Nineteen
A nyone would think I’d feel better after having the most amazing orgasm of my life. But the truth is, I don’t feel better at all. I feel dazed – like I got hit by a sex tornado, and am now stumbling around in the aftermath. It takes me an hour to get ready for the day. I put two wrong socks on, twice. Somehow I forget to brush half my hair, and I get scared looks from Tammy and a disgusted look from Doug when I go downstairs.
And more of them over breakfast.
I make myself two slices of toast lathered with butter and jam, and sit down to eat them. But every time I go to take a bite, some memory from the night before will hit me hard. The sounds he made, the words he used, the darkness enfolding us that meant I had to imagine everything.
That means I’m still imagining now.
I see him arching his back over the pleasure of it, in my mind’s eye.
His legs spread, one hand on himself and the other fisting in the sheets.
How his cock looks; what his expression was like when he came.
And I’m greedy for all of it. I want the actual thing, the real sight of it, I want the same again but with every light in the house on and aimed at him. Yet somehow I don’t think I’m going to get it. Because he breezes into the kitchen looking like he’s just spent the day enduring the opposite of a tornado.
A light breeze is all he’s known.
His hair is the most brushed I’ve seen it in days. He’s freshly shaven, his clothes are all in order. He even whistles a happy tune as he goes about making his breakfast. It’s like he’s exorcised a demon. The demon of being horny for me. And now he’s totally fine. He finishes his food and loads the dishwasher, while I’m still sitting there with my almost untouched toast. Then even worse: he starts coming toward me. He crosses the kitchen, grabbing his satchel on the way and his pass that tells everyone who he is. And I know he’s going to do it.
He’s going to kiss me goodbye.
As if that’s nothing at all to him anymore.
He’s gotten the whole thing out of his system, and can just put his mouth on my mouth without a care in the world. And I just don’t know how to deal with that. He leans down and there’s nothing I can do. I turn my head at the last second, so he hits my cheek. Just this little glancing thing, no big deal.
But even that feels like being burned.
I make a little sound at the contact and have to force myself not to jerk away.
Though Doug clocks it anyway. ‘Oooh, had a little falling-out, have we,’ he chortles, which is good because we’re supposed to be falling out. This isn’t meant to be a great relationship.
It just is, anyway. Or at least it could be, if he wanted more.
So maybe it’s lucky that he doesn’t. Maybe I shouldn’t even ask him how he feels about it all, in the ten emotionally wrought emails I almost send while at a talk by the lake, on characters not understanding their own feelings and expressing what they want poorly.
Some of them direct: If you regret what happened and would prefer it never did again, just say . Some of them less so: Last night was pretty fun . And yet more are just apologies for going too far. I’m more used to someone disturbing me , I write, at one point. I just don’t know what to do with someone I could be disturbing. I don’t know where your line is, and whether I’ve crossed it and you’re just trying to be nice about that now.
But it just seems so ridiculous.
I end up saying something silly and lighthearted instead. You know, just to see if he will be silly and lighthearted back. Just to make sure that we’re still a furry Captain America, and his wholly undignified Hazel.
Dear my mustachioed Steve,
I’m writing this email while pretending I’m taking important notes on a talk I don’t understand. The man giving it is wearing a waistcoat, and just used the word leitmotif . Which I had to look up before I wrote it down and included it here, in this terrified email to you.
Fearfully,
Your unable-to-be-a-writer wife
And then I try to listen to waistcoat, instead of nervously waiting for an answer. He has a pocket watch, I can see. Or maybe even a monocle, if I’m being honest. It kind of genuinely is intimidating, even though I was sure I was just trying to change the subject from disturbing Beck to something safer.
But worse than that: Beck knows it.
Dearest completely-able-to-be-a-writer wife,
First of all, don’t be ridiculous. We both know you know what leitmotif means, and how it’s spelled, and that you didn’t have to look it up at all. You don’t have to pretend to be anything other than clever with me, even when you think that’s not what you’re doing. I bet you thought you were just being funny, which you should know I do like, too. But not enough to make a joke back, instead of telling you that you don’t have to be terrified. Everything is going to be all right.
Sincerely,
Your fake, loving husband
So now I have to look up at the sky, to keep the tears inside my eyes. Instead of reaping the rewards of making everything meaningless. There’s so much meaning there I don’t even know where to begin. He called me clever, and not in an insulting way. He knows all about the games I play. And he didn’t even sign off with something ridiculous. He called himself a loving husband.
With just that one little word between it being real and not.
