Dirty

by Megan Hart

  I turned my face into the spray, deciding if I should, indeed, be angry. “Did you have a girl picked out, too? Just in case?”

  The words came out more bitter than I’d thought they would. I opened my mouth to let it fill with water, to rinse away their taste. The water pounded in my ears, but I had no trouble hearing his reply.

  “No.”

  I said nothing, then, unable to forget the way it had felt to have Dan behind me and Jack in front. How they’d held me between them and given me pleasure without expecting me to do anything but accept it, and how that had given them pleasure, too. How Dan had done this because he thought it would please me and for no other reason.

  He got in the shower with me, and I made no protest, though I kept my back to him and didn’t make any attempt to share the water. He reached around and slid a hand between my legs. He was gentle there, using his fingers and the water to clean me, not soap as though he understood it might irritate the sensitive flesh. He parted my folds and the water pounded my clit. His finger rubbed me, and my clitoris responded to his touch by getting hard.

  The shower was small enough that even when he pushed me up against the back wall the water still poured over us both. My skin was red from it. His face had flushed. Steam wreathed us and the steady pounding noise masked the sound of our breathing.

  He aroused me again with his hand between my legs and his mouth on my throat. Slippery with soap and water we slid against each other. I reached for his cock and stroked it, making him hard again, and that pleased me, that I should be able to rouse him again so soon.

  “Did you like watching him fuck me?” I asked, looking into his eyes.

  He nodded, hips pushing forward to pump his penis into my fist. “Yes. But I like it better when I’m the one inside you.”

  We had no condoms in the shower, and for the first time with him I wanted him more than I wanted to be safe. That scared me, and he must have seen the fear in my eyes, because he pulled me close and held me under the water for a moment before moving back to look into my eyes. My hand hadn’t stopped moving. Neither had his.

  He smiled and made me smile, too, in the way he had of making everything so easy. “You’re still so wet. Tell me I do that to you.”

  “You do this to me,” I replied obediently.

  “Say, ‘Dan, you make me wet.’”

  I smirked a little, eyes rolling to look up at the water falling around us. “Dan, you make me wet.”

  He circled more insistently and pumped himself harder into my fist. “Say, ‘Dan, I love it when you fuck me.’”

  “Dan…” His name became a moan as his touch sent me closer to the edge. “I…”

  “I love it when you fuck me,” he repeated, his own voice hoarse.

  “I love it when you fuck me.” I shuddered.

  “Tell me you’re going to come.”

  “I am,” I said with a gasp. “Oh, fuck, yes…I’m going to come.”

  I did, a smaller burst of pleasure than when the three of us had been together but no less excellent for being less intense. My fingers gripped his penis harder, and I twisted my wrist, pumping him.

  He muttered a curse and put a hand on the shower wall to support himself as he leaned into my touch. He put his head down. Water parted his hair and ran down the back of his neck, made a river in the seam of his spine and the crack of his buttocks. I stroked him harder. Faster. With a hoarse shout he pushed against me, and I smelled the sea-musk scent of semen for but a moment before the shower washed it away.

  He shuddered against me. “I think I need to sit down.”

  Alarmed, I twisted the faucet to cool the water. “Are you okay?”

  He laughed. “Jeez, Elle, you’re amazing.”

  I didn’t feel amazing. I felt…exhausted. I needed to sit, too, but the shower was no place for it. I turned off the water and hooked the last two towels from the rack, handed him one and wrapped the other around my body before stepping out.

  “Be careful,” I cautioned. “According to the National Safety Council, eighty percent of all household accidents occur in the bathroom.”

  Dan got out and put the lid down on the toilet to sit on it. He rubbed his hair dry. “Can you get me a glass of cold water?”

  “Sure.” I took the paper lid off one of the glasses and filled it with water, handing it to him before filling another for myself. It slid down the back of my throat, refreshing.

  “Thanks.” He drank it down and set the glass on the sink, then stood and rubbed his body dry. He tossed the towel on the floor, lifted the toilet lid and began to urinate.

  This intimacy sent me fleeing from the bathroom with burning cheeks and thudding heart. Why I should be embarrassed to watch him take a piss when I’d just jerked him off, I don’t know, except that his comfort with the act triggered something in me. I recognized it as foolishness but didn’t bother to fight it. Some people have a few buttons. I have many.

  Dan came out of the bathroom a moment later and came up behind me to wrap his arms around me. I let him do it as I’d done all the other times, though I stiffened a little. He kissed my shoulder blade.

  “What is it, exactly, about being hugged that you don’t like?”

  I shook my head with a little laugh, using that as an excuse to move from his embrace and start retrieving my scattered clothes. “Who says I don’t like it?”

  “You do.”

  “I’ve never said that.” Skirt. Panties. Bra. Shirt. I found them all.

  “Your body says it.”

  Dan seemed in no hurry to dress, or to leave. He sat on the bed, leaning back on his elbows, apparently completely comfortable in his nudity. I, on the other hand, had already stepped into my panties and was hooking my bra.

  “Some people are more…tactile…than others.”

  He watched me pull on my skirt. “You don’t think you’re tactile?”

