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The sun sank below the ridge, throwing the valley into early shadow, their rough-edges crawling across the meadow grasses and dots of scrub pine. Anne stood on the front step of the cabin wrapped in one of Elliot's big shirts, her long pale legs bare. The scent of horses and pine mingled with that of their sex still clinging to her skin.
The boy, 24 years young and radiating virility, rounded the corner of the barn. His bare torso shone with the day's sweat, and his black curly hair hung lank on his shoulders.
"Juan!" she called softly. The silence was cathedral-like; she regretted shattering it with something as harsh as a voice. He stopped and looked at her. "Would you check the mare's right front, please? She was going stiff for me today."
He nodded politely and said something about putting the new colt back in with the old gelding for the night.
"That's great," she said.
A big cat screamed far up the mountain, raising goose-flesh on her arms and legs.
She heard him behind her just before he put his arms around her middle and pulled her possessively into the clutch of his body. He put his mouth on her neck, pressed his hips into her buttocks. "Haven't you had enough, Baby?" she asked, smiling, melting into him. He always made her melt. He could make her melt with a look. A word.
He purred softly, seductively against her skin. "Never." His hands brushed over and cupped her breasts. She glanced up, looking for the boy, feeling embarrassment; but he'd gone to check the mare. Something like disappointment crept around her thoughts.
Elliot quickly brushed whatever it was away, playing his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them erect. He was still kissing and sucking her neck, her throat, sweeping his tongue inside the cup of her ear. She moaned and laid her head back on his shoulder.
"I bet you're wet again," he said softly. His fingers slid against her sex, playing in her heat and juices. He purred again. "My mouth's watering, Beautiful," he said.
It was a rose-colored dawn, the kind that throws the landscape into a school-girl blush. The colt was fresh. Barely three years old, he had come to her mean and distrustful. That was six months ago. She'd been ponying him on rides with her old gelding, and the gelding's steady nature quickly taught the colt to trust him, if not her. She would put the training saddle on the youngster and barely tighten the cinch, and a loose-ring snaffle in his mouth. She led him by his halter, teaching him to carry the bit without interference. He was smart as a whip, and she saw something in his eyes that told her he'd come around.
She was never wrong. Not about horses.
They were in the round pen slightly behind the barn from the house. No one was up yet. It was her favorite time of day, just her and a horse and the ancient mountains looming over their shoulders. She spoke to him softly, called his name, asked for his attention. He trotted around her on the rails but kept one ear trained on her; he chewed and licked his lips. He was listening, processing, thinking things through.
She kept his feet moving with her presence, applying pressure then backing off and releasing when he responded. It was a dance he'd already learned well. When she stepped back and relaxed her spine, lowered her eyes, and turned her shoulder to him, he halted and turned into her. Head low and extended, his sorrel coat danced and sparked with pink highlights. She spoke. He considered before approaching quietly, touching her elbow with his lips, They stood silently together in the coolness of a dawn that held the promise of another hot day.
After a few minutes she rubbed him all over with her hands. He was relaxed and accepting of her movements around him. Even when she lifted the stirrup and slapped the fender, he stood. She leaned into the stirrup with her hand, mimicking a mount-up. He started and leaned with her, then braced and stood. He turned his head to study her, inquisitive, watchful.
A thought flitted through the back of her mind like a smoky shadow that it was too soon, she was rushing. But he was so quiet, and her foot was in the stirrup before she knew it.
She hung on his side for a moment while he warmed to this new sensation. His back was hollowed, his neck raised, his ears on her, but she waited and spoke softly, and he slowly relaxed. She inched up, carefully put her leg over the the cantel without touching his rump, gently settled her buttocks into the seat--
The boy's voice spoke urgently above her. She wondered vaguely why she thought of him as the boy. He wasn't a boy. He was anything but. His skin, the color of lightly oiled leather, slid over his muscled frame like water over river rock. He always smelled musky, of glycerin soap and hay and horses and heat. Not that she'd noticed.
