Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 19

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 24: "Caleb is mine..."

So while running errands before coming home to post, I was dive bombed by a bird in the grocery store. You heard me. In the store. He came in for a landing in the mint and gum rack. Girl child tried to get a picture but he was scared so it didn't work. But ya know...wildlife in the checkout line...or as I like to call it: Monday.
Here we are on day 24. How time flies...Get it? Flies? Bird? Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all day.
XOXOSommer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
She stood there waving like an imbecile. Smiling like one, too. When he finally turned to put his free hand back on the roof she watched him. She didn’t want him to fall but she had liked him waving. It made her feel as if they were connected and she liked that. After the night they’d had—and, Christ, the morning too—she wanted that feeling. Which was odd for her.
“All girly and shit,” she mumbled under her breath.
He was easy to feel attached to, which was also weird. Upon meeting him the first time she’d found him a bit prickly, annoying and standoffish. Now…not so much.
Dahlia followed the path along the side of the house to the side garden. She carried a flower basket and clippers. In the garden she ran her fingers through all the various flowers. She considered going for Harrison’s favorite just to watch Jasmine grow apoplectic. But then she moved on. Cutting bright blossoms of flowers she didn’t know the name of. She just knew they were pretty. When Caroline, who worked the kitchen, asked her what she’d cut today she’s tell her the truth.
“The blue ones, the yellow ones, the purple spikey ones and the stripe-ty red ones,” she muttered, laughing as she cut. “Because the mistress of the house could afford for a florist to come every damn day but prefers to pillage her own garden.”
That wasn’t being fair and she knew it. Why not use what you have? In this one instance Jasmine was being sane. She wasn’t blowing a few hundred bucks a day to have someone arrange and deliver flowers, she was utilizing what was on her property. But maybe Dahlia didn’t feel very generous toward Jas at the moment.
She’d obviously decided that Caleb was a puppet for her to manipulate. And who the fuck was she to—
“I knocked this morning,” Jasmine said, coming around the corner. She passed the bench that was set up near a small fountain so that a guest could sit and admire the flowers and the sky and the water. It was very picturesque, but for the pissed off Jasmine flitting out of it like a vengeful ghost.
“Jesus Christ, Jasmine, you scared me,” Dahlia said, gathering the flowers that had slipped from her hands when she’d startled.
Jasmine just continued coming like some pretty, expensively clad, runaway Mack truck. Dahlia stood and took a step back, putting the flower basket between them. She knew she could take Jasmine just fine, thank you very much. The point was, she didn’t want to.
“I said I knocked,” Jasmine hissed, hands on her hips.
“Good for you, you knocked. You learned your manners in preschool. What the hell is your problem?”
“Don’t be insubordinate with me, Dahlia, just because you think we’re…familiar. I’m not your friend. I’m still your boss and I don’t have to put up with you or your dramatic, emo bullshit.”
Dahlia snorted. “Emo? How very progressive of you to even know what that is.”
Jasmine leaned in. “No one answered.”
Dahlia forced a shrug. Part of her just wanted to say it. To say whatever she wanted. To tell the truth. That’s because we were fucking, Jas. Sorry, Dahlia and Caleb can’t get to the door right now, they’re busy screwing, please leave a message and they’ll get back to you. Beeeeeeep!
A small laugh tried to work its way out of her and she clamped her lips together. She forced another shrug and tried to look nonchalant. “What time was it? I might have been in the shower.”
“And Caleb?” Jas’s green eyes were narrowed with suspicions. Dahlia had the urge to throw her utterly off guard by leaning in and kissing her. It would bring back memories. Bring some color to Jasmine’s carefully color-controlled skin. And fuck up her entire I’m-in-charge-you’re-just-a-peon mindset, too.
Instead she said: “I have no earthly idea what your trained monkey was doing. He’s not my problem, right? At least not in reality. He’s just a prop.”
“That’s right. You remember it, too. Just a prop.” Jasmine selected a red flower from Dahlia’s basket and began to pull off the petals one by one. Dahlia wasn’t surprised. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d captured a bug and began to pull the wings off.
“Why didn’t you just come in?” she asked. Curiosity killed the maid, she thought wildly.
“I just didn’t,” Jasmine replied, looking uncertain for the first time.
Dahlia laughed. “Harrison was with you? Or he was watching. And how would you explain simply entering a home that contained to newly-united love birds?” She shook her head. “God, I love that man.”
Jasmine sighed. “That makes one of us.”
“What is wrong with you? Can’t you see how much he actually loves you?” She couldn’t help herself. She’d always marveled at what passed as a relationship between Jas and Harrison Day. “Despite all odds and all the reasons you give him not to, he loves you. Even the stupid shit he does is to get your attention.”
“Don’t defend him!” Jasmine said.
Dahlia shook her head. “I’m not. I’m simply making an observation. But you…do you love Caleb?” She feared the answer but asked the question anyway.
There was a long pause and Jasmine’s eyes flickered from angry to unsure back to angry in that instant. “I…yes. I do.”
Dahlia rearranged the flowers, not looking at her employer, “Gee, that sounded so certain and sure.”
“Mind your own business,” Jasmine spat.
Dahlia tried to swallow her words but she’d always been stubborn, sometimes to the point of stupidity. “This is my business, Jasmine. You made it my business when you roped me into your ridiculous story line and presented me and Caleb as a couple to your husband. It became my business when you put him under a roof with me and left it to me to make sure he knew what was what around here and all that other shit that comes with stepping into this alternate reality of rich, spoiled people.”
Jasmine caught Dahlia’s wrist and it was everything in Dahlia not to take a swing at her. “You leave him alone. He’s mine. Do you understand me? Caleb is mine. You don’t touch him or you’ll be unemployed with the worst references in the history of job seeking.”
“He’s yours, hunh?” Dahlia said, her words clipped, her body humming with energy. Angry energy.
“You heard me.”
“You’re telling the wrong person, then. Tell him. Not me.” She yanked her wrist out of Jasmine’s grip, held the flower basket close and hurried back to the house. Before she did what she really wanted to do and lay Jasmine out like a bag of wet cement. And then found herself unemployed with no house and no prospects.
photo credit: Sommer Marsden 2014 "Donald's Forget Me Nots"

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 23: In the dark of night...

