Roads Less Traveled

When he slipped his hand under the elastic band of his boxers to grab himself, she moaned, biting her lower lip. "Please..." she whispered. "Can I see?"

He smiled and nodded. "Come closer."

She did as she was told, moving so her thighs touched the edge of the bed, her gaze falling between his legs as he slid his boxers down. "Oh god." His cock was just as incredible as she'd remembered. "It's so beautiful."

He chuckled and that made her blush, but she was too far gone now to care.

"Can I touch you?" She was already reaching her hand out and he let her, groaning softly as she wrapped her small hand around the shaft.

"Can I?" He nudged her wet, rubbing fingers aside, replacing them with his own. She gasped at the sensation, his hand probing between her legs. She sighed softly when his thumb strummed against her clit, his fingers pressing deep up inside of her.

Her hand moved on him, squeezing at first, then tugging, rubbing his pre-cum onto the tip of his cock with her thumb. Her breathing matched his, her hips rocking, eyes half-closed.

"I want to see you." His fingers curled inside of her, as if drawing her closer. "All of you."

She pulled his t-shirt off her head with one hand, letting him have what he wanted. His cock swelled in her fist as he looked at her, chest heaving, breasts swaying as she stroked him faster, faster, hips rolling against the plunge of his hand between her legs.

"Oh god, girl," he moaned, his eyes rolling back, his hips thrusting up hard. "Wait...wait..."

She couldn't. Not even if she tried. His fingers buried inside of her were bringing her closer, faster, than she'd ever been. Her pussy clamped down on his hand, her clit throbbing under his thumb, and her orgasm rolled through her like a seismic event, shaking them both.

"Ohhhh fuck!" he groaned, his hip thundering up to meet her strokes, spilling heat and wetness over the friction of her fist. She felt her knees wanting to buckle but held on, her breath coming too fast, her hand squeezing the length of his cock as she aimed him and he spattered his belly with even more cum.

His eyes opened and he half-smiled, gasping out, "You are definitely no Ice Queen."

Carrie stood fully then, ears still ringing and body flushed from orgasm, grabbing blindly for her clothes.

"Hey," he said, half-sitting as she pulled on her shorts, her shirt, grabbing her bra—her panties were nowhere to be found. "Where are you going? What—"

But she didn't give him a chance to say anything else, pulling open the door and fleeing down the hallway.

* * * *

"A man that beautiful has to be gay," Maureen slurred, watching the admittedly bodacious bartender drawing a draught of beer at the other end of the bar.

"We're in Key West." Carrie sipped at her fruity girl-drink and winced as she watched her friend tip back another shot of tequila, straight up, no chaser. "Half the island is gay."

"Goddamnit!" Maureen slapped the bar, her voice rising even above the jukebox in the corner playing Jimmy Buffet that was competing with the band playing their last set on stage. "I told you we should have gone to Cancun!"

Carrie inwardly cringed again and looked over at the bartender who had caught her friend's interest, wondering if she looked as helpless as she felt. "At least we can drink the water in Key West."

"That's not what I'm drinking," Maureen muttered, holding up and studying her empty glass, her mouth drawn tight. Her words came out more like "Thas nawot I drinkin," the liquor anesthetizing her speech much better than the emotions she was attempting to drown.

"Come on, Mo," Carrie urged gently, putting her drink down and slinging her purse over her shoulder in an effort to sway her friend. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"Night's not over." Maureen's dark eyes were red-rimmed and watery. "Tell that choice hunk of beef down there I want some more."

Carrie sighed, sitting back on the stool, calling him over in spite of her better judgment. "Bartender!"

He made his way down slowly, stopping to wipe down the counter and fill the order of a busty blonde in Daisy Duke shorts and a crop top. Carrie noticed her plump feet were bare when she turned to take two beers back to a table in the corner near the jukebox where a guy in a leather jacket was waiting. Hot for leather, she thought, but then again, it was Key West. It was always hot—and there was a plethora of leather pretty much everywhere.

"What can I get you?" The bartender's gaze flicked over to Maureen who had pulled out a compact to thickly paint on cherry lip gloss.

"Hey girls!" The familiar voice startled Carrie, making her forget the bartender altogether. It was Steve Baumgartner, his smile bright and easy, creating the sweetest dimples.

