by Theresa Rite
“Oh, God,” she moaned, gripping the bedspread.
Two fingers. She cried out in shock, and the lubrication made it easy to pump in and out of her. Positioning my cock, I splayed my hand over her back.
“Just relax, let me in,” I ordered.
As I pushed forward, she moaned, her soft, little pants coming faster. I watched her expand for me, her ass gripping me as I filled her tight body. I felt her stretch with my intrusion, and my balls grew heavier, screaming for release.
“Jason,” she cried, fisting the bedspread.
“I’m not hurting you,” I persuaded, stilling, the head of my cock just inside of her.
“I don’t… no, you’re not,” she exhaled, writhing beneath me.
Gradually, one agonizingly slow inch at a time, I slid myself inside of her. I gripped her hips, holding her in place.
I stayed very still for long, unbearable moments, waiting for her to adjust. Her soft panting, laced with a tiny whimper, forced an uncontrollable growl from my throat.
“Tell me you like this,” I urged. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.”
I pulled out slowly, careful to listen to her sounds. She actually gave a little disappointed cry, and she wriggled against me.
“I like this,” she purred, and my thigh and calf muscles clenched at her words.
“More,” I ordered, my fingers digging into her hips. “Tell me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me, Jason, please,” she moaned.
“Beg me,” I growled, filling her again. Her tightness gripped my throbbing cock. She screamed, and I pumped faster, her ass bucking against my hips as I thrust.
“Please fuck me,” she begged. “Make me yours,” she pleaded.
Her words rocked me harder than anything she could have ever done to me. I felt her spasm around me, her repetitive moans filling the dark room.
She screamed with her release.
I jerked against her, coming with clarity, knowing that it would only be her body that I’d ever want again.
I lowered my cheek to rest on the smooth curve of her back.
We both lay still for a long time, too afraid to move or speak.
Finally, I reached for my towel. I pulled out and scooped her up, ignoring her words of protest as I carried her to the shower.
“I’m… weak,” she realized, her legs wobbly as I set her down inside the shower stall.
I stripped her naked, turning on the shower and making sure the water was streaming warmth before turning the nozzle to face her.
“I… don’t know what to say,” she whispered, lifting her flushed face to mine before looking down.
I grinned at her, tipping her face up to mine. “Did I hurt you?”
“I don’t think so,” she breathed, gripping my shoulders.
“Then everything is fine, Boss.”
She smiled again, letting me catch her lips in mine in a soft, reassuring kiss.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sandy
I was sore the next day, deliciously sore and languid.
And excited. I could think of nothing but the fact that I was going back to the beach again with Jason.
I got up with him, making him coffee and chatting as he bustled around the kitchen. I loved how talkative he was in the morning, always filled with energy, always buzzing.
We’d spent the night in his bed, and I slept cradled in his arms.
I knew that I was confusing him. I was confusing myself. As much as I wanted him to remain at a distance and maintain our best friend status, I couldn’t ignore the fact that our bodies seemed to be made for each other.
The sex was new, and amazing, and just the scent of his deodorant or aftershave now sent waves of heat to my belly. When he’d washed me in the shower, tenderly kissing me in the hot, streaming water, I felt closer to him than I’d ever felt to anyone in my life.
“You look too cute to go to work. You know all the girls talk about how sexy you are, all the time,” I chided, giggling as he scooped me up and set me on the countertop.
I wrapped my legs around him, reaching for his necktie. He shrugged. “I never noticed. I never really see anyone but you.”
“Oh, Mr. Brewer, you are a sweet-talker. Which, in the land of insurance sales, is also called bull-shitter.”
“Sandy,” he caught my hand, grinning down at me. “I’m not kidding. Subconsciously, I have always wanted you. Toward the end of my marriage, Elaina woke me up in the middle of the night because I was saying your name. And not in a friendly way.”
I froze, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes from filling with tears. “It was my fault? That your marriage ended?”
“No.” He sipped his coffee, kissing my nose. “It was Elaina’s fault, when she decided that she didn’t actually love me, she loved the idea of marriage. No more jumping to conclusions.”
“I am a conclusion jumper.”
“Always have been.”