We cracked 30K today. Can you believe that shit? I can't. 30,000+ words less than a month in. On that note, I'll tell you I'm taking tomorrow off. Next post should arrive on Monday. Just in time for the week to start kicking everyone's ass ;) Or maybe it just kicks mine. Who knows.
XOXOSommer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caleb had no idea how the hell this much shit could get in a gutter when there weren’t really any trees by the house. Just large shrubs that grew up high enough to appear to be trees from a distance. Half the stuff he was pulling from the gutters was bougainvillea which made him laugh thanks to Harrison’s strange love affair with the flowers.
Clean the gutters had been on the list. The list, in Jasmine’s tight controlling script, that had been tacked the front door when they’d opened it to head out to work. After a shower (together) and eggs and juice and coffee strong enough to stand a spoon up in they’d reluctantly parted ways.
Part of him had been tempted to ask her to get in the Wagoneer with him and they could hit the road together. The three of them could wander the countryside stopping at scenic points to let Alice out to run. It wasn’t lost on him how bizarre his reaction to her was.
It also wasn’t lost on him that had they had the time, he’d have lured her back to bed, pulled her close and told her his story. He’d have explained himself a little as she’d done for him.
Rarer than hen’s teeth as his grandmother used to say.
He dropped sticks and debris into the bag he’d slung across his chest. It wasn’t so bad. The shit he was scooping out of the gutters. It was a hell of a lot better than what he’d have encountered back east where he’d lived before. Tons of leaves, squirrels nuts, bird nests, you name it. But here with just some cast offs from overzealous bushes and other odds and ends it was a good way to pass an afternoon in the California sun. And think.
“Now you’re a thinker. Less than twenty-four hours in sun-city and you’re a thinker. Well, la-dee-dah,” he snorted.
Below him, Alice lifted her head to the sky and looked at him. She’d heard him and ever faithful to the man who’d saved her from a shit-kicking bumpkin with a bad attitude, she was alert.
“I love you,” he said to the dog. Though he doubted she actually heard him beyond a murmur. He couldn’t remember saying that to anyone for a very long time.
“More oddness,” he said.
Out by the main house he saw Dahlia. A tiny speck of a person in faded jeans and a white top with some sort of needlepoint or embroidery around the neck. It looked like a sun rising over a mountain range. He’d found himself strangely fascinated with the blouse when she’d put it on.
She’d found that amusing.
“Get your ass out there and work,” she’d whispered in the kitchen. She’d taken his plate almost before he was done the final bite and stacked their dishes in the sink. “We need to pretend we are not getting along for Jasmine and that we are over the moon happy for Harrison.”
She’d put her head down and started to laugh.
“Hey, I have brought mystery and intrigue to your home,” he said, gulping the last of his coffee.
“I’ll say.”
He’d cocked an eyebrow and said, “And some good sex. I think it was good. It was good for me. Was it—“
“Stop. Where’s the gruff, smart-ass, barely talking guy who walked in here yesterday?”
“You prefer him?” He’d actually been worried.
“Well…” She couldn’t hold a straight fact. “Not necessarily. To be honest, very quickly, I’ve developed a soft spot for both of you.”
Caleb had risen and caught her around the waist with one arm. “You changed that asshole into a lesser asshole,” he said. He’d kissed her neck. “Overnight, no less. You’re the asshole whisperer.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Dahlia said, unable to repress a snort.
Through an open window they heard the radio up at the pavilion turn on. The painters were back.
 “Good point. It sounds off somehow.”
“Somehow?”
He kissed her. “You’re the asshole tamer?”
“Nope.”
“Asshole fixer?”
“Try again.”
He’d pushed his hand up under that top of hers and was instantly mesmerized by her soft, smooth skin. She groaned and he echoed it. “You have to stop,” she said. “Or we’ll both be in trouble.”
He’d kissed her neck then. “How about you can take any gruff, grumpy asshole and make an almost decent man out of him? Is that better?”
“It’s rather long for a title, don’t you think?”
He pushed her to the counter, pinning her between his arms as he kissed her for real. “I’m a manual laborer, sweetheart, not a poet.”
She stared at him straight on and he felt his heart quicken. Those eyes. Jesus. There was so much in a single glance he couldn’t begin to comprehend. “I think you could do the poet thing if you wanted,” she said.
He leaned in for another kiss because, fuck him, he didn’t know what to say to that, but she stiff armed him for the second time since they met.
“Work. Now. Before we’re both fucking unemployed. Which we might be if Jas ever finds out that we consummated our fake relationship last night.”
When she smiled at him something inside him buckled. Something else inside him stirred to life. He couldn’t help feeling that least twenty-four hours of his life had been important—monumental—which he knew was star-struck and silly, but it was what he felt. Way down in himself where the truth lived.
Like a puzzle piece popping into place. There was an almost an audible click in his mind when she’d shown up in his doorway in the dark of night. He’d thought that just as they’d walked out of the guest house together to get to the day of work ahead.
As if the Universe was laughing at him, the radio up at the pavilion began to play and he picked up the words and Michael Hutchence’s haunting voice. In the dark of night, those small hours…
Caleb watched her for another moment, far off on the property, a blot of color in the green landscape. She turned his way, shielded her eyes from the sun and then raised her arm and waved to him. Still clutching a handful of debris, Caleb waved back and that thing in his chest stirred again.
photo credit: Sommer Marsden 2014 Music Reference:

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 22: "Time to get up."

