Fed Up

by Kathleen Duhamel

  I could not let that thought take up residence in my head. I knew, without a doubt, that J-P would want me to go on with my life and find happiness. The question remained, however. Will being with Ian make me happy, or is he going to crush what’s left of my heart? Rising from my chair, I crossed the room on unsteady legs, pausing to take a couple of calming breaths before I opened the bathroom door to find out.

  Ian stood in the glass-enclosed shower, his back turned to me. I crept into the room, stationing myself against the opposite wall so I could get an unobstructed view of the breathtaking scene unfolding in front of me. He lowered his head beneath the ceiling-mounted showerhead, letting the water spray over the rippling contours of his back and ass, a sight that made my stomach flip. I’d never seen a naked man who was that close to physical perfection. The tile floor shuddered beneath my sandals.

  Lifting one foot, he planted it firmly on the shower’s built-in bench. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead as a dampness grew between my legs. He took a tiny bottle of body wash, poured the contents into his palms, and began to touch himself, moving his hands in slow circles down his sides to those hard-muscled thighs, bending over deeper to offer me a good, long look at the previously mentioned man parts. My heart pounded wildly. When he slid one hand between his legs to caress his balls, I had to grip the towel bar to keep from falling in a heap. The sight of him was far more stimulating than any of the few porn films I’d watched in my life.

  Ian turned, ignoring my presence as instructed, and braced himself against the back wall of the shower. He squeezed more body wash into his hands and rubbed it on his chest, lingering over his nipples. I managed to open the bathroom door so the steam wouldn’t obscure my view, mesmerized as his hands trailed down his abdomen, past his navel, following a line of dark hair that pointed the way to John Thomas, already semi-erect. His eyes closed as he began to fondle himself with long, slow strokes. A faint smile appeared on his face, and I got the distinct impression he was enjoying every second of this encounter. As for me, I was wet, from both the damp atmosphere and my own arousal.

  Ian was turning in an award-winning performance, stroking himself while groaning with pleasure. Just when I thought he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer, he dropped both hands to his sides, opened his whiskey-colored eyes, and fastened them on mine. The look that followed conveyed such undisguised longing that I almost choked.

  He turned off the water, opened the shower door, and grabbed an oversized towel before striding close to me, leaving wet footprints on the tile floor.

  “Look at what you’ve done.” He looked down at his engorged penis before returning his eyes to my face.

  “I believe you did that to yourself.”

  “Take your clothes off and get in bed,” he commanded in a distinctly British voice, ignoring my sarcasm. “We’re going to finish what you started.”

  Wrapping the towel around his waist, Ian raked his wet hair off his forehead, while his eyes stayed fixed on me. As I turned and moved toward the open door, he took hold of my wrist and said, “Not so fast. Dry me off first, and don’t miss an inch.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ian

  Shelby took full advantage of the situation, using a terry cloth towel to thoroughly dry my back before her hands drifted downward to squeeze my arse.

  “You have such a fine-looking butt,” she noted, while gripping firmly. “Have you ever been naked in a movie? I’d pay good money to see that on a big screen.”

  My breath came fast and hard. “You are killing me,” I moaned.

  “You’ll survive,” she muttered. “Now, turn around so I can finish my job.”

  I complied with her request, but instead of continuing with my rub down, she let the towel drop to the floor and fixed her eyes on my bare chest.

  “I…I can’t even…” I heard her whisper, before she dropped her gaze to stare at my cock.

  Apparently, I had turned in a credible performance because she’d been rendered speechless.

  “For the love of God, Shelby, get undressed. I can’t wait much longer.”

  She strolled into the bedroom ahead of me, unzipped her dress, and wriggled out of it. Standing close, wearing a silky bra and tiny thong, with her silver hair streaming halfway down her back, I was mesmerized by her milky skin and luminous eyes. When I climbed into bed, she made sure I was watching as she unhooked her bra and stepped out of the thong, revealing a neatly trimmed bush, the sight of which sent more blood rushing to my already stiff penis.

  I reached for her and she tumbled onto the bed, laughing at her own clumsiness.

  I knew she was nervous about having sex after such a long dry spell, so I maneuvered her on top to straddle me, giving her full control. It only made sense, given the fact that this encounter was her idea in the first place. As she eased herself onto John Thomas, Shelby closed her eyes and moaned softly.

  “It’s been so long,” she breathed. “I hope I haven’t forgotten how.”

  She needn’t have worried. I cupped her breasts with my hands, stroking her nipples until she begged me to stop. My hands then slid to her hips, holding her firmly so I could penetrate a little deeper, bringing her to a seismic orgasm within a few minutes.

  “Oh, sweet Jeezus!” she cried out while continuing to ride me until I came too.

  ***

  “Did I get the job done thoroughly, and to your satisfaction? I thought I might have lasted a little longer.”

  I studied Shelby’s face while lying next to her in post-coital bliss.

  “Well, you did have quite a head start,” she said. “All in all, though, a stellar performance, and anything but stodgy, although I really hope you didn’t think of it as work.”

