Forgiving You

by Melissa Bender

  “What?” he asked with exasperation, reaching into his unzipped slacks and pulling out his stiff cock. “I’m rock hard.”

  There was no denying he was hard. It was hard as steel, pointing upwards with a drizzle of clear pre-cum running down the side.

  I just shrugged. “I’m not even wet. It’s like a desert.”

  His lips twitched up into a smirk as he adjusted himself back in his pants. “That’s quite an image. I bet I could have you gushing like Niagara Falls in no time.”

  I shook my head. This man was not getting the hint. “Take a cold shower. It’s not going to happen right now. You have to get back to work, anyway.”

  “I’m the boss. Work can wait.”

  Fair point.

  He raised a brow. “Could you?” He nodded towards the bulge straining against his navy slacks. You could see the outline as it lay over his hip. Oh, how I wanted to run my hand up and down that thing, squeezing it tightly.

  There was too much annoyance in my system to be in the mood for getting down and dirty, though. That was the last thing I wanted after his ex appeared. I was not about to get on my knees and suck him hard and empty when the idea of my teeth lashing down and biting him was too much temptation.

  I picked up a red plush cushion and tossed it at him.

  He let out a grunt and caught the next one I threw.

  “Suck yourself off. I’m not putting out.”

  “Pretty, don’t be like that.” He groaned, stretching himself out on the dark brown leather couch.

  Eyeing him, I raised my brow and crossed my arms. I leant against the wall, shaking my head. “Griffin, would you like it if my ex was walking in uninvited and unannounced like that whenever he felt like it?”

  His blue eyes darkened even more as he narrowed them. He raised a curious brow back. “You told me you didn’t have any ex-boyfriends.” His tone was flat.

  “Not my point.” I wanted to keep my serious face, but I ended up fighting a smile as I sighed in frustration. I pushed off the white wall that connected the living room to the kitchen. “I don’t like her coming over here. We could have been naked and fucking.”

  “We should be naked and fucking. Now get back over here.”

  Blunt, as usual.

  There was no sugarcoating anything with us. We were always open and honest. Well, most of the time. I stared at him, trying to sound serious. “I’ll put a sex ban on you.”

  He mumbled with a scoff, “You wouldn’t last.”

  “Do you really want to find out?” I was determined not to give in.

  With a roll of his eyes, he stood and sighed loudly. “Ayla, she’s the mother of my children.” His hand came up and brushed through his hair. “Would you rather it be bad between us?”

  “She lives next door.” This was a dead-end fight, the fight that never went anywhere—the same fight where he would always defend her and tell me I was being jealous and overreacting.

  I was not. I just wanted him to see things from my point of view. He was being a coward and letting her walk all over him. How could he not see things from my point of view, that it made me very uncomfortable having her so close to us?

  I turned my back on him, giving up, and made my way down to the bedroom.

  His footsteps were close behind me. “It’s easier for the boys. They get to have both parents close by.” I went to close the door behind me with a grin as I glanced over my shoulder. He was only smiling back, a boyish grin on his face as he followed and blocked the door. “Is it that time of the month?”

  “Why is that what all men assume?” I groaned. I could not be mad without him asking if I was on the red river week. Flopping down on our king-sized bed, I watched him walk in and groaned. “Tell her to go and buy her own fucking milk! She has enough money to do so since you pay for her living.”

  “Anything else?” he asked, starting to undo his slacks again.

  I raised my hips, tugging down my shorts and panties in one go. I kicked them to the floor as he stood at my feet, unbuttoning his white shirt one button at a time. “Tell her to stop coming over.”

  Kneeling above and between my open thighs, he lifted my white tank, peeling it above my head and tossing it back behind him. He sighed. “You know she won’t listen to a word I say, right?”

  “She still loves you; of course, she’ll listen,” I said through clenched teeth as I spread my legs further apart, watching his hand move down there.

  “I don’t love her.” He assured me, pushing his index finger deep inside me. “Dry my ass. You’re soaked.”

