The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (9 page)

I want to wrap my arms around him, to cling
to him but I can’t, my arms are of no use. So I move my hips for him trying to
show that I want him deeper. I need him to hold me up and I need for him to
consume me. He grips me tightly in his wet grasp and bends his head to bite and
suck at my breasts, the feeling of lust overwhelming all other thoughts in my
head.
I feel his shaft entering me and sliding back
and forth. The water splashes around us and my pussy grips and clings to him.
My legs finally wrap themselves around him and I hang there as he holds me,
fucking me slowly, kissing and sucking me, devouring every part of me.
The splashing water causes small pulses
against my clit, creating a stronger sensation than even his powerful thrusts
digging his shaft deep into my body. We go at it like animals clinging to each
other for life as we fuck and pleasure one another. My pussy starts pulsing, my
mound quaking as I feel myself building to a plateau that I have never been
taken to.
My body begins to jerk under the water, the
pleasure rising to my brain much faster than normal. My fingers are growing
numb but the whole of my body is consumed in this building, burgeoning,
wracking passion and I curl into him, biting his shoulder as the scream tears
from my throat. He joins me, this time expressing loudly his release, as he
slams and presses into me pounding me in sharp, hard thrusts–his mouth frozen
open as his body seizes up to release his passion.
I go limp in his arms. For a moment, I worry
the twenty minutes has passed and I’m actually dying. Then, I don’t care. I
just want the feeling of his arms holding me and his shaft inside me to go on
forever.
He kicks off the ledge and floats on his back
over to the stairs of the jacuzzi, carrying me along for the ride. When we are
both out of harm’s way, he unties my arms and unstraps my wrists. I look at him
straight in the eye for a moment. Silence passes between us for a moment then I
wrap my arms around him and hug him as close as I can. He begins kissing and
whispering in my ear.
“I will never let you fall, Julia. I will
always hold you.”
“I know,” I reply and collapse in his embrace.
Somehow he manages to stand and carry me to
the deck chair. He covers me with a blanket and slides in beside me.

I don’t know how long we stayed that way–his
strength upholding my weakness and my body available to his need.
At
some point, he suggested we move back inside and we ended up on the couch
again. I’m not sure if I walked there or he carried me. I just know he never
left my side.

~~~

“Hey, sleepy head. You’ve got a phone call.”
Mark’s voice awakens me. I open my eyes and discover I’m still sleeping on the
couch. He’s dressed in pajamas and the sun is streaming through the window. I
see my clothing folded neatly on the coffee table.
“What?”
“Your phone’s been going off for the last
hour. Someone’s trying to reach you.” He hands me the phone from my purse before
walking into the kitchen. I smell coffee brewing.
Opening my cell, I notice there are eight
missed calls starting from late last night. That doesn’t make any sense. Since
I was fired there hasn’t been very much for my phone to do. I press the icon
for messages, but only hear half of the first one.
“Miss Sharp, this is Emily from Glenvale
Cancer Treatment Center. I’m your father’s nurse. I need to inform you there
has been an emergency.”

“I have to go,” I say to Mark, trembling from
the sudden shock. Looking around for my purse, I stop just long enough to see
my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I look ghastly. I don’t have time
to deal with that now.
“What’s going on? Where are you going? I need
you to keep me informed about what you’re doing.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not on my way to get
arrested or anything,” I respond with biting sarcasm. I don’t know what makes
me want to treat him so badly. I just know I need to get out of here now. “It’s
my father. He’s in ICU. He’s had some sort of crash or stroke or something. I
don’t know. They moved him from the Cancer Treatment Center to Mount Sinai. He…
well… he’s….”
“Shhh.” Mark puts his arm around me, knowing I
can’t say the words out loud yet. I drink his comfort like warm tea for a
moment and then go stiff in his embrace. I can’t let myself be weak. Not now.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. I just need to get
there.”
“Do you want me to take you? I would be happy
to get you some—”
“No. I don’t need your help. I just need to
go!”
I walk straight out the door, closing it with
a bang. I’m so afraid he is going to call down to the doorman or catch me
coming out of the parking garage, I actually run to the car. It isn’t until I’m
on the highway that I catch my breath and realize I just made a scene for no
reason other than my total fear of being vulnerable in front of Mark. After all
we have been through–the job, the arrest, the love, the sex–I have displayed
every possible emotion in front of that man and still I ran from him. I just
had to be the “strong one.”
