8. Sarah
8
SARAH
Watching a man as strong as Ian break down in front of me twists something inside me from the chest down to my belly.
I can see he's broken by his brother's death, but then again, who wouldn't be?
I wish I had better words to offer him than sorry, but it's all I can come up with right now. It hurts me to know Justin is dead, too. While he and I weren't exactly close, we had some sort of friendship back in the day.
He was the brother of the man I loved. I did my best to be cordial with him, and he returned the energy.
Hearing that he's dead threw me off. I didn't want to believe it when Ian was moaning his name in his dream last night, saying he was very sorry for not being able to save him.
It kept me up all night.
As soon as the first ray of sunshine broke, I was up and out of the room. I went down to the reception where I chatted with Susie. She's not particularly a friend, but she and I are familiar. She wanted to know if I knew Ian personally, but I found a way to divert the topic. I got her to give Ian’s meal to me, and I wasn’t so surprised when I saw that it was more than they usually provide.
The motel has a way of treating their customers like family, especially customers like Ian who have a tendency to act like a hero.
When I entered and saw the look of bliss in his eyes after a good night of sleep, I almost didn't want to steal that feeling from him by bringing the topic up, but I just couldn't help myself.
If Justin was indeed dead, I wanted to know and offer my condolences.
And now that I know and he's broken down in front of me, what do I do?
“You did your best,” I say, squeezing his hands, trying to get his attention. He won't look at me.
He's just staring off into space, tears still streaming down his face.
“Did I?” He finally speaks, giving me something to hold onto. I quickly latch on.
“Yes! Yes, Ian. I'm sure you did your best.”
He scoffs. His head turns briefly to look at me before he looks away again. “You're just saying that to make me feel better.”
Maybe.
“I'm not.”
“Stop it, Sarah,” he snaps, his tone now suddenly angry.
What did I miss?
“Stop what?”
“Stop telling me that it's alright that he's dead and I'm alive. He didn't deserve what happened.”
Well, better him than you, I want to say, but I stop myself just as I realize how terrible that sounds.
In all honesty, though, I'm happy Ian is alive. It's not like he's going to be mine or anything, but just knowing he's alive is enough for me. I don't think I would ever get over it if he'd been the one to die.
“He was always putting me first. Did you know that?” he asks, his eyes now back on me and shining with sorrow.
“It's what any brother would do,” I whisper.
Ian shakes his head, a fresh wave of sorrow hitting his features.
What did I say wrong this time?
“He wasn't my brother,” Ian mutters so low I almost don’t hear him.
What does he mean by that? Granted, he and Justin didn't share any physical resemblance, but I'd chalked that up to each of them taking after their parents separately. So, why is he saying he wasn't his brother?
“I don't understand.”
He blows out a harsh breath at my words, his palm in mine shaking slightly. I notice this and caress him. His brows shift slightly at my action.
“He and I met in the system. We were both in the same foster home. Things were tough. They weren't treating us right, but after high school, it just became worse, so… um…” His throat bobs as he swallows. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We left together. And since then, we'd been taking care of each other. Twenty-five years, Sarah, that's how long. We were all the other person had until I let him down.”
Okay, enough already.
Standing beside him, I move to his front and push until he's seated on the bed. I climb into his lap, his eyes following my every movement curiously.
I can't say I know exactly what I'm doing either, but I know I'm not going to sit aside for another minute and listen to him continue blaming himself for something that was totally out of his hands.
When I'm on his lap, he stares at me intently, waiting for my next move. Sighing, I take my hands to his face and cup it between them.
“Listen to me, Ian, nothing you did could have stopped what happened that day.”
I've not even finished speaking before he starts to shake his head in my grip.
“I could have saved him if they would have let me inside the house.”
“You would have died with him,” I tell him the truth. I don't think anyone has told him yet. The way his eyes shut slightly at my words tells me he knows this.
Is that what all this is about?
He wishes he had died that day, too?
“Oh, Ian,” I say softly in sympathy before throwing my arms around him and pulling him into a hug. He lets me, his hands coming around me in a near death grip hold.
I let him hold onto me like I'm the only thing he has left. I'll gladly be his lifeline if he'll let me. But we've been down this road way too many times for me to know it can only end one way.
He's going to leave.
Sure, he's in Glazer Ville now, but for how long? And I still don't know why he's here. If Justin died three years ago, then he's surely not the reason Ian is here. He doesn't look like a man on vacation, and even if he is, I doubt Glazer Ville is the town anyone would choose to come for vacation.