"Uh, hi..." Carrie blinked, surprised in spite of the fact that she'd known he was part of the group going to Key West. She hadn't really expected to run into him—had, in fact, avoided seeing him altogether as much as possible since that awful night of the frat party.

The bartender cleared his throat impatiently and she remembered the reason she'd called him in the first place. "I...uh...can we get another shot? Tequila, straight up."

"Two!" Maureen drew the word out loudly, "Tooooo!" and snapped her compact closed, smiling at the bartender and batting her eyelashes. Jesus, she really did bat her damned eyelashes at him. "Bring me two, stud!" Of course, it came out, "Brimmetwo, stuhhhhd!"

The bartender sighed and shook his head. Steve took one look at Maureen and leaned into Carrie, close enough she could smell cinnamon and Polo—gum and aftershave, respectively. He smelled as delicious as he looked. And she didn't want to look. "Don't you think maybe she's had enough?"

Carrie looked over at Maureen, who had her compact back out again and was trying, not too successfully, to apply eyeliner under her lower lashes, the effect more raccoon than not. Still, she was a beautiful girl, even drunk and pissed and looking for trouble.

"We can walk to our hotel." Carrie sounded apologetic, and she was, finding herself trying to explain. She leaned closer, whispering into the shell of Steve's ear, "Her boyfriend broke up with her tonight."

But the bartender agreed with Steve. "Are you sure she can walk?"

Carrie shrugged. "She might need a little help..." Steve glanced at his watch. "They're closing up shop here in half an hour."

She gave the bartender what felt like a sheepish smile, avoiding his eyes, and said, "One last call for alcohol?"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest—his t-shirt was black and it did nothing but accentuate the meaty flex of his biceps. Carrie didn't look at his face. She didn't even want to look at her own watch. Her body told her it was beyond-late. James and Maureen's fight had been loud and public at two in the morning somewhere between the last bar and this one.

"No driving?" The bartender looked genuinely concerned, but it was probably just his job. "You promise?"

"Scouts honor." Carrie held up two fingers by her forehead.

"That's the boy scout salute." Steve laughed and the sound made her spine straighten, her ass clench.

"I had a little brother and a case of boy scout envy," she confessed as the bartender began to pour the shots.

"That's silly," Steven insisted "You would look fantastic in a girl scout uniform."

She couldn't resist. "Hey Mister, do you want to buy some cookies?" Steve grinned and was about to reply when the bartender interrupted them.

"Uh-oh, looks like your friend is about to toss some..."

Maureen was up and stumbling in the direction of the bathroom. "I think I'm gonna ralph!"

"Oh crap." Carrie guided her quickly into the women's room, barely getting her into a stall before Maureen did, indeed, toss her cookies. Carrie held her hair back until she was done and then helped her wash her face. Mascara and eyeliner smeared everywhere.

"He's never going to marry me now." Maureen groaned banged her head gently back against the tiles. "I'm so stupid. Why am I so stupid?"

"Are you sure he's what you want?" Carrie tried to clean up Maureen's smeared make-up with a wet paper towel. "I mean, he's got some pretty strict standards." This wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation about James and his moral values.

"I'm not fit to wipe his boots." Maureen sniffed, pushing Carrie away. "I need to straighten up and fly right. That's what I need to do."

"Maybe you should start with sobering up." Carrie took her friend's hand. "Come on, let's go back to the hotel."

"I'm going to accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior," Maureen insisted as Carrie led her out of the bathroom. "Right here and now!"

"Can't it wait until we get back to the hotel?" Carrie muttered, seeing Steve waiting outside the door.

He grabbed Maureen's other side as she was about to go down. "Whoopsie daisy," he said, getting a shoulder under her arm. "Need some help?"

"Jesus loves me, this I know..." Maureen sang over the jukebox, practically over the band. "For the bible tells me so..."

Steve looked at her, surprised, and Carrie almost laughed. "Crisis of faith."

"Perfect place for one," he agreed, bending low and getting Maureen up over both of his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Show me the way and we'll see if we can lead this little lamb back home to Jesus."

"I'm going to be a minister's wife!" Maureen called out to the bartender, waving at him, upside down. "Tell me the truth—are you gay?" The bartender just shook his head, waving them out, and Steve followed Carrie down the street toward their hotel.

