There isn’t another Nicholas Crawford from that area of Boston. And there’s definitely not one who steals valuables by making replicas first. Owen knew his original last name. He knew too much about him for this to not be the same person. Then there’s the flinch.
When I asked him if he knew him, his shoulders tightened. He tried to cover it up. He took his time answering me. Those were all signs of deception.
“I have to go back to Boston tomorrow,” I say, biting into the end of an asparagus spear.
“Tomorrow? Why?”
“I’m going to be a character witness for Owen at his parole hearing.”
“Did you know about this before?” he asks, taking his time chewing every last bit of his arugula before bringing his fork up to his mouth with another bite.
“No, I just talked to him today. He didn’t know before either. They were supposed to notify him but apparently he never got the message.”
Nicholas takes a sip of his whiskey.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I ask after a moment.
“Just trying to give you the opportunity to reach your own conclusion.”
“About this,” he says, taking another sip. I furrow my brow.
“I don’t know understand what you don’t understand,” I say, taking a more stern approach. “I am not asking your permission. I am just notifying you about what I’m going to do.”
Nicholas takes another bite. And then another. Then he finishes his drink and pours himself another. Still, he doesn’t talk.
I put my plate in the sink and head toward the door.
“How are you going to get back to Boston?” he asks. “On what money?”
“I have enough for a ticket, don’t worry about it.”
“And what about our…arrangement? You promised to be at my disposal.”
I slip into my flip-flops by the entrance and turn around to face him.
“I don’t understand why you are making this so difficult,” I say. “Don’t you get what’s going on here? My brother who has served years in prison finally has a chance to get out.”
“Most inmates don’t get parole during their first hearing,” he points out.
I want to smack him across the face for saying that but instead I just ball up my fists.
“You’re an asshole for saying that.”
He shrugs.
“You know what, I can’t talk to you when you have that smug expression on your face. Why don’t you find me when you aren’t so closed off.”
I swing the front door open and step onto the porch. Water is falling in sheets but I have made too much of a scene to not leave.
“You’re going to get soaked!” he yells so that I will hear him over the rain.
“I’m not made of sugar!” I scream back.
19
When we play a game…
I’m about halfway down toward my cottage when he catches up to me. He grabs me by my arms from behind.
I fight to break free, but he holds me tightly. At first, I’m incensed.
Upset.
But the more we struggle, the more aroused I get.
He towers over me, clasps me firmly. I have nowhere to go and that’s the way I want it.
When he spins me around, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. The kiss catches him by surprise, but it only takes a moment for him to respond in kind. His mouth opens wide, welcoming me in.
His arms release their grasp. But instead of pushing me away from him, they now pull me close.
I run my fingers up his neck and bury them in his hair. It is thick and soft even though it is completely waterlogged.
His hands get lost in my own mane. They go in circles and then pull down just as his tongue rushes into my mouth craving to intertwine with mine.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, we let the rain fall onto us. To move or go back to a drier place would be to break the spell. Neither of us is ready for that yet.
His fingers grab my shoulders and then sweep down my arms. Another move and they are on the small of my back. I press my mouth harder against his. With our chests together, I can hear the thunder of our combined heartbeats.
Nicholas leads me back to my cottage. As soon as we are somewhere dry, he pushes me against the nearest wall.
His body is solid and defined. Muscles protrude against his shirt, which he quickly peels off.
I run my fingers down his six pack, as he flexes and gives me a wink.
Licking his lips, he pushes me into the wall again. It’s cold and smooth against my back. Then he starts to undress me.
A moment later, I’m in nothing but my bra and panties. He takes a step back to get a good look at me.
He objectifies me and it feels damn good. He wants me and he wants my body. As much as I want his.
I grab onto his belt and unbuckle it.
His pants fall to the floor and he tosses them to one side.
I look down at his substantial package. It’s throbbing through his boxer briefs, which are so tight that I can see the vein running down it.
He’s the biggest man I’ve ever been with. It’s the size of the ones I’ve only seen in porn.
“You like?” he asks.
I nod.
My tongue finds the corner of my mouth and slowly slides along the bottom lip.
“I like, too,” he says, grabbing the front of my bra and unclasping it with one quick move.
My breasts fall open for him. My nipples stand up erect, waiting for him to devour them.
He takes one in his mouth.
I press my head to the wall, enjoying the sensation.
His tongue is hard but his mouth is soft, filling the space between my legs with heat.
After pulling down my panties, he takes my hand and leads me to the bed.
This is it.
No more foreplay.
No more games.
Just thrust yourself in me and fill me up like no man has ever filled me up before.
I lie down on my back.
He climbs on top of me. He’s naked now, too.
When his body touches mine, I run my fingers down his muscular back and then toward his butt.
I take two big handfuls of his glutes and squeeze hard.
My legs open for him and wait.
Hovering slightly above me, he doesn’t make a move to get any closer. I open my eyes.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask.
“You,” he says without missing a beat.
“What do you mean?”
“If you want me to fuck you, you have to beg,” he says, with a smug crooked smile on his face.
I furrow my brows and cock my head.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Pulling himself away, he lies down next to me and props up his head. “I’ll accept a please, or a pretty please. But you have to ask for it. Demand it even.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“A promise is a promise,” Nicholas says, his eyes lighting up. “You don’t beg. You don’t get this.”
I grab the sheet and cover myself up.
“Get over yourself,” I say, twisting away from him and turning off the lights.
20
When he makes me cry…
I wrap my sheet around my chest and prop up my head. My eyelids feel heavy, but I try to keep them open. Waves of emotion are no longer taking me on a rollercoaster ride. I look at him, but really somewhere past him in the distance.