Fate's Dark Shadows: A stand-alone age gap small-town romance Page 6

  Moments later, my phone is on silent, I’m standing outside his bedroom door.

  But, Doyle, maybe I don’t want you to control yourself.

  No reply.

  Did you not practically fuck my hand with your mouth at the diner the other day? Did you not kiss me last night?

  Again, no reply, until…

  You’re 20. I’m 35. This is fucked up. We should stop.

  I shoot him three different furious texts as I stand there. Did you not say I make you feel better when I’m around you?

  Did I not tell you that I’m fine, and I’m not confusing you with Creepy Doug? Anyway, he’s like ten years older than you. You’re not in fact old enough to be a father figure. There’s no comparing!

  And, by the way. Pretty convenient that you’re just asking me about my age, now that I’m already…

  Already what, Maya?

  I bite my lip. Do I tell him? Attached. Yep. I said it. Stage 5 clinger, at your service. I’ll just show myself out.

  I turn away from the door, but I stop at the sound of the knob slowly turning.

  Spinning around, my hand instinctively goes to my throat, where my necklace dangles. I know what that is doing. It’s a constant reminder to him to keep control. That he’s somehow going to sully me, a sweet, devout young thing.

  But that’s not what this is about. The necklace was my sister’s. We haven’t talked about that yet.

  The same hands that held my face and kissed me last night now are about to decide whether I’m welcome in his room or rejected.

  Those same fingers that stroked my hair are going to lock me out or let me in.

  I reach back behind my neck and remove the necklace, and set it on a side table in the hallway.

  And I wait.

  Minutes pass, and I give up.

  He must be trying to drive me insane with curiosity. I shouldn’t be here. I should be a good girl and go back to my room and be grateful that I have a roof over my head. If I can’t sleep, so what? Many people have had it much worse.

  That’s what my mom always said. It’s true, isn’t it?

  I should be grateful. I should keep my nose clean.

  But I’ve always done this. Behaved, mostly, but always stepped too close to the fire. I’ve always been kind of a good girl. Got straight As, made my bed. Chewed with my mouth closed. Never ever once dated a boy or kissed a boy, or chased a boy. Not because I was obedient but because no one ever piqued my interest. I knew that boys my age would never satisfy my secret desires. No boy of 15, 16, 17 would understand what I needed. If any one of them interested me, and I had tried to explain to them I wanted it rough? Revealing these things to the wrong person would result in my social demise. Everyone in school would treat me like a freak. My privacy would become everyone’s business. Worst case scenario? Some boy would see it as a green light to assault me.

  I learned that the hard way when I innocently mentioned at a slumber party at age 13, when everyone was talking about kissing boys, I wished vampires were real so one could bite me.

  They all looked at me and said they would pray for me.

  A week later, my mom’s then-boyfriend, Creepy Doug, asked if he could pray with me about my fascination with vampires.

  After that, I was done talking about myself.

  Doyle may be silent, but he’s the first person I actually want to talk to about all these things. I know he wouldn’t hurt me and would not betray me.

  I simply wish him to obliterate the old me. To tear away the good girl mask and do everything he thinks I would find terrible.

  I have to walk away, and so I do.

  One creak of the floorboard. That’s all it takes.

  The door flies open; Doyle stands there, filling up the frame with eyes as feral as the other night.

  Behind him, firelight dances reflected on the walls, giving him a halo effect. However, his expression is shock, anger, pain, and lust.

  The split second in which he regards me lasts a hundred years.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doyle

  Maya stands in the hallway, her long nightgown translucent in the firelight.

  Her breasts heaving, her painted toenails glittering, her skin glowing. Her hair has been brushed and cascades over her breasts. Every curve and valley mocks me.

  Her soft green eyes dart away to the bed, where she eyes the straps. The things I have prepared for her when the time is right. It wasn’t supposed to be tonight. There are things to talk about…

  Her lips swell, and at the same time, she swallows in fear and excitement.

