A Week in the Snow (4 page)

Rebecca nodded, too overcome with gratitude to say all the things that were racing through her head. She settled for another whispered thanks. Richard gently closed the door behind him.

As soon as he was out of the room she sank down on the welcoming bed, the long hours finally catching up with her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another, trying to clear her mind. She ran her hand through her hair, winced at how tangled it was, and decided a shower would be a good idea.

Once under the warm water, with her body clean and her mind finally catching up to all the events of the evening, she marvelled again at the fact that she was alive and well. It could have turned out so differently. She tried to think of what the alternative scenarios might have been, but quickly abandoned that line of thought. She decided simply to be grateful she was still around.

The shower had two showerheads, water coming from both directions. She revelled in the feeling of it, like a massage, very different from the single showerhead in her tiny Miami apartment. She pressed her fingers against the back wall and arched into the water, concentrating on the way it slid over her body, the way it trailed from her neck to her back and down to her legs, then swished around her toes before gurgling down the drain.

It was hard to believe this shower could be so warm, while, just outside the window, the air was so impossibly cold.

She suddenly thought about where she was supposed to be, and what she was supposed to be doing there. She should have been in Gene’s arms, in his bed, doing all sorts of wild and passionate things with him, just like they had both dreamed about for long months. Instead, she was stranded in the middle of a little nowhere town. Gene had no idea where she was.

She pictured him as well as she could, drawing on her memory of those photographs he had sent her over the Internet connection. She envisioned his broad chest, the smattering of black hairs, the almost-flat stomach and the strong, shadowed jaw.

She also envisioned those pictures of his long, hard cock, the photographs that filled the computer screen when she opened the file, the ones that made her mouth water and her heart pound. The thought of having that in her mouth or between her thighs had kept her dreams in high gear. Now he was within less than an hour’s drive, but there was no way she could get to him.

But she did have him in her head, didn’t she?

Rebecca grinned and rested her forehead against the cool wall of the shower. The emotion of the evening caught up with her again, but instead of the urge for tears she felt the urge to do something that proved she was alive—something vital, something powerful.  The water slid down her back, arrowed down over her ass and dripped from her pussy. She let her breasts brush that shower wall, too—and though the water was incredibly hot, the wall was still cool. The rush of sensation was heady, made more powerful by the emotion of the evening. She pressed harder, until her nipples were flat against the wall, hardening at the contact, her breasts tingling with the pressure.

She took a deep breath and arched her back, pushing her head under one of the streams of water. It cascaded over her face. She held her breath as long as she could. When she pressed her forehead against the wall again, she was breathing hard. She spread her legs a bit wider, and suddenly she could see the picture in her head of what she must look like: a young, sexy woman dripping wet, her legs open, her whole body braced, waiting for whatever a lover might do to her.

Rebecca stood under the water and let the feeling build. The fantasy took flight, the images of Gene’s cock in her head adding fuel to the fire. She thought about the way he sounded when he came, so strong and vulnerable all at once, and that alone was enough to send a surge of wetness between her thighs. She slid her hand down her flat stomach and rested it there, right below her belly button.

The water cascaded over her fingers as her thoughts took a different turn. She imagined someone was watching her, someone she didn’t know, and her thoughts of Gene slipped away to be replaced by this new, intriguing fantasy. She pictured a man behind her, watching her while she went about what she was doing right then, which was sliding that hand even farther down.

She brushed the inside of her thighs and pressed her breasts harder against the wall, pushing her ass out, bending her knees just a little to make more room for whatever fantasy man might be watching her. She imagined he could see everything, her pussy open and dripping, a blatant invitation to the cock that might want to slip into her tight, wet hole.

Rebecca pressed her hand against her pussy and rocked. She bit her lip to hold in the long, low moan. The adrenaline of the night was now heading in a decidedly more sensual direction, and she let all the emotion flood her, let it turn into passion as she rode her own hand under the dual showerheads. She slipped two fingers into her cunt and imagined the fantasy man behind her, watching as her fingers disappeared inside her, maybe moaning his own pleasure as he stroked his hard cock. She slid her fingers out, stretching her pussy for his gaze, inviting him to put something of his own in there.

Her fingertips danced across her clit as she imagined that fantasy man moving up behind her, slowly, giving her time to move away if she was so inclined. She imagined his tongue on the back of her neck, tasting the water that ran from her skin. She could almost feel him placing his hands on her hips, holding the swell of them, and pressing the head of his hard dick against her opening.

He would slide in slowly at first, testing her acquiescence, but soon he would be overcome by how slick and hot she was. He would start slow and gradually move harder, faster, until he was almost ramming her, lifting her feet from the floor with his thrusts, making her struggle for balance as he began to ride her.

With a quiet groan, she pushed two fingers into her pussy. As she pulled them out, she stroked her clit, then pushed them back in. She kept it up until she was panting and trembling. The water slid down her body and she imagined it was the gaze of her mystery lover, watching everything she did, every move she made. She envisioned him waiting, holding back, and finally feeling those first contractions of her pussy around him, announcing that she had reached the pinnacle of pleasure she deserved.

She imagined the spurt of his cream, so much hotter than her own wetness, and that was the final edge of fantasy it took to make her come. She bit her lip at the last moment to keep from screaming out her pleasure as the orgasm swept over her, reducing her to whimpers and moans.

Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor of the shower. Her body thrummed with pleasure. It was enhanced by the adrenaline of the evening, strong enough to make her gasp for breath. She burst into laughter, her mouth muffled by her hand, trying to keep quiet, mindful of the man who was somewhere in the house with her.

She had never felt so alive.

When the pleasure and laughter were finally over, she was utterly exhausted. But there was still one other thing she had to do before she crawled into bed.

