She smiled. "I suppose that's exactly what that means."

"Now?"

"Do you need it now?"

He nodded.

"Then I'll get cleaned up and go into town and do some shopping." He seemed pleased with that. "And when I get back I'll make you some breakfast, if that's okay."

"Nonono," he said, "no need for all that bother. I'll just make some toast and jam."

"No you won't," she said. He was like a little boy, curious, eager to please, and she realized she was treating him as she had treated her little brothers all those years ago. "You'll let me make you a proper breakfast. And you'll eat it and like it, okay?"

"Yes, mum." He yawned, and she saw the exhaustion washing over his body and face.

She placed her hand behind his arm and guided him into the great room and to the couch. He allowed himself to be steered and sat on the couch. She placed her hand in the middle of his chest and led his back to the couch, feeling his sternum and ribs, the beating of his heart, through his shirt.

He said nothing, staring into her eyes the entire time. He allowed her to reach down and lift his legs and scoot him fully on the couch. "I want you to take a nap until I get back. Okay?" He said nothing in response. She pulled an afghan from the back of the couch and slid it over him, tucking him in. He snuggled into the blanket, and she ran a finger through his hair.

"Do you want me to bring you a pillow?" He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Then I'll try to hurry," she said.

She returned to her room, brushed her teeth, showered, and got dressed. When she returned to check on him, he was sleeping soundly on the couch. His lips were parted, and a light snore emitted with the gentle rise and fall in his chest.




Knox County Ch. 03



It took her well over an hour to get into town, completely fill a shopping cart with foodstuffs and cleaning supplies, and get back to Sean's house. When she finished carrying in the groceries and placing them on the counter, she went in to check on him and found him much the way she'd left him. He was mumbling lightly, twitching with his dreams, his eyelids fluttering with the rapid movements from behind.

She put the groceries away, and still he slept. She decided not to wake him. It seemed he needed the sleep more than anything. He looked like hell, like he'd been awake for days and hadn't eaten for days. She'd let him sleep and feed him when he awoke. She decided to try to feed him a lot, hoping a full belly for the first time in weeks–maybe months, given how gaunt he looked–would put him right back to sleep.

She killed the time by going into his bedroom and getting to work. She tore off the bedding and threw the sheets in the laundry. The comforter, she realized, would need to be dry cleaned. Next, she gathered up the dirty clothes scattered throughout the bedroom and bathroom, sorted them into baskets, and carried them into the laundry room to await their turn. Then she slid the windows up to get rid of the smell and started on the bathroom, giving it a thorough scrubbing from top to bottom. Once that was clean, she dusted and polished the bedroom and went off in search of a vacuum. She passed him coming back from a closet, the vacuum gliding on the floor in front of her. He was still sleeping, and she didn't no whether to risk waking him. Then she saw the clock. It was nearly two; he'd been out for almost five hours. He'd be starving by now–looked like he'd been starving himself for months, actually–and she was feeling the emptiness in her belly that told her she'd also need to eat soon.

She took the vacuum to the bedroom. Before starting, she searched in the linen closet and pulled out some fresh sheets and a clean comforter, making the bed. Then she started vacuuming. As she nearly finished, she saw him standing in the door, staring at her.

She jumped at the sight and flipped off the vacuum. "You scared me," she said.

"Can I have me toast now?"

She left the vacuum where it was and walked to the kitchen. He followed and she waved her hand at a chair. "Sit," she said, turning on the flames under the tea kettle before turning her back and pulling food from the refrigerator.

"Really," he said, watching her pull out eggs, cheese, jam, butter, and juice. "Just some toast. And some tea."

"You need more than toast," she told him, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them around. She added some milk and poured it all into a hot pan sizzling with butter, slid down the toaster, and opened a packet of shredded cheese.

She saw him watching her, silent, his face void of expression but his eyes following her every movement. She slid a plate and silverware in front of him on the breakfast bar.

"Water's ready for the tea now," he said. "Careful not to let it boil."

She nodded. She had no idea how to make proper tea, thought it came in little packets by Lipton. He seemed to realize this and walked around the counter, pulling a two small, perforated silver balls from a drawer, pulling them apart at the circumference, and packing them full of loose tea leaves. He put them together again, placed them in the bottoms of a two mugs, and poured hot water over them.

"Let it sit for a few minutes," he said, placing a mug on the counter in front of her and taking his back to his chair.

She finished the meal and placed a plate of cheese omelette and buttered toast in front of him.

"May I have some jam?" he said. She grabbed a spoon and a jar of strawberry jam and put them in front of him. He smeared the toast and took a big bite, pulling the ball from his tea and stirring it as he chewed. "Milk," he said with a mouthful of food.

She poured some milk into his mug and watched him stir it as he took another bite, bigger than the first, from the toast. When he swallowed, a look of relief seemed to wash over his body, and she felt comfortable taking her first bite of toast, washing it down with a sip of tea.

She'd never much liked tea before, but she had to admit this wasn't bad.

"Put some milk in it," he suggested through his third mouthful of toast, so she did and sipped it again. Different, she thought, but not bad.

He polished off the toast in a few more bites and seemed content to stop there. "Eat the omelette," she said. He looked from his plate to hers. Her voice softened. "Listen, I'm supposed to be taking care of you, right?" He nodded. "You don't eat anything more than toast or jam, I'm going to get fired, okay?"

He picked up his fork and took a bite, chewing slowly. She watched him while eating her own plate. At first, he ate the omelette more slowly than the toast. When he got about halfway done, though, his pace increased and he soon had it all wolfed down. He burped loudly when finished and she looked at him.

"'Scuse me," he said.

"That's actually the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time." She grabbed his plate. "Still hungry?"

"No, thank you," he said through a wide yawn. "That was really good."

She scraped the rest of her lunch into the garbage can and placed the dishes in the dishwasher. "C'mon," she said, tilting her head behind her. "Let's get you in the tub. I'll draw you a bath, you can soak for awhile."

He said nothing, so she went to his bathroom and started filling the tub with warm water. When it was nearly full, she heard him enter behind her. "Really," he started, but she cut him off.

"You're taking a bath," she said. "It's pretty obvious you haven't had one in awhile." She reached over and started unbuttoning his shirt for him. "A good long soak will do you some good."

He watched her unbutton his shirt, his arms loose at his sides, yawning. She pulled his shirt from him, saw the pale skin stretched tight over his chest and ribs, patches of light brown fuzz streaked with gray on his sternum and around his sunken belly. She looked down. The waist of his jeans was loose, held in place only by his protruding hip bones. She could easily pull them down without unbuttoning them.

Still his hands hung at his sides. "C'mon," she said, "go ahead and get undressed and into the tub. I'll turn my back, okay?" She turned around for a minute, but when she turned back he was still standing there. She wasn't sure what to do, but then she saw his face and saw complete exhaustion. The food and full belly had worked better than she'd thought. She couldn't let him get into a clean bed like this, and she was afraid to leave him alone in a bathtub. So she made up her mind and tugged his pants downward.

She was right. The pants slid easily over his hipbones and to the floor. His briefs were nearly as baggy, and she easily slid them down, lifting his feet out of pants and underwear.

When she looked back up, she was face to face with the first uncircumcised penis she'd ever seen. Larger than she'd expected, she thought, and strange looking. The bulb was hidden behind a turtleneck sweater of foreskin. Curious, she thought, but I'm standing next to this naked man–too thin and frail, pale, overpowering body odor–but naked nonetheless, and I'm not turned on.

She stood and looked into his face, his eyes following her. They were innocent, tired, no arousal or lewd thoughts. My God, she realized for the first time in two days, I really am a care giver here. I'm responsible for a full-grown man with the emotional stability of a little boy and health as frail as Gandhi on his worst day.

She reached over and felt the bath water, satisfied that it wasn't too hot. "Get in," she said, and he turned and looked at the tub as if for the first time. "I can't lift you, so you're going to have to do this one for yourself."

She held his arm as he lifted his legs over and lowered himself into the water. He sighed as he sank into the waters, lowering his head underneath before emerging and leaning back against wall of the tub. His arms went to the sides of the tub and stayed there. He seemed content to soak without going further.

"Are you going to wash yourself?" she asked, but he didn't move.

Without a word, she grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squirted some into his hair. She rubbed it in gently, forming a solid lather and wiping away the suds as they ran down his forehead toward his closed eyes. She then turned and grabbed a bath sponge, squirting a healthy dose of body wash on it before rubbing it into his shoulders, arms, and chest.

She felt his body relax beneath her touch, all tension disappearing. His breathing went shallow, and she wondered if he was getting aroused. She half hoped he was, she realized.

"Dunk your head under so I can rinse out your hair," she said. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. He did, and she swirled water through his hair until he pushed back up.

She squirted more body wash on and went to his feet, lifting them and scrubbing his feet and legs one after the other. There was no tension, and she had an easy time of it, going slowly and scrubbing the pine fragrance into him thoroughly.

"I need to let some water out now, okay?" she said, and he murmured his assent. She let some water drain, rubbing more wash into the bath sponge. "Do you want to do the rest by yourself?"

When he said nothing, she started scrubbing his belly, moving lower until she reached his thatch of tight, coarse pubic hair. She stopped and still he said nothing, so she continued lower. She lifted his prick in her hand, scrubbing it softly on top and bottom, reaching underneath and scrubbing his loose sac. Further down she went, and his hips lifted to make it easier for her. She scrubbed around his cheeks and deep into the crack of his ass, and she heard him murmur lightly. Then she went back to his prick, pulling the foreskin back and exposing the head fully.

She rubbed the sponge into her hands, lathering them with soap, and put the sponge aside. With one hand, she held the foreskin down and with the other she rubbed over and around his head. He started to react for the first time, a long breath escaping his lips and his cock beginning to harden in her hands. Surprised, she let go and looked at him. His head was turned, his eyes open and looking at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just . . . you know . . . I needed to get you. . . ."

His lips parted, his tongue licking them, then his eyes looking down at himself. Her eyes followed his and saw that he was almost fully hard. She turned back and watched his head lean back, eyes closing, and a low groan escape his lips.

Her eyes never left his face as she reached her hand back to touch him. Her fingernails brushed his hardening length and she felt it twitch. "Is this what you want?" she said, wrapping her hand around the base and feeling him swell in her hand.

She heard his breathing, low and shallow, heard him try to say something.

"I'll stop if you want me to," she said, loosening her grip. His hand shot from the edge of the tub and grabbed on hers, squeezing around her grip. She smiled, watching his face as her hand started moving slowly back and forth along his length.

There was only three or so inches of bathwater remaining in the tub, and she felt the slow waves of water splashing against her hand as his hips started to move with her. She kept a slow rhythm, feeling his veins, turning to watch the long foreskin slide back with her hand before going forward and covering the bulb of his head completely.

After a few minutes, she stood and leaned over the tub, her mouth lowering to him. She pulled the foreskin back and saw pre-cum slickening the head. She stuck out her tongue and licked the length of his head, tasting the salty-sweet cum and smelling the pine fragrance of his freshly scrubbed cock. His hips jerked back, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. She opened her mouth wide and lowered her lips over him, sucking gently and licking her tongue around the ridge of his head as she did so.

"Oh my God," he whispered. She started moving her mouth up and down over his cock, her hand grasping him firmly at the base and keeping him from bucking into her as his hips started pumping. His was the biggest cock she'd ever seen outside a magazine. He was bigger than David or Tim or any of the boys she'd dated in college or high school. Not freakishly so, mind you, but bigger. She was surprised given the size of the rest of him, and she knew she wouldn't be able to deep throat him without choking.

He seemed more than content, though, and she picked up the speed of her mouth. He quit moving his hips and just held them there, his body rigidly holding his ass a few inches out of the water, bracing his weight with his arms on the side of the tub.

"I'm going to cum," he panted, his voice little more than a whisper, and she stayed down on him a moment longer. Soon she felt the throbbing of his cock pick up and felt his head begin to twitch in her mouth. She pulled her head away and pumped him with her hand, watching his head erupt in geysers of thick, milky liquid as he moaned long and low. The first shot went over his shoulder, landing on the floor behind him, and she held his cock straight up. The rest erupted high above before arcing downward and gathering in a large pool in the middle of his belly.

She kept pumping after he had finished, feeling him go soft in her hands. The sticky liquid coated her hand, and she rinsed it through the remaining water before splashing some up and over his belly to wash him off as well.

He was watching her again, and she couldn't read his expression. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Thank you," he said. A weak smile crossed his lips. "Looks like I needed that."

She smiled back. "Right then," she said, "let's get you to bed."

He stood and she dried him off from stem to stern. He again just stood there, watching her rub the towel over his body. When she finished, he followed her into the bedroom and slid naked beneath the blankets she held back for him. She heard his light snoring before she shut the door behind her.

Later, while folding his laundry, she replayed the scene in her mind. She was happy, but she wasn't aroused and hadn't been excited the whole time. She'd never felt this way before, not after doing that. But she felt that way now, like she'd helped someone who really needed it without taking anything in return.

* * *

David was hunched over his desk, flow charting a problem he was having with the new encryption software. He heard a knock and looked up to see his partner walk in.

"Hey Mike," he said, putting his pencil down and leaning back, stretching his neck to get the kinks out as he did so.

"Dave," he nodded, dropping into a chair across from him. "So what's up?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"You haven't been around much lately. Coming in late, leaving early." He wasn't complaining. No, it sounded like concern. David took a deep breath. "Having some problems at home."

"Wanna talk about it?"

David didn't, not really. He hadn't thought about it since he'd gotten to work that morning and started in on the software. Still, he could only bury himself in his work for so long, then he'd be consumed with his fucked up mess of a live again.

"We've separated."

Mike leaned forward, not surprised by the answer. "You or her?"

David raised an eyebrow, surprised he'd guessed it on the first try. Before he could answer, Mike guessed correctly again.

"When did you find out?"

"Last Tuesday."

"You know the guy?"

"Kind of . . . not really. I know who he is. Don't really know him, though."

Mike sat back in the chair. He was younger than David, maybe thirty-five, slim with blonde hair on the long side. God, David thought, he's a good looking guy, personable, smart, rich. He's probably never been through this in his life. Still, he was a good guesser, and he was easy to talk to. More importantly, he was unmarried and seemed to have no problems with women.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Mike nodded, saying nothing.

"Been awhile, you know? The dating scene? Kind of scarey."

Mike nodded again. David didn't know what more to say. He was looking for words of wisdom here, some tips on how to play the field again. He didn't want another wife, or even anything that serious. Still, he realized he felt alone, and he wanted to have someone to spend some time with. Christ, he thought, she's barely gone and already I can't do without her.

Mike took a deep breath, hesitating before he spoke. "Okay, you know Justine, right?" David nodded. Mike had been seeing her pretty much exclusively for a little over a year now. They'd had dinner together a couple of times. "Ever tell you how we met? Where we met?"

Mike knew he hadn't. "There's this club I go to sometimes. It meets on Thursdays, at different people's houses. We all take turns having the party at our houses. Sort of an invitation only thing. Word of mouth, but you have to be invited by someone already in the group. Know what I mean?"

"Like a singles night out without the nightclub?"

Mike grinned. "You could say that. More like a . . . you won't tell anyone?" David twirled his hand, telling him to spit it out. "Well, more like a swingers night out. If you know what I mean."

David wasn't surprised. He'd heard of them, of course. Hell, who hadn't. He was just surprised they actually existed. In tiny little Armitage, Wisconsin, no less. He was uncomfortable, but intrigued.

"So when you say swingers, you mean, like, sharing wives, girlfriends, that sort of thing?"

"Sometimes. Some are married, a lot are single. Some like girl-girl stuff, sharing their mates, some don't. Really, it's a neat way–an awesome way, actually–to meet people. No strings attached."

"And you met Justine at one of these?" Mike nodded. "And you still go to them?" He nodded again.

Mike's grin got wider. "She likes girls sometimes. You gonna say no to something like that?"

David smiled and tilted his head. He, for one, would give his left nut to see Justine naked and with another woman.

Seeing the look on his face, Mike spoke. "So you wanna come or what? It's tonight, seven o'clock, at my house. You like it, hang around and see what happens. Don't like it, feel uncomfortable or anything, leave whenever you want. Just don't tell anyone, okay?"

David pondered this, running the possibilities through his mind. Then he thought of Cynthia, thought of how inexperienced he was, the things he'd never seen or done. "I won't be a third wheel? The only one coming alone?"

"Nah, there's always singles there. You'll come?"

David nodded.

* * *

Mike's house is perfect for something like this, he realized pulling into the driveway. It was well outside of town, well back from the road, the in ground pool and much of the back yard hidden from any nosy neighbors by a high stockade fence. He parked at the back, leaving plenty of room between cars in case he left early.

When he got out of the car, he heard voices around back and saw couples through the front bay windows standing around chatting and drinking. Everyone was dressed much the same as him, in jeans or shorts and polo shirts, sandals or loafers.

He went to the front door and knocked. Justine answered. "David," she said, pulling him in and hugging him. She was beautiful, he thought. Long, straight, dark hair falling to her tanned shoulders, tall and lanky, slim, straight hips, big breasts pressing into his chest. "Mike, look who's here," she called over her shoulder before turning back to him and squeezing herself to him again. "Mike told me," she whispered in his ear. "I'm so sorry."

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, and she let him go. "Hey Dave," Mike said. "Glad you could make it."




Knox County Ch. 03



He tilted his head, walking into the crowd. Justine took his arm and they followed. Mike introduced him to most of those gathered, one by one, couple by couple. They were all chatting amiably, David noticed, drinking wine or beer, telling jokes, talking as if they'd all known each other for years. Mike went to the refrigerator and he allowed Justine to guide him the other way.

"Don't be nervous," Justine whispered next to him. "They're all really nice. Fun. You'll see. It's easy." He looked at her and she flashed him a wide smile full of straight white teeth. "Let's go out here." She steered him to the patio doors, sliding back the screen and stepping out in front of him.

He scanned her from behind as she stepped forward. Her ass was small but pouty, the cheeks curving our gently from her back before curving back into her long, lithe legs. She was tall, too, taller than he remembered, almost as tall as his six feet.

She turned and caught him looking. "Like what you see?" Her grin was enticing, and he felt himself flush.

"Here you go," he heard Mike say behind him. He turned and took the bottle of beer Mike held out to him.

"Thanks."

"Go ahead," he said, pointing his head toward Justine. "Get in the hot tub with her."

Dave turned and watched Justine standing by the hot tub, patting the edge. There were already three people in the tub, sunk to their shoulders and talking with each other. He turned back to Mike. "Sorry," he said, "didn't think to bring my trunks."

Mike laughed. "Neither did they," he said.

David turned back and looked. Justine had kicked off her sandals and was unzipping her shorts, pulling them down her long legs to reveal a white silk thong. Near her sandals were other piles of clothes. He looked to the pool and saw six or seven people in there, all of them nude, anywhere from late-twenties to mid-forties. He turned back to Mike.

"But she's– "

"Doing exactly what she told me she was going to do when I told her you might be dropping by." Mike grinned and tilted his head to the side. "Go ahead."

Mike turned back to Justine, watched her pull her shirt over her head. He wide hips framed by jutting hipbones, the valley between them rising to a flat belly. Her ribcage protruded slightly, and her breasts, in a lacy white push-up bra held her large breasts up. He saw no tan lines, only a deep, smooth bronze. She saw him looking and patted the edge of the hot tub again, flashing him another toothy smile.

With one final look at Mike and a swig of his beer, he walked over. "Dave, this is Jim and Sherry and Becky." They all nodded and smiled at him. Sherry was cute, about his age, short-cut brown hair and a pretty smile. Jim was about the same age, maybe a little older, heavy-set but not fat, and his shoulders and upper chest covered in thick patches of hair. Becky was younger, late twenties, all wide blue-eyed innocence under her curly blonde locks.

He could see clearly now that they were all naked in the tub. Jim had one hand between each woman's legs, and Becky had her hand around his cock, tugging it every now and again.

"Wanna help me with this?" Justine turned her back to him and he unclasped her bra. She slid it down her arms and flipped it over to her pile of clothes. She turned back to him and he sucked in his breath. "Like what you see?" she said. He nodded. They were perfect, round globes centered with small, dark brown areolae and large nipples. She hooked her thumbs into her thong and pulled out the waistband. His eyes traveled downward. "I'll take these off when you're naked."

He could see over the top of the waist band, and he didn't see any hair. He'd never seen a shaved pussy before, but he was sure she was totally bald. He felt the stirrings of an erection.

"He's shy," Becky giggled.

"Don't be afraid," Sherry said. She had a low, scratchy voice. He wondered what she'd sound like in bed. He stripped and tossed his clothes in a pile over Justine's, then watched as she lowered the thong to reveal her smooth, bare pussy.

She lifted a leg over and slipped into the hot tub next to Sherry. He followed her in, sitting between Becky and Justine.

When his ass hit the seat of the tub, he felt hands on his thighs, one on each side. He looked down and watched Becky's hand get there before Justine's, grabbing his cock and squeezing just before Justine's went to his balls and traced the wrinkles in his sac.

He reached his hands out as well, seeking them. He felt Jim's hand slide to Becky's inner thigh and pull her legs open for him. He ran his finger up and down her slit, circling her clit as he got to the top. He felt her moist heat through the warm, bubbling water and moved his finger back down, sliding it in. "Yeah," she said, "just like that." He teased her with his fingertips, slowly pushing in a little before going back to her clit, enjoying the lusty smile she shot him.

At the same time, he was rubbing along the inside of Justine's slim, taut thigh. Still watching Becky, he slid his hand further up and felt something. Another hand. He looked left and saw Sherry smiling at him, her hand between Justine's legs, Justine's eyes staring into hers. He moved his left hand lower, below Sherry's, and felt the bottom of her slit. She was getting warm, he felt, and he brushed his fingertip over the crinkle of her perineum before going lower still and circling the tight starfish of her anus.

Her eyes turned to him, making contact. "Go ahead," she whispered. "Push it in." He pressed the tip, feeling it slip in as deep as his fingernail.

"Is he in your ass?" Sherry said. Justine nodded, and he felt Sherry's fingers pick up tempo. "Do you want more?" Justine nodded again, and David looked at Sherry, who mouthed, Further. He pressed in further, up to the second knuckle. and heard the low moan press through Justine's lips. "Fuck her with it," Sherry's sultry voice encouraged. "Slowly." He did, trying to concentrate with Becky's hand slowly sliding up and down his cock.

"You think that's hot?" he heard Jim say, and he turned back. Becky was nodding, and he felt Jim's hand go beneath. He saw the small blonde's eyes shut and her lips press together and his finger entered her ass, her stroking on his cock getting more urgent.

Then he felt Justine's fingertips go lower, tracing down to his asshole, and he felt her push against him, through him, and into him. She was smiling at him, her hips swaying against his fingers.

"Last to cum gets their choice," Jim said. "Agreed?" David watched them all nod, smiles curling their lips, and he looked at Jim and nodded, too. He wasn't sure what this meant, but he needed to slow himself down, think about baseball, grain prices, anything but what was happening around him and to him.

Three minutes later, Becky was the first to cum. Her body went rigid and her whimpers, no matter how she tried to hold them in, gave away the waves of pleasure she was feeling. When she was done, David felt her small hand push him away. "I'm too sensitive for now," she said, throwing her arms on the side of the tub behind her and leaning back.

He turned and looked at Justine, saw that she was getting close. He decided to help this along and leaned over. His tongue lashed at her breast before he opened his mouth and sucked in her nipple, continuing to lash her areolae with his tongue as he sucked her in deeper. "Oh Jesus, yes," she mewed. He felt her going over the top, her hand clamping tightly on his wrist and holding his finger in her.

"Holy fuck," Jim said. David shifted his eyes in time to watch him slump back, spent. "I'm out."

"Just us now, sweetie," Sherry said to him. Her eyes were blazing into him, a devilish grin turning up the corners of her lips. She had something neither Becky nor Justine had: confidence. She was take charge.

David felt the tingling in his balls signaling his impending release. Becky must have sensed this as well, because he felt her hand squeeze him tighter and pump him faster. She leaned into his ear and licked, then blew softly. "Come on, baby."

He leaned his head back, trying to hold off. Then he felt Justine's finger in him pushing upward, seeking out his prostrate and rubbing against it. "Turnabout's fair play," she said, and he felt her lean over and suck in his nipple. This sent him over the edge, and he felt his cock shooting into the warm water. He sagged low with is release.

Seconds later, he heard Sherry's whimpering pick up as she orgasmed. "I win," she panted when she was done.

They all relaxed in the water, rubbing thighs and bellies, murmuring but saying nothing. After ten minutes or so, Jim said, "So what's it going to be?"

David opened his eyes and looked from Jim to Sherry. She was staring back at him. He wanted to be picked. Sure, he'd love to be with Justine, but Sherry had something more. He bit his lip and a smile curved her lips. "You," she said to him, "and Justine." The three slipped out of the pool and gathered their clothes. Becky had already snuggled in close to Jim, and they were kissing and gliding their hands over each other. The girls put on their shorts and shirts, carrying their bras, panties and sandals. David followed suit, shirt and shorts only, loafers and boxers in his hand. He followed them back through the sliding glass doors.

About half the people from before were gone. He could hear sounds coming from rooms down the hallway, and some couples were making out in the living room in various states of undress while others chatted while watching.

He followed the women around a corner and down the stairs into the basement. Over in the corner, in the home theater area, he saw Mike leaning back, long dark hair shimmering over his thighs as some naked chick bounced her mouth up and down on his cock. Mike looked up, saw David and the women, and gave David a thumbs up. David grinned in response. He then turned back in time to enter a door that Sherry closed behind him.

"Sit over there," she said, turning to Justine, undoing her shorts, and pulling them down. "And just watch for awhile until your ready."

He nodded, staring as Sherry's mouth traveled to Justine's lips and flicked them with her tongue. Justine lifted Sherry's shirt over her head and threw it aside. Then she lifted her own shirt off, giving David another look at her spectacular breasts. Sherry guided them to the bed behind Justine and pushed her ass to the mattress. Justine complied, spreading her legs as she sat. David took his clothes off and sat in the chair ten feet away, watching Sherry pleasure Justine in the soft light of the room.

After Justine had her first orgasm, a soft, whimpering shiver, Sherry stood and shed her shorts. "My turn," she said, leaning over and giving Justine a long, deep kiss before placing her hand behind Justine's head and guiding it to her pussy. Sherry was more forceful than Justine, giving directions and making clear in explicit terms what she wanted. "Oh yeah, like that. Now lick the length. Slower. Slower, softer. Yes, like that." Despite Justine's slow pace and light touches, Sherry's orgasm wasn't long in coming.

Next, Sherry pushed Justine back onto the bed and joined her. They started kissing, brushing and squeezing each other's breasts, occasionally bowing down and sucking a nipple into their mouths. Their legs were entwined, their pelvises grinding against each other. David was hard again, but he only brushed his fingertips up and down the length of his cock. He was afraid to start stroking. He'd last awhile, he knew. He could almost never even manage twice in such a short span of time. Still, the scene before him was the hottest he'd ever witnessed, and he knew he'd be spurting again in no time if he did more than feel his own hardness. And he had the feeling he was going to want this to last.

Eventually, Sherry pushed Justine's shoulders lower on her body. "My turn again," she said, sitting up and raising her knees. As Justine's mouth trailed lower on her body, Sherry leaned over and reached into the drawer of the nightstand, feeling around. She pulled something out–David couldn't see exactly what–and looked his way, crooking her finger at him.

He walked to the bed, taking what was in Sherry's outstretched hand. "For you," she said in her husky voice, "on her. Get her ready for you."

He looked into his hand. A slim red vibrator with a stop and a button on the base, about four inches long and a small bottle of KY. He looked back at Sherry, but her eyes were squeezed shut and she was biting her bottom lip.

He walked to the base of the bed and took in the sight. Justine's head was between Sherry's legs, her hands cupping under Sherry's ass and lifting her pussy into Justine's face. Her knees were spread wide, exposing her wet lips and spreading the cheeks of her ass apart, her dark brown, crinkled starfish spreading before him. He squirted some lube into his palm and rubbed it over his cock, repeating several times until he was coated thoroughly.

"Not yet," Sherry said to him, and he looked back to her. "You don't do anything until I tell you to." She was in control and David her plaything. He looked back down at Justine. "Kiss her there," Sherry told him. "Everywhere. Soft, slow. Use your tongue, but just the tip."

He got on his knees at the foot of the bed. He placed his hands on Justine's cheeks and spread them wider. He heard Justine's soft whimpers, and he then leaned in. He smelled faint traces of the chlorine from the hot tub, but most of all he smelled Justine's musky dampness. His tongue went out and brushed against her swollen lips, licking around the outside before tracing up and down the slit. Justine's whimpers increased in volume and her hips pushed back at him.

"Just the tip of the tongue, baby," Sherry said. "Don't stick it in her."

David followed the instructions, going lower and twirling around her engorged clit before going back up around her puffy labia. 

"Her asshole," Sherry said. "Lick around her asshole." He'd never done this before, never put his tongue there. Justine's soft panting told him she wanted him to, though, and he went up, pulling her cheeks as far apart as he could, watching the knot loosen and a tiny opening appear in the center.

He leaned his tongue in and placed the tip at the center, pressing slightly. Justine's panting got louder at this, and he heard Sherry tell her to change something or another. He was lost, though, in the sight before him, his tongue now tracing around the pucker and feeling the ridges of her muscle through his tongue. Why had he never done this? With Cynthia?

He blocked the thoughts from his mind with the realization that he was doing it now. And by Justine's insistent pushing, he knew he was doing it well. He concentrated on doing it even better, not wanting the moment to end.

Sherry must have sensed this though. "Stop now," she commanded, "and lube up the vibrator." He did. "Now turn it on, the button there." He obeyed. "Now press it against the center. Lightly."

He placed the tip against the center and held it there. He could feel the buzzing through his fingers, and Justine tried to push back against it.

He looked up at Sherry, but she was watching Justine between her legs. "Is that what you want, honey? You want him to fuck your tight little ass?" He heard Justine's pleading murmurs, and Sherry looked back at him. "Very slowly push it in," she said. "Very slowly. But don't stop until it's all the way there."

He pressed, watching her asshole try to fight it off. Still he pressed, and suddenly the wrinkles flattened and the tip pushed in. He eased back the pressure, trying to keep it slow. The opening was widening, the slim protruder entering with a soft hum, and he saw her legs and cheeks tighten with the sensation, a low, muffled moan passing her lips into Sherry's soaking pussy.

"Give me the lube, David," Sherry said. He handed it over Justine's back to Sherry's outstretched hand. She opened it and held up Justine's hand, squirting lube into her palm and rubbing it liberally over index and middle fingers. "I want you to get me ready for him, too," she said to the top of Justine's head. "Just like he's getting you ready."

She pushed the hand back down and under her, lifting her hips and widening her legs as she did so. "Just one at first," she instructed, "then, when you feel it, the other one." Justine was murmuring her understanding as David continued to slowly press the vibrator forward. When the vibrator was firmly seated, the stop covering the entire crinkle of her rosebud, David looked back to Sherry. "Now eat her, David. For all you're worth."

He smiled and went back down, his hand still resting on the base of the vibrator in her ass, pushing it against her. He started as before, tracing her lips and circling her clit, and Justine's breathing told him she was getting close. Almost there . . . just a little bit more . . . then he did it. He made his tongue rigid and rammed it as far into her pussy as he could, her wet lips pressing against his face and coating him in her juices.

"Oh fuck," he heard her screech, and he heard Sherry tell her to get back down there. Her moaning was again muffled, but he felt the orgasm rocketing through her body. Her pussy pressed harder against his face as she bucked with the forces rippling through her. Still, David held his tongue there, breathing through his nose as he probed her moist inferno with his tongue.

Sherry's panting was now nearly as loud as Justine's. David pulled his tongue from the molten inferno and looked over Justine's ass at Sherry. She was looking at him, her muscles rigid.

"Go ahead," she croaked, "fuck her pussy. But slow. And fuck her ass while you do it."

David didn't need to be asked twice. He knelt behind Justine on the bed and took his cock in his hand. Justine was trying to push back against him, but Sherry held Justine's head in place. Slow, he said to himself, pressing the tip at her opening. With his other hand he grabbed the vibrator in her ass and slowly pulled it out, sinking into her at the same speed.

She was on fire, her heat enveloping his head as it pushed in. He kept his eyes there, turned on by the sight of him slowly burying into her as the vibrator slowly withdrew, her anus tightening as the tip remaining in her grew more slender.

When he was all the way in, only the very tip of the vibrator remained lodged. Justine turned her head from Sherry and looked at him, her face a slick mask of lust. She said nothing, only gazed and expelled her breath in short, silent gasps.

"Does he feel good?" Sherry said. Justine nodded, her eyes staying on his, then traveling the length of her back to the vibrator sliding slowly back into her arched ass. She squeezed her eyes shut, one hole being filled again as the other went slowly empty.

Sherry leaned forward and turned Justine's face to hers. She licked her own juices from the girl's cheeks and lips, then said, "Tell me what you want, baby." Justine opened her eyes, said nothing. "Come on. Tell me."

"Faster," Justine softly panted. David looked at Sherry, who nodded in response.

"But not too fast," she said.

He started moving ever so faster, picking up speed gradually with each stroke of his hand and cock. Justine started pushing back at him now, into his cock. "More," she said. "Faster. Come on, slap it into me."

Sherry shook her head at him. No. He obeyed, loving being at someone else's command for the first time in his life.

It didn't matter, though. He felt spasming around his cock and knew Justine was coming. Not earth shattering, not as hard as her previous orgasm, but cumming nevertheless. David kept the same pace through Justine's orgasm, then looked at Sherry for direction. But Sherry wasn't looking at him. Her body was rigid, one hand tugging her own nipple, and she was groaning through clenched teeth.




Knox County Ch. 03



After a minute or more, her body relaxed and she looked at David. A wide grin spread across her face, and she lifted Justine's chin to face her. "Is that what you want?" she said.

Justine's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

"Is that why you were so rough with me?"

Justine nodded. "Then I'll let him warm up on you while you finish getting him ready for me." She pushed Justine's mouth back to her pussy and fixed David with a stare.

"Ever done anal, baby?"

He shook his head.

She tossed the bottle of lube across Justine's back. "Then put more of this on. A lot more. And then put more on her. Rub it in. When she's ready, go slow. Got it?"

David nodded, not believing his ears. He pulled the vibrator from Justine's ass, seeing the small O it left behind, and heard her whimper with the sudden emptiness. He squirted the lube over her crack and started rubbing it in. He squirted more directly on her pucker and started rubbing it around. Then he squirted more and started pressing a finger in. It entered easily, falling through the void left by the vibrator.

"Use a second finger," Sherry said. She looked down, speaking at Justine. "And don't be nice about it." Justine clenched around his finger in response, trying to push him out as another finger pressed in roughly next to the first. He watched his fingers, one pressing in next to the other, watched them break the tightening seal. She gasped when he broke through, her body tensing, her asshole clenching around him. He started sawing them in and out, picking up speed as he did so until he was pushing them all the way in with each push. He felt her loosening.

"Do you want him?" Sherry said.

"Yes," Justine groaned. "Yes, please Sherry. Tell him to put it in my ass."

He looked at Sherry, waiting for the go ahead. "Go real slow," she said. "Make sure she's ready before it slips in, and go slow until she tells you otherwise."

He pulled his cock from Justine's pussy and squirted its length with lube, rubbing it in with his hand.

"Spread yourself for him," Sherry told Justine. Her hands reached around behind her–Sherry gasped at this, and David realized she'd pulled her fingers from Sherry's ass. Justine grabbed her cheeks, spreading them wide and exposing herself, and he pressed his head to the small O still remaining. He pressed and held there, feeling her tense up. She was pushing back against him, then stopping, pushing then stopping, and he watched the amazing sight as his spongy head tried to break through.

He eased his hips forward a little more, using his fingertips to guide the head to the center. She was breathing steady now, and he watched her hole slowly expand. He squirted some more lube at the tip of his cock and around her hole. Then he watched his head slowly sink in, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. Then, with no warning, her sphincter loosened and his head sank in.

"Don't stop," Justine said. One hand went to the bed and clutched the sheets, the other still holding herself open. "Keep going," she encouraged, "just go slow."

Sherry crawled down the bed and watched with David. "That is so fucking hot," she said. Her lips went to David and kissed him deep, her tongue doing frantic battle with his.

It took three or four minutes, David kissing Sherry the entire time, before he felt her cheeks brushing the skin of his hips and his cock push fully in. He started slowly withdrawing, but she pushed back against him. "No," she gasped, "hold it there. Let me get used to his." He did, breaking his kiss with Sherry and turning her cheek so her eyes could follow his.

His cock was fully buried in Justine's distended ass. Her cheeks were rippling with what David didn't know. Tension? Pain? Pleasure?

"How does he feel?" Sherry said.

"Oh God, he's so big this way."

"Do you want him to start fucking you?"

"Yes," she hissed.

Sherry turned back to him, sucking his neck below his ear. "Start slow," she blew into his ear. "When she's ready for you to go faster, you'll know."

He nodded and began a slow withdrawal. Sherry was back at his face, and he kissed her as he stared to move back and forth in Justine's tight, velvety ass.

"Tell me what it feels like," Sherry whispered, her husky voice sending shivers through to the tip of his toes.

He looked back down, his cock now sliding easily back and forth. "Different," he said. "Not like her pussy. It's tighter. Warm, but not as hot. Or as wet. It's rippling, silky."

"Do you like it?"

In response, he pushed his face against her and groaned through their kiss, his hips going faster. He felt Justine's fingers below him, rubbing herself and shuddering.

"Save some for me," Sherry told him when their kiss broke. He kissed her in response, his lubed finger snaking behind her and pressing sliding into her crack, seeking her asshole and pressing her to them. She stiffened as his finger pressed, sighed into his kiss when it broke through. He moved it around to the steady rhythm he now had with Justine.

