14. Fourteen
Fourteen
M organ
It had only been three weeks since I started dating Dante and Zak, but felt like I had known them much longer. Things were going better than I could have imagined. Each seemed to understand the demands of my job and never pressured me to spend more time with them than I could.
My trust of Dante had grown to where I felt comfortable enough to delve deeper into my submissive side. As a gift, I purchased silk ropes and a small flogger from an adult boutique. Although he enjoyed binding me in positions which left me exposed and vulnerable, he never used the leather lash to mar my flesh. He preferred to tease and delay my orgasm until I was a quivering mess, begging for release.
There were other purchases made from the boutique—toys and accessories for Zak and I—after discovering we shared a fondness for anal play. The sex with both men was wonderful, and I had never been so physically satisfied in my life.
By focusing solely on the sex, I had avoided dealing with my complex emotional issues and any feelings I might have been developing for them. I had been honest with both men from the beginning. They knew I was not looking for anything serious; and that they were not the only man with whom I was sleeping.
Although Zak was more subtle about it, both had tried to get me to reveal information about the other. The only time I had seen them together was in the ER when Dixie Higgs was brought in. Their animosity towards one another had been palpable on that occasion. I could only imagine how learning they were rivals for my body would cause them to react. But I assumed it would involve some type of macho bullshit and remained silent on the matter. Eventually, they stopped asking.
I'm a pretty simple girl. When I really like a guy, he doesn’t have to wine and dine me to get me into bed. Just showing up with Chinese takeout and a six-pack is enough. But Dante and Zak always seemed to want to go out first.
Zak enjoyed introducing me to the hidden gems of The Keys. The best being a trip for two on the actual African Queen. How freaking cool is that?
Dante’s adventurous spirit and constant need for excitement pushed me to expand my limits. I even let him take me for a ride on his motorcycle.
Getting out of that shitty motel room helped keep my spirits high, but I was concerned what would happen if I ran into one while out with the other. That would have been awkward and I don't like awkward; especially in public. But when I realized Zak never took me to the same places as Dante did, and vice versa, I stopped worrying.
Had Dante not insisted on teaching me to jet ski, my life would have remained uncomplicated. Even if he had told me about the sandbar just five seconds sooner, the messiness which followed could have been avoided.
But by the time the words left his lips, entered my ear canal, and were interpreted by the superior temporal region of my brain, it was too late for me to make the turn. The Sea Doo went from forty-five miles per hour to zero in an instant, sending us flying over the handlebars.
Fortunately, I had attached the kill switch to my life vest and the jet ski shut off when we were ejected. Once I got my wits about me, I looked for Dante. He was bobbing in the water ten feet away from me, face down. By the time I dragged him onto the sandbar, he had regained consciousness.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine." I was more worried about him. A subcutaneous hematoma was rapidly expanding across his forehead. “You hit your head. Do you feel nauseous or like you’re going to throw up?”
“No. I just hope we can get our ride started, otherwise we’ll have to swim back to the marina.” He tried to stand, but I stopped him.
“Not so fast. I want to check you for a concussion. Follow my fingers.” His pupils appeared fine, and he knew his name and birthday. “I think you’re okay, but won’t know for sure until after the CT scan.”
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to the hospital over a little bump on my head.”
“Yes, you are, and I'm taking you there. You lost consciousness. Your brain could be bleeding.”
Dante rubbed his temples. When he saw the way I was looking at him, he said, “So I have a little headache, big deal. Why does it always have to be the worst-case scenario with you?”
“Because in my line of work, all I see are worse case scenarios. Ninety-nine percent of people that suffer a head injury are fine. It’s the other one percent I have to worry about.”
“I understand you’re concerned. But ask yourself, if you didn’t know me and I came into the ER with a headache and a bump on my head, would you still want to run tests?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “But you’re not just another patient and if something happened, I could never forgive myself.”
“If I was just another patient, what would you tell me?”
I avoided his eyes as I spoke. “If you had someone who could monitor your condition, I would tell you to get some rest and ice your forehead to keep the swelling down. And if your headache got worse, or you developed any other symptoms to come back to the ER.”
“Fine, then that is what I will do.”
“Not so quick. Is your roommate home?”
“No, he’s working until tomorrow morning.”
I never spent the night with the men I had sex with. Sleepovers implied there was more to the relationship than I was comfortable with. But I needed to monitor Dante’s condition. “Then it looks like I'm spending the night at your place.”
“There’s my good girl.”
“Yeah, you can put that idea right out of your head. For the next twenty-four hours, there will be no physical exertion or mental stimulation.” He protested, but his heart was not in it, which had me concerned. Had he hit his head harder than I thought? I would have to keep a close watch.
I drove the water bike back slowly and when we got to the marina, bought a bag of ice to help with the swelling. After stopping at my place to pack an overnight bag, we picked up dinner at Gabby's. From there, Dante gave me directions to his place. I'd never been there before. We always hooked up at the motel.
Knowing where he lived, how he interacted in his personal space, had seemed a line too intimate for me to cross. I had never been to Zak's place either. For not growing up in the area, he seemed to know a surprising number of out of the way beaches and other secluded locations. There was something freeing, almost primal, about making love out in the open.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still clung to the erroneous belief that dating both men kept me from developing a connection with either. If I was as smart as I think I am, I would have broken things off with both men when I first realized I was developing emotional attachments. But for the first time in years, I was happy and wanted the feeling to last just a little longer.
