by C C Monroe
Washing my body with soap, I rub my aching abs and swollen shoulders, kneading out the knots and aches.
“Kingston? Your phone is ringing. It’s your dad.” Lana’s voice slices through the sound of the running water. I see her silhouette in the doorway through the foggy glass of the shower.
“Can you answer and tell him I’ll call him back?”
“Yeah, of course.”
I dip myself back under the water and listen to the muffled sound of her voice talking to my dad. Hurrying to finish getting washed up, I turn the water off and towel myself dry. Then, wrapping it around my waist, I step out and head into the bedroom.
Lana is sitting in the chaise lounge chair in the corner of the room just under the classic windows that take up the walls and look out into our cozy suburban neighborhood. Her laptop is in her lap, and I catch a glimpse of what she’s doing. I see the wholesalers that she and Shay order from, and a smirk climbs over my face.
“You thinking about going back to work?” Attempting small talk with Lana can go one of two ways. She can read too much into it and shut me down before we even start, or she can slip up and miss my attempt at getting inside her closed off head.
“I’ve started to really focus on the online sales, so you could say I have thought about it.”
I nod, disappearing into the closet. I dig through my pajama bottoms like I dig through my mind, thinking, What else can I say to her? Still angry from last night, I don’t even know if I want to say anything to her, or if I need to say something. It’s a fucking mess.
Pulling down some black sweats, I grab my briefs then slide them on, one leg after the other. Stepping out, I grab my phone from my nightstand. “That’s good. I bet you miss it.”
Keeping her eyes on the computer, she purses her lips, the tiny crease between her eyebrows deepening as she simply nods and hums a ‘mmhmm.’
Great, back to ice-cold.
“I’m gonna call my dad back.” With one last glance back over my shoulder, I pray when I look at her that she will at least be looking at me. When I see she isn’t, I drop my head and, like every night, I slip farther away from my queen.
I spent a good hour on the phone with my dad. He could tell some shit was up, and instead of pushing me and imploring for more, he kept me distracted with small talk and the recent Seahawks game. I heard movement upstairs halfway through the conversation, but since then it’s been silent. Lana is mostly likely already in bed, giving up our battle for the night.
Flipping on the TV, I scan through the channels, settling on some sports show, listening to two of the talk show hosts bantering and bickering over the recent plays. I don’t hear much as I search through my phone.
Not one for social media, my Facebook has gone neglected the past few months—shit, probably a year at this point. Opening it up, I see a shit-ton of notifications and message requests. Color me curious, I get bored and open up the messages. Checking the time first, seeing it’s only ten, I want to wait a little longer before I go into Prince’s room. I don’t want him waking up.
I see a few buddies from back home have sent me some random videos of either stupid people acting like fucking morons or some bimbo with her fake tits all over the screen. I’ll admit, that shit would’ve driven me wild and gained all my attention in a New York minute before, but my libido has taken a back seat, and the only time it’s ready to go, it’s for one woman. Too bad she doesn’t want it.
Sifting through and replying to some, I see one that has my hair standing up on the back of my heated neck. My palms go a little clammy. Hilary? My ex, Hilary? The one I fucked as I screwed other women? The girl whose heart I broke and smashed on the ground with a few short words and the shrug of my shoulders?
I debate ignoring it, but the preview has me teetering on the edge of what’s logical and what’s curiosity. My thumb moves on its own accord, opening the message, and my eyes begin to read each black word on the blinding white screen.
Hey, I know it’s been years, but I saw you on my People You May Know and I couldn’t help but send you a message.
How are you? How is Seattle? Do you like it as much as you thought you would?
Look, I miss you, Kingston. I know it’s been a long time, but I do miss you like crazy. I miss the way we were. The way you...you touched me. I think about you, all the time. And I can’t believe I’m even saying this—over Facebook of all things—but I want you to know that I miss who we were. I miss your lips on my body as they moved all over me. How you worked me, and how I returned the pleasure. We were hot, Kingston. I knew you always wanted me. It was carnal between us, and if you ever read this, know that I think about you whenever another man is inside me. I dream of it being you, ruling my body in ways I have never found with anyone other than you.