"Holy shit," he heard Justine say, and he broke the kiss and watched her throw her head to the bed, clutching the sheets with one hand as the other brought her again to climax.

When she finished, Sherry pushed him away and out of her. "My turn," she said. "Lay down."

He did as he was told, laying next to the still panting Justine. She leaned in and kissed him deeply. "Thank you," she mouthed.

He looked down his chest at Sherry. She was straddling him, her hand guiding his cock into her. He felt his head push against the rubbery knot of her anus and slide past her ring. With a long, slow, raspy moan, she continued downward, engulfing him and not stopping until her asscheeks were on his hipbones.

She was looser and more relaxed than Justine had been–and warmer, too. "Does it feel good?" she hissed. He could only nod in return. "Then fuck me," she said, moving back up now before sliding down faster and picking up the pace quickly. "Fuck my ass."

He started thrusting his hips with her, his hand guiding her up and down, and Justine leaned in and kissed him, her tongue frantically fighting with his.

"Justine," she said, interrupting their kiss, "eat my pussy."

Justine broke the kiss and crawled down. She leaned in, and David watched Sherry lean back and start riding him harder as Justine's tongue sought out Sherry's clit. Then David's view was blocked when Justine swung her legs over his head and lowered her still-wet folds to his face.

"Oh my God," Sherry said, pushing up and down hard, driving David's hips into the mattress with each plunge. He felt her asshole clenching around his cock. "Oh yessss," she said. He felt Justine's hips move forward as Sherry pulled her lips in harder. He felt the trembles roll through her body, her cheeks shaking on his pelvis. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer, and he tried to bring Justine back to his tongue. Then he felt a finger probing his own asshole, pushing in, and the tingling in his ball exploded abruptly, sending waves of cum deep into Sherry. He'd never cum so hard before, he knew, not even on the first time and certainly never on those rare occasions when he'd gone back to back.

Later, when he was driving home after saying his goodbyes and promising Mike he'd definitely be back, he thought about the evening. He'd done things he'd never done. Hell, he thought, everything I did there I've never done. Just like the rough, demanding sex with Aimee, another first. He felt a twinge of guilt. He should've been sharing these experiences with Cynthia, his wife. But he hadn't, and neither had she. They'd fallen into a rut, broken only briefly by their time in Hawaii, and she'd turned to someone else to make it all exciting again.

The problem was that he'd not bothered to realize the excitement he was missing. Cynthia had known, but she'd never bothered to share her longings with him. What troubled him was why.

Why had she gone elsewhere? Had they really grown that far apart?

* * *

Early Friday morning, Elizabeth's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth, it's Jenny. From the Agency."

"What do you have for me?"

"We've got a problem. Hope you can help out."

"What kind of problem?"

"We've got a client. He's in your neck of the woods, actually. One of the other girls was supposed to be taking care of this, but she called last night and she's down with the flu."

Elizabeth felt tingles creep up her spine. "How close is he to here?"

"About ten, twelve miles from Armitage."

Elizabeth said nothing.

"Elizabeth, there's really nothing we can do. No one else we can turn to. And this one's for the whole weekend. Tonight through Sunday. Forty-five hundred."

Elizabeth immediately calculated. Her take would be three grand. Still, she lived in Armitage. She wasn't well known, of course. She'd only moved there a year ago. The chances of running into him–or her–were slim. And three grand. "Okay," she finally said. "What's the name and address."



Knox County Ch. 04



Cynthia had the house in good order now. The rooms were all cleaned, polished, floors mopped or vacuumed. She was folding the last load of laundry when the phone rang.

"Mr. McMahon's residence."

"Cynthia?" said the cheery voice.

"Good morning, Ms. Cuthbert."

"Emily," she reminded. "Please call me Emily."

"Of course. Emily it is."

"How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping." He head turned to the doorway to his bedroom. "Been sleeping almost nonstop for a day."

"Oh yes, he does that. Works himself into total exhaustion painting and painting. Doesn't stop 'til he's done with whatever project's caught his fancy. Then, when he's done, he sleeps. Sometimes for days, it seems. Then it starts all over again."

"Well, he must be done."

"Good, he'll need to be rested," said Emily. "For tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"He's getting a visitor. To take care of his other . . . you know . . . needs."

Cynthia hear the embarrassment in her voice, and she knew Emily was blushing. She smiled and pushed the point.

"His needs?"

"You know, his . . . ." She cleared her throat. "He's a man, right? With needs?"

Cynthia's smile got wider. She was enjoying this, enjoying Emily's discomfort.

"So how do you take care of these? These needs, as you call them."

The voice was cheery again. "Oh, that's simple. We contact this company, an escort agency, and we retain their services. Kind of like a . . . ." Emily stopped. "Like a prostitute?" "Oh no, it's nothing like that. More like . . . I don't know . . . companionship?"

"And what time will this companionship be arriving?"

"Seven o'clock."

"And you need me to do what exactly?"

"Well, if you could stay somewhere for the weekend, that would probably help. Give them some time . . . uh . . . well, some time alone."

Cynthia paused. She didn't know where she'd stay.

"And you need to have him awake, of course. Shaved up, cleaned up. You know, ready to meet visitors."

"I suppose I could do that," she said. A thought occurred to her. "Emily?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been doing this for him? For Sean. How long have you been arranging for his companionship?"

"Oh, this is the first time."

"Then why now?"

Emily paused before answering. "Truth be told, dearie, he probably hasn't been intimate with a woman in ages. Since before his Holly got sick. Roger thought he'd need it, and we know he won't leave the house anytime soon to get it on his own." The conversation ended on that note, and they said their goodbyes.

Cynthia thought back to yesterday, to the bathtub. Now she understood the look in his eyes, the curiosity and the need. Holy shit, she thought, I couldn't live without sex for a year or more.

This led to two more thoughts. First, he had lived without sex for more than a year. Instead, he had thrown his obvious obsession for painting into caring for his wife and ignored all of his own needs. Second, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to sacrifice so much for another person. Sure, she'd loved David, but when he wasn't enough, she'd sought what she needed elsewhere. Without a thought of anyone but herself, she'd gone out and taken what she wanted without regard to the man she thought she loved.

What the hell was wrong with her?

* * *

"Get up, Timmy," he heard his mother say. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was back in his bedroom, the bedroom he'd grown up in.

Little had changed, he noticed. Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkin posters still covered the walls. His bedspread and comforter were the same striped bedding bought years ago at Sears Roebuck. And his mother still woke him up when she'd decided he'd slept long enough.

"Morning, Mom," he said.

"Get up," she said again. "I've got your lunch ready. It'll get cold if you don't hurry." She turned and left. He got out of bed, swinging his long legs to the floor and kneading the cramped muscles of his back. He looked around again. Welcome to it, he thought. He pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt and went down to the kitchen.

He sat at the table and his mother placed a plate in front of him. Grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, just like when he was a kid.

"So what's the problem?" she said, sitting across from him and dunking her sandwich in the soup.

He didn't want to talk about it, so he ate instead.

After a few more minutes of silence, she repeated the question. When he again didn't answer, staring instead into his soup, she said, "I called her this morning. Aimee. I called her."

He looked at his mother. "What did she tell you?"

"She didn't," his mother replied. She fixed him with a glare. "She said to ask you." He looked back into his soup. "What did you do, Tim."

"Messed up," he murmured.

"Messed up missed a birthday? Messed up spending too much time with the guys?"

He looked back at her, saw her eyes narrow as she took in the look of shame on his face. "Messed up with another woman and got caught." When he said nothing, she continued.

"Who was the other woman?"

"No one."

"Is it serious? This other woman? You in love with her?"

"No."

"Did you tell Aimee that?" He shook his head. "You need to tell her then. Tell her it's over and beg her to forgive you."

"You don't understand."

"I understand better than you think I do." He voice softened and she took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. When she swallowed, she said, "Your father had an affair once."

His head shot up and his eyes locked on hers.

She nodded. "A long time ago, when you were a little boy. She was a friend of ours. Her and her husband. Real good friends. And I caught him--caught them, actually--in the bedroom one day. Doing things I'd never wanted to do." She blushed at the thoughts and turned, staring out the window. "I moved out, swore I'd never come back. Took you with me, too. But I went back to him."

She turned back and looked at him. "Everyone makes mistakes, you know. Even your father. God knows I made enough of them, too. Just not like that." She smiled. "Oh, I thought about it from time to time. God knows I thought about it." She turned back to him, the smile fading. "But I didn't act on them. I had a husband. And a child. A family. So I swallowed my pride and took him back."

"Did you still love him?"

"Of course, dear. That's why I took him back."

"So you put it behind you?"

She shook her head. "It's not that easy. Sure I still loved him. And I wanted to be a family again. But some of the trust was gone. You know, if he was late from work, I'd wonder. Maybe not consciously, not always. But the later he'd get, the more I'd wonder where he was. If he was with someone else. And I'd get almost sick sometimes."

"Then it was worth it?"

She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his. "Were you happy? Growing up, were you happy?"

He nodded.

"Then it was worth it."

After a few minutes, he looked back down at his soup, no longer hungry. "I don't think it's going to be that easy," he said.

"Why not?"

He paused, wondering whether he should tell her.

"Timothy, tell me."

"Because there was more than one, Mom."

"How many more than one? How many were there?"

He said nothing. He wasn't sure.

His mother's language shocked him. "You stupid bastard. What have you done to her?"

She jerked his food away and put the dishes in the sink with a crash. He cringed at the noise, and she stormed from the room and walked down the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Elizabeth found the house with no problem. She knocked on the front door and waited. A moment later, the door opened.

"Ms. McMahon?" she said. This is going to be one of those, she thought. Husband watches while wife experiences the other side. Could be worse; this woman was at least very pretty.

The woman chuckled. "No," she replied, looking Elizabeth up and down. "Just the housekeeper."

Elizabeth was surprised. This woman had to be the sexiest housekeeper she'd ever seen. She had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, high cheekbones, straight nose perfectly proportioned to her face, and round, expressive eyes. She was nearly as tall as Elizabeth, around five feet six inches, and slim. Her legs were smooth and well tanned, her breasts firm and pointing up. Elizabeth guessed her for late twenties.

"Come in," the housekeeper said. She held out her hand. "I'm Cynthia."

"Elizabeth," she said, stepping into the house and shaking the proffered hand.

"Make yourself comfortable and I'll go get him."

Elizabeth watched the woman walk to the end of a long hallway, open a door, and disappear behind. A moment later she re-appeared, pulling a man out by the hand.

He was short, only an inch or so taller than Cynthia, and thin. His clothes, jeans and a t-shirt that said "ARSENAL" were baggy, his feet bare. He had graying curly hair, was clean shaven, and pale. Very pale. If not for a slight reddening of the cheeks he'd have looked like a ghost.

"Come on," Cynthia said, "you have a guest." "Elizabeth," Cynthia said stopping before her and pulling the man closer, "this is Sean. Sean, this is Elizabeth."

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. Shyly at first, but soon he was gazing into her with the deepest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen. They were like coal, and they started traveling her body. "My God," he said, "you're lovely." He had an accent. It sounded like My Gawd, yer low-vly. Scotsman? Irish maybe?

His eyes traveled over her from top to bottom. It didn't seem like desire, though. He seemed to be appraising her. He reached a hand out and placed it on her hip, turning her to the side. Her hips followed the hand, her eyes looking at Cynthia. Cynthia's bemused expression told her nothing.

"You're perfect," he said, rolling the arrs slightly. He circled her now, and she looked back to Cynthia.

"Well," Cynthia said, "it seems you two will be getting along fine then. I'll just be running along. I'll see you two on Sunday."

"What?" he said.

"I said-- "

"I heard what you said, but where are you going? For two days?"

Elizabeth heard panic in his voice, and she watched Cynthia's face go soft.

"Sean, do you know why Elizabeth is here?"

He shook his head.

"Emily and Mr. Hollister thought you needed some time alone. With a woman."

His look was blank, not understanding, and Elizabeth felt awkward.

"But I've got you," he said.

"Not for that, honey." She took his hand in both of hers and spoke to him softly. "I'm just hear to cook and clean. You need someone to . . . something more. You need to-- "

"How will I reach you if I need you?"

"There's plenty of food in the fridge, your laundry's all clean. You're not going to need me, okay?"

He looked unsure. "Listen, I'll leave my cell number on the fridge. Any problems arise, you give me a call. Okay?"

He nodded, clearly not happy about this.

Cynthia smiled from him to Elizabeth, her eyes looking Elizabeth up and down. "I don't think you'll be needing me though." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "You have fun now."

Cynthia went to the kitchen, and a minute later Elizabeth heard a door close and the garage door open. A car started, and the door closed again.

She turned back to Sean. He was again looking her up and down, his right hand moving in front of him. She took the hand in hers and he froze.

"What do you want to do?"

He looked back to her eyes, not seeming to understand the question. She had heard Cynthia mention that somebody named Emily--and a Mr. Hollister--had decided he needed a woman. Ergo, she decided, he hadn't hired her and had no idea what she was there for, which was most definitely a first.

"Do you understand why I'm here?" He shook his head. "I'm here for you, for your needs. Do you understand?" He said nothing. She reached out and brushed a finger against his cheek. "Sean, I'm yours for the weekend. To do with as you wish. Anything you wish."

"Anything?"

"Well," she said, leaning over and pecking him on the cheek, "almost anything. No Greek and no groups. Other than that, anything you wish."

He smiled. "Splendid." He turned his back on her and strode down the hallway. "This way," he called over his shoulder.

She followed him down the hallway and through the door. It was a studio of some kind, and she saw paintings lined up against the walls.

"Would you sit there, please?" He motioned to a straight-backed chair, and she sat in it. "Now get comfortable. This could take awhile at first." She did.

She saw him lower the angle of an easel and pick up a large sketch pad, some pencils, and an eraser.

"So why don't you tell me about yourself," he said to her. And he started to draw.

* * * Aimee had cried for most of the day and night. By Friday night, she was cried out and lonely. Not just alone, she realized. She was used to being alone while Tim worked evenings. But now she was lonely as well, knowing he wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

She hadn't answered her phone in a day and a half, so she picked it up and flipped it open. She had twelve messages. Eight were from Tim, one each from her mother and David, and two from Alan Bridges, the principal at school.

She listened to the first few from Tim. They were the same. Honey, I'm sorry. Can't we just talk about it. I miss you. Please forgive me. After listening to this for the third time, she erased the remainder of his messages.

She listened to David's message. "Aimee, this is David. David Holloway. I'm just wondering what you're doing tonight. Nothing dirty or anything. I just wanted to talk. Give me a call if you're interested." He left his number, and she wrote it down.

She dreaded the next one, but decided to listen anyway. "Aimee dear, this is Dorothy." Aimee cringed at the anger in her voice, knowing for sure what was coming next. The rest of the message surprised her, though. "Tim told me what he's done. I just want to tell you how sorry I am. And if you need anything from me--and I mean anything--please call me. I just . . . ." She heard quiet crying as the message ended. She was surprised. He'd told her?

The next two messages were from her boss. "Ms. Rogers, this is Mr. Bridges. Please phone when you have a moment." Why did teachers always have to do that? Talk to each other like they were in front of the children? The next message was more of the same.

She looked at the clock. Seven thirty. What the hell, she thought, and dialed him up. He answered on the second ring and, after brief chat over the fact that summer was ending, told her about a faculty meeting the following Wednesday. She said she'd be there and looked back down at the list. She decided to phone David.

"Hello?"

"Catching you at a bad time?"

"Aimee," he said, recognizing her voice. "No, no, just give me a sec." She heard some rustling, then he was back on the phone. "How you doing?" She heard concern in his voice.

"Not so hot," she said. "We fought yesterday. I confronted him. He denied it, of course. At first." She paused, not sure whether to tell him and decided what the hell. "I threw him out."

"Are you okay?" She said nothing. "You want to have a drink? Nothing frisky. Scout's honor. Just a drink."

She wasn't sure. She wasn't really attracted to him. Sure, there was that one time. But that wasn't attraction so much as need. She didn't want to repeat it, didn't trust herself if she did. He seemed to be reading her mind. "Listen, I know what it's like. What you're going through. That house is suddenly pretty big and awfully quiet, isn't it?" She nodded into the phone. "And I know you need someone to talk to because I need someone to talk to. Someone who knows this."

She agreed to meet him for dinner.

A half hour later she walked through the doors of Cucine Bella, what passed for a trendy restaurant in Armitage. He was standing at the short bar and gave her a wave when she saw him.

She walked over and he leaned in and hugged her. It wasn't intimate, she sensed, more brotherly. "I'm glad you could make it," he said. She sat and ordered a glass of wine from the bartender. David remained standing behind her.

"You look good," he said.

"I look like shit," she said, appreciating the compliment. "I've been crying for two days. My eyes are red, cheeks all puffy."

"Nonsense. You look great."

The hostess tapped him on the shoulder and they were led to a table in the far corner. When they were seated, he looked at her again.

"How did it go."

She told him. All of it, right down to the last detail. He cringed at the part about Cynthia's underwear, but smiled broadly when she told about using them to crunch his balls. "Priceless," he said. When she was done, he just stared at her, his lips smiling, but his eyes sad.

"I wasn't nearly so smooth in my confrontation," he said.

"You miss her?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't really know. I mean, look at me. Middle-aged workaholic with no life, no prospect of a life anytime soon."

"Oh come on, don't sell yourself short. You're a cute guy. You'll have no problem with the dating scene."

"I don't know. It's all so different now. Different than when I was dating."

"How? Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy asks girl out, boy plays his cards right--and is patient--boy gets lucky. Everything goes well, boy will keep getting lucky, right?"

He smiled. "You make it sound so simple." She said nothing. It wasn't that simple, and she knew it. It was hard to find someone you clicked with. At least for women it was hard. Men were different.

"You know, maybe you shouldn't be so picky."

"How so?"

She sipped her wine and smiled. "If you're just looking to get lucky, that should be no problem. I mean, what is it you're looking for?"

"I don't know. I mean, it hasn't really been that long, but . . . ."

"But you're already feeling alone in the world."

He nodded. "I mean, well, I got lucky last night, okay?" She nodded. She was surprised, but not jealous. "But afterwards, on the way home and pretty much all day, I regretted it. Felt . . . I'm not sure . . . guilty or something. Like it was empty. Don't get me wrong. It was nice while it was happening, but I just don't think that . . . that . . . ."

The waitress approached and they placed their order. David swigged the rest of his drink and ordered another of those, as well. When the waitress left, Aimee looked at him.

"Finish your thought."

"Where was I?"

"Last night was fun, but . . . ."

He thought before speaking. "One night stands just don't seem to be for me."

This was a first, she thought. A guy not out to fuck everything that moves.

After a few minutes, David broke the silence. "Why do you think he did it?"

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

"Tim. Why'd he cheat on you? Do you think he wanted more than you were willing to give? Maybe something you'd never do?"

She thought for a minute before answering. "No, I don't think it was that. I think Tim wants a mother. As a wife, that is. That's what caused the problem. I didn't really understand that until yesterday. So I tried to give him everything. The things he did with the others. But he was . . . I don't know . . . shocked. And disgusted. Like he couldn't believe any wife of his would do those things. Sure he could do them. He wanted to do them. He just couldn't stand the thought of doing them with me. With the future mother of his children."

David's nodding stopped. He was looking over her shoulder, his lips pressing tighter. She turned around and looked. Cynthia Holloway was walking into the dining room with another woman, a tall blonde. She saw them, and Aimee saw her eyes narrow and her body go rigid. The blonde bumped into her, then turned and looked. She saw David and smiled, waving. David waved back. Aimee watched Cynthia say something to the blonde, who took a seat. Cynthia placed her purse on their table and approached David and Aimee.




Knox County Ch. 04



Aimee's stomach tightened. She turned back and looked at David, who had a smile curling his lips. "Hello, Cynthia."

"David."

"How are you?"

"Been better." She pulled out a chair and sat, sipping from her wine and looking at Aimee. "My replacement?"

Aimee looked down at her glass, shaking her head.

"As a matter of fact, Cynthia, I'd like you to meet Aimee." He was enjoying this. She could hear the anticipation in his voice.

"Little young for you, isn't she?" The bitch, Aimee thought, swiveling her eyes and looking at Cynthia. Cynthia smiled and said, "And feisty, too."

"Actually, I'm the same age as my husband," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, and married too. How quaint." She sipped her wine, a grin widening her cheeks. "What's his name? Maybe he should know about this."

Aimee smiled back at her now, her voice going sickly sweet, and she cupped her chin in her hands. "His name's Tim. Most people call him Officer Holloway, though." Cynthia choked on her wine, coughing violently, her eyes going wide. "Maybe you can tell him about this the next time he's fucking you in the parking lot."

Cynthia put down her wine and fled the restaurant, nearly knocking over the waitress bringing their food.

"That was fun," Aimee said, placing the napkin on her lap and picking up her fork.

David laughed.

* * *

Will had spent the past week trying to find out where Elizabeth lived. He had taken a few days and traveled to the sprawling University of Wisconsin campus in Madison, but the admissions office was no help. He'd walked around campus, asking anyone he could find whether they knew a pharmacology student named Elizabeth. Tall, dark hair, almond eyes, really pretty. None of them knew her, but some of the boys told him to give them a call when he found her because she sounded hot.

He finally struck paydirt when he unknowingly asked a girl for the second time. The girl was impatient, but told him to get his head out of his ass and just go to the School of Pharmacology and ask around. The professors should be somewhere, and if she's upper level someone would know her.

None of the professors were around, but he finally found a grad student willing to help. She was short, her shiny black hair cut short to match, dark skinned, wearing a white lab jacket and horn-rimmed glasses with a chain around back of them. She was at a desk in front of a large, empty classroom, hunched over a pile of papers.

Will didn't think she was listening as he started in on how he was looking for an upper-level student named Elizabeth Han. He described her, but the Latina pixie behind the horned rims said nothing. Just as he was about to leave, she looked up.

"Elizabeth?"

He nodded.

"Sure. I know her. She'll be a senior, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, she was in my pathology class last year. Spring semester."

She looked him up and down. "Why you wanna know?"

He fidgeted. "I'm kind of looking for her."

"Why?"

"Rather not say."

She nodded. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"Where does she live? Her address."

The pixie shook her head. "Not a clue." He sighed and turned to leave. "Doesn't mean I can't find out, though," she said to his back. He turned back and looked at her. She was looking him up and down, appraising him. When she finished, she looked him in the eyes. She seemed to like what she saw, and said, "Too cute to be a stalker. Why you wanna know?"

"It's complicated."

"Then how bad you wanna know?" He said nothing, didn't know what to say or what she expected him to say.

"Tell you what." She dropped the glasses and leaned back in the chair, her face making clear what was to come. "You meet me in a couple hours, make it eight or so. Just out front. I'll see what I can get for you." He nodded. "Don't you wanna know what it's going to cost?" He nodded again, knowing what the answer would be and dreading it. She smiled, seeing the hesitation in his face. "Don't worry. You'll like it. I'm not that kinky."

He nodded and looked at her. "And if I-- "

She cut him off. "How badly do you wanna find her?"

He nodded.

Three and a half hours later she bounced out the doors and saw him. She walked over and hooked his arm in hers, leading him down the sidewalk. He fell into step with her.

"I got it," she said.

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Simple call to Admissions. She just paid her tuition. Gotta have all of that information every time you enroll you know."

"Then can I have it?"

"Not yet." They turned a corner. "You hungry?"

"Not really." He was hungrier than hell, but he wanted this over with.

"Good. Me neither." They crossed the street and she turned him left. "We're over this way," she said.

"You do this often?"

"What?"

"Just pick up total strangers and take them back to your place."

She laughed. "Just the cute ones."

He smiled at her energy. He'd been in college once, knew how some of the girls were. They'd never taken him back, though.

"Don't tell me you've never had a one night stand."

"Actually, I haven't."

She stopped and spun to face him. "You're kidding me, right?" He shook his head. "Oh my God," she said, spinning and leading him onward.

"So what's your name?"

"Maria."

"And you go to school with Elizabeth?"

"I'm a grad student--teaching assistant--so I taught her. How well do you know her?"

"What do you mean."

"I mean you come up here, to this fuckin' huge campus, and you what? You start asking around?"

He shrugged.

"So what gives? What's so special about her?"

He thought about it for a moment. He wasn't sure, really. He'd had other girlfriends before, but he'd never chase after one of them like this. "I don't know," he finally said, "we just clicked."

"So why don't you know where she lives?"

"We only met a couple of times. In the city. Chicago."

"And she wouldn't tell you where she lives?"

He shook his head. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

"She just . . . she didn't want anyone in her life."

"But you wouldn't take no for an answer? Maybe you are a stalker."

"Nothing like that. She thought having someone--someone like me--would just complicate things."

"And you're going to go after her? Convince her she's wrong?"

He nodded. "Guess so."

"Wow, that's fuckin' awesome. Like something from a movie, right?" She turned him into a vestibule. "We're here."

She led him through the doorway and up the stairs, saying hello to students going the other way. When they got to the third floor, she let go of his arm and unlocked her door. They walked in and she locked it behind them. "Don't want you escaping."

He looked around the tiny studio. It was neat. Mostly. The bed wasn't made, and there were a couple of piles of books on the floor next to a love seat, some dishes in the sink. Still, it was a hell of a lot neater than his place own place had been in college.

"Home sweet home," she said. She turned into him and started unbuttoning his shirt. He froze, unsure whether he wanted to go forward with this. "Time for you to earn that address, my man."

She didnt' seem to notice, or care about, his hesitation. Instead, she kissed his chest as it was exposed by her fingers. He had to admit it felt good, her cool lips pressing into his chest, her tongue tasting him. She pulled the shirt from his waist and sucked in his nipple, biting hard enough to make him wince. He reached his arms around her head and unbuttoned his cuffs.

"That's what I'm talking about," she said. "A little bit of help."

She knelt before him and reached to his pants, unzipping them before reaching her hand in and feeling around. He reached down and unbuttoned the waist, pushing them down past her hands. Despite himself, his feelings of doubt, he felt himself getting aroused. It'd been weeks since he'd been with Elizabeth, and many more months before that.

"Oh baby," she said as she pulled his boxers down. "Look at what Santa brought." She leaned in and sucked him in fully, and he gasped. He felt her hands go around and cup his ass, pulling him in deeper before moving her mouth back off.

She looked up at him. "Wanna play?"

He nodded, reaching down and grasping her blouse at the shoulders. She lifted her arms and let him pull the blouse over her head. Then she sucked him back into her mouth as her hands went behind and unclasped her bra. She shimmied it off her shoulders and to the floor, and he saw her pert tits, dark brown areolae and nipples pointing up at him. Her nipples were already hard, he noticed, her eyes glazed over with lust.

She was humming, he noticed. Through his cock he could hear it and feel it, and it tickled. But it added something, too. A tingling, the cum already beginning to build.

"Oh man," he said. "You'd better slow down a second."

She ignored him, using her hands on his ass to thrust him in and out of her mouth.

What the fuck did I miss in college? he thought. His hips picked up speed and, against his own wishes, feeling guilty even as he watched himself, he reached down and grabbed the side of her head, tangling her hair in his fingers and guiding her back and forth along his length. He was getting close, his breathing getting shallower, the pressure building.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned her.

In response, he felt the humming pick up around his shaft, the pressure building. As he began to twitch, he pulled her head in close, and she helped him by squeezing his ass and pulling him in even deeper.

It started at the base of his sac and traveled to the tips of his toes before coming back up and out the end of his throbbing cock. He felt his head against the back of her throat, pulsing as he exploded in her. He heard her gulping, then gagging before she broke from him. He looked down and watched the last jet hit her in the middle of the forehead, watched her sucking in her breath.

Before his breathing could return to normal, she looked up at him, smiling from ear to ear. "Holy shit!"

He said nothing and she stood, wiping her finger across her forehead and holding it out, pressing it against his lips. He flicked his tongue out and touched it, then she pulled is back and sucked it into her mouth.

"My turn," she said. She bounced back to the bed and jumped on. She pulled her pants down, her panties with them, and looked over at him. Her hand traveled to the cleft between her parted legs, and he saw that she was shaved bare. "Well?"

He smiled and walked over to her. He reached under her ass and pressed her into him, his mouth going to a breast and sucking in a nipple. "Oh fuck," she said, and arched into him, grinding her pelvis against him. He alternated on her nipples, sucking them in, but felt a hand pushing his head downward. "My pussy."

He did as he was told, laying her back on the bed and getting between her legs. Her hand was rubbing her length and he grabbed her wrist, holding it away from her. Her other hand shot in, and he grabbed that wrist, too. He looked up the bed at her, and she was smiling down at him.

"This what you want?" He flicked his tongue over her clit, and she bucked her hips in response. He'd never been with anyone this turned on before. Not this early in the ball game. She was a nympho. A beautiful, energetic, funny, tiny bundle of sexual energy.

He licked again, the length of her slit, and she bucked into him again. Her wrists struggled to break his grip, and he leaned in and sucked her clit deep into his mouth. "Holy shit!" she screamed. She was jerking her hips now, trying to break the grip of his mouth, but he only sucked her in harder.

Then he felt his face get drenched and felt her body spasming. Her legs locked around his head and held him there, and he kept sucking her distended nubbin into his mouth, his teeth grazing the base.

After almost a minute, her legs loosened their grip and he let her go. She collapsed into the bed, panting.

"That was fast," he said.

"Look who's talking."

It took a few minutes for her breathing to come back to normal. Will used the opportunity to go to the bathroom and splash water over his face. He'd never had a girl squirt on him. He'd read about it, but until a few minutes ago he'd thought it was bullshit. He looked at himself in the mirror, looking for the shame or guilt in his face that had disappeared from his conscience. He'd do anything to find Elizabeth, but he wondered briefly if this was taking it too far. No, he finally decided. The alternative was to not find her, and he couldn't bear that thought. And, of course, the price could've been a lot worse.

It was a long, grueling, exciting three hours. Three hours and two more orgasms for him, God knows how many more for her. There had been some pounding on the thin walls, but that hadn't stopped her from fucking him silly.

When they were done, and he was dressing, she spoke. "It's in my pocket."

He looked at her spent figure splayed naked across the bed.

"The address. It's in my pocket. Front pants pocket."

He picked up the jeans and rummaged in the pockets. He felt a few more packets of condoms--how good did she think he was?--before his fingers felt a slip of paper. He pulled it out, unfolded, and read the neat printing. Elizabeth Han. 2734 Maplecrest. Armitage WI.

"Thanks," he said, pocketing the address.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. "What's your name?"

He turned and looked at her, realizing he'd never told her. And she'd never asked.

"Will."

"Well, Will," she said, a smile coming to her lips as her hand went back between her legs, "things don't work out with you and Elizabeth, you call me. Okay?"

He smiled and nodded. "I'll do that, Maria."

* * * Cynthia had left Alexis sitting there and run to her car. She jumped in and started driving, her mind in a fog. She was . . . she didn't know. Humiliated? To be sure. That was the most embarrassing moment of her life. To be confronted by her secret lover's wife was something she'd never looked far enough ahead to see. Even when David collapsed on her, then threw her out, she figured the confrontations were over. She never figured she'd encounter the wife. And worse, that the wife would know all about it.

She remembered David's face. He was smirking just before the bomb dropped. Then he laughed at her reaction, at her terror. He hates me, she realized. Just like that, from love to hate.

Of course, he should hate her. It was not only understandable but actually inevitable. She'd betrayed him. But she'd never meant to. Didn't he see that? She was just . . . . Fuck, she thought, I don't know why I did it. The loneliness? The excitement? She had nothing to do all day. Play tennis, chat with the girls, make dinner that was nearly always thrown away or eaten cold and dried out when he finally got home. Still, the sex with Tim was just a thrill, a diversion, something to do. She loved David, not Tim. David, the ceaseless worker who, no matter how tired, would talk with her at night, listen to her, patiently hold her and hug her.

She missed him, she realized. She'd missed him from the moment she'd seen him huddled in the corner and realized she'd lost him. And now he'd found someone else. The other woman, the woman whose marriage she'd also helped destroy. Serves me right, she thought, resigning herself to the situation.

Without realizing it, she pulled into Sean's driveway. She was in the garage shutting the door behind her before she remembered why she'd left earlier. She hesitated, unsure whether to just barge in. God knows what they're doing in there.

Still, she had nowhere to go. The pre-nuptial agreement had seen to that. It would be a fifty-fifty split in case of divorce unless she was guilty of adultery. If so, she got fifty thousand, no alimony, and on her way. There was no counter clause punishing him for adultery, which she figured was fair since he'd had the company before they'd even met. Still, she knew she couldn't last long on fifty grand. Couldn't even buy a house unless she went back, finished her degree, and got a job. All of that would take a few years, so she was truly screwed no matter how you looked at it.

She opened the kitchen door slowly, peeking through the crack. The lights were on in the great room, but no one was there. She tiptoed through the kitchen and waited, listening. There were no sounds coming from the bedroom wing, so she started walking to her room.

Then she heard voices, coming from behind her. A laugh, then some talking. She stopped for a moment, then tiptoed back down the other hallway, toward the studio door. She stood outside the door and listened.

"So then he says, 'You know, bloke, this isn't half bad. Probably bring you a fair farthing in the right market.' And she chirps in, 'You should listen to him. He's very good you know.'" It was Sean's voice, impersonating first Hollister then Emily and doing passable jobs with each. "So then they what?" she heard Elizabeth's voice.

"Well, he says . . . no, chin up please . . . little more . . . good. Then he says, 'You come with me, produce some canvases, and I shall procure for you the top dollar in the art world.'"

Cynthia cracked the door open and peeked in. Sean was sitting behind his easel, talking and drawing. Elizabeth was laying in a lounger, her legs kicked over the side, a light coming from behind her head and casting shadows across her legs.

Sean looked back up from the easel and gazed at Elizabeth. A questioning look came over his face and his eyes traveled to the crack in the door that had just appeared, traveling up quickly until his eyes met Cynthia's.

"Cynthia?" Elizabeth looked back over the chair, seeing her and smiling.

"I thought you were going away for the weekend?" he continued.

She opened the door and stepped in. "No. Well, yes. Something came up."

"You've been crying," he said.

She didn't realize that she had. She reached her hand to her cheeks, felt the dried tears.

He got up from behind the easel. "Come on," he said, pulling another lounger from the corner and dragging it across the wood floor.

"No," she whispered. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Nonsense. Get over here and sit." He placed the chair next to Elizabeth's and cocked it at an angle to the other lounger. He stood back, adjusted the angle a little and pulled it in closer. Then he looked back to Cynthia and jerked his head at the chair. "Come on, sit."

She looked at Elizabeth, who smiled back at her. Then she walked to the chair and sat. She leaned back in and crossed her legs, and Sean went back behind the easel.

"Not like that," he said. "You'll never last. Sit like Elizabeth, facing her." She looked over at Elizabeth sitting sideways in the chair, legs over one arm, elbows on the other. Cynthia turned in the chair and struck the pose.

"No, not like that, either, I suppose. Try laying on your side, cuddling in a little." She did, drawing her legs in a touch and resting the side of her head in her hands. "Yes, kind of like the fetal position. That's good. Relax. There you go."

He tore off the previous drawing from the pad and picked up a pencil. "Now," he said, pencil getting poised, "why don't you tell us why you've been crying?"

She did. From the very beginning.

* * *

It was ten to midnight. Barring a tavern fight or domestic disorder, Tim would be done in ten minutes. He spent the time parked in front of the Tastee Freeze, filling out some reports.

He was nearly finished with a vandalism he's responded to a few days back when his radar beeped. He looked up, saw the bright green 53, and flipped the car in drive. He pulled out and flipped on the cherries. The little black Toyota pulled over almost immediately. He recognized the vehicle and lowered his head.

When he approached the window, she was glaring at him. "Where the fuck you been? I waited for almost an hour."




Knox County Ch. 04



"Settle down, Jenny," he said.

"Fuck you! I won't settle down. I drove up and down this fucking road twenty times. When you didn't catch me, I went there to meet you. Waited there half the fucking night, you prick."

He just shrugged, staring at the ground. "Sorry."

"Fuck sorry. What the fuck, you can't call?"

He shook his head. She'd simmer down in a minute, she always did. He decided to wait her out.

"You can make it up to me, you know," she suggested. She reached her hand out the window to him, but he didn't take it. "What?"

"My wife caught us."

"So? Fuckin' prude. What's she gonna do about it?"

He glared at her. "She's not a 'fuckin' prude.' She's my wife. And I don't know what she's gonna do. But she has pictures, okay?"

"Pictures?" She was freaking now, but he didn't care. She had to get the point.

"Pictures, Jenns. And if she shares them, I'll lose my job. Maybe even go to fucking jail. Understand?"

"Dude, she shares them with my father, jail's the least of your problems. He'll kick my ass, sure. But he'll cut your fucking nuts off. And I'm not bullshitting."

He knew she wasn't bullshitting. Her old man was big, burly, and mean. He owned a series of biker bars in the area, and word in the department was he was a major drug portal for the entire region. Cop or no cop, he didn't want to be on the wrong side of that ruthless bastard.

After a minute, he said, "We're done. Can't do this anymore, okay?"

She nodded. "Gonna suck, though."

"Why?"

"Gonna have to stop speeding so much. Won't be able to get away with it as easily."

He smiled and she drove off. He'd be out of her mind in ten minutes, he thought. She wouldn't even miss him. He wondered if any of the others missed him.

A half hour later, when he had finished checking out at work and handing in his reports, he drove slowly by the house. Their house, he thought, but not for long; it would soon be only her house.

All the lights were off except that in the master bedroom. Maybe she was still up. He decided to find out and turned around, pulling into the driveway and parking. He tiptoed over to the window outside the bedroom and tried to peek in. The shades were drawn. He didn't really want to wake her if he didn't have to. Still--

"What the fuck's wrong with you!" he heard her hiss behind him. She was at the door in a tiny pink silk teddy. Her eyes were blazing, and she was clearly pissed.