Howdy, all. Happy Friday. Busy day today and it started rough so I'm posting this now while I have the chance. Enjoy :)
XOXOSommer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her fingers were cool on his skin. Which was ironic considering how much heat he felt she’d been giving off just minutes before. She slipped her fingertips along the length of him, tracing the veins of his cock and smiling. He had to focus on his breathing because his eyes were locked on where she touched him—how she touched him—and if he didn’t get his head on right things were going to be over way before he wanted them to end.
She slid the condom onto the tip of his cock and then slowly pushed so it began to unroll. He tried to recall a time when a woman made sheathing up almost as erotic as the prelude and failed miserably. Couldn’t think of a single time.
When she reached the root of his cock she bent to kiss the inside of each thigh. A tremor rocked through him and he almost laughed. One would think he’d never done this before.
He held out his hand and she took it. Then she got up off her knees and stepped between his legs. Caleb tried to tug her down onto his lap but Dahlia shook her head. His heart fell. Had she changed her mind that fast? Were they destined to torture each other? Granted it had been a day but to him—specifically a certain part of him—it felt as if they’d been waiting years.
“What?” he asked, looking up at her.
Dahlia smoothed her hands down his cheeks and smiled when his stubble rasped. She stroked his chin and then slid her fingers down his forehead. Her fingers plunged into his hair and she pulled his face close and kissed him. “Are you trying to tell me this isn’t going to happen?” he asked.
She stood up a bit so that his face nestled between her breasts. He sighed. “In the nicest possible way, though?” he continued.
“Nope.” Serious blue eyes looked down at him. Too serious he felt. He held his breath and waited. “I was just thinking, you’re going to want me to be on top so I feel in control. I’m going to want you to be on top because…” She paused and smiled at him. He watched, enraptured, as a shivers shook her body. “Because I like that. It gets me off,” she whispered. “With the right guy, mind you. But my point is…” Another pause, a deep kiss that made him see white light behind his closed eyes. “It’s going to be a whole thing”
Caleb wrapped his arms around her and quickly stood. He hiked her up and she gave a startled sound that made him chuckle. Not letting go of her he walked her to the large dresser. He sat her ass on the top—marble no less—and said, “How about no one’s on top?”
“So you think outside the box,” she said, but she slid her hips toward him along the slippery stone tabletop.
He put his hands on her thighs and spread them. She was wet and pink and absolutely perfect. He felt his heart do a trembling skip in his chest and he parted her nether lips with his fingers. He slid a single finger over her clit and then inside her. Her humid softness overwhelmed him. Part of his mind—the rational part—shut down and all that was left was the part of him that needed to be inside her.
“When life gives you lemons make lemonade,” he muttered like a madman. “Or when you’re not sure who should be on top make sure no one is…” He glanced at her and found her watching him. Her eyes taking everything in, her full pink lips twisted in an amused smile. “Or something like that.”
She took his cock in her hands. She stroked him slowly, never breaking eye contact. She was something untamed and staggering. Something like he’d never experienced. Dahlia was a whole new creature to Caleb and he was so glad he’d been stupid enough to drive three thousand miles for Jasmine to blow him off.
Maybe there was something to this whole the Universe knows the way ideology Bob’s wife Belinda had been into. Maybe the Universe sent his cross, useless, sad-sack self here for this reason.
“Hey, Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you stop navel gazing and fuck me now?” She squeezed him and it went right to his gut before shooting straight to his heart. I was like being struck by a shooting star.
“I think I can do that,”’ he said. But she didn’t get off the hook without just one more kiss. He could kiss her until the sun fell from the sky, he was fairly certain. “I’m thinking decidedly unmanly things about you,” he confessed. “All poetic and shit…”
She laughed. But only for a second. Because he’d taken his cock in hand and ran it along her wetness. Teasing her, pushing just hard enough to enter her a bit before pulling back to slide his cockhead along her slit again. Over and over again so that he had to bite his bottom lip to keep his mind alert.
“Caleb—“she hissed. Her voice was a soft, dark thing that spoke of need and insistence.
He shook his head but she grabbed his hip and tugged. He caved, sliding into her on one slow, hard thrust. They froze that way. Joined fully. Pressed together. She put her hand behind his neck and held him there to kiss him. Her tongue was soft and sweet against his, her body seemed to hum with electricity that danced just beneath her skin.
The poetic thoughts fled and he gripped her hips in his hands, squeezing her skin, holding her steady as he began to move. Every thrust made him question his sanity and his self-control. The feel of her gripping him, tight and slick, made him want to surrender to his never endings but the sane part of him simply wanted to ride this to the end. To take her everywhere she needed to go so that in the end he knew it had been everything it could have been.
And more.
He angled her hips a little more, thrusting hard but controlled. He bent so he could reach her nipple and found the tip with his teeth. He tugged her nipple until her breath came in soft, fast pants. He grinned and broke that contact to kiss and nip at her neck.
Remembering the night before, he released his right hand from her hip and put it across her throat. Just enough pressure for him to feel the flutter-bang of her pulse beneath his fingertips.She groaned and suddenly she was a body in motion. Her hips slamming up, her fingers clutching his shoulder, biting into the meat of his muscle.
He felt her tremble and then still before she cried out, her pussy gripping around him even tighter than before. He kept his focus, kept his head about him, because he didn’t want to come just yet. Caleb hiked her leg up high so that her knee rode right below his armpit. He didn’t move the hand on her throat. If anything, he tightened his grip just a hair. Breath rushed in and out of her and when he kissed her he stopped it for a second. Her body grew lax all over but for inside. Inside she grew tighter.
He broke the kiss and gave into his needs. Every motion brought him closer, ever breath she took pushed him toward the end. He wanted to come but Christ—he didn’t want it to stop.
“Please,” she said. And then she pushed up to meet him. Her body slim and strong. She arched up once more and he kissed her to cut off her breath. She came, her tongue twitching against his lower lip, her mouth desperately meeting his.
Caleb dropped his hand and gripped her ass to keep her from sliding. He pushed into her over and over, harder and harder, until she said, “Caleb—“
This time when she tipped over he came with her. It was a gorgeous fall. A plummet from god to human and then back again just from a few nerve endings firing off with pleasure. He rode the light and warmth until it ended.
On the nightstand his alarm clock went off.
“Time to get up,” she said, her head nestled on his shoulder, her breath warm across his back.
