8. Lennie

8

LENNIE

I walk around the house taking everything in, still in awe of everything we accomplished in the short amount of time. The walls and ceilings are painted a soft creamy beige highlighting the wood along the floorboards, doorways, and a few built-ins. All of the boxes are broken down and on the porch to either recycle or when I get the chance to find a local on-line group that could use them. A shiver runs down my spine thinking about social media. Well before my divorce was final, I deactivated all the apps. I’ve yet to dip my toes back into the mess of all messes. I’ll probably have to jump back on the train now that I’m in a new community and want to help others out. Of course, that’ll take me forever at first because I need to clean my shit up. I never posted a lot. Still, there’s years upon years’ worth of memories that need to come down.

I’ll do that one day, not today.

I go about closing the new light-filtering curtains in the living area, turning off lights along the way while shutting my house down for the night. Another purchase I had to give in to from Catherine and Russell. I love them, love that they want to help so much, but goodness, the guilt that consumed me each time they slid their card across the machine had me crippled with anxiety. I thanked them profusely, offered to pay them back or fly up to Wyoming to repay the favor. You know, once I have some time off accrued at work. Essentially, it’ll be maybe a year or so before it happens. There are long weekends I’ll be able to hop on a plane to visit. The first will have to be to Clay and Minnie’s, then to the Johnsons.

There are still some places in my house that are bare, but it’s nothing I can’t fix over time. The majority is done, and I can’t fathom shopping or painting for a very long time. Except I saw the state of the exterior while pulling weeds and setting up the patio furniture. Sometime soon, I’ll either need to get quotes to have it professionally painted or do it myself. I’m sure I’ll get sticker shock, so I’ll instead rent a pressure washer and spend every spare weekend painting it on my own.

I grab my phone and book off the telephone table, a gift of sorts. Aunt Estelle left a few pieces behind. This one has to be my favorite and makes me wish I had a house phone like Clay does. I don’t need one, but I’m thinking the next time I have a few extra bucks and time to peruse the thrift stores, I’ll find an old rotary-style telephone. For now, I’m using it as a resting place for my cell phone, book of choice, notepad, and a pen.

My phone lights up with an alert. I look at the screen expecting it to be an e-mail or a notification about a game I play where you blast blocks. It’s not; it’s the family group chat.

Children of the Johnsons is the group chat name instead of Children of the Corn . Apparently, Trey is the culprit of coming up with this name, whereas before, the name was Family Herd. A too basic and boring name for the Johnson brother. The messages start coming one right after the other. I unlock my phone and scroll to the top to read the first one.

Momma Catherine: Hey, just checking in with everyone. How’s everyone doing?

Lawson: That’s good. Everything is good here.

I see that he’s sent a picture of his family of three—him, Juniper, and their daughter, Jasmine.

Momma Catherine: I sure do miss my grandbabies.

Ryland: Same here. No fires to put out. That’s a win in my book.

Poppa Russell: Don’t be talking about no fires, boy. You know what that’ll do to your mother.

Mae: We’re at the cabin, checking in and having a quick getaway. I hope you’re enjoying your trip.

JW: Muting y’all. It’s time for me to have some fun with my woman.

“Well, just tell everyone exactly what you’re up to, JW,” I say with a chuckle.

Minnie: TMI! Love you all. Check in with pictures tomorrow.

My sister sounds like me when she went on her cross-country trip.

Me: Ditto to Minnie on all of it. Love you guys. I’ll check in after work tomorrow 3

More messages come across the screen. I push the button down on the side, muting the pinging noises. I’ve got a couple of more things to do before I’m going to bed. I walk to my bedroom, tossing my book and phone on the bed before skirting toward the window. This room is the only one I installed room-darkening curtains. I’m a light sleeper as it is, and come the weekend, I love nothing more than to sleep in past the time the sun rises.

The floral curtains work well with the wall color as well as the bed set. Luckily, I had those two items already and didn’t have to purchase anything else for this room. The other day when we were working in my room, it was hard for me to keep my eyes on the walls instead of sliding to Asher’s backyard. At that time, I hadn’t met him, but I sure enjoyed the view. I also thought he was a single dad and felt very pervy for watching him in the pool in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

Then I met him, in practically nothing.

“ Asher Fontaine .” I say his name aloud much like I did the night he introduced himself to me. My traitorous hussy of a pussy clenches thinking about him all over again. My libido has been mute, gone, sayonara, see you later for more months than I care to admit. Nothing interested me. Until him .

As Catherine would say, he’s a tall glass of water on a hot summer day, yet to me, he’s a walking orgasm. I know because my sex drive is now in overdrive. My toy has gotten a workout each and every night, not to mention when I shower in the morning after waking up from a deliciously naughty dream. My body is dripping with sweat, my core is aching, and I’m running to the shower to use my hand-held showerhead.

The curtain is closed, so now there’s nothing left for me to do except shower and hit the hay. I start stripping out of my clothes, leaving a pile in my wake as I walk toward the only bathroom in the house. That mess can be picked up later. Right now, I’ve got a building ache in my body that’s trying to consume me whole.

