Chapter 23
Cherry wasn’t sure she was going to pull this off . . . Her back already hurt, and her patent leather heels were pinching
across the top. She teetered up Russ Sutton’s front steps, holding on to the handrail.
She was meeting him here so they could drive together to dinner and come back to his house after.
Russ was being a very good sport about Cherry always coming back to his place. She couldn’t let him see the state of her house
right now—and she didn’t want to see Russ himself there, surrounded by Tom’s chaos and handwriting.
Tom was at the house now every night when Cherry got home from work. They’d talk for a few minutes, sometimes longer, before
he left. He was cleaning out the garage. There was a dumpster in the driveway. Cherry had to park in the street.
Tom seemed to have forgotten the “untenable” mess in the living room, which was typical, but Cherry didn’t have the fortitude
to bring it up. Which was also typical. The house, the mess, Tom . . . it all felt familiar to her. Familiar and sticky and
sad.
Cherry felt less single than she had a month ago. When she’d first reconnected with Russ, she’d felt totally available. Utterly single. Alone.
Now Tom was back in her life every day—not in a way that brought her companionship or comfort, but in a way that reminded
her how entangled she still was with him. Legally. Practically. (Emotionally.) She and Tom were still baked in the same pie.
Russ knew that Cherry was entangled. He was being respectful. He didn’t dig.
He and Cherry were still seeing each other. And still sleeping together. They followed each other on social media now. And they’d met up a few times for lunch. Cherry was high on his pretty face and his flirty text messages. All the parts of her life with Russ in them felt wonderful.
Tonight was Friday. Russ’s son was with his ex (Cherry still hadn’t met Liam). And Tom had asked if he could walk Stevie Saturday
morning—so Cherry didn’t have any reason to get up and rush home. For the next eighteen hours, she didn’t have to think about
anything that had ever happened in that house. Cherry wanted to feel free. She wanted to feel like someone with a future,
not just a past.
She rang Russ’s doorbell. She waited. It was chilly, but Cherry wasn’t wearing a coat over her baby blue angora cardigan.
It would spoil the effect.
Russ opened the door. He was already halfway into his canvas jacket. His eyes got wide when he saw her, and his arms dropped.
“Cherry.”
“Hi,” she whispered.
Russ let his coat slip to the ground. He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Cherry’s face felt hot. “Going out on a date with you.”
Russ hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her into the house. She tripped into him. “You’re not going anywhere,” he
said. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?”
Cherry laughed.
He reached up and touched her neckline. The embroidered lariat. The horseshoes. “I can’t believe you still have this dress . . .”
“It doesn’t fit,” Cherry said. She’d had to pull the dress over her head, and then over her chest one tit at a time, without
unzipping it, because it never would have zipped back up once it was on. Her breasts were smashed flat and ballooning from
the top, and the waistline was severing Cherry in half.
“It fits fine,” Russ said in a low voice. He loosened his hold on Cherry to walk her back through the living room and down the hall.
“I thought we were going to dinner . . .” she said.
“Pfft.” He kicked his bedroom door open. “You’ll be lucky if you get breakfast.”
Cherry laughed. He led her into his room by the hand, then gave her a spin. Her skirt and petticoat swung out around her.
“I can’t believe this,” Russ said again. “It’s like I’ve traveled back in time.”
He put his other hand on Cherry’s waist and stepped close to her. “We need to go dancing.”
“Okay.” She was still whispering.
“And you can wear this dress.”
“I’ll wear a dress I can breathe in.”
Russ was already slow-dancing, gently guiding Cherry’s hips. He held her hand close to his mouth and kissed it. Then he shook
his head, like he was thinking something.
“What,” Cherry whispered.
When he looked up at her, his eyes were glistening. “You,” he said hoarsely. “Finally.”
Cherry was caught off guard.
She hadn’t expected him to act like this—she’d thought the dress would land like lingerie, not a pressed flower. Her own eyes
welled up.
Russ was only a little bit taller than her when she was in heels—he said he was five-nine, which meant he was probably five-eight.
He leaned forward and kissed her. Softly.
Cherry kissed him back.
When he pulled away, he kept their faces together and rubbed his nose against hers. They were still swaying. Cherry’s breath
was shallow.
She hadn’t expected this moment to be about feelings, but that was okay. Cherry had feelings. Plenty of them. And they predated Tom. Cherry’s feelings for Russ were planted in an untainted part of her heart. They were an antidote, almost, to the tar-like grief that stuck to her.