I think about how good we looked together, all the places you fucked me like I was your everything. And I know you were unfaithful and that hurt me, but I would look past that if it meant we could be together again. I forgive you, Kings, baby. Please call me and we can talk about it.
I read and keep scrolling, and when it ends I see her number. Then before I can register what is happening, I see her naked picture load right there on my screen. Holy fuck! What the hell? I hurry and exit the app, stunned at what the fuck just happened. Her big, fat tits and bare pussy on my screen like a freight train that I couldn’t stop. I had no idea that when I clicked the little icon, with the saying Download Image, that’ that would be waiting.
Instantly, I feel guilty. I didn’t know what it was, but did I exit fast enough? I didn’t get hard, so I know it didn’t turn me on, but that’s my ex sending pretty explicit pictures and fucking messages. I shouldn’t have read it, ‘cause now it shows I have, and she’s going to want an answer. The old Kingston wouldn’t spare a bitch’s feelings, especially Hilary’s, ‘cause she’s my ex. One I cheated on with a handful of women. One I fucked while imagining a sexy little brunette underneath me.
Her blonde hair and brown eyes did nothing for me. Her body sinful and fucking tight, yes, but it was just another hole. Call me crude, but I don’t care for anyone’s feelings but Lana’s, and that is who I am.
Guilty if I don’t answer back, because the father in me, and the changed man that Lana has made me, feels like I owe her an explanation. But as a lover to my queen, I can’t help but feel like I’m cheating on Lana.
I open the message again, my eyes avoiding the picture as I wrack my brain on what to say. I don’t want to give too much, because that would devastate Lana and I’m not a cheater, but I also want to spare her feelings. Hilary always held a candle to me, hoping my flame would burn for her, but it never did. She loved me—she fell in love with me—all while I was falling in love with Lana. That shit had to hurt, because she knew the entire truth. Hilary knew Lana was it for me, and she didn’t ever stand a chance.
I begin to type, over-explaining myself, when I realize it’s too much. I just need to be curt and put an end to this adolescent, naïve fantasy that Hilary is obviously living.
Hilary,
I’m sorry I lead you on in high school, but I’ve moved on and I’m still happily in love with Lana. Hope love finds you. - Kings
Even though we really aren’t happily in love, I need to make her understand there is no gray area. Lana and I are currently still in love—clinging to it, but still in love. I would never stray from Lana, and entertaining Hilary any further would be wrong.
I lock my screen and let out a deep, shuddering breath. Frustrated and tired as I fall to my back on the couch, placing my feet on the coffee table to the side, I throw my arm over my eyes as the voices from the TV fade out.
I get a flashback of one time when I fucked Hilary in the back of my car. I took her hot that night. It was after I walked in on Lana standing in just her tiny panties, her back to me, while her thin, long, curved spine, met the top of her pert ass. I was horny and wanted to bend Lana over then and there. Instead, I slammed the door with my cock hard, an
angry scowl, and a mission to find Hilary to fuck the Lana right out of my system.
Hilary was hot, yeah; her body had a way about it. Curvy but thin, big tits, and a nice untouched pussy. We were wild, fucking anywhere we could, anyway she would let me, which was every which way, but still, she couldn’t satisfy my need. A need I couldn’t figure out or understand. Hilary and all the nameless faces I fucked couldn’t get me satisfied, and the mystery ate at me until I made love to Lana. My hunger was fed but never satisfied, because I just wanted more. I was starved for Lana, and still am. She was the palate I acquired a taste for, and I know if tomorrow she and I end, I will never find a meal I’ll want to have more than once, because she is the caviar off all women, the finest wine and the sweetest champagne. She is napalm.
“Kings?”
Moving my arm, I peer up and back, pushing myself up from the couch. “Yeah?”
Staring at Lana only amplifies my guilt. My ex just sent me a nude picture, and I now hold a secret that would most likely give Lana the ammo to push me out entirely.
