The Naked Fisherman by Jewel E. Ann

Chapter Fourteen

Regret multipliedthe closer I got to home.

Home …

Was that my home? Was my grandparents’ house my home? Did I truly have a home? I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt so emotionally and physically displaced in my life. Saying I was at a crossroad was an understatement. “Finding myself” was not right either.

Fisher was getting his mail as I slowed to a stop. How could he so casually get his mail and thumb through it? I barely made it home without wrecking Rory’s car because my hands were shaking so much. I climbed out and heaved my bag onto my shoulder, taking cautious steps toward the house.

Fisher kept his head bowed at his mail. “I can hear your teeth chattering. Are you cold?”

I clenched my jaw to stop the chattering. “No.”

“Having second thoughts about your offer?”

That felt like a direct challenge to my age, my maturity, and my sexual experience. Did he want me to back out? Was this another lesson?

“No.” I infused as much confidence as I could muster, which was very little.

“You know …” He continued into his garage, and I followed, leaving a good ten feet between us. “When you’ve had sex, things aren’t so awkward and scary. I’m not implying you should abandon your morals.” He held open the door for me, and I removed my boots and set my bag next to them. “I’m just saying it becomes a little more thrilling and less scary. You know what to expect. You know the end game and why you should want to experience it.”

“I take it…” I padded my feet into his kitchen and slowly walked around the island, dragging my fingertips along the countertop “…you’ve had a lot of sex?”

He tossed one piece of mail onto the counter and discarded the rest in the pullout recycling bin. “I’m twenty-eight and single. Yes. I’ve had a lot of sex.”

His words formed a tight knot in my stomach. It wasn’t that I didn’t expect that to be his truth; I just didn’t expect him to be so forthcoming about it.

“How old were you when you first had it?”

“Sixteen.”

I nodded, staring at my fingers tracing the lines in the granite instead of him eyeing me from the opposite side.

“What…” he laughed a little “…do you see happening? Do you think I’m going to tie you to my bed and do weird things to you?”

My gaze shot up to meet his, and I didn’t blink once. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Then what occurred to you on that long drive home?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“Stop calling me a liar. You can’t read my mind.”

“Do you touch yourself?”

“Jeez …” My head bowed to hide my embarrassment.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He walked to the basement door and opened it. “Go touch yourself. I’m going to take a shower and touch myself. Then we’ll have dinner and see how the evening progresses.”

Oh … my … gosh …

He was serious. I didn’t know what was most unsettling: the idea of him giving me a homework assignment to masturbate or him confessing his own intentions.

I laughed, a little too loudly. “I’m … I’m not going to …”

“Touch yourself? Why the hell not?”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head. I felt like the world’s biggest prude. And that shouldn’t have bothered me. I had my faith. I did have morals. And if I gave in and handed him my virginity, what would I have to give my husband on our wedding night. Those were the words I’d heard from my grandma and people at church so many times. Except my grandma took it one step further with a cringe-worthy analogy.

“Therese, if you don’t have that to give your husband, it’s like borrowing a used sanitary napkin from a friend. You don’t want to be a used sanitary napkin, do you?”

So there it was … not having my virginity on my wedding night was not only disrespectful to my husband and to God, it was gross and had the potential to spread disease. And I bought it. Not only did I buy it, I repeated it to my friends to help remind them of the importance of staying virgins.

Making the virgin walk of shame, I sulked toward the stairs, stopping and glancing up at Fisher.

“Have fun.” He gave me a tight smile.

I blinked several times. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

My head shook in frustration. “B-because I don’t want to make myself feel good; I want you to make me feel good! I want to feel like I felt last night, like I felt this morning.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Fiiine …” When he opened his eyes, he blew out a long breath. “But I need a shower before that happens again.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, Reese … because. Okay? Because. Can it just be okay with you?”

“No!” I covered my mouth after I yelled my answer.

He growled and grumbled. Things were worse than I thought. Fisher was mad at me and the rest of the world, but mainly me.

“I want to be the reason you … well … you know.”

“Done.” He gave me a slight nudge, forcing me down the first stair. “I will think of you the whole time. Happy now?”

I deflated. “You don’t deserve my dreams, naked fisherman.” Turning, I descended the stairs and headed straight to my bedroom, where I wasn’t going to touch myself regardless of what Fisher did in the shower.