Chapter Three

Upstairs in the room above Rebecca, Richard stared at the shadows on the ceiling. It was strange to have someone in his house again, especially a woman. He hadn’t had a woman around in at least three years, since the day Amanda had claimed she needed to find herself and had taken off for parts unknown. He had stopped wondering about a year ago, when another Christmas had gone by and he was alone, without even a card from his wife arriving in his mailbox.

Lately he wondered if she was really still his wife, or if there was some precedent that ended a marriage when someone just upped and disappeared.

He had read about divorce on the basis of abandonment, and more and more the thought had crept into his mind. He hadn’t pursued it yet for a variety of reasons. He still loved her, for one, and it was very hard to contemplate divorcing a wife he still loved.

Secondly, he didn’t know how to go about it—what would he say to an attorney?

Most of all, his very traditional family didn’t believe in divorce, and slyly questioned why she had run away. They gave him sideways glances when he mentioned her, as if asking what he had done wrong to make her go, and so he had stopped bringing up her name at all. That made them even more suspicious. His mother had taken lately to quoting biblical verses, telling him how a man should cleave to his wife, and how once a marriage was sworn before God and man, it was the real deal, complete and never to be broken.

She was telling him, in no uncertain terms, to put his life on hold and wait for his wife to return.

As time went by, Richard wasn’t happy with the idea of being alone for years, but the idea of divorcing Amanda and alienating his family was even worse. So he found himself sitting still while life passed him by with frightening speed. He thought about Amanda quite a bit, but he no longer jumped when he heard a car in the driveway, and he no longer went to the mailbox in anticipation of a postcard or a letter. She was never on the other end of the phone line, and nobody down at the cafe ever saw her. After a time the work of the newspaper had taken over his life, and the townspeople had simply assumed she would never come back, so they had stopped talking about her. Richard was just fine with that.

Now he listened to the water running downstairs and thought about the young woman in the shower. She had been through hell out there in that car—that frightened look in her eyes spoke volumes, even when she was warm and safe in his house—and he was glad he had taken the time to drive back. What would it have been like to read of her untimely death in the paper, when he had zipped right past her on his snowmobile? The guilt would have eaten him alive.

He looked at the clock and considered going out on the snowmobile again, but, just as quickly as the thought came, he decided against it. It would probably be incredibly bad form to tell the woman downstairs that he was going to go out for a joyride in the very conditions that had caused her so much fear and worry.

But the desire to go back out there was strong, the memory of all those childhood winters coming back, the thrill of making those first tracks in the pristine snow. There were lots of other snowmobiles out there, and plenty of people would be out by the light of the moon tonight. He loved to see the snow clean and unmarked in front of him, just like it had always been when he was a kid.

He rolled over in bed and looked at the bookcase, all the books he had read a dozen times, and contemplated which one he wanted to open up tonight. He would forget all about the snow. He would fall asleep while reading, and get up early in the morning to make breakfast. Then he would help the young woman make her plans for getting back on the roads as soon as they were passable again.

He studied the books for a while, but reading wasn’t what he wanted. He rolled back over and looked at the ceiling, thinking. The excitement was still begging for an outlet. His hand moved down his body, the motion entirely natural and familiar. Since Amanda had left, it had been only his hand for company, and he needed that company quite often.

Usually the fantasies that filled his mind were of a nameless, faceless woman, maybe dressed in leather and wearing high-heeled boots, daring him to come and take her—if he could. Sometimes it was a trip to the sex toy store, where the clerk behind the counter was more than willing to try out all the merchandise with a good customer. When nothing else worked, he thought about two women, and that always seemed to trip his trigger.

This time it was the sex toy store. He slid his hand up and down, not quite ready to start stroking yet. He thought about sex toys hanging in neat rows on the corkboard walls. He imagined browsing through all the dildos and vibrators, not all that interested in buying one but intrigued by the different shapes and sizes. Then he would find the row of plastic pussies, the holes inviting him to stick it in, and the clerk would ask him what kind he liked most. Soft and slightly loose? Tight and a bit hard? Maybe really, really tight, the kind of pussy that would suck your dick even as you fucked it?

He started to stroke his cock when the clerk leaned over the counter. Her low-cut blouse rode even lower, and he got a good view of two large, round nipples. “I can help you find one you like,” she said. She licked her cherry-red lips as she looked at his crotch.

Richard made a fist and pushed harder into it, imagining how tight the clerk’s pussy would be, and how she would use it to great advantage. He pictured her bending over the racks of cock rings, helping him test one out as he pounded her from behind. He secretly hoped someone else would come into the store, a man perhaps—one who would gauge the action with one look and decide that maybe that clerk needed a bit more than she was getting.

Sure enough, in fantasies, dreams come true. The man who walked into the store wasted no time in dropping his pants and offering his cock for the clerk’s mouth. She took it, moaned with approval, and rocked back and forth on two dicks. It was Richard who had made her want that, Richard who had the best of things, who would fuck her pussy until he made her come.

He tightened his fist and in his head the clerk moaned, her pussy getting tighter, almost ready to come by the sheer pleasure of his thrusting. He didn’t even have to touch her—she was just that close, that fast.

In his bed, Richard arched his back and gritted his teeth, the orgasm right over the horizon, almost within his reach. He envisioned the clerk reaching back, between her legs and underneath herself, to cradle his balls in her hand. She would pull them gently, knowing just what a man liked, and when she did it would make him come…

Tap, tap, tap.

Richard froze in mid-stroke. His mind was pulled from the sex toy store back to the here and now, where he lay on a lonely bed with his dick in his hand. That dick was throbbing, right on the verge of exploding. The clerk vanished with the sound of another knock on his door.