She had noticed, once. Elliot caught her looking. He was angry. A thrill of fear swelled through her when he got that look. He saved it for incompetent salesmen and accountants and kids who rode their skateboards too close on the sidewalk when they walked through town. He'd never turned it on her. Usually so gentle and smiling, his face hardened and his eyes hooded. It made her wet.
He'd caught her watching from the front step, and he'd gripped her upper arm, almost painfully. He pulled her into the house, slammed the door and threw the bolt, dragged her through into the dining room. He spun her to face him and pointed at the floor without a word, that hardness in his eyes. She was off-balance, taken completely by surprise. "You want to fuck him?" he'd asked her, and his voice was soft. It sent chills down her spine; she started to deny it, knew she should deny it. She wasn't sure what stopped her, but she felt her head nodding, felt tears stinging her eyes.
He had gentled a bit. Like he knew he'd gone a little too far, too fast. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up, and though he still didn't smile or call her Beautiful, he kissed her lips, and she felt Elliot still in there. He took himself out of his trousers and he was rock hard. He looked at her and released her chin and said, "Suck my cock. Suck my cock while you think about him."
She started to protest. Even while she grew swollen and wet at the sight of him hard and the promise of having him in her mouth, she wanted him to know she didn't need to think about the boy. But he cut her off, placed his hand on the back of her head and forced her to put her mouth on him.
He never took his eyes off her, and once in a while he reminded her to think of the boy, of his young, muscular body, his big hard cock. He told her to imagine the boy was fucking her while she sucked him; while he, her lover, fucked her mouth and watched.
Before he came, he pulled away and asked if she liked it, liked having two men. She was too in the moment to lie, to make up a story. She just panted there on her knees, needing to finish him off, and said, "Yes, Baby. Yes." He'd smiled a satisfied smile that didn't reach his eyes and come hard in her mouth without warning her like he usually did.
Now the boy was lifting her, cradling her against the flannel of a shirt he only ever wore till mid-morning. He was hard and strong. And he was asking if she was okay while he carried her toward the house. "The colt," she murmured.
He promised to take care of the colt, and she relaxed.
Elliot was still in bed when Juan burst through the door, Anne limp in his arms. He took a half second to register and rub the surprise out of his eyes, then he was out of the bed and across the room.
"Fuck, Juan, what happened?" he asked, brushing her red hair out of her face as Juan laid her on the bed.
"The colt, she tried to get on him."
"Was it bad? Anne! Anne, honey, can you hear me?" Her eyes opened and she smiled at him.
"Should I get the doc?" Juan asked, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.
"Yeah, use the phone in the kitchen, would you?" Juan left and Elliot leaned over her, kissed her forehead. "Honey, do you know where you are?" He put his hands in the cloud of her hair, checking for bumps and blood.
She grinned sleepily. "Of course, silly. I fell off a horse. I didn't..." she trailed off.
"No, Anne, stay awake." He knew you didn't let a person with a concussion fall asleep.
Juan stood in the doorway. "He said he'll be here directly."
"Thanks," Elliot said.
"I best take care of the horse," and he was gone.
Elliot muttered under his breath, "Shoot the damn thing."
Anne's green eyes flew open and she looked serious. "Don't you dare! It wasn't his fault!" She tried to sit up and he stopped her and smiled.
"That's my girl. The horse is safe, Beautiful. No one's going to shoot it."
She relaxed back onto the pillow and smiled. She said, "I love you, Baby," and closed her eyes again.
It wasn't serious, the Doc said. A mild concussion. Barely a bruise on her. Except the one on her upper arm, but it looked older. Elliot had cleared his throat, and Anne smiled sweetly and said something about a caught rope... He told her to stay off the horses for a few days.
But she slipped out to the barn the next morning. She saddled the old gelding and took him out into the scrub. She told the boy she was going and would be back before Elliot was up.
They'd made love last night. He'd been so gentle with her, like he thought she might break. And when she asked for harder and faster, he'd only complied minimally, just enough to get her off.