Plopping onto my bed face-first, I turned my head toward the window and stared at the mountains, thinking I should just go … just take a drive alone.

“Happy Meals? Really, Reese. You got Happy Meals for my crew today?”

“They didn’t complain.”

“Not to you. I hope you got the toys you needed, the toys you’re no longer collecting.”

I didn’t respond.

“So …” his voice got closer to me. “Naked fisherman?”

“Shut up.” I didn’t turn toward him, even though I knew he was next to my bed.

“Tell me about your dreams.”

I sighed. “Sorry. They’re mine. Get your own.”

The other side of my bed dipped. I turned my head toward Fisher next to me on his back, hands folded on his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

“Take your shirt and pants off,” he said.

“What?”

He closed his eyes. “Just … take them off. Nothing more, just your shirt and pants.”

I didn’t move.

“Do you trust me?”

“Not really.”

He grinned a tiny grin, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Well, try … just this once.”

Sitting up slowly, I removed my shirt, eyeing him to see if he was peeking.

He wasn’t.

I had to stand to shimmy out of my jeans, leaving them on the floor next to my shirt—leaving me in a white bra and panties.

Fisher’s eyes fluttered open, and I held my breath, holding back the urge to cover myself. “You’re truly beautiful.”

My skin turned pink all over. “Thank you,” I whispered, fighting the insecurity to ask him if he thought I was as beautiful as Teagan or the million other women he’d been with while I was just a young girl.

“Come here.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, I crawled onto the bed close to him.

“Straddle my legs.”

Biting my quivering lower lip, I straddled his jean-clad legs. The level of intimacy made it nearly impossible to breathe.

“Higher.”

I scooted higher.

He sat up, shrugging off his shirt, and I jumped as his hands found my hips, his fingers grazing my butt. Our noses nearly touched.

“I’m going to kiss you. And touch you.” His voice was just a whisper, a warm breath over my lips. “And you’re going to do whatever you need to do to feel … good. And if you get scared, I want you to close your eyes and know that I’ve got you. You’re not too young or too anything. You are you. And I just think that you’re … beautiful.”

“Fisher …” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

We kissed, unhurried, almost lazily.

My hands navigated his chest and back, every muscle, every bend in the terrain of his body. Fisher feathered his calloused hands over my bare skin, sending goose bumps spreading across it.

Our kiss deepened, a soft moan breaking the silence. It took me a few seconds to realize it was me, not him. Fisher’s fingers slid up my inner thighs. I stiffened, eyes wide. He blinked a few times and slowly kissed me again. When I closed my eyes, I let go … finding trust in the man who “had me.” His fingers teased the leg of my panties. My right hand found his hair as my left hand clawed his back.

I was so scared. A good scared. The kind of scared I felt climbing a steep hill on a rollercoaster. As he flicked his tongue against mine, a single finger inched beneath the crotch of my panties.

I fisted his hair as my breath hiked.

“Beautiful …” he whispered against my mouth, along my jaw, and down my neck. Over and over.

Beautiful … Beautiful … Beautiful …

Fisher. The first man other than my father to call me beautiful.

That finger? It moved a fraction of an inch, and I jerked. His finger, his entire body, stilled except for his lips at my ear, his breath whispering, “Make it feel good …”

Fear shook me. My faith. My fragile beliefs. I held my breath for few seconds like I did at the top of that rollercoaster hill. Then I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me.

I. Kissed. Him.

My pelvis moved just enough to rub my clit against the pad of his idle finger. I rocked it a little more until it touched me lower, where I was wet between my legs.

And not once did he move.

I kissed along his jaw and neck, feeling safe, feeling the slow building of my confidence as a woman.

My hips rocked a little harder until I realized what I was feeling … what I was rubbing … wasn’t so much his finger. It was his erection hard against me. The denim scratched my inner thighs, but I didn’t care.

“Fisher … m-move …”

“Move what?” he asked with so much control I thought I might die of my own impatience.

“E-everything. Just … move.”

His strong hands claimed my hips again, only this time, they gripped me a little harder, and he moved me over him.

He did it for me, and it felt so addictive I couldn’t formulate a coherent thought.

