14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
I awoke, feeling the weight in the bed shift. The outside was still dark when I heard Beau murmuring over his phone. “Yeah, I think I got what Starla got. Going around.” He coughed. “Cancel classes? Yeah, I’ll rest.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I called in sick.”
“Why?”
“So, I could spend more time with you.”
“I’m leading you on a life of crime.” I hit him with a pillow. “Lying that you're sick!”
“Calling in at work when you’re not sick is not really a crime.”
I fidgeted a bit, suddenly thankful that the morning’s darkness obscured the features of my face. He didn’t want to fuck and run. He stayed .
A complicated mix of emotions leaked out my eyes. I had a damn god in my bed, and I had him over and over again. How long had it been since I’d felt like this? Appreciated like a newlywed? I rubbed my face into my pillow to mop up the tears. Then I sniffled, unmistakably the sound of a good cry.
“Hey, hey, hey. What’s up?”
I wiggled my way farther toward the edge of the bed, away from where the middle sank under our shared weight. “I’m going through some big feelings. No real cause. I think you got so far into my cervix, you hit a factory reset button, and my emotions are askew.”
“You know what would fix it?”
“What?”
He curled behind me and held me tightly at my waist. “Hitting that button again.”
“Pervert.”
“Pervert’s wench.” He kissed the top of my head. “But you can talk to me about it. ”
I laughed, smearing the tears away. “I’ve read that book, Pervert’s Wench . It has everything—true love, spanking, choking, deep throating, ass play, and of course a happily ever after.”
He chortled and then suddenly became quiet. Rubbing my arm, he asked, “Are you making requests?”
I rolled my eyes, my disregard of kink invisible to him in the dark. My heart leaped at a damn joke where sex acts were the punchline.
I asked Chris for some of those acts early on. Spanking he took on with aplomb, but at the other things, he drew the line. He found them too demeaning and an utter kill to his libido. I assured him by my enthusiastic consent, an act wasn’t demeaning. You just want that because you’re depressed, he’d say. Not true but I wasn’t going to force him into something he wasn’t comfortable with. At the time, my “weirdo” curiosities weren’t enough to implode my marriage. Little did I know it was the sign of the times. We couldn’t be kinky, but we also couldn’t be vanilla.
“Maybe?”
“I need you to say it.” His erection poked my ass.
“Beau, I want you to spank me, hold me by the throat as you use me.” Then came the real reasons that brought the tears. “I want to complicate that sunshine side of you. Let you have every part of me. Fuck my throat, my ass. Bring you to my dark side.” I was turning myself on, saying everything I’d ever wanted in the bedroom. He moved his hips, creating the facsimile of sex. I reached up and touched the rough stubble on his jawline. “But maybe not all this weekend.”
My fingers smoothed over the smile creasing his face. Perhaps this silly little affair had some room to grow. We could mess around until Beau got his senses together.
Beau shifted in the bed and handed me a condom. “Put it on me.” He bracketed my head with his hands and hovered above me, his shadow lit by the glow of my alarm clock.
I stroked down his stomach, the lines of his hips I imagined in full light. I carefully rolled it on, going by the touch sensation rather than sight. With a few shimmies, I removed my shorts and guided his hand to my pussy.
“You’re so ready for me,” he whispered. Entering me in a strong, single thrust, his hips met mine. Once he found a rhythm, managing our bodies in the morning dark, he said, “Can I squeeze your throat?”
I nodded only before realizing my shadow didn’t grant him enough permission. His care to do the right thing, even as the acts between us were kinky or taboo, was an entire squad waving green flags. “Yes. Squeeze my throat. I’ll tap your hand if it’s too much.” I gave the top of his hand a slap. “Like this.”
He forced his hips even deeper, groaning, and adjusted his weight as his right hand grasped my neck. On the outside, the picture would be considered intense, but the pressure was light enough not to inhibit blood flow or breathing—strong enough, though, to knock my sensations out of the stratosphere. As he picked up speed, I added my hand to the mix. I pulsed so violently that I practically shoved him out of me.
I tapped his hand to free my neck. He stopped and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to switch positions.”
We adjusted to our sides, and he entered me from behind, his hand still on my neck. There, he could moan in my ear, bristle his cheek against mine. “You make me wild, Sir. Turn me into an utter caveman. You’re the best.”
His praise pushed me further over the edge. I was a whining lump of putty at this point. His hold of my neck tightened as he thrust powerfully into me. His sounds turned desperate, and he pumped and pumped until he was drained .
He flipped onto his back, the shadow of his chest heaved. The condom snapped as he pulled it off, and he chucked it in the direction of my trash can. He hummed and asked, breathless, “How was that for you?”
“Revelatory.” I curled into his arms, finding that lovely spot to snuggle against his chest. “I recognized you were, um, o-ing as you said it, but am I really? Your best?”
“Certainly. Am I yours?”
Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. Day one and we were already achieving a Master’s in Sexual Chemistry. “You’re no slouch.”
Time lost all meaning for the rest of the weekend. We showered, slept, fucked. Not always in that order. He’d read from my absurd erotica, sometimes laughing hysterically, other times, tenting my high school shorts and fixing his gaze into that dark glower of his. As he danced around my kitchen making pancakes, which he launched two feet in the air to flip, I wondered how someone could be such a daisy one moment and thorn the next. I mean, he was singing Carly Rae Jepsen for chrissake.
Chris believed the kinkier things I asked for in the bedroom were somehow a reflection of not only me but who he was in the outside world—people would see in his down vest layered over his Henley, “Hi, I’m Chris. I choke and spank my wife to make her come.” That meant he was some tortured Christian Grey figure, a man with a dark past when he really was just a goober from Gorda Vista.
But Beau was such a damn people pleaser.
Sunday evening rolled around; Beau began his exit. Midwest style, in which it lasted for over an hour. He was back in his EverGreen & Fit cycling outfit that I had laundered and folded like his damn mom.
I asked, “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do I still workout at the gym? Is this purely physical or…” I wasn’t quite ready to label us as boyfriend and girlfriend.
“Of course you should workout at the gym.” He scratched at the stubble that grew in thickly over the course of the weekend. “What do you want this to be?”
I veiled my true wishes behind abject desire. I wouldn’t mind Beau joining me in more Friday nights of delicious take out, PJs, and smut books. In that sense, he was the kind of friend I had been missing for a while. But I wasn’t going to delve into that level of clinginess when my sheets were so freshly filthy from our activities. “We have a few goals I’d like to meet in the bedroom.”
“And I’m prepared to help us reach that.”
“Emotionally, however, I think we should go with the flow and not try to force anything.” Good, I played it cool.
He adjusted his glasses. “Right.”
I expected a stronger reaction from him. New relationship anxiety reared its ugly head. Of course, I tried to play it cool and then fumbled with an ever self-conscious, “What do you think?”
“I think you shouldn’t do something you aren’t comfortable with.”
The needy part of me wanted him to tell me that my idea to “go with the flow” was the wisest, most perfect idea or the worst idea and he’d demand my heart or something swooningly romantic. I couldn’t be honest with my feelings because honest feelings got stampeded on by life. I had sent us directly into a vague space between distance and intimacy because I was more comfortable being a chicken shit. “So do we have an understanding? ”
He swayed his head from side to side. “Go with the flow. Makes sense.” He pulled me by the band of my sweatpants. “Is it going with the flow if I say I better see you tomorrow?”
I shook my head and went for a kiss.