Fake , I think. This is fake, you’ve got to remember this is all fake, and all he’s doing here is being a very good friend, who can overlook your shenanigans last night and still reassure you into being the person you want to be. Because I know, of course I know, that this is who he is.
But I don’t know if that makes things better or worse.
To be so close to being with someone that brilliant. Yet still so far in a thousand different ways. I mean, it’s not just that we’re incompatible in terms of what he wants from a wife. We’re probably sexually incompatible, too. I’m too much for someone like him, and I know it.
Though at least that has one upside.
It fires my imagination like nothing else. I end up scribbling stories in my notebook for so long I don’t even realize the talk is over, until Meera nudges me. ‘You want to come back to my pod for a coffee?’ she asks, but I can’t.
I’m too deep into this one tale about wanting someone you shouldn’t.
In fact, I’m still into it three hours later when I suddenly notice it’s getting a little chilly. And I sit up and look out over the lake, and see the sun sinking into the trees just beyond it. I’ve spent the whole day listening to talks on writing and actually writing – and all while being all mixed up about these weird new complicated feelings. While fuelled by them, in a way that still has me worked up when I finally walk back to the lodge. I can sense it all, buzzing just beneath my skin. Almost like I’m experiencing some sort of sexual awakening.
He’s the one who knows nothing yet you’re the one learning , my mind whispers.
Then I have to take deep breaths, just to calm myself down.
It doesn’t work, however. I swear my whole body is tingling.
And this is the state I’m in when I get back to the cabin and find Doug, Tammy and Beck all just chilling. With almost no clothes on. In the steamy, bubbling hot tub. ‘Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you join us?’ Doug bellows. So it’s not even like I have a chance to think or duck out or talk to Beck before I end up in another sexually tense situation with him.
I just have to drag myself upstairs and change into the swimming costume I brought. The one that really shows off a lot of cleavage, and quite a bit of butt, in a way that seemed like a fine idea at the time. It seemed like nothing. But now it just looks like I’m trying to seduce him again.
Even though I swear I’m not.
I get into the water super quick. And though I sit next to Beck, I do my best to not look at him directly or touch him when I do. I keep my eyes on less attractive things, like Doug – who already looks like a boiled ham, and is definitely wearing disturbingly small swimming trunks. I make the mistake of glancing down, and see a lot of things I don’t want to through the bubbling water. Before I glance away, and slip into place on the bench that lines the circular tub. Carefully, and in a way that maintains a nice, respectable two-inch gap between my bare arm and Beck’s.
Not that the gap really helps anything.
The air is so heavy and electric between us that it seems like there’s contact anyway. My skin feels licked by it; my body blooms under that sweet sensation. And all while the water caresses the rest of me, and heats anywhere that I’m cool. Pretty soon I’m flushed and over-sensitized, desperate for something more but of course unable to even attempt to ask for it.
They’re currently all chatting calmly about their day. Apparently Doug played basketball on a basketball court somewhere. Tammy went on the lake in a paddleboat I didn’t know existed. And Beck was busy putting out fires that Doug tells him he probably caused somehow. To which Beck says, ‘You’re probably right.’
And he chuckles amiably, on the end. Nothing really – but it makes his body shift just a little. Just enough, and there it is. His arm brushes mine. Softly, barely anything, but I get so much from it. The slick of his skin, a hint of the hair there. Then, oh god, then the almost feverish heat rolling off him...
Like he’s all flushed, too , I think, and jerk away before the thought can ripen into something more. Only it doesn’t make anything better when I do. Now I can feel the lack of touching even more strongly than I did a second ago. The space between us crackles. It sets my teeth on edge.
All I want to do is push against him.
And of course Doug chooses that exact moment to get up, and declares he’s had enough. Then Tammy follows him, giggling, in a way I think means they’re going to do all the things I can’t do currently. I watch them disappear through the glass doors with envy. Followed by a dollop of despair, to see them just flop down on the couch. Now I’ve got to watch them making out.
While knowing they can see everything Beck and I do.
And I don’t think we’re going to do anything normal. I can hear Beck breathing in this shaky, unsettled sort of way. He keeps clearing his throat, like he wants to say something. He needs to say something. But he’s just too unsettled to do it.
So I do it for him.
‘It’s okay, I know I’m freaking you out, just go,’ I say to him. But he just shifts next to me, in this uncomfortable-seeming way. And the throat clearing sounds worse. It makes it hard not to look. Then I do, and wish I hadn’t.
He’s all my dreams and nightmares of what he must have looked like the night before. His hair is thick and glossy and hanging over his face in this rumpled, undone sort of way. Those dark eyes are heavy-lidded, and yet gleam with this frantic sort of light. And he’s actually got his teeth in his lower lip.