  It’s then I realize she’s doing this on purpose. She knows not to provoke me, and she can’t stop herself. She may not even know why she can’t stop herself.

  Well, now there’s no turning back. She’s invaded my space, perforated every area of my brain that logic has tried to keep her out.

  And now, she must pay the price.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maya

  Doyle’s swift grip on my soft upper arm floods me with heat.

  I know it’s all over for me and for my virginity after tonight.

  Looking at those straps that hang flaccidly from the bedposts, I’d guess I’m about to be slap out of dignity as well. Thank god.

  He needn’t grab and escort me so roughly to the bed, but on the other hand, his roughness makes me burn hot.

  It’s all I can do not to cry out in surprise when in 10 seconds, he flattens me against the mattress, clapping his grip around my wrists, much like the night he pinned me to the wall.

  I can’t move my arms, and heat surges below my navel at the thought of what happens next. I wonder when I’ll get to touch him, pull him to me and kiss him. I wonder if he’ll show me how to please him after he sets me free.

  I forget my questions when I take in the softest sheets that have ever touched my cheeks.

  He slowly lets go of my wrists but shoots me a warning with his eyes. He’s not going to tie me down after all. Not yet.

  “You…you want me to keep my hands above my head?”

  He nods abruptly, with a coldness that tells me I’m not to touch him.

  “Okay,” I whisper obediently, nodding.

  Doyle hitches up the length of my nightgown, bunching it up to the waist. An unintelligible snarl is all I hear when he discovers that I’m not wearing any panties.

  The wild demon is about to unleash sin on my body and then drag me to hell, and I’ll go willingly. I’ll march and throw a parade on the way downhill.

  Looking down, my eyes widen as I watch the waves of Doyle’s hair disappear between my legs. The sensation is soft and overwhelming every one of my nerve endings at once. A gentle, wet, teasing touch. My mind is blown that I would enjoy this tenderness.

  My fingers itch to reach down and touch his soft waves, tug him closer, but I stop myself.

  I don’t know what I expected oral sex to feel like, but it was never this … sweet, in my imagination. And I didn’t expect I would enjoy sweet.

  But then, a switch flips inside the man. Oh. My. God. A wicked smile spreads across my face as he begins to split me in two.

  I feel the scrape of teeth, and I feel so much relief; a dating app could not have matched us more perfectly.

  I ache to scream his name, tell him I’m his, body and soul, but I worry that an emotional outpouring would trigger him.

  Easy for Doyle to be quiet; he’s got his mouth full of me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Doyle

  Maya’s pussy glistens in the firelight.

  She tastes beyond sweet, more wet and sticky than the sweetest dessert. I drive my tongue into her welcoming heat and drink her honey into my mouth. Whatever she has to give, I will swallow it down and let it fill me.

  I want her scent on me, her taste on my lips.

  I flatten my tongue and drag it all the way up, slowly, finding her clit and playing there for a few long, luxurious moments. Her body quivers.

  Her back arches off the bed when I let up the contact. She needs more.

  My darling Maya doesn’t want polite, sweet Doyle.

  I claim her roughly with my mouth, reveling in her juice, giving her what she craves. I feast on her so hard I might bruise myself. She’s certainly not getting away without a hickey or two. I’m leaving nothing untouched.

  I thumb her clit while I continue sucking, licking, and nipping every hill and valley, drenching my face in every drop.

  Maya’s legs begin to shake.

  My sweet girl is about to come, and I aim to make it spectacular.

  Her hips lift. Her moans chip away at my self-control as she grinds her pussy against my mouth. We are in sync; her pussy weeps for more, and I’m here to be smothered in the tears.

  Finally, I suction my lips around her tight, warm clit. I use my teeth. Just a little. My Maya explodes. I want to praise her for being so good. I almost allow the words to come. Her muscles contract and she snarls like a she-wolf. I’m here for all of it.

