9781618856357HavingItAllStorm

by Troy Storm

  The kid had a hell of a lot to learn.

  The man…the assistant coach…Chad, that is. Measured against Stephen…

  It wasn’t a contest—though she knew how guys were.

  She floated down to the watery embrace that would coalesce and firm underneath her and transmogrify into the damp, tangled sheets of their bed. Her gasping and raking body, slowing realigning itself, re-attaching the parts, settled euphorically against him.

  “I’m seeing a guy,” she said.

  He took a moment. A couple of moments. “Is he as hot as I am?”

  She punched him lightly in the chest. “It’s the assistant coach and he’s damned hot, Stephen. You would be impressed. We’re working on a sex project together. At the library.”

  “How together?”

  “It’s about teenage sex, several of the high school girls got knocked up and he’s determined his guys learn about responsibility. It could get messy with the school board, but he’s really focused. You’d like him, Stephen. He’s young, and, well, he’s a coach, but I think you two would really get on together.”

  “Thanks, my love, but the last thing I need right now is trying to explain to an uncomprehending youth how packaged sub-primes can destroy not only your illusions but your credit ratings. Maybe later. In a couple of weeks…” He chewed his lip for a moment at the inevitable. “I’ll probably have all the time in the world to get to know some of your young friends here. Whatever happened to that overweight kid that works with you?”

  “Andy. He’s still around. He might be helping us on the project.” She toyed with Stephen’s nipple. His skin was richly textured, especially around the base of the darkly colored cone. Hairs curled and waved circling the areola, clearing for the rise of flesh. There seemed to be something new and interesting to discover each time she explored him.

  Chad was smooth, unblemished, like Stephen had been. Like she had been.

  “I’m getting old, Stephen.”

  “Good. About time. It’s been tough trying to keep up with a young, perfect, sex-goddess bride. Good to kiss a few interesting wrinkles. To taste a few new interesting folds,” he added in dark chocolaty tones. “You still think the old man’s got it?”

  She shivered. “I don’t have to think. I just let the old man do it.”

  “Good. Thinking can be bad for you. If I had acted, instead of thinking too much about…”

  “Shush.” She nodded. “We do what we have to do. And think about it later. Oh…”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s what those teenagers did. They just, did. And the girls ended up…”

  “We’re not teenagers.”

  “No. So we should know better. We should be acting responsibly.”

  He gave a rueful grunt. “Tell that to my panicking cohorts, to my lying superiors. To me. I made some pretty stupid mistakes, myself.” His warm, firm palm encompassed her breast, the fingers molding, gently exploring, before rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Thanks for caring. I promise, Syb, this whole mess will be over soon and then we’ll…and then…” He stared into space.

  Obviously, he hadn’t spent too much time thinking about the future when the present was such a disaster.

  “Right,” she said, decisively. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow. Or at least next week. Whenever.”

  “Right,” he agreed, firmly. “Whenever.”

  Right, she thought.

  Tomorrow.

  The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Syble drove Stephen to the station and walked him to the platform where they talked until the commuter train came. He got on, waved goodbye and she stood and watched the train disappear into the distance.

  Normally, she would drive him to the station, half-asleep, concentrating mightily on her driving, drop him and get back to Mr. Coffee as soon as possible so she could at least be coherent when the library opened.

  This morning she had even forgotten to turn Mr. Coffee on.

  She was almost out of the station parking lot when her cell phone rang. She pulled over.

  dead dick gone?

  Syble smiled at the text message. What a kid. What an impulsive, brash young man. What salvation. Poor Stephen was headed into a disastrous maelstrom, battling as best he could to save what little they had. If only there was a buddy, someone to support him, someone to be there during the final meltdown.

  Chad would get her through the week. She switched on the ignition.

  The phone rang again. Voice. Ignition off. She answered.

  “Hi, can I come over, pretty please?” There were background metallic clunks and clanks. He was probably fixing breakfast.

  “Chad, it’s some ungodly hour of the morning. Welcome back. How did it go? Did your boys make you proud? Win something? And, no, you can’t come to the house, not in the daytime, you know that. Somebody might see your car. We don’t need that.”

  “I need you. I missed you, babe…so bad. Did you miss me?”

  Syble laughed. “You didn’t miss me. If you were doing your job you were riding herd on hyped-up teen-aged boys all weekend. I’ll bet you didn’t even think of me once.”

  “Yes, I did. Every time I pulled ole junior out, I thought, aw, man, what a bummer.”

  “You thought of me every time you peed? You really know how to turn a girl on.”

  “Well I’m baaaaack now, in the turn-on flesh and junior is ready! Please, pretty please. Just a quickie before school. You can say I was the plumber. Hubby’s gone; the shower went berserk; you called me to the rescue. Oh, man, just thinking about you and me in the shower…”

  “Well, go take a cold one, because we’re not doing something foolish just because your nuts are in a knot. This is going to be a rough week, Chad. I need you to be…understanding.”

  “I understand. I understand…whatever it is you want me to understand. Just can I understand on a closer, more face-to-face…or,” his voice dropped seductively, “whatever-to-whatever basis.” She loved the word play. Loved being the wanted lover.