Caleb could only laugh.
photo credit: Sommer Marsden 2014 "Caleb's Lemons"

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 21: He didn’t even have enough breath in his lungs to groan with pleasure.

I have a feeling you're going to hate me today. But maybe not. We'll see ;)
Two things, constant readers: 
1. I'd love it if you would spread the word of AMST if you're enjoying the ride. Part of my goal in writing it, along with saving my sanity as we traverse the man's illness, and giving a new novel to my faithful readers, is to connect with new readers. So if you could whisper in some ears on my behalf I'd appreciate it. Truly :)
2. I'd also love to see who you see in your mind's eye when you picture Caleb and Dahlia and yes, Jasmine and Harrison, too. So if you have a specific person in mind and would like to share, feel free to post in comments or send them to me and I'll post them in future segments.
Much love,Sommerp.s. If you are new and found me because of AMST please say hi. We don't bite. I promise. Well, not unless you ask. Nicely.  ~~~~~~~~ 
He held her there, as tight as he could and kissed her. At first she grew still. Caleb worried that kissing her after that confession had been the stupidest fucking thing he could have done. He nearly pulled back but then she responded. At first with an intensity that met his and then she blew right past him in the intensity department. She scooted forward on the bed so they were closer. Some dim but aware part of his mind noted the heat radiating off her. She was like a tiny oven in his bed.
He pulled back, looking her in the eye. “Drop that towel again, will you?”
“I didn’t tell you that for your…” She was about to use the word pity. He could feel it. Sense it the way you know what someone you’ve been around a very long time is about to say. Only they hadn’t been around one another a very long time—not even a day—but hell, it sure felt like it. “Sympathy.” She finally finished strong.
Again he found himself oddly proud of her. She was fierce, this woman. Life had kicked her—hard—and instead of rolling over, she kicked back.
He knew a thing or two about that.
Caleb hooked his finger into the top of the towel where the tail end was tucked in to secure it. He tugged gently, teasing her just a little. Trying to shift the mood. She trusted him, he realized that now. And it made him feel lighter inside. They were practically strangers. She had no real reason to trust him beyond last night. But she seemed to follow her instincts just as he did.
Again, the reflection of himself in her felt slightly intoxicating. Shouldn’t that mean they’d be explosive? A massive fail? The worst idea ever?
On that thought, he pulled that little swatch of cotton and the towel fell open and down. Now when he saw her, he didn’t just see a body that made him want to do really bad things below a face he was pretty sure could make angels weep…he saw a warrior. And that was the biggest turn-on about Dahlia. There was something to be said for a woman who made you wonder if she could kick your ass. It was beyond arousing.
“You do have my sympathy,” he said, running a finger down her collar bone to her cleavage. “But that’s not what this is about. I’m simply doing what I really wanted to do last night.”
His finger was nestled half way down the tight valley between her breasts and he thought his dick might snap off it was so hard. That made him laugh because if it snapped off, well, they’d both be screwed. Or technically, neither of them would be.
“And that’s funny because?”
She had steel in her voice but beneath his seeking fingertip he felt the echoing pound of her heart. It was beating nearly as hard as his. “It’s not, I was thinking about my dick.”
His hand slid lower, he felt ribs beneath the taut skin and the firm muscles of her belly. She definitely worked hard, it showed in her body. Not a gym body, a body in motion body. Caleb liked that better.
“Is your dick funny?” Dahlia asked, but her voice had warmed to a slight purr. She liked him touching her and that made him smile all over again. “Is there something I should know?”
“Nope. It’s a long story about my cock being so very hard I fear it might shatter, because of you.” He kissed her again.
She tried not to respond, he felt her try, but she caved again and that thing in his chest that had lightened now leapt for joy. Inside himself he felt giddy and wild. It was an unexpected sensation that almost startled him into stillness.
Almost.
He cupped her breast, pinching her nipple until he heard and felt a hitch in her breathing as they kissed. Then he soothed the skin he’d just pinched with small, soft circular swirls of his fingertips. She exhaled softly.
Caleb buried his hand in her still-damp hair and kissed her again. He thought if he kissed her long enough—just kissed her—he could come from that alone.
He kissed her neck and when she crawled onto his lap, straddled him while facing him, he kissed lower on her neck to lick and bite her clavicle. Then he slid his tongue along the scars she’d just explained to him. They were a part of her, as gorgeous and intense as her eyes, the flare of her hips, those long fucking legs.
She whispered something but he didn’t hear. She was grinding herself against him and he wished that his boxers would simply disintegrate. No such luck there. They stayed solid and in the way as she tugged his hair and bit his shoulder.
She whispered again and he had to reel himself up from the depths of his arousal. He had to push aside the scent and feel and movement of her to listen to her words.
“What?” he said, stupidly. “What?”
He felt slow and dull in the brain department. Electric and alive when it came to his physical being. All he could think about was being inside her—the warmth, the grip, the wetness.
Joined
It flashed through his mind as he watched her lips to comprehend her words. He’d never considered sex that way and it quickened his pulse.
“I said there’s a condom in the nightstand.” He grunted and she laughed, saying, “You animal.”
He nodded. “Damn right.” He didn’t let go of her, just angled his body to reach the drawer. Not just one condom. A box. He cocked an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t outfit the guest house. Well, actually, I do, I’m the maid. But I mean, I was told to put them there. Everything is thought of around here. From cold medicine to rubbers.”
She winked and he laughed. “So, you’re telling me this condom we’re about to use is courtesy of Jasmine.”
Her eyes went a bit wide and then she bit her lip trying to stifle her own laugh. “Um…yeah. I think that would be safe to say.”
“God, I love this place,” he said and tore open the foil packet.
She surprised him by taking the disc of latex from his fingers “Let me.”
And then in the soft morning light, she slipped from his lap and dropped to her knees at between his thighs. She hooked her thin fingers into the waistband of his boxers and said, “Lift.”
He didn’t question or argue. With another woman he might have. But the sight of her there—like that—and her soft voice shut down any argument he might have. He angled his hips to allow her to slip the navy blue shorts off and then she touched him.
Caleb had forgotten what it felt like to be a teenager with a hair trigger. He’d blocked most teenage memories for many reasons. But the pleasure and runaway-train feeling of being touched for the first time by someone he wanted so badly he could taste it flooded back to him in an instant.
He didn’t even have enough breath in his lungs to groan with pleasure.