"I want to talk," he said.

"Keep your voice down." She shut the door. He stood there for a moment before going in the front door. She was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

"I'm sorry," he said to her back.

"You scared the shit outta me." She didn't turn to look at him.

"I just wanted to talk. Drove by, saw the light on, hoped maybe you were awake."

She spun and leaned back against the counter, her arms folded in front of her breasts, pushing them higher. He could see the top of an areola, and his eyes stayed locked there.

"This what you want?" She pushed her breasts up higher until one of the fell over the top of the teddy and rested on her forearm.

He said nothing, breaking his gaze and looking back to her eyes.

"Why didn't you just knock, you wanted to talk so bad? Why prowl around outside my bedroom? Hoping to see something? Catch me with someone?"

Shock came over his face. He'd never considered the possibility she could be with someone else. For Chrissake, she was still his wife.

Seeing the look on his face, the energy went out of her. "Sit down," she said. She reached up to the cupboards and pulled down two mugs. They said nothing until the coffee was done brewing.

She sat at the table with him, sipping her coffee. He stared into his mug, afraid to look at her or say anything. She seemed willing to wait him out, though.

"Maybe this was a bad idea."

"You think?"

"I'm sorry."

She snorted.

He stayed silent, not knowing what to say. This was a bad idea.

Then he heard her sniffling. He looked up and watched her wipe tears from her eyes.

"Why did you do it? With them?"

"I don't know. I just . . . I don't know. Seemed exciting, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess it did. But you never did any of those things with me."

"What things?"

She slammed the mug down on the table, coffee sloshing over the sides and over the tabletop. "You know what fucking things!"

He thought about it. She'd said the same thing the day she'd kicked him out, but they hadn't registered. Now they did.

"Would you have liked it?"

"How do I know," she said through her tears, "I never got to try. You tried on them, but not on me. Not even once." She looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks, her mouth twisted in anguish. "Why, Tim? Did you think you'd break me?"

"You're my wife. You don't . . . you know . . . wives don't do those things."

She slapped him, hard across the face. He sat there and took it, rubbing his cheek.

"Cynthia Holloway was a wife, you asshole! She was someone's wife, and she did those things."

"But I didn't love her," he said. Didn't she understand? He couldn't do those things to her, couldn't hurt her. It was tearing him up right now, watching her cry and seeing her pain.

"You don't love her so she gets all your best moves? You love me so I get a wham-bam-thank you-ma'am?"

"You seemed to like it, if I remember. I was caring. Gentle, you know? And you almost always got off. I made sure of it."

She laughed at him. "Don't flatter yourself. It was boring. So boring I usually faked it just to get it over with. World to Tim, there's more to the world than missionary. Don't you see that? It was always the same. No spice. Yeah, you made me feel loved. But you never made me feel sexy, desirable. You saved it all for them."

He felt his anger rise. "Yeah, right, like you ever did that for me."

"Bullshit. I did so. Remember that once, last year? I went down on you, you woke up in my mouth. You thought it was fucking disgusting, made me feel disgusting. Like some cheap piece of meat. You pushed me away and barely touched me for a month."

He remembered. The way she looked bobbing up and down as he awoke, pleasuring herself and him at the same time. She was right, he realized. If that had been any of the others, he'd have fucked their brains out. Still, she wasn't the others. She was his wife, and he couldn't get over that.

"But you're not like the others. That's why I love you."

"Wrong, Tim. I'm exactly like them. I wanted to try some of those things, to feel like I still turned you on. Just like they did, maybe because their husbands don't make them feel special anymore. It's not just about love, you asshole. Sometimes it's about more than that. Sometimes it's about feeling sexy, young again, . . . feeling wanted, like I still turn you on so much you can't control yourself. Wake up, Einstein. Wives do those things, and they want to do them with their husbands. This isn't the fifties, and I'm not June fucking Cleaver!"

She pushed herself back from the table, her arm pointing at the door.

"Now get the fuck outta here and don't come back. Ever!"

He did as he was told, more confused than ever.

For the first time he realized that most of them were married women, and they craved what he did to them. Could she really be like that? And were they like that with their own husbands?



Knox County Ch. 05



Her client this chilly autumn night was Bradford Tolkien IV, thirty-year old scion of a wealthy banking family from the North Shore. She had accompanied him to dinner with the family, at which he'd introduced her as an old college girlfriend. Despite the obvious difference in their ages, no one commented.

She didn't like him. Sure, he was handsome. They all were, especially the wealthy ones. He was smart, too, and witty. But there was a caustic streak to his wit and an arrogance about him that set her off. She saw the same features in his father, but they were magnified in her client.

After dinner and cocktails at the bar, they slid into his Porsche and drove to his apartment. The twenty-minute drive was dominated by him telling her how good he was at work and how bumbling everyone else was. She'd heard this a million times before--they were all, to varying degrees--consumed by themselves and confident bordering on arrogant. He, however, stressed the quality of bloodlines, which unnerved her yet further.

When they arrived, they took the elevator to the forty-fourth floor and entered a spacious condo with a beautiful view overlooking Lake Michigan. She stood at the window with her back to him, watching the blinking lights from the breakwaters and the lighthouse. To the right, she saw the bright lights of the Chicago shoreline stretch for miles until it curved around as it reached Indiana.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Just what I was thinking," he said behind her.

She stiffened as he reached under her dress and tore her panties down. His hand went back up and pushed into her vagina. She wasn't ready yet, and it hurt as he roughly forced a finger into her.

"You just enjoy the view while I enjoy you." With that, he pushed her upper body against the window and pulled her hips back out, his arm circling her waist and holding her there.

She looked back over her shoulder and said, "Settle down, Tiger. Let me get you ready."

His face was a mask of contempt. "I am ready." She felt him push against her dry lips.

"But I'm not."

"Not my fucking problem," he leered. 

He thrust into her, and she gasped with the tearing pain. She turned back and faced the window, looking again at the lights before looking down and resting the top of her head against the window. She grimaced, trying to will herself to relax. She reached a hand underneath, seeking her clit.

He pushed her hand away and thrust into her harder and faster. "Don't bother," he said. "I'll get you going."

But he wouldn't, she realized. He was into pain, and he enjoyed her pain. Some of the other girls had warned there were occasional clients like this, but she'd never been with one. Now she knew what they were talking about. Tears started welling in her eyes as she leaned there and accepted his pummeling.

"Tell me how it feels, whore."

She said nothing, only grunting with the force of his thrusts. She felt a little moisture forming to protect her from the attack, but it wasn't enough to prevent the searing pain.

He started thrusting faster. "I asked you a question, slut." He punctuated this with the hardest, deepest jab yet and her tears started streaming.

"You're hurting me," she cried.

This only excited him more, and he kept up the hard, deep shoving in and out.

"Tell me how it hurts."

She didn't hesitate this time. "Like you're tearing me apart."

Maybe if she didn't cry, he'd lose interest. She tried to get the tears to stop. Then she felt him force a finger into her anus, and she threw her head back and stifled a scream.

"Oh yeah," he said, pushing deeper into her. "You think this hurts, just wait 'til I go in there."

"No," she cried. "Get it out. You know the rules. They told you when you called."

"Fuck the rules."

"But they took seventy-five hundred from your credit card. They'll keep it all if you break the rules."

He increased the speed of his hips and pushed his finger all the way in. "This is a virgin ass, isn't it?" When she didn't answer, he pushed his finger in hard. "I said-- "

"Yes. Yes, it's a virgin ass."

"I'd gladly pay an extra five grand to tear apart this tight virgin ass." He started moving the finger in and out. She was terrified. Her legs were way behind her, spread too wide to give her leverage. The arm clamped tight around her waist prevented her from twisting. She knew if she tried to hit him or kick him it would only get worse. That's what they'd told her. Just take it, try to think of better places, and pray to God you got out of there in one piece.

She opened her eyes. Through her tears, she saw her purse on the ground below her. She must've dropped it when he pushed her into the window and got her ready for him. She reached toward it, but he slammed her forward with a deep thrust.

"What're you doing?"

"Lube," she said. "It's in my purse."

He laughed at her. "You're not getting any lube, bitch."

She knew she couldn't reason with him, so she tried the only tactic she thought would work.

"Listen, baby," she said, her voice going low. "You're just so big. I've never had such a big cock before. That's why it hurts so bad."

"Yeah baby, take that big cock." His speed slowed a little as he listened to her.

"And my ass is tight. You don't get some lube on that monster, you'll never even get it in, baby."

He said nothing, but his slower thrusting told her he was thinking about it. She poured it on.

"Baby, you're so fucking huge you're gonna tear it apart either way. Might as well make sure you can at least get into it, right?"

She felt his finger pull out of her ass. Arrogant bastard, he really thought he had a monster cock?

"Yeah," he said, reaching his hand around her side. "Better give me some."

He stopped his thrusting, allowing her to reach into the purse. She fumbled around, looking for it.

"What's taking so long?" He thrust into her, making her yelp. "Hurry the fuck up."

She felt her hands brush the cool metal, and she grabbed it and pulled it from the bottom of the purse, spilling half the contents on the floor. "Got it, baby."

"Then hand it here."

She got her grip on in and twisted her back to look at him. He loosened the grip around her waist slightly, and her arm shot out to his face.

"You fucking bastard," she hissed, pressing her finger down and sending the pepper spray straight into his eyes.

His hands released her and shot to his face, his screams getting louder. She didn't release her finger, sending it over her hands then directing it down to his sagging cock. 

"You into pain, you fuckin' freak? How's this for pain?"

One of his hands went to cover his exposed manhood and he tried to back away from her. The hand went away from his eyes and tried to swing out at her, but she stepped aside the flailing arm and directed the can back at his face.

"You fucking bitch." He crumpled to the ground, going into a fetal position and trying to cover his exposed skin. "You fuckin' whore, you'll pay for this."

She stepped behind him. "No," she said, "you'll pay for this. Seventy-five hundred, to be exact. You broke the rules."

"But I didn't get into-- "

"Doesn't matter. You tried to, and that's enough."

She circled him now, looking for the opening she sought. When she found it, she stopped. "And the next time you try to get off on someone else's pain, I want you to remember this."

She put all she had into it, and the kick connected squarely with his exposed nuts. The air went from him, and both hands went between his legs. He was gagging, gasping for air, and she leaned over.

"Ciao, Bradford Fuckin' Loser Tokien the Fourth."

She scooped the scattered items back into her purse, put the purse over her shoulder, stepped around his writhing figure, and went to the door. She heard him retching as she closed the door behind her.

On the train ride home, she phoned the Agency and told them what happened. She was shaking so badly she dropped the phone three times before managing to get the call through. They confirmed the penalty clause would be enforced, and Bradford Tolkien would never again be permitted to escort one of their ladies.

She sat alone in a dark corner of the train car, far away from the other five or so passengers, and watched the dark trees and roads speed past. Her tears didn't stop until she fell into her own bed and fell into dark, turbulent dreams filled with Bradford Tolkien IV. * * *

The evening had been a whirlwind. He'd arrived at the Club at five thirty, dinner with Mike and Justine, dancing to the jazz combo after. He'd run into Alexis, there with her husband, and they'd danced.

They were dancing again, slowly, to a soft version of some old Coltrane tune. He hummed along, trying to remember the name.

"I think Harry's left," she whispered into his ear.

He looked at her. He was feeling the drink, but he could still read the look. He pulled her in closer. "Then I'll give you a lift when this is over."

He felt her hands squeeze his shoulders. "That's not what I meant." Her voice was scratchy, sexy. He knew what she wanted, but he didn't answer.

She was tall, nearly as tall as him, with long blonde hair and a long, smiling face. She laughed easily, chuckling while she spoke, and David thought that was the sexiest thing about her. The tight, low-cut dress didn't hurt, either. Her breasts, though neither large nor small, were well served by her outfit, and she was now pushing them into him again. He felt her hard nipples against his dress shirt and tried to banish the thoughts from his mind.

"He won't care, you know. Harry won't. That's why he left me here. With you." She was giggling as she said it, a low, scratchy giggle, and it was intoxicating.

"How do you know. Maybe he just-- "

"Because we talked about it over dinner, silly."

He suspected as much. Once, about a month after the swingers night at Mike's, he'd gone to another one. He'd seen Alexis and Harry there, on a sofa in a corner of the basement. Alexis was on her knees, giving a long, sloppy blowjob to some guy while Harry sat next to him, watching and jerking himself off. Harry saw him and waved, and he'd waved back before leaving. He'd never gone back.

He and Cynthia had been friends with Harry and Alexis for more than ten years, gone out together, danced together. He'd never gotten even an inkling they were into this scene. But the whole thing made him realize that he didn't want to become a part of the scene. It also made him realize just how little he knew about his friends, and, in combination with Cynthia's betrayal, underscored how naive he was about sex.

"So what d'ya say?" she giggled.

"I say I'm taking you home." "My place or yours?"

"Yours."

She giggled. "Harry will like that."

David laughed.

Ten minutes later, they were pulling from the Club in David's Lexus. She was splayed across the passenger seat, her legs askew and pushing her dress to her hips. "It's a long drive," she said. He looked over and watched her eyebrows arch as her hand slid down her belly and into her panties. "Wanna play?"

His eyes went back to the road. She was insatiable, he thought. Even drunk, her voice exuded sexuality. No, there was more. Fun sexuality, he decided. She really was a fun person in all things, and she clearly wanted him to share in that fun.

"Seen Cynthia lately?" He hadn't seen her in nearly a month, since the night with Aimee.

He felt her hand reach over and rest on his lap. "Why you wanna know?"

"Just haven't seen her. Wondering how she's doing."

He felt fingertips trace the outline of his bulge, felt himself getting aroused.

"She's okay, I guess. We've spoken a few times. On the phone."

Her touch was light. Surprising, given her level of intoxication. She giggled and leaned over. He could smell the vodka as she whispered into his ear.

"She's living with another man, you know."

He didn't. He didn't know where she was living, but this surprised him.

"Who?"

"You jealous?" He said nothing, his lips tightening. She giggled some more, her hand now stroking the length of him through the shorts.

"Who is he?"

"Don't know. I've never met him."

"How did she meet him?"

"I kind of introduced them."

"How?"

"There was an ad. For a housekeeper. A live-in housekeeper. When you threw her out, I showed it to her. She applied, moved in that night."

David pondered this. He didn't know what surprised him more, that Cynthia was living with another man or that she was a housekeeper.

"So they aren't dating or anything? She's not told you anything like that when you've talked?"

"Nope." He was relieved. Why? he thought. Why should I care? She's out of my life now, right?

He felt Alexis unzipping his fly. He wanted to stop her, but he was afraid that if he did she'd get pissed off and clam up.

"So she's not seeing anyone?"

"Nope. Not since you threw her out. Asked her once, and she told me she was through with men."

He felt her cool fingertips on his balls, tracing, sending shivers through his groin. He felt his engorged cock twitch with the sensation. She giggled some more, then it became a throaty laugh and a gasp.

"Someone wants to play."

He looked down, shooting a quick glance as her fingertips traced the veins on the underside of his cock. He looked back to the road, then looked back to her. Her panties were at mid thigh, and he could hear a faint squishing as her fingers moved in and out.

"This is-- "

Her words muffled to unintelligible as her mouth went over him and sucked in his head. His back arched and his arm jerked, veering the vehicle slightly.

"Quit that," he hissed. "You're going to get us killed."

She released him with a soft pop. "You no like?"

He lifted her chin up. "I like fine. But you do that, we're gonna crash into a tree here, okay?"

She laughed. "Okay, I'll wait." He drove, stealing glances at Alexis. She had reclined the seat and was breathing now in small gasps. He watched her rub her breasts and pinch her nipples through her dress, and he saw them protruding against the thin material. Her hand kept up the same pace between her legs, and he saw glistening wetness on her inner thighs.

"So, you and Harry ever invite Cynthia over for a night like this?"

He stole a glance. Her eyes were closed, but a smile curled her lips. "Sure."

"And?"

"She wouldn't do it," she giggled. "Too bad. A couple of times I thought she wanted to. But she wouldn't do it."

"When was this?"

"Year or so ago. Once or twice before that."

He nodded. She'd never mentioned it to him. Just as well, though, since it would've ruined the friendship.

"You and her ever . . . you know. Just the two of you?"

She giggled and shook her head. "Nope."

"You ever try?"

Her giggles got louder. "Yep."

"And?"

"No go. Pretty firm."

"Why did you try?"

She looked over at him, curling her lips, pondering. "She seemed lonely a lot, I guess." Then she leaned back again and continued pleasing herself.

They pulled into her driveway and he put the car in park. "Come on, Davey," she said. She tugged at his still-exposed cock.

He put his hands on her hand and lifted her off of him. He spoke softly. "No. You don't know how badly I want to, but I can't."

"He says different." She frowned. He leaned over and kissed her, softly on the lips. "I know he says different, but I can't."

She put her hand on his cheek. It was wet from her juices, and he smelled the musky scent invade his nostrils. "Please? I'm ready for you."

He kissed her forehead. "Come on. I'll get you inside and you can fuck Harry's brains out."

She pouted, but she allowed him to walk her to the door.

"It would've been fun, you know," she said as she stepped through the door.

He smiled and got back into his car.

Why had he never noticed she'd been lonely? he thought. Even now, thinking back to when he figured the affair began, he couldn't spot the signs. But Alexis spotted the signs and offered a version of what Cynthia was apparently missing.

He drove home slowly, trying to picture Cynthia as a housekeeper. He wondered if she was still lonely.

* * *

"My God," Roger said.

"It's . . . it's . . . incredible," Emily whispered.

They were frozen in place, ten feet back, staring at the large canvas. "Biggest one I've ever done," Sean said. "Seemed to need it, though. I laid it out on some smaller canvases, but they didn't look right."

They nodded. Cynthia walked in carrying a tea pot and three mugs on a tray. She put it down and turned to leave the room.

"Have you seen it yet?" Sean said to her. She turned and he jerked his head toward them.

She walked around the painting, staring. It was her, pulled tight into a ball on the chair, shadows spreading across her. Elizabeth was there, too, in the other chair, her chin cupped in her hands. She could see the anguish in her own face, the concern in Elizabeth's eyes and mouth, dried tears on her face, a tear glinting in the corner of Elizabeth's eye. It was breathtaking, and she was mesmerized. She reached toward the canvas, as if to wipe the tear from Elizabeth's eye.

Sean snatched her hand. "Don't touch," he said. "It's not dry yet."

She saw Roger turn at them with Sean's words. His eyes widened, as if seeing her for the first time and making the connection between the face standing there and the anguish on the painting. He sucked in his breath, and Emily turned to her.

"My God," she said, shocked. "It's you."

She could only nod before turning back to the painting.

Sean's voice was low, comforting. "Tell me what you see."

Her voice was a whisper. "Pain. Concern. It's . . . ."

Roger cleared his throat. "Who's the other girl?"

"Why, that's Elizabeth, of course," said Sean.

"Who's Elizabeth?"

"The girl you sent around about a month ago."

"The girl I sent around?" He turned to Emily.

"The escort we contracted?" she said.

Sean nodded.

"But she was for-- "

Sean smiled. "I know what she was for. But I think she's better for this, don't you?"

"So you didn't . . . um."

Sean shook his head. "No, mum. The moment I saw her I knew she'd be perfect."

Cynthia felt a twinge at this. Jealousy? He'd not thought that the moment he'd seen her, obviously. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He stammered. "You're angry?"

She was, and she didn't know why. They'd settled into a routine, and she had enjoyed herself. She considered herself the only woman in his life, and in many ways she was. She awoke most days at six and cleaned the house. He usually awoke around noon, by which time she had his tea and lunch ready. She then did yard work, learning to prune, pull weeds, and mow for the first time in her life and finding she enjoyed it. He spent this time lounging around the deck, sketching flora and fauna, or helping her with the landscape beds. She kicked off around four and prepared his dinner, feeding him at five on the number. He then disappeared into his studio, and she read books or magazines alone in the great room, occasionally turning on the television for background noise. At nine, she'd make him a snack, usually an omelette and toast and a pot of tea, and took it to him in the studio. She'd place his snack on the table in there and go to bed. She sometimes heard his bedroom door closing at five or five thirty and assumed this was the norm.

Her efforts were paying off. He had some meat on his bones now. He was still very slim, but the sag in his skin was gone and there was the color of sun on is cheeks. He was clean, had energy, and channeled his obsessions on a schedule.

Now here he was, saying he'd noticed Elizabeth the first time he'd seen her. As if she, she who'd been with him nonstop devoting her life to him, were an afterthought to the whole process.




Knox County Ch. 05



"What? Why are you angry?"

"I'm not."

He laughed. "But you are. I can see it in your eyes."

She turned back to face the painting. "I'm secondary in this, aren't I?"

He looked at the painting. "What do you mean? You're the focal point."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. What I meant was you'd have painted her either way. I'm only there because I happened to drop in when I shouldn't have. At a bad time. And you thought that would make for a great painting."

He looked from her to the painting, not understanding. "You don't understand," he stammered.

Her voice was quiet again. "No, I understand. And I'm sorry. I'm not angry; have no right to be. I know I'm not as pretty as her. Or as young, or as interesting. I just, I don't know . . . . "

He reached behind her and picked up a sketch pad. He flipped over the cover and held it in front of her. She looked down. It was her, sitting across the table from him at lunch. He flipped again, and there she was making him an omelette. She recognized the outfit in the drawing. She hadn't worn it since their first meal the morning after she'd arrived. He flipped it again, and there she was mopping. Again, and it was her, sleeping on the sofa, her arm draped over her face.

"Is this what you were talking about?"

She nodded, taking the sketchbook from her hands and flipping through it. There were more, a lot more, and she figured prominently in all of them.

"I've started a few of them if you want to see."

She shook her head.

"I just couldn't finish them. Until that night, that is. Until I could see into you, know you better."

She looked at him. His eyes were soft, and he smiled at her.

Roger cleared his throat, louder than before. "Fine, fine. Now that we've got that settled, what about this other girl? This Elizabeth?"

"What about her?"

"Do you think you can produce more with her?" He saw the glance from Cynthia and added, "We know you're ready for a whole series with Ms. Holloway. But what about with Elizabeth?"

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, I suppose so. She's pretty good at it, actually. Opens up pretty easily."

Emily chirped in. "And the two of you never . . . ."

Sean laughed and shook his head. "No, Emily." He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in close. "I only have eyes for you. You know that." Her arms hung limp at her sides and a frown played over her face.

Cynthia smiled.

* * *

Will sat in the tiny office. Stacks of files were piled on the desk, books and law journals stacked over most available chair and floor space.

"You have a great resume, Will," the man said. He was short, pudgy, dressed in golf shirt, plaid sweater, and khaki slacks. "Why do you want to come out here?"

Will smiled. "I don't want to work a hundred hours a week anymore. I've had enough of that. Now that I've got all of my bills paid and enough saved up, I want to practice law, not write briefs."

He nodded. "Yeah, I got tired of it too. Real quick. Quicker than you." Will raised an eyebrow. "Skadden Arps for four years," he said, naming the biggest mergers and acquisitions firm in the world. "Made a mint, damned near worked to death."

He hadn't expected this. He took a closer look on the wall behind the desk. There it was. The diploma said Yale Law School.

The man watched his eyes. "Will, we're not a bunch of hacks out here. There are some pretty good attorneys. Attorneys I'd put up against anyone in Milwaukee or Chicago. Like you, though, they don't want that life. Don't want to be married to their job and the demands of their partners. Armitage is plenty big enough for them, plenty enough excitement. And they get to go home at night, spend time with their families, golf, whatever."

Will nodded. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. He figured the attorneys wouldn't be as good. Not bad, mind you, just not top flight.

"Unfortunately," the man continued, "the payoffs aren't as big. The clients don't have as much money. But you help them anyway. You learn to give them good work for less--a lot less--than you'd get away with in Chicago. Understand?"

Will nodded again. "Then again, you can dress like this," he said, nodding down at his relaxed attire. "That," he jerked his chin at Will's business suit and striped tie, "is only necessary when you have court. Or meetings with clients. Slacks and clean shirts are usually acceptable outside the courtroom, and they'll be just as happy."

"What kind of law would I practice?"

"Everything. Wills, trusts, probate, some criminal defense, but not much. Then there's the divorces, real estate closings, some corporate work. Whatever they want, you do for them."

"But I've never done most of those things."

He nodded. "Neither had I. But you'll learn pretty quickly."

He tried to hide his concern. He'd never gone beyond antitrust and complex estate planning.

"Listen," the man continued, "it's fun. Really, it is. I was stuck in a shitty little office with no window for four long years. I pounded out endless memoranda and briefs on the narrowest, most boring crap you can imagine. Almost never met a client, rarely saw the inside of a courtroom. Now I get to represent who I want and I get to do it all. I get to help people I care about and make a great living doing it. It's better. Fifteen years ago, I was you. Now . . . well, now I'm happy."

"What're the hours?"

"Usually eight to five thirty, Monday through Thursday. We cut out a little earlier on Fridays. Some Saturdays, but only when they can't meet you otherwise or you get behind. Say once a month."

Will's eyes widened. His work week would be cut in half.

"Pay?"

"Seventy five a year starting."

His pay would be more than cut in half, he realized.

"I know that's nothing compared to what you're earning now, but it's a lot out here. Remember, you don't have to live in Chicago, pay a fortune for everything. Hell, you can get a great house out here for two hundred grand. And you work hard, get us some more clients? Me and Jerry have already talked. We'll make you a partner if you want. But only if it's good for all of us. Then you'll make a lot more."

The man looked at his watch and stood. Will stood with him and shook the hand that was now outstretched. "Me and Jerry have already talked, Will. The job's yours if you want it, okay?"

Will nodded.

"Don't mean to run, but I've got a tee time in a half hour. Don't want to be late, okay?"

Will nodded again. "I want it," he said, the words rushing out before he thought about them.

The man smiled widely. "Good. Glad to have you aboard. Go back to your firm, get shit in order there, and call us next week on when you can start. We'll hold it for you."

Will nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Will followed him outside and they said their goodbyes. He watched the man, his new boss, hop into his car and, with a wave, pull out and drive away.

Will looked up and down the street. It was early autumn now. He smelled the dampness of leaves recently fallen and a small chill in the air. He knew what he wanted to do, but he hesitated to give in. Fuck it, he thought, and hopped in his car.

He drove around town, looking for 2734 Maplecrest. The town was larger than he thought. The old part was laid out on a grid, and he crisscrossed those streets easily. He saw no Maplecrest there. He drove toward the edge of town, where he'd seen some new developments on his way into town. These weren't laid out in grids, though, and he had to drive up and down every street to cover them all. As seemed to be his luck, Maplecrest was the last street in the last new subdivision.

It was a clean street, he saw, like those in a thousand towns across America. Nice houses, sidewalks, almost no trees except those recently planted by the new owners of the architecturally similar, vinyl-siding clad houses. The house numbers were on every house, and he slowed as he reached 2734.

It was a duplex in a series of duplexes. Almost noon, he noticed, and he saw children playing in yards. In front of 2734 Maplecrest Lane, he saw a little boy playing riding a Big Wheel in the driveway. Sitting on the front steps, watching him while reading a book, was Elizabeth. He pulled over and put the car in park, looking at her. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long legs together at the knees and the book propped on her thighs. He watched her put the book down and reach into her pocket, looking at a cell phone before opening it and speaking. He couldn't hear her, too far away for that. After a minute or two, she flipped the cell phone shut and stood, saying something to the little boy. He kept riding, and she walked over to him and pushed him from behind into the driveway.

A few minutes later, he watched her car pull out of the garage and the door close behind her. The boy was in a car seat in the back. He watched the car swing into the street and head toward him. He froze, not knowing whether to duck down or not, not knowing what he would say if she saw him. As she drew nearer, though, her head went to the rear view mirror and she was saying something to her little boy.

She never looked at his car as she passed.

* * *

Aimee sat in the living room and watched them work. Tim had shown up an hour ago with two of his fellow officers and Troy, an old high school buddy, and told her he was going to go ahead and move his things out. She hadn't bothered arguing, but she stayed around to make sure he didn't take anything that wasn't on his list.

"Last one," Troy grunted, lugging one end of a dresser past her. Tim was still back there somewhere, and she hadn't seen him in fifteen minutes or more.

She got up and walked down the hallway. He wasn't in the spare bedroom, which was bare now, and he wasn't in the bedroom, now devoid of all of his shaving items and one of the pictures from the wall. She looked in and saw that everything was still in the master bedroom, untouched. Her chest tightened as she approached the last door.

She opened the door to the third bedroom, which they had set up as a den. He was at the desk, clicking the mouse in his right hand.

"I've made a back up, you know. And printed them all. Hard copies."

He looked up, then back to the screen. She walked to the desk and looked down. He was flipping through the photos saved on the hard drive. Pictures of flowers, family gatherings, and Tim couplings with strangers were all mixed in together, in the chronological order in which they'd been taken and uploaded to the computer. He took the same time, may two or three seconds, with each picture, regardless of subject matter.

She watched the images click past them. Watched four pictures from her sister's wedding lead into a night with some redhead he's only been with once. Then some flowers, pictures of a cookout, and Jenny sucking his cock. She felt her stomach tighten. This had been her life. All of it. Not just his cheating, but the other things as well. All at the same time.

"What're you-- "

"I'm sorry, Aimee."

"You've said that."

Troy stuck his head in the door. "You coming?"

He looked up and forced a smile. "Give me a sec, okay?"

Troy nodded and disappeared.

He looked up at her. "You were right," he started. "I'm a prick. A bastard. I know that. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Things you said, things mom said." He laughed. "Troy made the point pretty clearly. I fucked up. Bad."

She said nothing. She didn't want to have this conversation. Neither of them had yet saved enough for an attorney, but they'd managed to get most everything split up without acrimony, and she didn't want to go into this anymore.

"I don't want you to hate me. You'll never take me back. I know you won't. That's not what this is about. I just want you to know that, well, that I know I fucked up real bad and lost the best thing I ever had. Okay?"

The prick, she was starting to cry. She nodded, her voice trying to laugh as she spoke. "That Troy's observation?"

He gave a silent laugh. "Almost word for word."

"He's right," she said, trying to will herself to stop crying. "I won't ever take you back. If there'd been only one, then maybe. Maybe we could've worked it out. But this?" Her hand waved at the screen. "It's just too much, you know?"

He nodded. "I know." A tear formed and ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away before going on. "I'm going to miss you, baby. And I'll always miss you, and always know how bad I fucked up. But please say you don't hate me. Be mad, think I'm a prick, say you don't forgive me. I understand all of that. But not hatred." She turned her back, then she felt him standing behind her, his arms encircling her and pulling her in to him. "Please."

She turned into him and hugged him back. "Goddamnit, Tim." She was crying into his shirt. "I don't hate you. Okay? Just don't ever do this to anyone else. If you do, and I find out, then I'll hate you, I promise."

He kissed the top of her head. "I won't."

He broke the hug and left her there, crying alone in her empty home. Why did she have to be his learning curve?

* * *

Sean was seated at the table, Roger to his left and Emily on the other side. He looked up when Elizabeth walked in, a beaming smile spreading his cheeks. He stood and hugged her.

"Elizabeth, good to see you again."

She hugged him back. She seemed hesitant, he noticed. When he broke the hug, he held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She avoided his gaze. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, looking down. "Bad night is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked at Roger and Emily, then back at him, shaking her head again.

He guided her to a chair, holding if for her and pushing it in when she was seated. "Later," he whispered in her ear. She nodded.

He stayed behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "Elizabeth, this is Roger Hollister and Emily Cuthbert. They're my agents."

Her head turned to them. "Pleased to meet you."

Roger nodded back.

"We're the ones that hired you," Emily said.

He felt the muscles in her shoulder twitch.

"We'd like to propose an arrangement," Roger intoned.

Her body went rigid beneath his hand. "Are you all right?" he asked, squeezing his shoulder. She didn't look back at him, but he saw her give a quick nod.

"What kind of arrangement."

"We'd like to hire you. For Sean," Roger said.

"I'm thinking of getting out of the business."

"Hear us out, please."

He saw her head swivel to his. "No," she said. "I'm done being hired out, okay? I'm done with it."

Sean kneeled beside her chair, and she turned to face him. He saw fear in her eyes. "Please," he said, his voice little more than a whisper, "just hear them out."

She stared at him for a moment, and he kept his eyes on hers. Her eyes softened some, but the fear remained. She nodded, then turned back to Roger.

"Okay, what's the proposal."

"We've seen the painting. Of you. And we want to hire you to pose for more."

She said nothing, but he felt the tension leaving her shoulder.

"Do you know who he is?" Emily asked.

Elizabeth shook her head.

"He's an artist, honey. A great artist. Very famous in some circles."

Elizabeth craned her head back, looking up at Sean. He shrugged back at her.

She looked back at Roger. "So that's it. You pay me, and I sit here and let him draw me. Nothing more expected, no strings attached.."

Emily nodded. Roger said, "Precisely."

"And you'll pay me how much for this?"

Roger looked to Emily and raised an eyebrow. Emily looked at Roger, then back at Elizabeth. "How much were you making for . . . well, for what we originally retained you for."

"For a whole weekend?" Emily nodded.

"My cut was three grand."

Emily looked back at Roger. Roger leaned back in his chair, his fingers playing with his lips.

"Did you work every weekend like that?"

"Does it matter?"

He shot a glance at her. Sean saw the negotiator coming out in him. Then he saw Elizabeth lean forward, folding her arms on the table in front of her.

"I'm paid for my time. Doesn't matter to me how I spend it. You want me to spend it sitting around, posing for pictures, that's fine. But it's still my time."

Roger nodded. He looked up at Sean, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me," Sean said. "Not my bailiwick. You're in charge of the monies. I'm just the artist."

Roger looked back to Elizabeth. "If we retained you, guaranteed you, three weekends a month just to sit here and pose, how much would you want?"

Sean watched her push the chair back on its hind legs, curling her knees up to the seat and cradling them in her arms. She was thinking, and Roger stared as he waited for her answer.

After a few minutes, she spoke. "Two thousand."

"A month?"

"A weekend."

"But that's preposterous!"

She leaned in, and Sean sensed it was for the kill. "You were willing to pay thirty-five hundred just so he could get his rocks off. That's almost two full weekends. He's as good as you say, six grand a month should be nothing compared to what you'll make."

Roger leaned in. "Then you'll be prepared to sign full releases? You'll waive all claims for any monies he earns--we earn--from any works he produces?"

"Of course."

Roger leaned over the table, extending his arm. "Until we get the papers drawn up, I want you to shake on it."

She leaned over and grasped the hand, pumping it firmly.

She sat back and looked up at Sean. Thanks, she mouthed at him.

"Everything all settled?" Sean heard from behind him.

Cynthia was standing there, looking down at the little boy she was holding to her hip. The boy leaned over and held his arms toward Elizabeth. She pulled back from her chair and walked to them. "How are you, baby?" she said, taking the boy in her arms and holding him tight.

Sean looked back to Cynthia and saw the look in her face. It was maternal, but mixed with a healthy dose of sadness and longing.

"Have you been good for Ms. Holloway?"

The little boy nodded, his face earnest. Cynthia reached her hand out, stroking his hair.

"He was adorable."

* * *

Before going to bed, Cynthia checked her cell phone. She never answered it during the day, but she always checked it before going to bed. She had almost no calls anymore, her last one being nearly a week before when Alexis called to chat and check up on her.

She flipped it open and saw that she had one message. It was from that morning, from David.

She felt her chest tighten. What did he want? She called her voice mail.

"Hi Cyn, it's David." There was a long pause, and she thought he'd hung up. Just as she was getting ready to hit stop and erase, his voice continued. "Listen Cyn, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. A whole lot of thinking. I was wondering if, well. . . ." There was another long pause, and she waited it out this time. It was almost a minute before he spoke again, and his voice was low. "I wanna talk. I'll be around, so whenever you can break free give me a call. Maybe we can, you know, meet somewhere or something? I-- " The message ended, cut off, she knew, by the duration.

She replayed the message twice more, trying to read his voice, trying to pick up something more. At the end, when he was cut off, what was he going to say? She looked at the time readout on the phone, which read 8:11 PM. He'd be awake, she knew, but it was Saturday night. She didn't want to call if he was out on a date. She decided he could just not answer when he saw her number flash on his phone. She dialed.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" He sounded groggy.

"Am I waking you up?"

There was a pause. "Cyn?"

"Bachelor's life got you all tuckered out at eight o'clock on a Saturday?"

She heard him yawn. "Sorry. No, I worked all day, catching up on some things."

She felt what? Relieved? She realized she did. She'd be happy to end the conversation here.




Knox County Ch. 05



"So you called?"

"Yeah."

"What do you want?" She heard him hesitate. "You said you'd been thinking," she prodded.

"Can we meet somewhere? For a drink? Just meet and talk."

"What do you wanna talk about?"

She proceeded cautiously. "What about us?"

"Well, you know, about things. Us."

"About the terms of the divorce?" She bit her lip as she said it, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Actually," he said, and she bit her lip harder and closed her eyes, not wanting to hear him say it. "Actually I wanted to talk about maybe we should see if we can work it out."

Her eyes went wide. "What?"

He seemed taken aback. "I know," he started, but she cut him off.

"Where did this come from?"

"Can't we meet and just talk about it?"

"You mean that, well, where did this come from? After all I did?"

He paused. "I've been thinking a lot," he started slowly. "And talking to some people. And, well, I'm not saying what you did was right. I'm not saying I can ever really get over it, either, I suppose. But I guess I know now that I wasn't exactly the perfect husband, okay? That some of this, maybe quite a bit of this, is my fault, too."

"But you didn't-- "

"Yes I did. Now, I just want to know if we can meet, okay?"