  “Of course, I am. Your dick is in my face.” Not quite, but almost. My head fell back on the pillow as another finger entered.

  He curled them both. Fuck me. My eyes rolled as I relished in the pleasure.

  He let out a groan of his own as I reached for his hot length, giving it a firm stroke. Flexing more into my palm as he hissed, he closed his eyes and tilted back his head. “Ayla. Christ!”

  Coyly smiling, I eyed his naked and glorious as fuck body. He stood at six foot four, covered in tattoos and muscle, and had trimmed dark hair. I loved it. He was manly yet so beautiful to stare at. For thirty-seven, he took my breath away with his extremely handsome features—strong jaw line and piercing blue eyes. They were kind eyes, but when he was mad, you knew just by the way he stared. His eyes held an unseen emotion to most. I, however, got to experience it often. Just a look of dominance from them was enough to make me sink to my knees and take him in my mouth without him ever needing to say a single word. Still, he held a boyish grin that made him appear a lot younger than he actually looked.

  His dark brown hair reached to his shoulder and was worn up most times. It suited him.

  Think Jason Momoa, and you will get the gist of what I mean. Never did I think that I would be in love with a man who had long hair and a full-grown beard. He even had spacers in his ear. He had one, and it suited him. I hated them usually, but on him? Damn, I just loved this hipster, bad boy look he pulled off.

  I was madly in love.

  My mother called him the son of Brad Pitt and Jesus. He was completely beautiful.

  “When did you last shave?” I asked, reaching out to cup his jaw. I parted my thighs, and he lowered himself on top of me more.

  “Last night.” His words came out strangled as he pushed inside me.

  My muscles tightened around him automatically as I savoured the moment. That first thrust. It was my favourite.

  “You did it before in the shower.”

  I could not help but giggle. “Not your balls. I meant this.” I tugged at his beard. “I haven’t seen you with a smooth face before.”

  He just smirked, laying his full weight on top of my naked body and rubbing his chin against my forehead. “You don’t complain when I’m going down on you.”

  No, I never complained about that.

  Moaning as his thrusts went from nothing to hard, I clung to his shoulders. One of my legs went up over his hip as he pushed it back, and the other tightly curled around his thigh, keeping him close. My breasts bounced with each powerful jerk of his hips. When our eyes locked in on each other, his mouth came and crashed down against mine. Our tongues wound together, fighting for dominance as we each battled for control. I did it to wind him up, teasing him. It was not that I liked being in charge. I preferred him to take that control. It did it knowing he enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

  Pulling my hips back, I gasped as he went deeper. “Griff…” My words were drowned out when my voice rasped with another throaty moan as his groin angled and hit me right where I needed it. My orgasm was coming on fast, and his was coming close.

  “With me, pretty. I’m right there with you,” he said, grunting and spilling himself inside me as I tightened once more, erupting in shaking pleasure with him.

  We had been together for seventeen months. You would assume we met normally, and I never told my parents about how we truly met that night—that we met in the club, I cooked break
fast, and then had sex on table three in the café, proceeding to spend the next two days hauled up together in a motel room. Instead, I said he came into the café and that things went from there—which was kind of true. He did stalk me for a couple of weeks until I finally agreed to go on an actual date with him. He had taken me to Quay Restaurant, with a view of Sydney Harbour. He may have that hipster charm about him, but nothing about him was low-key hipster.

  Tracing my fingers over his chest, I stared at his artwork of black ink as I lay in the crook of his arm. I brushed my finger over my name that was written across his chest where his heart was beating steady. I had his name on the inside of my ring finger. Forever, we would be connected. His lips pressed to the top of my dark hair, and he exhaled. “What time is it?”

  Reaching over his naked-as-the-day-he-was-born body, I found my phone on the bedside table and swiped the unlock screen. I groaned sleepily. “We got ten minutes. It’s well past lunch time.”