“Shayla called. She and Trey are coming over for dinner with the twins tomorrow. I just thought I’d let you know before bed. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning?”
I swallow, hiding the heavy guilt as best as I can from my unsteady voice. “I’m not working tomorrow. So yeah, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“No gym?”
“No, I’m sore from this morning. I need to relax.” The small talk we’re making feels forced but still I want more of it. I crave that familiarity with Lana.
“All right, night.” Giving me a business nod, like a transaction was made, she leaves. I watch her sexy ass peek out of her nightie as she goes and my dick turns hard, tenting my pajamas.
That’s arousal. I have fucking physical and mental stimulation from the woman so far removed from my life, yet my ex is handing herself to me on a platter and it does nothing. I would never cheat on Lana, but to sit here and say I don’t miss the touch of a fucking woman would be a lie.
I’m a red-blooded man, one who needs that physical affirmation to feel desired, to feel like a king in his kingdom. Lana is dousing that in ice water lately.
I don’t crave the touch of someone else; I just crave the touch from my queen, the touch of love. Needing the ache inside my chest to be relieved or temporarily forgotten, I grab my phone again and open my pictures app. Scanning, I open my private folder. Lana has made me a deprived, desperate man, clutching me by the throat and holding all the cards. I want her.
Scrolling through the folder, I see multiple pictures that Lana and I have either taken or shared, and my favorite is her spread wide open under me. Her bare pussy clear as day, her thighs tiny, and the space between her legs and her core where they meet is stretched and strained. Up on my knees, I tower over her while my cock is nudged perfectly between her snug pussy lips, halfway in, while her hands grab her tits and her face is contorted in a breathtaking look of pain and pleasure.
I whip my cock out, and the heavy head leaks with cum. Circling the pronounced crown, I watch it smear over my angry red shaft as I spread it down, lubing myself up while I stare at the picture. Her creamy tan skin, edible and ripe for me. The memories of what it feels like to be inside her almost tangible, sifting through the air around me, close enough to grab, but impossible to grasp.
My jaw unhinges, falling open as I start to slide slowly up and down, my hand gripping tight. I smell her arousal as if her pussy is right in my face—better yet, grinding on my face—but it’s just a molten need. My balls lay heavy, filled with weeks of pent up arousal, and I imagine blowing inside her, losing all I have in her heaven. My heaven.
Losing my surroundings, the large living room becomes a pit of darkness as I clear everything but Lana out of my head. I pick up the pace as I chase the orgasm she’s having in my fantasy, when I hear a gasp.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry! Shit!”
Dropping my cock and my phone, it tumbles beside me and onto the floor. I grab my sweats and shove my dying erection back in. Sitting up hastily, I place my feet on the ground and look over to Lana. Her hand is over her mouth, her eyes wide, and she stays planted in place.
“Fuck, sorry, I thought you went to bed and, ” I trail off, embarrassed that I’m twenty-six years old and still having to jerk my cock like a pubescent and fucking got caught.
“No, it’s my fault. I just...” She stops, and my flustered eyes scan her face.
“You just what?” I push for her to continue, actually believing she may want to come over to me and let me have her.
“I just wanted water.”
My hope diminishes.
“Oh.” Looking away, I run my hands over the back of my stiff neck, rubbing out the muscles.
“Your neck okay?”
I hadn’t realized I was moving my hand as fast and deep as I was until she pointed it out. “Yeah, just the gym and sleeping on Princeton’s floor hurts my neck. That’s all.”
Dropping her eyes to the hardwood floor, she nods. “I can rub it if you’d like,” She offers, making the conversation as normal as possible, as if she didn’t just catch me with my cock out.
“No, don’t worry. You don’t need to do that, ba—Lana.” I catch myself. Lana wanted me to back the fuck off, so that’s what I’m doing. Her offer further makes me question why she’s trying to negate what she asked me to do last night.
