When The Rain Falls

24. The Flush on Her Cheeks

24 THE FLUSH ON HER CHEEKS

AIMEE

Aimee

Hey

Aimee

Whatchya doing

Aimee

Do you miss my smart mouth?

Aimee

How about my smart ass?

Aimee

I’m trying to pick another scary movie to watch. Maybe you can help.

Aimee

I Know What You Did Last...night.

Aimee

Scream (my name)

Aimee

What We Do In the Shadows.

Aimee

That one’s pretty self-explanatory.

Aimee

Hello?

I’m doing the sex math. But nothing adds up.

We kissed. We kissed again. He slapped my ass. He put his mouth on my freaking nipples. And then it ended. It wasn’t supposed to end. It was supposed to go to the next step. That’s how sex works. That’s how it’s always worked in the past. It’s always been simple. One plus one plus one plus one plus one equals sex. Not, “This is as far as it goes, Aimee.” But with Finn, nothing follows the normal pattern. He’s perpetually confusing me.

My whole life I’ve been valued by men according to how good I make them feel. And I thought I was making him feel good. It sure felt that way. The way the full, hard length of him rose beneath me. The urgency in his touch. Then he just stopped.

These are all the things I’m puzzling over as I walk across the street to his house. But when Ruby answers the door, I have new things to puzzle over. Because I instantly know something’s wrong. The house is cold. The lights are off. It feels haunted. Nothing is creepier than dark, still rooms filled with empty furniture. This is practically the set of the horror movie we watched last night.

Ruby looks at me, her hair in a rough ponytail. From the slippers on her feet and the baggy t-shirt draping her frame, she’s either on her way to bed or I interrupted her sleep.

"Hey," she says flatly. She doesn’t look surprised to see me. She doesn't smile. She just walks away from the open door and begins to trudge upstairs. Leaving me alone to fend off the feeling of unease that seems to have settled over the house.

I’m about to call up to her. To explain that I left my earbuds and came to look for them, when she says, “If you’re looking for Dad, he’s missing.”

Missing?

I pause mid-step as I close the door behind me. How does a grown adult just go missing from suburbia? Is this why he hasn’t answered any of my text messages today?

"What do you mean, missing ?" I ask. I feel my eyebrows squeeze together.

"We don't know where he went," she says from midway up the stairs. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” Her hand wraps around the railing and that’s when I notice that there’s a sheen in her eyes. “Don’t really care if he’s here in the morning.”

I remember seeing his van out front. It’s impossible to miss. A giant, shiny sore spot parked in the middle of the driveway. I walk down the hall. The kitchen is unusually messy. Dinner dishes stacked in and around the sink. There's an opened box of cereal on the counter. And an empty container of cookies. I have a pretty good idea about what was for dinner.

"Finn?" I call out as I walk past the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the TV room. “Bear?” I fluctuate my voice in a sing-song. “Come out, come out,” I sing, before whispering, “you big, sexy, frustrating man.” I poke the blanket on the couch, but it doesn’t reveal a body. Ok. He really isn’t here.

As I walk back through the dining room, I catch the faintest din of music. I pause, strain my ears, and realize it’s coming from outside. I walk to the sliding door and peer onto the back deck. It’s even darker than in the house. But I catch the unmistakable form of a muscular, huddled shape at the far end of the deck.

Bingo.

I open the sliding door a crack. Without the glare from the window, he's a little easier to see. His broad, hunched back makes him look more boulder than man. A boulder in a dark blue shirt.

“You know, most people just watch TV,” I tease. The boulder doesn’t move. I open the door wider, step onto the deck, and let the cool air hit me square in the face. Up until last night, I was wild with anticipation. Wondering what it would feel like to be touched by him. And now I know. And I’m desperate for more.

As I approach, the music grows louder. It’s a soft, romantic tune but the mood of the dark evening makes it sound somber. I make my way towards the huddled mass on the edge of the steps, the cold planks of the deck echoing my footsteps.

"Wow. You know how to party, bear. Easy boy. Aren’t you a little old for ragers?” I laugh, but my amusement is not returned. When I ease down beside him, the damp from the recent rain instantly soaks my thin cotton shorts. Finn doesn’t register my presence. Almost like he’s spellbound.

“Hey, you listening?” I ask, prodding his arm with my elbow. I can’t help but notice how amazing he smells. Masculine pine mixed with the comfort of warm linens. His muscles ripple across his rounded back as they pull the fabric taught.

"Aimee, go.” His tone is gruff, but there’s a strangle in his voice.

“I don’t really take commands. I’m more of the giving type,” I tease.

“I don’t have the energy for this tonight,” he growls.

“Do you also not have the energy for Vivian and Ruby? Is that why you just disappeared on them?” My question is pointed. A dig. And it makes him bristle.

