Ch. VII: Without Words
by Whispersecret ©
Copyright 2000 by the author. All rights reserved.
By the time she got to the stables, she had calmed down. She found it hard to believe that Rockwell had threatened her father’s life. What could Daddy have done to warrant that? Why had Rockwell hit him? And what was that mysterious tape that the guard mentioned? These questions pestered her until they arrived at a suitable picnic spot, where they set up their blankets under a tree.
She intended to talk to Rockwell about all of it, but he took her by surprise when he asked, "What are your plans for the future, Fiona?"
"The future?" She stopped unpacking the food for a moment.
"Yes." He took over the task of setting out the sandwiches and fruit that had been packed for them. "I remember your father mentioning that you were no longer in college, and I’ve been wondering what you intend to do with your life."
She busied herself with uncorking the wine. "This is going to sound stupid, but when I was little, I wanted to be a cruise director, like Julie on that show, The Love Boat."
He chuckled as she poured the wine. "I take it that’s not your life’s ambition anymore."
She shook her head.
"Then what is?"
She fiddled with the sandwiches. "Oh, good, lobster salad. Wait until you taste this. You’ll think you died and went to heaven." She unwrapped hers and took a big bite. "Oh, yum."
Rockwell tried it and shrugged his shoulders. "It’s delicious, but answer my question."
Fiona swallowed her bite. "You’ll think it’s silly. My father always told me I’d be wasting my time."
"Your father is an idiot. Tell me."
"I want to study the ocean. I’ve always been fascinated by those underwater explorer shows, but Daddy thinks that any pursuit that doesn’t involve a making a profit is worthless."
"Why don’t you do what you want anyway?"
"I was going to, but all of a sudden he seemed obsessed with finding me a rich husband. He refused to pay my tuition and started parading me around in front of his associates, like a prize heifer."
"Let me guess. This was about a year ago when he started doing this?"
She paused in mid-bite. "Yes. How did you know?"
"That’s about the time when his company really started to go sour." Rockwell sipped his wine.
"What did you want to be when you were a little boy?"
He seemed taken aback by the question. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You were a boy once, weren’t you? Or did you spring fully formed from the sea?"
"Of course I was a boy once." He swirled the wine around in his plastic cup. "I didn’t really think about that kind of thing when I was young."
"I don’t know. I just didn’t." Rockwell cleared his throat. "You know, you’re right. This is the best lobster salad sandwich I’ve ever had."
Fiona cocked her head to the side. "What’s wrong?"
"Then, why don’t you want to talk about this?"
"Who said I didn’t want to talk about it?"
"Come on, I told you my secret dream to be a cruise director."
"All right, Fiona. You want to know what I dreamed about when I was a kid? I’ll tell you." He tossed his sandwich onto his plastic plate. "I dreamed about growing up and moving out on my own. Having my own place. A place I didn’t have to share with anyone else."
"Brothers and sisters always under foot?" she asked, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.
"Not exactly. See, not everyone was born into a life of privilege, like you."
"I know that."
"No. You don’t. Not really. You’ll never know what it’s like."
Fiona bit her lip. She could see this was a tender subject with him, but she wouldn’t give up.
"Tell me," she said softly. "I want to know."
He shoved his plate away and lay on his back, crossing his arms under his head. "Where shall I start? My dad was a loser, in prison for life. I assume because he killed someone, but my mother never did tell me for what crime. Mostly because she was drunk most of the time."
"Oh, God," Fiona whispered.
"My sister, brother and I did all right. My mother had her lucid periods. She generally kept food in the house, bought us clothes, paid the rent. But one time she left to go collect her welfare check and didn’t come back. I was the oldest, so I took over. I told my sister and brother that she’d be back soon and that we would have to take care of ourselves until she got back. We did okay for about a week until we started running out of food. My teacher got suspicious when I started bringing boxed macaroni to school for lunch. Not soon after that people from Children’s Services came and took us into custody. No one wanted to take three kids in at once, so we were separated. I never found out what happened to my mother."
"What about your sister and brother?"
"Deb is married to a chef. She lives in Colorado. Drew’s in investment banking in London."
"My God. You own a multi-billion dollar company, and you came from that nightmare childhood. You poor th—"
"Don’t," he snapped. "I don’t want your sympathy."
He got up abruptly, went to Goliath and yanked a book out of the saddle bag. When he returned to the blanket, he turned his attention to his book and his lunch without another word.
Fiona ate her own lunch. He was right. She would never know what it was like to have lived like that. Her heart went out to the little boy he had been. And she found herself admiring the man that he’d become.
