Enticed (2 page)

“Oh. Nothing
much,” Alana said, looking ahead on the road and trying to resist examining him intently. She was relieved that he was unaware of her divorce and wanted to enjoy his ignorance a little longer. For months, the subject had somehow wormed its way into nearly every conversation she’d had with her family and close friends back home. It was nice to have someone who treated her normally - even if it did currently feel like she was on an awkward first date.

Mark’s car pulled around a bend, passing his house. It was only another mile or so before Alana’s stop.
He wanted to think of a reason he should come in, but couldn’t find one good enough. Feeling a little foolish at his juvenile scheming, he didn’t speak again until Alana did.

“I heard your grandfather passed,” she said, looking over at him.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He lived a good and long life. On top of that, I think…I think he was ready to join my grandmother.”

Alana had forgotten. When they’d first met, Mark had mentioned that his grandmother had died only a few months prior.
They pulled up to the large wooden house. It was the picture of rustic perfection, complete with front porch, rocking chair, large square windows dotting the first and second floors, and a steepled roof.

“Well. Here we are,” said Mark, smiling.

“Here we are,” Alana said, giggling nervously. They sat a moment, not moving. Mark wondered if Alana was expecting something.

“
Uhn…Would you like some help settling in? I know you always had trouble starting the fire,” he teased.

Alana laughed, but shook her head.

“No, I’m alright. Besides, I think she finally got central AC,” she said. She got out of the car but paused at the steps, turning around and making a motion for Mark to lower his window. He did, sticking his head out.

“Thanks Mark!”

“You’re welcome.”

He raised the driver side window, and pulled out, turning back aro
und for the short journey home.

Chapter Two

Mark’s grandfather’s house really needed some work. When Mark was younger, his grandfather had been strict about house maintenance, often enlisting Mark to assist with painting or tending the small garden or fixing some pipes. As he’d gotten older, his grandfather had done less and less, until Mark finally went away to start his life, leaving his grandfather to do what he could as he got older. When Mark’s grandmother had died, the old man all but gave up tending to the house. This was around the time Alana started coming up for summers, so she remembered his grandfather only as a jovial layabout, enlisting them only to tell a story or occasionally tend to maintenance that was dire.

Opening the door and switching on the light, Mark was shocked to see that the place was much like the last time he’d seen it, his grandfather’s old windbreaker still hanging on the standing coat rack.
Mark walked over to the fire place. When his grandfather was still alive and he visited during cold months, his favorite thing to do was light the fire. At twelve, his grandfather had let him do it himself for the very first time.

Mark smiled as he piled the logs into the fireplace. His thoughts drifted back to Alana. He shook his head. He had acted a bit like a
teenager on a first date. The awkward silences and the goofy, presumptuous waiting to be invited in. All stock and trade of his early high school years. It was as if, as he entered the town, he’d sunk back down into that earlier self. More of the frog, less of the prince.
What happened to GQ magazine’s Sexiest Man?
He laughed at the thought. A year ago, at the height of his popularity and just before the decline of his marriage, Mark had been listed as the sexiest man alive, beating out some well-known movie stars who’d held the title for a while. He suspected that their head editor, a woman who’d he’d dated for a few months in college, either meant it as a joke or as a smug way of reminding him that he still thought he was too good for everyone. Either way, whenever he did something decidedly unappealing, Tammy would always say: “What happened to GQ’s sexiest man of the year?” It became a joke between them.

His thoughts again wandered over to Alana. He could almost feel her, even a mile down the roa
d. After all, they hadn’t been this close in proximity for years. How had it been that they hadn’t at least sat and chatted a bit? Mark plopped down into his grandfathers’ old recliner. He had been a little concerned that he would find the place lonely, even creepy, with his grandfather gone. However, compared to how he felt surrounded by gossiping, judgmental family and friends he wasn’t always sure he trusted, he felt much more at home here. Tomorrow, he could check to see which familiar faces remained in town, maybe even convince Alana to come along. He liked his odds: there wasn’t much to do in the town. It was part of the reason they’d become friends in the first place.

