Chapter 15 – “Do I Wanna Know” — Arctic Monkeys
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HENRY
“DO I WANNA KNOW” — ARCTIC MONKEYS
“Baby, this is a two-way street,” she purrs.
“You give me the road map of you, tell me all of your secret turn-ons, all the fine and naughty details. Then I take advantage of that information every chance I get. You’ll thank me.
Profusely. Tell me, Henry. Don’t make me use my powers for evil. I will, you know I will.”
She absolutely will, no doubt about it. “Please don’t. I can’t handle days of you edging me again,” I say with an appropriate amount of fear. That was one incredible, sexy, very hot week, but it was so hard. So incredibly hard.
“In the end, I didn’t tell you my middle names anyway.”
Kait with an arsenal of all of the things that make my toes curl?
I shiver in anticipation. Sign me up. Or that’s what I should say, but I hesitate.
“Kait, there’s nothing. I don’t have a major kink that I’m hiding from you.
I’m all for you tying me to my bed and having your way with me, but I don’t want to go to a dungeon.
I’m open to dirty talk and trying lots of new things.
I’ve never wanted to be pegged, but people tell me that rimming is insane.
I’ve never had sex in public, I’ve never tied a woman down… Why are you giggling?”
I’m nervous word vomiting, and she’s amused.
“Kait,” I say primly, “you aren’t a safe space if you laugh at me when I tell you things.”
“Henry,” she says back, mocking me with her equally prim tone. “You’re babbling. If you’ve never played with your ass or let anyone have a go at your prostate, you should consider it. I’m told it’s life-changing. Gay butts and straight butts, same butts. And bondage? Sign me up.”
What’s the appropriate response to that? “I’ll take that under advisement.”
Kait is a master of manipulating me and unrepentant, more amused with each passing second.
“Fine. Stop giggling.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you the only thing that comes to mind.”
“I’m listening.”
I say it fast, to get it out before I think better of it. “I might be into chaps.”
“I’m assuming you mean leather pants with fringe all down the side and not men?” she asks, but she knows the answer because she keeps going, “Give me all of the details.”
“The fringe is called whang. There’s your random factoid for today.”
“Spoken like a true connoisseur of chaps.”
Like a water tower toppling over in a tornado, it all spills out.
“You, wearing chaps,” I say. “Maybe a string bikini top and bottom, maybe a cowboy hat—that’s optional.
You sweet-talk me into letting you tie my wrists to the headboard.
You use two of my most expensive ties to tie me up, because you’re you, and it’s on brand. ”
She chuckles. She knows I’m right.
“You use a third tie to blindfold me. You tease me, taking the fringe and dragging it against my skin. Rubbing your nipple against my lips through the bikini fabric. Ruthless teasing, pinching my nipples, and nibbling on my neck. Stripping me out of my boxers. Kneeling between my legs and stroking me.”
“Oh… I like the sound of this,” she says, her voice scratchy.
“I can smell the leather, your skin against mine, and you torment me. Of course, you don’t let me finish.
No, you stand up in front of me and start to drag the strings of your bikini bottom over me while you tell me each tiny detail of untying the imaginary but very challenging knots in the strings of your bikini while I wait impatiently for you to take it off.
” I imagine the gentle brush of the strings as she trails them over my nipples, shoulder, my lips, and I have to stop, or I’m going to come in my pants.
“That’s it, uh, chaps,” I say as I work hard to disguise the quiver in my voice.
“Henry, I can really work with this!”
“I have complete faith in you, babe.”
“I could ride you wearing chaps. You’ll feel the leather against your skin.” I make an involuntary sound that can only be categorized as a whimper.
“Once I untie my bikini bottom, I’m bare but wearing the chaps. I tease us both, rubbing your sensitive head against my clit. If I wiggle a tiny bit, I’ll have you inside me,” she says, her words make my cock throb with my heartbeat. “Like that, Henry? Did I get it right?”
“Y… yes.”
I imagine her happily wearing chaps, shaking her bare ass to tease me.
Real me doesn’t dare move a finger. The things she told me, coupled with the things I want, it’s a heady combination, and if I move wrong, the friction will end me.
If she really wants hard and fast, the chaps would be like lighting a bonfire under rocket fuel.
“Henry, I want to grab your cock and guide it down so you start to nudge inside me.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Henry, don’t you want to fuck me while I wear these absurdly hot chaps?”
“I do, but I want…” I can’t word well. “I’d want to see you.”
