Page 39 of Craving Consequences

Not entirely a lie.

“Until two in the morning?”

I blow out a breath. “It was a lot of stuff. We lost track of time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

That raises an eyebrow. “You would?”

Her hesitation is comical and expected. “I could have gotten drinks.”

Lauren isn’t lazy. She’s remarkably hard working and driven ... when it’s something she wants. Otherwise, she’s there in spirit. A presence to keep you company, but labor of any kind isn’t her strong suit .

“We were neck deep in dirt and sweat. Had to take a shower when I got home.”

I feel myself grin and I’m glad we’re having this conversation over the phone.

“Gross.” I hear something squeak and rustle and I think she’s in bed. “Well, did she tell you if she’s home today? I called the office and Peggy Sue said Everly took the week off. She never mentioned taking time off. I don’t think she’s ever taken a whole week—”

“There’s still a lot of cleaning,” I cut in.

I know why Everly took the time off. I know the pain in the ass Lauren is during her birthday month. Even as a kid, leading up to the big day had filled me with dread. Having a party a whole month before is genius, but now we have a suspicious Lauren to deal with.

Granted, it’s not the only reason Everly’s avoiding her.

“Jesus, how much crap did her dad have in that storage?”

I ignore the question.

“Hey, everything okay with you though?” I push up higher and let the sheets pool into my lap. “Anything you want to talk about?”

The hesitance erases any hope I might have had that Everly misunderstood the situation. Maybe Lauren was strangling Bron and it looked weird. But the silence is too telling. Too painful.

Fuck sakes, Lauren .

“No. Why?”

I blow out a slow breath. “No reason. Just checking on you.”

“Yeah, just worried about Everly. She’s not answering any of my calls. I need to talk to her...”

My head cocks. “What about? I can tell her when I see her.”

Longer pause.

“It’s nothing. I just need to talk to her.”

I let it go.

Neither Lauren, nor Everly are little kids. They’re grown adults and best friends. As much as I want to tell Lauren that Everly knows what she did, Everly swore me to silence. I hate it, but it’s her choice how she wants to handle this.

“Do you think I should go over?” Lauren’s asking. “She’ll be home, and I can—”

“She’s probably sleeping. We did a lot yesterday and have a ton of stuff to do today—”

“I can meet you at the storage,” she blurts. “What time—?”

“Why don’t you just wait until she gets back to you, sweetie?”

The silence is different this time.

“Is she mad at me?” The quiet whisper cuts through me.

“Lauren...”

“I have to go. Sorry I woke you, Dad. Love you.”

The line goes dead.

I swear and toss the phone down. I stare at the useless piece of plastic, a dark shadow against the white sheets.

I’m trying not to take sides. I’m trying to be neutral ground in a situation where there are no winners. There are some betrayals that you can’t come back from.

Murdering your friend’s family or loved ones.

Sleeping with their significant other.

Were there days I considered pulling Everly into a dark corner and kissing her until she forgot all about that mouth breather?

Yes. Every fucking time. But I didn’t because I don’t condone infidelity. I would never take a woman Lachlan was interested in no matter the situation. There are lines you just don’t cross.

Sharing Everly is different. There are no secrets or hiding. No sneaking around. And she belongs to both of us. Walking in on Lachlan railing her won’t piss me off. Won’t feel like they betrayed me. More than anything, I’d probably drag her into my lap next.

What Lauren and Bron did is not the same.

Thoughts of Lachlan remind me I’m supposed to meet him in an hour to drive to Everly’s house.

The walk over isn’t long, but I still need to grab a few things and figure out the road.

Setting off with electronic gadgets into the wilderness and hoping for the best has never worked for me.

I still use a paper map and compass, a preference Lach teases me about.

Still, I stay twisted in my warm sheets, starving to reach for a body that isn’t there. Maybe for the best. I would never leave my bed if she were here with me. I’d abandon my entire life for an eternity in her arms.

I draw in a breath and close my eyes. The rhythmic patter of rain echoes off the window. Subtle. Faint warning shots to get moving.

I do, with a grunt. I push myself out of bed and head toward the bathroom.

I twist the shower on and let it run as I strip.

The heat of the water hits my tight muscles, and I groan at the sharp prickle of needles against my skin.