"Are you guys at The Reach?" Steve asked, wincing when Maureen belched loudly in the middle of her second verse of "Onward Christian Soldiers."

"Yeah. It's right around the corner."

"Yeah, I know," he said, adjusting Maureen's flailing body over his shoulder. "Hold on there, girl, we're almost to the Promise Land."

"We'll take her to my room." Carrie used her key card to open the outside door. "It's closer." It was also significantly smaller than Maureen's room, but at least this way she didn't have to dig for Maureen's key card.

"You didn't room together?" Steve leaned against the wall as Carrie used her key card once again to open the room.

She shrugged. "Mo likes a little more luxury than I can afford." Plus there were appearances to keep up-but she didn't go into that.

Carrie pulled the covers back on the one queen-sized bed and Steve put Maureen in it.

"Where's James?" Maureen asked as Carrie took off her shoes. She left on the mini-skirt and blouse because Steve was still there.

"You'll see him later," Carrie soothed, smoothing Maureen's hair away from her forehead. "Go to sleep now." She leaned in to kiss her friend's forehead and Maureen sighed, rolling over and pulling the covers with her.

"Thanks for your help." Carrie turned to Steve with a tired smile and caught a glimpse of the clock. It was four in the morning.

"Anything for you," he said, going to the door wall and peering out of the curtains. She was on the first floor, no balcony, no ocean view. She flushed, trying not to remember the last time they'd been together and not succeeding very well. "Why did you run away?"

She sank into one of the chairs with a sigh, not answering him.

"What are you afraid of?" He turned from the window and came over to stand near her chair.

"I don't know," she admitted, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. "Everything."

His hand moving over the bare skin of her thigh made her look at him. She was wearing a mini-skirt as well and it didn't cover much. He was sitting in front of her chair now.

"Look at her." Carrie nodded to where Maureen slept, moaning softly in her sleep. "She's so in love, she's going to give up everything she is for him."

"So you're afraid of love?"

"No." Carrie shook her head, reaching out and tentatively touching one of his curls. His hair was as soft and silky as she'd imagined it would be. "I'm afraid of loss."

"What have you lost?" He rested his cheek against her thigh.

She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." She moved to get up but his hand pressed her thighs, keeping her in the chair. "You should probably go."

"What if I told you I don't want to go," he murmured, kneeling up so he could look into her eyes.

"It's late..." She tried to avoid his gaze. "I need sleep."

"So sleep." He stood, holding out his hand and helping her stand. "Come on, let me tuck you in."

He put her to bed in the same way she had put Maureen to bed, slipping off her shoes and pulling the covers up. He even leaned in and softly kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent and murmuring, "Goodnight, Carrie," before standing to go.

But she couldn't let him. Instead, she grabbed his hand, tugging gently. "Wait. Stay."

He looked doubtfully at the queen sized bed. "Is there room?"

She slid over, her back against Maureen's. "I'll make room."

He turned out the light and got into the bed. When he wrapped his arms around her, she rested her cheek against the rise and fall of his chest, and they stayed that way, fully dressed, not talking, just breathing together until sleep came to them both.

* * * *

"Open up, Carrie!" The pounding on the door jolted the three of them awake far too soon after they'd all drifted off. "I know she's in there! Maureen! Open this door!"

"James," Maureen mumbled, rolling out of bed to the floor with a low groan.

"You better get it before someone calls the front desk." Steve nudged Carrie, who was already rubbing her eyes and fumbling her way out of the morass of covers.

"Maureen, do you want to see him?" Carrie's voice was hoarse and tired as she looked at her friend, now crawling her way toward the bathroom.

"Five minutes," Maureen croaked. "Tell him I'll be out in five minutes."

Carrie unlocked the deadbolt, but left the chain on. "What can I do for you, James?"

"Get her," was all he said, his mouth barely moving with the words.

"She'll be out in five minutes." Carrie shut the door, leaning against it and waiting for him to pound on it again, but he didn't. She could hear a flurry of activity in the bathroom, accompanied by an occasional soft moan of pain. She had no doubt Maureen was at least severely hungover, if not still actually somewhat drunk.

"You okay?" Carrie knocked softly on the bathroom door.

"Fine!" Maureen called, loud and overly cheerful. She opened the bathroom door, upright this time, and looked fairly good for rolling out of bed just a few moments before, although the Jovan Musk she'd sprayed only served to cover the smell of tequila underneath.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Carrie searched her friend's eyes and tried to hug her, but Maureen shrugged her off.

