Visions curse me. Visions of heavy wooden doors intertwined deep within tree roots, opening to a whole new world under this one. And of a woman with willow branches for hair holding me as a mother would. Of extravagant beds with messy sheets involving a shadow of a man with dark brown hair and markings resembling tree bark, who lurks beneath the earth.
14
THE WOOD
RACINE 1978
The next morning, I wake from my slumber to the sound of steady, rhythmic chopping outside. Glancing out the window, I see Ry is here splitting the wood he must have hauled off from the damaged oak. So much for never seeing him again.
It’s not even eight in the morning, meaning he must have gotten here before seven. Another thing I can mark on our list of differences. I have never been a morning person, nor will I ever be.
A hawk sits quietly perched atop the white birdhouse that stands off on its own atop a tall pole—an obvious replica of the estate I stand in now. The hawk casting a shadow over the entirety of it.
I press a hand to my chest, my attention drawn back to the shirtless man working beneath my bedroom window. I can see the way the sun hits the sweat on his body, following along the slopes of his lean muscles as he swings the axe down on the wood. He swings again. The incessant chopping motion becoming wildly mesmerizing.
Admiring Ry’s looks I’ve learned is alarmingly easy—but then I remember last night. Last night, when we almost kissed until onedamn bird turned the entire night sour, including his attitude. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough then, so what the hell is he doing here now? My hope was I wouldn’t see him again, at least not this soon.
I pull on some sweats that lay crumbled on the wooden chest at the end of the bed and go down to make some coffee. Passing the door to the basement, I notice it is again slightly ajar and I quickly slam it shut. I’m about as fed up with that door as I am with grumpy men showing up uninvited.
Heading to the kitchen, I can’t decide if I want to face Ry or not. Last night was so awkward, and I know today may lead to even more awkwardness on my part. But I won’t think too much about it. I refuse to let him ruin my mood on my own property.
I grab a coffee and a water and make my way out to face him the only way I know how. Forcefully, I hold them both out to him. Showing him yes, I’m still very upset. As far as I’m concerned, we never have to talk about last night again. He made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with me with the way he dashed off.
I imagine he is thinking the same thing about never seeing each other again when he takes the water out of my hands. I soon realize I am mistaken in my silly perception of his thoughts. He holds my gaze the whole time he drinks from the water glass, eyeing me as I were the next thing to quench his thirst. The sheer intimacy of the act making me melt under the hot morning sun.
“Uh, good morning,” I finally fumble out, wrapping my arms around me as I am now realizing I forgot to put a bra on before leaving the house. “I did not expect you to be here.”
“I told you I would take care of the oak, didn’t I?” Ry says, like I shouldn’t have expected anything less.
Well, if anything, I guess he is a man of his word. I can’t help but roll my eyes, thinking he probably didn’t catch it. My mistake. Within a second, he is towering over me, and I am metwith an up-close and personal view of all his sweat-glistening skin with markings that mimic the scenery around us.
I watch as one drop of moisture travels from the middle of his sternum all the way down to the buckle of his belt and then slips under his jeans.
“I’d be careful what you do with those eyes, my dear. You can keep them on me all day. In fact, I prefer it. But the minute you roll them at me, I’ll take that as permission to be rolling my tongue somewhere on you.” Heat spreads through me at his words. Did he really just say that?
I look up into his eyes, and bite my lip thinking of where that place would be. His eyes speak on that challenge, because dear God he knows exactly what I am thinking. With my lip still fastened between my teeth, I decide to look directly at him. Courage finds me then and, against my better judgement, I roll them again.
In a heartbeat, he wraps his large fingers loosely around the side of my throat with one hand, guiding my body up against the hood of his red work truck. I watch as his head dips down,finallytouching his lips to mine softly, then again with more pressure. I have been craving this since he chimed the bell on my shop door. I pray it doesn’t stop.
I let out a breathy moan involuntarily, giving away my reaction to his lips. He looks at me with eyes that seem to have taken on pure darkness. They are not sea-foam green anymore. Now they are a dark, stormy sea full of need.
I know exactly what he is giving with those eyes, because mine speak of the same. I know I want this man. Even if just for one moment. And it is clear that moment is now.
His lips have moved to my neck, and he trails kisses down the center to between my breasts. Now I know what they feel like, and I only want more. Without lifting his head, he tugs my shirt down over my bare breasts as I lie there exposed.
My hair fans out around his red pickup truck, and I look up to see the hawk is no longer atop the birdhouse, hopefully flown away once seeing what was about to take place. His mouth finds one of my erect nipples, while his hand moves back up to my neck to hold me down against the sun-warmed, red metal against my back.
He flicks the bud of my nipple with his tongue, and I look down to see he is looking up right at me. His tongue forming circles against me.My God. His eyes hold mine as if agreeing with that last thought, though he has no way of knowing.
He tightens his hand around my neck just enough that I know he can feel my pulse throbbing. I let my head drop back again, unraveling as he lets his other hand skim the top of my panties. His fingertips dip beneath them and run along the lace trim.
Although we have only just met in the last few weeks, I feel I’ve been waiting so long for this.Toolong. He takes his fingers out from under my panty line, and brushes the tips over the fabric of my sheer blush-colored panties, wetness soaking through. I gasp at his touch, wanting him to explore more.
“Mmmm, that’s a good girl,” he says as he feels how drenched I am. My entire body hums at his praise, and I think I hear the call of a hawk somewhere, begging it to keep its distance. This event being a non-spectator sport and all. The sound makes me wake up faintly to the realization that we are still outside.
“Wait,” I panic. “We should go inside. What if someone comes down the driveway?”
With that comment, he fists one side of my panties up so the fabric is tight against my most sensitive area. The sheer friction of it making me squirm beneath him. He brings his other hand down to hold the other side of the panty up tight.