He’s biting it.
Like he might let out something terrible if he doesn’t. Which of course only makes me want to encourage him to go ahead. I have to press my own lips together to make sure I don’t. Make fists at my sides so I don’t touch him. Move back to give him space to leave.
But he shakes his head.
‘I can’t,’ he says, in this hoarse, hushed whisper.
As if he’s been superglued to the spot. Or maybe I’m too in the way.
‘So let me just move and you can climb out more easily.’
He shakes his head violently. ‘No, I don’t want that either.’
‘Well, you have to choose one of them.’
‘Are you sure? Because I was thinking I could die of mortification instead.’
‘Over what? Me being a little weird with you? Look, I’m sorry, but—’ I start, but he cuts me off in one big burst. Like his words have been building for the last five minutes, and now can no longer be restrained.
‘Don’t be sorry, that’s not it, I didn’t even notice you were being weird. And you know why I didn’t? Because I made the mistake of watching you drop that towel and climb into this hot tub. And after I did, I had to force myself to not look at you. I swear, I might never look at you again. Because even when you’re fully dressed, you overflowing that bathing suit like a glorious fountain is all I’m ever going to see,’ he gasps out. Then he sags back, like it’s terrible to have said it.
But a relief at the same time.
While I just sit there, trying to process.
‘You think I look like a glorious fountain,’ I say, finally.
Much to his frustration. He actually makes an annoyed sound.
‘Don’t say it again. It’s bad enough I said it the first time.’
‘Dude, there is absolutely nothing bad about that. As you can tell by my gleeful expression right now,’ I say – because I am grinning. I’m trying not to, but it’s impossible when the guy you thought might have resolved all of his desire for you just lost his mind over your hot body.
‘You’re not gonna get me to look by tempting me with supposed happiness.’
‘But surely my face is safe. Pretty certain that doesn’t have any tits on it.’
He glances up to the heavens for help. ‘Oh my goodness, I don’t know whether to laugh or moan over that.’
‘It sounds like you’re doing both.’
‘Because I am. I think I might be hysterical.’
‘You want me to slap you back to being sensible?’
‘I would, but I think even that would be exciting to me. And I need to be much, much less excited than I currently am, if I’m ever going to get out of this tub,’ he says, and when he does he doesn’t exactly look down.
But he does it enough that I get what he means.
And now I have to somehow not look at what is obviously his hard cock.
‘So that’s why you’re stuck. You don’t want me to see what’s going on.’
‘Not just you. Them, too.’
I follow the nod of his head in the direction of the cabin.
And though they’re no longer making out, I can’t say I care.
They seem very far away right now. ‘They’re all the way inside. They won’t see anything,’ I hiss under my breath. But though he actually manages to look at me, he doesn’t seem reassured. He just seems confused, and agonized.
‘People could see this thing from outside Earth’s atmosphere, Haze. If I get up they will probably be up there on the International Space Station, asking NASA if they should be concerned about the enormous obelisk that just heaved into view,’ he says, to which I have to laugh a little.
‘Okay, steady on there, humble bragger.’
‘What’s a humble bragger?’ he asks. Genuinely, I think.
And now I’m very abruptly not laughing at all.
‘Something I’m now realizing you’re not capable of being.’
‘Well, I mean, I could try if it’s something you’d like me to be.’
‘No, actually I think I’d much rather you just be an honest man with a huge dick. Because I mean, that’s what you’re saying, right. That you have an absolutely massive one. Just completely enormous,’ I groan, and I try not to sound awestruck and despairing when I do. But fail, obviously.
And now he’s blushing, fuck .
‘I mean. Well. I’m in proportion,’ he says, after which I think I die a little inside.
‘Yeah, but your proportions are gargantuan, dude. Your hands are bigger than my face. I have to stand on tiptoe to get level with your shoulders. And your shoulders regularly blot out the sun, if I stand too much to the left or right of you.’
‘You make me sound like a monster.’
‘Right. But in the good way.’
He blanches at that.
Makes a noise, like I’m being preposterous.
‘What kind of good way is there to being a giant beast?’
‘The one where you find me stranded on your ice planet, then ravish me.’
‘I’m not going to ravish you like we have some kind of weird mating bond,’ he says, so I go to concede. Yes, it’s true that he isn’t an Ice Planet Barbarian. But then I realize what that means, and glee overtakes me.
‘So you’ve heard about those books, then,’ I say, while trying not to look too mischievous about it. I bite my lip to keep my grin to a minimum. Though of course I know that probably just makes me look worse.
