Brother's Keeper (17 page)

As I enter the kitchen, I catch her stabbing a frozen pound of hamburger—wonder what the hamburger did to deserve that. How is it that she never learned to cook … anything? I decide to let her flounder about for a while, though, content to watch her from the kitchen table while I check my e-mail. Watching her is, as always, very satisfying, and of course, amusing. Every other word out of her mouth is some sort of admonishment directed at the food that she is torturing. She may have a great many talents, but cooking is not one of them. I can’t believe she’s survived as long as she has without a parent taking care of her. She must live out of a microwave. After her fourth
“shit!”
and a very well delivered
“fuck!”
in under a minute, I finally decide to abandon my e-mail; I’ve made little headway on it anyway, having gotten engrossed in watching her.

Rowan gets her first lesson in boiling water
before
adding the pasta, and I divert another catastrophe when I catch her poised to empty a ketchup bottle into the sauce I’m trying hard to salvage. I quickly replace the ketchup bottle with a handful of basil I’ve been chopping, and eventually, in a roundabout sort of way, we end up with spaghetti sauce or something fairly close to resembling it.

We eat in silence, and I can see by the blush of her cheeks, whenever she meets my gaze, she hasn’t forgotten about our morning together. I scroll through my e-mail while Rowan reads one of her text books. She looks amazing with her hair pulled up in a high bun and her reading glasses on. And the contentment I feel in my soul washes over my entire body, sending an incredible and pleasant shiver through me. That is until I come to an e-mail from Brighton and Brink’s office asking me to come out for a few days the weekend after next for a meeting with the partners and to meet with a real estate agent. Real estate agent? Am I really at that point in my life where I warrant the attention of real estate agents? The idea stops me in my tracks. As I look up to see Rowan across from me engrossed in her reading, my heart sinks. Dread moves through my soul, replacing the warmth I felt moments before as I contemplate leaving her yet again, and not only that, planning out this new life I will soon have with no place in it for her. What’s more, it is by my own hand, sought and struggled after for years.

She looks up at me, worry plaguing her delicate features as she sees the pained look on my face. “Logan, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I try my best to shake off these unwelcome feelings and give my best impression of a reassuring smile. She quite obviously doesn’t buy it and comes to me instantly, her brow furrowed in concern. She sits in my lap, placing her hands on my cheeks and kissing me tenderly. This makes my heart sink all the lower, and the furrow of her brow deepens again in concern. She glances at my laptop and the offending e-mail before I even realize it’s still up on the screen. Our breath catches in tandem, and she turns to me with a defeated look crossing her face. The look is sobering, and I understand all too well what she’s thinking… and what she’s feeling—one more glaring reminder our little game of house will soon be at an end.

I take her mouth with mine, shutting the laptop. I stand with her in my arms, and carry her away to the bathroom. I sit with her in my lap on the edge of the bathtub. And while the bath fills, I slowly undress first her and then myself. I grab a couple of candles from the bedroom and light them as I make my way back in the bathroom to Rowan waiting patiently on the edge of the bath. Finally, I shut the lights off and close the door, shutting out all light but our candles. We settle into the warmth together, her back to my chest.

The mood has without doubt shifted, but the closeness of our bodies in the quietness of our place is soothing and calming. I turn her to face me, pulling her legs to straddle me. Her vagina is snug against my cock, and it amazes me that I’ve managed not to take her body in that way. She leans to kiss me gently, softly exploring my mouth with her tongue. I wait until she is satisfied and retreats before entering her mouth with my own tongue and tasting every last smooth silken surface. When our mouths finally break, her gaze meets mine in the flickering shadows of the candlelight before she leans her body against my chest and snuggles her face into my neck. We stay this way for an endless amount of time, shutting out everything else in the world.

But in the warmth of our darkened and quiet universe, where we are hiding away from anything that can reach us and part us, I start to think about our coming week. Every day takes us one day closer to being separated, so I tend to concentrate on our every moment together, planning it out in advance so that I don’t lose even a fraction of a second with her. We have to return to normal life tomorrow, classes and work, and that ever-present countdown of the calendar that will plague me daily.