photo credit: Pensiero via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 20: Then she opened the towel and dropped it so it puddled around her waist.

Posting this on the fly before taking girl child and her friends to her uncle's pool for a little belated birthday swim today. Boy child is manning the fort for me. Right now I'm trying desperately to get ready. If you see any issues, shout 'em out in the comments. I won't be gone longish.

XOXO
Sommer

~~~~~~~~~~



She moved to sit up and Caleb wrapped his arm around her tighter. He pressed his mouth to her ear and said simply, “Stay.”
She would or she wouldn’t. He forced his body to go lax. Made sure she felt his arm around her welcoming but not forceful. He inhaled and exhaled three times, waiting, as Zen as he could managed to pull off when all he really wanted to do was roll on top of her and plunge inside her.
She relaxed and he felt his own body relax fully. He kissed the side of her head. Her hair was soft and it smelled like fruit. What kind of fruit he had no earthly clue, but he liked it.
“Why?” she asked.
He could feel the hurt coming off her in waves. It was like putting your hand near a fire pit that had extinguished but remained hot enough to burn you.
“Long story. And zero to do with you. I just wanted…” He shrugged and then pulled her so that she molded herself against him. She felt nice. Long and lean and warm in his arms. “I just wanted to do that. Just that for tonight. Is that…” He chuckled. “Is that a punishable sin?”
She didn’t answer for a moment and when he said, “Well?”
She said, “I’m thinking.”
He grinned. “What time is wakeup call around this joint? I forgot to ask.”
“We start shift at eight. I get up at seven.”
He rolled away for a moment, feeling the absence of her pressed against him, and set the alarm clock on the beside. “I’m getting up at six forty-five because I’m an over achiever.”
She snorted and he rolled to his side and then positioned her so that she was lying with her back against his chest. He brushed her hair back and kissed the side of her neck. “Don’t read too much into this, Dahlia,” he said.
“I thought you wanted me,” she said. He had to give her credit, a lot of the women he’d known would have pouted. That statement would have been tainted with tears or an attempt to make him feel guilt. This wasn’t. This was a short, strong statement without the bullshit.
That made his desire to turn her over and enter her as strong as ever. Stronger, possibly. He took another deep breath and second guessed himself. What the hell was he doing? He had her—this long legged, smart-mouthed, whiskey drinking creature—in his bed and he was going to lie here and go to sleep?
Yep, you are. So she can trust you and you can trust her.
If she force the issue, manipulated, threw a fit—if she did any combination of those things—he’d know what he was dealing with. Because lying here in a strange house in a strange town with a strange but tempting woman he realized that the last thing he wanted was another Jasmine.
“I did. I do. I just…I’d like it to be this way for tonight. Can we leave it at that?”
Another long pause in the dark and then she pushed her legs back against his and her ass against his cock and her back further against his chest. She was nestling herself against him and he waited, wanting to know, would she try to force the issue? Try to get a rise of out him—so to speak—by rubbing herself against him.
Instead, she took his arm, draped it over her waist and said quietly. “Of course we can. Yes.”
He wasn’t sure how to react. So he smiled and squeezed her and within moments she was breathing deeply, her body soft and still against him.
Caleb found himself falling down the rabbit hole of sleep not long after.
*
When the alarm clock went off she was already sitting there looking at him. She wore nothing but a blue towel wound around her body and her hair was wet.
He smiled at her and touched the dripping end of her hair. “I thought you said you got up at seven.”“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I took Alice out to pee, got the paper, took a shower.”
“Painted the house, fed the hogs, and plowed the land…” he teased.
She smiled. Then she opened the towel and dropped it so it puddled around her waist.
So she waited for morning to force the issue. Not sure if she gets points for this or not.
She took his hand and his dick got hard. Well, harder, thanks to morning it was hard to begin with. She moved his hand and he expected a large handful of breast and instead she placed his palm on the scars.
His heart quickened, a tempo he doubted he’d have experienced if she’d done anything else. He felt that freefall sensation that came with intense emotional response. His heart broke a little as she began to speak.
“My father started coming in my room when I was twelve.”
“Oh, Jesus. Dahlia—“
“Hush up, Caleb,” she said.
He shut his mouth so hard his teeth clacked.
“He made a habit of visiting me at least once a month. Sometimes, more.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know if my mother knew then. I really don’t.”
Then. But he kept his mouth shut and let her talk. The scars seemed to burn beneath his palm.
“By the time I was fifteen there had been a pregnancy scare. I had tried everything to talk him out of it. To turn him off. To deflect him. But I had a little sister and I…well, it became more important to me once I hit that age to keep his attention offher even if it meant it was on me.”
“When I was sixteen, I finally went to my mother. Desperate, I guess. I was still terrified of him, but more at that point, terrified for Delilah. My mother called me a liar.” She shook her head, pulled his palm away from her chest and kissed it. Then she replaced it on that pink puckered skin and his heart broke even more. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her close. For a minute, for an hour, for the day…
“She either knew what he was doing and didn’t want to admit it—because that meant it was real—or she didn’t know and I had brought it to light. But I’d opened my mouth and it became reality. So…one night when I was about to turn seventeen, my dad was gone on business. I remember being so relieved and excited that he was out of that damn house. It meant I had some peace. I could go to sleep and not worry. I came home to find her waiting in my room. My sister wasn’t home. It was just us. And she was waiting…”
He could feel her heart banging under his hand. It felt like something small trapped in there trying to get out. Caleb tried to pull her in so he could at least hold her but she stiff armed him and shook her head.
“She said I was a whore.” She laughed. It was an ugly sound. “That I had seduced my father. That I’d tried to steal him from her.” Another laugh and he wanted to put his fist through something. Preferably her mother. “She was right up in my face. Screaming. And I was shocked…I was motionless. Then she proceeded to pull out a straight razor that my father prided himself on shaving with—it had been my grandfather’s—and…” She coughed. “Well, as you can see, she got in three good swipes at me before I kicked her feet out from under her and ran.”
He pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t rant. Or possibly scream.
“This one,” she said, tracing his finger up the center scar, the longest one. “This one is the one the attending ER doc told me another inch or so and she could have nicked my jugular.” She smiled.There was no humor in that smile. Just sadness and pain.
She dropped his hand and pulled the towel around her. “Long story short,” she said, briskly. “It all came out in the wash, as they say, and I was emancipated not long after. I had a job after school already. A boss who testified on my responsibility and work ethic. I would be finishing high school and luckily had teachers willing to speak on my behalf as well. I was adamant and I got a decent judge who saw that I meant what I said. Delilah went to live with my mother’s sister. A nice woman who gave her a good life.”
“Your parents?”
“Jail and jail. One for attempted murder, my father for obvious reasons. I lucked out. I hear horror stories of monsters like them getting off or getting short sentences. I had scars, physical, emotional, mental, but I got some justice and my sister was safe. And that’s saying something.”
He sat up and took her face in her hands. “You tell me that story, woman, and then tell me how lucky you are?”
“In that respect.”
“I’m going to warn you because I have morning breath,” Caleb said, feeling his heart pick up once again but for an entirely different reason. “But I’m going to kiss you now.”

photo credit: Sommer Marsden Double Rock Park 2013

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 19: She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted it badly. But he didn’t and she smiled in the dark.

Curious to see what my constant readers think of this... XOXOSommer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dahlia
She stood there, it felt as if her mouth was sealed shut. Her voice dead in her throat, but her heart—oh, her heart—was very much alive.
She blinked in the gloom, trying to make out the shape of him in the bed. He sat up and that helped.
“Dahlia?”
“I’m trying to decide,” she said.
He laughed.
“Shut up,” she said, but there was no real heat in her voice. The rebuttal was more to give him a take on her mood. What was going on inside her. It was only fair, after all. She was standing in his room in and old football jersey and nothing else.
She was infringing on his territory though it had been her house, just hers, for over a year.
“I’ll shut up but you need to come here. You’re freaking out the dog.”
The dog got up when she was mentioned and walked into the bathroom. Dahlia watched her shadow move. Then she heard Alice flop down on the tile and sigh.
She almost laughed. Almost.
He didn’t prompt her again. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t lie down either. She could see him there, sitting up, his torso blocking out some of the light that barely managed to sneak in from the outside. She heard the wind again and shivered.
“I thought—“ She bit her tongue. That sentence had no ending. She had no idea what to say. She knew why she was here. So did he. Did she really have to invent something?
“I’m sure you think a lot. You’re one of the sharpest women I’ve ever met,” he said, finally.
“You just met me!” she snapped. But she took a step toward the bed.
“I don’t take long to assess people,” he said. “Comes from being a cop’s kid.” There was a long pause where she heard the tick of the hallway clock marking time. “Comes from being a punching bag, too.”
“About that,” she said, seizing the lifeline. She took another step toward him and then said simply, “We have a few things in common.”
“I had a feeling. But I’m not asking you shit. I was out of line. I should never have asked in the first place.”
Another step. Her knees were about six inches from his mattress and she could make out the sharper edges and softer valleys of his face illuminated by the meager light.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You tell me what you want when you want. Period. And if that means you never tell me, then you never tell me.”
She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted it badly. But he didn’t and she smiled in the dark. It would be easy to read it as a rebuke but she recognized it for what it was. Caleb putting it all in her hands. It was all up to her. If something happened or nothing happened it would all be based on what she wanted.
She was in control.
He respected the scars. He respected her exit from the kitchen earlier.
He respected her.
