The Vacation

"You've got it. I'll call you later."

"Thanks. Bye."

Just like that, events were set in motion, and she didn't feel especially guilty about it. Not about potentially leaving her home behind, not about going behind Gordon's back, and not about longing for some other future.

**

Friday evening rolled around and as much as he'd been anticipating it, Justine's knock at the door still surprised Sam.

He ran down the stairs in his jeans, pulling on his shirt and swiping back damp hair. His mother had spent the afternoon cooking but he didn't know if his father had returned yet from their house down the road.

"I've got the door," he called toward the kitchen, passing through the sitting room to the front door. His bare feet slapped lightly on the oak floor of the entryway.

Justine wore snug jeans and a pale peach colored fitted shirt with a row of tiny pearl buttons down the front.

Were they decorative or would he have to unbutton each and every one if he were to take it off her?

Rip them. That was the easy way. Uncivilized, but fast. Although, there was something to be said for popping each one individually, making his way down with slow intention.

Samuel shook himself and met her eyes.

Justine laughed at him. Not aloud, but it was obvious none the less.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I like your shirt."

She stepped through the doorway and gave him a peck on his cheek. Near his ear, she whispered, "I'm glad you like it."

Maybe it was just the color of the shirt, but she smelled of peaches and smooth skin. The surge of hormones was becoming familiar, but putting it off was getting harder. If Justine was setting the tone for the rest of the evening, Sam was going to start resenting his parent's presence.

Down, boy.

He led her through to the kitchen and his mother put her to work making a salad and set him to ricing the potatoes.

Nothing like ricing potatoes to kill a hard-on.

"I want to ask all about your home," his mother told Justine, "but then you'll have to answer the same questions again when Arthur arrives. He went home to clean up. We live in a little house down the road now." She explained. "My knees can't take the stairs here anymore."

"I know how it is. My grandmother went through the same thing several years back. Luckily we had a ground floor room for her. She passed away four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Sam's grandparents all passed away when he was relatively young. We were older when we had him. His sister is ten years older than he is. She lives in Ontario with her family now. We don't see them nearly enough."

His mom always started sounding morose when she talked about grandchildren. It was a subject he usually avoided since he wasn't actively contributing to improving the situation for her. Sam said, "She's bringing the kids to visit in June, remember. I give it a week before you're ready for quiet again."

"Hush, you," she laughed. "When you're a parent, you'll understand."

While that might be true, it wasn't a conversation Sam wanted to have with Justine visiting. Introducing her to his parents so soon was pushing matters as it was. When he glanced over at Justine, she was fully focused on tearing up lettuce leaves, a little more intensely than romaine usually required. Probably trying to block out the conversation.

For the best.

His dad came in through the back door then, and the room got a lot louder.

"You must be Justine! Come here and let me have a look at you!"

Her eyes got a little wild when his dad wrapped her up in a big hug, but she played along.

The rest of the evening flew by, comprised of dinner, including his mother's famous carrot cake for dessert, followed by many rounds of rummy over short tumblers of whisky.

Sam couldn't remember having had such a good time at home with his family. And Justine felt like family. She fit in with them seamlessly, and he could tell his parents adored her.

All of which posed an even bigger problem once May rolled around, because she would be leaving them, too.

At 10:00, his mom declared she was ready to go home. Sam waved them off and then it was just he and Justine. "How about a little quality stargazing?" he asked.

"That's one of my favorite things," she replied.

They pulled on jackets and Sam grabbed the homemade quilt off the back of his couch. He turned off all the lights in the house and led her down the back steps to the old bench swing his grandfather had erected for his grandmother in the yard many years before.

Sam pulled Justine close under his arm and wrapped the quilt around them both before sitting her down next to him. The wooden bench creaked with their weight and started a gentle rocking under the long support beam overhead.

Having Justine tucked in tight against him felt good, felt right. She was the kind of woman who could appreciate a quiet night under the stars, and Sam wished she could sit next to him on the bench once the weather was warm, when the sky was bright with the constellations of summer.