Some time later when she was finished with her lunch, she looked at Rockwell. He sat with his back against the tree, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He looked so devilishly handsome in his jaunty straw hat. She was hoping he would just move his leg just a tiny bit more to the side, because she was sure that then she could get a glimpse inside his shorts. There was something thrilling about getting a secret peek.
She lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, and watched him for ten minutes. Nothing. He seemed absorbed with his reading—a little volume about the establishment of the Jamestown colony that he had picked up during their little jaunt to town. She sighed, accepting the fact that no peek was forthcoming. Even so, she felt a little twinge between her legs.
Maybe it was time for some action on my part, she thought.
"I think I’ll get a little sun," she said, standing up and stretching.
He glanced up at her briefly. "That’s fine."
She anticipated the look on his face when he saw her little swimsuit surprise. As she unbuttoned her blouse, she even played out a little fantasy in her head about how he would lose control and take her hard and make her cum and cum. Just like the good old—well, day. (She couldn’t say "days", since there had really only been one day of sex.)
She shrugged off her shirt. The skimpy top of the bikini hugged her breasts, the luscious mounds almost overflowing the tiny triangles of fabric. There was no way he couldn’t notice them. She looked at Rockwell.
He was still reading his book.
Fine, she thought, let’s see if he can ignore this. After taking off her boots and socks, she turned around, and unfastened her pants. With a decided shimmy of her hips, she slowly wriggled the trousers over her rounded bottom and down. She hoped he was enjoying the gradual exposure of all that feminine flesh—the generous swell of her hips and cheeks, the long, sleek line of her thighs and shapely calves. She hoped the sight of the scanty bikini bottom skirting over her behind was driving him wild. She hoped that he would stand up, drop his own pants, take her by the hips and drive himself into her like an animal.
She risked a look at him through her legs while she was bent over. He had his hat tilted over his face and his arms crossed over his chest.
He appeared to be sleeping.
She immediately straightened and turned. How dare he fall asleep while she was putting on her little strip show? She kicked aside her pants in annoyance. By all rights his cock should be hard as a--
Fiona frowned and peered closer at his groin. There was a definitely bulge there. He had seen her. Nobody got a hard on from reading colonial history. That meant he was pretending to sleep! Damn it, he was the one who had stirred the sexual feelings of her body, and now he was denying her any pleasure at all for no apparent reason. Well, screw that, she thought.
Her first thought was to straddle him and rub herself against him—force him to acknowledge the fact that he wasn’t sleeping at all. But then, she came up with a more diabolical idea. Carefully positioning herself in his line of sight, she stretched out on the blanket, her legs parallel to his, her feet next to his hip. With a fiendish smile, Fiona smoothed her hands over her torso, moaning, oh so softly, just to get his attention. She could feel that familiar warmth begin to radiate from her pussy, down her legs, up over her chest and along her arms. Slowly, she let her hands slip down below her navel. With a slow rhythm, she rubbed the flat of her hands over her mound, punctuating her movements with soft sounds of pleasure. Rockwell had already demonstrated himself to be a man with an enormous sexual appetite, and Fiona wondered just how long he’d be able to withstand the blatant exhibition she was putting on. Hopefully, not long.
As she imagined just what he would do when he finally lost control, it soon became more than a show. Her bathing suit was getting soaked, and she began to feel anxious for the throes of an orgasm, even if it was self-induced. She inched her fingers under the elastic band of her bikini bottoms. The silky slit was slick with juices. The hard little button of her clit ached for stimulation.
She didn’t hold back any moans or soft sighs as she rubbed herself. In her mind she replayed every lick and thrust they’d shared, especially his forceful grunts when he came. Those urgent sounds always thrilled her. When she finally reached the peak, her fingers against her clit, it was with the image of Rockwell spraying his cum on her stomach after he’d taken her virginity.
Almost immediately she lifted her head and peered at him. He hadn’t moved—the hat still covered half his face. His arms were still crossed negligently over his chest. But there was a tightness around his lips that betrayed the fact that he’d witnessed her entire show. Sitting up, she saw that his dick was still rock hard.
She swept her arm across and knocked his hat off.
"I know you’re awake, you bastard! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?" She hated how shrill and shaky her voice sounded, but she couldn’t seem to even it out.
"Fiona, what are you talking about?" He uncrossed his arms and blinked at her in surprise.