Something in her chest seemed to swell and warm and lift. She moved forward fast now. The doubt had fled and as soon as she was in motion, as soon as he could see her coming toward him with intent, he raised his hand and reached for her.
She caught his hand even as he turned it to grip her wrist. He pulled her forward and she felt like she was flying. It was a short burst of speed and then his other arm came up to catch her. He fell to his back her on top, but his hands were in her hair, tangled in it, tugging it, holding it tight so that they were locked in the kiss that started the moment she was close enough for their lips to touch.
He cupped the back of her head, then, holding the other arm around her waist and kissed her so hard she had trouble taking a deep breath. His cock was firm beneath her and she wriggled against him, feeling the pressure and the friction on her clit. The sensation slammed right through the center of her and she regretted the hours she wasted lying in bed thinking.
She straddled him, sat up and looked down at him. Dahlia could barely make him out but she could feel Caleb looking back.
“I wish you hadn’t pulled the blackout blind,” she said. “I feel like we’re two blind people about to fuck.”
He reached his arm up, his much longer than hers she thought randomly, and pushed back to grasp the end of the blind. It dipped before snapping back and shooting upwards. It finally coming to rest at half-mast. Lights from the property lit the room. Everything was painted in grays and blues and whites.
He was gorgeous. And when he smiled at her she had the feeling he was thinking the same of her.
She wriggled again and they both groaned. He reached for her and she caught his hand. She pushed it back and pulled the jersey over her head. She tossed it on the floor and then found his hand again. Dahlia placed it above her breast where the scars lived. She ran his fingertips along the raised places before ending the motion by filling his palm with her breast.
He thrust up from beneath her and she felt him against her sex again, hard and ready. He tugged at the ends of her hair to pull her down for another kiss and she paused, not letting him. Then she simply said, “Caleb, please.”
He’d understand or he wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.
He stilled and then just as she felt her heart fall, disappointed that he didn’t understand, he took her hips in his hands. Then they were in motion. She went from astride his big body to under him. He kissed her again, a single hand resting across her throat. Trapping the pound and bang of her pulse beneath his cupped palm. Trapping it so that it sounded in her ears like war drums. He released it only when she nipped the tip of his tongue with her teeth. His hand slipped along her body, exploring. He circled each breast, pinched each nipple, dragged a single fingertip down her belly, pausing to stroke her navel. He moved lower, sliding his fingers along each hipbone and over her lower belly. He parted her nether lips, all the while kissing her shoulders and close to her breasts, but never, Dear Jesus, never sucking a nipple or even licking it. When he finally rubbed his thumb over her pounding clit, her mind shut down. When he finally closed his hot mouth over her nipple, she felt her body shudder.
He slid a finger deep inside her, curving it so that it hit all the tender, sensitive places she needed. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, adding a second finger to the first inside her. His teeth clamped down on her nipple and he tugged.
Her entire body flooded with endorphins and fire. Everything felt alive. From her toes to the roots of her hair. Had white light shot out her fingertips she wouldn’t have questioned it. She was lit up from the inside. She was moaning—she heard it now—and then he kissed her, his fingers thrusting deep, curling, moving and she was coming.
Harder than she had in a long time. Harder than she’d anticipated because it shook her right down to her never endings.
Dahlia turned in his arms, moving her body against his. She reached for his boxers. She whispered in is ear. “I didn’t bring a condom. Do you have one? I—“
“We won’t need it,” he said. “We’re good.”
“I don’t fuck a new partner without—“
“I mean,” he said, kissing her very softly. “We’re done. I can’t. Probably the whiskey.”
He was lying. She knew he was lying. She reached out and dragged her fingertip along the hard ridge of his cock. “Oh yeah?”
He wrapped his arm around her. “Stay with me, Dahlia. Let’s sleep.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She had no idea what to say. Or what to do.

photo credit: Miss Cartier via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 18: “Don’t, don’t, don’t do this, Dahlia...”

I made it! Crazy day. Slept too late, coffee (chug), shake (chug), workout, bank, hobby shop, errands for girl child's belated tiny birthday party. And then finally home to try and eke out a few words. Those words are below. Now I'm going to sit here for a few minutes, stare blankly at the wall, before trying to figure out dinner for later.

Om.

XOXO
Sommer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Dahlia  
She laid there long enough to grow sober again. And awake. Very awake. There was a wind blowing around the house that sounded as at-odds with itself as she felt. It wouldn’t storm. She could tell. But the implication that it might brought back memories of months she’s spent on the east coast where a sudden wind in August could mean violent thunderstorms.
Dahlia rolled to her side and faced the door. A sliver of light showed beneath the door and she realized how very bizarre it felt to have another human in the house with her. It had been months and months since anyone had been here at the house. It had been one of the auxiliary maids who’d needed a place to stay while her apartment was fumigated. She’d only been here for two days.
How long would Caleb be here?
She rolled to her back again. Face tilted toward the ceiling. The wind tossed the bushes outside her window triggering the sensor-controlled light. Shadows danced across her wall and she shut her eyes tight trying very hard to fall asleep.
But it wasn’t working. It was late and she was sober and that sucked.
The light went off and then she heard the squeaky door two doors down from her room. There were five other rooms for him to choose from but that particular room felt the most masculine. She wasn’t surprised he’d chosen it. Dahlia felt her heart pick up knowing he was so close.
“Could be worse. He could be right next door,” she said.
She rolled toward the opposite wall. “Turn regularly to ensure even wear and tear,” she said, and snorted. “And now you’re talking to yourself.”
She shut her eyes, trying to calm her heart, trying to shut up her mind, but it was impossible. Her pulse beat heavy in her face, her neck and lower. Desire curled in her belly and she considered, briefly, finding her vibrator and just taking care of business.
Dahlia sat up, pressed her hands to her face, and listened to the scratching dance of the bougainvillea outside her window. Harrison’s beloved flowers. No one knew why he loved them so much. They were amused that he did. Well, the staff was. Jasmine, not so much.
She groaned and sat up, her feet hit the pale woven rug by the side of her bed. She bunched and released her toes trying desperately to release tension from her body. She did the same to her calves and then her thighs. That was a mistake. The tense and release method she’d employed for a long time when it came to anxiety bit her on the ass when it traveled straight to her pussy.
Bit her on the ass but didn’t surprise her in the least. She’d gone to bed because she’d been sitting there thinking about shoving her hands into his short dark hair and kissing him. Thinking about pushing him back in that stupid kitchen chair and unbuttoning his pants and crawling into his lap.
She ran her hands through her hair. It was loose around her shoulders now. Wavy from the braids. She twisted it up, wound it into a bun and then released it. It whipped wickedly around and then fanned out around her shoulders again. The kiss of soft hairs on her skin only heightened her arousal.
“Don’t do this,” she said. She gripped the bed sheets in her hands and squeezed. “Don’t, don’t, don’tdo this, Dahlia,” she said.
But she stood as she said it.
Her head pounded with pressure, her heart flip-flopped insanely making her feel shaky and she trailed her fingertips down the three raise scars on her chest. They’d once marked her as a victim, she now considered that they marked her as a survivor. A victor, even.
She’d spent years hiding them. But once she was emancipated by the state, she didn’t bother any more. She was stronger than what tried to hurt her—what might have even killed her—she deserved to show that off.
She gripped the rug in her toes again as if it could root her to her spot. Instead it only amplified her need. It had been about six months since she’d gotten laid. She only slept with men who aroused her on every level. And this man did.
The fact that Jas was trying to set him up as her boy toy in the guest house only made it more insane. The fact that she felt powerless to deny herself at least the chance at him made it ridiculous. But she found herself walking slowly to her bedroom door.
“Don’t,” she said. And then she opened the door.
She told herself she had a ton of time to talk herself out of it. More time than she would have if he’d chosen the room right next door to hers. He’d done her a favor, actually. He’d given her a whole twenty more paces to talk herself out of it.
She passed the door of the room next to hers and whispered, “Okay, good time to turn around.”
The window at the end of the hall showed the shrubbery whipping in the wind. She held her breath and watched it—the play of light and shadow. And then she kept walking.
Outside his door she stood there, staring. Her stomach dropping like she’d taken a ride on a questionable elevator. She could open the door and find him sleeping.
Then I’d leave.
She knew it was a lie. Then she’s wake him.
Or she could open the door and be rejected.
Wouldn’t happen. Remember that kiss? Remember his eyes on you?
She could open the door and change her mind.
Nope. The fact that I’m standing here with my heart pounding proves my mindset.
“Stop,” she said. And then she turned the knob. If he was welcoming of her, he’d forgive her for not knocking. If he sent her packing, it didn’t matter anyway.
She pushed the door wide and stood there, letting her eyes adjust to the light –or more, to the absence of light. He’d pulled the blackout shade down on his window but for the last three inches. It was the only light in the room but for an ambient glow from the automatic nightlight in the adjoining bathroom.
She stood there longer, feeling a bit panicky, trying to tame the bird-beating-its-wings sensation in her chest. She inhaled deeply and held her breath for a few seconds before exhaling as silently as she could.
Then she startled when he said, “Are you coming in, Dahlia, or are you just going to stand there?” 


photo credit: KendraMillerPhotography via photopin cc

Guest Post: Alison Tyler and Those Boys (yay!)

So, the man was super nice and got up and did all the things himself, though it's hard for him to do that, and let me sleep. And now...I am panicking! I think my days of being a late-ass sleeper inner are gone, baby, gone. Sad face ~~~~> :(

So here I am late, late, late for posting Alison Tyler's guest blog about her new book Those Boys. Better late than never, though, right? At least that's what they tell me.

XOXO
S
p.s. check back later. I'm hoping to post some of AMST. Fingers crossed.

