Free Collide & Burn by Claudy Conn Page B

thoroughness of my climax, and I shuddered in his arms, trembling with pleasure.
    He whispered my name and said, “That, Charlie, was making love.”
    “Hmmm,” I thought it appropriate to answer.
    “Charlie … you make me crazy.” He sounded desperate.
    I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, how I should respond.
    “Charlie, you do something to me … something that takes over my brain …”
    I still didn’t answer. This was scary territory. Was he saying good-bye? Was today all about good-bye? I wasn’t ready to lose him yet. Would I ever be ready for that day?
    He sighed and rolled me onto my back. He had been kissing and holding and making love to me for at least thirty minutes.
    Now, when he spoke, he sounded feral. “I’m going to fuck you now, Charlie … hard, so that you call out my name over and over and never forget that I am the one that makes you feel this way.”
    He got himself into position, raised my knees up and wider apart than I thought they could go, and, damn, if he didn’t ram into me. Damn, hot damn , if I didn’t buck against him for more.
    He filled me, and his movements were made to take me to the limit, and they did. It was so easy. I reached that pinnacle and cried out in primal grunts as I found release and my body shattered all around him.
    He poured his seed into me, and I realized—he had forgotten to use a condom.
    He obviously also realized it, for when he collapsed next to me and took me in his arms he said, “That was a first. I have never forgotten protection before.”
    I calculated in my head. I was pretty sure I was in the ‘safe from pregnancy zone’ time of the month.
    I said nothing.
    He kissed my lips. “I don’t know what I am going to do with you, baby. I just don’t know.”
    Apparently, not knowing what to do with me meant making love to me, as we did that a good part of the remaining afternoon and into the evening, until I was sure I would never walk again.
     

 
     
    ~ Eight ~
     
    FOUR DAYS HAD gone by since our tryst in the city, and I hadn’t heard a word from Mr. Wade Devon. Not a word. Plus, he hadn’t been at the farm. It was as though he’d vanished from the world—my world—and I was beginning to fall apart.
    Jeff called twice to apologize. I didn’t take his calls. I wasn’t ready.
    Also, something was giving me the creeps. I felt like someone was watching me. On one occasion, I looked up and saw Gloria in the barn, talking to Scott. She was fresh to him before she turned and walked away.
    I approached Scott and told him not to concern himself. He nodded and lowered his head, as was his way. I was so angry at her for that. Scott’s brain might be damaged a bit, but he still flinched under cruel words.
    So my days after our little time in the city were filled with insecurities of different sorts. I made up my mind that it had been all about good-bye. It was as I feared: it was over. And then, hope would wheedle its way into my heart, making it all so hard to accept.
    I was in a fog. My head hurt. My heart hurt. My body ached.
    Hope still carried me forward while I waited to hear from him, but on the fourth day hope began to wither and die.
    I told myself not to jump for the phone when it rang. I told myself not to look down the driveway or, when I was with my horse, to glance at his house.
    But the problem was that I have always been a Pollyanna. I guess I always will be; it is in my nature. Still, I should have expected this. He had warned me. He had said not to read anything into what we were when we were together. He had said he didn’t stay. I had been warned.
    Our Saturday that overlapped into Sunday had been our last time together. I had to get that through my stupid head. It had been his way of gently saying good-bye. And yet, it hadn’t felt like good-bye. Quite the opposite.
    It was already Friday, and as was my habit, I went out early and got in a ride on Sassy before I returned to my easel and got to work.
    I