  “We’ll take it slower next time. I think we were both a bit overeager.”

  After a few more moments of closeness, she said, “Stay in bed if you want, but I’m going to shower and get dressed for dinner. That is, if I can still walk.”

  Warm fingers caressed one side of my face before lingering on my chest.

  “A few minutes more,” I begged. “Don’t hurry on my account.”

  Turning toward Shelby, I ran my fingers through her tangled silver hair, spread out on the pillow as it was in my dream. She was precisely the type of woman I wish I’d met years ago, before the mistakes I’d made left me bitter and disillusioned with emotional commitment.

  While it was still a painful memory, my thoughts drifted back to my last time in bed with Monica, an unmitigated disaster. For the first and only time during our short marriage, I couldn’t get aroused. Even after several minutes of groping on her part, my cock stayed as limp as overcooked asparagus. Far from being encouraging and supportive, she took the opportunity to berate me for my poor performance.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” she snarled, before throwing me a disapproving glare. “Do you need to take a pill to get it up?”

  She snorted in derision, got out of bed, and marched into the living room to watch television, leaving me alone with my crushed ego and flaccid penis. Shortly afterward, she moved in with her Boy Toy.

  I didn’t believe Shelby had the capacity to behave in such a cruel way. In fact, there was something about her warm, open manner that made me think I could tell her anything without fear of reproach. Make that almost anything.

  She snuggled closer and wound one arm around my waist. Dare I reveal my humiliating experience with Monica?

  “Before today,” I began, “I thought I might have a physical problem. The last time Monica and I were together I couldn’t make anything happen. She got angry and said some unusually cruel things about my lack of manliness.”

  Shelby propped herself up on her elbows to search my face.

  “Oh, Ee-an.” I loved the way she stretched out the sound of my name in her soft, almost imperceptible drawl.

  “There’s nothing wrong with any part of you. These things happen sometimes, particularly as men get older. You’re tired and st
ressed, or worried about something, and that affects your ability to get an erection.”

  She sounded as though she knew what she was talking about. For a moment or two I wondered if she and the late Mr. Durand might have dealt with that problem.

  “You certainly didn’t have that issue today.” Clear blue eyes bored into mine as she pushed my hair off my forehead.

  “No, Chef, and I want to thank you for it.”

  My comment produced another of her feline smiles, causing me to feel unsteady again, as if I were in a small boat being pitched about by the waves, or caught in another California tremor.

  “You take direction well. In fact, I’m nominating you for a Silver Fox Porn Star award. Outstanding performance in a shower scene.”

  “Silver fox? Isn’t that a kinder way of saying I’m old?”

  “I’m not young, either. Does that bother you?” She pressed her head to my chest, while my hands stroked her back.

  “No,” I answered, my voice choked with emotion. “It doesn’t concern me in the slightest.”

  “Seeing you like that…” she continued, before her voice faltered. “Anyway, thank you. That was the sexiest, most erotic thing a man has ever done for me.”

  Sexier than the dearly departed Jean-Pierre?

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Believe it or not, today marks the first time in my life that I’ve been paid to wax the carrot.”

  Shelby stifled a laugh before asking, “And was your compensation adequate?”

  “Much more than adequate. You were remarkable.”

  She emitted a deep sigh.

  “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me about Monica. As far as she’s concerned, please don’t let your future relationships be defined by what happened with her. If she truly cared about you, she never would’ve said those things.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Shelby

  “Have you ever done something that you deeply regret?”

  Ian’s big hand circled over my bare ass, making me wish I could purr in contentment like the cats. It was long past time to get up and dress for dinner, but I was reluctant to spoil the moment. When was the last time I wiled away a summer afternoon in a luxurious bedroom with a passionate lover? Or ever would again, for that matter.

  “I don’t mean nicking a soda from the convenience store, or cursing in front of your daughter,” he continued in a quiet tone. “I’m talking about something that’s life changing, that causes you to hurt the people you claimed to love.”

  I had no idea where he was going with our conversation, although the more I got to know him, the more I realized there was a complex, troubled man beneath his flawless exterior.

  “I guess I regret that Jean-Pierre and I kept avoiding selling the restaurant and moving on with our plans. I can’t remember the last weekend we had off together, much less a vacation.”

  He said nothing for a minute or two, while continuing to stroke my hip. I sensed that he wanted to unburden himself but was unsure about opening up. What had he done that was so terrible he was still haunted by it?

  “I think you’ve got a lot bottled up inside you that needs to be let out.” I raised onto my elbows so I could look into his eyes.

  “Whatever has happened, you need to find a way to forgive yourself and move forward.”

  Ian studied my face. One finger reached out to stroke my jawline.

  “I’m not sure I deserve to be forgiven.”

  I moved away to pull the sheet over us, feeling a sudden chill in the air-conditioned room. My stomach tightened, and while I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his ugly truths, I found myself asking, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Not especially,” he answered, “but I think you need to know.”

  He fluffed the pillows so we could sit up in bed, wrapped one arm around my shoulders, and began.