"You did this to me. You worked so hard to make me crave your touch, your mouth, your fucking cock. And you succeeded. You and Daddy made me into a whore—and incredibly high-priced whore, but a whore just the same. And now you don’t seem to care for what you’ve created."
She snatched her shirt off the ground and yanked it on. Her hands were shaking so hard it was difficult for her to fasten the buttons. The words continued to rush from her mouth like an angry mob, driven by wrath and unstoppable. She gave a bitter laugh.
"My God, when we went riding that day, I was trying to figure out how to seduce you! Is that your game? Is that how you really get your kicks? I’ll bet that’s it. You find a virgin to be your sexual Pygmalion. Then the minute she seems to act like the sleazy slut you were training her to be, you shun her and watch her make a fool of herself. Groveling at your feet for one lousy kiss.
"Well, fuck you! I don’t want to be a whore! I did those two guys because I had to! I didn’t want to. I didn’t like it. I hated it!" She sucked in short little sobbing breaths, unable to stop her shaking. She was mortified at her outburst, but it was impossible to take the words back.
"Fiona." He was directly behind her, his hands planted on either side of her. She could feel the warmth from his body on her back. But he still didn’t touch her.
"I just didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know what else to do," she sobbed. "You—you were out c-c-cold, and I thought--I thought if I could only just keep them happy until you woke up, until you could help me…"
She tucked her legs up next to her and twisted away from him, feeling suddenly vulnerable and tawdry in her bathing suit. Tears spilled down her cheeks to splash unheeded on the bare skin of her thighs.
"And now you can’t bear to touch me anymore. I don’t even know why you’re still here. Why don’t you just leave me alone?" Her barely audible words floated down and seemed to disappear into the blanket and soak into the ground beneath. She waited for him to stand up and walk away. She wanted him to. Then she could just sit here forever and not face another soul ever again.
"Do you want me to leave?" His low voice was soothing. His warm hands clasped her shoulders.
Fiona bit back a sob as new tears welled up. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and every molecule in her body ached for him. She struggled between wanting to lean back against his strong chest and wanting to curl up in a protective ball like a sowbug. He removed that choice from her when he pulled her back against him and enclosed her in the circle of his arms.
"Shhh, shhhh, my sweet Fiona," he murmured, rocking her gently. "It’s all right. Don’t cry."
Comforting crying women wasn’t something Rockwell was very familiar with. He rocked her because he’d seen that in the movies and it seemed like a good idea. He’d never cared whether a woman cried or not before, but for some reason, Fiona’s tears wounded him. Every sob was a stab in his gut. The worst part was he felt responsible.
He kissed her temple. "How could you think I don’t want you?" He chuckled softly and pressed more kisses onto her neck. "My God, every time I look at you I immediately want you. It’s been that way ever since you breezed into your father’s boardroom."
His hunger for her was like an animal inside him tearing to get out. He’d been ruthlessly suppressing it for days, walking around in a perpetual state of excitement with relief for it in plain sight. Even something as innocent as the simple tilt of her head turned him on. A little girlish giggle at something he said. The way she put her lips to a glass as she drank—God, that inflamed him so much, he’d taken to averting his eyes every time she picked up a cup.
To make it worse, she was more than willing. Her covert glances, her charming awkward attempts to seduce him—that cock-teasing little episode in the t-shirt shop. Hell, it was amazing he hadn’t already succumbed. There had been countless opportunities, none of which he’d taken. And why? He had some stupid notion that she might want him for something other than sex.
It took every ounce of strength he had to refrain from shoving her down on the blanket right now to give her what they’d both wanted for the past three days. His whole body cried out with the need to take her here, part her thighs and plow into her, but his mind, his heart demanded something else. This time was going to be different. This time wasn’t going to be just sex. He wanted to communicate everything he was feeling for her with his body because that was what he knew best. He had never been very good at talking about his feelings. He wasn’t sure he could utter the words. He couldn’t even think them.
With painful deliberation, he swept his hands up her torso to cup her heavy breasts in his palms. His cock surged against the fabric of his shorts; he pressed its firmness against her back.
"I want you right now, Fiona. Sometimes I want you so badly it hurts. It scares the shit out of me how much I want you."
He rained kisses on her neck and along her shoulder. As her nipples stiffened in his palms, her breathing became ragged and she turned her head, offering her mouth for his kiss. His lips moved against hers with gentle pressure, his tongue asking for entrance with soft probing strokes. When she parted her lips, he deepened the kiss gradually. His tongue slid against hers in a tender dance and she practically melted in his arms.