"How long are you staying at Martha's B&B?" he asked. He'd been putting off the question because he dreaded finding out this might be her last day. It was the one question he'd requested his parents not ask.

"Why? Are you anxious to get rid of me?" She bumped her knee playfully into his and cuddled into him.

"I'm not a fan of surprises," he admitted. "I like time to prepare myself for change." Although, her very presence still counted as a change as he'd hardly had the time to grow accustomed to her. But he wanted time, even if it made things harder in the long run.

"Martha's moving me out to a little three room cottage she had built last summer in the trees by the greenhouse. It's still mostly unfinished on the inside, but she said I could work on it while I was staying. I'm actually looking forward to it. I like projects with distinct beginnings and endings."

Somehow that didn't surprise him. "I do, too. I'd like to help, if I may."

Justine smiled up at him. "I was hoping you'd offer." She looked away before he could kiss her.

"So, Theresa mentioned someone named Valerie. Was she a serious girlfriend?"

Sam didn't want to rehash the Valerie era with Justine, but he supposed he owed it to her, especially since he was curious about her own history. "She was my fiancée. We met when I was 25 and she was just 20. We spent five years together off and on, but she was jealous of this other girl who I had no interest in. It was an excuse, really. Eventually she just left. She had other ambitions that didn't involve farming, I guess."

Justine squeezed his arm in sympathy. "Do you still see her around?"

"Not often. She lives in the city now. I heard she's engaged again." He shrugged. "It's well over a year, so I consider that particular chapter over." Sam pressed a kiss into her hair and said, "What about you? Any serious relationships?"

She was quiet for a long moment, and he started to wonder if there was something awful she didn't want to reveal. A secret that would fracture the peaceful night and his smitten heart.

Sam wasn't sure he wanted to hear it after all.

She said, "Yes, just one. It ended badly almost two years ago and there's still a lot of animosity. Of course he insists he holds no blame. Mostly we just avoid each other, but he lives in Whistler and everybody knows him and likes him, so it's awkward."

Defeat was something he hadn't expected to hear in her voice, and it was almost impossible to believe anyone could think anything bad about Justine. What kind of asshole would put her in that position in the first place?

"Sounds bad," he said. "Maybe buying Martha's place would be a positive thing." Sam didn't like the thought of her living in distress because of some manipulative dick. Of living in fear.

Was that what she'd alluded to in the emergency room?

"It's not that bad," she said. "I never talk about it and I'm probably being dramatic. Anyway, I can't sell my house. It's... complicated."

Nothing was that complicated, and Sam believed there was a solution to every problem, but it was clear Justine didn't want to talk about her property or her ex.

Sam wished he had never asked because knowing she was returning to unhappiness was going to bother him for the duration of her stay. But the situation was beyond his control by about 5,000 kilometers and she seemed to be an independent woman. She could take care of herself. He hoped.

Sam wrapped his arm tighter around her said, "What's on your agenda for tomorrow? I can probably come over in the late morning after chores to help with the cottage."

Her tone brightened again with the change of subject. "I'm picking up paint in the morning, then attacking the walls. I spent most of the day today cleaning up all the dust from construction."

"I can paint," he said. "I've been told I have excellent technique."

"A true master of the roller, huh?"

"Well, I don't like to brag."

She smiled up at him and said, "I'm sure you're good at a lot of things."

"I don't know about that. But I do believe practice makes perfect."

"Is there anything you'd like to practice right now?"

Sam grinned over at her. "Since you mention it, yes. There's this thing people do with their lips."

"I've heard of that." Justine was trying hard not to laugh, which almost made him forget about the earlier conversation.

Clearly he needed more distraction.

Sam leaned down and brushed his mouth to hers, slid his tongue lightly against the crease of her lips so she opened, her tongue reaching out to meet his. The taste of whisky lingered between them, sweet and slightly smoky, warm and wet.

Justine's cool hand slid up his cheek and back into his hair, securing him in place.

The quilt fell away as Sam twisted and pulled her into him, his hands roaming up her back over her jacket. She was soft in his arms, pliant as she gave herself up to his lips and hands.