My town is beautiful, but it's hardly a place for visitors. Relocation? Sure. The motel usually gets more tourists because it's at the beginning of the town, so, people traveling can easily stop to spend the night and then continue the next day.
Why is Ian here?
After a few minutes in his embrace, I push out of his hold so our faces are not far apart. I stare into his beautiful golden irises, and the storm behind them draws me into him. He holds my gaze, his hands now caressing my back gently.
The moment I make the decision, he seems to see it, and I wait for him to refuse. But he just continues tracing my back with his finger.
Bending my head ever so slowly, I let our lips meet. His hand behind my back stills, and so do I. I wait for him to ask me to stop, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he sticks his tongue out, and rolls it over my lips, sealing the deal for me.
My hands grow a brain of their own and go behind the back of his head to grip it.
With caution now thrown into the wind, I let my passion unfurl as our lips continue the business of driving us both crazy with need. One of my hands caresses his scar-covered back. Some of these scars I'd felt last night, but not to this extent because he had his shirt on.
Now that there's no barrier between my palm and his skin, I allow my hand to worship him, and each mark stands out under my skin.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he managed to get them, but I know his job is a dangerous one. And as already established, he's the type who's always putting himself in danger to save others. He's always been like this, but I have a feeling it's become worse since Justin's death.
“I need you,” he whispers after a while, breaking the kiss and bringing my attention back to him.
He only has to say it once.
I pull the skirt I'm wearing up my thighs, leaving me in only my panties. I look down to see he's released his dick from his shorts, too. I try to pull my panties aside, but it's not easy, so I start to push them off. His hand around my waist tightens, dragging my gaze back to his.
“Let me,” he whispers.
I nod.
His hands go between my legs, leaving me a little unsteady, so I latch onto his shoulder. I feel him, one of his thumbs caressing my clit through the material.
“God, yes.” I moan, pushing my hips into him.
He chuckles at the action before he stops caressing me. I open my mouth to beg him to continue, but the sound of material ripping has me freezing.
Did he… Did he just tear my panties?
I look between us and confirm that he indeed just tear my panties.
Wow.
Before I can complain, his lips are back on mine and he's stealing my sanity again with every wicked suck on my lips and tongue.
His hands are now back on my waist, and soon he's lifting me, urging me with the action to take him inside me. I don't hesitate to follow his lead.
First, I take him in my hand, give him a good squeeze, which earns me a groan into my mouth before I take him to my core, brushing his head against my clit.
We both moan at the action, and I continue for a while until we both can't take the separation. Then, I direct him to my entrance, and when he's fully lined up, I slam down on his hard length.
I breathe out a long moan.
“Fuck, you're squeezing me so hard.”
I take that as my cue to start to move, gliding up and down is dick into a steady rhythm, drawing both our pleasures out.
“So fucking good." He moans, smacking my ass hard.
The sound ripples through the air and sends a jolt of fire kicking through within.
I want him to consume me.
Making sure that my hold on him is strong, I let lose of my passion and allow myself to ride him hard until we're both shaking and screaming from ecstasy.
We both collapse on the bed afterward, neither of us saying a word for a few minutes.
Eventually reality sets back in, and I start to pull away from him. He holds me and keeps me from moving.
“We should talk,” he says in a grave voice that I know means one thing: regret.
No, we shouldn't.
Turning in his arms, I allow myself to look into his eyes and see him for who he really is and not the man I've always fantasized him to be.
Ian is a man haunted by demons of his own making. We would never work. Not when he's always so inside his head.
Shaking my head, I seal our lips together when I see his lips start to move again.
I pour everything I'm feeling into the kiss, the affection, the longing, the want, and finally, the resignation.
Goodbye , I whisper in my heart before I separate from him, grab my purse from the chair I'd kept it on, take out my card, and drop it on the edge of the bed for him. I walk out of the room with his semen dripping down my thighs.
He'll call me if he really wants to talk.
When I get home, I go straight inside the shower to clean myself up, then I come back into the living room where my laptop has been all night and type out everything that happened last night.
I've always wanted to live through my characters, and I guess I'm finally getting the chance. I'm writing a story about Ian and me.
Although it won't be a perfect love story because there's clearly no happy ending in sight for us, I know it'll be a good romance book.
Who wouldn't love to read a real-life story about unrequited love?