And sure enough, he blushes even more deeply.
‘Don’t say that like I’m going to hang my head in shame about it.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think you would. I just wanted to confirm so I can imagine you reading them, and looking the way you do right now about whatever you find between those pages.’
‘ Nothing has ever made me look the way I do now.’
He says the words like he’s rolling his eyes at himself. Like he thinks he seems disgusting for being this way. Even though the very idea that he has never been this bad before – oh, it gets me good. I let out a little sound on hearing it, and almost just reach for him.
But force myself to be reasonable. ‘Yeah, but it’s probably wearing off, with me needling you about things,’ I say, as calmly as possible. And get such an incredulous look in response. Like he can hardly believe I’d entertain such a notion.
‘If anything it’s worse than it was when we started. Much, much worse.’
‘And by that you mean that you’re harder.’
He hesitates. ‘How bad would it be if I said yes?’
‘Not bad at all. The opposite of it, in fact.’
‘Then in that case it feels like I have a bar of molten lava between my legs.’
I keep my eyes on his face when he says that. I hold them there, hard.
Despite the fact that my body really, really doesn’t want me to.
‘You have no idea the effort it’s taking me not to look right now,’ I gasp out.
But all I get is this in response: ‘Probably not as much effort as it’s taking me to stop myself begging you to,’ he says. Voice all low, too. Hoarse and deep, like it comes from his guts. Like he can’t help saying it, and really meaning it.
And god help me, I love that he does.
‘So you want me to ogle you, then. You’re into that.’
‘I’m into everything you do. I told you last night that I was.’
‘Yes, but then this morning you were all okay. Like you were over it.’
He makes a frustrated sound. ‘Because I was trying to seem less sex mad.’
‘I think sex mad is a little strong.’
‘Hazy, I did that . Over you just... touching yourself.’
‘Yeah, but that’s awesome. That’s super sexy to me. And even sexier if it didn’t just happen because you’re not used to things happening and got overwhelmed. I mean, if it’s at least partly because of me and how I look—’
He cuts me off before I can go any further.
Hands in the air, expression amazed.
‘Oh my gosh, of course it is. How can you not know it is?’
‘Because you’re not what I’m used to, Beck. Usually men are pretty direct with me. I know what they want. Hell, most of them will flop their cocks out for me before I’ve even said I want to see. Never mind me figuring out if it’s okay to look.’
‘They do what ? Oh my stars, someone needs to teach them some manners.’
‘See – you talk about manners. You’re so restrained. So polite.’
‘I wasn’t polite and restrained last night,’ he says, voice half annoyed, half husky.
Like he hates that he was like that. But it turns him on to think about it, all the same.
‘Of course you were. Politeness, contrary to popular belief, doesn’t mean you can’t be filthy at the same time. It doesn’t mean you can’t be horny. It just means you’re careful about doing it. So careful in fact that sometimes I don’t even know what’s going on.’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s confusing, but also at the same time I have to say – much hotter than I could have ever imagined. I mean, when you can’t say the exact words, it just... it feels... it makes it seem like it’s really naughty. Like everything you want to tell me is almost forbidden, in a way that makes me so hot, oh god, it gets me so wet, I don’t even know if I should tell you how wet it makes me,’ I say, practical about it at first, but singularly unable to maintain that.
Not that he seems to mind.
‘Why not?’ he asks, in that same husky voice.
It’s almost a drawl. I don’t even know how I manage to stay calm.
‘Because I don’t want to, you know, completely ruin you.’
‘Not even if I think being ruined sounds wonderful?’
‘You don’t mean that. You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Well, I sure know what you even suggesting that did to me.’
I glance down, then. I can’t help it. This is just all too much to stop me now.
And I can’t regret it once I see him through the water. Because man, it’s even hotter than all this suggestion has built it up to be. He’s so hard I can make out the exact shape of his cock, even through the thick material of his shorts. He’s practically straining against the seams, to the point where the thick ridge around the head is clear. As is the steep curve of it, lengthy enough that I know he wasn’t exaggerating.
Though it’s the heaviness of the thing that really drives that home.
How thick he looks, like something on the verge of bursting.
If you ever fuck, he’s gonna have to oh so slowly work himself into you. He’s gonna have to get his cock all wet first, and then rub and tease until finally you let him ease in, one deliciously heavy inch at a time , my mind kindly informs me.
And I don’t mind admitting: the thought makes me ache.
