The Winter House

"Well, it's something to think about."

"Mmmmm . . . potato pancakes," she said, with a little moan.

"Good?"

"Wonderful."

"Thank you," she said, then leaned across the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she lingered, staring at him.

"Get back on your side," said Max, pouring himself some wine, but smirking.

"I just wanted to check out your beard."

"You're obsessed. I should just shave it off."

"No, I like it!"

"Oh, well, if you like it."

"Mmmmm . . . soufflé. So good. Is it cranberry?"

"It is. You need the sweet, for balance. You have the salty, the savory, and the sour. It all balances out."

"Ugh, I'm going to look so fat on camera."

"Nonsense."

"Look, I have to think about it. God! I don't know what else I have to do to get CNN to notice me. If I wore any tighter tops ABC would fire me."

"I should think so."

"You think I wear tight tops?"

"No, it's just . . . I hate the idea of all those men ogling you."

"You're jealous!"

"No, I'm not. I just don't see why you—and all these girls—have to dress so skimpily, revealing, whatever . . . it should just be enough that you do a good job."

"That is part of the job," Casey said, simply. "Especially if you want to go national."

"There's that steel trap."

"Well, it's true. It's just a fact. And I'm ambitious."

She looked so cute when she said it Max couldn't stop himself from scooting closer to her. One arm went around the back of her chair as he moved in and stared at her the same way she had at him.

"I know you are."

"I just know what I want."

"I know you do."

Stop it," Casey giggled, trying to push him away.

"You started it."

Max sighed out a huge breath. "Ok. Are you just about done here? Maybe we should get the table cleaned up."

"Yes," said Casey, pink-faced.

Max couldn't take his eyes off her for one second as they traipsed back and forth to the kitchen. She was a beam of light, electrifying his senses.

"You're ogling me," Casey murmured, as she passed him.

"So?"

"Go light the fire," she commanded.

"Whatever you say, dear."

+++

"Mmm. What a wonderful day."

Casey snuggled up next to him on the plush suede couch. She'd left a few red candles burning, otherwise the fire was the only light.

"We'll be paying for it tomorrow," Max groaned.

"I don't care," said Casey, against his chest. She had her arms around him, and Max occasionally stroked her hair as they watched the flickering flames.

"Well before I forget. Merry Christmas," he said, handing her a small gold-wrapped box. "I wish I'd had more time. You have to give me more notice."

"Aw—thank you. I got something for you, too." Casey replied. She reached next to the couch for the bulky present she'd brought for him.

"Merry Christmas."

Max opened his first, which turned out to be a thick blue-gray wool sweater.

"Ooooh, nice. Just what I need. Thank you, sweetheart."

"It matches your eyes."

"It does, doesn't it? Thank you for remembering. Open yours."

Casey gasped, holding up a delicate gold necklace.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. Can you put it on me?"

She scooted around, and lifted up her shiny, thick locks. Max fumbled with the clasp, laughing nervously as his fingers brushed her neck.

"Hang on . . . Stop squirming!"

"It tickles!"

"There we go."

Casey turned around, and gave him warm smile. Then she got on the fur rug before the fire, her head propped up on one elbow, her blue eyes latched onto his. Max stretched out on the couch, in a mirror pose, his head propped on his right hand. They were so close, almost face to face.

With the wine, the good food, and his aching muscles, Max had no power or will to resist basking in her beauty. She looked so seductive. Her breasts were thrust forward, her hips rose in a delicious curve, drawing attention to the tantalizing V between her legs. He didn't bother to hide his admiration, and it seemed that she knew it, from the way she was displaying herself.

"So. I've been thinking about things," said Casey.

"What things?"

"You."

"Oh god, here we go. 'The Interrogation, Part II.'"

"We're just talking."

"You're grilling me."

"It's called 'being close.'"

"Ok, fine. As long as I can ogle you. Go ahead."

"Well, I want to tell you something you may not want to hear."

"It's ok. Shoot."

Casey looked around at the house, Max's beautiful, one-of-a-kind house, that was so perfect in every way.

"You know I love it here. This is probably my favorite place in the whole world. But . . . I was glad to leave," Casey said. "I've never told you that before. It's why I went to Los Angeles—to get away. To someplace totally different."

Max gaped at her, hurt and surprise in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes. Don't look like that. I'm trying to help you."

"With what?"

"Your 'personality'," she said, using air quotes.

"Oh god."