The week will be busy, and our time together will definitely be limited. I want to spend every last minute with Rowan right now, knowing my clock is ticking ever closer to our deadline, so it is painful to think of losing her for even one night, but unfortunately, I will. Rowan will be staying with Sara tomorrow night as they work on their composition portfolios together, which are due before graduation. Wednesday night, we will have to face my family together for Sara’s birthday dinner at her favorite restaurant.

It is always awkward being around my family with Rowan. I feel dishonest, yet at the same time, I love the feeling of her being part of my family. It’s a haunting feeling, as though I know she belongs there with us, yet I can’t touch her in the way that feels so right to me. I imagine being able to reach for her hand the way I want to, or brush the hair from her face, or brush a soft kiss across her cheek. I ought to be able to, but I can’t. I’m trapped in this life that no longer fits, and she is the promise of what I want just out of my reach. But as real and honest as my feelings and desire for her are, I have to remind myself it isn’t real for my family. Nor would it be at all understood. And quite frankly, it feels unfair.

Thursday night, I’ll have to give her up again for her time with Anthony, and then she’ll be working all evening Friday and Saturday night. Mom and Dad have asked Sara and me to come to the lake house for the weekend to help open it up after its long winter in hibernation. I couldn’t say no, but it means leaving Rowan again, who will be working. I can’t even excuse myself for the weekend by blaming it on work at the DA’s office, because they’ve lightened my load to an almost nonexistent level with my upcoming graduation just a month and a half away. So it seems a week of struggling to be together is in front of us.

At least I will have her to myself Tuesday night. Perhaps I’ll plan something interesting for that night…

*

We are wrinkled prunes by the time we get out the bath, and I’m content and warm. Logan takes me to bed and spends an incredibly long time massaging my entire body down with lotion until it is rubbed in completely, and my skin is as smooth as silk. He starts on my backside. When he rubs the lotion on my bottom, he spends an inordinate amount of time kneading the skin and muscles there, allowing his fingers to run between my cheeks, pausing over the puckered skin of my anus.

I tense and freeze at the slightest touch there, and as I catch his face out of the corner of my eyes, he looks at me with all the seriousness in the world. He isn’t reassuring me or smiling at me. His eyes are hooded and dark—challenging me to pull away from him. I don’t, and as my tension starts to release, he slowly pulls one of my knees up, opening the cheeks of my bottom to him more fully. He returns to the puckered skin of my anus and starts stroking it with his fingers. He is focusing his eyes on that one part of my body, but I’m not nervous. I can see his enjoyment at the sight of my prone ass, and his rigid and swollen cock leaves no question he’s absolutely okay with seeing me this way. The gentle touch of his finger on my entry feels amazing, and my skin prickles all over at the intimacy of his touch. Too soon, he moves on down my legs, and I miss the touch of him on my most secret place.

As he rolls me over, I get a very good view of how engorged and ready his cock is. It brushes against me occasionally as he works over my entire body, leaving a trail of prickly, needy skin in its path. I’m turned on, as he must know, but he avoids touching the most sensitive areas of my sex, which only makes me crave his touch there all the more. And when he finishes, I start in on his body.

I torture him the same way he’s tortured me, by refusing to give him my touch where his body wants it the most. I do, however, allow my breasts to brush up against his bare skin as I lean over him. He inhales a ragged breath at the touch of my nipples against his skin. He examines my every movement as I run, stroke, and massage my hands over his body. His skin is warm, and his muscles flinch at my touch as his body relaxes further and further. I end with his feet, just as he did with me. But he’s far more ticklish than I am, and before I know it, I’ve found my secret weapon. His entire legs jump as I run my fingers up the soles of his feet. And I start to torture him. He chuckles at my games before he bolts upright and pins me to the mattress with his strong arms and the weight of his body. I’m trapped, and the glint in his eyes tells me that’s exactly how he wants me to be.

But rather than allowing our seduction to continue, he pulls us both up to the head of the bed where we stay in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening. It isn’t really late, so it is a long and pleasant night of TV in bed. Logan leaves only briefly, coming back with a bowl of ice cream and a couple of spoons. We devour our treat while catching a sitcom that has us both rolling in laughter. And our time together feels so real—so normal. Blocking out the inevitable end to our relationship is the only way to tolerate it. There’s that damn word again—
“relationship.”
And it is a relationship—however destined to die it might be.

