K. Bromberg - Bend

I move my finger in and out. With the tip of my tongue, I trace her up and down.

“Oh fuck! Oh God!”

“Come for me. Take your time, but you will come for me.”

I slide a second finger in. She’s lying down now, face toward the sky, legs spread. She tastes sweet, and I devour her like island fruit.

“Oh God… Oh no… Yes. Oh…fuck… Oh yes .”

Her hips rock up to meet my mouth. My tongue rolls gently, softly over her.

“That feels so good .”

I push my fingers in as far as they will go.

“So full…” she gasps.

I’m not surprised at all when she jerks her hips up off the floor and comes with a guttural shriek.

But I’m shocked that I come with her.

RED

I fall back to earth in pieces, with the rain. Cold, hard rain. Stinging rain. He pulls my pants and underwear up and lifts me underneath my ass and back, putting me over his shoulder like one might a child. I open my bleary eyes and realize that we’re touching sand. The boat sits sideways on the shore, knocked here by the tide.

He grabs my bag. My purse. I cannot move. Can only stare. The trees are tall and mossy. Thick. Untouched.

I don’t know if I think the dark, overgrown forest just beyond the beach is beautiful or frightening. But I’m here.

I’m here, and the rain is falling harder every second.

Lying on the bed of my childhood room should have been a nostalgic experience. Instead, I stared up at the ceiling, boxes in my periphery and the alarm blaring next to me.

What the fuck happened?

I rubbed my face, then swung my legs over the edge of the bed, slamming my hand down on the alarm as I stood. There was very little room to maneuver around the already small room, but I’d already filled up the basement and half the garage with all the shit I’d accumulated in my life. I cursed when I slammed my toe into the wheel of the suitcase on the floor, giving it a swift kick before grabbing some clothes out of it.

The house remained quiet as I made my way to the bathroom. I sighed as I looked down at the boner curving my cock up. Pissing with one annoyed the crap out of me, but had become a daily thing since sex for me was non-existent lately.

Once I threw on the random jeans and shirt I’d grabbed, forgoing styling my hair for now and doing the basic morning routine, I headed downstairs. The smell of coffee perked me up a little, and I grabbed a cup as I made a quick bowl of oatmeal before finding my mom sitting in the living room.

“Morning.” I kissed her forehead and sat down on the couch, placing the oatmeal in front of her.

She smiled at me, and the sight depressed me, but I tried not to show it. Her face had become a shade of sickly yellow, there were dark circles under her eyes, and every bit of her hair was gone. I hardly recognized her as the woman I’d known my entire life.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

“How are you feeling?” I reached forward and grabbed the multiple pill bottles sitting on the coffee table.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

I dished out the four pills for her morning dosage and handed them to her along with some water. Her face scrunched up.

“Jared, I don’t think…”

“Mom, don’t fight me on this. Not again.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“And one of these will help with that, but you have to get it and that oatmeal in you.” I handed her the bowl and stared at her as she took a tentative bite.

She’d lost her appetite with all the treatments and drugs. The biggest fear I had was of her giving up. I wasn’t about to let that happen, especially not with my sister pregnant.

“I have some clients at one, but I’ll be home by five. Cassie’s off today. She has a doctor’s appointment this morning, and then she’ll be by.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m fine by myself, you know. I’m not an invalid.”

I stood up and grabbed the phone, setting it on the table next to her. “No, you’re not, but this is always the rough day. I’ll be back soon.”

Her expression dropped—a contrast to her words. She didn’t really want to be alone, no matter what she said. “Where are you going? I thought you didn’t have to work until this afternoon.”

“Just running an errand. I’ll be back soon.” I picked up her Kindle from across the room and set it next to the phone. “Read something today. TV will rot your brain.” I winked at her.

She rolled her eyes and swatted at me. “Get out of here, stinker.”

I beamed at her and headed out the door and onto the street. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and a warm breeze blew—

About fucking time. It’d been the longest winter in my thirty-one years.

It was a great day for a walk down to St. Joan of Arc, a Catholic church a few blocks from the 1920s cottage, in a historic neighborhood of Indianapolis, my parents purchased over thirty years ago. My parents were raised in two different religions, so we didn’t go to church that often—about once a month—but Joan of Arc was one of the more steady locations. I believed in God. Period. So, what did it matter what church I visited to talk to Him?

Stepping into the church felt a little odd—it’d been years since I’d been within its walls. The cumbersome weight of my head and heart slowed my walk down the aisle. I slipped into a pew about halfway down and folded my hands together. The place was empty.

“Hey, big man.” I sighed and fidgeted with my hands. “I know I’m not good at visiting, and I should come more often. People stare when I do, always assuming, but you know the truth.” I leaned forward, resting my arms on the back of the pew in front of me. “I have to ask—are you testing me? Because if you are, did you have to throw so much at me at once?”

I stared up at the altar, lit up by the sun shining through the stained glass windows all over the stone structure. No response to my question came—not that I expected one.

“I can deal with all of it, but Mom…” I took a deep breath, trying not to let her condition get to me. “Cassie was a wreck when she found out about the cancer. You took Dad three years ago, and I’m not sure Mom has the strength to fight this. She’s still heartbroken.”

I leaned back, my gaze tracing over Jesus on the cross, and got lost in my own head. In the time I sat there, still as a statue, a few people came and went. I didn’t look at them, but I felt their eyes on me as they passed. Most thought I worshiped the Devil or some shit like that because of the way I looked. Tattoos covered a lot of my skin, and my jet black hair, often in a short mohawk, gave off a taboo vibe to most of the church-going folk.

I could admit it—I had a nice body. Being a personal trainer meant I had to be able to do everything I put my clients through.

The nerves on my neck lit up, tingling down my side. It woke me from my trance, and I turned to find innocent eyes looking at me from one row up on the other side of the aisle. When our gazes connected, she didn’t flinch, her eyes didn’t widen, but a slight blush did appear on her cheeks.

The strange current continued to move through me.

I was caught, roped in, staring at her.

She seemed young—early twenties maybe. I went from studying Jesus to studying the woman who called to me. That was the only way I could explain the firing off of every nerve ending in my body.

She had large, blue doe eyes that bored into my soul. Dark brown, wavy hair curled around her smooth, pale skin and full cheeks. She nabbed her full bottom lip with her teeth before looking away, hiding from me.