Random Acts Of Crazy (17 page)

Much less
actually
do this to me. Music groupies had nothing on this. Trevor should have
tongue
groupies, for fuck’s sake. And I would be the permanent president of the fan club.

His tongue opened up, hot flesh on mine, as he gave me focused and expansive flesh play. Feeling both his fingers and his tongue on my throbbing, twitching nub continued the screaming climax as my whole body became one big, tight ball of clamped-down muscle. There really
was
more? Holy shit. I’d just been dreaming. And when in my God-forsaken pathetic little life had a dream like this come true?

Today, apparently. And yesterday.
What about tomorrow?
my mind wondered.

“Where in the hell did you come from?” I gasped, hands curling into fists of orgasm, my pussy crammed into his tongue as I groaned.

He pulled back and strummed me with his fingers, the calluses on his guitar-playing fingers like an organic sex toy, my pink folds dripping and the pads of his fingertips gliding against my lower lips. “Don’t worry about where I come from,” he whispered, the words like little aftershocks on my swollen skin as I felt my climax recede, an immense, expansive sense of pure gratitude and joy filling me. “Just worry about your coming.”

Heaven. He came from
heaven
.

Focusing on my orgasm and my skin as if it were his job to finish me off, his life’s mission and his one, true goal, he followed my body as I moved, flittering, draining me and playing me like this was some sort of piece of music he was performing, all the crescendos and legatos mixed into the muscles of his mouth.

A few little waves finished up, my moans slowed down. Now, I haven’t run more than the distance from the grocery store door to my car in the parking lot in a rainstorm, so I wouldn’t know from experience – but I’m guessing that the runner’s high was about the closest feeling to what Trevor had just elicited in me – endorphins about to kick in but suspended in that moment where there’s a rush of blood in your ears and all you can hear is the push of air in and out of your lungs.

He grinned, then climbed up to me, army crawling like I was some sort of course to be conquered. And I was, right? Because damn if he hadn’t just won a fucking gold medal for
that
. The taste of my own juices turned me on again, the wave hitting so suddenly I climaxed yet again from that simple, luxurious kiss, his warm, wet mouth bringing me such a homecoming it made my whole body shudder with happiness and an arousing applause, the clit leading.

“You just stripped my soul naked, Trevor,” I gasped, knowing the words were so inadequate, but hey – I had to try. My fingers ran through his wavy, blond hair and it felt like I could do this forever, just rest on nature’s mattress and sleep in his arms. My needs were small. A wildflower field off an Ohio interstate was like the penthouse suite of the Times Square Marriott right now. As long as I had Trevor with me, preferably naked and aroused, the world was all mine.

Speaking of arousal, he kissed me, the taste of him all
me
, actually, a shock and gasp turning into a moan and a roar of
more, more, more
inside me.

“Are you…?” he asked, his voice rising up with husky desire.

“I want you, Trevor Connor. You’re the answer to my whispered prayer.” He got the allusion to their song and the skin between his eyes changed, tight with an almost-teary sense of gratitude, of acceptance and recognition and relaxation. We
got
each other, both in body and in heart.

As he entered me, all power and animal movement, he murmured back, “You make me believe in something so much more.” As we completed our joining, his flesh ensconced in mine, my hands roamed his back, fingers digging into and feeling the tiny lines of sinew and tendons that worked with his muscles to be in me, to make me feel pleasure, to drive home that what we were feeling was so much more than sex. A thin layer of sweat formed on his chest and I craned my neck to lick it, to teasingly bite his nipple, with made his whole body tense, then move faster in me, the angle of our bodies just right and enough to make a red wall of passion take over my very existence.

A thin breeze made my flesh tingle and as my hands cupped his marble ass, so tight as he pulled back, then filled me, our bodies moving with a delicious rhythm. I opened my legs wider and wrapped them around his hips, the movement giving us more of each other, his lips kissing my ear and then, a desperate bite on my shoulder as he shuddered, tense and lost in his own pleasure, my body rushing to catch up so we could pitch over into another dimension that was only for us.

We did.

The feel of the soft green moss pressing into my thighs, Trevor’s sweet stubble playing on my cheekbone, his hushed gasps in my ear, my own groans of release and our arched keening in our climaxes – it made for a long, deep, blissful state of everything and I felt more at home with his slick chest hovering over my tight, swollen breasts and our little sounds of open love than I had anywhere, any time.