Russ was something good, and Cherry wanted to lean into him. She wanted every part of him that was on offer.
Russ had moved his lips to her cheek, which was nice. And her neck, which was even nicer. Her eyes stayed closed. She took
a deep breath—
Actually, Cherry couldn’t get a deep breath in this dress. She’d only been able to breathe into the very top of her lungs, even before Russ raised
her temperature. Her chest was heaving now. She was feeling a little lightheaded. She looped her arms around his neck for
balance.
Russ was touching Cherry everywhere that he could reach, exploring the dress as much as her body. Running his fingertips along
the seams. Cherry made herself tall—to be thinner, but also to better feel his hands on her. She was like Stevie, rolling
over to expose her stomach. She lifted a foot off the ground and arched her back.
Russ caught her around the waist and hugged her close. His face fell into her cleavage with a groan. Cherry kissed the top
of his head.
“All right, you fantasy,” he said, standing upright again. “Onto the bed.”
Cherry felt unsteady. She waited for him to move her to the edge of the bed and push her backwards. She landed on her palms
and elbows. Her feet kicked off the floor.
Russ stood between her legs. He was wearing jeans—he didn’t, usually—and an untucked white button-down. He was undoing his
belt. Cherry felt her eyes get wide and lose focus.
He shook his head, like he had before. “Do you even realize what you’re giving me with this dress?”
Her lips were parted. She rested her tongue on her front teeth.
“I get to go back and have what I wanted,” he said. He picked up one of her ankles and lifted it high enough to kiss it. Cherry
was wearing back-seamed hose. (She’d pulled out all the stops.) Russ rubbed his face into her calf and ran his hand up her
thigh.
She closed her eyes again. She tried to breathe past her fourth rib. The dress was even tighter now that she was lying down—she felt like she might rip out a seam just trying to inhale.
Russ’s hand moved between her legs. Cherry wasn’t wearing underwear. She was wet. (Pulling out all the stops—even the autonomic
ones.) Russ groaned again and rubbed his knuckles into her pussy. Cherry groaned with him.
His head was suddenly under the skirt and between her thighs—she shrieked. He was sucking and biting at her through the hose.
She spread her knees and lifted her feet, gasping.
Russ popped his head out of her skirts. “How is this going to work?”
Cherry looked in his eyes. “What?”
“How am I going to fuck you,” he said, “without taking off your clothes?”
Cherry’s elbows gave out. She fell back, laughing.
Russ jerked one shoe off her foot. He tucked it under his chin. He pulled off the other shoe and tucked it under his arm.
Then he reached under Cherry’s dress, looking for the waist of her pantyhose. She helped him push them down. He got the hose
off and tossed them behind him—then tried sliding her foot back into a shoe. The shoes were too pinchy for that. Cherry sat
up to help. She was still laughing. Between them, they got both her red heels back on. Russ kissed her ankle again. “These
shoes make your feet look so tiny.”
She wrinkled her nose, smiling. “Is that a thing?”
“Everything about you is a thing.” He kissed her other ankle and walked away from her, leaning over the side of the bed. Russ
kept condoms there, in a drawer. He tore one off and dropped the rest of the strip on the comforter.
Cherry watched him put the condom on. It didn’t make Russ self-conscious when she watched. Cherry liked the smell of the latex—it
was like a bell ringing. Russ rolled the condom up, and stroked himself once. He was watching her, too. They’d both stopped
smiling.
Russ came back to stand between her legs. “Like this, the first time,” he said softly. “Okay?”
Cherry nodded.
He maneuvered her knees and felt out the path with his fingers before he pushed his cock in. Cherry arched her neck and looked
down at him over her cheeks.
Russ was still dressed. Still standing. Still wearing his glasses. Still young, really. Even at thirty-eight. Russ Sutton
would always be young. He just had one of those faces.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, maybe reading her mind. His hands were outside her dress, anchoring her hips. “I’ll never
forget how beautiful you looked the night we met.” He closed his eyes. “So sexy. I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
He rocked into her. Cherry shifted her hips, so he’d rub against her clit. She breathed hard through her nose.
“God, Cherry.”
“Russ,” she panted.
Russ pushed harder. He leaned over Cherry, lifting her legs by the ankles, then gripping the backs of her knees, folding her
up, so he could sink deeper. Her skirt and petticoat were between them. The lace edges were tickling her nose. Cherry couldn’t
breathe at all like this, not even a little bit.
Russ was looking into her eyes. “Do you feel good?”