I squirm against the bench and bite my lip, just imagining it. All of which he obviously sees. ‘Okay, this is seriously never going away now,’ he groans, when he takes in the way I’m behaving. Like a horny slut, desperate to ride that gorgeous thing.
Though I can’t feel ashamed about it. Or even answer as if I am.
‘I mean, I can think of a few ways to make it.’
‘Yeah, I doubt that. Methods to calm things like this down have never really worked for me. My mind snaps back to whatever got me going, like it got snagged on a rubber band. And in this case, the rubber band is right in front of me, looking so completely gorgeous and sexy I don’t know what to say about it.’
‘Say you want me to fix this the other way.’
‘What do you mean the oth—’ he starts to say. So I show him. I reach through the water for that big, thick cock, and the second he realizes he just about chokes on the end of that word he was in the middle of.
And his hand shoots out to grab my wrist before I can.
Though it seems more instinctive than against the idea – as does his tone when he leans in to whisper to me frantically, ‘You can’t. You can’t, they’ll hear me. They’ll see my reaction,’ he says, all longing and resistance. And I can’t help doing my best to lower the latter.
‘So it’s gonna be big, huh. You’re gonna be loud and eager for me.’
‘Good lord, Hazy. I want to be loud and eager over you saying that .’
‘Then just put your hand over your mouth. Like you’re thinking.’
‘It won’t be enough. Not nearly enough,’ he says. But I’m sure he’s worried about nothing. Until I feel that grip on my wrist slacken, and he does as I suggested. He puts his chin in his hand and covers his mouth, and when he does I make just the barest bit of contact. Fingertips only, nothing more than a light graze through the material. In truth I hardly feel anything.
But he does.
He gets that slight touch, and reacts like I squeezed him, skin to skin. Like I licked him, all long and slow and lascivious. His whole body jerks, and stiffens. Those enormous eyes go even bigger, and roll up in his head like he can hardly believe it. And the sound he makes.
His whole hand vibrates under the pressure.
He has to press it tighter to himself, he has to turn it and make a fist, and almost jam it against his lips. Which looks weird, I know. If they see, it’s going to seem very odd. But right now, I can’t make myself care. Watching him lose it is just about the best and sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I want more.
I want him to have more.
‘Oh, did that feel good, baby,’ I say.
Just to see if that gets a reaction, too. And it does. He trousers a yes, yes, yes so loud and desperate I hear it even through his clenched fist. Then I get a completely mindless groan when I do it again. With my palm, this time, almost rubbing over that thick shaft. Back and forth, until I can feel him trying not to rut against that delicious contact. His whole body strains with the effort.
But all that does is make me do it more insistently, until he gives in.
He pushes against my working hand, and trembles over the sensation it obviously produces. His eyes sink almost closed, save for two greedy-looking slits, and more sounds leak through. Guttural ones, that get me almost as heated as he seems. My clit swells at the evidence of his excitement; I squeeze my legs together around it and get such a hot, wet rush of pleasure.
It makes me moan, and go to slip inside his shorts. Just to feel him bare, and really give him what he’s bursting for. And oh god, he lets me. I don’t think he’s going to but he does – he just watches me, still from shock and obviously holding his breath.
Then I get to him, I get to him, and he just can’t maintain the fist over his mouth. It collapses until all he has there is the back of his hand, spread sloppily across the bottom half of his face. No pressure at all, in a way that lets out just about every noise. Low groans, when I stroke him nice and slow. Gasps of shock and pleasure, for everything I do that he doesn’t expect. Like the thumb I rub over the slit at the tip, to get a feel of all that pre-come he’s leaking. And the squeeze I give when I roll my hand over the head.
Yeah, he likes that all right.
He bucks for it. Tries to fuck my fist almost.
Though I can tell this isn’t what really gets him off. Because I can feel myself getting all worked up. I know I’m stroking him all eagerly, and making sounds of my own over everything I find. He strains against the circle of my hand – like he’s almost too big to grip like that – and I let out a little whimper. I squeeze harder, just to test him out.
And he knows.
He knows that I’m loving it.
He sees me greedily watching my own hand working his cock, lips parted, tongue touching my upper teeth, face flushed and slack with desire, and he doesn’t hold back. He speaks, loudly, into the night air. ‘Oh, you like that,’ he says. ‘You like it, you like – ohhhhh, gosh, that’s gonna make me come.’ And it’s so good to hear him, so exciting, that I don’t even think twice.
I lean down the second his hips lift above the water, and take the fat head of his cock in my mouth. So when he jolts like he’s been struck and grunts and almost immediately comes, he does it in thick, hot bursts, all over my greedy tongue.