"As I was saying . . . I love this house. I love everything about it. It's beautiful, it's magical. But . . . nothing ever changes. Like—ever. It's a museum, frozen in time. Isolated."

"You mean you were miserable here?" he said.

"No! Not at all. But . . . then again, I was your daughter. I wasn't married to you. I wasn't going to be here for life."

"You make it sound like a prison."

"Maybe. A little. What I'm trying to say is—I can see how being in a relationship with you might be difficult. You can be intimidating. You're an artist, I get that. But it can make you self-involved. Demanding."

"Only of myself."

"True. But being surrounded by so much perfection, reminded of it, constantly—reminded of you—it can be a little stifling."

"I hate that word."

Casey had taken his hand. "I'm not trying to be critical. I'm sorry."

"Well, you're not saying anything I haven't heard before."

"I think it's just in your nature. 'The best is the best' has its downside. You can be annoyingly rigid. A bit of a control freak, at times."

"No, hang on—"

"I know what you're going to say. No, you're not controlling of others. I'm just saying, being around someone who is so obsessive, such a perfectionist, well, it can just get wearing. Draining. You can sort of feel like a failure in comparison. It's . . . why I wanted to leave, so I could just go . . . make mistakes. I can see how it might be hard for you to truly fit someone into your life, into your space. That's a nice way of putting it."

"Hmmm . . ." said Max.

He shifted positions, and curled up a little, so he could get closer to her.

"Fascinating. So I'm self-involved, demanding, intimidating, and a control freak. Continue."

"Well," said Casey, not missing a beat. "I keep thinking about what you said. About what bothers you about the divorce? You didn't say you missed her. You didn't say you still loved her. You didn't say you hated being alone. The thing that bothered you the most was that you 'failed.' It's kind of like . . . it was the idea of the marriage you wanted, not Janet. You wanted it to work like . . . I don't know . . . one of your buildings. Or a perfect soufflé."

"But you said the same thing."

"Yes . . ." Casey said, "I did."

"So who are we really talking about here?"

Casey was silent as she just gazed at him. Max was lost in her eyes, which were serious as they searched his.

"Would I be wrong in guessing that you've heard some of the same complaints yourself?"

Casey shook her head.

"Interesting! The questioner has become the questioned."

The atmosphere in the hearth seemed to shift, the tension between them ratcheting up a notch.

"You don't like that, do you?" Max said.

"No."

"You'd rather be the one shoving a microphone in someone's face."

"Yes."

"You like being in control. You have to be in control."

"Yes."

"Why? What are you hiding?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Oh, no. Don't turn it around. I asked you first."

Casey glared at him. Behind her, logs settled in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks and casting wavy orange light on the walls.

"Ha HAH! Cornered."

She stared at him, angrily, and attempted to turn away, but Max slid off the couch, and before you knew was on top of her, face to face, his arms on either side.

"I can't move."

"Too bad."

"Let me go."

"Not until you answer the question."

"What if I don't know the answer?"

"Yes, you do."

She stared at him.

"Fine. I guess it would be . . . fear of failing. Fear of being vulnerable."

"Good answer."

"Not like you, though."

"Oh?"

"We always had a good relationship, you and I. You were able to share yourself with me. You let me love you. I can love others. I don't have a problem sharing myself."

"But . . .?"

"But there were other problems."

"Such as?"

"Well I guess you could say I had—have—a problem with sex." . "I see," said Max, riveted on her eyes, her mouth, her body.

"Is it a problem for you?" Casey said.

Max stared directly into her eyes. "No."

He saw a smile creep onto her lips, and she blushed.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

He could barely breathe, she was so beautiful in her sudden shyness. Max felt his cock instantly swell and harden, pushing into his thigh. It stayed hard as they continued to speak.

"It's the biggest reason, I think, why things don't work out," Casey said. "I am . . . 'driven,' like you. I am obsessive with work, like you. And then I would come home, and I found it very difficult to . . . downshift, I guess. Relax."

"Maybe. Was it always like that, though?"

She nodded.

"So maybe you're using 'work' as an excuse."

"Ok, fine. I find it hard to 'let go'," she said, rolling her eyes and exaggerating the last two words. "Are you happy?"

"And this bothered your boyfriends?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then. They were stupid little shits."

Casey smiled. "No, they weren't."

"Yes, they were. It's not all your fault. I can guarantee they were intimidated by you—terrified, even. Didn't have a clue what to do."