  The needed lover.

  “Chad, you have practice after school and I have PTA tonight. Try to hold your whatever in check until…” She was going to say tomorrow, or the next day. “Until…later.”

  He was so tempting.

  “PTA won’t last forever, and why are you going anyway? You’re not a parent or a teacher.”

  “I’m the town librarian and it’s time for us to feel out what they might think about what we’re trying to do.”

  “I’m all for feeling up…out! And what we’re trying to do is get together.”

  “Chad, c’mon! I’m hardly awake. Work with me. It’s been…the weekend was… I’m talking about the sex lessons. We need to know if…”

  “Oh. Yes! Sex! I’m talking about it too! And talking about working with you! Yes! You, me, the shower? Just to get us through the day? A refreshing, wake-me-up sexual encounter…until later…when we’ll have lots and lots of time?”

  The stifled laughter burst out in spite of herself. How she welcomed his urgency, his need, his boy/man bravado. His sureness that came with such little effort.

  Poor Stephen had been desperately trying to hold it all together for so long. And as much as she wanted to support him, had supported him, the slow, endless collapse weighed heavily, like being trapped inside a slow-motion implosion.

  Syble’s eyes stung. “Chad, I have just spent the weekend with a man I love very, very much. The sex was great; I hardly thought of you once. He’s going through a really rough time and needs me to be there for him now and I’m going to be. It’s…it’s just beginning to dawn on me what I might be doing to…”

  The words had impulsively boiled up from a place just below the surface where she had not allowed them to articulate. There was a long silence. No clunks. He had stopped doing whatever he was doing. He was paying strict attention now.

  “But…I…can see you later? After PTA?” His voice was tentative. But grown up. He was being ver
y, very cautious. Trying to figure it out.

  She appreciated that. “Yes…please.”

  There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the line and the clunks and clanks started again. What the hell was he making for breakfast anyway? “Great! But I’ll probably need to pop one off before I have to face those lunkhead losers again. They lost, wouldja believe? And with my spectacular coaching.” His annoyance quickly shifted. “Okay if I call you back in a few minutes? I’ll have one hand free.”

  She started the car. “You are a dirty young man and, no, I want to be fully awake when next we have a sexual encounter. Even a long distance one.”

  “The distance won’t be nearly as long as something else will…”

  “Watch out for the hot grease, Chad. We don’t want to hold things up while your ego recuperates.”

  “Ouch. You’ve made your point, lady. Wow. To have an older and wiser girlfriend, and one with a mouth on her! Awesome! See you this evening. Just be prepared! I’m gonna pounce!”

  “Down, boy,” she muttered, “I may have to put a collar on you.” She smiled at the small instrument, hearing a faint “Woof, woof!” before tapping it off.

  The day went well. Syble felt ten years younger, sillier, sexier, more dangerous, more productive, more daring than she had in a long time. In other words, a total mess. But a happy mess. A resolution of some sort seemed in the offing. Stephen’s torturous, yearlong journey into the lower depths was going to end very, very soon. Finally. And then, they would all be able to move on from there.

  He and Chad would meet. The guys would get to know each other. They would all be—friends. Syble wasn’t sure she was quite ready to suggest what that friendship might be, or even think about it too concretely just yet. But it seemed to fit into her and Stephen’s overall plan. Sort of.

  They had left the city to come to the suburbs, wanting the white picket fence thing. Maybe not kids just yet. Maybe never. But a home. Where they could putter in the yard, be a part of the town. Maybe even give back, somehow. That’s what they had spent the first five years of their marriage yearning for, and now they were here.

  A friend of a friend had invited them on an upstate weekend tour to see the fall leaves and they had stumbled on CoveHaven, this small, charming town both she and Stephen had instantly fallen in love with.

  That became their quest. Get a country house. Maybe move up permanently. Don’t be quite so dependent on the lures of the city. Or keep a small place there and have the best of both worlds.

  The best of both worlds.

  The town, of course, wasn’t as idyllic as they had first thought. People are, after all, people. In the city, they could more or less pick and choose who they wanted to be friends with, along with their professional compatriots, whereas in the country, unless they wanted to become recluses, they were pretty much stuck with what the town had to offer. The pickings weren’t that slim, but it had taken a bit of adjusting before Syble could gather a klatch that didn’t dissolve into petty bickering within the first few get-togethers. And, heaven help them if someone brought margaritas.

  Having chosen the town and acquired the mortgage, she and Stephen found themselves stuck with it. They had gotten caught in the country’s real estate crunch, being hit with an untenable rent increase in the city and not quite having enough cash on hand, or ready credit, to buy an apartment, their less-than-idyllic weekend get-away had come to their rescue by providing both an affordable house and a decent commute while they regrouped and fortified themselves for the next cyclical investment meltdown.

  It had worked pretty well for Stephen…at first.

  Daily, he was in the midst of the financial maelstrom, excited by the possibility of the markets erupting and blasting him into space where he would be rescued by a carefully constructed, golden parachute that would float him into early retirement into the arms of his country girl waiting at the cottage door for his smug puss, his yearning loins, and his stuffed bonds portfolio.