I lean both hands against the wall and bow my head, letting the water rush over me.

It does little to clear the static in my mind, but at least it washes away the evidence of my restless night.

Everly’s face haunts me behind closed eyelids. The way she looked, sated and small cradled in my chest. The way her breath warmed my skin the entire drive back.

I grit my jaw, bearing down on the reminder that I am a grown man with multiple past lovers, a wife. And yet, this one has me hollowed out and filled only with her.

Reminders of her cling to the back of my eyelids, burned there just to torture me.

The sight of her splayed across the blanket, skin the delicate pink of fine China, breasts full and perky, puckered by my greedy mouth, glows at the forefront of my brain.

It’s tangled with images of her open for me, legs wide, her pussy wet and swollen.

Her big, trusting eyes stared up at me from a face flushed with desire and uncertainty.

Her hair a wild halo tangled around her head.

So fucking perfect.

It took everything in me not to slam inside her like some feral, rabid creature. Every muscle shuddered with my effort to take my time with her.

I drop my hand from the wall and wrap it around my cock. Jets of water slice down my back, scalding rivers burning flesh, but it’s nothing to the fire crawling through my veins.

Everly’s weak little whimpers claw at me, filling every crevice. Her tight body, a torturous fist clamped around me, greedy and slick.

I pump into my fist, eyes shut. Mind back in the meadow with Everly on her knees, pussy speared over my friend’s cock. Her dark eyes peering up at me from over the plump lips she has suctioned around my swollen head. The hot lash of her tongue up the underside from base to head.

“Fuck...”

My hips twitch faster. I squeeze harder.

The image shifts to Everly in Lachlan’s lap, knees wide around the hand he had keeping her on the edge.

The entire moment reminded me of a pottery master working his magic at the wheel.

Watching him smooth through her folds and dip into her tight little channel, watching Everly’s glazed, almost euphoric expression.

It had been the most erotic thing I have ever witnessed.

With a low grunt, I jerk forward and spray my shower tiles with thick, white cum. It runs over my choking grip in hot spurts and hits the top of my feet. The water washes away my weakness, but I remain under the pounding stream, still wound so tight I think I might lose my mind.

By the time I get out, my jaw is tight from clenching it too long and there’s a growing pulse between my eyes.

I towel off briskly, dress in dark jeans, a plain thermal, and my old leather jacket, worn in all the right places — creases in the elbows, soft along the collar.

A comfort piece I’ve had for longer than I can remember.

I head into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee, black and bitter enough to scrape down my throat.

I drink it in silence, leaning against the counter and staring out the window at the faint blush of dawn seeping over the tops of the trees.

A soft drizzle splatters across the deck and runs down the windows.

It’s not heavy yet but the clouds churn an angry black, pregnant with a storm.

Setting the mug down, I move through the house with purpose, collecting what I’ll need for the day, plus a little extra just to be safe.

I throw a change of clothes, a hoodie, my shaving kit, and a few essentials into a duffel bag.

Including an unopened bottle of lube I’d bought ages ago but never had a chance to use.

All day alone with Everly in an isolated cabin? Definitely going to come in handy.

I toss in a flashlight and a first aid kit just in case. A few spare batteries, my solar powered power bank, and my favorite hunting knife. My phone gets stuffed into my back pocket along with my wallet before I head out the door.

Moving to Jefferson was a drastic change from the sprawling streets of downtown Vancouver.

No matter the hour, Jefferson never bustles.

There is forever a level of calm and order to everything the town did that, as a military man, always feels both comforting and suspicious.

The familiar cycle of habits calms the anxious nerves I brought back with me from Afghanistan.

The lingering prickles of PTSD ease with the knowledge that I know where everyone will be at any given time.

That nothing crazy or dangerous will ever happen.

But the hardwired resolution stomped into me from thirty years of training and battle has a much harder time accepting that danger isn’t lurking around every neatly painted fence.

My house is the fourth building along the curve of the cul-de-sac lining Maple Crest. It has a clear view of the road and a dense forest in the back that I reinforced with a high, stone wall that Lachlan helped construct while repeatedly reminding me nothing ever happened in Jefferson.

That isn’t the point. Just because nothing has happened yet doesn’t mean nothing will, and I sleep better knowing I’ve done all I can to prepare.