"And you would?"' she said, boldly.

"Yes," he said, simply, without a touch of bragging.

They didn't speak for a whole minute. Max was still on top of her.

"You're crushing me," Casey whispered.

"I am not."

"You are, too. You're too big. You're like a bear. A Big. Mean. Hairy. Bear."

"Oh really, my little hypocrite?"

"What does that mean?"

"'What does that mean,'" he repeated.

Max shifted, lifting his weight a bit, so both legs were on either side of her. He lowered his mouth, close to her ear.

"It means, you wanted to get caught."

"No . . ." Casey whispered, helplessly.

"No?"

Max pulled back, rising up on one side, so he could look at her—her body, prone, her breasts rising and falling with her panting breath, soft and touchable, her tanned tummy, trembling. He put one big hand on her hip, slid it down one ass cheek, down to her thigh, with a growl of appreciation in his throat. Casey whimpered, and unconsciously wriggled, opening her thighs just the slightest bit.

"Then what's all this? Hmmm?"

"I can't help it," she said, squirming.

Max laughed.

"You just 'couldn't help' turning yourself into the softest . . . sexiest . . . most beautiful . . ."

His mouth was hovering over hers, as she brought her arms up and around his neck, and looked into his eyes. He could not help bringing his hands up to stroke her hair back from her face, and stare, longingly, at her lips. She felt him, suddenly, hard and throbbing against her thigh, which made her gasp and push back, letting him know she felt him. They stayed like that, frozen, for what seemed an eternity, as the fire crackled and snapped behind them.

"Damn it," Max whispered at last. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't be happening."

"It's been happening," Casey whispered back.

"I know. I shouldn't have—"

But he didn't finish, because she leaned up and kissed him, softly, on the lips.

"Jesus Christ, . . ." Max said, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Daddy—"

"Oh no. No, no, no, no," he said, pulling back.

"Well, what else am I supposed to call you? 'Max'?" she said, making a face. "Doesn't sound right."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not that."

"Alright, then," she said, as she tightened her arms around his waist. "I've thought about this."

"Oh, god. Don't you ever stop?"

"No."

"Just thought I'd ask."

Casey held his face, looking seriously into his eyes. She kissed him again, softly, on the lips.

"Well, I did. I had to. There's something I haven't told you."

"Oh no."

"I heard from Doug today. He said he's sorry. He said he wants me back."

"I see."

"I also heard from work. They also want me back. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? It's Christmas!"

"Tomorrow night. I'd take a red eye."

"Oh. Shit," Max said, suddenly faced with the prospect of her leaving. It seemed unthinkable. "Do you have to?"

"Yes. It's work."

"And what about Doug? Do you . . . want to go back to him?"

"I could. I thought about it. But I also thought about you."

Casey traced his lips, with one finger, and then kissed him again.

"I've been happier in the last 24 hours than I have in so long. Very happy. And it took me a while, but I think I understand why."

"Yes?" Max said, although he already knew the answer.

"We've been lovers," she whispered. "Without knowing it, or saying it, for years. Am I wrong?"

"No," Max said, resigned. "You're not wrong."

"We didn't ask for it. We didn't choose it. We can't control it—at least, our feelings. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"So when I thought about going back to my old life, and you, it wasn't even a question. I don't want the same thing. I want to change. Even if it's just for one night. Maybe we can . . . help each other."

"Help each other?"

"Just be with me" she whispered. "Please. Embrace it."

+++

"You're so beautiful," Max whispered.

He lay on top of her, on the rug, in a missionary position, up on his elbows, his face above hers. He'd grabbed a pillow from the couch to put under her head. Everything else was simply wiped away. The house faded from consciousness, the universe shrunk to the warm hearth that surrounded and protected them like a cave.

Casey gazed up at him, her heart thumping with excitement. There was so much to look at, now that she could. She traced his lips with her finger, his cheeks, his eyelids, and ran her hands through his hair, each touch dissolving the veil over the feelings which she now knew had been there for much longer than she was aware. She was shocked at the strength of them.

"I need you," she whispered. "I need you to show me, help me—"

But she didn't finish, because his lips were on hers, warm and strong. His hands gripped her head, tightly, his strong arms encircled her, drawing her close. He thrust his muscular thigh between her legs, pressing up, making her cry out, and bent her head back. He lingered on her lips, studying them, tracing their softness, their tenderness, whispering against them before opening her mouth with his own, making her go completely weak and limp in his arms. Her nipples, her belly, her cunt, became the playthings of his tongue swirling inside her mouth, evoking thrilling sensations up and down her body as Casey gasped, and weakly clutched at him.