“Aimee, go the fuck home,” he sighs.

The command stings. Like a tiny whiplash across my heart. But I don’t move. Because he’s clearly hurting and I have a feeling that he could use a companion. I’ve noticed this about him. He gives in fully to his feelings. To sadness. Anger. He lets it swallow him whole. I, on the other hand, am always running from mine.

“Bear, did something happen? With Ruby? Are you ok?”

" Did something happen …" Finn repeats the words, pure malice ripping through his voice. “That’s a fucking question. A lot of somethings happened.”

“You want to talk about it?”

His hard eyes, grey and disturbed, tell me no.

The music, which is apparently coming from Finn’s phone, reaches a dramatic high point. A powerful voice holds a long, steady note. I let it lure me in.

“Ok, then.” I move on. “Want to tell me what we’re listening to?” Perhaps if I get him talking about something else, I can distract him. Distractions always work for me.

“My wedding song.”

His answer hits me surprisingly hard. He’s thinking about her again. Does she always live in his head? I recall the young people in the photograph. I imagine them dancing. Smiling. Giant grins. Soft touches. Foreheads pressed together. She must have been so special. To leave such a lasting imprint on him. Could I ever leave an imprint on someone? How do you know when you have?

“You think about her a lot,” I observe. As my statement comes out, I realize it might sound harsh or even critical. I try to soften it a bit. “I’ve never really lost anyone I’ve loved. I don’t know what that’s like.” It almost hurts to confess this. But not as much as the next truth to come bearing down on me. I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved because I’ve never loved. Period.

He grabs a lungful of night air and massages the palm of one hand. “Is every day a lot?” He drops his head slightly. “Is there even a normal amount?” He takes a ragged breath. “It’s usually just little things. Realizing I haven’t bought cream cheese in years because she was the only one who liked bagels. Or when I put her favorite mug in the cupboard when I’m unloading the dishes.” He pauses and picks at his palm. “The other day, when you went into my closet,” he adds, “you were the first woman to be in there since her.”

I can’t help but wonder what other little things he thinks about her when we’re together. It must be hard to go about your life constantly haunted by memories.

“And then sometimes it’s the heavier stuff. The crushing stuff. And it’s hard to breathe. And for a second, life kinda pauses. I mean, more like, it continues around me. I’m the one who’s paused. Like I’m stuck.”

As he shares this, the moment grows fragile. Like he just tipped himself upside down. Emptied his heart on my lap. I can’t help but want to wrap it up in something protective. To take care of it.

A calm settles over Finn as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. I lean against him and run my fingers up the corded muscles of his back. The scent of him coaxes me closer. He presses our knees together and my body heats.

We just sit there for a moment. In silence. Absentmindedly, I trace a stretch mark on my leg. I run my finger along the smooth, silver line and wonder. If your skin stretches when your body grows too quickly, what happens when your heart does the same? Does it also leave a mark? Because it feels like my heart is expanding at the intimacy of this quiet moment.

His gaze falls on mine and our eyes meet. I watch the grey pools of his irises turning soft with pain. I want to remove it. Cover it. Make it go away. So, I loop my arms around his neck in a hug. He doesn’t react at first, but then he wraps me up in him. I feel enveloped in his hard muscles and his soft breath. He slides a hand up my back and cradles my head.

“Is there anything that makes you feel unstuck?” I nuzzle my head against his chest. The question is almost automatic. It’s what I do. What I’ve done my whole life. Always look for the most direct route out of discomfort.

His face falls to the crook of my neck. “You make me feel unstuck,” is his soft reply. “You,” he continues. “Watching you. Shining so bright. In the middle of a fucking thunderstorm.” His words pour into my chest. I fill my very lungs with them. I feel like I could hold my breath and still survive for days, off those words alone. “Except the thunderstorm is my goddamn life. And it doesn’t ever end.”

When he plants a kiss at the base of my neck, it warms my entire body. I like the idea that I can be something for somebody. Especially for him. But then the truth twists my stomach. What he said about me isn't true. I’m not always bright. Not really. Some of my smiles are lies. Lies to hide how hollow I feel.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m just faking it,” I finally confess.

“You’re not faking it,” he assures me, not just with his words but with the softness in his eyes. “I see you, Aimee. And you’re not faking it. You’re brightness to your core. There’s nothing wrong with being unhappy once in a while. That doesn’t mean you’re faking it.” He brushes his jaw against my face. The faint touch of his lips finds its way against the apple of my cheek. “Just don’t go making it a goddamn habit, like I do.”

“It’s hard to feel bright. Not when you don’t feel…” My voice trails off because my throat is growing thick as it forms around the word.

“Tell me,” he urges. “What don’t you feel?” His thumb flicks lightly across my waist.