  I move swiftly to hover over her and watch her writhe. Tears fall, and I kiss them away. Her body shudders, her eyes widen, and she clutches at me. I tense up and let her.

  Never in my life have I felt anyone cling to me. Hug me, pull me close. It feels foreign and threatens to do me in. Emotions flood me, and I hug her soft, damp body against mine.

  Maya reaches her hand downward; her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks warm me. Her touch stirs my cock, as rigid and abrupt as a tombstone.

  “Now you?”

  Not yet, I tell her with a shake of my head.

  Her brows knit together, and her chin trembles. She doesn’t understand. She’s actually sad.

  She yearns so badly to please me.

  But she needs to understand, so I’ll tell her.

  After I put her back to bed.

  As I carry her back to her room, her arms circle around my neck, and she looks at me with forlorn eyes. I can hardly look back at her because my heart can’t take it that I’m disappointing her.

  The truth is, I love her. She’s so young and so lost, and she’s not ready for what I need from her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maya

  After the most erotic encounter of my life, why won’t he let me return the favor?

  Does he not think I know how to do it? Of course, I don’t, but he can guide me. Teach me things.

  My body lights up at the simple idea of this older man teaching me how to please him.

  There’s no way, again, I’ll be sleeping tonight. As I stare at the fire, a text message comes through.

  It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m half-crazed, and I don’t want to hurt you.

  I grunt in frustration. But you’re so hard. Are you going to touch yourself to finish?

  Yes.

  With a wicked grin, I reply, Can I watch?

  A minute goes by, and then the response.

  If you must.

  If he thinks that waiting to dick me will keep me from getting attached, he’s wrong.

  The more that either of us tries to distance ourselves from each other — because of age, because of a difference in experience, or because of the things that happened in my stepfather’s house — the more we both want this.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Doyle

  I practice my cello all day; in the evening, I help the committee finish setting up the fiber festival. Maya has turned out to be a whiz with floral design. She has all the decorations looking a few notches above what I ever expected to see in our shabby little downtown.

  Back home, I practice my cello piece one more time. I can’t stop playing. The more I play, the more nervous I become. I had thought it was supposed to be the opposite.

  After a couple of hours of practicing in my room, I half expect Maya to creep in.

  I know she wants me to claim her completely. I know.

  She deserves specialness. She deserves to be treated like the queen she is. I don’t want her to feel as if I need her just because she makes my mind feel calm. I want her because of who she is. I want us both to know if this is something lasting. Permanent.

  If I come inside of her, I won’t be able to hold back, and I will break my vow. I don’t feel that I deserve to have a voice. Not yet.

  I text her. May I come to your room again tonight?

  To my surprise, she replies, Only if I can have the peen.

  I shake my head. Maya.

  Doyle. I know you think I’ll be shocked and hurt by whatever it is you’re into, but here’s the thing. I won’t be. And I want you to bite me.

  A ripple of need threatens to undo me. A moment later, I reply. What I really want is a wife. I’m 35 and alone. I’m ready to start a family, I want you, I want all of it, but I can’t expect you to give up a future for me.

  From her: All I want is stability. I feel that around you. We are so simpatico, you don’t even see it.

  I have to tell her the truth she’s not ready for.

  When I see my future, I see you in it, with our children.

  Almost right away, she answers, Great. Perfect. My life sucks; this sounds good to me.

  Maya. You shouldn’t be so accommodating to the town weirdo. I don’t want you to live your life entirely for my comfort, just because I feel better around you. What will you do if, one day, you can’t “cure” me?

  Doyle, we are way past that.

  I respond: You deserve for me to go slow.

  Stepping out into the hallway, I see her at the far end, looking back at me.

  She smiles and speaks, her pleasing voice filling this gloomy space with cheer. “It’s a little late for slowly introducing me to your peen. It’s like putting toothpaste back into the tube.”

  A noise escapes me that’s half snort, half wheeze. I’m not sure.