She agreed to meet him the next day.



Knox County Ch. 06



There was a chill wind in the air. Cynthia wore a stocking cap, jeans, gardening gloves, and a sweatshirt over a long-sleeved insulated t-shirt, and still she felt goosebumps. Next to her, Elizabeth wore a jacket, and she certainly seemed warmer.

"I think I bid in too low," Elizabeth said, picking up the trimmings and stacking them in a wheelbarrow behind her.

"How so?" Cynthia was kneeling, pruning the rose bushes three inches above the ground.

"I figured posing would be just that. Posing. Didn't realize posing meant being his landscaping crew."

Cynthia finished the bush and pushed mulch over the exposed stalks remaining in the ground. Her internet research told her this was the best way to protect them from the cold Wisconsin winter and insure they came back next year in full bloom.

"Better than last week," she said.

Elizabeth nodded. "Anything's better than pretending to clean bathrooms for five hours."

Cynthia laughed. She looked to her left. Sean was sitting on the porch, sketching them as they worked. Next to him sat Brandon, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration, doodling on a smaller sketch pad. She watched Sean glance at Brandon's drawing, reach a pencil in and slash a line, then look back at them, smiling and nodding before resuming drawing.

"What's it like living with him?"

Cynthia pondered this, not sure what was being asked. "Well, it's a lot easier now than when I first started."

"How so?"

"First time I came here, I thought he was going to die on me. Literally." She saw Elizabeth's eyebrows arch. "His wife had just died, I suppose. They told me it took her a year to die. Some kind of cancer. A really nasty one. And he took care of her the whole time. Here, I guess. And he didn't do any of his work, his drawing and painting."

Cynthia glanced back at Sean, saw his narrowed eyes as he peered at some detail her mind would never pick up on. "So when I came, he had this burst, I guess, this compulsion to get it all worked out of him. He was painting day and night. He didn't bathe--Christ, he smelled like a barn--wore the same clothes for days on end, lived on toast and jam. He looked like a ghost. He was so pale, huge, black bags under his eyes, like he was on death's doorstep. And he was emaciated."

She saw Elizabeth turn around, stare at him for a moment. "He's like a boy sometimes, you know?"

Cynthia nodded. "He was worse then. Like a zombie, almost. He just had this look, this vacant stare kind of. He didn't speak. The day after I got here, I had to lead him into the bathroom to take a bath." Cynthia paused, not sure how much to tell.

"Total wreck?"

"Worse. He . . . uh . . . well, when he got to the bathroom, he just stared at me. I had to undress him. He didn't do anything, just stared like he was in a dream or didn't really understand what was going on." Elizabeth stared at her, and Cynthia decided to move on. "Then, I put him to bed, and he just did it. Like, if I said jump through this hoop, he'd have just jumped. I don't know, it's hard to describe."

"He was totally lost."

Cynthia nodded. "That's as good a way to put it as any. But after a few weeks, he started to come around. Started to get some energy back, smile sometimes, hold conversations that lasted longer than thirty seconds."

"So what do you talk about?"

Cynthia shrugged, starting in on another rose bush. "Anything and everything, I guess. Except his wife. He's never--and I mean not even once--mentioned her, and I've never brought it up."

Elizabeth said nothing for awhile, and they silently went about clearing the landscaping bed. With two bushes to go, Elizabeth asked, "You ever sleep with him?" When Cynthia said nothing, she added, "Sorry. None of my-- "

"It's not that. The answer is no, I've never slept with him."

"Sorry, but-- "

"Not sure I could, tell you the truth. It's not like that. When I undressed him that one time, put him into the tub, and gave him a bath, he got . . . you know. Aroused." She smiled. "He's equipped, I can tell you that. Wow." She held her hands low to the ground and spread them apart. Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "He needed it, I could see it in his eyes, and I kind of helped him along with that. But it wasn't sexual. For me at least. It was . . . I guess you'd say clinical almost. Like this was something he needed and I was the only one around. You know what I'm saying?"

Elizabeth nodded. "That's what my job was like most of the time."

"How so?"

"It was never tender. I usually felt like a receptacle, like I was there just for something warm and wet to pump into."

"I think you were a little more than that. They could've gotten that for far less than they paid you."

"Yeah, they wanted the glamor of it, I guess. And confidentiality definitely. And someone who dressed and looked like their secretaries. You know the look, young, slim, dressed in a business suit."

"That's how you dressed?"

She nodded. "Always. None of those short, tight skirts." She laughed. "Imagine trying to get past the doorman in some of those neighborhoods dressed like a fifty dollar whore."

Cynthia started to say something, then stopped herself. "You can ask," Elizabeth prodded.

"Well, was it ever good? For you, not them. Was it . . . erotic, exciting?"

"Once."

"Just once?"

Elizabeth giggled. "The first time, I was so nervous it was impossible to really enjoy. That took awhile. Then it got boring, tell you the truth. Almost always the same. Blow 'em and bang 'em. But there was this one guy, it was different. It felt . . . . It was almost loving, tender. He's the only one that didn't see me as a whore. He saw more there."

"And how was that one?"

"It was awesome. We did things I'd never allowed anyone else to do."

"Like what?"

"Well. . . ." Elizabeth pursed her lips and her voice lowered to a whisper. "I let him put his fingers in places I'd never had them. Or ever had anything else, for that matter."

Cynthia smiled and raised her eyebrows, looking Elizabeth square in the face. "And how was it?"

She nodded and smiled. "Awesome."

"And did he ever . . . did you ever see him again?"

"Once." She picked up another bundle and put it in the wheelbarrow. "He wanted to meet for dinner, try to date."

"And?"

She shook her head. "Would've never worked."

"How do you know?"

Elizabeth lowered her head, staring into the mulch. "I don't."

"Because you were an escort, right?" Elizabeth nodded in response. "Well you're not anymore, right?"

"But the people he works with, the places he goes, what if I run into one of them?"

Cynthia snorted. "What're the chances of that really happening? And of them actually remembering your face or your name? You said it yourself. They didn't notice anything more than the opening between your legs."

Elizabeth sat back and curled her legs to her chest, holding them there with her arms. Cynthia followed suit, then hopped back up when she felt her jeans getting wet. Elizabeth didn't seem to notice, though. She was staring down at the half-pruned rose bush.

"Was there something there? Beyond the sex?"

Elizabeth nodded.

Cynthia put her hand on top of Elizabeth's knee. "Let me tell you something. You heard the long, drawn out sob story of my . . . my . . . of what I did to David. You heard how upset I was that night, right?" Elizabeth nodded. "A month or so ago, David calls me out of the blue. Says he wants to meet, maybe talk it all over. Maybe it wasn't all my fault." Cynthia snorted at this, and Elizabeth's eyes peered deep into hers, hanging on the next word. "So we meet, we talk for awhile. I was afraid at first. Worried he'd humiliate me again, like he did that night. I probably half-hoped he would. I deserved it--still deserve it, really. I betrayed him, and no matter what his faults, he didn't deserve what I did to him."

Cynthia fell back to the ground now, ignoring the damp mulch soaking the seat of her jeans. "But he didn't humiliate me. He wanted to talk it all through. See if maybe there was still a chance."

Cynthia turned her head and looked at Sean and Brandon. Brandon had abandoned the sketch pad and was running around the lawn, kicking a ball. Sean was sketching intently, looking up every few seconds before going back to the pad.

"So is there? Still a chance?"

Cynthia shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so, but don't know." She looked back at the girl. "I know I'd give almost anything, but I don't want to rush back into it. He wanted me to move back in that night, but I said no. I don't want to go back and have him realize he still can't trust me. That wouldn't work. We'd both be miserable, and it'd just be dragging out the inevitable."

"So what're you going to do? Are you going to see him again?"

"I already have. We've met a few times, for coffee or dinner. We talk about things."

"How's he feel about this?"

"Me living here? With Sean?" Elizabeth nodded, and Cynthia said, "He was jealous at first, but I explained he had nothing to be jealous about. If he didn't believe me, he could move in for a week and see for himself."

Cynthia put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders and looked into her eyes. "What I'm telling you is this. There's always a good reason to never take a chance. David has a million excellent reasons to never speak to me again, but he is. Because at the end of the day, it's really hard to find someone who can be your best friend, your lover, and your soul mate. I didn't realize that until I found out what I'd lost, and David didn't realize that until I was gone. We can both go out and find someone else. But love, real love, love that supports more than just sex but also a marriage, is harder to find than you think. Got it?"

"Yes."

"So if you think there may be something more there with this guy, something more than just great sex, then you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. Don't look back fifteen years from now, alone, and think about him and ask yourself what could've been. Try to make it be, and if it doesn't work out, at least you gave it a shot."

* * *

Sean walked in the kitchen as Cynthia was putting on her coat. "Where you going?"

"I've got to run into town and pick up some groceries for your dinner. Any special requests?"

He shook his head. "Mind if I tag along?" She did a double take. "What?"

"You've not left here since I've been here. That's been, what, three and a half months?"

He shrugged. "Then I suppose it's time I got out a bit, eh?"

It took awhile at the grocery store. Sean kept putting items in the cart and Cynthia just as quickly put most of them back. He'd have some nutrition in his belly or nothing at all, she'd told him. He sulked, but enjoyed the game. By the end, he managed to sneak in a few candy bars and cheese popcorn. He didn't even like cheese popcorn, but it was fun watching her look when she watched it pass the scanner.

When they were back in the car, he prodded her shoulder. "Fancy a nip?"

"Why not? Where do you want to go?"

"Not a clue. Never been to a pub hereabouts."

She smiled, keeping her eyes on the road. "A pub you want, a pub you'll get."

She drove to the old downtown district, away from the box stores on the state highway and onto the quiet, bricked streets lined with law offices, two banks, antique and hardware stores, a diner, and scattered taverns.

He gazed at the buildings. The brickwork was wonderful, the clean tuck points of the banks next to the sloppy, worn down looks of a boarded up laundromat, clashes of architectural styles lining the street. He spotted an alley pass on the side street.

"Wait," he said, his arm shooting to her bicep. "Back up, park over there." She drove around the block. "Over there," he said, pointing to the alley. "Park right here, okay?"

She pulled into a parking spot. He reached between his legs on the floor and picked up his sketch pad and pencils. Then he heard her sigh, and turned to look at her.

"Are we going to have that drink, or do you want to draw?"

"Can you give me maybe twenty minutes? I'll meet you there."

She got that stern look, the one she shot him when she put the chocolate covered raisins back twenty minutes before. "Twenty minutes. Lion's Head, right around the corner. You're even a minute late and I'm leaving."

He nodded, sliding into her seat and all but pushing her from the car. "Okay, twenty minutes."

The alley was gorgeously decrepit. The narrow lane was filled with potholes exposing chipped, bare bricks beneath a few inches of asphalt. There were sagging, unpainted porches, overflowing trash containers, sixty-year old murals faded to almost nothing, missing bricks, and boarded windows. All right here, twelve miles from home. How could he have missed this glorious ruin?

He heard a tiny voice behind him. "That's incredible." He ignored the voice, concentrating on the panorama. He didn't have much time left. He started making notes on the bottom, colors to use and textures to apply. "What're you writing?" the voice said. He didn't need this, and he turned to tell whoever she was to bugger off.

"Listen," he said, tilting his head. He stopped. He was staring into the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen, deep, captivating, and lively.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that you have real talent. That's really very, very good."

He felt himself blushing. He cleared his throat, unable to speak. He managed a nod.

"May I?" She held her hands out, and he raised his arms, handing over the sketch pad. She had light red hair cut short, and freckles sprinkled lightly across her nose. She was a vision, he thought, a vision from his Belfast childhood. The comely Irish lass with bright smile and wit, a pixie-like figment of his imagination.

"Where did you learn to do this?" She looked back at him and smiled. When he said nothing, she said, "I won't bite, you know."

He cleared his throat again. "I do it for a living."

He could see the surprise in her eyes. "Really?" She looked back at the picture, and a sadness came over her face. "It's what I wanted to do at one time. But I had nowhere near this much talent." She handed back the sketch pad and he closed it, threw it onto the seat behind him before standing.

"I'm . . . Sean." He held out his hand, praying she'd shake it.

"I'm Aimee," she said, gripping his hand into hers. It was smooth, warm, soft. "Pleased to meet you, Sean. Live around here?" He managed another nod. Her eyes were dancing again, a smile curling her lips upward revealing a small line of straight, very white teeth. "Where around here do you live?"

"About twelve miles out." He raised his arm and pointed, his eyes staying on her face. "That way."

She nodded. "Well, Sean, I suppose I should be leaving you alone now. It was nice to meet you, and I hope we meet again." She nodded at him and walked away, nearly reaching the corner before he found his voice.

"Wait," he called to her, slamming the car door behind him and jogging over to catch her. She stopped and turned, smiling at him. "I was just going in to meet my housekeeper for a drink. Can I . . . would you . . . maybe if you're-- "

"I'd love a drink," she said, taking his hand in hers. He didn't move, content to stand there holding her hand and gazing at her. After a minute, the pixie laughed. "So where's the housekeeper drinking?"

"Lion's Head."

She nodded and led him down the street, stopping and pushing into a dark tavern.

"What does she look like?" He stared at her, not understanding. "The housekeeper?"

"Yeah, yeah, Cynthia. She's . . . I don't know . . . a few inches taller than you, really pretty, brown hair, about thirty-five or so, I should guess." He peered away from the eyes and into the bar, saw her walking toward them. "There she is."

As he tried to pull Aimee into the bar, he felt her hand tighten in his and her arm became rigid. He looked back and saw the shock on her face, then he turned back to Cynthia. She, too, had stopped, and she looked scared.

"What?" he said to Aimee. "What's wrong? It's just Cynthia." She said nothing, and he turned to Cynthia. "Cynthia, come here. I want you to meet-- "

The hand jerked from his and he turned back in time to watch Aimee dash out the door. He turned back to Cynthia, dumbfounded. Her eyes went from the door to Sean and back to the door. She strode to him. "Wait here," she said as she passed. The she, too, was gone.

* * *

Aimee was walking fast, trying to get back to the safety of her car two blocks away. "Wait," she heard from behind her. She turned her head and saw Cynthia Holloway jogging, trying to catch her. She started jogging, too. Cynthia kept calling to her, telling her to wait, come back, but she couldn't. She needed to get home, to her couch, the warmth of a cup of cocoa and a book.

A half block from her car, the drawing popped back into her mind. And the shy artist who drew it, bumbling his way around a simple invitation for a drink. And the darkest, softest eyes she'd ever seen. She felt her jog slow to a walk and heard Cynthia's voice get closer. Then she stopped altogether and waited. This quiet artist was the first spark, however brief, she'd had in her life in months. In the ten seconds it took Cynthia to reach her, Aimee decided she wasn't going to let Cynthia Holloway get in the way of her and happiness anymore.

"Thank you," Cynthia panted when she caught up. She bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. "Please go back. Please."

Aimee's eyes narrowed. "Why? Why should you care what I do?"

Cynthia shook her head, still looking down and catching her breath. "I don't care what you do. I do care about him, though." Her breath was coming back, and she leaned back and sucked in gulps of air. Then she looked forward, straight at Aimee. "I know you hate me. Fine, I can understand that. But don't take it out on him. Go back and have a drink. Have a whole mess of drinks. I'll leave, he can call me when he's ready for a ride home."

"What's your angle on this."

She shook her head. "No angle. Well, yes, there is an angle. The angle is that he needs someone."

"He's got you, hasn't he?"

"You don't understand. I'm his housekeeper. I clean, do laundry, cook for him, make sure he gets enough sleep. That's it. But he's all alone. He's getting better since I came on board. But he's still alone. I didn't know him before-- "

"Before what?"

"Before his wife died. So I guess I could've been reading his look wrong. When he came in with you. But we've both seen that look, and that's what I saw."

Aimee looked at her. Her face, her eyes, her whole body was pleading with her to go back to that bar and have a drink. She looked around Cynthia's shoulder, back down the street. She saw him over a block away, standing outside the door, shuffling his feet and looking at them. She could see the anxiousness in his face from where she stood.

"And you'll leave."

"Promise. Just have him give me a ring on my cell when he's ready and I'll come and get him. I'll hang around town."

Aimee shook her head. "Don't bother. I'll give him a ride home."

Cynthia nodded, relief pouring over her face. "Thank you. We'll go back, I'll grab my purse, and I'll write down the directions to his house."

"That won't be necessary."

Cynthia snorted a laugh. "Yes it will."

Aimee stopped and turned to her. "He doesn't know where he lives?"

She shook her head. "I'll bet he couldn't find the place in a hundred years."

Aimee smiled, wondering what kind of man didn't even know where he lived.

They went into the tavern, Sean following behind them through the doors. The relief was evident on his face, soon replaced by a joyful giddiness. Cynthia wrote down the directions at the bar while Sean ordered two pints, Miller Lite for her, Guinness and Harp for him. Cynthia handed her the directions, waved, and left.




Knox County Ch. 06



"What's that?" Sean said.

"Directions to your house. She says you're probably not sure where you live."

He nodded, as if such things were natural. Then he took a sip of his beer and looked at her, smiling, a thin line of foam on his upper lip. She felt herself smiling.

"What do you call that concoction?" she said, looking at his beer.

"Black and tan."

"Is it good?"

He shook his head. "Too cold here. Doesn't taste like back home. The beer, it's different than I remember."

"Where are you from?"

"Belfast. Grew up there. Moved to Boston when I was nineteen, then to New York City. Brooklyn."

"How long have you lived here? In Armitage?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, really. 'Bout ten years, I'd guess."

She said nothing, sipping her beer and smiling at him. After a few minutes, it seemed clear he wasn't going to say anything without further prompting. Still, he seemed incapable of not answering, so she took the opportunity offered to learn more.

"So you have any girlfriends?"

"No." He looked down in his beer, his cheeks flushing.

"What about Cynthia Holloway?"

"Oh, she's my housekeeper. She cleans up and makes sure I eat and sleep when I'm supposed to."

"She take care of any other needs?"

He looked puzzled, then he smiled. "I suppose so, now that I think about it. She does most of the yard work. I help her sometimes, but she does that, too."

Aimee bit back the laugh. "That's not quite what I meant." He tilted his head. "I mean, does she take care of any of your . . . um . . . more personal needs." Blank stare. "For crying out loud, Sean, have you slept with her? Had sex with her?"

He looked stunned. "No, never . . . she . . . I . . . she's the housekeeper, for crying out loud."

Aimee laughed. "So it never crossed your mind?"

His look told her it hadn't.

"Okay, okay, so you're single. Sorry to be so nosey."

He reached over and placed his hand next to hers. She felt his fingertip on hers, a soft touch before pulling away, then another touch. She lifted her hand and placed it over his, squeezing. "You're not very good at this, are you. At meeting strange women."

"You're not strange," he said. "You're . . . . Well, as me Da used to say, you're a rather comely lass. A veritable vision to behold, you are."

She felt the blush come to her cheeks. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No, Sean, it's just that I think you're a lot better at this than you realize."

A half hour later, they were in Aimee's car. He was staring out the windows at the passing landscape. She glanced over now and again and saw that he was focused on the passing landscape.

"What do you see?"

He continued staring, and she wasn't sure he'd heard her. After a moment, his voice low, he said, "Death. Brown grasses, bare, gnarled, intertwined limbs, craggy bark. All of it going to sleep for the winter, hoping it will be re-born in the spring."

"You do this for a living, don't you? Art, that is. You're an artist."

"I suppose I am."

"That's sort of what I do, too." He turned to her, the surprise evident. "Well, not really. I teach it. To children."

"Really?"

"Yes. That's what my degree is in." She glanced at him, then back to the road. "What's your full name? Maybe I've heard of you."

"Sean Michael Patrick McMahon."

Her eyes went wide. "As in Reflections On A Loss?"

"You've heard of me?"

"Holy shit." She couldn't believe it. Of course she'd heard of him. He was huge, his paintings studied intently in college. She couldn't believe the thin little Irishman next to her, forty or so years old, was the same artist who'd been so influential for at least the past fifteen years. She had no idea why, but she'd always assumed artists, especially the very influential ones, were older, sixties or seventies at least.

She said nothing more, and he turned back to the landscape. She passed the driveway twice before finally finding it and turning in.

As she pulled up, Cynthia was getting in her car. They got out, and Cynthia spoke. "I've made some dinner, something light. There's plenty for the two of you, and the table's set." She smiled.

Aimee was embarrassed. She'd planned this, appeared most anxious that Aimee and Sean spend the evening together. "You . . . you live here. There's no need for you to go. I'm just dropping him off."

Cynthia smiled broadly and shook her head. "Oh no, I've got places to be. You two go in and have something to eat. I'll be home late. And Sean? You behave yourself, okay?"

"Of course, Cynthia," he said. Aimee saw from his look that he was puzzled by her remark. My God, she thought, he's not got a clue, the most socially inept person she'd ever met. He was like a little boy in a man's body. Not mean, not selfish, but completely trusting. He and Tim were polar opposites.

"You hungry?" she asked when they entered.

"Not yet."

"Then would you mind if I saw where you worked?"

He grinned broadly and held out his hand. She took it and followed him. He was almost pulling her down the hallway. "Here it is," he said, opening a door and pulling her in behind him.

It was large, well lit, and had plenty of natural light from oversized windows. Paintings in all stages of completion were scattered throughout the room, both on easels and leaning against the walls. There were at least thirty of them, and she sucked in her breath at the sheer volume of his work.

"Pretty nice, huh?"

She nodded, letting go of his hand and walking to an enormous painting in the corner. It was Cynthia and another woman. Cynthia was curled in a chair, a mask of anguish on her face. The other woman, younger, slightly darker skin, a faint oriental bent to the eyes, was mostly in shadow, but her concern was evident. It was powerful. She understood the pain, felt the concern. The detail was amazing, too. It was as if she could reach into the painting and stroke their hair, unbutton the blouses. But the background, the shading, all lent more than mere photographic realism. There was an extra drama not present in photos, a dark cloud conveyed by the entire composition and execution.

"How did you do this?"

"Dunno, really. I just see it and try to do it. The feeling, right? The emotion of the moment. And I try to convey it."

"How do you know the emotion?"

"I ask them, of course."

She turned. He was looking at the painting as well, a sadness on his face. "So they what? They sit there and you talk to them?"

He shook his head. "They talk to me. I just try to keep them talking is all. Try to learn why they're happy or sad or whatever. As they tell it, they feel it, too."

"What was she telling you?"

"I'm not sure I should . . . ."

"Please, Sean, I have to know." He looked at her and stared deeply into her eyes. He seemed unsure, then she heard a small sigh. He turned back to the painting.

"A couple of months ago, I was painting Elizabeth for the first time. I'd just met her. That one's Elizabeth, by the way." He pointed at the Asian girl. "And we were chatting and I was doing some studies, just sketching her face, features. You know, trying to get her sad, happy, surprised, the whole gamut. It really helps to become familiar with the most minute detail of a person--what kind of eyebrows do they have, is there a peculiar slant to their head, tilt to the jawline."

He took her hand in his and walked to the loungers in the middle of the room. He nodded her into one, and he sat in the other. He turned and faced her. "So we've been at it maybe an hour or two when Cynthia shows up. She was going away for the weekend, but she's back. And she looked really upset. That's when I saw the picture taking shape. So I pulled these two chairs together and had them sit in them, got them the way I wanted. Then I asked Cynthia to tell us what was wrong. To be as specific as possible. So she did, and I painted them, Cynthia telling the story and Elizabeth's response."

Aimee didn't want to push it, but she had to know. "So what was wrong with her?"

"I'm not sure I should-- "

"Did someone die?" He shook his head. "She break up with a boyfriend." He froze. "A husband? Did her husband leave her?"

His eyes were wide, and she smiled inwardly. He couldn't lie to her, and she suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for playing him like this. She overcame that, though, and picked up his hand, pressing it to her lips. "Please, Sean. I know her. And her husband. I know they've separated. I'm just surprised she's upset over it."

He said nothing for a minute. She saw his mind working, his eyes shooting back and forth to the painting and her eyes and her hand around his. 

When he finally spoke, he was locked back on the painting, his voice soft and sad. "She cheated on him. That's why they'd separated. She felt bad about it all, about lying to her husband and violating her vows and losing him. She'd just begun coping with her guilt when that night came around. But she ran into him someplace. A pub or a restaurant, I don't remember which. And he was with another woman." Aimee's hand stiffened at this, and he looked at her.

"Please, go on."

He looked at her hand then back to the painting. "Well, she figured he'd moved on already, which hurt her a little. So she approached them, like she was going to confront him. She was hurt, but she knew she had no right to be. Still, she approached them and she and the lady had words."

He was silent, and she tried to get him to finish. "Like what? What happened?"

He looked at her, biting his lip. "She found out the guy she'd been cheating with was married. She didn't know that. Her affair ruined more than just her marriage, it ruined that woman's marriage, too. She felt horrible. I think she still does. She won't talk about it anymore."

He said nothing, looking back to the painting.

Aimee now understood Cynthia had an additional reason to get her with Sean. She looked from the painting to Sean's sad face and decided she didn't care about Cynthia's motivations. His next words jolted her.

"You're the other woman, aren't you? The one whose marriage she wrecked. That's why you left when you saw her." He apparently wasn't as naive as she'd assumed.

"Yes." She took his hand in hers and held it. His dark eyes stared into hers, right through to her soul, she felt. It was unnerving and comforting at the same time, like he could really understand.

"Come on," she said, tugging his arm to break the spell. "Let's not let that dinner she made us go to waste."

* * *

Cynthia's car was in the driveway when David pulled in. He wasn't surprised. After all, she still had the keys. Still, they hadn't yet met here. They'd kept it to public places, places either would feel free to leave.

When he walked in the front door, he smelled the comforting aromas of garlic, basil, tomatoes, and onions.

"Cyn," he called.

"In here," she called back from the kitchen.

He hung up his jacket, kicked his shoes into the closet, and walked into the kitchen. She was breaking some pasta into a large pot of boiling water. He watched her. She moved naturally, easily, and it was as if she'd never left.

"Fifteen minutes," she told him, putting the lid back on the pot and turning to face him, smiling uncomfortably. "Why don't you go change into something more comfortable and come back down. I'll have dinner on the table soon."

He said nothing, only stared. Her uncomfortable look turned to uncertainty. "I'm sorry. If you want me to leave I'll-- "

"No," he said, smiling, "just surprised is all. But you look so . . . I'm just glad you're here." He started unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it from his slacks, and said, "I'll be back."

He saw her relax, then turn and hum something as she put the garlic bread in the oven.

When he reappeared in jeans and a t-shirt, she was tossing the salad. "Let me help you," he said, walking up behind her and reaching around her. He felt her stiffen as he brushed her back, then relax as his hands took the tongs from hers and lifted the bowl over her head.

They ate comfortably, exchanging small talk and catching up on the day's events. When they were done, they lingered over their wine.

"I want this again," he said.

She smiled. "I do, too. I just want to make sure it lasts forever this time, though."

"I know. You keep saying that. But-- "

"But nothing. David, I hurt you. Terribly. I know that. But I don't want you throwing it back in my face five years from now. I'll always feel guilty, you know that. And I know things will never go back to the way they were. Not totally. I'm willing to live with that if you are. We need to make sure that you're not just considering this, that you don't just want this, because you're lonely and afraid to move on. If that's the case, then yes, I'll be devastated, but I'll understand."

"But it is what I want."

She raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

He was exasperated. "What more do you want? Do you want to talk about it? About the affair?"

"Do you?" she said.

He did. He saw that she realized this, she knew he couldn't get the images from his mind. She was inviting this, seemed to be asking for it. He tried to settle down, get his breathing under control.

"I see the two of you together, all right?"

She placed her hand on his forearm.

"I just, it's . . . . What did you do?"

"I fucked him, David."

"I know, but how? What ways? What did he do that I didn't, have that I didn't?"

"He was there and you weren't. You were buried in your work, and I felt like an afterthought. So he fucked me. I'd blow him sometimes, but usually it was just bend over the hood and bang away. It was never tender. We never made love, just fucked."

"What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, did he spank you? Anal sex? Anything like that?"

She shook her head. "Just straight ahead bend over and here I come."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"When it was happening? Yes. Afterwards? No. I always felt bad, always guilty. But then I'd get home, and you'd still be gone, and I'd try to wait up or try to get you going the next morning. After four or five days, the guilt would go away and I'd get to the point of looking forward to it again. Then it would all play out, same as before."

"Did it get easier?"

She shook her head. "It got harder. Got to the point I'd have to brace myself with a few drinks first. No, the longer it went on, the worse it got."

"Then why didn't you stop?"

Tears were welling in her eyes. "Because, David, every time I'd look at you, you'd talk to me until you fell asleep, then you'd be in such a rush to get to work. I quit feeling pretty, quit feeling wanted. And every time he pulled me over, the look in his eyes, the energy when he saw me and knew what was coming. I felt wanted again."

He put his hand over hers. "I want you again," he said.

She had the sniffles, tried to smile. "I know you do, but-- "

"No," he said. "I mean right now, right here. I want you, and I don't want to wait."

He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing her palm.

"David this isn't . . . I'm not sure we're ready for this yet."

He ignored her, pushing back his chair and walking around the table to her. She sat there, watching him approach, her arm swinging around with her palm still glued to his mouth. He pulled her from the chair, and she followed. He stepped backward, guiding them to the adjacent living room. Then he fell back on the sofa, pulling her down to him, and his arms went around her waist and held her tightly.

His lips found hers, and he could taste the salty tears. She was mumbling that they shouldn't do this, but he ignored the mumbles, running his tongue along her lips. Her mumbles ceased and her lips pressed harder against his, her tongue seeking out his. They kissed long and deep. Comfortable kisses, passionate kisses, urgent kisses, each responding to the other as years of intimacy had taught them the other's signals and needs.

His hand reached down and squeezed her ass, pulling her tighter to him. She responded by sliding a hand up under his shirt, running it over his belly and ribs, feeling him. Her kisses became more urgent, and he felt her hips swaying over his hardness. He felt her hands tugging at his nipples, and he groaned lightly through their kiss.

Her lips left his and traveled to his neck. "It's been so long," he said, feeling her heat, her hot breath in his ear just before her teeth sucked in his earlobe. "I'm not going to last very long."

Her hot breath blew into his ear again. "Then I want you to fuck me the first time," she said, "and make love to me the next."

He pushed her up roughly, grabbing the hem of her blouse and jerking it over her head. Her pelvis started grinding hard into his. He could see the sparkle in her eyes, the tears gone now, and she reached back and unclasped her bra. He leaned in, the cup lowering beneath his chin, and her upturned breast filling his mouth as he sucked her in.

"Yes," she hissed. He felt her hands go to his shirt and pull it up. His face broke contact as she pulled his arms up and the shirt over his head. Then she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back to her, mashing her breasts into his face. The bra had slipped from one shoulder and was dangling by the other, and this gave him an idea.

He pulled it off, sucking over her breasts and nipping at her nipples. With his hands he sought hers and, finding them, held them together.

"What're you doing, baby?" she said. It wasn't fear or confusion he was hearing, though, but excitement.

"Did he ever do this?" David asked, looping the bra around her wrists and securing her hands in a tight knot.

"Oh my God," she said, throwing her arms over his neck. Her pelvis was running the length of his cock now, pushing through the fabric of their jeans and grinding into him. "No, never. I've never been tied up before by anyone. What're you going to do to me?"

She was inflamed. He could hear the excitement, and he decided to take it to the next level. "Whatever the fuck I wanna do." He grabbed her ribs and swung her off of him, sat her on the couch, and undid her pants.

"You're mine now, and I'm going to take whatever I want."

She nodded, holding her tied hands high above her and lifting her hips as he pulled off her pants and panties.

"And what I want to do right now," he said, grabbing underneath and squeezing her asscheeks, pulling her forward to the edge of the couch, "is eat your pussy until you beg me to stop." He dove in, sucking her lips into his mouth and driving his tongue deep within her. She wasn't yet fully aroused, but he could feel her juices start to seep out and onto his face, heat beginning to build and radiate. He heard her quickened panting, and he broke contact. "Then, when you beg me to stop, I'm going to do it some more."

She leaned her head back, keeping her arms outstretched above her, and arched her hips up. "Yes, David. Whatever you want. Anything."

Her feet were on the floor, her legs spread lifting her hips from the couch and into him, pushing into his face and his tongue. One of his hands squeezed her ass as it clenched and unclenched with her grinding, and the other went up to her breasts and pulled at her nipples, squeezing her breasts. This wasn't rough, but it was gentle, either. Rather, it was urgency, the needs of both of them that had built up over the previous months.

"Oh yes, baby, please keep going," she said, her breath quickening. He felt her hands come down and encircle his head, pulling his face in closer and smearing his cheeks with her wetness.

After a moment, just as he felt her getting close, he backed away and slipped under the loop of her arms. He grabbed her wrist and raised it back over her head. "I'm in charge."

She whimpered in response, nodding and keeping her hands above her head. Her breasts were stretched taut, and he leaned in and sucked on them, lashing them with his tongue and sucking in the skin. He looked back and saw small, faint marks appear. Holy fuck, he thought, I haven't given anyone a hickey since high school.




Knox County Ch. 06



He looked up at her face and saw her eyes on him. There was need there. He stared at her as he ran a finger along her slit, going to the top and circling her clit. She gasped lightly, but her eyes stayed locked on his.

"Is this what you want?" he said. He pushed into her, up to the first knuckle. His thumb went to her clit and circled. She nodded, her breath quickening. He pulled his hand away, running his palm over the swelling of her mound. Her eyes pleaded with him, and he saw her lips move, a silent please.

He ran his fingers back down, trailing the wetness to the crack of her clenching cheeks. She shuddered at the touch. He ran back up and down again, spreading her juices down to the crack, but unable to get near her anus because her cheeks were clenched tight with the effort of holding herself off the couch. He pushed in, finding the rubbery circle of her sphincter. He'd never done this with her, never thought she'd let him. Her look told him she was his to do with as he pleased.

"Maybe this?" he said, pushing insistently against the clenched circle. Still she stared, her breath unchanging. He pushed his thumb into her slick folds and pushed his middle finger hard against her rosebud, feeling it sink to the first knuckle. He held them there, squeezing thumb toward middle finger. Her breathing quickened and she spread her legs more to give him easier access. He held her stare as he lowered his head back to her waist, watching her break the stare and crane her head to the ceiling just before he lowered his mouth to her clitoral hood and engulfed it in his mouth.

"Oh oh oh yes oh yesss," she said in short, whispering pants. He pressed his tongue hard against the underside of her clit, feeling the hard bundle of nerves connecting it to someplace deep within her. He ran his tongue up and down its length, and her hips pressed into him. His hand started moving with her grinding, pushing thumb and middle finger in and out of her openings deeper and deeper until they were traveling their full lengths into her. His eyes traveled up the length of her body and saw her head thrown back, her mouth parted with a silent scream, her arms still high above her.

Then he felt her spasming, cumming hard, nearly driving his mouth from her with the electric jolts of her bucking hips. He kept contact, though, pushing his hand into her as deep as his finger and thumb could go and holding them there. She wasn't screaming, but he heard her breath expelling in a series of panting gasps that seemed to have no end.

Her release, its duration, confirmed in his mind what she'd already told him. She'd been without an orgasm since the last night with her lover. She'd denied herself the pleasure of even her own intimacy, punishing herself. And now, it seemed, she wanted to be punished by him and she was willing to take her release as he saw fit to dole them out to her.

After what seemed forever but was more likely a few minutes, her body loosened and sank into the couch. "Please," she said, looking down at him. "Give me a minute, okay? It's real sensitive right now."

He broke his mouth away and pulled his fingers from her. "But I told you I wouldn't stop, remember?" She nodded, watching him as he leaned back in and dragged his tongue along her. Her hips twitched in response, and he could see her grimace with the sensation. "You're mine, mine to do whatever I want, right?" She nodded, pleading with her face, but keeping her arms high above her, not trying to break the bonds around her wrists.

He stood and quickly shed his pants and underwear. He watched her eyes trail down, taking in his fully engorged cock. She started to lean into him and he watched her mouth approach, opening as she drew nearer. Then he felt her cool, wet mouth encircle him, her tongue pressing from the underside. He groaned and pulled back, breaking her hold.

"Not yet," he said, staring into her pouting face. "Now turn over." She sat still, her lower lip maintaining the pout. "Fine," he said, grabbing her hips and pulling her off the couch onto the floor, "if you won't, I'll do it for you." He flipped her over until she was laying on her stomach. "Now get your ass in the air," he said, and she pushed up on all fours. "No," he said, pushing down between her shoulderblades and driving her head to the floor. "Just your ass." He spread her knees.

He looked down. She was exposed before him. Her ass was perked high, her face to the floor and turned, watching him, her bound wrists stretched out in front of her head. "What're you going to do?" she said. Her eyes again showed a mixture of fear and excitement.

"You said anything," he said, kneeling behind her and spreading her cheeks wider. He leaned in and speared his tongue into the clenching, mocha rosebud, penetrating easily. He heard her gasp, then it turned to a low moan and she pushed her hips back at him. Her ass clenched, trying to drive his tongue away, and he smelled the damp, musky aroma of her juices with an afterscent of her lavendar soap. He broke away. "And I figured when you said anything, that's what you meant." He pushed two fingers to her slit and slowly pushed them in, increasing the volume of her moan. Then he leaned back in and traced his tongue over the smooth ridges of her anus.

"But I've never done that," she said. The tone of her whimper told him she may be open to the possibility, though, and he speared his tongue back into her as he pushed his fingers deeper into her volcanic folds. He heard a light grunt, and he started driving his tongue in and out, causing her to grunt lightly with each penetration.