He did it for him, and his breaths grew more labored, his kisses more desperate.

I wanted nothing more than to know what it would feel like for him to be inside of me. “Fisher … I … I think I want you to take off your jeans.”

He reclined back onto my pillow and grinned as I leaned forward, resting my hands on his chest, my hair falling around my face and his.

“You don’t … not yet.” His eyelids grew heavy as his pelvis lifted from the bed.

Giving more.

Taking more.

Proving just how extra he was that day.

We weren’t having sex. But we were … having sex.

It was wrong. But it was right.

My head spun in dizzying circles as up became down and down became up, and nothing made sense, nor did I really want it to make sense.

And when it happened, that all-consuming, mind-numbing sensation, I gasped and hissed a “Yesss.”

Vulnerable.

Out of control.

Fear crept into my conscience. I didn’t want him to know how scared I felt, like a teenager trying to be an adult.

Fisher held my hips still as he pumped his up several more times and released a drawn-out expletive that I never said aloud but found it fitting, and even a little sexy, coming from him. Collapsing against his chest, I buried my face into his neck, a little winded and a lot … happy. As frustrated as Fisher made me, I felt blissful with him.

Was I a terrible person?

Did I disappoint God?

Probably “yes” on both accounts.

Fisher left one hand on my ass and lifted his other hand to the back of my head, stroking my hair several times. “Nine across. Six letters. The first one is ‘S’ and the fourth one is ‘W.’ Hint: It’s something I still need.”

I laughed, nodding without lifting my head from his neck. “Are you trying to speak my language? It’s kinda sexy.” Lifting my head, I kissed his jaw. “Yes. You can shower now.”

* * *

Things I never told Fisher…

After he left me to take his shower, I sat in the corner of my own shower and cried. It was more than I could handle.

My faith.

My thoughts.

My beliefs.

My desires.

My emotions.

They all took different paths. I felt pulled in so many directions, each feeling equally right and equally wrong for many different reasons. As strong as I felt my faith was, there wasn’t a day that passed when I didn’t question it. Question Him. His existence. His role in our lives. And our interpretation of His words.

What happened with Fisher didn’t feel wrong. We weren’t hurting anyone. We weren’t harming anything. We were two souls enjoying our physical bodies. Why did it have to be a form of immorality?

The rest … the guilt … the lecture I could recite on my own? It felt awful. Was that the point of life? To walk a line of righteousness and feel guilty and sinful for occasionally stepping off the line? Why give us freedom of choice if there was only one right choice?

After drying my hair and applying a little makeup, I slipped on a tank top and a pair of shorts before climbing the stairs. Did I need to knock?

I knocked.

“It’s not locked.”

I grinned, slowly opening the door.

Wearing only a pair of shorts hanging low on his perfect hips, wet hair, lean, cut body casually resting against the kitchen island with one ankle crossed over the other, Fisher glanced up from his phone. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I closed the door and fidgeted with the hem of my tank top.

“My parents invited us to dinner.”

“Us?” I narrowed my eyes. “You told them about us?”

With a slight shake of his head and a tiny grin, he set his phone on the counter and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Is that a problem?”

“I … well …” I felt everything inside of me tremble. Age didn’t matter, but it did matter.

“They know you’re Rory’s daughter. They know you work for me. And they know we were going to grill tonight since neither one of us has plans.”

I didn’t know we were grilling. “They don’t know about …” I pressed my lips together. What was I supposed to say? That we had sex? We didn’t. That I got off on him? That. I did do.

“No. I left that part out, but if you feel obligated to tell them, that’s your prerogative.”

“No.” I inched my head side to side. “I don’t feel a particular need to tell them or anyone.”

“Are you ashamed of me?” He cocked his head to the side.

I padded my bare feet to him and collapsed into his naked chest, pressing my face directly over his heart and inhaling his clean scent. “I don’t know what I am.” I kissed along his pec muscles as he snaked his arms around my waist.

“So we go as friends. My sisters will be there. Nieces and nephews. No big deal.”

My head jerked up. “Your whole family?”

“Not everyone, but most of them. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Think you can keep your hands off me for one night?”

“Depends … will you wear a shirt?”

“Yes.” He grinned.

“Then I’ll be fine.” Taking a step back, I slipped my hands into the front pockets of my shorts.