His cock ached to be inside her and his hands craved skin, breasts, nipples, the wet parts of her he hadn't yet tasted.

Sam wanted more from her, all of her, but the hardness of the bench and the cold night air gave him some perspective.

Not tonight. There would only ever be one first time between he and Justine, and Sam didn't want to feel rushed.

He gave a last sweep of his tongue against hers before withdrawing with a series of soft kisses. Her taste made him lightheaded.

"It's getting late," he said. "We've got a busy day tomorrow. What with all the painting." He grinned and tugged the quilt back into place.

Justine sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Samuel."

"For what?"

"For not being pushy with me," she said into his jacket. "Theresa was right. You are a good guy."

An alarm went off in Sam's head. Was he being relegated to the 'nice but uninteresting' category in her mind? "I'm not always good."

She pulled back to look him in the eye. "No?"

He shook his head slowly. "There are many things I'd like to do with you that don't fall into the category of gentlemanly."

Justine's eyes widened slightly and she smiled. "When are you going to demonstrate these ungentlemanly things for me?"

"When the time is right," he said lightly. "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week." Sam kissed the tip of her nose and stood, pulling her up with him.

"I don't know how I'm going to stand the wait," she said, and he laughed.

"You'll manage."

Although, Sam didn't know how he was going to stand it, either. He escorted Justine to her rental car and opened the door for her. "Are you sure you're alright to drive back to the B&B?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'll give you a call when I get there so you know I made it in one piece."

"It's a deal," Sam replied, closing the door and blowing her a kiss. He watched the tail lights disappear into the night before making his way back inside the house.

After what seemed like an eternity, the phone rang. "La ferme Lafortune, bonjour?" Even Sam recognized the anticipation and threat of a giggle in his voice.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong number!"

Sam chuckled. "Thanks for calling, Justine. Sleep well and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sleep? With my head filled with thoughts of ungentlemanly things?" She laughed. "Did I ever mention I have a very fertile imagination? With you involved, it's positively filthy."

She was teasing him? Two could play that game. "As you imagine me doing wonderfully wicked things to you, be sure to include some nice chamber music in the background."

Justine made a gasp of pretend outrage and said, "If that's the way you want to play it, Monsieur Lafortune, please note that I always go to bed naked and I just slipped between the sheets. Sleep well!"

The phone line went dead before he could reply, but Sam's cock reacted instantly to the image of Justine naked in her bed. "Touché!" he said to the dial tone on the empty line.

He turned off the lights, undressed, and made his way between his own sheets. He also preferred to sleep naked and couldn't help lightly brushing his semi-erect cock with his fingers. "It won't be too hard to get going," he thought, having been tormented by the pearly buttons on her shirt all night.

Why didn't I just bring her upstairs earlier?

Because being a gentleman didn't necessarily coincide with the desire to perform ungentlemanly acts.

Sam laughed at the thought of a funny voice asking, "Who's the idiot?" Insisting again and again in French, "C'est qui le cave?"

Sam stroked his cock knowing he was the idiot who had to get some relief or risk spending the night restless and horny.

His left hand had a firm grip of the base of his shaft, his fingers cupping his balls at the same time. His cock felt smooth and sensitive as his right hand slowly moved up and down.

"Ah oui, Justine..." he whispered, thinking how nice it would be to suck her tits, to close his lips for the first time on her erect nipples. "Laisses-moi sucer tes seins," he murmured with images of his mouth kissing and licking her breasts. He was not a breast man, but he was a fan of proportion, and Justine's seemed to be perfectly sized for her body, small and soft.

Sam's hand moved at a steady pace stroking his cock, feeling his pleasure rising. He imagined kissing her stomach, slowly making his way down to her mons, wondered if she was shaved or if she kept a small patch of curls. Kissing the inside of her legs, he could easily imagine how good she smelled, and the thought made him increase his rhythm, gyrating his hips on the mattress.

Images of a naked Justine flew through his mind as he beat his cock more and more frantically. He was getting close, pictured himself holding Justine's narrow hips from behind, pumping his member deep inside her and bumping her cervix with every thrust. In his mind's eye, she begged him, "Harder Sam, harder!" as her cute ass pushed back wantonly to meet his every thrust.