Eventually, we fall asleep. And as I’m fading into unconsciousness, I notice the wetness between my legs still lingers from my want being unsatisfied earlier. My dreams are equally wet. They involve fingers invading my body agonizingly slow and touching my warmth there. Over and over for an eternity they blaze their slow path toward my deepest part. But as my unconscious eventually meets my conscious, I realize these aren’t dream fingers at all. And I know these fingers so well. They fit me perfectly, and they are only concerned with my pleasure.

*

My dreams are fraught with losing her, and it is desperately painful. When I wake in a panic, I’m almost certain to find her gone from me, but she’s still there—sleeping soundly beside me and breathing quietly and deeply. I have to have her. I have to claim her. She belongs to me, and I have to take her in the only way I can. And in the dark, my hands feel their way along her warmth. She’s wet, and my fingers slide into her easily. She’s on her stomach, and at my first invasion of her pussy, she mindlessly pulls her leg up to give me better access. She is still sleeping soundly, but the quiet moans escaping her mouth tell me she’ll wake soon enough. I move millimeter by slow millimeter into her channel, taking her slowly and gently over and over. When she’s awake enough, I roll her over and bury my face between her legs.

Her scent belongs to me, and I lick greedily at her wetness, wanting every last bit of it. Her moans have increased, and she is fully awake and fully aroused. I spread her folds and suck and nibble away at her clit while my fingers invade her tight sheath. When she comes, it is with my name uttered helplessly on her lips. And soon she is taking her own sweet time with my body, first with her hand and then her mouth. She sucks deeply and circles the head of my cock with her tongue. She moves down to my balls, licking gently and sweetly. She cradles them in her hands as she starts nibbling and licking at the base of my cock. Within moments, her lips are parting over the head of my swollen dick again, pressing down over me, and taking all of me deep into her throat. As I come, she drinks me completely, relishing my flavor. And then we steal away to sleep again.

The next morning, we get ready for the day together. I watch her as she stands naked in my bathroom blow drying her hair. She’s never worn much makeup, and I study her as she brushes a small amount of mascara over her long lashes and then glides her lip gloss over her pink lips. We’re having coffee in the kitchen before long, watching one another over the rim of our cups. This feels so right, and I wish I could box her up with the rest of my belongings and take her to Colorado with me.

I have a full day in Grand Rapids as I prepare to hand off my projects to the new summer intern that has been brought on board to replace me. And it is long after Rowan has left for Sara’s that I finally get home. I’m relieved to have stayed so busy and am more than happy to couch potato it up when I finally get home. Dinner delivery ordered, I open a bottle of wine and settle in front of the TV. I should be working on my thesis, since I’ll be busy the next couple of nights, but it’s the last thing I want to do. I finally get bored enough to move and soon have the guys rounded up for a couple of games of pool at The Inn. Very irresponsibly, we close down the bar at two in the morning, and I know I’m going to regret it tomorrow morning. As I enter my apartment, I grab my cell phone and start typing. I really need to stop drunk text messaging Rowan in the middle of the night.
“I miss you. Sleep tight.”

*

Composition portfolios done early, apparently some of Ronnie’s procrastination rules were heeded, we decide to go catch a movie. Since it is Monday night, the lines are short, and we load up on popcorn with double butter and enough candy to keep a preschool in business for a month. We find our seats and laugh for an hour and a half straight. Sara is animated all the way home about next year and how much fun we are going to have. It’s hard not to get caught up in her energy, and I actually start to believe her until Logan pops into my mind. I really do want to believe everything Sara says about our future, but the pain of knowing Logan won’t be a part of this future is numbing. She can’t possibly understand how hard it is for me to think about next year without him. Hell, I can’t stand thinking about this summer without him, let alone the rest of my life. I can’t help but thank God that Sara will be with me next year. Part of me is worried Sara will just remind me of Logan, and I’m sure that is true to a point, but Sara is my oldest friend, and I wouldn’t know how to face next year alone. I’m not sure I could stomach the idea of going off to Ann Arbor without her; the loneliness of being away from Logan would kill me.