That was the thing about Elliot; even in his selfish moments he wasn't really. Everything he did was done with her in mind. That was probably the main reason she loved him, the main reason she'd fled a marriage and uprooted her life to be with him.
She patted the gelding's thick neck. Awkward, long-legged jack rabbits scattered before their approach and the gelding flicked his ears and watched and plodded quietly on.
When she returned, a worried-looking boy took the horse. "You better get up there," he motioned at the house.
Her heart sank a little.
She walked in the door and saw him sitting at the bar, looking unseeingly at the latest National G. He didn't acknowledge her, not even when she slipped up behind him and put her arms around his big shoulders. She kissed his cheek. "Hey, Baby," she said tentatively.
He cleared his throat. His voice, though soft, had a rough edge to it. "I was worried."
She squeezed tighter. "You know there's no need." She kissed his earlobe. Kissed the soft flesh beneath his jaw. "It was just the old boy. How can I make it up to you?"
He started to relax, put his hand up to cover her wrists where they crossed over his chest. "By being careful and not pulling hotheaded stunts like yesterday."
"I'm sorry," she said.
He leaned his cheek against hers and there was a small smile in his voice. "No you're not."
"I am!"
"You're sorry I worry. You're not sorry you're a fucking hothead," he finally looked at her and his eyes were warm.
"Maybe."
He twisted on the bar stool and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her like he was trying squeeze the life out of her, and kissed her neck a little roughly. She giggled and squirmed and caught his mouth with hers.
It wasn't the first time he'd heard the boy outside the window. Anne was vocal in her lovemaking, in her climaxes, and they kept the windows open this time of year. He'd been aware of the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves. He passed it off on animals, a squirrel or coon, or even the wind carrying in noises from farther away.
But this time Juan was careless. Elliot had been lost in her pussy, then moved up her body to kiss her mouth. He caught the dark eyes staring through the window. He'd met and held them while he kissed her, and something in the audience made him harder; he'd stopped his teasing and penetrated her, hard and fast, and she'd yelped and moaned, and come for him so quickly. When he looked back to the window, it was empty. But he knew. He knew Juan was watching.
He laid at her side after-wards and tenderly touched her face, softly kissed her lips, rubbed his hand over her ebbing sex making her smile. He wondered if he should tell her, wondered if she would react, recalled her excitement at the idea of taking two. He marveled at her love for him, at what she had sacrificed and what she still had left to give. It made his heart swell, brought tears to his eyes, filled him with a feeling larger than anything he'd felt before.
"What?" she queried. She concentrated on his face, looking content and at ease.
He raised his eyebrows innocently.
"You've got something on your mind, Baby," she said. She kissed his lips.
He kissed her back, deepened it, pulled away. "You can always tell."
She grinned and waited.
"I think we've had company."
It was her turn to lift her brows. "Like, now?" she looked around the room. "How do you mean?"
He waved toward the window. "That boy you like to watch. He apparently enjoys a little watching himself."
Her smile faded, and she looked uncomfortable, a touch frightened. Not the reaction he was hoping for. "I'll have a word," he said quickly.
"Is that necessary?"
He studied her.
"Is that why you changed a minute ago? You got..." he cut her off, covering her mouth with his. Her smile returned.
"Does it bother you?" he asked.
"What, that you're turned on by cocks and being watched?" She was smiling still, but looked thoughtful, too. "It's kind of hot."
"No. I'm turned on by you. And the more turned on you are, the better. Why'd you look... scared?"
She turned her head away, tried to pull the sheet over her bare breasts, but he stilled her hands and turned her face back to him. "I didn't," she said. It was a weak protest.
"Yeah. Yeah you did. I thought you were put off."
"I just- I was afraid you'd be angry. That he was watching."
"Because you thought I was angry when you were watching him," he finished. He put his arm over her and pulled her against him. "I wasn't, Beautiful."
"No? You seemed angry."
"It was play. It was exciting. You enjoyed it."
She smiled.
"We can do it again sometime. If you did enjoy it as much as I think you did."
She nodded. "Do you think he'll keep watching?"