Imagining her turning her head to look back at him, smiling with pleasure, Sam exploded. He couldn't remember unloading so many times, with such force, in a long time.

As his body slowly relaxed, he told his room, "Ostie que ça va être bon faire l'amour avec elle." Yes, it would be good to make love to her in due time. Justine was definitely his type physically, but he had to concede there was something more at work inside him. Justine was more than just her beauty, and even his cock knew it.

Shaking himself out of his dreamlike state, Sam rolled to the night stand and remembered he hadn't replaced the tissue box. "Oh well," he said, licking a drip of cum off his hand. If a girl could swallow his load, he should at least be able to stand the taste himself. Finally, he snagged his boxers off the floor to wipe off the rest of the mess, then dropped his head back on the pillow and was out cold for the night.

**

Justine hung up the phone smiling and flopped back in her bed feeling as though she had a tickle under her skin that wouldn't go away. As much as she appreciated Samuel's patience, he was undeniably the source of her discomfort.

She wanted him, plain and simple. Wanted his strong body over her and his dark eyes drawing her in with the promise of kisses and breathlessness and unbelievable orgasms.

Justine's mind wandered to what he would be like in bed, how he would touch her. He had already shown he was patient, she didn't think that would change. He seemed detail oriented and unfailingly polite. Just how ungentlemanly would he get?

She stretched out on her belly, breasts pushing into the bed, and savored the firm but soft press of the mattress on a side of her body where there wasn't usually pressure.

'What do you want me to do?' he would ask.

"Touch my pussy," she whispered into her pillow, sliding her right leg out to the side and her hand between the mattress and her body. She imagined Sam's hand on her instead of her own as she rubbed along the line of wet flesh at her center. Imagined his fingers circling and flicking across her clit, then sliding down to press into her clenching pussy.

"Ah, yes... like that," she murmured. She rolled her hips into the mattress, grinding against her fingers. She pulled out and rubbed hard over her clit, before returning to her fantasy. "Put your cock in me, Samuel." She plunged her fingers back in her soaking pussy, picturing his cock pounding deep instead. Her body writhed under the sheet, ass rising and falling as he thrust into her. Within minutes, Justine was clenching and panting into her pillow, burying her face to halt the sounds of orgasm escaping her room.

When her trembling had stopped, Justine pulled her hand away, discouraged to realize the tickle of desire wasn't gone, it had just migrated to a different place, deeper inside where only Samuel would be able to reach.

The next morning, after a trip to the hardware store in the same town where Sam had taken her to dinner, Justine packed up everything from her room in the B&B, which wasn't much more than toiletries, clothes, and her laptop. She crossed the lawn to the woods where the cottage lived, plump dewdrops soaking her shoes before she'd made it halfway.

The little cottage stood like a fairytale house at the end of the sawdust path, or it would once it was done. The big construction and priming had been completed in the fall, but moldings, paint, and all of the decorative touches had yet to be finished.

The inside was just a studio with a little kitchenette, empty of all furniture except the fold-up cot Martha had procured for her. There were lots of windows covered in plastic, but even so the room was blindingly white in the morning sun.

Behind a wall at the back was a large bathroom on the left side, and a small empty room on the right, too small for a bed. Martha hadn't decided on a purpose for the room yet, but she'd said it might be a private reading room, or a big closet.

The wood floors were covered with heavy plastic that crinkled pleasantly with every step. Justine rolled the little bed into the back room and dumped her bags there as well.

After organizing the paint cans by room, she laid out her supplies and poured paint into a tray. Justine loaded the knap of a roller with the soft yellow paint and set herself up on the widest section of wall.

She'd painted enough to know she should start with the edges, but there was something so satisfying about using a roller on a pristine stretch of wall. About covering great swaths of space in a little time, overwriting tired color or, in this case no color at all, with a fresh hue. It was graphic, vivid proof that nothing was ever truly set, nothing was permanent, which had become a hopeful notion to Justine of late.