“Daddy’s strong girl,” I say out loud, stuck
behind a bread truck in a traffic jam. I hate being stuck in this car with
nothing but my thoughts. I’m losing Dad. I feel it, and I don’t know what to do
about it. It’s never been a secret I was a “Daddy’s girl” and I have always
been closer to him than mom. Dad’s so accepting, laid-back, and sure. He always
had a plan and knew what to say.
Mom was the uptight one. Everything had to be
perfect, pristine and correct for her. She had everything she loved in life,
but there was always that edge of unhappiness or emptiness in her. I never knew
why, really. She kept everything to herself. Somehow, I always loved being with
Dad, and yet, I realize now–I ended up so much like my mom. I remember swimming
lessons. No matter how well I did, or how fast I went, Mom would always suggest
I try harder, do better, or beat my last time. Dad would always say “I’m proud
of you, honey” and let it go at that.
My dad, always so proud of me–his strong
little girl–and what am I doing while he is slipping away? I’m having sex in a
pool while my life’s work crumbles around me and falls into the hands of none
other than Valerie James. I don’t know how he would feel about the whole sex
thing. Even when I was engaged to Greg and we were living together, my dad
pretended I was still a virgin. But I know what he would say if I told him
about Valerie James ending up with Lynx and everything I worked so hard to
achieve.
“You started it,” he would say, shaking his
head. He says it every time my rivalry with Valerie is the topic of
conversation. “You started the fight with her, honey, and one of these days she
might just finish it.”
Slowly the cars in front of me begin to lurch
forward. It’s not fast enough for me to make much progress or even need to pay
attention to the road, but as we say in New York–at least we’re moving. Oh,
Daddy. I think you might be right this time. I think she is going to finish it,
and finish me in the process.
I met Valerie my senior year in college. I was
a lead editor on the paper, and won a number of awards for investigative
reporting and writing in college competitions. Dr. Louden, my advisor, said the
journalism staff voted me “most likely to win a Pulitzer.” Then he told me the
worst thing he could have ever said.
“You’re the most talented journalist we’ve had
here since Valerie James, and a close second to her too!”
Close second? Close second? I wasn’t going to
be second to anyone. Of course, it didn’t help that a few months later Valerie
was invited to be a guest lecturer for one of our classes. She was the youngest
assistant editor at Ladies World and was supposed to be giving us tips on what
journalism was like in the “real world.”
“It’s important to remember when you get out
into reality that in college you write what you want to write, out there you
must write what the reader wants to read,” she said. Everyone in class could
only see her success. I saw challenge.
“Wouldn’t you call that ‘catering to the
masses’?” I asked pointedly.
“I would call it good business, Miss… um…”
“Sharp, Julia Sharp, Miss James. You might
have read my work, I won the Hearst Journalism Award for Investigative
Reporting this year with an exposé on school charter programs.”
“Nope, can’t say I’ve seen it,” Valerie
responded blithely. “But I’m a professional editor now, not a student, so I
read what I get paid to read.”
The class chuckled politely and waited for her
to go with the rest of her golden “how to” tips. But her superior attitude and
over-use of the word “professional” was like waving the red cape in front of
the bull. So, of course, I charged at her.
“Really? You only do what you get paid to do? That
doesn’t sound like journalism to me. It sounds more like prostitution.” The
class gasped and Dr. Louden started walking toward the front of the room.
“Excuse me? Did you just call me a prostitute,
Miss Sharp? I will have you know I am both an accomplished writer and editor of
a national magazine.”
“Pffft, Ladies World,” I responded. “That’s
not even journalism. Recipes and articles about stars and their pets, self-help
tips for depressed housewives and gardening stories? The day’s going to come
when a smart women’s magazine that showcases real news comes along and wipes
Ladies World off the rack.”
“I doubt you’ll see that day, Miss Sharp.
Because you’ll be working at Walmart which is the only place I can imagine that
would hire someone as rude as you,” she said, red in the face and furious. Dr.
Louden intervened.
“I can see we’ve gotten off track. Let’s take
a five minute break and when we come back Miss James will talk about portfolios
and what today’s publishers are looking for,” he said waving everyone out of
the room. I stayed to talk with her more, but Dr. Louden motioned for me to go
to his office.