He finished and collapsed on me, the weight of him like a blanket of victory, a ceremonial surrender that said,
You did it to me. You made me go outside my own mind and use my body to make something new with you. You did it, Darla.

My own body felt the waves of explosion receding, a tingling permeating every bit of me, my face buried in his shoulder – and yes, I licked him now.

A low rumble of chuckling filled me as he laughed from his core and he slid out of me, snuggling against my side. With a practiced hand he dispensed with the condom and I cocked an eyebrow at him as he looked up at me.

“What?”

“You’re mighty practiced at that.”

“I learned it at Turnpike University.”

“What did you major in?”

“Avoiding becoming roadkill.” He curled up against me and propped himself up on one elbow, beckoning me to stare back, my inner thighs beginning to shake from a muscle memory of our acrobatics. One calm palm from him on my thigh stopped the tremors.

“What am I going to do with you, Trevor?” I asked, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair from the bridge of his nose. His face changed, saddened, and he let a long breath escape.

I knew what he meant. He didn’t have to say anything. Leaving would suck, and it was coming in hours. But there was something…more. Like he wanted to say something and couldn’t. I didn’t read minds (man, did I wish I could) and wasn’t sure whether to ask him. Those sorts of questions are hard enough to ask when you’re clothed. Naked and in a field? Uh…no.

“Darla, you told me about your parents’ accident last night.” I stiffened. Maybe he didn’t have a problem asking those questions after all.

“Yes.”

“I feel like it’s…hanging over me, sort of. So I want to tell you something.” His face was a mask of emotional struggle. What could it be?

“Go ahead.” I reverted to two-word sentences. Like this. And this. For sure. You know?

“It’s nothing like what you went through,” he started, apologetic.

“Mama says everyone has shit to deal with. Everyone.” I stroked his back lightly, encouragingly.

“It’s actually not about me. It’s my brother. He’s autistic.”

“And…?” I drew out the word as if that alone didn’t mean much. Lots of kids around here were on the spectrum. It seemed like every other day another kid went to school and came home with a PDD or autism diagnosis, and then someone else got a job as an aide. Loads of my friends got their associate’s degrees at the branch campus and picked up decent jobs doing that.

“My parents sent him to an institution when I was eight. He’s older – five years older – and after that my mom went a bit nuts.” Trevor broke eye contact and rolled away, his hip still touching mine, but he eased his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. A flock of birds flew way overhead, looking like a brown cloud, so clustered together and in sync.

A low whistle came out of me.
That bad?
I wanted to ask, and quickly realized it was a good thing I had a one-second filter, because that would have been a shitty thing to ask. “Thirteen when he left?” I asked. “That means your parents tried really hard.”

That was the right thing to say, because he relaxed and turned on his side again. “They did. Rick was just too hard. It’s…well, I don’t want to go into detail right now. It was just hard. I hated my mom and dad for a long, long time. And Mom fell apart and went to a psych ward for a few weeks.”

“Ouch.” Mama was right. We all had our shit in life. Even preppy Boston boys.

“When she came home, she wasn’t the same. She was broken somehow. All her attention that had been on Rick for all those years came barreling at me. I had to be perfect, suddenly. The best student, the best athlete, the best musician – a perfect, shining example that she could have one kid who wasn’t…you know…”

I hugged him and he let me. “Is that why you took all that peyote? To stop having to be perfect?”

“No,” he laughed. “I took all that peyote because I am a dumbass.”

We both giggled, the sound seeming to travel across the vast field, up to the blue sky, the birds hearing our amused music. There was great comfort in our sharing and baring of naked souls. Maybe we’re all damaged. The question is: to what degree?

“You still see him?” I asked. The air was getting a chill to it so I sat up and he pulled me into his arms, my back leaning against his chest.

“Every week, like clockwork. He’s more stable now and in a group home with five other guys. Has a job and everything. He just – when he became violent and big, Mom and Dad couldn’t handle his aggression.” I could feel him shake his head. “At least, that’s how they described it. Mom tried all kinds of doctors and drugs and treatments. We owned this weird oxygen chamber for a while, and then he used to get all these IV drugs, and Mom took the whole family for genetics testing. No one had any answers.”

“Sometimes no one does,” I said simply. A bulge against my butt (and no, it wasn’t Trevor) started to hurt, so I sat up and pulled it out.