  As if.

  “You’re too good, Stephen. You’re being too generous! They’re getting out, you’re trying to save the firm’s ass. Take what’s left and run!”

  But it was too late. He was in too deep. His clients were hemorrhaging and he couldn’t watch their assets die—the assets he had so carefully helped them build—without trying to salvage something.

  Now, at the end, there was nothing to salvage but his reputation, if that. He had done his best. When he realized what he thought was going wrong, he had warned everyone, so his conscience was clear. But his portfolio was empty.

  That’s okay. There she’d be, waiting for him at the cottage door. In her apron. With open arms. She and Chad.

  She and Chad?

  Where the hell did that come from? Yes, she wanted the guys to be friends, to get to know each other, but…

  “You okay?” Andy’s worried face looked down at her. “You look kinda upset.”

  “No, not at all. I was…thinking. Andy do you think it will be helpful thing, what the coach and I are trying to do?”

  “Puttin’ some information together for the jerks?” He leaned against the high counter fronting the information desk behind which she was working. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

  “You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

  He shrugged. “Grown-ups—you know, like you two, don’t really know how to talk to kids. At least, not in this town.”

  “Don’t know how, or just don’t?”

  “It ends up being the same thing, doesn’t it? We don’t get talked to.” He thought for a moment. “So I guess if you’re gonna tell us something that we should already know anyway, but don’t, at least you’re still trying to talk to us.”

  “I’m worried about preaching.”

  He smirked. “You’re gonna be talking about sex. That’s not preaching. At least not in my church.” He moved away chuckling.

  She pulled over a pad and wrote, You gotta have…HOPE…miles and meters of HOPE, in large letters. That seemed to cover a lot of how she was feeling. She carefully tore off the page, folded it and placed it in the breast pocket of her blouse. She’d put it on the fridge. Where they all could see it.

  A few hours later, Syble unfolded the paper, stared at it for a moment, and then stared at the fridge. “So much for that,” she muttered, crumpled the paper and tossed it in a nearby garbage can.

  Chad came through the back door, all but running. “Oh, yeah! Oh yeah ohyeahohyeah!” His sneakers were off and tossed on the kitchen floor before he was halfway across the room. “Hi.” He grabbed Syble and began to kiss her powerfully on the lips, then, not losing contact as his tongue probed her mouth and tangled with her own tongue, stripped off his socks and sweat pants.

  Syble fell back against the refrigerator, sending notes and pictures and cute magnets flying. A sigh of contentment rippled through her body. She rested her arms around his neck, feeling the thick tendons tensing and releasing as he continued to kiss her deeply and struggled with his underwear. Was it a two jock strap day? She’d check later. She didn’t care what he had been wearing, just so long as it was off him, now.

  He fumbled with the tab of her slacks—why could guys never remember it was right over left—and almost jammed the zipper in his haste.

  “Mumph! Work with me, lady,” he pleaded.

  In an instant she guided him between her wet, yearning lips. He thrust himself firmly inside as she welcomed him deep. Only then, did he take a breath. Only then did she release the tension in her face.

  “Hey,” he grinned at her. “You’re crying. Glad to see me, huh?” He was so pompous. So proud. And had every right to be. She hadn’t realized her cheeks were wet.

  He was so beautiful, such a fucking cutie pie, smirking at her, his blue, blue eyes urgent and devouring. Briefly, she thought of Stephen. He had filled her and comforted her, too. But he was fifty miles away, and Chad was here.

  The muscles of her pussy gripped him and welcomed him. Her clit dug possessively into
the root of his totally swallowed driving meat.

  “Oh, yes,” he breathed, having been reminded. “That’s—I really missed…that.” His hips began to move. In…and out he thrust. Tentatively, slowly, deliciously feeling every inch of the sheath enveloping him, re-establishing his territory, re-membering, re-imprinting her every fiber into his throbbing prong. Then increasing the tempo, moving slowly from re-discovery to possession.

  Or co-possession. They were equals. She clutching, grabbing, and milking. Him driving and thrusting, filling and filling and filling.

  He began to laugh. “Oh, dammit, I’m coming. You are so…totally amazing. So…unbelievable. Suck it out of me, babe. Every drop is for you.”

  She would have liked for it to last just a bit longer…at least at first, but his enthusiasm, his determination to take her—to co-posses—took over. It was great to be so wanted, to be so urgently yearned for.

  She stroked a finger over his butthole…a tiny scrape of her nail. He gasped…and shot his load. Ah…yes. He groaned, and yelped and whimpered and thrashed her against the refrigerator and she was grateful all the notes and magnets and pictures were on the floor. And grateful he was fucking her so thoroughly and completely.

  Load after load shot into her, filling her back up to the brim. Stephen had filled her. Filled her with his love and his seed and his…maturity, with their life together. He would be pleased that she could recapture those early days, that Chad could remind her, remind the both of them and add his own freshness, his own energy, his own uniqueness, his own thick, hard, driving…

  Or maybe not.

  Chad snuggled into her, his hands happily molding her ass cheeks. “I hear you made quite a fuss at the PTA meet.”