"I don't know. I think you might need to give him a little... encouragement."
They often worked side by side in the little barn, she and the boy. Never speaking. Doing their work together, yet staying each out of the others way.
The barn itself was simple, broken down the center by a wide aisle with two box stalls on either side. The horses rarely stayed in, preferring the run-in sheds in their pastures over tight confinement. But new arrivals stayed in for a few days, and once in awhile, Anne took in a neighbor's animals while they were out of town. The fourth stall at the back was fully enclosed and padlocked, and held feed and tack. The loft overhead overflowed with the summer's hay crop. The boy lived simply in the small bunk room at the back. They'd provided him with running water, a hot plate and a microwave. They'd offered him use of the house as needed, though as yet, he'd not taken them up on it.
The barn was another of her favorite places. As they worked and she sneaked sidelong glances at his lithe body, lifting and straining and shining with sweat, she heard Elliot's voice in her ear telling her to encourage him. She wasn't sure what he meant by that. But there was something arousing in the idea that she had his permission to... appreciate. It was made more arousing in that Elliot had added, "There is one condition; he's a cock. That's it."
She pondered the idea and what it meant as she waited for the water trough to fill. Sweat stuck her pink tank to her skin.
The boy came behind her, grabbed the hose and doused his head and shoulders. "Hot," he stated, before taking a long drink and replacing the nozzle in the tank. He turned to go.
Before she could stop herself, she said, "Yes. Yes it is."
He paused, smiled a little.
She smiled sweetly back, plucking her tank off her chest and fanning herself with the feed label in her hand. She raked him boldly with her eyes, pausing on the button of his jeans before moving on. It was a calculated sweep, for his benefit.
He met her gaze before following suit, lingering over her curves and challenging her slightly with his look.
"Are you comfortable in the bunk room?" she asked casually. She knew her arousal was visible, obvious in the peak of her breasts and flush on her cheeks. But she played it cool. Played it cool and invited him to keep looking, knowing too that he'd already seen far more of her than most.
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Staying cool at night?" she said softly. She saw the front of his dungarees stir.
"Enough," he replied.
"Not much for entertainment way out here." She smiled a small smile.
"Enough," he said again.
The trough over-flowed and they both leaned for the spigot. She caught his musk. She took the opportunity and whispered boldly, without plan and for no good reason, "You're just a cock. A boy and a cock." She met his eyes briefly, but his dilated pupils were unreadable.
She left him there, to wonder.
Elliot watched the two of them from the kitchen window. He'd been washing dishes, a chore he often undertook while she was outside. There was something soothing, ordinary in dish washing. He'd looked out and seen them standing close together. Something stabbed him, sharp, a feeling that perhaps he'd started a ball rolling that could too easily gain speed and girth and crush him and her and the beautiful thing they had.
They didn't touch. But he saw Juan lean into her as they spoke. She cocked her hip out and placed a hand on it in that way she did when she was feeling the power of her own body. It turned him on when she did that for him. As he watched her do it for someone else, there was a sneaking feeling of dark jealousy.
Then their bodies leaned forward at the same time. He thought they were going to kiss. His heart stilled, thudded off his ribs and sped up; they both straightened and parted. Anne walked toward the house in that purposeful way she had. He thought that's why the horses liked her, trusted her. She always walked with purpose, like she had no question about where she was going or her mission in life; he suspected it made them want to follow her. It certainly made him want to follow her.
He pulled the plug.
Autumn crept down the mountains' flanks, turning the aspen and birch yellow and gold in its wake. Uncut hay ripened and died to raw umber in the meadows. Geese flew in huge formations across skies crowded with towering cumulonimbus clouds, and black and grizzly bears foraged along the tree lines, stripping the last of the summer berries from their canes. The horses' winter coats started to grow, making them look fat and fuzzy as long hot days shortened and cooled.
Anne heard Elliot's familiar footfall as she worked alone in the barn late one evening. She sat on a hay bale and held an awl in one hand and a length of tan waxed thread in the other, and balanced a saddle on the floor between her knees.