~~~~~~

The Long and the Short of ItBy Alison Tyler
I play with words.
Assign me a 50-word story, and I will edit and hone and peel away until I’m satisfied.
Give me 85,000, and I will come in at one under.
Check out my notes here for my novel Rumors: http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2006/07/view-inside-my-twisted-mind.html
See how I was getting a little nervous as I edged toward the max word count? I’d add. I’d cut. My edits were a dance on a thin wire—always pushing my balancing capabilities without going over. (I write without a net.)
I can’t remember my first novella. In fact, I don’t even know what officially “makes” a novella. I’ve written five for Harlequin, one for Avon Red and two for Go Deeper. I’ve penned longer short stories—like “Junking” in Liaisons and “The Game” in Blue Sky Sideways. But publishers offer different definitions of the novella length—one of my earliest publishers considered a novel to be 55K. Recently, I read guidelines for a publisher who considers that to be novella.
“Those Boys” is a 10-k stand alone. The story told me when to start and when to end. This is a snippet of life with Sandy, Vanessa, and Rem—what happened at the beginning of their ménage. Right now, I am working on a novel about Sandy. For this part of the story, I need more words. This is no quick dip in a hot tub. This is a swim in an Olympic-length pool—deep turquoise water, ripples of silver.
I hope that readers will take a ride with my characters for the long—and the short—of their journey.
XXX,Alison
Alison Tyler is the author of Giving In, Tied Up & Twisted, A Taste of Chi, The Perfect Girl, and Cuffing Kate (all novellas for Harlequin), It’s Not the Weather(Avon Red—as part of Bedding Down), and Those Boys and Those Girls (Go Deeper Press). Visit her at alisontyler.blogspot.com for longer posts and follow her on twitter.com/alisontyler for the short of it.
Buy Those Boys HERE and at your other favorite online retailers. Check out more from Alison Tyler HERE.

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 17: “Maybe, one day, I’ll tell you about it. If you earn it.”

Welp, things are getting tricksy, tricksy, my friends. So,  you know the drill. If you notice anything that doesn't jibe as we go along, let me know. I don't feel bad about it anymore. Even George R.R. Martin has his magical online dude who keeps track of stuff like eye color, back history etc. Man, that's the life. Someone to keep the continuity. ;)

Maybe one day when I'm rich and famous.