  I shrugged, feigning disinterest in the subject as I put my arms through my sleeves and buttoned up my shirt. Dan got up and came around behind me again, his hands on my shoulders. I looked up, into the mirror that had earlier reflected our triumvirate and now showed only two. His eyes met mine once more in the reflection. He ran his hands up and down my arms to the elbow, then up again to my shoulders.

  “You tense up when I touch you like this.”

  “Do I?” An old trick. Asking a question to avoid giving an answer.

  He nodded, fixing his gaze upon my mirror eyes and holding me there. “Yes.”

  I shrugged again, a little. He moved closer, aligning himself along my back, and put his arms around my ribs, his hands gripping his own forearms. His chin nestled into the curve of my neck and shoulder.

  “You didn’t tense when we were on the bed and I held you this way.”

  I said nothing. He stared at me a moment longer, then let me go with a sigh. I finished buttoning my shirt and tucked it into the waistband of my skirt, doing up the zip and button. I smoothed the wrinkles and reached for my purse to find a comb, which I dragged through the wet weight of my tangled hair.

  Dan dressed quickly and in silence. I didn’t like the awkwardness where there had been none before. I knew it was my fault. I knew he wanted something from me, but I didn’t know how to give it. It irritated me, that he couldn’t just take what had happened at face value. That he wanted more.

  I yanked my comb through my hair, forcing away the snags hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. The comb caught on one particularly nasty tangle, and I let out a curse when I couldn’t seem to get through it.

  Dan said nothing as he took my comb and lifted my hair. I stood still, suddenly incapable of moving, as he worked the teeth through the knot, inch by inch. Strand by strand. Patient, gentle, never forcing the tangle but instead encouraging it to part. When he was done and the comb slid through my hair from crown to ends without catching, he handed me back the comb.

  “I’ll be in the car,” he said, and left me to stand alone and stare at a mirror that had once refl
ected three and now only showed one.

  Chapter 11

  I hadn’t seen or heard from Gavin since the night his mother had thrown books at him in the backyard. I looked at his house every night when I returned home from work and listened carefully at my walls for sounds of violence, but all had remained quiet. I saw his mother leaving in the morning, sometimes, but she never spoke to me. Her glare said enough. A new car, belonging to the infamous Dennis, was parked on our street. He appeared to have moved in permanently, but if his presence eased or exacerbated the situation with Gavin and his mother, I heard no sign of either. I thought a few times of going over or calling to see if he wanted to help me finish off the dining room, but I didn’t.

  I’m not brave that way, with confrontations. It was easier to let it go, ignore the unease that had filled me that night and at the memory of the cuts on his arm. Easier to put it all from my mind.The same way it had been easier to avoid talking to Chad after our argument. Thankfully, my little brother isn’t as much of an emotional wimp as I am, and he’s unafraid of reaching out.

  He’d been smart, too, delivering the gift to my office to make sure I got it all right. A glass vase, filled with marbles and “Lucky” bamboo, tied with red ribbon. Far better than flowers.

  I hadn’t been in my door five minutes when the phone rang, Chad calling to be certain I’d received the delivery.

  “Hello, punkin,” he greeted before I could even say hello. “Peace?”

  “Peace.” I set the bamboo on the center of my kitchen table. “You’re the best brother, you know that?”

  “I try.”

  We chatted about our jobs. About Luke. About the books we were reading and the television shows we were watching. We didn’t discuss my mother or father.

  “Anything else going on with you, sweetie?”

  I could tell Chad expected me to say no. “Actually…yes.”

  “Hmm?” It was easy to imagine him sitting up straight. “Spill.”

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  “What? I mean, great!”

  I laughed, embarrassed at his reaction, even though I’d expected it. “You don’t have to act like it’s a miracle, Chad.”

  “Well, since I haven’t heard about the Red Sea parting again or anyone walking on water, I’d say it’s as close as I’m ever going to get.”

  His teasing didn’t make me feel better. “Stop it.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m happy for you. You know that.”

  “I know. But it’s…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I know, Ella. I know.”

  I didn’t correct him on the name. “His name’s Dan. He’s very nice.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Okay.”

  I appreciated the control Chad must have been exercising in not overwhelming me with questions. “He wears fun ties.”

  “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “About four months.”

  Chad didn’t say anything for a moment or two. “Wow.”

  “Stop. Just…please. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” He sounded defensive. “Don’t jinx you? What?”

  “Don’t point out to me that this is the first man I’ve seen more than once in years. Since Matthew.”

  “Sweetie, Matthew’s name shouldn’t even cross your lips.”

  “Maybe I’m not as good at holding grudges as you are, Chaddie.” I touched the curling stem of one of the bamboo shoots. “It’s not like I’m still holding a torch for Matthew. He’s not the reason why I haven’t seen anyone.”

  Chad’s snort told me he didn’t quite believe me, but he didn’t argue. “This Dan man, he’s good to you?”

  I chewed my lip before answering. “He is. Yes. So far, at least.”

  “And you like him.”

  “Yes. I like him.”

  “Good for you, sweetie.” Chad sounded so sincere I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had my doubts about Dan’s place in my life. “Good for you.”