He paced around the living area, thinking about their recent encounter. It surprised him, the way his thoughts
insistently pointed toward her like a compass needle. He imagined her, sitting in his car, stunningly gorgeous even after having walked a mile in sweats and a t-shirt. He was impatient to see her again, and had to chastise himself when he continued to dote.
You know better, Max. Whether you want to talk to her or fuck her, just admit how you feel to yourself and get on with it. You didn’t get where you are now by being indecisive.
He’d given himself many such talks over the years, and it was no wonder. Within moments, he calmed down, grabbed a book from his luggage, and cracked open one of the bottles of wine he’d brought from his collection back home. By no means was it the best he owned, but it was definitely better than anything from the grocery store here. Midway through his glass of wine he fell asleep, Louis Carroll’s
Through the Looking Glass
open on his chest.

Alana sat in her aunt’s cabin with the television loud enough to fill the house with sound. She remembered the cabin as a warm and loving place
- just what she needed in her life right now - but realized only now that the soul of the cabin was her aunt. Without her, it just wasn’t the same. There was no use lying down, Alana knew there was no chance she would sleep. Still feeling the euphoric high the adventure of travel always gave her, she felt ready to do something. In this town, however, there simply wasn’t that much to do.

She sat on the front porch and riffled through her cell.
Damn, should’ve gotten Mark’s number.
Alana began to wonder if her so-called vacation wouldn’t turn into a different kind of trap from that awaiting her in the city. A boring one.
Wait, what about auntie’s address book?
She hopped up and dashed over to the drawer near the front hall where her aunt kept a list of important numbers in case of emergencies. Sure enough, it was just where it had always been, even during her childhood. “Everything in its place,” her aunt would always say.

Moving down the list on the ancient legal pad, Alana found the number titled ‘Jessup’, the nickname Mark’s grandfather went by locally. Alana, whipping out her cell phone, paused. Her aunt had left town shortly after Jessup’s death,
and now that it was nearly the anniversary of it, Aunt Barbara had left town again. Alana hadn’t connected the dots. Making a note in her mind to check on her aunt when next they spoke, Alana dialed the number to Mark’s grandfather’s house, hoping the landline to the house was still on.

Mark awoke to a familiar ringing sound. Mistaking it for his own phone first, he realized the tone was different and it was coming from elsewhere in the house.
Is it the doorbell?
He peeked out of the window next to the front door but saw no one. Only when all the options were exhausted did he realize that it was the phone in the kitchen.

Wondering who it could be, and answering more to stop the shrill ring than anything, he picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” There was a pause during which no one responded. Mark tried again. “…Hello?”

“Hi. Mark? This is Alana. Are you still up?”

After a little talking, and a few apologies from Alana for calling so late, the two decided to meet by the lake to catch up on old times. Mark brought a bottle of wine. Alana brought wine glasses and a blanket to lie on.

“Hey there stranger,” Alana said, as Mark got out of his car, wine bottle in hand. She noticed that he was taller than when last he’d met. He’d also seemed to have filled out more.

“Hi yourself,” he said with a crooked smile. It looked like they were falling into their old rhythm. Alana was wearing jeans and a tank top, but looked absolutely amazing in them. Normally a relatively conservative outfit, her form lent it a sexual power. It was her well-carved hips and sumptuous, ripe breasts that beckoned to another side of him, raking coals he had thought exhausted and jaded into a flame.

They situated themselves on the grassy knoll beside the lake, and poured generous glasses of wine.

“So,” Mark said as they sat, staring out onto the lake in the moonlight, “what messed up life situation brings you here?”

Alana burst out laughing, nearly spitting out her wine in a very unladylike manner. And after all the trouble she’d gone through to pick a decent outfit to make up for earlier (she’d decided on a pair of jeans and a cute orange tank top
- causal and cute). She recovered enough to pretend to take offense.

“First of all.
I’m not the only one here,” she retorted.

“
Touché, madame.”

“And second, who says I have a messed up life situation?”

It occurred to Alana that Mark had changed somewhat, although there was something about his layback, doing-a-little-fishing-on-a-sunny-day demeanor that was the same. For one, he certainly never used to use words like ‘touché’.

“Well, if you didn’t have one, why come here?” he asked. “For a city girl like
yourself especially, places like this are only good for getting away.”

Mark had a point.

“Besides, your aunt’s not even there.”

“And how did you know that, mister?” Alana asked. She knew word travelled fast in a small town, but it wasn’t as if Mark lived here, either.

Mark scooted closer to Alana on the blanket leaning over. There was a chill to the air, but the wine warmed their bellies.