She glanced up and smiled, and went back to work, impatiently shoving a thatch of red hair behind her ear and almost poking herself in the face with awl.
Elliot stepped up and gently took it out of her hand. "Hey, careful," he warned. "Why isn't Juan doing that?"
"You know he's gone for a few days. And I need this for the colt tomorrow. Look!" she indicated where the stitching had worked loose. "Give it," she demanded petulantly.
He grinned, mischief in his eyes. "I think you need a break. And I'm tired of waiting for you." He pulled her up and kissed her, his tongue parting her lips and touching hers in that way that always broke her. His hands were under her plaid shirt. He freed her breasts from their under-wire cage, and she melted into his body, felt his erection against her, his hands touching and teasing in all the right places.
"We shouldn't, not here," she gasped. But her body sought his independent of her brain.
"Mm, why not?"
"It's dirty!" she giggled, then put her mouth on his throat, his strong neck. He growled. He broke their embrace and pulled her down the aisle toward the bunk room.
She pulled back. "No, Baby, we shouldn't."
He grinned. "I think we should." He kissed her again, and it was a hard demand that shot fingers of sensation through her belly, into her sex. He knew. He slid his hand into her pants, curled his fingers and cupped her, and she went weak against him. "So wet for me, Beautiful," he murmured against her neck.
The door stood ajar. There was nothing personal about the little room. The cot was made up with old quilts from her linen closet, and everything was tidy, almost sterile. Elliot pushed her till the cot was against the backs of her knees, then he kissed his way down her body, over her clothes, pulling her jeans down as he went. He was on his knees, sliding his hands back up under her shirt over her breasts. He kissed the triangle of curly copper hair, then looked up at her and said, "Sit."
She gladly obeyed.
He spread her knees, and his tongue was inside her, exploring her walls, swirling and stroking. He moaned and purred and hummed, and she invited him deeper while his hands teased her breasts.
He moved to suck and bite her clit, lick and bite her thighs. He curled his fingers inside her. She rocked her head back and groaned.
Elliot's back was to the door. He didn't see the boy. But she did, caught the surprised then excited look in his eyes. She heard her own noises as though they were something apart from her. Elliot was stripped to his trousers, and when she begged for him, he unfastened them while he devoured her mouth, the taste and smell of herself strong on his face.
She watched the boy leaning casually, almost arrogantly against the door frame, his hand cupping and rubbing his jeans front, while Elliot slid inside her with his usual maddening, intoxicating control, teasing and leaving and coming back deeper. She took Elliot's face in her hands and looked into his eyes and told him she loved him. Their mouths met. Then she said softly, "I want him," and pointed at the door.
Elliot stilled and looked over his shoulder. They were two bull bears, sizing one another up. But there was no contest. It was clear Elliot was in charge. He slid back to her pussy, kissed her, licked her, and the boy came into the room and shrugged out of his clothes. Naked, he took her breath away. His broad shoulders tapered into a hard stomach, into a round ass, and his phallus was long and thick and upright with youth. His thighs bulged but his legs were graceful. Everything about him screamed rut. He stood behind them and stroked his shaft and waited.
Elliot looked at her. "What do you want?"
She pulled him up to her mouth and whispered in his ear. She could not bring herself to be heard, couldn't bear the thought of her voice in the midst of this, whatever this was. He kissed her and stroked her hair, looked into her eyes and told her he loved her, and not to be afraid. She was trembling. She didn't know if it was nerves or arousal. Did he?
She was afraid to look at the boy. Elliot moved to her side, his warm, known body stretched beside her, his foot gently caressing the length of her shin. He motioned to the boy. He leaned away from her and said something low, something that sounded like a threat and that she thought was a warning the boy wasn't to put his mouth on her.
The boy was just a cock. Elliot had said that. Elliot meant that.
The tension in the tiny room was thick as the sex, as the steamy odors of horses and green curing hay.