I still worked too many hours and needed to find a permanent place to live. But the desperate loneliness I had lived with for so long disappeared when I was with Zak or Dante.
What are the odds that after traveling fifteen hundred miles in search of a fresh start, I would meet not one, but two amazing men who understand me so well? Was the universe telling me I was ready to love again? My limbic system said yes, but my prefrontal cortex still had doubts.
And how could I ever choose between the two? Dante, the adventurous protector, who I could allow myself to be vulnerable with; or Zak, sensitive and incisive, who took so much joy in the world around him. In their own unique ways, each was an incredible lover. Who and how would I choose? Was I risking fate by even considering such things?
“You’ll have to park on the street.” Dante’s words pulled me from a decision I was not yet ready to make. “That’s my place across the street.”
Like the other homes in the neighborhood, it was built on stilts, with a storage area beneath. A pretty common design in Turtle Key for buildings built near the water. I saw him stumble, getting out of the car and rushed around to take his arm.
“You need to take it slow,” I reminded him
“I'm fine, I just got up too quick, is all.” I relaxed when he scanned the street, looking for anything out of order. His unwavering vigilance, which seemed like paranoia at first, I now accepted as part of dating a police officer.
Satisfied there were no bad guys lurking in the shadows, he led me up the crushed shell driveway. Then paused at the foot of the steps. After cautiously peering into the mailbox, he reached in and withdrew what appeared to be several days' worth of ads and letters.
I stayed behind him as we went up the stairs in case he stumbled. He unlocked the door and let me go in first. A hyperactive bundle of fur greeted me by dancing around and begging to be picked up.
“You didn't tell me you had a dog. What's his name?” I asked, scooping him up into my arms.
“Oliver. He's actually my roommate's dog. I need to take him out.”
“I'll do it.” I grabbed the leash from the hook next to the cute console table where Dante had put the mail. “You get comfortable. When I get back, I want to check your vitals and then we can eat.”
When we came back in, Dante was in the kitchen, clad in only a pair of boxers. He looked sexy as hell, and I wanted to drop to my knees in front of him. But he was concussed, and any sexual activity could worsen his condition. “I thought I told you there'd be no fooling around.”
“You’re also told me to get comfortable. The boxers are for your benefit. Usually, I’m completely naked when I am at home.”
“Your roommate must love that.”
“Not as much as you do.” He smirked. “I see the way you’re checking me out.”
“Shut up and go put on a shirt.” When he was gone, I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself he was currently my patient. Not the lover who could curl my toes a hundred different ways.
As we ate dinner on the couch, I noticed a copy of Leaves of Grass on the end table. Impressed and surprised, I asked, “You read Whitman?”
“My roommate does. All those books on the shelf belong to him.” I got up for a better look. It was an eclectic mix. The Great Gatsby, Animal Farm, Pride and Prejudice sandwiched between Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring and Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull . A copy of Audubon’s Birds of North America was mixed in with books on eastern philosophy. “Your roommate must be an interesting man.”
“You can judge for yourself. He’ll be home around six-thirty tomorrow morning.”
After I cleaned up the remnants of dinner, I tried to get Dante to lie down. “I’m not tired.” He put his arms around me. “How about a little loving?”
“I told you it’s not going to happen. No physical activity or stimuli of any kind for the next twenty-four hours.” I moved from the couch to a chair, to emphasize my point.
“Whatever,” he sulked. “Can we at least watch a movie? The latest Fast and Furious is on Prime.”
“Definitely not.” I picked up the remote. “If you insist on watching TV, there is one show I will allow.” Unless he had strong feelings about buttercream versus fondant, it was the perfect series for zoning out.
“The Great British Baking Show? I’m not watching this.”
“It’s this or nothing.”
He surprised me by lasting three episodes before finally going to bed. I selected a battered copy of The Old Man and The Sea from the bookshelf to keep me company, and checked in on Dante every hour. When I went in at four o’clock, he was still sound asleep and his breathing was steady. I decided it would be okay if I took a little nap.
I was asleep within ten minutes of stretching out on the couch and slept until Oliver woke me by licking my face. Dante was just waking up when we stepped into his room. I could not help but notice how sexy he looked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Fingers ran through his tousled hair and I caught sight of the bump on his head. It had turned a nasty shade of purple overnight. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I have the world's worst hangover.” He glared at Oliver. “And all that barking isn’t helping.”
“I’ll take him out and then fix you some toast.”
“I’d rather have you for breakfast.” I shook my head emphatically, but was happy to see his hypothalamus was unharmed.
“Probably for the best,” he said. “My roommate will be home soon.”
“Come on, boy. Let’s go outside.” Oliver shot out of the bedroom to where his leash hung and skidded into the console table, sending my keys and yesterday’s mail to the floor. I laughed, envying his energy.
Once he had done his business and we came back in, I gathered up the mail and put it back on the table. But as I hung up the leash, something nagged at the back of my brain. Grabbing the ads and bills, I thumbed through them until finding the one from Florida Power. In disbelief, I read the name three times. Each time it was the same—Zak Weston.
Fuck . Frantic, I looked for my keys and found them in the corner. My watch read 6:25. Shit, shit, shit.
I do not like to lie; it makes me uncomfortable. But awkward situations make me even more uncomfortable. And if I did not get out of that house right away, I would be face to face with the mother of all awkward situations. “Dante, I just got a page. They need me at the hospital. I’ll call you later.”