“Because your aunt told me,” he said, smirking. “She planned her trip around my arrival so I could drop by every day and make sure the house was alright.”

They both burst into laughter. Partly it was the wine, but the larger part was that they both realized what Alana’s crafty Aunt Barbara had been up to. Hearing of Mark’s divorce and being told about Alana’s directly, she’d decided to try and play matchmaker.

Mark looked up at the stars and moon, pondering. Being out here with Alana, reliving old times with her, was exactly what he’d needed. He owed Aunt Barb one.

He suddenly felt something on his shoulder. Looking down, he realized Alana had laid her head there. She was so beautiful, and smelled divine. Mark tried to withhold his excitement at her mere touch, resisting the urge to poison such a sweet moment by looking down into her tank top where, he was sure, she was not wearing a bra. He laughed inwardly. Yep, he’d been transported back to his high school self, alright.

He stroked her back as they looked out over the lake. He felt the tenderness of the moment, but couldn’t help a c
ertain excitement as he ran his hands over her back tenderly. Despite his attempt to resist himself, he grew stiff in his pants.

“This is nice,” she said, nuzzling deeply into his neck, and pulling her body close.

“Yeah,” he said, stroking her arm. He loved being close to her, and didn’t want to take advantage of the moment. It would be time to go to their separate houses, soon.

“Well, maybe we should-” he began, starting to stand.

“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist, reflexively. She didn’t want him to leave, not right now. This was perfect and she wanted it to last as long as she could get it to.

“Okay,” he said settling back down. She looked up into his eyes, and he felt her vulnerability, making her all the more beautiful and irresistible. Feeling the slavering hunger of a pack wolf, he caressed her chin and brought her in for a gentle kiss.
Just one little kiss, enough to beat back this need for her.
She pressed into him, kissing him fully. Suddenly, her body pressed into him, falling onto as they continued to smack their lips together with a desperate, intimate, passion. Mark had underestimated Alana’s hunger for him.

Taking her by the waist, Mark lifter her up so that she was
straddling him. She pulled away when the crotches of their pants met, but he pulled her in willfully. Alana’s resistance melted. Mark knew he would have her, savor her every taste and smell and touch as fully as he could before they were both spent. There might be consequences later, but it was too late now. The urge was too strong in them both, and there was no going back in the ancient, primal, dance they’d started.

Mark’s hands ran up Alana’s bare back underneath her tank top.
A sigh puffed out from between her full, desperate lips before coming back down to meet his. Mark’s caress danced over Alana’s bottom, setting off a warm glow that spread and grew. Alana was warm now, hot even, and her breath deepened as the warmth in her belly from the wine spread downward, down to her groin. She could feel Mark’s need underneath her, close. To satisfy hers, to attempt to put it out before it became too much, she grinded against his hard on. They became a tangle of small moans and gasps as they fell deep into their sexual trance.

Mark raised her top, Alana understanding that she was to take it off the rest of the way. They were bonded now, and their bodies un
derstood that they would have impassioned, animal sex. There was no need to rush as they both knew it was inevitable, but there was a certain urgency the pulled them forward at each stage, moving them yet again.

Now Alana yank
ed Mark’s shirt off, Mark barely raising his arms in time for her to pull it off. She was riding him now, breaking from kissing, giving herself and him time to miss each other’s lips. Her body led her forward, and she could not ignore its call. Tonight, they would be one.

He flipped her over, putting her down on the blanket and kissing her perfect neck. He took a moment to look at her pert, perfectly shaped breasts. He pulled her hair up and out of her face, giving it a gentle, firm pull. She gasped again in pleasure. Mark nuzzled his face into her neck, becoming drunk off of her scent. Vaguely, he knew it wasn’t exactly impossible that some late night fisher or horny teenagers could walk in on them at any moment, but he didn’t care. His lust, his love, was to
o overwhelming and complete.

Kissing his way down gingerly, he moved to her breasts, caressing one while moving his tongue in circles around the areola of the other, careful not to touch it. Alana cooed in pleasure, her body shifting as she grappled with the heights she was reaching.
If Mark stuck his hands in her pants now, her obedient pussy would come immediately. Mark, as if reading her thoughts, broke from her breast a moment, though it was almost painful to do so. He looked in her eyes devilishly as he caressed her thighs.