Just when he thought it would never happen, his tongue plunged back in and she loosened. He heard her moan loudly and say, "Oh yeah, baby, anything. Anything you want." He moaned as well, into the sensitive flesh around his mouth, and held his tongue in her, swirling it around her loosened sphincter and driving is fingers back and forth. She was pushing back against him, trying to get more of him into her, and he switched his mouth and fingers, sliding his finger into her asshole and bending beneath to drive his tongue deep within her wet lips.

She was panting louder now, grunting with the thrusts into her ass, and he felt her orgasm building again. He quickly moved his mouth away and kneeled behind her and pulling his finger from her. "Please," she said, and he pressed his thumb against her rosebud, penetrating it deeply in one smooth push, hearing her groan in response. He lined up his cock with her wetness and rubbed it there, letting her know what was coming. He wasn't sure she noticed, though, as her body had started the light trembling that told him she was close.

He put his free hand on her hip and pulled her back at him, pushing in at the same time. He felt her heat engulf him, her walls clench around him, and he heard her voice, little more than a whisper, savor his entry. "Yes, fuck me. Yes, David, please fuck me."

He started pumping into her, nearly withdrawing with every stroke before plunging back in. Her orgasm was almost instantaneous and she was bucking back against him, sobbing her excitement. "Yes, David, oh God yes," she cried.

He felt the pressure building, the tingling running up and down his back. Then he looked down at her, his thumb seated firmly in her ass, his cock spearing her, and her trembling body convulsing with wave after wave. The eroticism sent him over the top, and he groaned long and loud as he shot spurt after spurt deep within her, clutching her twitching hips to his as he filled her.

They stayed this way for a few minutes, both of them catching their breath. He saw the smile on her lips, her eyes closed, and she said, "Wow." He looked down, his thumb still in her, and he pushed in some. She shivered, the smile remaining. His cock was still hard in her, which amazed him, and he started slowly moving again. He knew it would be ages before he'd be able to cum again, but he enjoyed the sensations.

"I could do this forever," she said. Her eyes opened and looked up at him. "With you."

He nodded and slowly withdrew from her. She splayed out on her stomach, and he laid on his side next to her. One hand held his head, the other stroked over her smooth back and buttocks. Her eyes were closed, and he watched her smiling face, heard her soft purrs appreciating his intimacy.

Her eyes remained closed as she spoke. "That was . . . intense. I've never . . . not with you, with anyone. It's never been like that."

He smiled. "I've been fantasizing about this moment for quite some time. Gave me plenty of opportunity to plan it down to the last detail."

She opened her eyes and smiled back. "Good planning. Now, if you've still got some energy left, I want you to make love to me." 

He leaned in and kissed her, their tongues exploring each other's mouths. When they broke the kiss, she said, "But I want you to keep me tied up." He grinned broadly.

* * *

Elizabeth was studying for her mid-terms when her cell phone rang. She looked, didn't recognize the number, and decided not to answer it. She turned back to her studies when the beeping told her someone had left a message. She called her voicemail, pressed in her code, and heard his voice.

"Elizabeth, this is Will. Theresa, my old secretary, phoned me a few minutes ago. Said you're trying to get ahold of me. I'd really like to hear from you, so if you're still trying, give me a ring on this number." He gave his number, said goodbye, and the message ended.

She stared at the phone. She called his firm yesterday, and they'd told her he was gone. He'd resigned and moved on. They didn't tell her where he'd gone, and her internet searches produced nothing. Now here he was, calling her. She bit her lip, trying to decide whether to call back.

She looked at her books, then over at Brandon napping on the couch. She flipped open the cell and dialed the number.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"Elizabeth?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"It's good to hear from you again." She held her breath, not sure what to say. "Really, I'm . . . well . . . it's just really good to hear from you again."

"Why did you call me?" she said.

"I didn't. You called me."

"I know that. But you called back. Why did you call back?"

"Why don't you tell me why you called in the first place."

She smiled. Damned lawyers, they knew how to steer these things to their advantage.

"Okay, maybe I'm interested in . . . you know . . . maybe in seeing you again."

His response was immediate. "When? Where? You name the time and I'll be there."

She looked back at Brandon napping, then to the pile of books and notes strewn over the small table in front of her. "Well, I can't really take the time to go all the way into the city. I'm pretty busy with mid-terms right now, and I doubt I can get a babysitter on such short notice."

"Then I'll come to you. You just name the time and place."

She held her breath, unsure whether she wanted him to know where she lived.

"Listen," he said, "I've just got some things to finish up around here. They'll let me duck out a little early. It's Friday, so no big deal. I can be there in about an hour if that's okay with you."

She was taken aback. "An hour? Where are you? How do you know you can be here in an hour?" She heard silence. "Have you . . . did you . . . . You know where I live, don't you?"

She heard the expulsion of breath. "Yes."

She was angry, and she didn't know why. This was what she wanted, to see if there was something there. Still, it seemed presumptuous, almost like stalking.

"I know what you're thinking," he said in a rush, "and don't. I told you, told you the night we met, that I was going to be leaving the city and going to a small town. And I told you I wanted more, that I really wanted to get to know you better."

Her eyes went wide. "You're here? In Armitage?"

"Been here for about a month, actually. I'm at Jennings and Hoyt, right on Main Street. I live about a mile from you."

"You know where I live? My house?"

He was silent.

"Have you been watching me? Spying on me?"

"No, it's nothing like that."

"Then what is it like? How do you know where I live?"

"Why should that matter? I do. And yes, I've driven past. Once, about a month, six weeks ago. You were reading on your stoop, your son was riding a Big Wheel in the driveway. But I haven't been there since. So yes, I know exactly where you live. And yes, I've seen your little boy. He's beautiful, by the way. But no, I'm not stalking you."

"And when were you going to call me?"

"Never thought that far ahead. Figured, hoped I'd just see you around town. Maybe run into you at the grocery store. But you don't seem to ever go shopping. I know, I go there almost every day, sometimes twice a day, hoping to just bump into you. 'Oh hi,' I'll say, 'fancy meeting you here. You live here, too? Oh my, what a coincidence, huh? Small world.'"

She smiled, and her anger flowed out. She could picture the scene. "You're loitering at the Piggly Wiggly trolling for chicks?"

"No, Elizabeth, trolling for one certain chick."

She felt giddy now. He had given it all up and moved to a different state, probably had to get a new law license and everything, just for the chance of being with her. She had butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn't contain her smile.

"All right, Will Sherman, seeing as you've gone through all this trouble, I guess I can consent to a date."

"A date. And it's a first date, so no funny business. I'll expect dinner and maybe a movie, but-- "

"No funny business? For crying out loud, we've already passed that-- "

"No we haven't. That was different. That was business. Romantic as it may have been, as good as you think you may be at all of that stuff, we need to treat this like a real date. Got it?"

He laughed. "Okay, okay. Dinner and a movie it is. You set the pace. So long as I get a good night kiss."

"We'll see," she said. "Depends on whether you're any good as a date."

"I'll be good. Promise."

"Fine. Pick me up in two hours."

"I'll be there."



Knox County Ch. 07



The Asian girl was nervous. Aimee could see it in her face, in the hesitation to talk.

"What's wrong?" Sean asked, putting down his pencil and looking at her. Aimee kept drawing, focusing on the knots in Elizabeth's jawline.

She said nothing. Her eyes darted from Aimee to Sean and back again.

"You know how this works, Elizabeth. You need to talk to me, to open up. That's how we get somewhere, capture you. You understand that, right?"

She nodded, but said nothing. Aimee thought Sean was nuts. Her nervousness was clearly etched in her face, in the tension in her body.

"Is it Aimee?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Well you can open up around her," he pleaded. "Aimee, talk to her, will you?"

She looked up and saw his eyes boring a hole into her, his face telling her to do something.

"Why are you uncomfortable around me?" Aimee asked, putting her pencil down and looking at Elizabeth.

She avoided Aimee's eyes, looking back to Sean. A lonely tear trailed down her cheek. "It's different with just you. You know who I am, what I was."

Sean nodded, and Aimee saw a lightbulb go off in his head. "Okay, I can understand that. You don't want her to know. She'll think less of you, right?"

Elizabeth nodded. Aimee started drawing again, trying to capture the fear and tension in the beautiful girl's reluctance, quickly drawing in and shading the lonely tear trailing down her face.

"She won't, Elizabeth. Will you Aimee?"

"You're wrong," Elizabeth said.

"I'm not wrong. You need to tell us, and to get Aimee to understand. And she won't think any less of you. I promise."

In the week since she'd met him, Aimee had come to Sean's house every afternoon after school and spent hours in his studio, drawing together, drawing him while he painted, and chatting. This was the first time she'd joined him to work with a model, and she had looked forward to it. She wanted to see how he got them to reveal themselves, but this was going nowhere fast.

"Sean," she said, "why don't you go make us some tea? Leave us alone for a minute."

He looked from her to Elizabeth and back again. Without a word, he walked from the room and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth looked at her nervously, and Aimee sighed and put down her pencil. She got up and walked around the easel, dragging a stool along and placing it next to the girl's chair. She sat on the stool and looked down at her, deciding to wait her out.

Neither spoke for a few minutes, then she heard Elizabeth's soft voice. "It's not you. If you hate me, that's fine. But I can't have this getting out. I live in this town. With my son. I can't have him starting school and being picked on because of me."

"For what?"

She shook her head. "Don't you see? He wants me to tell you. With him it was different. He's a hermit, doesn't know anyone. You're from here, you live in town, know all the parents and everything."

"How do you know Sean hasn't already told me?"

She shook her head again. "He hasn't."

"How do you know?" she said, raising the bluff.

"Because he wouldn't do that. And because you'd be looking at me different." Bluff called.

"Okay," Aimee said, "then I'll leave. It'll be just you and Sean, okay?"

She expected assent, but she got an argument. "You can't do that."

"Why not? He needs you to open up to him. You know how this works. If you won't do it in front of me, we're all wasting our time."

"But he needs you here. If you leave, he'll get pissed with me."

"Don't worry about it." She leaned in close. "I just wish you'd trust me to keep quiet, is all."

Elizabeth looked into her lap. Aimee didn't hear her at first. "What?"

"I was a whore. That's how he met me. I was hired to . . . ."

Aimee admitted to herself she didn't see this coming. Elizabeth looked up, then her eyes shot back to her lap. "I told you. It's different with women. Guys don't care as much."

Aimee processed this. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she said nothing.

"Tell me what you're thinking now?" Aimee finally asked.

"That you see me as a cheap whore. That you have no respect for me. That you may tell someone in town and I'll have to move." She looked up, her eyes pleading. "I just got together with someone. Someone who may love me. Who knows all about me and still wants to be with me. And if this gets out, it could ruin him around here. I'd have to leave to protect him. I don't want to do that."

Aimee smiled. "Your secret's safe with me." She crossed her finger over her heart. "Swear on a stack of bibles, okay?"

Elizabeth seemed unsure.

"Did you sleep with him when you were hired?" Elizabeth looked at her, not understanding. "Sean," she said. "You were hired to sleep with him. Did you?"

She shook her head. "He just wanted to draw me and paint me."

"Damn," Aimee said. "I've been wondering how he'd be. He's so, I don't know, almost childlike. Be just my luck I finally find someone and he'd be a bum lay."

Aimee saw a grin creep over Elizabeth's face, her hand brushing the tears from her face.

"What?" Aimee said.

"Cynthia saw him naked once, when she first got here. In the bath."

"And?"

Elizabeth's head lifted and her eyes met her. She held her hands in front of her about eight inches apart.

Aimee's eyes widened. "No."

Elizabeth nodded, the tension gone.

"Then maybe it's worth a try, huh? Don't really have to know what you're doing with a weapon like that, right?"

Elizabeth laughed just as Sean entered the room, carrying a tray with teapot and mugs.

Aimee joined in the laughter.

"What?" Sean said, putting down the tea service.

Aimee looked at Elizabeth and put her finger to her mouth. "Our secrets," she whispered.

Elizabeth looked at Sean and nodded, still giggling.

* * *

When David awoke, he heard a vacuum. He listened for a few moments, the sleep leaving his eyes, a smile creeping over his face. As the vacuum drew more near, he pulled himself from the bed and slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms. When he entered the hallway, she was drawing the vacuum cleaner back and forth, her back to him.

He tiptoed and leaned in as he drew near. He reached his hands out and placed them on her shoulders. She jumped. "Goddamnit," she said. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Good morning," he said. He gave her a peck on the cheek.

She pushed back on his chest. "None of that. I'm busy. This place is filthy."

"Just needs a good woman to keep it clean."

"Or a good man," she said, flipping off the vacuum and raising an eyebrow.

"What can I say? I'm lost without you."

She snorted. "Whatever. Get in the shower, brush your teeth. I'll finish up here and make you some breakfast."

He pulled her in to him, hugging her close. She put her arms around him and leaned her head into his chest. "I don't want any breakfast," he said. "I'd rather have you."

"Well, you'll get breakfast and like it. And maybe if you eat it all, and clean up after yourself, and help me get this place cleaned up, then maybe--maybe--you can have me."

"Fair enough," he said, kissing the top of her head.

Twenty minutes later, he entered the kitchen. She was finishing up with a cheese omelette, and he joined her in buttering the toast before applying strawberry jam for him, grape jelly for her.

"This is nice," he said between bites at the table.

"I make a mean omelette." "You do," he agreed, "but that's not what I meant. I meant waking up with you here."

She put down her fork and picked up her coffee, staring at him. After a moment, she spoke. "Frankly, I was surprised to find you here. Thought you'd be at work."

He shook his head. "No. We hired someone a few weeks ago. Someone to help me." He saw the surprise in her face. "Just after you and I talked again for the first time, when I knew we maybe had a chance, I went to Mike. Told him I needed an assistant. He didn't blink--hell, he has two assistants with design--so we placed some ads and finally found someone."

She sipped her coffee, staring at him. He couldn't read her face. He needed her to say something.

"Well?"

"You think you'll be able to be home more?"

He nodded. "That's the whole point. I'm not gonna get back together just to set it up to fail again. I'll be home earlier, five-thirty every night. And we'll have weekends together." She was licking her lips, trying to hold back her emotions, and he saw her hands were clenched on the mug. "Please tell me I did the right thing here."

She picked up her mug and plate to the sink, scraping her uneaten food into the garbage can and putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Her back was to him, and he was getting scared. She just stood there, her back to him, her arms fiddling with something in front of her.

He picked up his dishes and put them on the counter next to the sink. "Cyn?" She didn't move and he approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Cyn, is everything okay? I thought this was what you wanted."

The shirt fell loose and slipped down her shoulder, exposing her bare skin. He started to pull it up, but she turned into him. There were tears on her face, and he could see from the shining in her eyes and the smile on her lips that they were tears of joy. Then he saw that her blouse was unbuttoned and she was wearing no bra. "It is what I wanted," she said, pulling him close and squeezing him, her wet face resting against his chest.

He hugged her close and rested his face on top of her head, enjoying the softness of her hair, the clean scent of shampoo lingering in his nostrils. Then her hand took his arm, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to her breast. "It's exactly what I wanted," she sniffled into his t-shirt. "I just never thought, hoped against hope, that you'd do it."

He squeezed her breast, feeling her nipple harden between his thumb and forefinger. "I keep telling you we've both made a lot of mistake here, right?" He felt her nod into his chest, his t-shirt now warm and damp from her tears. "I've been telling you since we first met again that night that I needed to cut back. You've promised me you'll never repeat your mistakes, so what kind of shit would I be to turn around and keep on the same track, too?"

She looked up at him. "But I was afraid to ask, to set the condition. Afraid you'd throw it all back at me. So I didn't."

His hand left her breast and went to her chin, holding it up to him with his fingertips. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. They were soft and puffy, salty from her tears. "Does this mean you'll give it another try?"

She said nothing, only pulled him in closer to her.

"Cyn, please tell me you'll give us another chance."

He heard a muffled response, but he couldn't make it out. He backed away and looked down at her. "What?"

"I want a baby, David," she said, looking down. He lifted her chin again, and he saw that her eyes were scared. "I want to start a family."

He was floored. They'd discussed this repeatedly, both before and after their marriage. David wanted a family, and Cynthia always resisted. He knew she'd had a bad childhood, and he was convinced she was terrified of making a mess of it as her parents had. He'd learned through the years to accept this, and now she was telling him she'd changed her mind?

"I'm forty years old, hon," he said. He couldn't help himself. He'd wanted this for so long, and now that she was making it a condition of their return, he wasn't sure he still wanted it.

She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry." She looked back down, pulling him back into her. He heard her voice from his chest, felt her lips moving against his heart.

"I always thought just taking care of you would be enough for me. But these last four months, taking care of Sean . . . . David, he's like a little boy in a lot of ways. He needed me way more than you ever did."

David felt a hollowness in his stomach. She'd convinced him there was nothing between her and Sean, but now he was having doubts. He felt her head move and looked down, into her eyes. He saw the disappointment in them, was convinced she'd read his mind.

"I love him, David," she said. "Not the way I love you, though. Can you understand that?" She looked into his eyes. "It wasn't sexual--except that one time I told you about, and that wasn't really sexual, either. It was more than that. It was taking care of him, trying to mend him. He's not like you. He's so . . . so vulnerable. So inadequate in so many ways. He couldn't care for himself. You can. I need you, and I know you need me. But I need more, can you understand that?"

His jitters had gone away. He understood, he was just amazed that she finally understood why people had families. "You want a baby, someone you can care for and nurture and protect and raise."

She nodded, her eyes softening again. "I know you're forty, and I know I'm a little old to start. But I want to try. I want a family. Us, our baby. I need more in my life. Not just you, but you and a baby. A family."

He kissed her. "Then you'll stay?"

"Is that a yes?"

He nodded. "An enthusiastic yes."

Her tears increased, her eyes sparkling. He felt the tension leave her body and she melted into him. He held her tight, stroking her hair, feeling for the first time that this was really all going to be okay. He swept her into his arms.

"I've got an idea," he said, grinning and walking toward the bedroom with her in his arms, her arms around his. "How about we get started on that baby now?"

* * *

Tim was parked at the Tastee Freeze, shooting the speeds of the passing autos. He'd be off shift in an hour, and it had been a quiet Monday night.

He watched the car fly past, heard the radar beep, and looked at the readout. The car was doing fourteen over the limit, and he flipped on the cherries and pulled out. The car was already pulled over when he got to it.

"So how's it going, stud?" Jenny Silverman beamed from the car.

"Goddamnit, Jenny, I told you to cut this shit out."

She kept smiling. "You gonna give me a ticket?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"You sure you can't find some other way to punish me?" She was leering, her hand rubbing her breast.

"I told you that was over."

The door flew open and she was standing before him, her hands on her hips. "For fuck's sake Tim, I don't want it to be over. I enjoyed our little sessions." He looked at her. She was always his favorite. Adventurous, insatiable, funny, cute. But she was also seven years younger than him and still in college. Still, there was the problem with her father, who he was and what his reaction would be.

"I don't wanna fuck you in parking lots anymore, Jenny."

Her lower lip pouted out, her eyes blazing at him.

He smiled. "But I'd like to see you again. Maybe dinner?"

"You mean, like, a fuckin' date? You and me?" She laughed.

"Yeah, I guess that's what I mean." He stared at her, angered at her reaction. "You still dating Andy?"

She shook her head. "As a matter of fact, I'm free at the moment. That's why I decided to see if you were interested."

He nodded. "Well, I am. But I'm interested in dating you."

She smiled, her eyes challenging him. "And what about Dad? He'll kick your ass if he finds out you're dating me."

"Fuck him," Tim said. "He'll do nothing."

"What's your wife gonna think about this?"

"We're separated."

"And you live?"

"I just got an apartment."

She nodded, then held out her hand. "Okay, stud, give me the keys and the address."

"Why?"

She laughed. "You can take me out to dinner tomorrow. But tonight you're gonna fuck my brains out. Indoors if you prefer. Take it or leave it."

He grinned. She was nothing like Aimee--or his mother, he suddenly realized. She was forward, a tart, funny and open, not a shy bone in her body. He fumbled in his pockets, finding his key ring and extracting the key from the ring. He put it in her palm.

"When you gonna get back?" "Bout an hour."

She hopped in her car and drove away.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, he walked through the door of his apartment. It was unlocked, and the apartment was dark. He saw light under the door of his bedroom, and he walked there, shedding his clothes as he went.

He was fumbling with his belt with one hand and he opened the door with his other. The lamp on the nightstand illuminated the hottest sight he'd ever seen. She was naked, spreadeagled in the middle of his bed, her hands cuffed together over the headboard and her ankles tied with socks to the opposite corners of the footboard. He gazed over her and sucked in his breath when his eyes reached the opening between her thighs. There was something protruding a few inches from the lips of her pussy, and he heard the faint hum of the vibrator. He saw the sheets beneath were soaked with her juices, and she was writhing in ecstasy.

"Please," she gasped, "help me. I've been kidnapped, and they left me like this."

He tore off the rest of his clothes and strode to the bed. He reached down and tweaked her hardened nipples, and she arched off the bed toward his hands.

"You're going to help me, aren't you? You're going to get me out of here before they come back, right?" He kept pinching her nipples and squeezing her breasts with one hand, his other trailing down to the swell of her bare mound.

"You're not going to rape me, are you? While I'm all helpless here? Totally powerless to stop you?" She was panting, and he felt her stomach ripple with an orgasm.

His cock was engorged, almost painful with its swelling and throbbing.

He looked at her face. She was heaving with the sensations rushing through her body, and he saw the need in her face, in the way her tongue darted out of her mouth. He'd never played this game--with anyone--and he didn't know what to do.

"I'm a virgin," she pleaded through her lust. "I've never been used before. Please let me go."

"Then this isn't going to go well for you," he said. His lust was rushing through is veins, and he needed relief. He kneeled on the bed and grabbed the back of her head, pulling her face toward him.

"What are you doing?" she said, opening her mouth as his head drew near.

He felt her neck stiffen and realized she wanted this to be realistic. He yanked her hair, tilting her head back to face him. "First," he said, "I'm going to teach you how to suck a cock. Then," he reached across her and jerked the vibrator in and out a few times, "I'm going to break that cherry. I'm going to fuck you 'til you scream. Then, when you think you can't take anymore," he moved his hand down and pressed against her anus, his finger sliding in easily with the help of the accumulated juices streaming from her pussy, "when you beg me to stop, I'm going to take your ass cherry. And I'm going to fuck you so hard there you won't be able to sit for a week."

Her panting increased, and he pushed his sensitive, spongy head against her lips. He felt her mouth open, the warm wetness enveloping him, and still he pushed in. He heard her moan around his cock, sucking as he continued in, and he didn't stop until he felt his head bump against the back of her throat. He held her there for a moment until he heard her breathing increase, then he pulled her head back off. She coughed, gasping for air. He saw her saliva dripping from his hardness and the sides of her mouth, then her eyes looking into his and glazed with lust.

"You're pretty good at this," he growled. "I'll see just how much more you can take."

She whimpered around him, straining at her bonds, as he pushed back into her mouth and began pumping. She held her mouth open, her tongue pressing up against the veined underside, her lips sucking for all she was worth. He groaned, feeling the familiar tingling begin. As he got close, he pulled from her mouth, hearing a loud slurp as he did so.

"Oh no," he said, looking down at her disappointed face. "I've got more in store."




Knox County Ch. 07



"Please," she whispered, "please don't fuck my tight virgin pussy."

He smiled and moved his mouth to the space between her legs. He felt her rippling orgasm begin as his hot breath swooshed over her engorged clit, heard the humming of the vibrator as he grabbed the base and started moving it in and out. Her hips were writhing, and he leaned in and took her hardened bud into his mouth, sucking it in and circling it with his tongue, pressing the vibrator up at the same time. Her hips bucked into him as her orgasm intensified with his efforts.

When the shuddering ceased, he heard her voice. "Please stop. Please, sir, I'll do anything else."

He looked up at her face. Her need was plain to see, and he smiled. God, he thought, where does she get this from? He'd never engaged in role playing--well, nothing beyond the 'Howdy, ma'am, ticket or fuck it' routine. This was way better, he thought.

He pulled the vibrator from her and kneeled between her spread legs. He reached under her and lifted her to him, squeezing her asscheeks with both hands as he plunged into her in one smooth, hard stroke.

"Oh no," she moaned, bucking away from the intrusion, trying to fight him off.

"Oh yes," he groaned in response, pumping his hips back and forth with a furious pace. He pummeled her, spreading her ass as he did so. His fingers found her rear opening and pressed, two of them sliding in with little effort. Her tight ring was clenching and unclenching, and he heard her begging him to stop. He paid no attention, though, and started sawing his fingers in and out.

As he felt himself get close again, he stopped.

"No, please don't stop," she gasped. She was on the verge of cumming again. He could see it in her face.

"Sorry," he said, turning to untie her legs, "but there's one more hole to go."

"No," she pleaded, "anywhere but there. Please. You'll hurt me."

"Probably," he said, finishing with the knots binding her ankles and lifting her legs up to her shoulders. "But you'll get used to it."

She bit her lip, staring deep into his eyes. He pushed the head against her tiny backdoor, feeling the resistance and watching her bite down harder, willing herself to relax.

Then he felt her loosen, suddenly and expansively, and he slid past easily. She gave a long low groan in response, and he reached his thumb to her clit and rubbed.

"Oh my God, you're so big . . . so full . . . ."

He started pumping, slowly at first but picking up speed. He felt her shake and tremble with her orgasm. Just as it subsided, he felt his own release building. It had been months, and he knew this would be a big one. 

"Yes," she panted, straining her head to his lips. He kissed her deeply, their tongues swishing back and forth. Then he felt the first rope shoot deep into her and he held himself there, pressed hard against her. She held the kiss, panting softly with each throbbing spurt, mashing her face against his as shoulders and back shuddered with the force of his release.

When he finished, he lay down atop her, his forearms holding his chest over hers, looking deeply into her eyes, his cock still embedded in her ass.

"That was fuckin' incredible," he whispered.

She smiled broadly. "Thought we'd need a change of pace. You know, make sure you don't get bored with me now that we seem to be maybe dating and all."

They kissed, tender at first, then with greater hunger. He felt his flagging hard on rejuvenate with their passions, felt her hips push into him at the sensation.

I could truly get used to this forever, he thought as he prepared for round two.

* * *

Will knocked on the her door. Just a minute, he barely heard from deep within over the sounds of Green Day singing about September ending. Please hurry, he thought. It was freezing out, the brisk north wind cutting through his light jacket and sweater. He'd lived in Chicago for years, and he was still constantly being caught unawares by the sudden turns in the weather.

After nearly five minutes, he knocked again. Just a minute, she said again, still deep within the home. He knew he should've called first. They'd gone out a few times since the first date, all of them simple dates ending in simple kisses. Maybe she had someone in there, he thought. Maybe he'd acted impulsively in moving to town just assuming they could pick up where they'd left off. He heard rustling nearer the door.

"Hi," she said, flinging the door back and smiling at him, delighted to see him there. The music was blaring into his ears now. She stepped back to let him in, and he stepped past her, looking around to see if anyone else was there.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"What?" she said, going over to the stereo and turning it down.

"Is there someone here? I'm interrupting?"

"Of course not," she said. She walked over and pecked him on the cheek. "Just cleaning."

"What took so long to open the door?"

She smiled and flashed her eyes. "Because, Will, I wasn't dressed yet."

He grinned at the sight playing in his mind. "You clean in the buff?"

She laughed and swatted his arm. "In my undies and a t-shirt. I got up and started cleaning, didn't want to get dressed or take a shower until I was done."

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're done now?"

She nodded.

"Then you want to take that shower?"

She put her hands on his chest and walked him backward, pushing him when he reached the couch. He fell on it with a plop, staring up at her. Elizabeth had her hands on her hips, her hips tilted to the left, legs slightly parted, and a wicked smile on her face, her almond eyes sparkling at him. He liked the look.

"So you thought you'd just bust in on me here, huh?" He nodded. "Unannounced?" He nodded again. "Like, checking up on me or something?" He shrugged. "And what were your ideas, Will Sherman? To just barge in here while I'm half dressed and . . . and what . . . and ravage me? Is that what you were going to do?"

He laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. "I didn't know you'd be half dressed, swear to God. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have waited outside freezing my ass off. I'd have kicked down the door for at least a peek."

She stepped forward and sat on his lap, her arms going around his neck. He felt her legs on the top of his thighs, and he put his hands on her knees, stroking her smooth skin through her sweat pants.

"You look kinda hot in sweats and a smelly t-shirt," he said.

"You hitting on me?"

He nodded.

"This whole dating thing going a bit slow for your tastes, I take it?"

He nodded again, pulling her toward him as he did so.

"What're you doing?" she said as she was drawn in.

"Kissing you at the beginning of the date for a change."

Their lips met, a light brush, then he felt her mouth open and her tongue emerge, seeking his. He kissed her back, lowering his hands to her ass and pulling her hips toward his.

"You sure this isn't too fast for you?" she said between kisses, unbuttoning his shirt as she did so.

He murmured his approval. "What's the harm in a shower? Cleanliness is next to Godliness and all."

She opened his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. Then he felt her palms gliding over his ribs, her hands warm, the skin smooth. "I don't remember inviting you into the shower with me," she whispered in his ear just before sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

"I've babysat Brandon four times now," he said, running his hands over his back. "I figured you'd want to show your appreciation." He felt her back stiffen.

"As in sex for services?"

He stopped, unsure what to say. She pushed away from him, anger flashing in her eyes.

"I asked you a question."

"That's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant, Elizabeth."

"It's what you said." She stood off of him.

He felt his anger rising. He had to keep in check, but he couldn't help himself. "Oh for fuck sake, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"You think I'm a whore is what's wrong."

"Bullshit! You know I don't think that, that I've never thought that."

She turned her back to him. "I want you to leave."

He grabbed her shoulders from behind and twisted her around.

"No. Not until we've talked about this."

The anger remained in her eyes. "Get your fucking hands off of me." She pushed him away and stalked down the hallway.

He followed behind. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry. Please, let's talk about it. Please, you know I didn't mean it that way."

She wheeled on him. "Then why did you say it?"

"So every time I say anything that you can construe even remotely as insinuating that sex is in exchange for anything--whether I'm joking or not--you think I'm saying you're a whore? Is that the way this is going to be? Forever?"

"But you won't tell me why you said it."

He threw up his arms. "Fine. I said it as a joke. I realize now you don't think it was funny. Fine. I'll make sure I never say anything spontaneously again, never try to make light of anything again. Okay? That make you happy?"

He turned and walked to the couch, buttoning his shirt as he did so. He felt her footsteps behind him as he reached over to pick up his jacket.

"Where are you going?" she said behind him.

He turned, pulling on his jacket. "What do you care? You already told me to get out." He walked past her to the door, but she ran over and put her hand on it, blocking his path.

"You're just going to leave? Before we've talked it through?"

He looked at her, seeing the anger still in her eyes. "Yes. It's what you wanted, it's what you'll get." He lifted her arm from the door and walked back into the cold.

"Goddamnit, Will, come back."

Will ignored her. He was seething with anger, unable to contain himself. He got into his car and, without a look back at the door, started it and drove away.

On his way home, he replayed the scene in his mind. He still wasn't sure what had happened. They'd been on numerous dates, chatted easily and gotten to know each other well. It was there, he knew it was; that spark he'd been waiting for in a relationship his whole entire life, they had that spark. And he'd babysat Brandon while she was away at the artist's house on the weekends, enjoying his time with the tot, getting comfortable with each other and having fun learning how to care for a toddler. He had to admit he was learning about child care much the way a drowning victim learned about water, but still, he thought, I've been doing a damned good job.

Then the whole scene today erupted. One minute they were kissing, touching, loving. The next minute she takes offense at the slightest remark, an innocent remark. He put on his lawyer's cap, trying to see it all her way. Okay, if she's still uncomfortable about her past, and about him knowing about it, then fine, maybe she was justified in taking offense. But when he'd tried to explain, to apologize, she'd shut him out. Of course, losing his cool didn't do any good. And maybe his apology was just so much muttered nonsense.

So why did he say it? Will knew why. He'd said it because he figured he proven himself to her. In taking it slow, in babysitting for her, in being there and not pushing things. He'd proven she could trust him and that he was serious about them. Then why didn't I just say that? he thought.

He was mortified when his mind whirred through the end of the scene. She'd asked him to stay, but she was still angry. Still, she'd asked him to stay, and he'd ignored her. He'd walked out.

"Fuck," he said, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He didn't know what to do, but his anger remained. She was still uncomfortable with the whole thing, and he wondered if she'd ever be able to get over how they'd initially met. Will felt the first twinge that maybe he'd made a mistake in moving here and going after her.

* * *

Sean watched her sip her tea, staring at her drawing.

"I don't understand," she said, still staring. "They're the same thing, mine and yours, but yours has more. Not just the precision or the detail, but the emotion." He looked at her drawing. Elizabeth, her long, shiny black hair, oval face, almond eyes, high cheekbones. She was smiling, and there was a glint in her eyes. It was definitely Elizabeth. But Aimee was right, and he wasn't sure how best to put this to her.

"C'mon," she said, looking back and forth from her drawing to hers, "what is it?"

Sean sighed. Then he felt her green eyes turn to him, and he was afraid to look back at her. "It's Elizabeth, yours is Elizabeth. They look almost identical, but yours is . . . just way better. Why?"

He looked at her, then back to her sketch. "Okay," he said, turning his easel so she could more easily see, "tell me what you see."

She looked closely at it. "Elizabeth."

He shook his head. "No, you see an apprehensive girl is what you see, right?"

Aimee looked at his drawing more closely, then nodded. He turned his sketch pad over and pointed to her drawing. "Now tell me what you see."

She stared. "She doesn't look apprehensive."

He nodded. Then he leaned over and flicked in a few lines, changing the angle of the eyes and lips, the eyebrows, the length of the chin. The changes were slight, but their total effect altered entire nature of the drawing.

"You drew her as you wanted to see her. You didn't listen to her, didn't pay attention to what she was saying or how it changed the way she felt about what she was saying."

Aimee flipped his drawing over, then looked back to hers. They were nearly identical now.

"You have many of the technical skills," he said. "You've learned to make something look like it's supposed to, but you've never learned to allow the audience to see beyond the shape of the face, the likeness. Know what I mean?"

Aimee nodded, then turned to face him. Her eyes met his, serious, attentive. "Then how do I learn to let them see how she's feeling?"

Sean smiled. "First, you have to see how she's feeling. You have to listen to her, hear what she's saying, and then see how it changes her."

"So you were listening the whole time she was talking?"

Sean was taken aback. "Well of course I was. Why do you think I get them to talk?"

"I just thought it was to keep them relaxed, something to pass the time while you drew them."

He shook his head and laughed. "Oh no," he said. "No, if you really want to catch the spirit of a person, have them tell you their happiest memory. Then have them tell you their saddest memory. See if they'll do it in painstaking detail. The more detail, the better. So they'll relive it as they tell."

Aimee was nodding with her entire upper body, swaying in understanding. He watched her, transfixed by her figure. Here, these dozens of days and nights, hundreds of hours later, she still took his breath away.

"Why don't you ever draw me?" she said, breaking his reverie.

He leaned back, surprised. He hadn't, he realized. Here she was, the most wonderful creature, and he'd never even thought about it. Instead, he'd focused on drawing and painting with her, enjoying their time together, his as teacher and hers as student.

"Well?"

"I don't know. I suppose I never really saw you that way. As a model. I saw you as a fellow artist."

She leaned over. His eyes were open, and he watched her move into him, frozen in place. His eyes watched as her lids slowly closed just before he felt her lips on his. They were and smooth, moist from the tea, just making contact before pressing in a little more. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, feeling the sensations of their contact course through his brain. It was strange and natural at the same time, like remembering an old memory and letting it wash through your nerves.

Then her lips were gone. Sean kept his eyes closed, letting the sensations ebb before slowly opening his eyes.

Aimee was looking at him, her bright green eyes entrancing him. He was unable to speak and realized he wouldn't know what to say anyway. What did he see there? Was it sadness? Did she regret kissing him? Oh bollocks, he thought, he probably wasn't much of a kisser, and she pitied him that.

Her voice was soft. "Tell me about her Sean."

What was she talking about? He tilted his head, unsure what to say.

"Holly, your wife. Tell me about her."

Aimee's eyes remained on his, and he was lost in them as he heard his voice answer. "She's dead. We thought she was pregnant, and she was. But the doctors said there was more there. More than just our baby. There was cancer."

He felt her hand on his, squeezing his palm, her eyes telling him to continue.

"She lost the baby. The cancer killed him, caused her to miscarry. He was going to be our first. But the cancer took him from us. Then it took her from me."

His face felt warm and wet, and he saw her hand in the periphery of his vision wiping the wetness away. Her hand was warm, smooth, gentle, but he was still captivated by her eyes.

"It took a year. She whithered away to nothing, maybe sixty-five pounds at the end. She'd scream from the pain, and I'd tell her, 'Baby, there's nothing I can do. You've already got all the morphine I can give you.' But still she screamed."

He felt a catch in his throat and cleared it, heard his voice getting hoarse.

"By the end, she couldn't scream. She didn't have the energy any more. She begged me to kill her, to let her die. But I couldn't. She was my Holly, my wife. She was all I had, and I couldn't let her go. She knew that, I could see it in her eyes, but still she'd plead with me."

Sean turned away from the green eyes. He stared out the window, watched the raw winds of November shake the naked branches.

"Then I came in one morning and she was still. I started crying, afraid she'd left me. But then she turns, tries to smile. I went to her, climbed in next to her and held her. I heard her saying something, but I couldn't hear, so I leaned in close."

He wiped his own tears away.

"What did she say?" Aimee said.

He turned back and faced her. Her eyes, those beautiful, bright green eyes, were slick with a film of tears. He looked down, was both of her hands not holding his.

"She said she forgave me." He looked back into her eyes. "Then she died before I could tell her I was sorry."