“We don’t treat one of the most successful
alumni of the school like
that
!” he sneered as he sat behind the desk
with me standing there like a chastised child.
“She works for a bloated, old-school kitchen
rag. What could she possibly have that I would even care about?”
“Oh my dear.” Dr. Louden laughed in a sinister
way I’d never heard before. “You may not like her style but she has more
connections in this city than you have words in your vocabulary. I hope you
like writing for the Oklahoma Shopper Express because when she’s done with you–they’ll
be the only place that will take you.”
Poor Dad. I railed and screamed and carried on
about Valerie James every time I was denied a job. I talked about how corrupt
the system was, how unfair life could be, how I was being oppressed because I
was so much more talented than she had ever been. Every time I got told no, Dad
would listen, and nod and say, “You started it.”
Dr. Louden was wrong about me ending up writing
ads at the Oklahoma Shopper Express. Even they wouldn’t hire me. So I did the
only thing that I could do. I started the magazine that would wipe Ladies World
off the racks. If only Valerie James hadn’t played dirty, Lynx would have been
that magazine in only a few more years.

I finally end up at the hospital and a
volunteer guides me to my dad’s room. The nurse catches me right before I
enter. She talks to me to mentally prepare me to see Dad in his condition.
“He’s heavily sedated and requires the
breathing tube but is off the ventilator. He slips and out of consciousness,”
she explains.
“When will he be fully awake and alert again?”
I ask hopefully. She looks down at the floor and bites her bottom lip. As an ICU
nurse I’m sure she has said this stuff a hundred times but she genuinely looks
like she cares.
“He may never,” she says softly. “The
treatment center has done all they can, and this last embolism has weakened him
past where we may be able to bring him back. He can understand you sometimes,
but he’s going to be out of it more than in from this point forward.”
“But you can still save him, right? He can
turn the corner, can’t he?” I know I’m badgering her to tell me what I want to
hear–what I need to hear.
“I don’t know,” she says solemnly. “His eyes
are open now, so why don’t you go in and spend some time with him while he’s
awake.”
“I… ah… I don’t know what to say,” I confess.
She reaches out and puts a compassionate hand on my arm.
“Tell him you’re here. Tell him you love him,”
she says softly. “The best thing you can do with people is tell them you love
them.”
Even with her counsel, it’s hard walking into
the room and seeing my dad this way. He looks so much smaller than I ever
remember him being, withered and pale. The lights are dim and the machines
hooked up to him glow eerily with patterns and numbers I will never understand.
“Dad,” I say loudly as I take his hand in
mine. It seems smaller than I recall. His eyes open about halfway and he gets a
slight smile. “Dad, it’s Julia. I’m here, Dad. I’m here.”
He squeezes my hand. He knows. After a few
minutes his eyes close and his breathing shallows to a steady even puff. I keep
talking to him, remember old times, good times, how much he loved Mom, and how
much he means to me. The numbers don’t change, and I figure he’s out for a
while.
“There’s something I need you to know,” I say.
“I started seeing Mark. I know you always liked him. To be honest, I wanted to
like him too, but I guess I was still hurt from Greg. I see now that Mark is
totally different. He’s smart and strong. He isn’t really intimidated by me, at
all. He challenges me. I guess that’s why I was so afraid of getting too close
to him.”
I stop for a moment, and check the machine
again. No change. Finally I’ve found the one person I can share this with who
won’t be able to judge me or talk me out of what I’m doing.
“I’ve given him parts of myself. First it was
just my body, but I think my heart may not be far behind. For the first time in
a long time, I feel like I might actually be changing. Somehow, I think he
might be healing me. I fight him, of course. But less and less. And I’m feeling
more and more solid.”
I check the machine again, no change. His eyes
still closed, his breathing even. Then a shadow crosses his bed. It’s Mark.
I jump up. “How long have you been there?” Oh
my god! Did he just hear that?
“I just got here.” He shrugs. “I was worried
about you, and your father.” Despite what I said to my father, Mark’s surprise
appearance instantly makes me put my defenses up.
“Well, you need to go,” I hiss at him. “How
dare you show up here? I told you I didn’t need you! Do you think my dad needs
to find out right now about our profane agreement? Aren’t patient files
confidential? How did you even know to come here?”