Maybe one day, I’ll have the courage to go after what I want. Tonight is not that that day, and tomorrow isn’t looking good either. Plus, Asher isn’t home. Believe me, I know. In between piddling here and there, my eyes seem to wander toward his house. The driveway where his gun-metal gray truck usually sits has been empty for hours now.

“Get over it, Lennon. You’re thirty-five, divorced, and dating scares you.” I flip the light on and study myself in the mirror. This is a work in progress. Whereas I’d usually find fault in my body, telling myself to lose weight, exercise more, or that I should do something different with my hair, I’m at peace with how I look now. It’s taken a bit of healing some of the past trauma with my therapist, but I’m getting somewhere.

Instead of going down a dark and slippery slope, I look at my body. My full breasts that have a slight sag as I cup them, my cherry-red nipples that harden and ache. When I trace each with the tip of my finger, my flesh pebbles along the length of my body. My head drops back on my shoulders as I think about Asher, wondering what it would feel like if it were him working me up. Maybe he’d be behind me, one hand cupping my breast, the other sliding down my stomach and cupping me. I do what I’d imagine Asher would do, only he’d be holding me up instead of me trying not to let my knees buckle. I’d be blanketed in his warmth, feeling the stubble from his slight beard rub along my neck. My hands would dig into the back of his thighs, holding on for dear life while working my hips as he slams two fingers inside of me.

“Asher,” I moan into the empty room. My voice echoing off the tiled walls as I work my clit with the press of my thumb. I curve my fingers, hitting deeper with each inward movement. My orgasm hits hard and fast, and wetness saturates me, more so than I thought possible. I’m dripping down the insides of my thighs, leaking down my legs, and my hand is soaked, too. A boneless heap, that’s what I am. I grip the countertop at the last minute when my body starts quivering.

“Holy shit,” I breathe out when I finally catch my breath. My forehead is propped on my arm along the counter, my body is bent over because my legs are like Jell-O. Attempting to pull myself together is going to be easier said than done. As I’m pulling my fingers out of my drenched pussy, my muscles decide they’re not nearly done. Never in my life have I been able to have two orgasms back-to-back. Especially not with the name we won’t be speaking.

I lift myself up off the counter and attempt to get my limbs in action, when all I want is to be thrown on the bed and let Asher take me any way he wants me. Since that isn’t likely to happen, I do the next best thing, minus my toy because its dead-dead. Which reminds me, the next time I have my laptop open, I’m going to look for something new, maybe one you can plug it in to recharge instead of being dependent on batteries. There’s nothing worse than being mid-orgasm when your toy dies.

A few minutes later, I’m able to walk to the shower and hit the nozzle to turn the hot water on. I step over the ledge of the tub, letting the hot water coat my body, and saturate my hair. The last thing I wanted to do was wash my hair, but the orgasm I just gave myself coated my entire body in sweat, so it’s now a necessity. When the water rains down on the front of my body, a zing runs through me, making me greedy for another orgasm. Damn, Asher Fontaine is giving me more orgasms than I’ve ever had, and he isn’t even aware.

I take the nozzle off the showerhead. This contraption has the water running from the head and the hand-held part. I run it over my chest, feeling the vibrations against my aching breasts and nipples. I’m still weak from climaxing in front of the mirror. Not wanting to fall, I plant my back against the cold tile and close my eyes. This time when I work myself back up again, it’s with Asher on his knees in front of me. His big hands cup my ass, my leg is thrown over his shoulder, and he’s lapping me from clit to ass. My fingers grip his chocolate-brown hair while his vibrant green eyes hold my own captive. I move the nozzle down the length of my body, lifting my leg up to the ledge. This old house has the original tub, big, sunken, and deep, and, in this instance, it’s helping me out. One day soon, I’m going to take the longest bath of the century.

“Oh god,” I breathe out, hot and heavy. The pulsing meets my sensitive clit and gives me goose bumps. This isn’t going to last long. It seems whenever I think about Asher, my climax slams through me. My center clenches at the need to feel something inside me, except there’s no way I can focus on other areas. I’m too busy letting my fantasy roll through me. While Asher is flicking his tongue along my clit, his fingers aren’t staying still. I feel his thumb at my back entrance, slowly pushing it inside my ass while two of his thick fingers work their way inside my pussy. My imagination runs wild and seems so real, it’s almost like Asher is here with me.

I change the settings with a flick of my thumb, so it goes from a steady rhythm of water hitting my center to a pulse, and as I hold it close, I push myself over the edge. A silent scream leaves my mouth, and sparks dance behind my eyes. There’s no way I can keep pleasuring myself all alone. Soon enough, this won’t be enough. Then what’s a girl to do?

March your ass over to Asher’s house and offer yourself on a silver platter. You act like he wasn’t looking at you wrapped in nothing but a towel. Let go and live, Lennon.

My inner conscience is a bitch tonight. She’s also right. There’s nothing wrong with seeing where things could potentially go with Asher Fontaine. All I need to do is act on it and not behave like a bumbling, stumbling idiot.

“Good luck.” Talking to myself in the shower is a whole new low. I push myself to my feet and get on with washing my hair and body. Tomorrow is a brand-new day and start to my new life.