When he broke the kiss, Fiona turned to look at him. He bent his head to kiss her again, and she pulled back slightly with a hand on his chest. Instead of insisting, he merely returned her gaze patiently.
"Fiona, let me make love to you."
Once again, Fiona felt confused. A tremendous amount of sexual energy hummed from his body. His eyes smoldered with banked desire; Fiona could feel the insistent pounding of his heart. But he was allowing her to set the pace. She had pulled away and he was actually willing to stop. This was so completely opposite from the man she first met only a few days ago. The Rockwell she knew didn’t kiss like this, softly and with tenderness. He demanded response. What she didn’t give, he took. He drove her relentlessly to sexual ecstasy even if she didn’t want it. But not today.
Today he was asking.
With her heart in her throat, she nodded.
She offered her mouth to him and he filled it with his tongue. His arms stole around her, surrounding her with strength and making her feel like he wanted to hold her forever. Slowly he removed her shirt, his eyes drinking in the sight of her in her bikini. Her nipples tightened with anticipation when he tugged at the strings of the top.
"Every time I look at you, I see something else that is beautiful about you."
He lowered his head and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin.
"Like right here. This place above your breasts…" His lips roamed over her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "This is what other men see that makes them wonder what you hide beneath your clothes."
There was a whisper of sound as he untied the bottom string of the bikini top and it slid off her body to fall on the blanket. "And today you’re letting me see and touch and feel…"
Fiona shuddered as he trailed his fingertips along the sides of her breasts and tugged on her erect nipples. When she felt his mouth on the turgid peaks she moaned aloud, and leaned back. She drew him with her until they were down upon the blanket, his body over hers. His mouth moving over her breasts sent streaks of fire through her veins.
"I want to feel you, too," she said breathlessly. She reached for the buttons on his shirt. As quickly as she could, she undid them all and shoved aside the fabric so she could touch his skin. He shrugged off the shirt himself.
"Your pants--take off your pants."
He did as she asked and in a moment was back down with her on the blanket. By then she’d taken off her bikini bottoms and flung them aside. It seemed like it had been much longer than three days since she’d felt the hot length of his naked body against hers. Everything felt familiar, but different. He took his time, kissing every square inch of her body, slowly, tantalizingly, driving her mad with every stroke of his tongue.
She tried to touch him too. She longed to feel him throbbing in her hands. She wanted to swallow him whole and take his spurting fulfillment down deep in her throat. He wouldn’t let her. When she reached for him, he drew away. When she asked him to let her suck him, he said no. He gave her everything of himself, using his body and softly murmured words, and took nothing back.
By the time he nudged her legs apart she was writhing beneath him, panting with need. He lowered his body until his face was nestled between her thighs.
"Oh, Rockwell, oh, God, yes…"
She was glad that she’d taken the time to shave for him, especially when he placed his entire mouth over the smooth mound and laved her with his tongue. Fiona’s body quivered as he sucked at the baby soft skin of her inner thighs and tickled her lips with the slippery tip of his tongue. Her wetness flowed from her pussy, down between her cheeks to drench the blanket. Rockwell made soft noises as he slurped her nectar, drinking it, drowning in it.
"I love the taste of you, Fiona. I want to lick you for hours."
Her whole body vibrated with desire as he teased her, kissing her everywhere but the one place where she desperately wanted his mouth. She shifted her hips this way and that, seeking the contact, needing it. She was aroused to such a fever pitch that when he finally slipped his tongue between her wet lips and touched her clit, she lost it. He stayed with her until the orgasm waned, his tongue flat against her. He grunted against her steamy flesh and squeezed her thighs with his hands. When she came down, he quickly brought her up again to peak again. And again. Over and over he made her cum until she couldn’t take anymore and she begged him to stop.
Raising his head, he smiled at her. The storm clouds in his eyes were gone. The tension that always lurked in the lines and creases of his face had dissolved. All that was left was a sort of calm essence, a distillation of Rockwell. It was as if she could finally peer through the haziness and see only him.
As he slid up and took her limp body into his arms, Fiona sighed, exhausted and trembling. There was no mistaking it--Rockwell loved her. He hadn’t said so, but his feelings came across loud and clear just the same. When he touched her, his fingers sent tendrils of emotion along her skin. His tender, selfless lovemaking nurtured those tendrils, until his love was woven into her very being, around her heart and inside it. She felt it with every breath, every pulse beat. And it seemed to soothe away all the self-loathing, the shame and the guilt that had settled inside her. This man loved her.
She felt at peace when she closed her eyes and let oblivion take her.
To Be Continued...
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