In the meantime, here's today bit of AMST. I didn't think you'd get it today. I fully intended to take the day off. But then Caleb started shooting his mouth off and well, you know how ignoring them when they start doing that works...it doesn't. Happy weekend!

~~~~~~~



He told himself he wouldn’t ask. Would. Not. Ask.
But things like that become a blur when you’re working your way through a bottle of amber liquid that stings like a pissed off jellyfish as it goes down.
He distracted himself by asking other questions. “What’s your last name?”
“Richardson. Yours?”
“King,” he said.
“Any relation?” she asked.
His eyes were fixed on her painted toes. It surprised him that they were painted a delicate petal pink. He’d expected gunmetal gray or maybe a kick-ass navy blue. Even a red so red it was almost black. But the pink was unexpected.
“To…who? Or is it whom?” Caleb laughed.
“Ask me tomorrow when I’m not drunk,” she said.
“Stephen? Larry? Fred who worked the bait shop where I lived? The answer to all of them is no. No relation.”
She nodded and picked at a hole in the thigh of her jeans. “Got it.”
His mind scrambled for another question because his gaze kept returning, as if magnetized, to those scars. He couldn’t ask her about the scars. Nope. So…
“What’s the story with you and Jas?”
She let her head fall back and he watched her braids disappear behind her shoulders. He also studied the long elegant expanse of her neck and his eyes found the place where her pulse jumped. He felt warm all over, especially his face, and it had nothing to do with the booze. It had everything to do with being in such close proximity to her.
She blew out a breath and stretched. When she stretched it did amazing things for her breasts. And he saw how long her legs actually were. The thought of crawling across the floor and putting his head in her lap ambushed him and, when he realized that was the extent of it, nothing sexual—just putting his head in her lap and staying there like that. Calm. Then, it scared the shit out of him.
“I shouldn’t answer that,” she said, laughing.
“I thought we were getting drunk and getting to know one another,’ he said. “I’d sing that song but I don’t know much of it.”
She looked at him, cocked her head. “What song?”
“Getting to know you…getting to know all about you…” Caleb threw his arm up, really laying it on.
“You’re either drunk or you’re trying to amuse me.”
“I think the answer is yes. Now, tell me. I’m dying to know. How do you know Jas?”
“My family’s servitude goes back a long way.”
His mouth snapped shut. Had he hit a nerve?
“You don’t have to—“
She put her hand up to stop him. “It’s fine. My mother worked for her mother. I was around during the summers when school was out. Her mom gave me work sometimes, slipped me money where my mom wouldn’t see.”
“Why where she wouldn’t see?”  He asked. When her face grew cloudy he regretted it. He blamed the whiskey. If he’d been sober he’d have read the signs and not asked.
But he was very interested to note he actually wanted to know. A rare thing for Caleb.
“Because if she’d have seen it, she’d have taken it. But Jas’s mom, Miss Barbara, she was smart enough to get me alone and give it to me.”
He nodded. He’d only met Jasmine’s mom once before she died. It had been at some froofy wine event back east. He’d never been to their house in California. He blamed her father’s asshole-status on the death of Jasmine’s mom.
“Anyway, my mom, moved…” she paused as if deciding whether or not to go on. Finally, she did. “I was emancipated at seventeen and a half and I worked for Miss Barbara until she died. Then Jas asked me if I’d like to come here when her dad…married her off.”
“And see,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I read it totally wrong. I read it as maybe once you two had…” He made a flourish with his hand.
She winked at him. “Only if you count that one afternoon out on her property by the man-made lake. If you count that, then yeah. But we were young and just messing around.”
His tongue became sealed to the roof of his mouth. He usually maintained his cool but Caleb had no cool when it came to the thought of this creature kissing Jasmine. It would be like watching oil and water swirl together in the sun to create a rainbow. Like oil on asphalt after a storm. Dark and light and color all mixed together.
“Dear Christ, tell me.”
She laughed. It wasn’t one of her short laughs. It was a genuine, belly laugh and he thought it did magical things to her face and her body and his soul.
“Maybe one day. That’s for over a bottle of wine perhaps.”
“We’re a couple now. You have to tell me.” He grinned.
“One day, one day…” She finished off her drink.
“If you’re not going to tell me that,” he started, nudging her with his foot. She looked surprised at him touching her, but then amused. “At least tell me what did that to you.” He nodded to the scars.
Her face went from amused to rigid. Her demeanor shifted from relaxed to on guard. It was as palpable as the air growing charged before a lightning strike. He regretted the question and its off-the-cuff nature as soon as he said it and quickly tried to back pedal. Another thing Caleb King wasn’t used to doing.
“Never mind. I retract that,” he said, moving his foot, sitting up straight.
He was unaccustomed to being so careful around someone. If you didn’t like him, fuck you. But not now. Not her.
She took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. “A monster did this to me,” she said simply. “Maybe, one day, I’ll tell you about it. If you earn it.”
Then she stood up, tipped the remainder of the whiskey into his glass, put the bottle in the sink and said, “Goodnight, Caleb. I know it’s early, I haven’t gone to bed at nine o’clock since I was a kid. But I’m drunk and I’m tired.”
And she left.
He looked at Alice. “I’ve done it again. I’m a master at this pissing people off shit.”
Then he took his glass and his dog and stepped outside. Somewhere out there in the August dusk, what sounded like thunder rumbled.

photo credit: Ben124. via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 16: "I tend to build walls—okay, villages—around myself to keep people away.”

 Did you know we're at over 21,000 words? Wow. How time flies when you're writing a book with friends along for the ride. Hope you're enjoying yourself. And your Friday.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. How gorgeous is that picture!? I want to go there, sit in a lawn chair and drink wine as I watch the sky shift and change.




Dahlia
Jesus, what do you say to that? You can’t fuck with a person who admits that what they felt at some point was the closest thing he’d known to love. It would be an asshole move to say the least. Especially since she had absolutely no doubt he was being sincere. By the way he moved restlessly around the room, the way the muscles in his shoulders, neck and jaw bunched with tension.
She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Jasmine could have her charms. And sometimes her sheer awfulness—a trait which reared its head fairly normally—could be part of her magic. She was definitely a dazzling creature to people who had no idea what it was like to be spoiled.
“You’re not an asshole,” he laughed. “Just nosy. As am I. We’re supposed to be making the bed springs scream right now. At least that’s what poor clueless Harrison thinks.”
“He’s not as clueless as you think,” she said. She spoke fast to make herself ignore the fact that when Caleb, big-big Caleb whose energy seemed to be filling the room like an invisible force, mentioned bed springs her body reacted.
He cocked an eyebrow, a trait she found annoyingly appealing on him. “No?”
“Nope. He knew he was going to get to her with the maids. The poor sap is hopelessly in love with her, you know. He only did it to get her riled up. I don’t think he figured she’d call you.”
“Do you think he knows whyshe called me?”
She shrugged and became aware of what it did to her breasts when his eyes settled there. “I don’t know. There’s a chance he does. There’s a chance he doesn’t.”
He looked at her face and blew out a sigh, but then his eyes drifted down again.
“Can I help you?” she asked, laughing.
Again that eyebrow went up and he groaned. “That, my dear fake soul mate, is a loaded question. I can think of a thousand and one ways I’d like for you to help me.”
“You’re very shy, aren’t you?” She sipped her drink, keeping her eyes pinned to his.
“Painfully, so.”
Dead silence and then they were both laughing. Alice lifted her head, looked from one to the other, and put her head back down. She’d acclimated to her new home rather fast, Dahlia thought.
He scratched his head and tilted his head back. “I’m sorry,” he said to the ceiling. “I came here for one woman who railroaded me into her bizarre psychosis. Then you walked in and I felt like Wile E. Coyote when his eyeballs do that bug out vibrating thing.”
She couldn’t help but smile. He was bold, but by God he was honest. And she loved that above all other things.
“Do tell.”
“I am telling!” he said, raising an arm in frustration. “And you’re all whiskey drinking, cowboy boot wearing, dog loving, food bringing and just…” He lowered his gaze to look right at her. “Hot as hell. I barely know you but I like you. And I feel okay around you. Which sounds like a half-assed compliment but it’s actually full-assed.”
She smirked, raising her glass to her mouth to try and shield it. Dahlia didn’t think it worked, though.“How so?”
“I don’t…jibe with a lot of people.”
“And why is that?” she asked. “Let me get my invisible notepad and pen since I’m playing therapist.”
He grinned at her. Her stomach dropped like an elevator and she almost sucked in a breath but managed to squelch it. Thank god. She didn’t need him to know he had any kind of effect on her. At all. That was private.
“Probably because I started our rough right out of the gate and I tend to build walls—okay, villages—around myself to keep people away.”
“So for the woman you almost loved for real you picked the most spoiled abrasive woman on earth?” She chuckled.
He scratched his forehead. “My god. I never thought of that. Maybe that was intentional, eh? Thanks, Dr. Freud.”
“I shudder to think what that says about me if you find me easy to be with.”
“I don’t know. Good things, I hope. That’s the thing. I find myself telling you stuff.”
“It’s the whiskey,” she said, giving him an out.
No it’s not.
“No it’s not,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “It’s you. Which is a little unnerving. But I can live with unnerving. By the way it would take a lot more whiskey for it to be the whiskey.”
“You can drink, hunh?”
“I can,” he said, buffing his nails on his shirt. “Not to brag.”
“But you will.”
She watched as his face fell. Shit. It was like watching storm clouds move in on a vibrant day.
“I think it’s genetic,” he said. His face had gotten so serious. “My old man could drink his way through a bar shelf and then drive home. Well,” He winked. “To hear him tell it.”
“Something tells me though you sound jokey it’s not a joking matter.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not really. He was a cop. You know the cliché cop of the movies, I’m sure. Looks like the good guy but under it all maybe isn’t so good. Maybe drinks too much, maybe beats on his wife when it’s convenient—but knows how to do it without getting caught. Or!” He held up a finger, his tone again jovial but his expression anything but.
Her stomach turned over fast and she thought she might be sick. She put her whiskey down and tried to breathe deeply. She’d touched a nerve, Dahlia realized. Which was surprising to her because when she first saw him standing there with Jasmine she’d have sworn in court the man had no nerves to touch. Cool as a cucumber. He seemed like a guy who got his way, liked to swing his big dick, and run roughshod through the world.
This was a surprise. And something in her softened for him. Ached for him.
“Or, if your wife finally withdraws to the point that it’s just no fun to pound on her anymore, you can move on to the kid.”
She shook her head. “Jesus. I’m sorry.” It made her hands shake. They had something in common. Something she had no interest in admitting or discussing.
He seemed to come back to himself. He laughed but it had a bitter undertone. “Wow, you’re like a witch or something. Do you practice mind control? Maybe you’re a mesmerist?” He was trying to make light of it.
“Sorry, nope. Just boring old me.”
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he said. “Willingly.
She sized him up and then picked up the bottle and poured them both a drink. “Not a witch or any of those other things. But I can tell you that the best way to get know someone—especially your make believe beloved—“ He snorted and she nodded. “Is to get drunk with them. So…you up for killing the bottle?”
He glanced at the dog. “What do you say, Alice?” They waited in silence as the dog sat and stared at him, ears perked. Then he turned to her and said, “She said yes.”  

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