  “It’s not that serious,” I cautioned. “We’re just seeing each other. It’s not even exclusive.”

  “Are you seeing anyone else?” He always knew just how to poke me, one of the advantages and disadvantages to having siblings.

  “No,” I had to admit.

  “Is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you’re using condoms, I assume?”

  “Chad, you don’t need to lecture me on safe sex. But yes.” I shook my head at his taking over the role of lecturer.

  “Why don’t you know if he’s seeing someone else or not?”

  “Because I haven’t asked.” The questions annoyed me, not only because they were nosy and prying, but because I had thought about asking them and simply never had. “I don’t really care to know.”

  “How can you not care to know?” He sounded indignant on my behalf, and I loved him for it even as it annoyed me further. “He could be out banging half the city!”

  “He could be! What difference does it make! He’s not my boyfriend! I’m not his girlfriend, Chad. We’re just seeing each other on occasion, and we sleep together when the mood strikes us. It’s a very convenient arrangement. That’s it.”

  “That’s not just it, Elle,” my brother said. “Not four months worth of convenience. I know you better than that.”

  “You don’t know everything,” I told him, the childish answer flying from my lips before I could stop it. “It just works out, that’s all.”

  He greeted that answer with a small sigh. “Okay. But remember, Elle, even Princess Pennywhistle eventually found her prince.”

  I held the phone from my ear to glare into it, a gesture useless but satisfying. “Princess Pennywhistle is a made-up character. She’s not real. She’s fiction. And bad fiction, at that.”

  “Hey! Princess Pennywhistle is great! I can’t believe you’d say that about her!”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “Princess Pennywhistle was a know-it-all.”

  “At least she knew how to admit when it was time to stop fighting dragons and start saving princes,” Chad said, and I hung up on him.

  What Chad had said was enough to set the wheels turning. I’d been denying my feelings for Dan, convincing myself it was sex and nothing more. Something casual. No attachments. But I no longer could pretend that it wasn’t becoming more than that.Dan’s office building was nice. Big. Lots of windows overlooking the street, and plants that looked healthy. A secretary who kept her hair silver and her glasses on a chain around her neck. His office, like mine, had a door and, like mine, a nicely engraved nameplate on it.

  “Mr. Stewart said for you to go right in.” The secretary smiled at me, no evidence in her eyes that she knew I wasn’t there for a meeting. She gestured toward the door, closed, and I put my hand to the cool metal knob.

  I counted. Fast, so fast nobody would know what I was doing, should they be watching me. I can do that now, not like in childhood when I had to count out loud, and slowly, and always gave myself away. I counted, multiplying the number of letters in his name with the number in mine and dividing it by two. No significance in the results, but the act of doing the calculation calmed me enough so when I turned the knob and opened the door, I could enter the room with a smile that didn’t feel as though it screamed “faker.”

  He was on the phone when I entered. He held up one finger to indicate he’d be done in a minute, and I amused myself by looking around his office. He had framed diplomas on his wall. Good schools. He had some framed photos, a smiling Dan with people I didn’t recognize. Family, some of them, I could tell by the resemblances. Others looked more like standard meet-and-greet publicity shots, two men shaking hands, their grins broad and somewhat fake, while in the background people mingled on a golf course or in a hotel ballroom.

  He had a nice, broad desk. Flat. His computer squatted on a smaller desk behind him, so he could twist his chair
to work on it while leaving his other desk free for paperwork. He had a little bit of work on his desk, nothing like the usual stacks of papers and folders and files found on mine. This peek into his personality amused me. The way he arranged the cup holding his pens, the cube of notepaper, the small container of paper clips, the stapler. The desk calendar, unblemished with doodles, but the blocks for every day filled with neat printing.

  I set my purse down on his desk and came around behind him to look over his shoulder at some of the things he’d written. To my surprise, I saw my own name there. More than once. No notation as to what it meant, just the letters written in dark ink.

  That he’d noted the days he’d seen me made me look at him, but his concentration still focused on his call. What did this mean, my name marked with importance apparently equal to such events as “meeting with John” and “Second Quarter reports due?” I checked today’s date and found my name at the bottom of the block. He’d written it in a different color ink, perhaps only after I’d called.

  He’d been keeping track. I had not. I wondered if I should feel guilty, that what we were doing meant more to him and less to me. Maybe he marked down the names of every woman he saw—and that reminded me that I didn’t know if he was seeing other women. I checked quickly, but though he had, indeed, marked down some feminine names, all were incorporated with other things. None of them stood alone, like mine did, a name without explanation or with meaning discernable only to him.

  “Sorry about that.” He hung up the phone and reached for my wrist, tugging me down onto his lap before I had the chance to pull away. His chair swiveled. I had to grab his shoulder to steady myself. “You’re a little early.”

  I was not early, I was exactly on time, but I didn’t argue. “Your secretary sent me in.”

  “She’s under strict orders to send all gorgeous women in to see me right away. No waiting.” His tone was teasing as he tilted his head back to look up at me. His hand fell naturally to my hip, fingers warm through the thin linen of my skirt.

  “Oh, really.” I frowned, also teasing. “And you get a lot of gorgeous women coming to see you?”