“Wanted.” The truth slips out. It just slips out so easily with him. I pull away so I can rest my gaze in the comfort of his familiar stormy eyes. Emboldened by my confession, I keep going, “by anyone. By someone. For more than just a night.”

Finn’s fingers suddenly dig into my skin. A growl rolls around in the back of his throat. “You never felt wanted, Aimee?” I can almost hear his control snapping, like a taut rubber band. “You been with all those fucking Jacks . More than you can count. And they’ve never made you feel wanted?” His breath is hot on my face now.

“Goddamn fuckers.” His attention falls down my chest. It falls heavily over my body. It takes in my curves, laps at the hem of my shorts. His thick lips twitch as he scours me.

He sighs. He looks hesitant and then he finally says, “What if I wanted you?” He continues, his voice practically a whisper, “What if …” He struggles over the words. “Aimee, when I look at you, I see fire. I see something bold and spirited. And, fuck, I want it. I want you .” His confession and his quickening breath makes me prickle with excitement.

I know the look on his face. The hunger. The desire. It’s how all the other men in my life have looked at me.

Isn’t it?

I find myself desperate to give in. Completely. His words are setting me on fire. But I’m not sure what I’m giving in to. Is this the same old games? The same rehearsed lines? Or is this something more?

He says he wants me now. But what about last night? The signals he’s giving me are always changing. “If you want me, then you need to prove it,” I whisper seductively into his ear. “Show me.” I trail my hand along the stubble of his jaw. It tenses and tightens beneath my touch. The veins in his neck jump. The muscles across his body contract.

He reminds me of a stallion now. Irises wild and untamed. Nostrils flaring. Still, but dangerous. Coiled with tension. I want to feel that power, that danger, on my skin. With my every nerve. Across my whole body.

“Aimee,” he growls again. “You want me to prove it?”

I find the rasp in my voice. The one that drives men to the edge. And I slip it on. “I want you to touch me.” I trace the curve of his bicep, follow the vein up his arm.

Finn is breathing heavy. His chest surging up and down when he finally wraps his hand in my hair and pulls gently, tipping my chin to the sky. When his lips trail down my neck, a terrible, wonderful thumping grows faster inside my chest. It settles heavy between my legs.

He guides me down against the cool planks of the decks as he leans over my body. Our lips meet, but he’s the one driving the kiss. His muscled frame taking control from above me. Pushing me into the deck like he can’t get close enough.

The plush of his thick lips massage mine. He parts my mouth and flicks his tongue in. He kisses me with so much power and passion that it forces me to respond in kind. When I moan, there’s nothing rehearsed about it. And when I cry his name into his open mouth, there’s nothing rehearsed about that, either.

For the first time, my body is responding spontaneously. This doesn’t feel like I’m chasing a thrill. For once, it doesn’t feel like I’m checking off steps, like following a recipe. It feels organic. It feels like he’s sent me into a free fall with him. But in a freefall that makes me feel safe.

His hand skims gently over a breast and sends a wave of need down my body. My chin tips to the sky and my back arches when his palm flattens against my skin and begins to slide downward. Then his fingers are at the band of my shorts, teasing and tempting me before they dip below.

Finn told me I made him feel unstuck. And now he’s the one who’s freeing me. Freeing me from the tiring loop of worn out phrases and clichéd moves. It feels like running through an open meadow with no defined trail, the wind on my face, and a universe of possibilities opening at my feet. It’s absolutely exhilarating.

Finn’s arm is toned and thick as it brushes against my breast. His hand disappears beneath my shorts and then, he pauses.

“Should I keep going, Aimee?” He nuzzles his face into the cove where my neck meets my shoulder, kissing my skin and dragging his mouth along the column of my neck. And it feels like he’s all over my body now. Because then the rough pads of his fingers skim distractingly lower. I can’t find my voice. I’m distracted by the pulse between my legs, flickering hot and desperate.

“Aimee, fuck. Answer me.” Finn’s voice is flustered, grasping for control. But there’s nothing for him to grab but my body. Open, inviting, begging.

“Do I really need to answer?” I whimper. “When it’s so clear that I’ve been begging for you for days? Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?”

His hands slip lower, to where I’m slippery and slick. His fingers tease me there, exploring me. My breathing hollows out. Then he’s sliding back up. Wet fingers finding the spot where I’m tender and needy. It’s his flesh against mine. And it’s equally soothing and unsettling. The way his touch calms me, but also drives my hunger higher. A moan of deep pleasure passes from my lips as he presses in soft, gentle circles.

“Goddamn, this soft pussy. Is this how you imagined it, Aimee? Each time you thought about me touching you?”

“No,” I whimper again. “It’s even better than I imagined.”