“Is this solely about my body?” He narrowed one eye.

“Of course. Your personality is just okay, and as a boss, you’re kind of grumpy.” I put on my best mask and tried to act mature. Cool. Controlled. On the inside, I hadn’t stopped reeling from what took place on my bed.

Was Fisher too experienced and mature to let his thoughts linger on something as trivial as what we did?

“I’m ignoring your bullshit. Just like this is the only day that I’m going to let your Happy Meal catering slide.”

“I did it to finish off the collection for my mom. I’m done. And if you’re upset that I spent your money on them, then I’ll pay you back. Are you happy now?”

Wearing a smirk, he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t believe you’re done. I don’t believe it’s for Rory anymore. You’ve allowed this to become your hobby, your addiction. It’s cute. Really. But I can’t have you stealing toys from some of the Happy Meals. It’s going to cause fights with my crew if everyone doesn’t get a toy.”

“Kiss my backside, Fisher.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Your ass? You want me to kiss your ass?”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head.

“Turn around.”

Releasing a nervous laugh, I eased back a step. “It was a joke because you were giving me a hard time over the Happy Meals.”

“Yes.” He crooked a finger at me. “But now I want to kiss your ass.”

“Stop it.” I giggled through my nerves.

“Come here. I’m not going to chase you this time.”

Gathering up my bravery like collecting the contents of a spilled purse in the grocery store aisle, I turned and bent over, resting my hands on my knees. If he wanted to kiss my backside, then I would let him. No big deal. Nothing to be nervous about.

“Oh, Reese …” He drew out my name while kneeling behind me.

I wasn’t sure why he needed to kneel behind me.

Bend down and kiss it. Whatever. Just do it and be done.

But my thoughts were simpler than his.

“You’re a walking wet dream.”

“What are you doing!” I jumped.

“Kissing your ass,” he said in his calm voice while curling his fingers into the waistband of my jogging shorts and slowly pulling them down to expose my bare backside.

I grabbed one of his arms to stop him.

“I’m not kissing your shorts.”

Fisher ignored my hand gripping his forearm as he exposed one side of my butt. With my other hand, I gripped the front of my waistband and held on for life so he couldn’t completely remove my shorts and panties.

He kissed my bare butt slowly at first. Then, he kissed it harder with a lot more suction.

“Fisher …” I squeezed my glutes. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

“Mmm …” He licked the spot that he kissed so hard. “No mark.”

As I started to relax, he gave a quick tug and pulled down the other side, totally exposing my entire backside. And before I could protest, he kissed that side and …

“Ouch!”

He. Bit. Me.

He bit my ass, and I knew there was no way it wasn’t going to leave a mark, his freaking dental records on my ass!

Lapping his tongue over the area several times, he chuckled. “Now I’ve left a mark.”

It wasn’t funny.

Then he kissed it.

“Why did you do that?” I said, a little breathless and completely stunned.

“Because…” his hands pressed to the front of my thighs as he kissed my backside everywhere “…I wanted to.”

Beneath the shock, I felt turned on. It felt good. And that confused me. Sex was black and white for me. This was murky and confusing. It wasn’t sex, but it was sexual. It was intimate. And I knew it would have to stop soon because Rory was coming home.

My hands relaxed and the front of my shorts and panties immediately dropped a couple of inches from the tension at the back. Fisher stilled his motions when he realized what I did. I don’t know why I did it or what I expected to happen next. I just … I liked him touching me even when it felt a little wrong.

So I stood there, waiting for him to deliver more kisses, waiting for his hands to move from the front of my thighs to … That was just it. I really didn’t know what I expected or wanted from him. I guess I wanted him to teach me something.

Something new.

Something intimate.

Something a little forbidden.

With my heartbeat tripping over itself, looking for a normal rhythm, I started to turn toward him. He gripped my legs tighter and rested his forehead on my lower back.

“Don’t.” He sighed. “Just …” He blew out another harsh breath, and I felt his forehead rolling side to side against my back. “Fuck … we … can’t.” He pulled up my panties and shorts. “Rory’s coming home soon.” He stood behind me and kissed the top of my head. “I’m going to get dressed. Go put on jeans. We should head to my parents’ house now.”