Delivery

10. Salvage

Monday morning was harsh. The road coming into town had iced over after the storm Friday night; the early morning sky was still cloaked in grey. The thick tights and over-the-knee boots she was wearing under her wool pencil skirt were not keeping her legs warm enough.

Dashing from the parking lot into the business building on campus, Madelyn had held her blazer tight over her silk blouse and prayed that she wouldn't drop her paper coffee cup, thus depriving herself of not only a hot beverage, but at least one warm hand. In the other hand, she carried her overfull charcoal and chestnut briefcase.

The carryall had been a gift to herself when she made professor. She opted for the mixed leather colors so that it would match most of her shoes. Being the youngest tenured faculty member at the university was not always easy. Madelyn worked hard to maintain a professional appearance and to be an excellent educator. Still, she dealt with the jealousies of other faculty members who did not know her well and she fielded come-ons from overconfident students as well as a few of her fellow instructors.

On the bright side, Madelyn knew that her concerted efforts manifested themselves in secure employment and a handsome income for someone so young. Well, young for her professional situation, maybe not so young that she ought to be dabbling with the lovely Harry Styles.

Settling into the classroom where she would teach for the first hour, her mind drifted. The weekend had been bizarre indeed. She had never been keen on heated one night stands. Was that what she and Harry had shared? Madelyn had been wrestling with that idea for the past 24 hours. Harry had stayed with her into the afternoon on Saturday. They hadn't had sex again after their shower, but there had been a multitude of kisses, and affectionate embraces. He had cooked for her, shoveled her walkway and played with her in the snow. He seemed genuinely disappointed to leave her and insisted that he wanted to see her again. After a moment of reluctance, she had given him her phone number.

Harry did not call. Truthfully, she hadn't expected that he would and she felt silly hoping that he might.  She reminded herself more than once, that she was not in high school, and men did not call the day after a date... or whatever it was they had shared. This line of thinking was exactly the reason that she refused his number when he had offered. Madelyn lacked trust in her own ability to resist him. If he remained interested, he knew how to find her, but she was not going to go all cougar on him, that was for damn sure.

Sunday she finished grading the papers from which Harry had distracted her. She puttered around the house, tidying up and chatting over the phone with her mother. She even ventured into her studio. It was nice to climb the stairs up to the second level where the light flooded through the uncovered windows. The studio was her primary motivation for purchasing the house. After things had gone tits up with Jack, Madelyn needed a fresh start. Thanks to all that is holy, she had listened to her mother and kept her eye on her own financial independence even after marriage. Jack had ruled their money as a couple, but she maintained quiet control over her personal assets. Her husband had been unaware of the value of her investments. Had he known, he certainly would have tried to regulate those as well. Instead, Madelyn was able to utilize her accumulated resources to end his domination and walk away from his increasing violence. Jack was livid when he learned that she had enough to stand on her own two feet. He liked the idea of her dependence upon him.

Madelyn knew immediately that this house was right for her when the realtor brought her up the staircase that led to twin bedrooms and a full-size bath. The first thing she did when the ink was dry on the contracts was to install a security system. The second was to gut the two bedrooms and install windows all around. Her ex-husband may have been able to squash her passion for art, but he hadn't been able to kill it. She didn't actually paint that morning. It had been a while since she felt inspired, but she visited her canvasses, petted the soft brushes and organized her colors.

She napped on the futon she kept in the oversized and airy room. When the late afternoon sun poured in, she awoke from a dream about him. Harry had felt real in the threads of her sleep. She could have sworn it was his hand between her legs. But it was not. It was her own. Closing her eyes again, Madelyn let her mind drift back to Harry. Back to the feel of his caress, the way he had used his fingers and his mouth on her. Slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her leggings and into her panties, she began to mimic the way he had circled her clitoris. She pushed two fingers into herself, drawing out the juices that were beginning to collect there, using them to make herself more slick. Harry's mouth had lingered there, in her wetness, licking and flicking his tongue, working his lips around her risen bud. Her breath hitched, imagining the weight of his large frame atop her small one. She reveled in the memory of the fullness he brought as he had hovered above her the previous morning, gradually lowered himself so that his erection was buried so deeply within her that she felt him in her belly. Twisting her head to the side, she brought forth the memory of his mouth sucking and pulling at her neck. Breathing more heavily now, she brought her other hand up, under her top and over her bare breasts, she pulled and stroked at her nipples they way he had done. The darker skin on her breasts puckering and peaking. Her fingers began to fly as they had in the shower while he watched her, and again she came undone at her own hand; Harry's name upon her lips.

Author's Note:
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