  It was ten minutes until the boys finished school and twenty minutes until they would be here. Toby was a charming boy, and when I say charming, I really mean going through that teenage rebelling stage. He was older by three minutes and always in a bad mood. On the other hand, Mack was much shyer and blushed whenever spoken to. He was the quietest out of them all.

  They both had their dad’s charming good looks.

  It did not worry me too much that he had teenage children or that I was only seven years older than them, but it did bother his ex, Karen. She called me the “young floozy he was fucking through his midlife crisis.” Meanwhile, my personal favourite to call her was “his teenage dream.”

  She never saw their split coming. He told me they were not sleeping together, had not done it since she fell pregnant. They had separate rooms for six years before he just got up and finally walked out when they were ten. There was no love there, and he thought there never had been. It was a mere teenage infatuation filled with lust. She, however, was in love with him still. I think he filled her with false hopes when he designed and built the apartments for them to live in.

  When she first walked in, I was surprised. She was not what I had been expecting. I was expecting a warm, friendly woman. She was very small, not at all intimidating with her size, until she spoke. And there it was—that resting bitch face look. Griffin had mentioned the skinniness was due to drugs. I knew the moment we met, she would make this tough between us. I could not think otherwise when her marble-like eyes always looked mad, and she kept a cigarette tucked behind her ear, near her mousy brown short hair.

  The first time I caught her waltzing in and making herself at home, I thought that they were getting back together and had been screwing behind my back. I instantly turned around and walked back out of the apartment.

  For three days, I had ignored his calls and texts and pretended I had not listened to his desperate voice mail messages. I held my ground until he drove for two hours over to my parent’s in Mosman and begged me to talk to him. I did, and somehow, that talk convinced me to move in with him. He explained she did that sometimes, but there was nothing even remotely sexual between them.

  They were friends for the sake of their children. It was normal, right? It would stop once we began living together, I thought.

  Wrong.

  So, I had gone back to the house and hoped for the best. As I was carrying a box of belongings up the stairs, his ex-fiancée came over and made her thoughts known—clearly letting her bitch side come out without any remorse or regret. She had told me that I was never going to be their boys’ mother, and if I ever tried to be, she’d put me six feet under. Griffin, hearing all of that, came over and told her to calm down and back off.

  This woman was marking her claim and letting me know. She was the only woman in their life. Sometimes, I think she thought Griffin was still hers, too.

  “Do you have work this weekend?” he asked, sitting up and finding his boxer shorts that were at the foot of our mattress.

  Staying in bed, I watched him with devouring eyes. “I have it off. Why’s that? Do you want to do something?”

  “Does it count if I say you?” He grinned slipping a leg into the bottoms. Looking more serious, he kept his voice low and words short. “There’s a game on.” It was not a request. He was simply telling me that he was going.

  “Hot men, lots of cash…Who wouldn’t miss that for the world?” I teased, and a laugh escaped as he raised a brow at me. Correcting myself, I said, “I’m sorry. I meant one extremely hot man.”

  “Better.” Having finished dressing up, he rubbed his chin and bent down to pick up something. Turned out it was my black thong, and he handed it to me. “If she switches weekends, do you mind watching them while I’m out?”

  I knew that was coming. Still, he always asked if I was okay to watch them. Raising my hips back up, I pulled the tiny fabric up my tanned thighs and covered the bare part he was staring at. “Of course. I love those boys. You know that I don’t mind looking after them. They’re safe with me.”

  Leaning over the bed, he placed a chaste kiss against the bare skin of my stomach. “I know they are.” Once he had helped me up, he gave my behind a playful slap. “Behave at work.”

  “Always do. Don’t forget to heat up your dinner in the oven, not microwave like last time.” I winked and stood on my tippy toes, wrapping my arms around his neck as he slid his around my lower waist and squeezed my bare ass. “Tell me you love me before I leave,” I asked with a whisper.

  “I love you,” he said, staring into my eyes and rocking me to my core. “You love me?”