My phone. 3:21.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted, throwing my shirt on, trying to connect my bra underneath, being stupid and peeling everything off and then pulling it all back on again in the right order. “I’m gonna be late for work.” The words came out sharper than I wanted them to and Trevor startled but got the message quickly, jumping up, pulling on his clothes. Those beautiful, tan curves a – shame to see covered in anything so mundane, so boring as clothing.

We looked like two people that had just had sex outside. I felt the back of my head…bedhead, except instead of rubbing my hair against the sheets my head had been rubbed against a big, giant pile of moss. I could feel it matted into my frizz and started batting at it like a small animal caught in a trap.

“What are you doing?” Trevor said, laughing.

“I’ve got moss and dirt in my hair and I can’t go to work like this.”
Again
, I thought. I’d never had a man out here before. This really was a sacred space for me but I’d certainly had a…well, my share of outdoor fun with a man. Not
this
much fun, mind you.

We trudged back through the field to get to my car where I knew no one else would be. I wanted to say something –
thank you
?
I’m sorry
? What do you say when someone confesses their secrets to you? Maybe I should say nothing, or wrap my arms around him and caress his hair, kiss his shoulder, like he did last night when I blurted out my business like a teenager on truth serum. It was one thing to tell him my secrets, but to have him turn out to have a pretty big family issue of his own had me reeling.

I didn’t have any siblings – Josie was seven years older and the closest thing I had to a sister – so I couldn’t imagine what Trevor’s life had been like, having a brother with autism and having that brother up and disappear when he was little. Disappearing loved ones I understood, sadly, though. Going on and seeing his brother every week, striving to have a relationship, using music as a bridge showed a kind of caring empathy that made me want to just
be
with Trevor.

Forever.

“Trevor?”

“Yes?”

“Why not include Rick in the band?”

He frowned, the look trying to cover up disappointment. I could tell. “He can’t. I mean…”

I waved my hand away; I’d clearly crossed a line, and now I felt like I’d intruded on some soft underbelly of his. “It’s a stupid thought. I’m sorry. I was just thinking that maybe if you had a song with a keyboard part you could teach it to him on piano and wire him in to a performance, or use him in a recording, or…” As the words poured out of my mouth like a faucet whose handle rusted off so bad it just went
clunk
and fell off, spraying an unregulated water source, I wanted to die right there.

Trevor cleared his throat, then cocked his head, mulling it over. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.” The closed-off answer was about the best I could ask for. On shaky ground again, I felt like I could breathe. But why? Touchy subject, it appeared.

A handful of people probably used this little nature trail and none of them would be out here at the beginning of May. Trevor stopped me as I marched over to the driver’s side door, intent on getting home and a quick shower to be on time for work. If I was late again…well, there wasn’t really any big penalty. It’s not like they were going to go fire me and find someone else to work. I’d been there for what – six years? But I still didn’t feel right going in late, even if it was a loss of five hours with Trevor.

Besides, I needed the pay.

“Hey,” he said, softly, closing his arms around me, cocooning us as a tiny white moth fluttered on past, nearly brushing our heads. “Thank you,” he said, capping his words with a nice kiss that was quieter and tamer but no less sensual than what we’d just shared.

I sighed and leaned against his chest, listening to his heart beat, the deep throbbing sound like the undertone of one of his songs. “Sing to me,” I said and he rumbled a chuckle in his ribs, the sound echoing and muted at once, somehow impossibly delicious.

“Here?” he asked.

“Yeah, here.” I pulled back, looked at him dead serious. “Sing me a song.”

His face reddened and he said, “My mind’s gone blank, you – you totally caught me off guard.”

“Tell you what,” I reached up on tiptoes and kissed him, enjoying the liberty to do so, the easy way that we had now between the two of us, like a privilege I didn’t know people could have. “Before you leave you have to promise me you’ll sing me a song.”

“What’s you favorite?” he asked and I shoved him back gently, motioning for him to get in the car.

“I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer,” I shouted.

He groaned.
“That
one?”

“Yeah, that one,” I said.

Our car doors slammed shut in unison and I revved the engine, pulling back. He seemed pensive for the half mile or so until we got back on the main roads. “That’s a hard one to do,” he said. “Especially without my band.”

“You’ve never tried it acoustic?”

“I wrote it acoustic, I just never recorded it or performed it acoustic,” he explained. His brow was furrowed, deep in thought, and it seemed I’d hit a nerve.