“I’d take off the blindfold so you can watch me while I take you apart one tiny piece at a time. I want you inside me, every inch of you. I want to hear you,” she says, a little breathless.
The way she’s talking today is driving me crazy, saying you and me—it’s overwhelming. Our normal is “Henry, stroke faster,” not “Henry, I want you inside me.”
I’m too close. I’ll come if I stroke, so I rub my thumb over my slick head.
“Babe, I’ve got you. Let me hear how good it feels. Can you smell the leather while I ride your cock?”
I can’t resist. I stroke, and she tells me how good I feel inside her.
I come and I come and I come.
The office I share with Julian in Hyde Park, a suburb of Chicago, is small but cool in an industrial warehouse and brick way.
We rarely have clients here, as evidenced by Julian’s Xbox and my stereo.
We wear what we want, and as long as our hefty workload gets done on time and is of quality, no one questions how we do it or comes to check up on us.
Today, I’m in a pair of Levis and an old U2 shirt that Saoirse forbade me to wear in public, laptop balanced on my knees with my feet up on my desk and music as loud as it can go without noise complaints.
The song changes, and Julian cackles. “Why the holy bloody fuck is ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ on your Spotify? This music is concerning, Henry.”
Julian is efficient and an excellent paralegal. He’s also a giant pain in my ass.
“It isn’t that funny.”
And yet he’s doubled over with laughter.
“Call her, Henry. Call her right this second and ask her to marry you. She’s perfect for you. She is the funniest person I’ve ever not met. Claim her before some other lucky bloke gets her.” He’s wiping his eyes, literally crying, he’s laughing so hard. “Give me your phone. I’ll call her.”
We both lunge for it at the same time. He wins.
“Good thing you don’t know the code.”
“You wish.” He rolls his eyes at me as he unlocks my phone on the first try. “Why can’t I find her? What is she under? Sugar monkey? Love panda? Heart emoji? Juicy peach and eggplant emojis? Oh, here we go, Kate Gordon.” He starts to press Call as I protest.
“No, no! No! That’s the crazy one you called the cops on after she slept on my porch in a sleeping bag, waiting for me to come home.”
“Why on earth do you still have her number?” he asks, shaking his head.
“So I don’t accidentally answer and it’s her,” I say. “Obviously.”
“Tell me how to find our Kait, or I’m going to text Ms. Gordon and tell her you miss her.”
“She’s under Kait. K-A-I-T.”
“I spelled that wrong. Ah, yes, here we go. Kaity Babes. Oh my god. Isn’t that sweet?
Kaity Babes.” She used to be under “Sleep,” but she’s more than that to me now.
I changed her name in time for Julian to torture me with it.
He mumbles it under his breath a few times like it’s a tongue twister he’s having trouble wrapping his lips around.
And he’s calling her. I’m watching the creation of a monster in real time.
He’s a phone-number-having colossus capable of terrible destruction, and I’m at a loss for how to stop him.
“Hello, Kait? This is Henry’s phone calling, but as you may have noted by the dramatic improvement in accent, vocal sexiness, and overall attractiveness, this is not Henry.” He pauses, nodding. “Why, yes, this is Julian.”
He’s beaming. Kait must have that effect on all men. Any second now, he’s going to start fanning himself.
Julian taunts me, looking extremely pleased with himself as he intermittently ignores my irritation and mocks me, strolling around the office with my phone.
He turns his back to me so he doesn’t have to see my repeated gestures to give it back while they chatter on endlessly.
If I’m the slightest bit honest, I kind of love it.
Having my favorite people like each other is a welcome change.
Julian once got a bit tipsy and admitted he wouldn’t have pissed on my last girlfriend if she had burst into flames. Rather telling.
“Sure. Of course you can call me back on the office line.” He rattles off the number and hangs up. “Henry, you need to meet this girl, ASAP. She’s probably going to be the woman you marry, but let’s make sure she’s not a Russian bot or something first, m’kay?”
He says it as he hovers over the landline that sits on his desk, waiting for Kait to call back.
“I had a friend who met a girl on the internet, and they did the long-distance thing for a while, but it turned out she was actually not a girl at all. The catfish had long whiskers—she was almost fifty, and she was a man, so not a girl in any sense of the word, actually. But she—he—did love to shop with my friend’s money. ”
“Was that entirely necessary, Julian?”
“Well, perhaps not,” he says, his accent getting plummier by the second. “But be that as it may, you should still meet Kait in person sooner than later. Wouldn’t you agree?”