Anne couldn't look at the boy. She was thankful for the blouse that still partially covered her. She was self-conscious of her imperfect and aging body, the softness around her middle, the dimples on her thighs. She felt tears, and intense arousal and fear, and she kept her face turned toward Elliot. Elliot, who never made her feel less, always made her feel more. Elliot, who lived and breathed her when they were together. Elliot, with his soft round face and thick, forgiving body and beautiful cock that he joked didn't show up for the second half of puberty. Elliot, who was fiercely protective of her, but knew to respect the independence that ran through her core. She tried to read his face as she felt the boy's hands on her and she instinctively shrank from them, wanting, but afraid to want at the same time. They felt good, but they were not Elliot's hands. Fat tears skated over her cheeks.
Elliot stopped the boy and took Anne's face between his hands. He smiled at her and kissed the wet off her cheeks. "Do you want to stop, Beautiful?" he whispered. "Nothing happens that you don't want, do you understand?"
She nodded.
"Do you feel how hard I am for you right now?" He removed one hand to find hers and put it on his throbbing need. He cupped her face again, his eyes never leaving hers. "Feel me, Babe, " he whispered.
She kept her hold on him, stroking him, and with the other arm embraced his head and buried her face against his neck that smelled faintly of aftershave and Marlboros. He held her and rocked her, and she felt his hand on her breasts, pushing aside the fabric and gliding his palms over her nipples, awakening her body as only he could. He continued to stroke her and murmur reassurances against her hair, fucking her hand as their excitement built.
She focused on him, focused everything in her on Elliot. When she felt the boy's hands on her belly and thighs, and then between her legs, they were disconnected from everything but Elliot and the sensations racing through her body. She arched and moaned, opened her mouth on Elliot's throat, and let his scent and heat engulf her while the hands on her brought her to near climax, the fingers on her clit, inside her, on her breasts, and Elliot's hips thrusting against her hand.
She whispered his name, and he said, "Yes, Beautiful?"
She could only groan and will him to understand what she needed.
He kissed her hard, filled her mouth with his tongue, before leaving and putting his hand over hers on his phallus, and pointing at her chest and saying something else quiet to the boy.
The boy complied and straddled her midsection and gently lifted and pressed her heavy breasts up and together. Elliot's hand squeezed hers, reassuring her, and he looked in her eyes and gauged her reaction. He kept their fingers laced when he moved behind the boy, and at the same time Juan pushed his swollen member between her breasts, she felt Elliot's familiar mouth on her sex, and she sighed and shuddered deep in the center of herself. She kept a tight hold on his hand; he made her feel like she was the center of this thing that was happening.
The boy pumped his hips against her breasts, and she felt a boldness afforded by the intense levels of arousal; she took the tip of him into her mouth. He groaned, and his body started to fold forward, but Elliot's mouth left her for a moment, and the boy sat up, and kept his rhythm slow, almost gentle.
Elliot's hand let go, and he touched her thighs, guiding her legs over his shoulders. Then her thighs were sandwiched between their bodies, and Elliot filled her and began pushing her; she saw one of Elliot's hands on the boy's hip; she could tell by their rhythms that he was syncing them up, that he was directing the boy at his pace, because Elliot knew what she needed, how long it took, and how to give the most pleasure. The boy's thrusting through her breasts into her mouth soon perfectly matched Elliot's into her pussy, and the feelings were exquisite.
The rhythms escalated until she was falling over the edge into sweeping indigo waves. She let her head fall back and let the sounds out of her body that were as much a part of her climax as the clenching muscles and crackling bolts of electricity running the length of her limbs. The boy was suddenly gone and it was Elliot's beautiful face above her, and he was coming with her, pushing her beyond any physical boundary she'd ever erected for herself. His mouth devoured her throat, her breastbone, covered hers and swallowed her almost panicked cries. She clasped her body around him, her arm, legs, pussy, and held on for what felt like her very life.
The boy didn't return. When the world came back into focus, he was gone. They'd left the bunk room for their own bed and slept the sleep of the spent until well after dawn. When Anne finally made it to the barn, she saw his possessions, meager though they were, cleared from the bunk room. She knew he wouldn't be back, and felt both relief and disappointment.