  “Before I was hired for Time Traveler, I had a small part in a movie being shot in New York. The screen writer was a brilliant woman and former actress, well respected in the film industry. She was several years older than me. Throughout the course of the shoot, we became friends. A few years later, after I ran into her at an industry event, we ended up spending the night together at her hotel.

  “Although I knew it was wrong, it was also thrilling, at least in the beginning. She was married to a famous man and I was still married to Georgianne, so lying and sneaking around became our modus operandi. Moments of exhilaration followed by days and weeks of dark despair. It felt more like addiction than anything else I’ve known.

  “I told her I’d get a divorce if she would leave him, all the time knowing it would never happen. Why should she, when she had the best of both worlds—her well-known, wealthy husband and another man on the side who was at her beck and call?”

  I was hesitant to interrupt his confession, so I nodded as he continued.

  “We went on that way for almost three years, until the day she called to say she and her husband had decided to work on their marriage. Just like that, we were finished.”

  He pushed his hair off his forehead and stared at the ceiling, searching for answers beneath its smooth, plastered surface.

  “I’m still troubled by it all. What I did destroyed my first marriage and probably contributed to Madeline’s emotional problems. She was only four when Georgianne found out about my cheating and filed for divorce. I still remember Maddie clinging to my pant leg, weeping and begging me not to leave.”

  A lump welled in my throat. I was overwhelmed by his revelations and unsure of how to respond. Jean-Pierre and I had our share of disagreements, but we never let things escalate to the point of threatening divorce.

  “Did the two of you go to counseling to try and work things out?”

  He hesitated for a long moment before responding.

  “No. By that time, she’d had quite enough of me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been unfaithful. There were flings with co-stars and the occasional one-off. I was the Time Traveler, sitting atop the world, without anyone to rein me in.”

  “One-offs?” I inquired.

  “You Americans call them one-night stands,” he clarified.

  My stomach twisted into a tight knot of suspicion, tinged with jealousy. I knew all along he was likely to have had a sexual history of women flinging themselves at him, but I assured myself that it wouldn’t matter because we were not in a serious relationship.

  Throwing off the sheet, I got out of bed, found my robe, and cinched it around my waist. All at once I was conscious of my nudity, while second guessing everything that had happened.

  Why do I care so much? He doesn’t belong to me.

  “I’ve upset you,” Ian said. “Please come back to bed.”

  I sat on the edge of the mattress as he reached for my hand.

  “Why, Ian, when you had a wife and small child at home?”

  He winced, closing his eyes as if he’d been hit.

  “I was young, foolish, and full of myself. There was no one to tell me no, nobody to point out the fact that was I was doing was stupid. Sex was always available, so I took full advantage.”

  I dropped his hand.

  “I’m getting a mental picture of a long line of women waiting outside your bedroom door, each of them holding a ticket, with me at the end of the line. Why does this bring to mind Tyler Chance?”

  “Ouch.” He shuddered. “That one’s going to leave a mark.”

  Ian threw me a soulful look that under different circumstances might have caused me to melt faster than ice cream at an August picnic. Instead, I steeled myself, narrowing my eyes in his direction.

  “I brought those sex toys thinking we could have some fun with them. I thought I was being playful and adventurous. Now, though, I realize that hand restraints and cock rings are probably boring to someone like you who’s had so many partners. Been there and done that.”

  “Shelby, please,” he pleaded. “Being with you is anything but boring. I needed to be honest about who I
am and what I’ve done, although I knew you’d likely be put off by my past. I don’t want to mess this up.”

  My nagging voice was back, and she was telling me to beware. You can’t trust him. You’ve jumped into this situation much too fast and now your emotions have overruled common sense. How do you know he’s for real?

  Turning toward him, I asked, “You’re not into anything too kinky or weird, are you? Nothing involving pain and shame?”

  One eyebrow shot upward.

  “Fantasizing again, are we?”

  “You are awful.” I ducked my head, but not before he caught my smile. My weak attempt to push him away was met with a sweeping embrace that crushed me to his chest.

  “Awfully good, you mean.”

  His lips landed on the base of my neck, sending yet another shiver of desire down my back.

  Yes, you are. And that’s what worries me.

  “Well, you’ve apparently had a lot of practice.”

  “If you’re referring to fucking, I’ve done my share.”

  “Don’t call it that!”

  My words emerged a bit louder and with more bitterness than I intended. The f-bomb was a term that Danielle and her generation used with annoying frequency, conjuring an image of the raw act of sex without any feelings attached. F’ing this, f’ing that, ad nauseum.

  He pulled away, surprised by the ferocity of my response.

  “All right. What shall we call it, then?”

  “Having sex or making love, depending upon what you thought we were doing.”

  He was silent again for another painfully long moment, as his green-flecked eyes searched mine, laying my soul bare. When he did speak, his words twisted what was left of my already shredded heart.

  “I think there’s more going on here than you will admit to either me or yourself, Shelby. I meant what I said earlier today. I don’t want to let you go.”

  Chapter Twenty