The Lake

Wanting him.

Whichever way he cared… She shrugged down under him, feeling his weight straddling her, leaning over, his hair falling forward. In the dark, their eyes met and held… She grabbed his penis with both hands. Close up, it was huge. Engorged. She rammed it into her mouth. Hard.

He pulled away… “No,” he said softly. “Not that way. The way you want it.”

She gave in, straightened out, and he lay on top, covering her face with kisses, tracing his tongue gently over her mouth, her neck, then slipping down to her breasts.

He cradled them in his hands, caressing them. He went down again. Taking small quick licks, his tongue playing around her nipples, feeling them go rigid. She wriggled beneath him, pressing onto his shaft, feeling the moist warmth rising… He went in deeper and deeper… She rose to meet him.

Moaning, panting, she rammed herself onto him. He responded, pressing deep, shafting her with long, hurting strokes. He came quickly, flooding her with hot, releasing bursts. Finally, he pulled away. Moving off her. Falling back on the bed, breathing hard, his body slick with sweat.

She lay there, staring into the darkness, still panting softly. At last, her breath evened out. She felt full, satisfied. Complete.

A clicking sound came from the hallway.

They tensed, holding their breath.

A light clatter of heels on the clay tiles.

Deana.

Home.

Leigh breathed a sigh of relief.

Mace turned his head, smiling into the darkness.

Leigh’s face was a soft white smudge in the gloom.

A gray light crept in from the window, playing across the bed. Trembling shadows from the trees outside shifted around, touching the walls, the ceiling.

“Deana’s home,” she whispered, finding his hand. He took hers in his and squeezed it. “Okay. I give in,” he whispered back. She turned on her side, facing him, curving in to his body. Feeling the sweat, slick and warm on their skin.

Mmmm, she thought, smiling softly, everything is just so perfect! Her eyelids began to droop. She felt spent, happy, relaxed.

Mace dropped a kiss on her shoulder, then lay back on the pillow, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling.

Soon, their breath became a steady rhythmic sound. Still holding hands, though more loosely now, they slept.

Leigh jerked awake for a moment, remembering the thrill of how they’d made love. And that Deana was home. Asleep by now, she guessed, lifting her head from the pillow.

2:55.

God, it’s so hot. A shower would be nice. Drenched with sweat, the bedsheet clung to her like a live thing. Plucking it away from her skin, she felt the night air chill her body. Pushing down the sheet, carefully so as not to wake Mace, she let it lie a moment, crumpled, damp and cool across her thighs.

She glanced down at her body, gleaming pale in the darkness.

Do it, Leigh. Go get yourself a shower…

Holding her breath, she worked her feet, slowly, pushing down the bedsheet some more. Turned to look at Mace. Still sleeping. She pictured him on her, his come pumping deep inside her.

A tremor of excitement flicked in her groin.

She felt so tender there. And sore.

His warm semen still seeped between her legs. He’s some hunk, she thought dreamily; that blond hair, those dark eyes. And his body… Tight abs. Well-muscled arms. His just being there made her want him all over again.

Her glance swept down his body, his chest rising and falling as he slept. It was the first time she’d taken a real good look at him naked.

But something was wrong.

Even in the gloom she could make out the thick black hair covering his arms, chest, belly, and down between his legs. She looked at his penis, lying pale and shrunk now, in a mass of pubic hair. Her glance switched to his face. Clean-shaven, as ever.

A chill began in her stomach.

This was a different Mace.

A stranger.

He stirred, feeling the air chill his skin. His muscles tightened; he hugged his arms around him. Then his eyes opened. He lifted his head. Looked down at himself.

Uncovered.

Naked.

With a growl, he leapt up.

“What in hell are you doing?” he demanded. She drew back, startled at his tone. Terrified by the sudden anger. His mouth came open and his eyes flashed dangerously.

Suddenly he was on top of her.

His fist coming down…

Smashing her face…

Knocking her into the pillow. Then more blows, to her throat, breasts, stomach…

She heard herself gasping, weak little sounds… He still straddled her, laying into her body again and again, pummeling hard.

Leigh threw her hands around her head. Trying to stifle her screams… Then, rolling into a ball, she turned away from under him and slid off the bed.

Standing, trembling, shivering, terrified, her arms hugging her body.

Mace sat up. Staring at her. Breathing hard. Suddenly, the fight left him and he drooped forward, shaking his head.

“Leigh, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Please believe me. You woke me—I was having a helluva nightmare. Leigh, you have to forgive me.”

“A nightmare?” Leigh backed away. She grabbed her robe from the bedrail. The silk clung to her damp skin. Struggling into it, she dragged it around her body.

Remembering Mattie’s words:

“The creep from Yellow Bend ain’t the only guy who likes to hear a gal scream…”

“You’d better leave, Mace,” she said, her voice quiet and shaky. “I think we both need some space. Time to think things through.”

He grabbed the bedsheet and held it up to his chin. But she turned away, not wanting to look at him anymore. Not wanting to see him, or remember him this way. Angry. Violent. Punching her. Beating the daylights out of her.

She heard him searching around for his things. She switched on the light and walked into the bathroom. Hoping Deana hadn’t heard her cries. Heard him laying into her.

Please God she hadn’t heard that.

FORTY-EIGHT

“Mattie. We need to talk.”

“We do?”