“I really don’t mind, I don’t want your neck hurting.” Pushing me more, she has me debating what to do. I could push her away and let us continue the standoff, or I could let her touch my scorching skin desperate for her affection and feed my gluttony for pain, just for a little bit. I’ll probably regret it, but for this short moment, I will bask in it.
“Yeah, sure, that would be nice.”
As I watch her saunter toward me, there is a taste of hesitation in her eyes and I swallow thickly. When she reaches me, I smell her natural scent, the smell of fabric softener, sheets, and Sunday afternoon naps—home. Expecting her to climb behind my large frame, she surprises me by climbing into my lap.
Shifting back, both to accommodate her and partially by shock, I peer up at her while she gazes down at me. There is a glint in her honey eyes and a subtle smirk tugging at the side of her mouth. My mouth is in a drought. I don’t know what to say when her hands trace up my arms, kneading the skin covered in ink, up my biceps, and then around my neck.
My eyes drift closed, opening slowly when she hits the peaks of my traps. Hesitantly, I move my shaky hands from beside me and place them on her ass, needing a place to hold on to. I praise the gods when she doesn’t move me.
“How was work?”
“It was all right. How was Prince?”
Her smiles widens at the mention, her dimples deepening. “He was a hungry boy today. He latched and just kept eating. He’s going to outgrow me.” She giggles, the noise throaty and low.
“You need to be careful picking him up, Mama. He’s gonna break you.”
She shrugs, scraping her nails across the skin of my neck. “I’ll be fine.”
I stay silent, waiting for her to ask another question. I want her to be the one to instigate the conversation. When she doesn’t speak, she focuses on working out the kinks in my stiff neck, and I groan when Lana hits one spot with enough pressure to release the ache.
“Right there,” I moan, my hands flexing instinctively on her ass.
“You need to see a massage therapist. You work out too much not to get the kinks worked out, Kings.”
Keeping my head back and my eyes closed, I groan again when she hits another hard nodule. “I don’t want any other woman touching me but my queen.”
Lana halts her movements, gaining my attention. I look at her and see a little smile form and her dimples reappear, this time, a smatter of blush colors the skin. Lana has always stolen my fucking breath, looking so beautiful and innocent, like an angel—an angel cloaked in light I want to bathe in.
�
��What?”
“Nothing. That was just...really sweet,” She admits, scooting up, her legs parting farther as she accommodates my hips. Her warmth envelops me, from her soft skin to the heat between her legs. Holy shit, she’s turned on right now.
“We may not be a hundred percent, but you’re the only person I want.” My confession is partly fueled by my guilt for knowing Hilary wrote me and sent me that racy picture.
Tilting her head, she evaluates me, reading my mind and nitpicking every word I’m saying.
And I lose it. “Please touch me, Queen. Please,” I beg, laying myself open like a book.
“Is that what you want, for me to touch you?” she questions, crossing her arms in front of her and bringing them to the edge of her nightie, where she removes it in one swift motion. She lays bare to me, completely naked, flawless even in her imperfections. There are marks on her belly from our son, white, faint lines. Her scarred chest is still gorgeous to me.
“Lana, it’s not what I want; it’s what I fucking need. I’m dying, baby. Just give me an inch.”
He wants me. Kingston is begging for exactly what we both want. The only difference is he is willing to admit it, while I continue to find reasons in my head to not give in to temptation.
We’ve been so distant since Princeton was born, becoming ghosts in our own home. Passing in the hall without a word, lying in bed without a touch, and being within talking distance, but never expressing how we feel. That is, unless we’re bickering or snipping at one another.
This is my fault. I can own up to that and claim it for what it is. I’m lost, not sure who I am anymore. If I’m not constantly acting as mother, then that’s when I seem to be sucked into the black hole. That’s where I lose my footing.
Kingston is still the love of my life, but as of late, I feel we’re becoming more and more like a regret, or worse, we’re resenting each other. I resent him for not understanding my reservations, and he resents me for selfishly taking away some of his time with our son. Standing back, though, I can see my treatment toward Kingston is far worse than anything he has ever done.