She doesn’t speak as she spins herself, removes her arms from the cuffs of her crutches, and lowers toward the taunt mattress. She sits a second, and I’m thinking she’ll change her mind. I lower myself to my side and rub my hand up her back, again feeling the intricate pattern of the wool sweater over her. She shifts to straighten her spine. If she’s rejecting me, what’s she doing out here? But I remain patient, silent.
Beverly slips her shoulders from the sweater and tugs the material forward. Underneath, she wears something silky that exposes her shoulders and is fitted to her breasts. Then she shifts to her hip and lowers to her side, settling herself in the narrowness between the piping-edge of the cot and my front.
“Is this okay?” she states, not looking at me but facing out at the black shadows of my room. Her voice is low but loud enough, as she knows I can’t hear her if she whispers.
“It’s all good,” I murmur, slipping my arm around her waist. My nose rubs at the edge of her short hair. The satiny material is cool under my palm, but her skin is warm at my nose.
“The other day…” she begins. “I want to explain.”
“No need to say anything.” It was my fault. I took it too far.
“I’m sorry about Howard,” she continues.
“Me too, honey.”
“I don’t love him,” she says, and I freeze, my position a permanent hold on her. “It isn’t that I don’t want to remarry.”
I notice she doesn’t say you—she just doesn’t want to marry period—and I’m ready to retort that I wasn’t really asking, slip of the tongue and all that, but her hand moves, and she swipes at her cheek. I press my nose deeper into her nape.
Don’t cry over him. “What did he do to you, Beverly?”
“He wasn’t nice,” she says, her voice meek mixed with a silent sob. I tighten my arm around her. With a heavy, choking sound, she adds. “And I filed for divorce.”
“Bee, don’t do anything you don’t want to do.” What are you doing? my heart screams, and my dick echoes with growing enthusiasm as the thinness of Beverly’s nightgown isn’t much of a match for the cotton of my boxer briefs. “I’m not mad that you’re still married or that you didn’t tell me. I just don’t understand if you still love him.”
“I don’t love him,” she repeats. “And the divorce is long overdue.” Her fingers hesitantly rub the hairs of my forearm. The tender, light touch feels nice and reminds me of when I was young. My mother would tickle over my arm when I was a restless boy refusing to take a nap, and I’d be asleep in no time. My lids fall heavy with the weight of the past few days, but I don’t want to sleep yet.
“Howard was my first. I was raised thinking he’d be the only one, and I settled for that notion. I thought this was how it was supposed to be. He never struck me, but he was so mean. I know it could have been worse, but some days…it was so hard. Nothing I did pleased him. He ignored everything I said. And then in the bedroom…” Her words drift.
“He was a fool.” My nose rubs back and forth at the fine hairs on her neck.
“I felt so dirty. He was with so many others.” Her voice chokes, and I tug her tighter.
“Shhh, honey. It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone. Long gone.” And good riddance.
“I never thought I’d be in a position where it mattered.”
“Where what mattered?” I inhale the hope in my chest.
“Where it mattered that I was married. Where I’d find someone else and being married would be in the way.”
“Beverly, what are you saying? Are you thinking I might be that someone?”
“Now, don’t be getting a big head, Jedd,” she admonishes, no bite in her wet voice as she struggles between tears and a laugh.
“If I had a big head, it wouldn’t fit in this bed,” I tease. Although there is another head attached, and it is getting bigger.
“This is hardly a bed,” she retorts. She isn’t wrong. It’s stiff and tight, and I’d sleep on it every night if it meant she’d rest this close to me. We remain silent a minute, and my lids lower, breathing her in. Sunshine and honey. She’s also heat, and I grow sleepy and comfortable.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she says, and I’m surprised I’ve heard her with her voice so quiet. Snuggling her into my chest, I tell her the truth.
“I’m not going anywhere, Bee.”
I wake with a jolt, dreaming once again of Beverly. This time she’s riding a horse, racing off for the woods, and somehow, I know it’s dangerous. Despite the danger, she looks beautiful. She’s dressed in something silky and body clinging, and her sweater slips off her shoulder as it often does. Her head turns so she sees me over her shoulder, and her short hair whips in the wind. She smiles back, laughter ready to escape, and then bam! I’m awake and can’t quite pinpoint what happens to her in my dream, but I tug her closer to me, thankful she’s still on the cot.
Her hand rests on my forearm, squeezing to signify she’s awake as well.
“Good mornin’,” I mutter into her neck, damp from sleep. It’s warm with the two of us under cover of the blanket she made and the subzero-thermal of the sleeping bag, not to mention our bodies spooning together with my knees behind hers and my arm over her waist.
“Morning,” she croaks, her voice sleep-rough and adorable. “It’s early.” She isn’t wrong, although how she knows the time is beyond me. My phone is face down on the crate/nightstand, and my alarm hasn’t gone off yet.
“I need to get up,” I warn, using the excuse for more than one reason. I have an issue pressing long and swollen into her backside, and while I’d love nothing more than to relieve myself deep inside her, I don’t know where we stand yet. In addition, I need to feed the horses and start a daily routine of water, feed, and exercise for them.
“My side is asleep.” She giggles, and I think she’s teasing me that she doesn’t want to move until I realize she’s on her left side.
“Okay, I’ll roll you toward me and then climb over you.” Beverly’s breath catches, and I realize what I’ve said, which doesn’t help my stiff and achy cause. My other struggle is, I’m on my left side as well, and I can’t just perch myself upward with only the stump of my arm and make it over Bee without dragging my body over hers, which has all kinds of danger signs blaring at me. Her satiny nightgown has risen up her thighs in the night, and my cotton boxers aren’t enough of a barrier to prevent me from brushing where I want to brush.
I reach for Bee’s hip and gently rotate her so that she rolls to her back. Only on the tight confines of the cot, her hip knocks right over my erection. I groan as she lands on her back with my dick projecting into her hip bone. Her eyes lock on mine. I want to kiss her so badly I can taste her lips, but I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want. But I want her; there’s no denying that.
Reaching over her, I grip the edge of the cot for leverage to hoist myself up, except the leg I intend to hike over hers, slips between her thighs, and I crush Beverly.