  I think you just made me laugh. You are the first person to do that in years.

  I look up at her, and her head wags back and forth. “Your bar for comedy is very low right now. The algorithms of your streaming services are not taking care of you, good sir.”

  …I don’t have any streaming services.

  “Of course not. You have like seven fancy sitting rooms or drawing rooms or some shit and no TVs. You see why people think you are a five-hundred-year-old vampire.”

  I laugh again, this time for real. I look up at her, and she’s beaming at me.

  Oh my god. I’m head over heels in love with her.

  I beckon her to follow me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Doyle

  I haven’t been in Uncle’s room since he died.

  I’m glad I threw out his bed the week after the funeral and had the entire room redone.

  I’m glad I kept the TV in case of houseguests. I never thought I would have one.

  Maya leans into me and wordlessly sets me up with Netflix, Hulu, and a dozen other streaming services. I don’t really care what we watch, but I’m amused watching her poke her pink tongue out like that while she works the remote.

  I have lit the fireplace and popped some popcorn for us. I even changed into actual pajamas that I never wear.

  As I stare, I become more and more besotted.

  She chooses a movie called Despicable Me, and we settle in.

  The first thing I realize is she’s making me watch a children’s movie.

  She glances over at me during the opening credits, and I give her an arched eyebrow.

  “Want kids? Get ready because it’s a lifetime of kid shows.”

  How did she know that’s what I was thinking?

  One by one her comments to me begin to make sense.

  The strange recluse in the big black mansion and his black clothes skulking around with an air of misanthropy. He likes his routine. He seems to relish being crabby and misunderstood.

  I scrawl out the words, You get me.

  Maya reads what I wrote and looks back at me with smiling eyes, her lovely mouth crunching on popcorn. She looks very pleased with herself.

  We make it about halfway through the movie, and it’s pretty amusing. Out of nowhere, she presses pause, then turns to me. “What movie do I remind you of?”

  This is easy.

  With a bit of clumsy fooling around with the search function, I eventually find what I’m looking for.

  When the heroine floats onto the screen, I watch Maya’s face. I’m not even pretending to watch the film; I’ve seen it so many times.

  As I watch her watch Sleepless in Seattle for the first time, I slip her hand into mine. We’re about thirty minutes in when something wet falls on my hand.

  I look over and see the tear. Pivoting to look at her until she looks at me, I give her a questioning expression. She looks back at me and shakes her head from side to side.

  “You get me.”

  Cupping her face in my hands, I place a kiss on her forehead. More tears flow down her cheeks and wet mine. I kiss both her cheeks, scraping my thumb against the soft cheek.

  The beautiful peace in my head folds me in like a blanket.

  That’s all I do for now.

  I need more. I always need more. But right now, what I wish most is for her to know I care.

  “Big day tomorrow,” she says, threading her fingers through my hair. Her nails gently dragging across my scalp threaten to undo all my self-control. “You want me to trim your hair?”

  I arc an eyebrow.

  Laughing, she says, “Yes, I know how to cut hair. Trust me, I dropped out of beauty school.”

  I can’t help but smile at this. Whatever it takes to keep Maya’s hands on me a bit longer, I’ll go with it. I don’t actually give a fuck if I end up with a haircut that looks like I’ve been attacked by Edward Scissorhands. If Maya does it, I’ll be proud of it.

  Moments later, Maya’s got me sitting on a stool in the bathroom, my head leaning back against the sink as she massages warm water into my hair. The last haircut was done by an elderly barber in Gold Hill, and he didn’t smell half as lovely. I close my eyes and feel the soothing water soak my head and my hair, and fall into a trance as Maya’s fingers do their magic. I inhale her jasmine scent, noticing the contentment. Her breast accidentally brushes against my cheek, and I have to grip the stool to keep myself from reaching for her. I settle in so deep to her massage that I now understand why some people love dropping money on salon visits. This is the best therapy I’ve had…ever.