Kat
Wyatt was not kidding. Billy might be calling my room a guest room, but only if his guests were really into bands from 2003 and a lot of photos of my high school friends. Also, how often was this woman washing my sheets because the pale purple ones I lost my virginity on were still not threadbare. I pulled open the closet door. Dresses, shoes, all the things I didn’t take to New York ten years ago. I crossed to the dresser, pulled open the second drawer, pajamas. That was convenient. Although, I never imagined that I’d be wearing a floor-length flannel nightgown again.
What did it mean? Why did he keep my room like this for all these years? It was a little bit like taxidermy, and by that, I mean like a creepy shrine to a me that was long ago forgotten, like a teenage version of me was stuffed and mounted in the basement. Only, it was also sad and sort of sweet. I mean, I didn’t feel like Billy was sitting around for the last ten years pining for me. In fact, I felt like he spent the last ten years hating me because I chose to follow my dream of being a musician. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t about pining for me or hating me (or preserving me). Maybe it was about saving the memory of what we had before it blew up. Billy was part of me. He was part of my foundation. My time with him influenced every relationship I’d ever had. Whether I realized it or not, I compared them all to him. And I don’t just mean emotionally.
How sad was it that the sexiest man I’d ever known was the first man I slept with? Maybe it was because we knew everything about each other, but having sex with Billy was earth-shattering, every time. Maybe it was just chemistry. I mean, when he caught me and kept me from falling earlier, it took every ounce of control in my body not to straight-up moan his name. His hands weren’t even on my skin. We were just close, but being close to Billy was enough to make me start shivering. And it was the same for him, I know it. I heard it in his voice.
Billy was my kryptonite. Too much time around him and I was a goner. I had to get out of Conway before I lost sight of what was important. But for the time being, I was stuck, so there was no real harm in strolling down memory lane. If he wanted to be friendly, I could do that. We had a good night. And really, I loved the Morgan family, so peace with Billy was in my best interest. I just had to keep a little physical distance between us.
I pulled my old granny gown over my head and laughed at myself in the mirror. If I could just wear a flannel monstrosity all the time, the chemistry might fizzle. I kept my socks on, knowing in my bones that my room was always drafty. As I pulled the covers back and curled up in my old bed, I thought, man, it’s good to be home. And then I was sleeping.
* * *
I feltthe warmth of his soft lips on my left ankle, the strength of his hand gripping my right. He fluttered kisses up my calf, swirled his tongue behind my knee, etched a path of kneading hands and mouth across my thighs. Billy, under the covers. I was still groggy with sleep, but the feeling was delicious and familiar.
He never dove right in. Instead, he lingered, hot breath inches from my core. Ran his fingertips back and forth over the crease where my leg turned into my center. A tantalizing kiss here or there, the wetness of his mouth promising pleasure, but not quite yet.
I arched my hips towards him, kept my eyes closed. “Please…”
He offered me only one finger. Slowly dragged it from the top of my clit, down the peak, and up again. And again. So slow. And the lightest touch. A torture.
“Please…” I begged again.
Two fingers now. Inside me. I pushed against his hand, desperate and wet. Fucking his fingers, but wanting so much more. He always waited until I was on the edge.
And then his mouth, hot and slippery between my thighs. Fuck, finally. I pushed my hands through his thick brown hair. He had taken off his shirt, but he was still wearing jeans and my feet clawed against the denim. I was absolutely reckless with desire. Wanton and bucking, coiling towards my release.
At first, a little spark, an ember glowing and growing from my sex, catching like wildfire, lighting up every nerve. Then a blaze, an uncontrollable combustion of contracting muscles and guttural cries, the near-blindness of passion.
And then the sewing needle shaking of spent legs, the brush of his chest against mine as he climbed towards my mouth, the cool hardness of his belt buckle on my tender shivering folds, the press of his own desperation, still caged in his jeans pushing against my thigh, the flavor of my pussy on his lips. The morning sun filtering through the blinds, and the alarm.
My cell phone alarm?
* * *
My cell phone alarm.I opened my eyes. It was morning and I was still in my teenage bedroom. Sadly, or maybe thankfully, Billy was not there. Oh, yeah, I needed to get out of Conway. Figuring it was best to get up and get going before I ran into Billy, I dug around in my closet and drawers, unearthing some old jeans and a comfy blue sweater. I also found a pair of old boots.
I tip-toed down the hall, boots in hand, being careful not to make a sound. Each creak of the floor had my nerves on edge. Once I was in the kitchen, I sat down at the table, pulled on my boots, and texted June. I chose June over Marcus because she wouldn’t give me an entire itinerary unless I asked. Marcus was a great manager, but he liked to hear himself talk/text.
Me: Any news?
June: Not today, Jose.
Me: You guys okay?
The little pulsing ellipsis signaling that she was writing pulsed for longer than I would have thought.
June: Yep.
Not what I expected based on wait time, but okay.
Me: Keep me posted.
June: That’s the job :P
Okay, so if I was spending another day down home with the Morgans, then it was going to be with Sarah. I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door. For sure, Sarah would be up soon. Ranchers liked breakfast and coffee early.
It was still cold out, but the snow had stopped. I’d been living in the city for a long time. I couldn’t remember the last time I crunched snow under my boots. I felt like a kid again. I could see the barn in the distance. To the average onlooker, it was just a big old red barn with an older style hay loft. But for me, the Morgan’s barn held so many memories, good and bad. I had to keep my eyes on the prize and not get mired in the thoughts of loving and losing Billy. I walked quicker, trying to put the barn and what it symbolized in my rearview.
Halfway to the Morgan’s house just past the barn, I ran into Billy. I didn’t actually run into him. I stopped dead in my tracks to watch him. He was wearing a skin-tight long-sleeved white thermal shirt and jeans. He’d thrown his jacket onto the pile of logs next to him. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up and he was swinging an axe, chopping firewood. From behind, I could see the sheer bulk of his lats built up from years of hard work. They rolled and pulled with each swing. His muscular frame was cut from head to toe. I spent my life surrounded by men who had access to the best fitness instructors money could buy and not one of them could hold a candle to Billy. The chiseled shape of a home-grown hunk couldn’t be bought—it was hard-earned.
I don’t know what possessed me, but I whistled my appreciation.
Billy turned, then smirked.
I couldn’t help it. I liked flirting with him. “Do us womenfolk a favor and be careful where you’re throwing all those muscles around, cowboy.”
There was swagger in his reply. “Somebody’s gotta manage all this wood. It’s not like you’ve got the chops to pull it off.” He winked.
“Very punny. What makes you think I can’t handle all of that wood?”
He laughed. I laughed too.
On that note, I turned and headed towards breakfast.
He hollered after me, “Where you goin’?”
I didn’t stop or look back, but called to him behind me, “Breakfast.”
He had long legs. He’d catch up.