Sean watched as Aimee stood before him, felt himself being pulled from the chair. Then she hugged him tight and held him, her body swaying gently to and fro. After a few moments, as if in a trance, he felt his own arms hugging her back. She was small, three inches or so shorter than him, but tiny, too. Like Holly.

Her head was against his chest, pressing into him. He could feel her hot breath through the opening in his shirt, warming him. Her hands were kneading the knots in is back, her fingers poking into the muscles while her palms held him to her. Sean felt her smooth back through his fingertips. He stroked her shoulder blades, then felt the bony ridge of her spine. One hand slid up into her hair, feeling its silky smoothness part between his fingers.

He felt her head tilt. When he looked down, she was staring back at him, her tears drying now. He leaned in, now knowing what he was doing and knowing what he wanted to do. When his lips met hers, he felt hers part and her tongue press against him, pushing through. His lips parted, their tongues met. They stood, still hugging and swaying, as they kissed. It was soft, slow, patient.

Sean felt her left hand slide lower and stop on his ass, squeezing him before pulling his hips toward hers. He moved his hand lower as well, feeling the gentle rise of her hips before running his palm over the soft roundness of her ass. Then he squeezed, kneading her small, round cheek as his kisses grew more frantic.

Sean felt them moving, stepping slowly toward the lounge chair on the other side of the easels. When they got there, they sank into the chair together, their lips still together, their kiss unbroken, their tongues still exploring. He felt Aimee twist over him, then the kiss was broken.




Knox County Ch. 07



He said nothing, watching her slide down him and stop at his pants. She looked back up at him, her head just above the growing bulge in his crotch, her hands set to unbutton his pants. He looked from her eyes to his pants then back again, seeing her raised eyebrows. He sat still, his lips parting, staring at her. He watched her hands unbutton his pants, then draw down his zipper. He watched her tug on the waist, and he lifted his hips, watching her pull his pants off of him.

Aimee's eyes didn't leave his until his pants were off, tossed behind her. Then he saw her eyes go to his cock and widen. Her hand appeared, reaching around him, and he felt the warm, smooth skin of her fingers and palm squeeze his shaft as it grew in her hand. She pulled the skin down, carefully, lovingly, then leaned in and flicked her tongue through her lips, licking the underside from the base to the now exposed head.

Sean felt shivers as her hot, wet, tongue made its slow journey. He felt the small bumps through the thin skin of his hard on, pressing into him, savoring him. At the tip, he saw her eyes flash at him for a moment before lowering. His breath rushed out in a gasp as he felt her mouth encircle the head. It was wet, but more cool than just her tongue. He felt the edges of her teeth lightly scrape him, her hand rising back up some then going back down, her head leaning from side to side on his cock. There were sucking sounds, and he felt the pressure of her mouth around his head.

He was mesmerized, unable to speak. He couldn't look away from the deep red hair moving slowly between his legs, turning and going up and down further. He reached out and brushed his fingertips against the top of her ear, feeling her hair, moving to her shoulder. She moaned at his touch, and he felt her break contact.

Aimee stood before him, between his parted legs. Her eyes were back on him as she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off. Her stomach was flat and pail, sprinkled with a few freckles, and he could see the jutting of her hipbones. He could see she was fit by the trace of musculature on her tummy, the tone in her arms as she reached behind and unclasped her bra. He leaned forward and unbuttoned her jeans before unzipping them and pulling them down.

"You're beautiful," he whispered as the jeans traveled over her slender hips and well-toned, smooth legs. He looked up and saw her breasts. They were pale, swelling and pointing outward, her areolae and nipples small with a pale pinkish hue. He looked back down and watched as she hooked her thumbs into her panties and pushed them down, stepping out of them to reveal a small, trimmed thatch of pale red hair.

He reached his hand around her hips and pulled her into his face. He could smell her. It was clean, the smell of the ocean on a windy day, the tang of saltwater mixed with clear waters. He sniffed her in, both hands kneading her smooth, taut buttocks. Her legs parted for him, and he kissed from the top of her cleft to under and around her hood, circling his tongue and tasting her.

Sean felt Aimee's hand on his head, pulling his face into her as her hips lifted to afford him better access. He heard her approving murmurs as his tongue continued circling. One of his hands left her ass and roamed over her skin to her breasts, stopping when one was in his palm. They weren't large, they weren't small, he realized. They were a perfect fit, and he rolled it with his palm, his fingers seeking the nipple he felt growing in her hand. Her hand went atop his and guided him in pleasuring her.

"I want you," she whispered. He looked up, back to those eyes. They were dancing now, the sadness of before replaced now by pleasure and anticipation and . . . my God, he thought, by excitement.

"Tell me you want this," she said.

Sean leaned back into the chair, pulling her with him as he went. Aimee's legs straddled over his, and he felt the heat from her lips pressing against the underside of his cock. He looked back to her eyes.

"Tell me," she repeated, her moist labia riding up and down his length.

He reached underneath and grabbed, lifting himself. "I want this," he said, feeling her shift and help him in placing his cock at the entrance to her. She slowly pushed down, throwing her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, and biting her bottom lip in concentration as she did so.

Sean's breath abandoned him, and he leaned back and groaned with the sensations rushing through him. She was soaked and on fire, enveloping him in an incredibly tight sheath of molten lava. He heard her moan as she went, a long, low, continuous expulsion of pleasure.

After a minute, he felt her reach his base. She held it there, leaning into him. Sean opened is eyes and looked at hers, watched her lips part as she leaned into him. They kissed, slowly, deeply, and he could feel her breathing her pleasure through him.

His hands went to her. One sought out her breast, palming it and squeezing, and other caressing her smooth ribs and belly, feeling the writhing of her abdomen as the sensations ran through her. Her hands were on his shoulders, and he felt her raise back up, then slowly return, then do it again . . . and again . . . and again, slowly picking up speed with each penetration and withdrawal. She leaned back into him, her mouth seeking his, her tongue going in frantically as she pressed her warm breasts into his skin. Her hips started rolling back and forth, the thrusts not taking his full length, but the movements causing friction. Her hands were stroking his jaw, his hair, his shoulders, and his went to her ass. He squeezed her taut cheeks, guiding her and moving her faster on him.

"I'm so full," she panted. "So . . . Oh my God, yes." He felt a small orgasm ripple through her and looked to her face. Her mouth was a perfect circle, her eyes shut, her concentration locked on the feelings he was giving her.

He felt his own orgasm rising, being coaxed from him by her impossibly tight, fiery core. "I'm getting close," he whispered. He felt her hips buck faster in response, and his hands roamed over her ass, trying to pick up the speed and get him there.

He heard her breathing increase as well. "Come on," she encouraged. She leaned forward and looked at him, her tongue flicking from her mouth, her eyes ablaze with the feelings he was giving her. He no longer saw the innocent little pixie, but a lusty, erotic fantasy returned.

"Oh yes, just a little more," she said, still staring at him, her breath coming in short grunts as she started traveling his full length, slamming into him with every thrust. Then he felt her fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh of his shoulders. She started shuddering, grinding against him, and he felt himself explode, leaning in to suck a nipple as he did so. Her hand went to the back of his head and forced him in harder, her voice one long stream of yes, yes, oh yes.

Sean went dizzy with the force of his explosion, but still he sucked in the nipple. His teeth were grazing over the hardened nub, and he felt her muscles quivering beneath his lips, her hand still holding him tight.

When her orgasm was spent, he released her from his mouth and leaned back. She was looking at him, her eyes now a mix of concern.

He smiled. "Sorry. It's been awhile."

She smiled in return. "There's nothing to apologize about. That was . . . oh my God."

He pulled her in close and heard her whisper in his ear. "Are you okay with this?"

He hugged her tightly to him in response, enjoying the closeness he'd lacked for more than a year. * * *

She had been loitering at the Piggly Wiggly most evenings between five and six when her schooling permitted, trying to dawdle over buying food she didn't really need while keeping Brandon entertained with the boredom. She didn't know what to do. Their last moments together had been awful. The moment he'd torn out of her driveway and sped away, she'd started crying and didn't know what to do.

She'd phoned Cynthia, seeking advice from the one person whose advice she trusted at this moment. Cynthia had told her to call him, to try talking things out. She'd mulled this over for a day, then phoned his cell, leaving him a voicemail message. That was more than a week ago, and her two subsequent messages had gone unreturned.

Elizabeth remembered the look on his face throughout the argument. His initial happiness--hell, outright elation and joy--followed by how hurt he was when she'd taken offense so lightly. And then, when she wouldn't let it go, his anger and--she wasn't sure, but it looked like it--contempt at her actions. It tore her apart, not letting it go and hurting him. But what really hurt her was the contempt, as if he was disappointed in her petty reaction. She didn't think it had been petty, at least at the time. Looking back on it, she realized he was right. Will would never do anything to demean her. That's what she'd liked in him all along; that's why she had been drawn to him from the first. And that's why she realized she still may not be ready for a relationship with him.

Yet, Cynthia had been right. Elizabeth needed to deal with her issues, and deal with them quickly. Will had bent over backwards showing his feelings for her, his commitment to giving it a shot. She knew she couldn't expect him to bend over backwards forever. Sooner or later, he'd declare defeat and move on. And given their last meeting, she was afraid that moment would arrive sooner.

She looked at her watch. Ten after six. He wasn't coming, she realized, and went to the check out lane. She was helping Brandon pick out a lollipop when she saw him enter the building, thirty feet away and heading toward produce. He didn't look her way, hadn't seen her. She watched him.

"Ma'am?" the clerk said. She turned back and placed the lollipop next to her groceries and started writing a check. She tried to take her time, but he still hadn't appeared when she finished. She went to her car, slowly loading the groceries and taking her time getting Brandon in the baby seat. Then she got in the car and waited.

Brandon seemed content in the back seat, sucking happily on the lollipop. She was nervous, though, her eyes locked on the exit of the supermarket. It was nearly ten more minutes before he appeared, head down, walking straight to his car. She wasn't sure what to do, approach him in the car or follow him. She looked at Brandon in the back seat, knowing she couldn't leave him alone. Yet she didn't want a scene with Will in front of her son.

Will's car pulled out, turning onto the highway. Elizabeth followed far behind, knowing he was going home. A few minutes later, and a block and a half ahead of her, he pulled into his driveway, closing the garage door behind him as he went.

She parked out front, trying to decide what to do. She didn't want to knock on his door, afraid he wouldn't answer. Also, she couldn't leave Brandon alone to go in. What was she trying to do here? she thought. She tried his cell phone again, but it went straight to voicemail. Seeing no other alternative, she told Brandon to wait for a minute and went to the door. She knocked.

A woman answered the door. "May I help you?" she said. Elizabeth was stunned. She was maybe a year or two older than Elizabeth, long brown hair, brown eyes, and pretty. Very pretty.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said. "I was just lookin' for Will. I didn't realize he had . . . ." She couldn't say more. The situation was making her nauseous.

The girl smiled. "He's just putting groceries away." She stood back. "Come on in."

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at her boy in the car. She turned back and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I've got to be going."

"Who is it, Sue?" she heard Will call out.

"There's a woman at the door for you," she called back. She turned to Elizabeth. "What's your name?"

Elizabeth shook her head, now totally unable to speak. She tried to flash a smile and backed off the porch. The woman moved as if to follow her. Seeing this, Elizabeth panicked and moved quickly to her car.

As she opened the door, she heard Will's voice. "Elizabeth, stop." She turned, looking at him while getting in the car and closing the door behind her. They'd fought less than two weeks ago, and already he'd moved on.

She pulled away from the curb and saw movement, turning in time to see him sprint off the porch and toward her. She heard him shouting after her, trying to block his voice out of her mind as she hit the gas. Two blocks down the street, she glanced in the rearview mirror. He was in the middle of the road a block back, waving his arms at her.

Elizabeth drove straight home.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Brandon said around his lollipop a she lifted him from the car seat.

"Mommy's just having a bad day, sweetie," she replied, kissing his cheek through her tears.

"Are you mad at Will?" he asked.

She shook her head, trying to choke back her sob. "No baby, Mommy's not mad at Will."

She carried him into the house and returned for the groceries. As she approached the door, she hear a car door slam behind her.

"Elizabeth," she heard Will shout, "would you like to meet my sister?"

Elizabeth froze. His sister? Sue, the pretty brunette, was his sister? She remained frozen, listening to their approaching steps. "Well?" he said, just behind her.

She shook her head, afraid to turn and face them.

"You sure? I made her bring her driver's license in case you didn't believe me." His tone was cutting, and she winced.

"You didn't return my calls," she whispered.

"What calls?"

She heard Sue's voice further back, near the curb. "Will, I think I'll take your car, okay? Let you two talk for awhile?" She heard Will tell her to go ahead, then his voice was directed back at her. "Are you going to look at me, or am I going to stand out here freezing--again--and talk to your back?"

She opened the door in front of her. "Come on," she said, not looking back, but holding the door open with her foot.

She saw Brandon's face light up when he saw Will. "Will," he bubbled, running awkwardly on his chubby little legs toward her. She watched him as he passed her, then followed his progress into Will's outstretched arms.

"Hey, tiger," Will said, smiling and picking Brandon up.

"Mommy's mad at you," Brandon said.

Will nodded. "I suppose she is."

"What did you do to her?"

"I don't know yet. Can you do us a favor?" The boy nodded. "Can you go to your room for awhile and play in there so me and Mommy can talk about things?" The boy nodded again.

"Don't make her cry anymore, okay?" Will nodded, placing the child back on the ground and rubbing his fingers through his hair. Brandon trotted to his room.

Elizabeth walked into the kitchen. She heard Will's footsteps following her, but she didn't know what to do. She'd just made an ass of herself, of that she was sure. But she didn't want a repeat of last time. Worse, she was afraid to look at him, afraid she'd see the same looks he'd had the last time.

"So, you mentioned some calls?"

She nodded, putting the groceries away. "I phoned you. Three times. I left you messages, but you didn't call back."

Elizabeth heard Will rustling in his pocket, then heard some beeps as he dialed a number. "Is this the number you called?" he said, putting the cell phone to her ear. She heard an operator tell her the number was no longer in service.

"But that message wasn't there when I called." She looked at him, watching him put the phone back in his pocket.

"I just thought I'd misplaced it. I didn't check my account until yesterday, and I saw a bunch of activity since I last saw it. That's when I realized it was stolen, and I canceled the account."

She nodded.

"Is that the only number you tried?"

She nodded.

"You didn't try work? Home? Maybe dropping by?" She shook her head.

Elizabeth heard the disappointment in his voice, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. They were sad and weary. "I'm sorry," she said. Her tears returned, and she leaned into a corner of the counter, wiping the tears away. "I didn't want to bother you. And when you didn't return my messages, I didn't want to . . . if I called you at work . . . or at home and you didn't want to talk to me . . . I didn't want to create a scene or anything."

"Like just now? At my house?"

"I'm sorry."

"You thought I'd already moved someone else into my bed, didn't you?"

She nodded, crying aloud now.

"I take that back," he said, his voice taking a nasty tone, "not someone else, because you were never in it."

Elizabeth looked at him, her face a mask of anguish. She could see looking at him, though, that her obvious pain and embarrassment had no effect on him. He looked nonplused, arms folded and legs crossed as he leaned against the counter. His face was a mask, neither angry nor sad nor contemptuous, but impassive. She realized that this was the lawyer side of him she'd never seen. Before her was the Will who could, and did, question impassioned witnesses without himself showing a trace of emotion.

"Please, Will," she said, "don't treat me like this. I'm sorry. I've said it a hundred times. Why won't you listen? Believe me?"

He said nothing, just continued staring at her, his face unmoving.

"Say something," she pleaded.

"Nothing's changed in the past two weeks," he said. "Two weeks ago, you flew off the handle over an innocent remark. Tonight, you fly off the handle again. And again you turn your back on me and refuse to talk. You just ran away. Again."

She was nodding. "You're right. You're right, and I'm sorry. I'm-- "

He shook his head. "You're not sorry. You don't trust me. I've been thinking this over since last time, thinking maybe I was wrong. But no matter how I play it, I can't . . . I don't understand why. Out of all people, why not at least me? You trust me to watch Brandon, but that's it, isn't it? You trust me about as much as any teenage babysitter."

She swiped a handful of kleenex and blew her nose. Then she pressed more kleenex into her eyes, trying to staunch the flow of tears.

"Yeah," he said, walking toward the door, "you've nothing to say to that."

She chased after him, getting in front of the door pushing it closed with her back. "It's not like that, Will," she said. He stood, staring at her. "I wasn't upset today because I figured you'd already run out and found someone else. I was upset because I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't blame you for that, not after last time. You were right, I overreacted. And you were right--and still are right--that I'm too defensive. But that's my problem, Will, not yours. I'm too defensive because I'm embarrassed. About what I was. And I know you don't really, deep down, understand why I was a . . . an escort."

Her tears were subsiding, and her words were pouring out. In response, she saw his face was softening, and his hands thrust into his pockets. Still, he said nothing, just continued to stare at her. After catching her breath and waiting in vain for him to say something, she continued.

"I fucked up the last time, okay? I know that. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really, really sorry. I won't do it again--try not to, at least. And you can slap me if I do. But tonight, tonight had nothing to do with not trusting you. It was about the realization, whether true or not . . . when I saw her there, this pretty girl, I thought I'd lost you. And I was terrified. That's what that was about. Really. You can move on. I wouldn't blame you in the least, and God knows you have every right to go with-- "

Will was on her before she realized he'd moved. His lips pressed against hers, and his hands were on her arms, pulling them tight to his sides. Elizabeth was startled and continued talking as he pressed against her, trying to get the words out and let him know how she felt.




Knox County Ch. 07



He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. "Shut up for a minute, okay?" He was smiling, his eyes soft. She nodded, and he moved his lips back to hers.

She heard Brandon's voice from the hallway. "Does this mean you're not mad at Will anymore?" And she heard Will's chuckle through their kiss.



Knox County Ch. 08



My apologies for the incredible delay in getting this written and posted. In any event, this is the penultimate chapter in the story of love lives in a small Wisconsin town. I have already half-finished the final chapter, so it should not take that long.

Please, please, please remember to vote on this, and I very much appreciate any comments you can take the time to leave, also. Good or bad, just try to be specific with what (and which characters) you like, dislike, and the reasons for your opinion.

Thanks Again!

* * *

Tim and Jenny were sitting in a booth, she nibbling on french fries and he wolfing down a burger.

"Dad knows about us," she said.

Her mood was fidgety. His chewing slowed to a halt, his eyes narrowing.

"He told me to dump your ass. Said I had 'til tonight."

He nodded. "And?"

She smiled at him. "Fuck him."

Tim smiled.

He wasn't smiling three hours later, though, when he got to his apartment after shift. It was almost twelve-thirty in the morning, the streets quiet and the sky dark with clouds. He stepped from his car and, over the sound of the wind, heard whimpering from the entryway of the small apartment building.

Tim strode to the entryway, trying to make out the shape huddled on the cold cement, shivering and weeping softly.

"Jenny?" he said.

"It ain't Jenny, you fuckin' dickhead," he heard from behind. Tim turned and something solid caught him across the cheekbone, driving him in a heap to his knees. His vision went blurry, his balance gone. He felt himself tottering over when something caught him again across the face. He heard the sickening crunch as his nose was smashed, and he was knocked back into the frozen grass at the edge of the parking lot.

"You stay the fuck away from her, ya hear?" the voice said. He felt the hardened steel toes of construction boots connect with his ribs just before he blacked out.

* * *

Aimee hovered over the hospital bed, looking down at him. His face was swollen, the stitches on his cheek oozing puss, both eyes blackened, and a metal splint taped over his nose.

She saw his eyes flicker, then open and stare straight ahead.

"Don't move," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

Tim's eyes turned to her, but his head remained locked in place by the neck brace.

"How you feeling?"

"Like shit." His voice was barely audible, his speech slow.

She nodded. "You know who did this?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"George Silverman."

Aimee's chest tightened. She'd never told him anything. She'd quit exposing the trysts after telling David.

"I'm dating Jenny now."

She nodded.

"Don't tell the others," he said. His eyes were looking at her, and she saw them harden. "The police. Don't tell them." She nodded. "Promise me."

"What're you going to do?"

"Just promise me."

"I promise."

She saw his lips try to smile, then grimace with the movement. His hand went to his face, fingertips tracing the damage. He winced as he brushed over the stitches.

"How bad is it?"

She tried to smile. "It'll be awhile before you can keep all them women happy again."

His eyes looked back at her. "There's no other women now. Just Jenny. I told you I'd learned my lesson."

"So what're you going to do?"

Aimee was afraid of the answer, but it never came. Instead, he fell back asleep.

* * *

Sean was flipping through a magazine in the waiting room when Aimee walked from the room. He and two uniformed officers stood at the same time.

The officers started asking her questions. Did he see who it was? Does he know who could've done this?

She ignored them, walking straight to Sean and hugging him tight.

"You okay?" he whispered in her ear.

Her head nodded into his chest.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"A few scars," she murmured through his shirt.

The officers over her shoulder were fidgeting. He knew they wanted to question her, and they were also raising eyebrows at her hug with him.

"You'll need to help these fellas," he said to the top of her smooth hair.

She nodded into his chest again, sighed, and broke the hug.

"Did he tell you anything?" the tall one asked.

She shook her head. "It was dark. He didn't see who it was, and they clocked him before he could get a look at them."

Sean watched her answer their questions. She told them she and Tim had been separated for months. She was with Sean now--his heart swelled at her confirmation, and he tried hard to suppress a flash of pride--and she had no idea whether Tim was seeing anyone. If they wanted to know why she and Tim were separated, they'd have to ask Tim. Sean noticed some of their resentment at him disappear at this one, and a knowing look was passed between them. He had a feeling asking Tim wouldn't be necessary.

After five minutes, their questions answered, the officers went to Tim's room. Sean and Aimee, hand in hand, walked from the hospital. On the drive back, Sean watched Aimee, who was concentrating on the road. 

"You lied to them," he said. She didn't answer. "He knows who did this." She bit her lip and nodded. "Then why didn't you tell them?"

She shot a quick glance at him before looking back at the road. "I think he wants to take care of this himself. If the police--his fellow officers--try that, it may ruin something he's got going."

"Jealous husband?" Sean ventured.

"Father. He's dating someone now, and her dad isn't real happy about it. If he had the dad arrested, I guess he figures she'll leave him."

"How do you feel about that?"

"About what?"

"About him doing this for someone else. I mean, you're married to him still."

She said nothing.

"Are you going to divorce him?"

"I'm saving for it."

"I'll pay for it."

She shook her head. "I can't ask you to do that, Sean. This is my problem."

They pulled into the driveway in silence. When they entered the house, Aimee sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. "You got anything stiff?"

He smiled. "Whisky okay?"

"Maybe just a beer?"

He reached into the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles of Leinenkugels, popped the tops, and handed one to her. She took a long gulp, downing nearly a third of the beer on the first pull.

"I want you to let me pay for it," Sean said, resuming their conversation. "God knows I've got the money."

"No, Sean. It's my problem. I'll have enough in a couple of months."

"How much is it?"

"Twenty-five hundred down. But that should cover it all. It's all worked out."

He laughed. "How long have you been saving?"

"It's not funny, Sean. I've got other bills. My house, student loans, auto, insurance. Pretty tough to save that kind of money and pay all those bills on a teacher's salary."

Sean picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Elizabeth?" he said when she answered.

"Hey Sean," Elizabeth replied, her voice bright.

"That fella you're seeing. The lawyer. What's his name?"

"Will Sherman. Why?"

"You got his office number?"

She gave it to him and they rang off.

Aimee was staring at him, her eyes telling him not to make the next call. He turned his back on her and dialed anyway.

"Will Sherman, please," he said when the receptionist answered.

He was patched through. "Will Sherman," the voice said.

"Will, this is Sean. Sean McMahon."

There was a pause, then he spoke. "The artist? The one Elizabeth models for?"

"Yeah. Listen Will, I need a lawyer. You do divorce?"

"Sure, we do those."

"Good. You got time today to get one started?"

Sean heard a rustling of papers through the line before Will answered. "Four-thirty work for you?"

"We'll see you then."

When he turned back to Aimee, she was glaring at him. He tried to supress a smile but failed, and her anger increased. "I won't go," she said, crossing her arms.

He pulled her arms apart and put them around him. "Yes you will. And you'll let me pay for it."

"Sean, don't you see? It's not your problem. I can't ask you to-- "

"You didn't. I want to do it. For you." He looked into her eyes, watching them soften with the contact and his soothing voice. "I love you, Aimee Rogers. And I want you to marry me someday." Her eyes widened, and he continued. "Unfortunately, I'm Catholic, not Mormon. And polygamy is illegal in America. So let me do this, okay?"

Aimee threw her legs around his waist and squeezed him tight. Sean squeezed back, relieved at her reaction. "You really love me?" she said.

"I really do," he replied.

She leaned back and fixed him with her sparkling green eyes. "When's the appointment."

"Four thirty."

A smile widened her face, and she started pulling his sweater up.

"What're you doing?" he said, knowing damned well what she was doing, but wanting to hear her say it.

"That gives me two hours to screw you senseless Sean McMahon." She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue seeking his. Their movements became frantic as they each tried to tear the other's clothes off and get to bare skin.

He felt her hands caressing his belly, her legs back around his waist pulling him closer to her. She was warm, and her center was radiating heat. He reached under her, cupping her ass and lifting her from the chair.

Then he felt it, the tip of his cock brushing against her moistened lips. Her hips were grinding, trying to spear him, her actions frustrated by his simultaneous efforts to guide her onto him. Then he felt one of her arms reach back and under her, guiding him to her, and his head entered her slick folds.

Aimee groaned long and low into his ear as he lowered her onto him. "You're so big," she said, her hot breath blowing into his ear just before she sucked his lobe into her mouth. She was tight, and the descent to his base took nearly a minute. When he felt her pelvic bones against his, himself firmly seated, he held her there, enjoying the warm, wet, squeezing pressure around his shaft.

"You're wonderful," Sean murmured, and he felt her hips start to roll back and forth in response. His hands were cupping her by the ass, trying to hold onto her tiny little frame. His grip became tenuous, though, and he tried to readjust his hands. Her moisture had poured out, though, and made her backside slick. His hands couldn't get a hold.

Feeling his fingertips, Aimee's breath turned to light mewing. Her hips started rolling more, and his hands searched for a better grip as he looked over her shoulder at the couch behind her. He started walking there, his vision blocked when her hands went to the side of his head and her lips went to his, kissing him deeply and frantically.

"Yes," she panted, "keep going."

He felt his fingertips brush over the clenching pucker of her rosebud. She yelped, and he tried to reposition his hands.

She broke the kiss. "No," she gasped. "Touch me there. Please, touch me everywhere."

His eyes went wide. He'd only been with Holly. In his whole life, he'd only had one woman before Aimee, and that woman--his wife for years--would never permit anything like this. But here was Aimee, this delightfully energetic little vixen, bouncing on him and begging him to do whatever he wanted.

Who am I to object? he thought. His fingers moved back to her asshole and started rubbing circles around the rim. Her juices were flowing, and his finger was lubricated and traveled easily. Her excitement was evident by her hands nearly pulling his hair out, her frenzied kisses and gyrating hips picking up pace on him just as he got her to the sofa.

"Lay back," he said, lowering her a few inches to the arm of the leather sofa, but keeping her ass hung over the edge. She broke their kiss and gazed into his eyes, biting her lip and swaying her body. Then Sean felt her legs squeeze around him tighter, and she leaned back until her shoulders were on the sofa. As she did so, he felt her hips lower against him, and his finger popped through the seal of her anus, sinking in just past the first knuckle.

"Oh God," she groaned long and low. He began pulling his finger back out, but he felt her clench. "Please don't stop this," she said. "I feel so full of you. Please."

Aimee wasn't looking at him, though. Her head was craned back, her voice pleading. His eyes gazed the length of her body, from her arms thrown over her head to her arched neck to her taut breasts thrust high with her pulsating movements. He watched her rippling abdominal musculature, twitching at his invasion and the sensations it was causing, and his eyes traveled lower to her tiny, whispy patch of light red hair on her mound. And he saw his cock sliding easily back and forth into her swollen, glistening lips. Her clit was cherry red, engorged with excited raw nerve endings. He watched her clit push further from the hood with each stroke, running the length of the top of his cock as he slid back and forth.

Sean was surprised when her asshole loosened completely with a loud sigh from Aimee. His finger sank in deeper, sucked in by her smooth, warm, loosened canal. He felt Aimee push down against his finger as her feet behind him tightened and pulled him into her. 

"Yes yes yes," she repeated over and over again, her head tilting to the side, then thrashing back and forth. He felt her begin quivering, from her thighs tight on his hips to her asscheeks clenching and unclenching in the palms of his hands.

With his fingertip buried in her, Sean felt his finger pushed against the thin membrane separating her ass from her pussy. He felt the throbbing underside of his cock moving back and forth, his ridged veins coursing with his building excitement.

"I'm getting close," he whispered through panting breath. In response, her hips bucked into him more insistently, her clit grinding and circling against his pelvis with each invasion.

"Come on," she gasped, "fill me."

Sean watched Aimee reach for her own breasts, mashing them against herself before pulling and pinching on her nipples. Her head arched back again, and he felt another orgasm exploding through her.

Then he felt it from the base of his brain through the tips of his toes. He went dizzy with the sensations, his nerve endings firing more rapidly as they approached the core area somewhere just behind his balls. Then he felt the building of his release begin to shoot from his throbbing head. Through her walls his fingertips felt each spurt travel past and deep into her, her legs locking him in tight and holding him as he exploded in ecstasy.

Aimee's pelvis bucked into him and upwards with each spurt, and he watched her head arc backward with her orgasm. Her breath came in short pants, nearly silent, in time with her fingertips pulling on her nipples. Sean held her there long after his own release, feeling his fluids drain out around his shaft and gather around his finger deep in her ass.

After a minute, he felt Aimee's body go from tight ecstasy to completely relaxed release. Her hips dropped into his hands, his finger still inside, all tautness gone.

"I can't get enough of this," she said through closed eyes, her head turned to the side as she caught her breath.

He pulled his finger from her, but her tightening legs told him the rest could stay put for awhile longer.

"I've never, and I mean not even once, had such an . . . intense? . . . yes, intense experience," he said when his breath was back. She turned her head, her eyes only half-open and a sly grin on her lips. "You saying it was good?" He felt her walls squeeze and release on him a few times. "Or too much for you?"

His hand reached out from under her and went forward to her chest, rubbing over her still-hard nipples before squeezing her breasts.

"Oh no," he said, watching his hand play with her. "No, there's definitely no complaints here. I've just never . . . well, I suppose I'm not that experienced is all. And you . . . well, you're definitely more experienced than I am."

She giggled. "Don't be silly," she said. "My husband--soon to be ex-husband, that is--didn't do any of these things. Not with me, at least. Oh no, it's just been straight ahead missionary in the past."

His eyebrows raised. "So then, uh, my finger, where I put it. That's a first?"

She nodded, closing her eyes and licking her lips. She seemed to be re-living the sensations he'd given her. "This whole thing was a first," she said. "Your finger, standing while we did it. Being slung over the couch." Her head turned, her eyes opening and looking at him. "And you," she said, "such a big . . . well . . . you know." Her hips started moving back and forth slowly along his softened length.

"Really?" he said. Holly had certainly never mentioned this. He wasn't sure if he was big, small, just right, or if it even made a difference.

Aimee was nodding, though. "Oh yeah," she said. "Every time with you is like the first time. Ever. Like I'm still a virgin. You're . . . well, let's just say really big, okay?"

He smiled. "Okay."

"And I've never cum like this," she said, gazing into his eyes.

"Like what?"

"With just, you know, from just sex. From just a dick inside me." He didn't understand, so she continued. "I usually have to use my fingers on myself to cum while doing it. Like this." He looked down and watched her fingers move to her hood and begin rubbing over her clit.

"Do you like this?" she asked, still sliding slowly back and forth, her other arm now at her side and helping her swaying. "Do you like to watch me as you make love to me?"

He nodded. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful. So . . . ."

"Does he like it?" she said. He felt her walls squeezing around him again, then felt himself getting hard again. "I think he does," Sean said, looking down between her legs. He'd never done it twice in one day. With Holly it was strictly as Aimee had said: Once a day, two or three days a week, in the dark, missionary position. He'd loved her, and he'd never complained. Sean didn't know there was anything to complain about, actually; he'd never realized it could be anything but soft lovemaking in the dark and a quick, almost perfunctory release of built up sexual tension.

"That's good," Aimee said, interrupting his thoughts. "Because I like it, too." Her breath was coming in tiny gasps again. "And I think we may have enough time for one more before we need to get to the lawyer's office. What d'ya say?"

He could only nod. Her hips picked up their pace in response. "Then why don't you see if you can get your finger back in there and we'll see what happens?"

He nodded, reaching under her and pressing. His entry was easier this time, and he was hoping Will Sherman wouldn't be mad if they were a little late.

* * *

Will was changing when he heard his doorbell ring. He was down to underwear and socks so he quickly tore off the socks before pulling on his bathrobe and tying the sash tightly around his waist. When he opened the door, Elizabeth pushed in past him.

"Sorry," she said, her arms folded around herself. She was shivering. "Should've called first."

He smiled, shutting the door behind her. "No, that's okay. What up?"

"I got Cynthia to take Brandon for the night. Thought we could spend a quiet night alone." Her teeth were chattering, but he could see the hope in her eyes. Did she really think he'd say no?

"Sure," he said. "I don't have anything to eat, though. Pizza okay? I can call for delivery."

She shrugged. "Sure." She walked over to the sofa and sat, cuddling in on herself trying to warm up. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

He shook his head. "No. Really, I'm glad to see you." And he was. She'd started her final semester this week. They'd spoken on the phone a few times, but they hadn't seen each other since the preceding Sunday.

He looked at her. She was watching him, her mind evidently stuck on something.

"What?" he prompted.

She smiled, then started giggling.

"What?" he repeated, sitting next to her on the sofa. "Nothing." Yet she couldn't quit giggling.




Knox County Ch. 08



He reached in and started tickling her sides through her jacket.

"Quit it," she said, trying to twist away from him.

"Not until you tell me what's so funny."

She kept twisting, and he kept tickling. Finally, she pulled away from him and stood.

"Okay, okay, fine," she said, "I'll tell you."

He sat, staring at her. She slipped off her parka and laid it over a chair. He watched her, amazed yet again at her beauty. She was in a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans, boots, and baggy UW sweatshirt with a big Bucky Badger in the middle. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her tiny ears and long, graceful neck.

"What're you looking at?" she said, plopping down beside him and crossing her legs. He didn't answer. She ignored her own question and posed another. "So, Will Sherman, just how far would you go to get me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She looked up, as if pondering, her finger going to her lips. "Let's see. Would you pay money?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Would you walk through fire?"

He smiled, not knowing where this was going. She was in a playful mood, though, and he was enjoying it. "The flames of hell wouldn't keep me from you."

She smiled widely. "Good answer." Elizabeth's eyes were sparkling now, and her smile got wider. "Would you . . . I don't know . . . maybe bang my instructor if you had to?" She broke into a fit of laughter, collapsing into him.

At first, Will was shocked. Then, feeling her trembling with laughter in his arms, he smiled, too. Then he cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose if that's what it took, then yes. It seems a small enough price to pay, being subjected to such humiliation and degradation."

She looked up. "Humiliation? Degradation?" She collapsed into his arms again, unable to stop her laughing.

"What's so funny?" he said.

"I'm just picturing it," she said. "You. And her."

"And?"

She looked back at him. "She had me stay after class today," Elizabeth said. "Asked if you'd found me. I asked what she was talking about, and she told me she'd given you my address. She hoped it was okay. I said sure, it was fine. She asks if we're still together, and I tell her yes. She says too bad. Looks away wistfully, you know?" She started laughing again.

"And from that you think that I, well-- "

Elizabeth punched his arm. "Oh quit it," she said. "Of course you did. Jesus Christ, Will Sherman, have you no shame?"

"What? If that's what I had to do--and I'm not saying I did it--but if that's what I had to do, then it seems a small price to pay for finding the love of my life."

Elizabeth kissed him. He was surprised. Since they'd mended their relationship, things had gone back to the previous track. They'd spent tons of time together, but physical contact was limited mostly to kissing with the occasional petting thrown in. He knew something had happened to her, something that had caused her to quit being an escort, but she wouldn't tell him what. Her face continually told him not to push the issue as well, so he hadn't.

This was the first time she'd initiated the kissing since they'd gotten back together. And he could tell from her pressing lips and her insistent tongue that she needed this. He enjoyed it and went along with her.

"What's under here?" she said. Will felt her ice cold fingers slide under his robe and across his chest.

He gasped, feeling his nipples harden at her touch and goosebumps rising.

She broke the kiss. "You're warm," she said, smiling widely.

"You're not."

She reached her other hand over to his other nipple, and he flinched at her icy touch.

"So what did you have to do for me?"

He said nothing.

"Come on," she said, her hands sliding lower, raising a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He shook his head. "I never said anything happened." She punched him. "Come on, man whore, what did you do?"

He laughed. "A gentleman never tells."

She shrieked at this. "A gentleman? That's not what the look on her face said."

He shook his head.

"And," she said, her finger going into her lips, "that's not what she painted for me in great detail."

His eyes went wide, causing her to laugh again. "You're bluffing."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Oh yeah, Will. In great detail. She told me all about how you were her little slut for a night."

Will wasn't sure what surprised him more: Maria telling on him or Elizabeth's reaction. "So you're not mad?"

She shook her head. "Touched, actually. We weren't dating at the time, which was my idea. But I think it's cute the lengths you'd go to just to track me down."

He tried to look serious. "It wasn't easy."

"No, but she says you were. Easy, that is. At least the second time. She said she had to offer up her ass to get you going the third time."

Will looked away, the image of Maria's tight ass swallowing his cock clear in his mind.