They melted into a deep, wet kiss that went on and on, until their hands naturally began to roam over each other's bodies. Max slid one hand between her legs, finding the heat of her pussy, and her hand slithered down to his cock, seeking out its hardness. Casey opened her thighs, instinctively giving him easier access, and Max began to push in rhythmic thrusts against her hand, their tongues swirling and licking and tasting.

When she finally started fumbling at his zipper, he reluctantly pulled away from her mouth, and drew them both upright, onto their knees. Casey stared at him, as she peeled off her sweater in a slow strip. It tangled in her hair, for a second, but she tossed it aside, and immediately disencumbered herself of her useless bra, as Max put his warm strong hands on her waist.

Her large breasts burst out, golden, glowing, their pink nipples the shade of dusky rose. Casey held them up, her hands overflowing, watching the flames flickering over the hard nipples cast tiny shadows.

Max simply held her, his breath becoming more audible as he looked at her body, which he had barely dared to imagine until this point. Her adorable stomach had been tanned at the beach to a warm caramel, and for a moment he felt a terrible stab of jealousy at the boys who had been there with her, their stupid, fumbling hands stroking her with oil.

"Can you take these off?" he whispered, pulling at her waistband.

Casey obliged, her movements slow and liquid as she stood up, and quickly stepped out of her jeans. With her ass to him, she wriggled out of her G-string, pulling it down with two fingers, and began to turn around and face him, before he whispered, "No, stay there."

Max practically tore his clothes off, he was so eager to touch her, and feel flesh upon flesh. Casey heard him struggling with his zipper, then freeing his cock with a little grunt. He kicked his pants aside, and then he was behind her, enclosing her in his strong arms, his chest hair scratchy on her back, his hard cock pushing gently into the crack of her ass, his chin nuzzled into her neck, his breath at her ear.

"Shh," Max whispered, "You're trembling. Relax, relax."

Eventually, she leaned into him, letting him hold most of her weight. His hands traveled everywhere, stroking, soothing, up her arms and shoulders, over her breasts and her taut belly, between her thighs, drawing her closer and closer to his warmth.

"You feel so good. So soft. Let me just hold you."

He swayed back and forth, like he was rocking her, as she began to relax, her breath coming slower and heavier, her hips swaying with his, her ass unconsciously pushing back on his cock.

"That's it," he whispered. "I've got you."

"Oh," Casey whimpered, his words sending a jolting of excitement straight to her clit.

"Tell me," he murmured, his lips close and hot at her ear. "Have you thought about me? Be honest."

Casey nodded her head.

"Yeah?"

"I saw you," she whispered. "Last night. In the window. Getting undressed."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I think that's why—I mean, that's when I really started to understand. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"That's nice. Mmmmm . . ."

Casey had never been with a man who went so slowly, who didn't seem to want to do anything but touch. Max seemed to read her mind, and hugged her tighter, pressing the whole length of his body against hers.

She turned around to face him, her gaze going directly to his cock, which was now curving up thick and hard from his belly. It looked so beautiful in the firelight. Max stood passively as she approached, shyly at first, then reaching out, tentatively, to nip at his lips while one hand found his rigid shaft. She gently stroked it, assessing its thickness, its weight and heft, then traveled down to cradle his heavy balls. The heat rose to her face, and she kissed him more urgently, slipping her tongue in his mouth, and swirling it around as she caressed the tender sacs. Max moaned as he sunk his hands into her silky hair.

They slid down to the thick fur rug, both totally nude, basking in the heat of the fire. Max let out a deep "Aaah" of pleasure when they were finally positioned, Casey lying on the pillow, on her back, one arm over her head holding his left hand, her body prone and open to his perusal as he lay on his side.

"This is more like it. Relax. Let me look at you."

Casey watched him, studying at her body with intense concentration. His right hand followed his gaze, starting at her ankles and leisurely traveling up, over her silky thighs, the curves of her hips, brushing past her shaved mound. When he touched her belly, she wriggled and gasped, pulling away, but he held her still, and leaned down and kissed her. Then he went back to his inspection, warming her stomach with his hand, lingering there, while she unconsciously arched her back, thrusting her breasts towards his mouth.