"I have to." She found her shoes next to the bed, slipping them on. "I'll call you later, okay?"

Carrie nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed where Steve was half-up on his elbow, just watching. She didn't think Maureen had even noticed he was there.

"Maureen!" James' voice vibrated through the door.

"Gotta go!" Maureen whispered, leaning over and kissing Carrie on the cheek, giving her a quick squeeze. "Love you!"

"Love you, too," Carrie murmured as she watched her friend sail out the door.

"Hey now..." Steve moved behind Carrie as her shoulders sagged. She was fighting tears—but she didn't want to cry in front of him. In front of anyone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going to lose her." Her voice came out strangled, choked with the emotion she was trying to hold back.

He slipped his arms around her waist. "She's not much of a friend if she lets some guy come between you."

"She's..." Carrie sighed, letting herself lean back against him. "She's not just a friend."

"Yeah, I gathered that." He gently kissed her neck. "And James is obviously not okay with your...relationship."

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled wryly. "He doesn't share well with others."

"Come on." Steve stood, holding out his hand. "I know something that will cheer you up."

"I doubt it."

"Trust me." He caught her hand, pulling her up. "What do you have to lose?"

Everything, she thought, but she followed him anyway.

* * * *

They'd only managed a few hours of sleep, so the sun was just coming up over the horizon in a burst of molten orange, a brass and copper symphony playing out in reflection on the water. Steve's hand clasped Carrie's as they walked barefoot along the edge of the beach. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, her sandals swinging from her other hand as the lacy edge of the water chased their footsteps down the shoreline. Steve was still wearing last night's clothes—they both needed a shower and a good night's sleep, but neither of them cared.

"Well, you were right." Carrie snuck a glance up at him, smiling at the tousled mess of his hair.

Steven laughed. "Wow, I think that's the first time I've ever heard a woman say those words out loud."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "This did cheer me up."

"Oh, I'm not done cheering you up yet," he said, stopping and putting his arms around her waist.

"No?"

"You can't see it, but..." He touched his finger to her lips."Your mouth is still turned down a little at the corners."

"Is it?"

He nodded seriously. "That means my job isn't done yet."

"Well I guess you'd better get to work..." She felt her mouth curling up into a smile.

"Agreed." He leaned in so close she could feel his breath, her eyes closing in anticipation. "I think I'd better start here."

His mouth captured hers, a sweet, gentle kiss, nothing demanding or insistent, but it still made her knees weak.

"That's a good place to start," she breathed as they parted.

"But not the best place to finish." He grinned. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" She had no choice but to follow him down the beach as he led the way around a patch of sea grass and up toward a house. "What is this place?"

"It's my parent's place." He dug into his jeans and plucked out a key. "A time share."

"Nice." It was cool inside, the air conditioning on—even the dew-wet mornings in Key West were warm and humid. It was large and spacious and utterly quiet.

He led the way still, up a flight of stairs, opening a door to a bathroom. "Would you like a shower? Or maybe a bath?"

The tub was a huge black marble affair and Carrie's eyes lit up when she saw it.

"A bath," she said immediately.

Steve took some towels out from the linen closet and put them on the counter. "I'll get us some breakfast."

She ran a hot bath and added the bubbles sitting at the side of the tub as well, melting into the water. I'm dreaming, she thought, floating lazily, eyes closed, her thoughts filled with Steve. She should have been worried about Maureen—and she was, a little. But the man downstairs cooking them both breakfast had somehow stepped into her life and obliterated everything else.

This is crazy, she decided, washing her hair and rinsing it, then running a soft, fragrant bar of soap over her curves. She was imagining him, his hands on her, touching her like that. This night—morning, now—wasn't going to end without sex. They both knew it, but the anticipation was exhilarating.

She found a large, fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door and wrapped herself in it after she'd dried off, making her way downstairs. Steve was in the kitchen, the radio on—a blues station—flipping pancakes in one pan and worrying eggs in another.

"It smells fantastic." She curled herself into one of the kitchen chairs, plucking a banana from a bunch on the table and peeling it. "Can I help?"

"You sit." He slid pancakes onto their plates and then scrambled eggs. "I'll serve."