"So did you like it?"

Will looked back at her. He raised an eyebrow. "Actually, the longer I go without, the better she gets in my mind."

She punched his arm. "You pig."

He grabbed her wrists, both of them, and held them in front of him outside of his half-opened robe. "Matter of fact, as long as you bring it up," he continued, mocking her with his seriousness, "so long as you know now, maybe you could ask her out on a date for me. You know, something to just tide me over before I explode."

She was smiling, her hands pushing back toward him. "Tide you over until when?"

"You know," he said. His eyes traveled to her hips. "Just until maybe you're ready to-- "

"Are you blackmailing me?"

He smiled. "Yep."

She was pushing back at him harder now, and he allowed her to push him over onto his back. He felt her straddling him, pushing down against his hips.

"So let's get this straight," she said. "Either I fuck you. Like this." She ground back and forth over him. He felt himself getting hard, pushing back. "Or I set it up so you can fuck her again." Her hips lifted off of him, staying out of reach of his arching hips. "That about sum it up?"

He smiled. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Huh," she said. She swung off of him and walked to the front door.

"Where you going?" he said.

She ignored him and went outside. He swung off of the couch, tucking his bathrobe back together before striding to the door and stepping onto the icy porch.

"What's wrong?" he said as she opened her car door. "I was just kidding."

She reached across the driver's seat and picked up a duffel bag. Pulling it across, she slammed the car door. "No you weren't," she said, jogging back toward him.

When Elizabeth reached the porch, she walked past him and back into the house. Will followed, shutting the door behind him. She walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind herself. "Why don't you order that pizza?" she called through the door. "Tell 'em to take their time."

Will saw where this was going and phoned the pizza order in. He told them to deliver it in ninety minutes and not a second sooner. He heard the bathroom door close as he hung up, then the bedroom door open a moment later. "It's a pigsty in here," she called.

He walked to the bedroom. "I was changing when you showed up," he explained. He entered the bedroom and stopped, frozen in place.

Elizabeth was lying on his bed. She was clad in a sheer silk teddy, creamy white against her flawless almond skin. His eyes were locked on her right hand, which was caressing over the narrow slit of her skimpy panties.

"I can't wait any more, either," she said. When he didn't move, she closed her eyes and increased her rubbing, arcing her hips off the bed and slowly gyrating with her hand's movements.

"Cat got your tongue, Will Sherman?" she murmured through closed eyes.

"No," he said, going to the bed, grabbing her ankles, and pulling her to the edge of the bed, "but you will." He grabbed her hands, locking them onto the mattress at her side, and lowered his face to her. He smelled her arousal, tangy in the warm bedroom, and saw the dampness of her panties. Through the silk he traced his tongue, eliciting a groan from her and pleas to do more. He did.

With only his tongue, he pulled aside the fabric guarding her pouty, moistening lips, brushing his tongue over her as he did so. The moisture was everywhere, seeping out and down to the crack of her ass. He let his lips follow the path, licking and sucking her soft flesh as he did so. When he reached the bottom of her lips, he let go of her wrists and, with a hand on the inside of each smooth, taut thigh, pried her legs open further. Her vulva was puffy, glistening, spread slightly. He pressed his tongue to her exposed center, slowly entering.

"Oh Will," Elizabeth cried, lifting her hips to give his tongue easier access.

Will felt her hands on the back of his head, pulling him deeper into her. He was suffocated in her warmth. He lingered for a moment in her depths before withdrawing his tongue. She groaned, trying to grind him back into her, but he ignored her. Rather, he traced the tip over her lips, circling her clit without touching it.

"Please," she gasped. He trailed back down to her center, pausing before stiffening his tongue and plunging in with no warning. Her body started jolting in response, pulling him in until his nose felt the hardened button of her clit against him, his face smeared with her juices.

Will reached his hands under her and squeezed her asscheeks, kneading them as his lips and tongue started circling over and within her. "Yes, do that," she pleaded as his tongue zeroed in on her clit. Pausing, taking his time, he sucked her clit in, pressing it against his teeth with his circling tongue. Elizabeth's groans got louder, and her hands were pulling his hair tightly to hold him in place.

Will continued, feeling and hearing her orgasm building. Then she was bucking against him in a long, erupting orgasm that nearly smothered him. He gasped for breath from between her legs, but she held him firmly in place, her hands knotted in his hair and pulling him in deeper.

Elizabeth's orgasm seemed to last forever, and Will started to suck in breath around her clit. When she subsided, he stood, shedding his bathrobe while gazing at her. She was looking back at him, her hands running under her top and massaging her breasts. He saw the protrusions where her nipples poked against the sheer fabric, her hips circling and seeking him out.

"Hurry," she said. Her left hand appeared from beneath her top and went between his legs, grabbing his throbbing cock firmly and pulling him toward her. Then he felt his the head pressing against her panties, her hand trying to push it aside to make room for him. He leaned in as her legs spread wider, sinking smoothly to the hilt and eliciting a long, low moan from Elizabeth.

"I've needed this," she sighed, pushing her ass off the bed and pulling him in with her hand.

Will was overcome by the sensations running through his body. He looked down and watched his cock disappearing around the side of her panties, the moisture pouring from her, glistening his rod and her lips. She was writhing against him, her hips undulating with his penetrations. Then he watched her other hand reach around behind him. He felt both of her hands now cupping his ass, her fingernails digging in and pulling him in more forcefully.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, reaching down and pushing her top up to expose her breasts. They sat, full and round, above her jutting ribcage and rippling abdomen. He stroked his fingertips from her clit to her right breast, brushing the tip of her nipple and watching it harden, then squeezing the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Elizabeth's breath was coming in short, sharp pants. Will watched as she pulled herself up on her elbows. He leaned in to kiss her, and she savaged him in response. Her tongue thrust into his mouth, seeking his, her groans getting louder as she pushed her breasts against his chest. This wasn't tender or sensitive, Will realized, but raw hunger. And he felt his response to her need building in his pulsing cock. He reached behind her, holding her back and pulling her closer, enjoying the feeling of her breasts mashing against his chest.

"I'm getting close," he panted, thrusting in harder and faster.

Elizabeth responded in kind. Her long legs, feet now on the floor, widened and pushed up and into him, and her thrusting soon matched his.

Then, without warning to Will, her back stretched taut and leaned back against his hands. She broke through his grip and slammed back into the bed, panting in time with his thrusts. Her hands tore at the comforter, gripping the blanket in her tightened fists.

Will's hands went under her ass, holding her gyrating hips as he thrust into her more forcefully. Her asscheeks were smooth and hard, the muscles taut with her thrusting. "Harder," she implored, and he pushed in as far as he could with every thrust, trying to pick up the speed further yet.

Will felt his own release building and tried to hold back. She was almost there, he knew, and he didn't want to finish until she had orgasmed again. But he couldn't take his eyes from her, thrashing on the bed in a frenzy of lust, turning him on more than he ever remembered.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned, unable to hold back any more. He tilted his head back when he felt the first rope travel from deep within him to deep within her, then another and another.

Will's release triggered Elizabeth's, and he felt it before he saw it: A pulsating around his cock as her walls spasmed. Her hands reached around him, grabbing his ass and pulling him in hard and deep, her fingernails clawing his clenched ass cheeks. He looked down and saw her body crashing with wave after wave of ecstasy. Her jaws were open wide, emitting short gasps from the back of her throat.

He watched through half-open lids as her orgasm subsided. Her head stayed turned to the side, her eyes closed, a slow-forming smile curving her lips upward.

"You like?" he said, pushing her toward the center of the bed. He stayed in her--Christ, he thought, I'm still hard as a rock--and leaned over her, nibbling on her neck.

"Sorry I didn't last very long," he murmured into her ear. "I'll try to do better next time."

Will felt her hands caressing his back, her eyes still closed and her smile getting wider. Then he felt her hips under him, undulating against his pelvis in circles. "Doesn't look like I'll have to wait very long for the next time," she said. "Think you can get it done before the pizza gets here?"

"Fuck the pizza," he whispered in her ear. And he began a slow sliding in and out, his lips tasting her neck and earlobe until she turned to face him. Then they were kissing, their tongues gliding against each other in a more relaxed pace.

***

Tim slammed the car door and strode around the car, up the sidewalk toward the front door. His hand flexed and unflexed on the roll of quarters in his hand, but his eyes never left the door. He stepped onto the porch, not bothering to be quiet. Somewhere in the house he heard a dog barking, getting louder as it approached the front door. He pounded on the door, and the dog went crazy, barking and jumping against the door. Tim heard steps approaching, heavy steps. He pounded on the door again, harder, enjoying the dog going into a frenzy.

"I'm fuckin' coming already," a deep growl croaked behind the door. "Get the fuck outta here," he heard. The dog sounds disappeared. Tim smiled.

"Who the fuck is it," the growl said as the door opened. Tim leaned his weight to his back foot and held his right hand behind him. "You know what fuckin' time--"

Tim's hand, roll of quarters and all, connected full throttle in the middle of George Silverman's nose, mashing it against his face. It was like slow motion, the little pig eyes pissed off before flickering into recognition and anger just before the fist he didn't see drove his nose flat and his squinty eyes into perfect circles as he was knocked hard on his ass in the open foyer area at the feet of his German Shepherd.

"Hello, George," Tim said, entering the foyer and shutting the door behind him. The dog watched from Tim to its master and back again, confused. Tim looked at the massive figure on the ground below him, the blood pouring from his nose, which was split and pancaked against his fat, stubbly cheeks. He was breathing hard, his great pot belly heaving beneath a dirty, white, too small t-shirt. His boxer shorts were askew, twisted where they strained against his waist on top and flared around his comically skinny legs at the other end. But the eyes, Tim saw, soon flashed pure, unwavering hatred.

Silverman tried to get up. Tim stomped a foot in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down. "You fuckin'--"

"Shut up," Tim said, pushing his foot into the chest harder. "I'd say we're even," he continued, nodding toward the smashed face before raising his shirt to reveal the bandaging there, "but I think I still owe you a few broken ribs." His foot pushed harder still. Silverman reached to his legs, but what little energy was there left when Tim stepped full weight. When his hands went back to his side, Tim eased up the pressure.

"Now I didn't tell them anything, understand. The cops, my fellow officers who so dearly want to know who to crack in the fucking skull a few times for doing all of this to one of their own." He took his foot off the chest entirely. "No, George, I figured I'd leave this between just you and me, okay?"

Tim kneeled down, holding his hand out to the dog, who ignored his bloody master and started licking Tim's hand. "You see, I don't give a shit if you deal drugs. That's my problem to deal with, actually. Imagine, me a cop married to the daughter of the biggest scumbag in Knox County. How's that gonna look around the station for me? No skin off your balls, but a real problem for me, right?"

"Then get the fuck away from her."

Tim shook his head. "It's not that easy," he said, scratching the dog behind the ears. "Strangely enough, I love her. And I'm pretty sure she loves me. At the very least, we both like the hell out of each other. And we're going to see if we can make it happen whether you like it or not."

"Over my dead body, you fuckin' bastard."

Tim smiled. "If those are your terms," he said. He stood, reaching behind himself and withdrawing his service revolver as he did so. Tim pointed the gun at the middle of Silverman's chest, but the prostate mad didn't flinch.

"Of course," Tim continued, "I'm not sure Jenny would forgive me if I just up and blew daddy away, scumbag or no scumbag."

"You don't have the balls," Silverman said, spitting the blood that was pooling around his thin lips. "You're just a little fuckin' faggy pretty boy. I have no idea what she sees in your sorry ass."

A million retorts raced through Tim's mind, but he bit them all off. Instead, he stuffed the revolver back into the waistband at the back of his jeans. Then he kicked Silverman square in the balls as hard as he could.

The fat man doubled up in pain, choking and coughing, his face turning red. Tim put his foot back in the middle of the man's chest, though, and waited for him to quit squirming again. Once he did, Tim took a deep breath and spoke. "Not your problem what she sees in me. Just know this, you fuckin' piece of shit. You ever pull another stunt like you did a few weeks ago, you ever try to come between us in any way, shape, or form, and this little faggy pretty boy is gonna blow your fuckin' brains out and bury you so deep they'll never find your fat ass."

Tim leaned down, and Silverman flinched away. Tim smiled as he reached over and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Nice dog," he said. He turned and walked out the door.




Knox County Ch. 08



* * *

Cynthia was moving around the kitchen, fixing dinner. It had been a good day at Sean's; he was so obviously on cloud nine due to his new romance with Aimee. Better still, Aimee seemed to have forgiven Cynthia's past with Tim, and the two chatted amiably whenever they were together. Cynthia doubted she could be as forgiving. Let some bitch steal David and Cynthia knew they'd be sworn enemies for life. That bitch definitely wouldn't be cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry for the new boyfriend. All told, Cynthia was amazed how it had all worked out so far.

Cynthia looked at the clock. Five fifteen, David would be home soon. She couldn't wait. Since she'd moved back, they'd devised a game to spice up their sex lives. And what a game it was, she thought, smiling at how well it had worked out.

It was David's idea. They should both write down fifteen things they most fantasized about, wanted to do with or to each other, or had always been curious about but had always been afraid to ask. Both lists were separated into scraps of paper with one fantasy or idea on each and the scraps thrown together in a jar. Then, every morning before David left for work, they drew one scrap from the jar, alternating the days with Cynthia pulling a scrap one day and David pulling a scrap the next. Only one thing was forbidden: No third parties; all scenarios had to be just her and David.

Despite her initial reluctance, Cynthia now loved the game. She thought it would get old having sex every single day, but it hadn't worked out that way. To the contrary, during the past month, they'd explored things with and about each other and learned more about each other's deepest and darkest desires than in all the previous years they'd been together. Better yet, by drawing the scrap in the morning, they each spent the whole day anticipating what was written on the scrap. When Cynthia drew the scrap, she spent the day planning. If the scrap was her initial choice, she tried to make everything exactly what it was she was looking for; if it was David's choice, she tried to make it live up to what she thought he wanted. Strangely, she found she liked far better the days when David drew the scrap. Then she'd spend the whole day wondering, anticipating what the night would bring. And tonight was David's night, she thought, smiling. Lost in her reverie, she didn't hear the footsteps approaching. She didn't realize anyone was with her until her arms were roughly grabbed and pulled behind her back and she felt the cold steel of handcuffs tightening around her wrists. She was confused, her mind more fully muddied when she tried to turn to him only to have her hair tugged down and a blindfold slipped over her eyes.

"It's party time," David whispered into her ear.

She smiled. "What's on the agenda tonight?"

He sucked in her earlobe. "It's a surprise."

She purred with the sensation of his light sucking and his hot breath in her ear. "At least tell me whose choice it was."

He paused for a moment, nibbling behind and below her ear. "It was yours," he whispered.

She felt herself getting aroused with just the touch of his lips, his hot breath on her skin, and the thoughts whirling through her head. They had only gone through about half of her choices, many of which had included bondage since their first night back together. This could be any of about four or five remaining choices, she realized. She quit trying to guess for the moment and closed her eyes, enjoying his tender ministrations while trying to remember what was left.

"Did you like my idea, whatever it was?"

He murmured his assent. His hands reached around her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Then she felt him press into her, his hardened shaft grinding against her cheeks. She pushed her ass out, enjoying the sensation.

"Was it something you wanted to do, too?"

"I've wanted to do everything you've picked so far," he answered. His fingers finished unbuttoning her blouse, and he pulled it open and back. "Maybe the handcuffs weren't such a good idea," he said, tugging the blouse all the way back to her wrists and exposing her torso to his caresses.

"Please, sweetie, don't keep me in suspense," she said. He ignored her, though, unclasping her bra and reaching his hands underneath. His palms covered her breasts and squeezed, then he squeezed her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Cynthia felt her panties dampening between her legs. David was patient, though, concentrating his hands on her breasts and belly, caressing and tickling with feather light strokes and gentle squeezes of her breasts. His mouth, meanwhile, was kissing from the top of her neck, around the sides, and down her spine.

"Please, baby, tell me," she murmured, her cuffed hands reaching back and stroking his hard on through his pants.

"All in good time," he responded. His hands went to the zipper of her skirt, drawing it down to her ankles. She stepped out, and his right hand went to her mound outside her panties, pressing down while his left hand continued squeezing her breast.

"Someone's getting excited," David observed, trailing a finger over her damp crotch. She said nothing, closing her eyes behind the blindfold and concentrating on his finger as it lightly ran back and forth the length of her slit, his other hand as it alternately squeezed and pinched her nipples, tugging lightly.

Cynthia felt an orgasm begin as David's finger zeroed in on her clit, circling it lightly through her silk panties. "It's already hard," he whispered in her ear. She turned her head, her mouth seeking out his and finding it. Her tongue snuck into his mouth, and she groaned through their kiss.

David's finger between her legs kept up the same pace and pressure, and she felt her orgasm rising. "Just like that," she mumbled through their kiss, and just like that he kept on.

Cynthia felt her tummy tingle and her muscles go taut as her orgasm began. It didn't last long, but it relaxed her limbs.

When her orgasm subsided, Cynthia felt David's hands tugging down her panties beneath her skirt. He pushed her further over the counter and flipped her skirt up over her hands, exposing her ass to him. Then she felt his tongue, lashing at her wet slit and up to her puckered anus.

Cynthia shivered with the sensations, her excitement growing as his tongue centered on her knotted rosebud. She gasped as his tongue pressed forward, and she willed herself to relax and loosen. After a moment, she felt her tightened muscle go slack, and his tongue pushed in until she felt his lips against her cheeks.

"Oh my God," she panted. "I know which wish you drew."

She heard him murmur, and she knew what was coming. She remembered writing the wish on the scrap of paper, hoping it would be long after her other wishes had been drawn and prepared her. She remembered writing it as graphically as she could, hoping her words would turn him on as much as the thought had turned her on these past few months.

Handcuff me and FUCK MY ASS.

Previous wishes of hers had involved toys of ever increasing size, getting her ready for what was to come. For this luck of the draw she was grateful, and now she was ready and eager for her last bastion to be taken.

"Please," she groaned, "don't make me wait any longer. I'm ready." But David ignored her, his tongue sawing in and out of her loosening backside. Then she felt his finger tracing the length of her pussy, circling around her clit before going back and tracing more. Her senses were overloading with the invasion and the stimulation, and behind her blindfold she was seeing stars.

Just before she was there, his tongue withdrew. She panted in disappointment, then groaned low as she felt his finger rubbing the cool lubricant against her sphincter, his other finger keeping up the manipulations of her soaked pussy.

"Put it in me," she urged.

He ignored her, taking his time applying more and more lube. Then she felt it, the pressure of his finger pushing in. Her orgasm again welled up, building with the violations to her last unconquered orifice.

As the tingling began, she felt a second finger join the first and push in insistently. Her breathing quickened to rapid pulses, the stars in her blackened vision popping with the nerves shooting from deep within her belly. His finger around her clit circled more quickly, and the two fingers in her ass began sliding back and forth, preparing her.

Cynthia's orgasm was like none she'd ever experienced. This was no sensation of waves rolling through, but an explosion of nerves simultaneously sending warmth throughout her body. All vision was white light, and she was deafened by what she soon realized were her own screams. Loud, piercing wails to keep going.

While her orgasm roiled through her body, she felt the sudden emptiness as David's fingers withdrew. Then she felt the insistent pressing of his cock nudging against the center of her tender asshole.  My God, she thought in the back of her mind, he feels like a steel bar. The thought of what was to happen only prolonged her orgasm as his finger withdrew from her clit and the pressing into her backside got more insistent.

When her orgasm subsided, she heard David whispering, coaching her. "Push back," he said.

She closed her eyes, relaxed, and willed her anus to relax with the rest of her. Then, gingerly, she leaned back onto him, trying to work him into her. She felt one hand spreading her cheek to give him access, and she tried to get him in quickly. The pain, though, was overwhelming, and she concentrated on slowing her breathing and relaxing herself as much as possible.

Unlike the toys, which were either narrow or tapered to allow easy entry, his cock was widest at the end. She willed herself to open up for the biggest intrusion and hope that what came after would ease her discomfort.

Behind her, David was rock steady. His hips stayed solid as she moved, millimeter by millimeter, back onto him. Then, with one final effort, she felt the ring of muscle go slack and his head popped into her, taking her breath away. She held there, getting used to the invasion. The feeling was like none she'd ever experienced, not with the toys or his fingers. It was pain--the widening of her ass as it had never been widened--coupled with an incredible fullness. David, who she knew had only an average-sized cock, felt like a baseball bat in the smaller opening.

The visions turned her on, and she felt herself warming to his presence in her ass. Then she felt his fingers returning to her pussy, running back and forth before centering on her clit.

"Undo the handcuffs," she said.

She heard a click and her wrists were free. She placed one hand on the counter under her and the other between her legs, playing with her clit around David's fingers. Then, slowly, inch by inch, she pushed back onto him, slowing the progress to accustom her body when the tightness became too much.

After what seemed forever, she felt his pelvis make contact with her ass cheeks. She continued pushing, getting him in as deeply as possible before holding there for a few minutes.

"Tell me what it feels like," she panted.

"Tight," she heard his voice gasp. She knew he was close, she could feel his cock throbbing in her velvety walls, the pulses through his veins almost in time with her heartbeat.

"Go slowly," she said. "And don't pull all the way out."

She felt him withdraw, his progress painstakingly slow. When only his head remained within her, she felt him push back in more slowly than he had withdrawn. All the while, her fingers rubbed her pussy, getting slick in the juices that were gathering. On his tenth or fifteenth trip back in--she had lost count in the sensations--she felt it, the loosening of her nerves, the complete slackening of her sphincter, and the rush of fullness.

"Oh fuck," she groaned.

"Does it feel better?" he asked.

She could only nod in reply. The sensations were returning, the overwhelming fullness in her ass coupled with the throbbing in her clit. She rubbed her clit faster, racing with the growing arousal she felt in David's pulsating cock, trying to beat him to his orgasm.

"I'm getting close," he panted behind her, and she felt him hold steady fully impaled. She felt his head, deep within her, expanding against her walls.

Then it hit her, an orgasm unlike any she'd experienced before. It started at her anal ring, pulsating outward to the muscles of her ass and inward the length of his cock.

"Oh God oh God yes oh God," she repeated over and over. The orgasm spread to the sensitive tip of her clit and pulsated through her body, numbing her senses to all but the sensations coursing through her veins and nerves. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she heard only a pounding in her head increasing in intensity.

Then she felt David's release shooting deep within her. Blast after blast, hard and deep, thrust in deeper still as he held her ass tightly against his impaling member. This further heightened her orgasm, and she cradled her face in her arm on the counter, feeling the sensations run through her body.

After nearly a minute, as her orgasm subsided, she spoke. "Wow."

David chuckled. He remained fully ensconced in her ass, but the invasion was no longer tight or painful. It was now just a warm fullness, and she didn't want it to end. He was kissing her back, mumbling, and she tried to focus on his words.

"So that was okay?" he said.

She nodded in her cradled arm. "Yeah," she said after catching her breath, "that was okay."

"Just okay?"

"Maybe more than just okay. Maybe really good."

"So you liked it?"

She felt him softening and retracting from her. "I liked it a lot," she said. "Hurts at first, I guess. But it certainly gets a lot better."

He was stroking her hips as he withdrew fully. His exit left an emptiness that it took her a moment to get used to. He continued stroking her back and hips, bending over and kissing her neck.

Cynthia turned and put her arms around David, kissing him for the first time since he'd arrived home. She felt tenderness in her bottom, perhaps a little more than in their past play with toys, but she was sure it would dissipate in a matter of hours.

"I'm really glad you didn't pick that wish sooner," she said. "I don't think I could have handled it without all of the preliminaries of the past month."

David chuckled. "Actually," he said, "I did pick it sooner." Her eyebrows rose. "The very first time, as a matter of fact."

"And you . . . ."

He tilted his head, grinning. "I was pretty sure that was too much too soon. So I snuck in during my afternoon break and swapped it out for another one."

"You cheated?"

He nodded. "Twice, as a matter of fact. I drew it again a few weeks later."

"And you weren't ready by then?"

He kissed her deeply in response, kneading her bare ass cheeks in his hands. When the kiss ended, he spoke. "I was ready from the very first. Always wanted to try it, as a matter of fact."

"But?"

"But I was worried that if it was too soon--if you weren't ready for it yet--then it would hurt too much."

"I love you," she said, and kissed him.

They lingered in the kitchen, hugging, stroking and kissing, Cynthia clad in only a skirt and David in only his unbuttoned dress shirt.

After ten minutes or so, David spoke first. "So you'd try it again?"

She nodded, her grin turning lascivious. "Not as a total replacement, mind you. But it sure is a nice supplement."

* * *

Sean sat in the back of the courtroom with the other couples and spectators. There were a procession of them standing before the judge, ten minutes of testimony each, and they were divorced. Aimee and Tim were nearly the last to be called, and Sean felt his stomach tighten as they approached the bench with Will.

It was perfunctory, though, and ten minutes later they were divorced.

All four left the courtroom together.

"Anyone want to get some lunch?" Tim suggested.

Aimee smiled, taking Sean's hand in hers and shooting him a meaningful look. He had a feeling what they'd be doing the moment they got home.

"No," Aimee said in response to Tim's question, "but thank you. And thanks for making this painless." Tim smiled in return. "It was you who made this painless. You could have really made this messy, and I appreciate that you didn't."

They all stepped out into the bright, sunny day. Sean felt the gentle breeze blowing against his cheeks, and he realized that he was truly happy for the first time in a long time. Aimee was divorced, her house was for sale, and she would soon be moving in with him.

"You were right," Sean said, turning to Will.

Will raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"Fair's fair, and it was really easy provided everyone kept the past out of it and focused on the future."

Will nodded. "Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it doesn't work out that way, though."

Sean smiled at him.

"You fuckin' pig!" Sean heard from his side and began to turn.

From the corner of his eye, Sean saw a big-bellied bear of a man sticking his arm out, something in his hand. At the same time, he saw Tim flail an arm at the outstretched hand and scream at the man to drop it. Sean saw Tim's hand shove the gun at the same time he felt a hard blow to his chest. He heard the roar of the gun, then another as he felt another tremendous blow to his side, spinning him around and into Will.

Sean felt Will also falling backward, and they fell in a heap on top of each other. Sean heard scuffling to his side, but he couldn't turn his head from Will's stomach. Then he felt a warm, sticky liquid pooling in Will's stomach and smearing over his face.

The images were a montage of confusion. All at once he heard scuffling feet, swearing and grunting, Aimee's screams, Will's moans.

Sean felt his eyelids flickering, and he fought to keep them open.

"Sean," Aimee was crying into his face, her hands on his, "Sean, just stay there. Will, stay down. Don't move you two. Sean, please . . . ."

But Will's blood on his cheek was so warm and soothing, so comfortable, so. . . .

Then blackness came over him and the sounds were gone.



Knox County Ch. 09



"I said he's out of surgery. Sean. He just got out about twenty minutes ago. They got the lung reinflated. And the bleeding is all stopped."

"What time is it?"

"About two thirty."

She quickly calculated. Sean had been in surgery for around twelve hours. That couldn't be good. "Will he be all right?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "They said he'll live. They don't know if there's anything permanent, though."

Aimee felt a wave of relief sweep over her body. He'd live, that was all she cared about.

When she turned back to face Tim, she looked again at the uniform.

"I came straight here when they were done at the scene and getting the statements," he said, watching her eyes. "They had to take my clothes for evidence."

"What happened to him?" she said. "George Silverman, why did he do this? What–"

"He's dead," Tim said.

Aimee remembered him lying there, a great big bear of a man. He'd been flat on his back, arms outspread, the gun a few feet away. But she hadn't seen blood. It had all happened so fast, so much noise.

"When he broke free of me, knocked me to the ground, he pointed the gun at me. That's when Courthouse Security let loose. He was hit twice in the back. He was dead at the scene."

She remembered them working on him, and on Will and Sean. But her focus had been on Sean.

"Why? What did you do?"

Tim's face got grim. He shook his head. "Dated his daughter."

She slapped him across the face, hard, and flinched at the sound of the crack. Tim didn't flinch, though. Instead, he lowered his eyes, shame evident on his face.

"You bastard," she hissed. "When are you going to quit destroying my life?" She felt tears come back.

"What did you tell them?" Tim said. Aimee looked at him, and Tim continued. "The cops, when they questioned you. What did you tell them?"

She glared at him. "That's why he did it, isn't it. You handled it your way, didn't you?"

Tim was silent, his eyes avoiding hers.

"Look at me, goddamn you." He did, his eyes raising to meet hers. "Was it worth it? One man dead; Will shot and seriously wounded; and Sean. Christ, he could die." Tim didn't move, and her voice rose. "Tell me: Was it worth it?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to look at her.

Aimee rose from the sofa and pushed him away. She couldn't get out of there fast enough.

* * *

Will awoke with a start, his chest burning with pain, his lungs trying to expel what felt like gallons of heavy liquid. He was coughing, and he tried to cover his mouth with his hand. His hand wouldn't move, though; it refused to do his brain's bidding. Between coughs, he snatched glimpses of Elizabeth, her face terrified, her voice calling out for someone to come in. He caught a fragment of his sister Sue–what the hell was she doing here?–running past his feet.

Then, just as the coughing peaked, he felt cool fingers on his cheeks, and something was being lifted from his face. He glimpsed and saw an oxygen mask lifting away from him, the inside coated in what looked like blood and snot.

"Well good afternoon," a cheerful voice said. A female, he saw. She looked tired, but a smile creased her face. "I see we're feeling better."

He tried to shake his head and speak. His throat was dry, constricted, and he couldn't get out more than a croak between coughing fits.

"Don't try to speak yet," the voice said. "You've been shot. The bullet lodged in your right lung. You're coughing out the remnants of the bleeding you suffered and some fluid buildup, but that's a good sign."

A good sign? He felt like his chest was on fire and a ten-ton elephant was sitting smack dab in the middle. This was good?

"I'm going to give you some morphine to help with the pain," the voice continued. "But you'll be coughing the fluid build-up out for a few hours, okay?" He tried to nod. "Don't worry, though. This is a good sign."

Then he felt something cool and damp on his face, and he saw the corner of a red-tinged wash cloth wiping him off.

He heard the voice speaking again, but it wasn't talking to him. "Try to get him to drink some water if you can. Between coughing fits, and just a little. His throat's dried out from the oxygen, and that'll help with the discomfort."

He darted his eyes down the bed, to his side, and saw a needle sticking out of the back of his left hand, two in his right hand. The coughing picked up and he shook with the pain.

Then he felt a warmth coursing through is veins, starting with his right hand and traveling up his arm. Soon, the warmth had spread over his body. He still felt the pain, he realized, but he no longer cared about it. His whole body relaxed, and he didn't fight the darkness that again enveloped him.

* * *

David walked in from work, the fatigue washing over his muscles. "Cynthia," he called out, but he heard no answer. "Babe, are you home?" Still no sound.

He was worried. She'd been sick that morning, putting it off to bad hospital food over the past few days. David had asked her to stay home, but she had refused. She needed to help Elizabeth get Will home and settled in.

"It'll only be a few hours," she had argued with him. "I'll be home by one. And if I'm not feeling better, I'll take a nap."

Cynthia's voice had been adamant, even as she'd wiped flecks of vomit from her nightshirt. He had known better than to argue with her. Now, though, he was filling with a sense of dread. Her car was in the driveway; she should be here. He looked out back, but she wasn't there. He strode down the hallway, getting more worried. She wasn't in the hallway bath, nor was she in the den. He reached the end of the hall and opened the door to the master bedroom.

"Cynthia," he said, not seeing her in there. The door to the master bath was closed. He went to the door and knocked. "Babe, you in there?"

The door opened in front of him. "Come in, handsome," she said.

David felt the waves of relief rush over him, soon replaced by arousal as she opened the door further. She had one hand on the open door and the other on the door frame, blocking his entrance. Best of all, David saw, she was wearing a huge smile. And nothing else.

"I was calling for you," he mumbled. She arched an eyebrow. "I . . . uh . . . well, I was worried."

"I'm feeling better now," she said. She stepped back and took her hand from the door, waving him in. "Much better."

He went to her, hugging her smooth, warm body, bending down and kissing her. One hand was stroking her back, and the other reached down and cupped her ass, squeezing gently. She was kissing him back, frantically, tugging his shirt from his slacks and unbuttoning the shirt. She broke the kiss.

"I've got a surprise for you," she said, breaking the kiss and unbuckling his belt. 

He grinned. "Really?"

She knelt in front of him, working his pants to his ankles. He felt himself getting hard, then he felt her mouth on him, sucking him in deeply. He groaned with the sensation, running his fingers through her hair as she started sucking on him.

"Then I guess you're feeling better?" he managed to say.

Her only response was to use her hand to pump him as she sucked him in with greater force. He tossed his shirt behind him before looking at the sight at his feet. Her beautiful body, lightly tanned skin with proud breasts and hard nipples, and her head moving faster back and forth.

He watched as her free hand reached behind him, then he felt her fingers spreading his ass. Soon, the fleshy pad of a finger was pressing against his anus, and he felt his arousal reaching new heights.

"Don't," he said, pulling her arm away, keeping her hand from his ass.

She let him go and looked up at him, still pumping his engorged cock as she did so. "You don't like?"

He shook his head. "I like too much, way too much," he whispered, running his fingers over her cheek. "I want to last a little if you don't mind."

She sucked him back in, then let him go. "Don't worry about it," she said. She sucked him back in again, and he gasped with the force of her mouth on him.

He felt his orgasm building, and he tried to stop. She sensed it, too, though, and increased her efforts.

"Enough," he said, pulling away from her and reaching under her arms. The look in her eyes didn't flash disappointment as he'd expected. Oh no, David realized, her eyes–and her whole face, from eyebrows to upturned lips–flashed sultry excitement and expectations.

"Your turn," he said. He went to his knees in front of her, kissing his way down her breasts and sucking her nipples in as he went. She was backing up, and he watched her sit on the edge of the whirlpool tub and spread her legs as his lips reached her pubis. Her hands were running through his hair, soft mewls of appreciation escaping her lips as he lightly kissed and licked her smooth pubis. He took his hands and put them on the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs wider as his tongue crept downward.

Cynthia gasped when his tongue raked a long, slow path the length of her wet slit. She tasted clean and aroused at the same time. He smelled the soap on her skin and the tang of her excitement and guessed she had just stepped from the shower as he got home. His tongue continued its tortuous journey until he reached the top of her slit. He prodded a finger between her puffy pink lips as he sucked her clit into his mouth. She was incredibly wet, he thought, and broke his lips away as his finger pressed in further.

"What were you doing before I got home?" he said, looking into her eyes.

She grinned back at him. "Why do you ask?" She arched her head back and moaned as his finger pressed upward deep within her, pressing against the small knot of her g-spot.

"Because you seem very aroused for just a hummer," he said. 

She looked back down at him, her hips now undulating softly with the movements of his finger. "Maybe I was getting ready for you."

"How?"

She smiled and reached over to the vanity drawer. "With this," she said. She held up a slim vibrator and, with her other hand, twisted the base. She bounced her eyebrows in anticipation as he reached out and took it from her.

David heard the low hum as he touched the tip to her vulva, pressing in as he sucked her clitoral hood back into his mouth. He started twirling his tongue around her engorged nubbin while stroking the vibrator back and forth. He heard her panting increase in tempo, and felt her hands tighten in his hair as a small orgasm washed over her.

He released her clit from his mouth and looked up. "That was quick."

Her hips were still undulating with the movements of the vibrator, and she didn't look down when she spoke. "I was really close when you knocked," she said. "Really, really close."

She groaned loudly as he held the vibrator steady and tilted it against the upper wall of her vagina, pressing in on what he hoped was her g-spot. Her hands tightened again in his hair and pulled his face back to her.

David needed little urging and dove back in, flicking his tongue on her distended lips around the invading vibrator. "My clit," she urged, "suck my clit again." He ignored her, teasing her with light flicks everywhere but her clit.

"Please," she said, and he let the torture end. He pressed the tip of his tongue against her swollen clit and began lazy circles around and around.

"Oh God yes," she moaned. "Take me, baby. Now."

She was pulling his head away, and he pulled the vibrator out as he stood in front of her. She leaned forward and sucked his throbbing cock back into her mouth, pumping him with her fist a few times before breaking away and gasping for air. "Put it in me," she said, spreading her legs wider.

He reached under and grabbed her by the ass, hoisting her up and onto his cock as he turned and pressed her back against the wall.

"Yes, come on," she encouraged as her legs encircled his waist and her hand reached under to guide him in. Feeling his head come into contact with her lips, he looked into her eyes. "Don't tease me," she pleaded, chewing her bottom lip and trying to bounce her hips down onto him.

"What's the hurry?" he said, smiling as he lowered her down inch by agonizing inch.

"Oooohhhhh fuuuuuck," she groaned as he entered and slowly filled her.

David concentrated on holding back. From the moment her pussy swallowed his head, and until he was fully in her, it felt like pure molten lava surrounding his prick. He had been close before, and pleasuring her had only served to excite him more. He wasn't going to last long, but he needed to hold out long enough for her.

He leaned in and, still fully inside, pressed his hips against hers in short jabs. His pubis was rubbing against her clit with every jabbing poke, and he felt the head of his cock poking against her cervix. He realized this was working when he heard her panting in his ear and her hands were clutching at his back, fingernails digging in and scratching over his bare skin.

"Oh David," she gasped into his ear, "just like this, fuck me just like this."

He continued, trying to blank his mind from the sensations running over and through his body and mind. It was no use, though. They hadn't made love, neither of them had had any release, since prior to the shooting eight days before.

"I'm getting close," he warned.

"Come on, honey," she encouraged. "Just keep going."

He did, pressing into her with greater force. He heard her breath expel with every thrust, and knew it wasn't going to be long.