She pulled the bedding off the cot and carried it to the house. Elliot poured a cup of coffee at the counter, stirred in cream and sugar, and turned to look at her.
"He's gone?" he asked.
She nodded, shoving the bedding into the washing machine hidden behind a slatted door between the great room and kitchen.
"Are you happy about that?" Elliot sipped the coffee.
They hadn't said much about the experience. She shrugged. Talking about it might make it real. Or unreal. She wasn't sure which was worse.
"Come sit," he said. There was something in his quiet voice that she obeyed without question. She followed him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, and she felt his mouth against her hair. "Tell me what you're feeling, Beautiful."
How could she tell him something she didn't know? "I think maybe I'll miss him." Her voice cracked a little. She cleared her throat, and he handed her his coffee cup. She took a sip and grimaced at the sweetness of it. He took it back and grinned at her.
"Is that okay?" she said.
"What, that you'll miss him? Honey, whatever you feel about it is okay. You feel what you feel."
"But maybe I'm also glad he's gone. I don't know that I could have faced him."
He kissed her hair again, and she felt safe. "I get that too."
"Would you have let him stay?"
His answer was quick. "No."
She sat up and looked at him. "Why not?"
His brow furrowed and he took another drink. Cleared his throat. He had that intent look as though he were selecting and testing his words like picking out produce at the market. "It would have been awkward."
She snorted. "Since when are you bothered by that?" she accused. "No, really. Why not?"
He looked at her, reached up and thumbed across her jaw and chin. "I think I'd be a little jealous. I think it would be too easy for you to be with him, without me, after something like that. I'd worry you felt more for him." His eyes were serious, dark. It was insecure Elliot speaking, and it made her want to hold and comfort and assure him. But she was too unsure of her own standing.
"Feel more for him than for you?" She whispered it, but her incredulity still came through. "I didn't-- don't feel anything for him, Baby."
"I think I know that." He tried to smile, but it just made him look more sad.
She caught his face between her hands and kissed him. Kissed him over and over. "There's no room for anyone but you."
"An experience like that changes the dynamics of relationships," he said when she released him. "And even if I could have gotten over my feelings, and gotten past the awkward moments, there would still be that matter of whether we allowed it to happen again, if we let him keep watching, if we let him just come and go at will. Far too complicated."
She nodded. "We'd have had to make rules."
"Right, and we'd have had to consider his feelings while making them, which would personalize him."
"And he wouldn't, couldn't be just a cock," she finished.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sun filtering through the picture window, watching the horses grazing in the short wet grass.
"Would you do it again?" she asked.
He didn't hesitate. "Fuck yeah. I think that's the hottest thing I've ever experienced, seeing you like that. You?"
"Yes. I think so. Under the right circumstances."
"As in?"
She shrugged. "I just always need to feel you there. It has to be about you and me. I'm not a whore, Elliot."
He grabbed her close, "Annie!"
She twisted and met his eyes. "I'm not!"
"God, who said you were? Do you think I see you any differently?"
When she tried to look away, he caught her face and made her look at him. "Do you think I see you differently?" he repeated, carefully and quietly enunciating each word.
"Maybe. I loved the way it felt."
He let her face go and pulled her against him again, so tightly she had a hard time breathing. "You were supposed to love the way it felt. That was the whole point. That was our purpose, mine and his, to give you the most pleasure you could possibly experience."
She stayed silent.
"Nothing has changed, Beautiful. Not between you and me. Your happiness is all I care about."
She still wondered vaguely in the back of her mind how he could not see her differently, but she believed him. She always believed him, because he always spoke the truth. "Thank you, Baby," she finally whispered.
They sat for awhile longer while the sun climbed in the sky. He never loosened his hold on her. She thought if they stayed like this for the rest of their lives, resting in the clutch of their love for one another, life would be pretty close to perfect.
"I have a lot of work to do, since it's just me today," she finally said.
He squeezed her. "I'll give you a hand, Beautiful. And when we're done, we can ride into town and put in a help-wanted."