  Almost pressing my lips against his, I whispered, “I love you. You know I do.”

  “I do. I’ll wait up for you. Call me when you’re finished.” He always said that, but I wouldn’t call knowing it would only wake him up.

  Trying to decide what to wear to work tonight while Griffin took the boys to his studio was routine to me. I ended up slipping into a pair of black skinny jeans that clung to my ass and a long, white tee that fitted loosely but hugged my curves enough. I left my arms exposed to show off the black ink my boyfriend liked to draw all over me. He was making me way more addicted to tats than I needed to be. When you date an architect, who was also a qualified tattooist, you just let him draw. I loved it, though. He would draw something up and show it to me. I never hesitated to let him put it on my skin.

  I tied my long black hair up into a messy knotted bun. Working in a café was fun although the hours sucked during the week. I was glad to have most weekends off on a rotating roster. My mum rarely showed up anymore. I would be lucky to see her maybe three times a month. Other than that, I was the girl in charge of opening and closing.

  Bending down, I dug through the bottom of the wardrobe until I found what I was looking for: flats.

  This room was far too small for my things, but I did not tell him that. This house was designed to fit a man and two children. It was gorgeous and very modern but also boyish. I tried to make it slightly prettier, but I was met with mock horror and a candle that was only allowed to come out of the drawer when Griffin was feeling romantic and wanted to drip hot wax over my naked body as he fucked me until I was flushed pink with handprints and marks all over.

  Our sex life was extremely fun—spontaneous with a hint of kink to it. Who was I kidding? There was a lot of kink between us.

  After doing a thick eyeliner, I glossed up my lips and made my way outside. At almost 3:00 pm, I headed to the car, trying not to notice the woman sitting on the wooden porch chair out the front of her house. She did not even try to hide that she was staring at me.

  I should give her the finger, but I chose my best friend’s advice and ignored her.

  Harvey was wiping down the wooden counter when I walked through the sliding door. He looked up and smiled. “Afternoon,” he called out loudly. I was used to it, as his earphones were blasting music, something he always had on while cleaning. “How’s the day been treating you?”

  I ga
ve him half a shrug, rolling my eyes. “It was great until Karen appeared.”

  “You’re kidding. She came over again?” He knew without having to ask.

  “Too early for a drink?” I asked with a wink.

  “Won’t say no.” He smirked, making his way over to the coffee machine. Harvey made the best coffee ever. My favourite was his dirty hippie. “You look good tonight.”

  I just smiled. His compliments were a usual thing, but I took no notice. He was just being friendly.

  Harvey was what women would call fucking gorgeous. It seemed all the men in my life were. His short dark brown hair was tousled up and shaved on one side, and he had a brow ring and sleeve of tats on both arms. Add to that the nose piercing and his bright blue eyes that looked like pools of crystal clear water. Harvey was a one-night stand kind of guy and never banged the same girl twice. There was no sexual relationship between him and me. We became friends when we first met at work, and it stayed that way. That was probably why Griffin loathed him so much. Harvey did not like Griffin either. If I had a dollar for every time he told me that he was too old or that I could do better, I would be the millionaire.

  I’m not kidding. Those two would grin and bear it, but only for my sake.

  Passing over a coffee cup, I found my black apron and tied it around my waist. “To work tonight!” I grinned.

  Holding it up as if to toast with me, he grinned back. “To one hell of a night.”

  ***

  It was more than one hell of a night. It was a nightmare! There wasn’t enough coffee to keep me awake at the end of the night once I had finished mopping the floors and locking up.

  There were two fights, and one of them ended with a table being smashed and the police arriving to haul their drunken asses out of the café—just one of the downsides of working in a café that stayed open to the late-night diners. At first, it seemed like a good idea, and most of the time, it was. But then random drunks appear, and soon, I was being hit on by the usual wasted men and some women. Apparently, having tats and black hair made me look like a hard-core lesbian. No, I was straight. Even though Griffin would probably love to watch me with another woman, it was not going to happen.