There was no warning, no buildup. Before David knew it, he felt his release shooting through and out of his throbbing cock. With pulse after pulse, he kept coming, hard and deep into her.

Then he felt her nails clutch his back and her own orgasm rumbling through as her panting became a series of short, high-pitched yelps in his ear.

Still he kept his short jabs deep within, not stopping as his own release ended. Cynthia was pushing back at him harder and harder, and her yelps became a loud shriek as her body started spasming between him and the wall. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, and she returned it hungrily, groaning around her flailing tongue as it battled his in her mouth.

Then, as quickly as it came, he felt her breath even out and her body go slack in his arms. David stopped his thrusting and grinding and held her there.

"Been awhile," he whispered in her ear.

She murmured her agreement.

"That's one hell of a surprise you had for me," he said.

He felt a chuckle in her chest. "That wasn't the surprise," she said.

"You don't expect more I hope?"

She lifted her chin from his shoulder and placed her hands on his upper arms. Looking into his eyes, she spoke. "I wasn't sick, David. This morning, it wasn't the flu."

He tilted his head, taking a moment to catch on. When he did, his eyes went wide. "You mean . . . ."

She nodded. "I'm four weeks along."

He stared into her eyes as his face split into a bright smile. He couldn't remember ever getting better news in his whole life, ever feeling better than he did at just this moment. He put his arms around her and hugged her in tight. As she hugged him back, he carried her out of the bathroom and laid her on their bed.

"I love you," he said as he set her down.

"And I love you," she responded.

* * *

When Elizabeth returned from school at three thirty, Will was asleep in the recliner. She heard his soft snoring and watched his chest rise and fall above the bandage wrapped around his ribcage.

"Hi Will," Brandon cried out beside her. He made to dash to Will, but Elizabeth stopped him with a hand.

"Sshhh," she said. "Don't wake him yet."

It was too late, though. She heard his snore break and a quick cough. Then his eyes opened and he leaned up, looking at her and Brandon through narrowed eyelids.

"Hey, Tiger," he said, smiling at Brandon. He looked at Elizabeth. "Hey you."

"Hey yourself." She smiled back, her teeth showing. "Brandon, why don't you go out and play for awhile so I can get these groceries put away."

The little boy trotted back out the door. Elizabeth carried the bags in her hand to the kitchen and put them on the counter. She started putting them into the cupboards and refrigerator, her eyes on Will most of the time.

He pushed himself from the chair, wincing with the effort, looking stiff.

"You feeling okay?"

He tried to smile as he stood and got his balance. "Just a little stiff."

"It's too soon for you to be back at work," she said.

He walked into the kitchen and put his arm on the counter, steadying himself. "Nonsense," he said after a moment. "I'm only working half days. I'm stiff whether I'm here or there, so I might as well be there."

She pursed her lips. "You need to take it easier."

He chuckled. "I sit in a chair all morning, for Chrissakes. Sit in a chair there, sit in a chair here; what's the difference?"

She paused and looked at him. The room was cool, but there were beads of sweat on his forehead from the effort of getting up and walking fifteen feet. She reached over and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, then each of his cheeks.

"There's no fever," he said. "I'm taking the antibiotics, and the wound was clean when I changed the bandages. No sign of infection. I just need to get back my strength is all."

She nodded. "Why don't you go lay down on the bed while I put away the groceries."

He grinned broadly. "Anything in mind?"

She shot him a glance that said no, and he shrugged and walked toward the bedroom. When he was gone, a smile curved her lips as she finished putting away the groceries. When she was done, she looked outside to make sure Brandon was fine. He was, riding his Big Wheel around the driveway with the neighbor girl, whose mother was watching them both from her front porch.

Elizabeth walked back down the hallway and entered the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

"What're you doing?" Will said, his head lifting from the mattress.

"It's been a long time," she said, peeling off her blouse and shimmying her jeans down her slim hips to the floor.

His eyes registered desire as she approached, but his voice was unsure. "I'm not sure how good I'm going to be at this," he said, trying to raise himself onto his elbows.

She put her palm in the middle of his chest and gently pushed him back onto the bed. Going to his pants and undoing them, she said, "Just let me do all the work, okay?"

He nodded, anticipation now evident on his face.

She felt him getting hard as she hooked her fingers around the waist of his pants and boxers and pulled them down. When they cleared his hips, she saw that his excitement was nearly at full peak.

"Someone's happy to see me."

He only nodded, his eyes glazed over as she lowered her mouth to his hardening cock. She sucked him in long and deep, feeling him on the back of her throat. She didn't hold there, though. Instead, she picked up the speed of her lips until she felt him fully erect in her mouth.

"Let's hurry," she said, straddling her legs over his hips. "Brandon's just outside, so we don't have long."

"I'm afraid that's not going to be a problem," he said as she reached between her legs and grabbed his erection, guiding it between her legs.

She placed his head against her slit and started rubbing it back and forth, trying to get herself ready. With her other hand, she started rubbing her clit, feeling it grow harder with her efforts. "God, I've needed this," she said, starting to push down on him. She felt his head sliding in, and she increased the pace of her fingers rubbing her clit.

Elizabeth heard Will's breath expel, and she looked down at him. He was laying flat, his arms at his sides, his head back with lips slightly parted.

"You like this baby?" she said. She slid lower until her inner thighs met his.




Knox County Ch. 09



He only groaned in response.

Elizabeth began gyrating her hips, trying to crush her clit against his pubic area. Still her fingers rubbed, and she felt the moisture building between her legs, easing her movements.

"I love you," he whispered, looking back at her.

She leaned over, pressing her chest against his. "I love you, too." Then she brushed her lips against his and felt him respond. His lips parted, his tongue sought hers. As they kissed, she felt her orgasm building.

He must've sensed it, also. "Hurry," he panted. "I'm not going to last much longer."

She went back to his mouth and kissed him deeper. At the same time, her fingers continued rubbing circles around her clit, and she felt the sensations begin. Then she felt a hand mashing her breast, her hardened nipple being squeezed between thumb and forefinger. This sent her over the edge. She moaned long and low into his mouth, her tongue wrestling with his as her gyrations on his hips quickened.

Then she felt his release, his pulsing cock shooting torrents of cum deep within her belly. "Yes, Will, yes," she repeated over and over again, loving the feeling of him filling her.

They lay side by side on the bed afterward, her stroking his chest and he trying to catch his breath. After a moment, he raised his head and looked at the bandage on his chest. "I don't see any blood," he said.

She looked down. The thought had never crossed her mind, she realized. This was stupid, and she looked at his eyes searching hers.

"I just . . . I didn't even . . . ."

He stroked her face, smiling at her. "That means we can maybe do it again later, after Brandon's asleep."

Her eyes went back to the bandage, searching for any sign of tearing of the sutures.

"No excuses now," he said, grinning.

Still, she was worried. She had let her physical needs overwhelm her common sense. "I don't think we need to send you back to the hospital, do you? I think you can wait a little longer."

He faked a pout. "Really, I'm okay for this."

She shook her head. "I wasn't thinking," she insisted. "The effort could tear the sutures. And I don't want to have to explain to the emergency room nurses how they got torn."

"Well then," he said, "there are ways of making sure that doesn't happen."

She looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. The realization struck when he gently pulled her head toward his waist and her eyes turned to find him already hard again.

"My my," she murmured, "someone's built up a bit of a reserve." She opened her mouth and for the second time in twenty minutes took his hard cock between her lips. He was right, she realized, no way a blow job could hurt him.

"I'll owe you," she heard him say as her mouth began sliding along the length of his prick.

* * *

It had been three weeks since the shooting at the courthouse, and Tim somehow had managed to duck any blame. It helped, of course, that no one knew about his confrontation with George Silverman. Sure, they all suspected it was Silverman who had beaten him up, but no one had a clue that he had returned the favor at Silverman's front door. Better still, no one had an inkling that Tim's relationship with Jenny Silverman was behind the whole mess, just him and Aimee.

He'd expected Aimee to rat him out, but she was still to wrapped up on Sean's recovery to have told anyone. Sean was out of the hospital now, he'd been told, and recovering at home. There were still the occasional reporters milling about town, having lunch at the diners or questioning Tim and his fellow officers, but the story was dying down as Sean recovered. Thank God for that, Tim thought. He knew he couldn't live with further ruining Aimee's life.

Tim closed the door behind him and locked the bolt.

"Hello, stranger," said the voice in the corner, making Tim jump with surprise.

He looked at the source of the voice and saw the figure huddled in the chair, covered in shadows.

"Jenny?"

She said nothing.

"What're you doing here?" Tim was nervous. They hadn't seen each other–for obvious reasons–since her dad had tried to kill him, dying himself in the ensuing gun battle.

He heard her sniffling, and he reached over to turn on the light.

"Don't," she commanded. He froze, withdrawing his hand from the switch. The sniffling resumed.

"Are you okay?" he said. Christ, he didn't know what to do. He tried to adjust his eyes to the light, peering at the huddled figure.

He saw her arm raise, something in her outstretched hand. Then he heard the click of a gun being cocked.

"Jenny, put the gun down." This can't be happening, he thought.

"You killed him," she said. Her voice was scratchy, trying to hold back tears.

He only sighed, the energy leaving him. She was right, he knew. Sure, he hadn't shot the gun that ended her father's life, but he'd set into action a course of events that led to the inevitable result.

"Say something," she screamed, waving the gun. "Beg for your life. Say you're sorry. Anything. Something."

He was going to die, of that he was sure. And for once, he thought, I'm not going to try weaseling my way out of it.

"Are you okay?" he said.

"What the fuck do you think?" she cried. "I'm a fuckin' orphan. Twenty years old, and they're both gone now. There's no one else for me. I'm all alone now." Her crying got louder.

Tim said nothing, just stood there and watched her as his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Her face was a mess of puffy red eyes, running mascara streaking her face black, her hair a tangled thatch of black. He saw her arm lower the gun, its weight drawing her hand to the seat of the chair between her legs.

"I hate you," she said. There was no energy behind it, though.

Tim walked over and sat on the couch facing her. The gun was still in her hands, now only four feet from him.

"Say something," she whispered.

Then it all came to him. He'd done it all, from beginning to end. He'd nearly ruined God knows how many marriages, including his own. Then, when his wife finally found someone who loved her properly, his actions had almost gotten him killed, along with her attorney. And, worst of all, he'd gotten George Silverman killed. Granted, Silverman had tried to kill him, but Tim knew his actions would lead to it. In short, he realized, I've fucked it all up for everyone. Me, just me and no one else. And now was the first time I even thought about the impact Silverman's death had wrought on Jenny.

The guilt was overwhelming, leaving him numb and bone tired.

"Please," she said, nearly inaudible now, "say something."

He looked up and into her eyes. "Shoot me," he said. She cocked her head to the side, surprised at his response. "Please," he insisted, "shoot me. I mean it." Still she didn't move, and he pressed on. "You're right: I'm an asshole. A selfish, stupid fucking asshole, and I've fucked up everything I've ever touched. Including you, the best thing that's happened to me in . . . well . . . ever, really. He's dead because of me. So go ahead, put me–put everyone, for that matter–out of their misery and shoot me." He tapped his finger in the middle of his forehead.

Still she looked at him, frozen in place.

Then he thought of something. "No, wait," he said, trying to chuckle and holding his hand out toward her. "Don't you do it. They'll charge you with murder. Give it to me. I'll do it myself."

He leaned in to take the gun from her, but she moved backward and pressed it in tight to her stomach, covering it with her arms.

"Don't," she screamed, then crawled over the chair and around him. "I don't want you to, Tim."

He was confused by her response. This is what she wanted, wasn't it? Him dead? The fatigue continued washing over him, and he knew now more than ever that it was what he wanted.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I promise. Just me. One shot, done."

She was at the door now, her cell phone in her hand.

"Who are you calling?" he said. He couldn't move, though. He was rooted in the chair, and he realized he didn't care.

"Yes," he heard her say into the phone. "I'm at 1243 Meadows Lane, Apartment Four. Please hurry, I think he's going to try to kill himself." There was a pause, then she said, "Jennifer Silverman. Yes, I'll wait here."

He heard the phone click shut and turned to look at her. She was looking around, her head spinning as she scanned the apartment. Then she saw his holster slung over the back of the chair where he'd laid it when he had entered. He watched her grab it and hold it tight to her. He wanted to do something, to take it from her, but he couldn't. His mind was a blank, and his body sagged as the waves of exhaustion swept through his brain and limbs.

The last thing he remembered was a loud knock on the door and Jenny saying something. "He's over there."

* * *

The psychologist was surprisingly young, Aimee thought. About her age, long brown hair, Hawaiian shirt and chinos under a white lab coat. He was pushing Sean's wheelchair and speaking to both of them as they walked down the long, tiled hallway.

"Clinical depression, best we can figure," he said. "Says he's ruined a lot of lives and wants to make amends. He's insisting, actually, and won't cooperate with us until he sees you two."

Aimee bit back her response. Go ahead and kill your sorry ass self, she thought. She saw Sean look up at her and spot the look in her eyes. He giggled.

Dr. Andrewski mistook Sean's response. "Oh no," he said, "it's common in these cases. Something pushes them to the edge, then they need to put it all right–at least in their own minds–before they can move on and start the healing."

Aimee didn't care if he started the healing. It was Sean who insisted they answer the doctor's call and show up as requested. If it had been up to Aimee, Tim could rot in this dank mental ward.

"Here we are," Dr. Andrewski said, stopping the wheelchair and spinning it, opening the door with his hip and pulling Sean in behind him. "Tim, you have some visitors."

Aimee saw Tim sitting in a chair in the corner, looking out the window. He didn't react to their presence, just sat frozen in place. Jenny Silverman was standing behind him, her lips whispering into his ear while her hands stroked his back.

Aimee was stunned to speechlessness. Tim was a wreck. Big, vibrant, boisterous Tim, the swaggering copper who had done as he pleased, always full of confidence and bravado, sat before her a rumpled shell of his former self. His eyes were vacant and glassy with large, dark pouches of skin sagging beneath them; his hair was a tangled, greasy mess; and his skin pallor was near white. She knew he'd been here less than a week, but he looked like he'd been indoors for months.

She watched Sean take over the wheelchair from the psychologist and draw himself near to Tim. "Hey, Boyo," he said. "Pretty nice day to be pissing off in here, eh?"

Tim's body jumped as if jolted, but he said nothing and his eyes remained staring at the window.

Jenny turned at them, trying to smile but only managing to look nervous. Aimee thought she looked nearly as bad as Tim. Tired, bedraggled, red-rimmed eyes showing she'd done her fair share of crying.

Aimee was frozen in place. Here was her husban–who had repeatedly done all in his power to ruin her life–sitting before her a vision of death. And next to him, looking like a frightened kitten, was one of the women–little more than a girl, really–who had banged him behind her back. She should have hated them, should leave them here together to their own mutual miseries and self-destruction.

Something in Jenny's eyes stopped these feelings cold, though. Terror, she realized. Terror that everything was gone. A terror far worse than Aimee had suffered.

Against her own conscious thoughts, Aimee walked to Jenny and took her in her arms. She felt the girl stiffen in her arms, a bundle of bone and sinew tightening. After a few seconds, Jenny's arms encircled Aimee's waist and she felt the hug tighten further. Then Jenny's face went to the base of Aimee's neck and she felt dampness on her skin.

Jenny wasn't that much younger than her, but Aimee held her as she would a small child. She was a lost little girl, and the events had clearly overwhelmed her. Aimee started stroking her hair and whispering into her ear that it would all be fine while watching Sean's approach to Tim.

"Y'know," Sean said to Tim, "it's all going to be fine." He placed his hand on Tim's forearm. "Really, a few more weeks of this and I'll be good as new."

Tim turned for the first time, looking at the hand on his forearm before turning to Sean. His lips moved, but nothing came out.

Sean squeezed the forearm. "Nah," he said, waving a hand at Tim, "no need to get all worked up about it. Just a wee bit of lead poisoning. But hey, I'm Irish. Takes a bit more than that to get me down, huh?"

Tim's head turned and took in Aimee holding Jenny. He stared into Aimee's eyes, pressing his lips together, and Aimee tried to smile at him. "She's a pretty girl," Aimee said. "But she needs some support now, don't you think?"

Tim said nothing, but she thought she detected a small nod.

"That's a yes, then?" Sean said, slapping Tim on the back. Tim turned back to him and nodded visibly. Sean beamed. 

Sean turned and looked at Aimee, his eyes darting from her to Jenny squeezed in her arms. He rose his eyebrows at her, and Aimee understood. She hesitated, then nodded.

"Good, then," Sean said, turning his attention back to Tim. "It's settled. She'll come stay with us for awhile, until you get it back together. Sound good?"

Aimee heard Jenny choke back a sob, then felt the squeeze tighten around her waist.

"Now, Tim, why don't you say something?" Sean continued. "You dragged me away from the telly and all the way down here to talk to us, so let's not make this a complete waste, okay?"

Tears began welling in Tim's eyes, and Aimee watched them start trailing down his sunken cheeks. His mouth moved, but only croaks came out.

Aimee was transfixed. It was like that Munsch painting. Scream. The look of anguish on his face was stark.

Sean turned back to Aimee. "Why don't you go get her a spot of tea," he suggested. "Leave us alone for a few."

Aimee nodded, pulling Jenny toward the door.

She heard Sean speaking softly to Tim as she and Jenny left to find the cafeteria.

* * *

Elizabeth sat in the chair, her legs thrown over the arms, and watched Aimee sketching in the outlines.

"No, really, he's getting better," Aimee said, looking at the figure crouched in the corner of the sofa ten feet in front of her.

"Yeah," Elizabeth said, "Will, too. Way better, as a matter of fact."

She saw Aimee's eyebrows lift at that. "I can't wait 'til Sean's that much better."

The figure on the sofa sniffled.

"Relax, dear," Aimee said to the girl.

Jenny jerked her head up and down, trying to nod.

"C'mon, Jenny," Elizabeth said, her mind getting back to the matter at hand, "tell us how you're feeling." Elizabeth had been on that sofa many times, being interrogated by Sean for weeks on end. Strangely, she'd always felt better when it was done, as if weights were gradually being lifted from her.

Jenny only stared, though. Her mouth moved, but no words emanated, and her arms pulled her legs tighter to her chest.

Elizabeth watched Sean walk into the room. It was slow going, and he was obviously stiff and sore, but he kept the lopsided grin on his face the entire distance from the doorway to the sofa.

He ran his fingers through Jenny's hair before gingerly settling on the couch next to her.

"Hey little girl," he said.

"Hi," Jenny responded, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes locked on his, though, and held there as her body gradually loosened.

"You doing okay now?"

She nodded.

Elizabeth saw Aimee tear the sketch from her pad before starting on a new one. The sofa was quickly drawn in before she started on the outlines of the two figures before her.

"Go ahead," Sean continued after a moment. "Tell us what's wrong."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she seemed not to notice. Instead, her gaze remained riveted to Sean.

"Go ahead," he urged.

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm alone now. My parents are dead, Tim's . . . well, Tim's not there. No one's there."

"We're here," he said, placing his hand over hers and squeezing. "All of us. We're here for you." He turned to Aimee, and Elizabeth saw her face tighten before softening. She nodded.

"We're all here for you," Elizabeth said.

Jenny turned to Elizabeth before looking at Aimee. "But after all I've done, Tim's done. You know . . . ."

Aimee forced a smile, then put her pencil down.

"That's all past," she said to Jenny. "And that was Tim, not you." She paused. "Well, I guess it was you, too. But you didn't owe me, didn't even know me. So I'm not angry with you. Tim hurt me, Jenny, not you."

Jenny nodded, sniffling and reaching up to brush away the tears spilling down her face. She turned back to Sean. "And now you're all being so nice to me," she continued. "And I'm afraid about . . . I don't know . . . about what comes next, I suppose. When you guys get tired of me."

Sean reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks. "We're not going to get tired of you," he said. "I promise."

He turned and looked at Elizabeth and Aimee. "Me, too," Elizabeth said. "I'll be there for you, okay?"

Jenny turned to her and nodded, a smile trying to form on her lips.

Elizabeth turned to Aimee and saw the conflict in her face. She knew Jenny saw the same conflict, and her smile disappeared as she shrunk back into herself.

Seeing this, Aimee put her pencil down and tried to gather herself. She relaxed, and Elizabeth watched her walk to the sofa and kneel in front of Jenny, stroking her hair as she spoke.

"Jenny, I can't promise it'll be easy, okay?"

Jenny was unable to look at her as she spoke, so Aimee continued. "I admit there's a lot I still have to work out. But it's not you, honey. Just know that, okay?"

Jenny nodded, her eyes still avoiding Aimee.

"And no matter what, you'll be welcome here as long as you need to be, okay?"

Jenny now turned and looked at Aimee. Elizabeth watched her body tense and her head lean into Aimee's stroking hand.

"Now come on, let's seal the deal," Aimee said. She put her arms around Jenny and pulled her tight, hugging her against her chest.

Jenny tightened at first, but then Elizabeth saw her body relax and her arms go around Aimee. Then she heard the quiet crying muffled in Aimee's neck.

* * *

Will walked in the door and threw his jacket over the chair.

"I'm home," he called out.

"Will," said Brandon, tearing out of the back hallway and running into his outstretched arms.

"Hey, Tiger," he said, picking the little boy up and giving him a hug.

"Brandon," Elizabeth chastized before glaring at Will. "Put him down before you hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," he replied, hugging Brandon to his hip and walking into the kitchen. "Want a pop or something?"

He reached into the refrigerator and retrieved a Diet Pepsi, then turned to face Elizabeth.

"Really, baby, I'm fine. The stitches have been out for weeks now, and the doctor said I'm okay. Just some more exercise needed to get the muscles back to where they were."

Still she said nothing. Knowing he was beat, Will put Brandon down. "Go outside and play for a few minutes, will you?"

Brandon nodded. "Sorry for getting you in trouble again," he whispered loud enough for all to hear.

Will smiled and tousled his hair. "Don't worry about it, Tiger."

Brandon ran to the door and was outside before Elizabeth spoke.

"Goddamnit, Will, you can't keep doing that. You're going to–"

"Nothing. I'm going to nothing. The doctor said I'm fine, no restrictions."




Knox County Ch. 09



He saw her face was still tense, though.

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" She shook her head, and he pressed. "Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"You don't understand, Will. I almost lost you. I don't want to go through that again, okay?"

He laughed. "So that's why you still insist being on top every time? You're afraid of breaking me?"

She smiled at this, then nodded slowly.

"Well, as much as I like it, it's getting a little boring. I think I'd rather be dead than have to suffer through just that position for the rest of my life."

Her eyes flared. "Boring is it? Making love to me has become boring?"

"That's not what I meant," he said. "But yes, it's becoming too routine. You're too tentative, and you won't let it loose."

He watched her face, seeing her mull this over in her mind.

"So if ever we get married, and make this permanent, then I suppose you'll quickly tire of the same old same old?"

He smiled. "Oh no, not by a long shot. Then we'll be doing it doggy style, sixty-nine, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, missionary, standing, sitting, bent over the couch. Have I missed any here?"

Her face brightened. "No, that seems to about cover it, I suppose."

"And when all of that gets too boring, I suppose I'll have to invest in toys and the like."

A grin curled her lips. "Toys? Pray tell."

He shrugged. "You know, anal beads, vibrators, dildos, stuff like that."

"You got an ass fetish, don't you?"

"Just your ass."

"And you want to try that sometime, don't you?"

He nodded. "Very much so."

She nodded. "Well, that one's reserved for my husband only, you know."

He knew. They'd had this talk in the past. After her previous career, she insisted that something be saved for her husband, and he intended to fix that issue once and for all.

"Strange you should bring that up," he said, his face getting serious.

"What?"

"Well, you graduate in two weeks, right?" She nodded. "And you already have a job lined up, right?" She nodded again. "And you love me heaps and gobs, right?" She paused, afraid to draw the connections he was drawing. After a moment, she nodded.

Will walked to his jacket thrown over the chair and reached inside. "Then I guess my only question is whether we have to actually be married before you keep your end of the bargain?"

He turned and dropped to his knees. "Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

She looked at his eyes before looking at the large diamond engagement ring in the palm of his outstretched hand.

Her hands flew to her mouth and she tried to hold back the tears.

"You going to keep me hanging here?" Will said after a moment, starting to rise.

She rushed at him and hugged him tightly, pushing him backward into the chair. "Yes," she said, smothering his face in kisses. Then she stood back and watched as he slid the ring onto her finger.

They resumed kissing for several minutes, their hands stroking each other's bodies.

"Wait," Elizabeth said, breaking the embrace and pushing herself away and looking into his eyes. "You're not just doing this for a shot at my ass, are you?"

He grinned. "Well . . . ."

She punched him on the shoulder before falling back into his arms.

* * * 

Hollister stood in the studio, staring at each painting for several minutes before moving onto the next. At works in progress, he nodded and sometimes mumbled, at completed paintings he stared longer and more intently, rarely saying anything.

After a half hour and nearly a dozen paintings, he started on a new painting and his body froze. He looked back at the painting he had just come from, then peered deeper into the one now before him.

"Sean," he said, "what's this? I've . . . you've . . . this is new."

Sean saw Aimee stiffen beside him, biting her lower lip.

"You don't like it then?" Sean said.

Hollister didn't answer. Instead, he snuck a peek at the next painting to his right, looking at it before going back to the painting before him.

"No," he said, his eyes now looking at the next three paintings down the line. "No, it's not that. Actually, I do like it. Quite a bit, truth be told. But they're different from what you normally do. The style, use of color; particularly the use of color. Much more bold. Still, really quite good."

Sean saw Aimee's body relax and a smile turn up the corner of her lips. She shot a glance at Sean.

"You're joking," Emily chirped in, seeing the unspoken communication between Sean and Aimee.

Hollister turned and faced them. "Joking?" he said, then saw the conspiratorial looks between Sean and Aimee. His eyes narrowed, then he turned back and paced the last five paintings he's perused. "They're unsigned," he said. "The new ones . . . you didn't . . . ."

"Aimee did them," Sean said. He was beaming now, his arms folded over his chest.

"Oh Aimee," Emily squealed, throwing her arms around Aimee and pecking her cheek before going on. "They're beautiful. I didn't know you were . . . that you. . . ."

Hollister's face became a mask, his arms folding over his chest as he rocked on his heels.

"Did you do any part of these paintings, Sean?"

Sean grinned, but Aimee exploded. "You pompous bastard," she said.

Hollister ignored her, staring at Sean. "Sean, please answer my question."

Aimee started to speak, but Sean silenced her with a hand on her shoulder.

"No, Roger, she did them all by herself. Every last line and splotch."

Again, Aimee started to speak, but Sean shook his head. Hollister turned back to the paintings and looked at the next six in line, both finished and unfinished. As he did so, Sean pulled Aimee over to the sofa and sat, putting his fingers to his lips to keep her silent.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Hollister turned and walked to a chair, sitting and crossing his legs. "Who's the subject of the last three?" he asked.

Aimee looked at Sean, expecting him to answer. Instead, he looked back at her and nodded.

"Jenny Silverman," Aimee said, looking at Hollister now.

"The girl who's father shot Sean?"

Aimee nodded. "And whose boyfriend used to be my husband," she said.

"Why aren't they signed?"

Aimee shrugged, but Hollister just stared back, waiting for an answer.

"They're just practice, I guess," Aimee said.

"You've done others?"

Aimee nodded.

"Then where are they?" Hollister asked, looking around the room at the other paintings as he did so.

"Mostly underneath the ones you're looking at," Sean answered for her. "They were crap."

Aimee shot him a surprised look, and Sean could see she was upset by this. Sean just shrugged in response. Better for her to learn to take criticism now, he thought.

"Well," Hollister said, pausing to look once again at the paintings before turning back to Aimee, "these are not crap. Not exactly masterpieces yet, but definitely not crap."

Sean saw Aimee's lips tighten, waiting to hear the next words.

Sean heard the doorbell in the background just before Hollister spoke again. Someone else–probably Jenny–would get it, though, so he didn't move.

Hollister took one final look at the paintings before fixing Aimee with a stare. "I suppose I have for you only one question." Aimee bit her lip, waiting. Hollister continued, "Do you have an agent in mind yet?"

Sean heard two things at once. He heard Aimee respond, "Do you really think . . . ."

Then he heard a long, high pitched scream from Jenny in the background. "Noooo. . . ."

* * *

When Sean met Cynthia and David at the door, she could see the shock was numbing him.

"I came as quickly as I could," she said, looking over his shoulder.

Aimee was cradling a sobbing Jenny on the couch, rocking her. Cynthia saw tears on Aimee's face as well, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"I didn't know who else to call," Sean said. His voice was barely a whisper, and he turned and looked at Aimee and Jenny, frozen.

"Come on," David said, guiding Sean by the elbow toward the kitchen.

Cynthia strode to the couch and sat on the end. "Aimee, what is it?"

Aimee looked at her, trying to find the words and choking several times before clearing her throat and speaking.

"It's Tim," she said. "He's dead. Killed himself."

At that, Jenny sobbed louder and Aimee pressed her tighter.

Cynthia's jaw dropped. "When? Why?"

"About an hour ago. They just told us maybe twenty, thirty minutes ago. The police . . . they knew he was dating Jenny . . . that she was here. They told his mother, then they came here to tell us."

"But suicide?" Cynthia couldn't believe it. Big, strapping, cocky-as-hell Tim, always in command of everyone and everything. People like Tim didn't kill themselves. There had to be a mistake.

Aimee said noting in response, just continued rocking Jenny back and forth, trying to calm her down.

Cynthia sat watching, unsure what to do. She didn't realize she was stroking Jenny's back until she saw her face turn to her, a mask of anguish, and fall into her arms. Without conscious thought, she felt her arms open and pull the girl toward her.

After a few minutes, Cynthia heard the whistle of a tea pot. Moments later, she saw David enter from the kitchen carrying a tea pot and some mugs, followed close behind by Sean carrying the remainder of the mugs and a pitcher of milk.

David nodded Sean toward a chair and poured tea into the mugs, handing them out to Aimee and Sean. He then held a mug toward Cynthia and nodded at Jenny.

"Jenny," Cynthia said, "drink some tea. You'll feel better." She tried to gently push the girl away from her shoulder and toward David, but Jenny held on tightly.

David kneeled next to them. "Please, sweetie, have some tea." She turned her head to look at him, and he tried to smile. "Tell you the truth, you'll still feel like shit, but at least you'll have something warm in your belly, okay?"

Cynthia felt Jenny nod against her shoulder, and she saw a shaking hand reach out and retrieve the mug of tea. After a minute, the sobbing had subsided and Jenny was sitting on her own.

David nodded his head toward the hallway and Cynthia rose and followed him there.

"This one's kind of out of the blue, huh?" he said when they were alone.

Cynthia nodded. She was unsure what to do, afraid any reaction would set David off and bring up wounds that had just begun healing.

"Can't say as I'm really all that upset," David continued, "but still, can't say as I'd want the rotten prick dead." He looked over his shoulder and at the three sitting like zombies in the living room, cupping their hot mugs and staring vacantly into space.

David looked back at her. "Why's Sean taking this so hard?" he asked.

She heard concern in his voice, and thought hard trying to come up with an answer. "Probably because he just went through something like this awhile back. When his wife died." She looked at the three of them, and Sean was now staring at Aimee, his pain obvious. "And because I think because she's hurting so bad, too. Y'know, like if I was in pain because my brother or someone died. Wouldn't you be hurting, too?"

He nodded. "Okay," he said, "that makes sense. So what do we do?"

Cynthia chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before answering. "I think we've got to get Jenny out of here," she said.

David raised his eyebrows.

"Sean and Aimee can take care of themselves," she explained. "They'll work through it. Sean's only hurting because Aimee's hurting–mostly, at least–and Aimee's already divorced from him. She'll get over it quicker because she's got Sean. But leaving Jenny here just seems . . . I don't know . . . I think that'll drag all of them down. She's now lost the only two men in her life, her father and her lover, and she'll take awhile. I think she'll keep that festering here with Sean and Aimee." She looked at David, who was watching the three in the living room as he listened. "Don't you think so?"

He turned back, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I guess you're right. But she's . . . well, a stranger. You sure you want this?"

Cynthia shrugged. "No, I'm not. But I don't see any other way around it, dear. She's alone. Her parents and boyfriend are gone. I'm pretty sure she was an only child. I don't know about aunts and uncles, but I haven't heard her speak about any of them, either. Not since her dad was killed. And we can't let her go back to her apartment–their apartment–all alone."

"Fuck, even I'd kill myself in her shoes I guess." David let another breath out, then pulled Cynthia into a hug. "Are you sure you'll be okay? You know, with everything we're . . . . I mean, you're pregnant, for Chrissakes. This won't be too much on you?"

"No, dear," she whispered into his ear. "I helped Sean through it once, and he was a total stranger, too. I suppose I can do it again."

David looked down at her and tried to grin, but she could see it was forced. "You're not going to try to help her through it the way you helped Sean, are you?"

She knew what he was talking about, and she smiled. "No, David, I don't think I swing that way."

* * *

Aimee was surprised to see Will and Elizabeth at the funeral, and she approached their table at the luncheon afterward.

"This is a surprise," Aimee said, sitting across from them.

Will crossed his throat and looked at Elizabeth, who in turn looked at Aimee.

"Me, too," she said. "Said he had to be there, though. After all they'd been through at the shooting and all. Kind of puts a strange closure to it, I think."

Aimee nodded. Strange as it sounded, she understood. Will's tension relaxed, and he held his hand across the table toward Aimee.

"We're really sorry, Aimee. I know you were divorced and all, but still."

Aimee nodded. "Yeah, can't just shut it all off overnight. And thanks."

Aimee looked at Elizabeth's hand and smiled. "Does that mean congratulations are in order?"

"For what?" Sean asked, stepping behind Aimee and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Her left hand, babe," Aimee said. Elizabeth held out her hand to Sean, showing him the glittering engagement ring.

"Oh," he said. "Nice ring."

Aimee turned back and up, looking at Sean. "They're engaged, Sean."

He was taken aback, then a big grin split his face. "Oh, that's right. You Americans wear that on your left hand. We do it on the right in Ireland." He looked from Will to Elizabeth. "That's great, guy. Congratulations."

Will and Elizabeth both said their thanks.

"Give you any ideas?" Aimee asked.

"Like what?" Sean responded.

She held her bare left fingers in front of his face and flexed them.

"You're kidding, right?" he said.

She shook her head. "We're not getting any younger here," she said.

Sean cleared his throat, looking around the room trying to spot someone.

"Oh look," he said, pointing, "it's David and Cynthia. We should go say hello, don't you think?"

Will suppressed a laugh, coughing into his hand.

"I don't think you're getting out of this that easily," Elizabeth said.

Aimee pouted her lower lip, but Sean was already striding across the room.

* * *

David couldn't remember being happier in the past year than he was this day. The crisp autumn air carried a slight breeze, the leaves were brilliant hues of gold and scarlet, and everyone around him was giddy with joy. Cynthia held a twinkle in her eye as she held the tiny baby in her arms, while little Sean David Holloway clumsily walked between her and the proud, beaming parents of the baby boy.

Jenny was smiling, too, something she'd done all too rarely in the past eighteen months. She was dressed in a bright yellow dress, and her gaunt frame was filled out some. The crew cut young man holding her hand was lost in his doting on her, and she was enjoying the attention he showered at every turn.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest intoned at the front of the church, "will you please rise."

As one, the congregation rose to its feet and the organ began the wedding march.

The bride appeared at the back, aglow in her white gown and gauzy veil. Behind the veil, David saw tears of joy welling in her eyes. At the altar, the groom was beaming, his body a tense coil of giddiness ready to burst at the seams.

"She's beautiful," he heard in his ear.

"As beautiful as Elizabeth was at your wedding," David responded in a whisper.

Will nodded, now cradling his baby girl and kissing her tiny, wrinkled forehead.

He felt a hand take his, a gentle squeeze. "It's good to see everyone happy," Cynthia whispered to him.

David's eyes traveled to Sean at the altar, his chest about to burst from his tuxedo. Then he watched Aimee, clearly restraining herself from running up the aisle into his arms. Roger Hollister led her slowly, beaming to be giving his up and coming artistic star away in matrimony to his best–and most beloved–client ever. Emily, the maid of honor, weeping openly and loudly at the import of the moment. Looking over Will's shoulder was Elizabeth, smiling as she made faces at little Nicole while Will's face was transfixed by a look of contentment. Jenny, on the other side of Cynthia, tears now welling in her eyes as her boyfriend tried to do something but was lost as to what. Finally at Cynthia and little Sean, both beaming their joy.

David pulled Cynthia and Sean to him. "Yes," he agreed, "it's good to see that it's all worked out."

Finis

Author's Comments. All right, here it is, the unanswered questions. First, the most glaring absence is an explanation for Tim's suicide. This should be self-evident, though: He finally realized the import of all he had done and, sensing this, could not live with the guilt. This was made painstakingly clear in the scene in the mental hospital, and I saw no reason to add another scene to spell out that he was crushed irrevocably. How did he commit suicide? Who cares is my simple response. It's irrelevant. What's relevant is that he did commit suicide. Frankly, it was tough enough killing the rotten bastard off–and the main reason this story took so long; I really wanted to marry him off to Jenny–without having to go into the gory details. Still, I just couldn't have him and Jenny living happily ever after because it wasn't believable. How could they really be happy together when she knew how they'd met, how he was at least partially responsible for her father's death, and how he'd probably revert to his old ways? It seemed easier, and happier, to kill him off and show Jenny finding happiness.

Another glaring omission is whether Aimee was successful as an artist. The final scene indicates she now has an agent and is an up and coming star. In the art world, this seemed believable and a sign of things to come. Ergo, enough said.

If you spot any other omissions or have any other questions, send me a comment or questions and I'll do my best to answer.

Thanks again for taking the time to slog through this convoluted mess!