Finn grinds against me and I feel his cock, long and hard against my body. I grind back into him. “Fucking Christ, I love the flush on your cheeks. And I love that I put it there.” His lips tease mine as he works me with his hand. Circling me expertly. Until a rising tide of pleasure threatens to spill out of me.

When my hips rise to his fingers, Finn groans. “You want more? You want it harder? All you have to do is ask.”

“All I have to do is ask?” I sass as my hips drive into his hands. “Is it that easy? Are you going to grant all my wishes now?”

“Yes, baby girl. All of them. Tell me what you want.” The way baby girl rolled off his tongue has me nearly seeing stars. But then a thought strikes me. He’s seen and felt so much of me. And I’ve seen so little of him.

“Take yourself in your hands, bear. I want to watch you.” My heart pounds as the confession passes my lips.

“You like to watch?” His eyebrow raises in intrigue. “I’ll let you watch. But you have to take over.” He takes my wrist and guides my hand between my legs. “This sweet pussy gets attention all night, until it’s satisfied. Got it?” I nod as my cheeks heat. I gladly obey, circling myself as I watch him rise from my body. Towering above me. Taking me in greedily. “That’s it, baby. You do that so well.”

“I practice every night. I touch myself and think of you,” I pant. His eyes flicker with lust at my words.

“Fuck, Aimee. I think of you.” I tingle at his confession. His hand slips into his joggers, where they’re tenting and bulging. He strokes himself beneath the fabric and I’m entranced. His long, languid strokes capture my gaze and hold it hostage. The movement merely suggesting at his length. And God, the suggestion is there.

His eyes rake over my body as he continues to touch himself. I do the same thing to him. And we’re caught in a hypnotic web of ravenous stares.

When he slides his joggers down, his cock jolts free, snapping up against his torso. The suggestion did not lie. He’s long and thick and fully intact. Just the sight of him makes my mouth water. The way his foreskin hoods his tip. I want to slip it down and trace his head with my tongue. I’m going to have so much fun with that.

I bite my lip and watch with jealousy as he takes himself in his hand. He pumps himself proudly into a coiled fist. Finally, his hand tugs the skin down, revealing a smooth, glistening head.

When I pant at the sight, Finn’s eyes spark. “You like what you see?” he growls. “See how much I want you?” He gives himself a final, slow pump.

“I can see, bear,” I murmur. “And I don’t want to watch anymore. I want to feel you. I want you inside me.” As I say the words, liquid seeps between my legs. I’m aching for him. He lets out a garbled breath through his nostrils and the back of his throat does something rumbly and guttural.

“Good. Because I’m done, Aimee.” His voice is husky. “I’m done holding back. I’m done fighting off all the ways I want to touch you. But I need you to be patient just a little longer. Because right now, I want to taste you.” He abandons his task as he settles over my body. He plants a kiss on my mouth and it blooms like a wildflower. Unpredictable, rugged, strong. He tugs my shirt up, hiking it above my breasts. And then his mouth continues its scorching trail down my skin. In the valley between my breasts, along the band of my bra, and farther still. His mouth falls on the soft skin of my abdomen. And my chest heaves, my body rises, as I eagerly push his head lower.

He pulls the leg of my shorts to the side and then he’s digging under my thong, desperate to uncover me. With one swipe, I’m exposed. I give out a quick cry of surprise when the cool air teases my skin, raising it into thrilling goosebumps.

“I’d kick the ass of every man who didn’t want you, Aimee,” his voice is a whisper between my legs. “But I’d rather thank them instead.” He cleaves my legs further apart with the bulk of his body. “Because I get to have you.” His broad shoulders, thick arms, hungry eyes fall between my legs.

“Now,” his eyes grow almost wicked, “I’m going to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your sweet, little body.” He seizes my gaze as he slowly lowers his head. “And you’re going to give me all of it, aren’t you?” He kisses my inner thigh, but his gaze doesn’t leave my face.

“Yes,” I pant. “All of it.” I arch my back and tease my nipples under my bra.

When he swipes a tongue across my clit, I grow distracted, dazed, obsessed with the thought of the sensation repeating.

“Aimee,” he murmurs. “The view from down here is perfect. You are perfect.” I run my fingers through his hair, desperate for him to continue. I’m a quivering heap of flesh and nerve as my body begs for him.

He swipes again. And then he kisses. And then he sucks. He pulls my clit into his mouth and my eyes squeeze shut as pleasure rips through me. I lift a leg onto his back. And he dives in. The corded muscles of his shoulder tensing and contracting beneath my thigh. A long, needy moan topples out of my mouth.

“Quiet, baby,” he hushes me. I cover a gasp with both hands as I writhe and jerk beneath him.

His mouth tugs, and suckles, and nips at me, searing every nerve ending with pleasure. Then I lose all control. My fingers curl into his hair and I moan out his name as my stomach clenches tightly.