“What time are we leaving tomorrow? I need to pack.”
He glanced at the clock on the stove. “I’m thinking around five AM. Get on the road early.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He settled his coffee cup onto the counter and threaded his fingers through my hair. The deep blue sea of his eyes calmed the storm around me. “Can I come with you to your counseling appointment today? I’ll wait in the waiting room. I just want to be there for you.”
I nodded without hesitation. “You don’t mind missing more work?”
“I’m the boss, Sandy.”
“I’m the boss, Boss.” I corrected, and he grinned.
“You’ve got that right.” He reached for his cup again, kissing my forehead. I loved when he did that. I decided that my forehead belonged to Jason’s lips. “I’ll be back here at noon, then, okay?”
I only nodded.
Following him to the door, I tucked my robe tighter around my body. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, turning to kiss me again.
“I like this. You, me, morning. This works.”
I sighed, folding into his hug. “It does work, doesn’t it?”
“It reminds me of when we used to play house. And you were Mrs. Brewer.”
I exhaled a laugh. “I was Mrs. Quinn-Brewer, if I remember correctly.”
He nodded, his eyes focused on mine again. “Sandy, can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Of course you can. You’ve done so much for me already,” I added, gesturing around me.
“What if,” his hand paused over the door handle, “you’re Mrs. Brewer for the week. And we’re on our honeymoon. Wouldn’t that be fun to play?”
“Jason.” I lowered my voice, both amused and worried with his words. “We’re in our thirties. We’re too old to play.”
“Just go with me on this,” he urged. “For me.”
“Why?” I shrugged, shaking my head. “We’re already sleeping together. We live together. What’s the difference?”
He took a step closer, tipping my chin to meet my eyes. “Let me show you.”
My heart raced. I sighed into his kiss, reaching to loop my arms around his neck.
“Okay,” I whispered, and he groaned softly.
“One more okay, and I’m calling off work again,” he teased, and then settled into a serious smile. “Okay. All in. We’re playing this out for the week. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I echoed, absurdly excited by his words.
“Alright then, Mrs. Brewer. I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“Alright, husband,” I kidded. “I’ll be waiting.”
The far-away look in his eyes made it seem like he wanted to say more, but he only grinned again, heading for his truck.
I spent the morning hanging out with Joplin, cleaning, packing, and doing laundry. After trying on some of my spring clothes, I realized that I’d lost a couple pounds over the past month. I knew it was for no other reason than what had happened with Jack, but it was still a nice surprise to see that I would probably need a smaller
bikini. I’d been content with a size eight for most of my life, and now, as I twisted in the mirror, I wondered if I’d actually fit into a six.
Plopping down in front of Jason’s laptop, I pulled up the internet to search online. As I decided where to begin, I grinned and clicked over to Facebook to leave Jason a sexy message.
His profile was already up when I opened the tab. He had a message.
From Carissa.
Don’t open it.
Don’t open it.
I fought every shred of logic, decency, and decorum in my body, finally clicking on Jason’s message.
Carissa Steel: I know what you mean. Sure! XO.
XO?
I scrolled up, motherfucking myself for being a nosy bitch.
Jason Brewer: I’ll be honest with you, Carissa. I have a lot going on in my life right now, and I can’t promise anything.
Carissa Steel: I totally understand. We’ll just meet and see what happens. Sound good?
Jason Brewer: Sounds like a plan.
Carissa Steel: :-D
Next day.
Carissa Steel: Hey, just checking in. How’s life?
Jason Brewer: Hey, sweets. Thanks for asking. Life is good right now. Really good.
Knowing that life was good because of me almost outweighed the fact that he called her “sweets.”
Almost.
Carissa Steel: I love when you call me that :-D SO glad to hear! Do you have time to chat? I need a male’s point of view for a sec.
Jason Steel: Sure, I have a little while.
I glanced at the date. Tuesday. He was at work. I was at counseling.
I’d Facetimed him that morning, touching myself on his bed.
Carissa Steel: <3 Thanks! So, I’m writing this scene, and she’s blowing him. Sorry, I don’t mean to jump right in like that, lol!!!
Jason Steel: Haha- you’re fine.
Carissa Steel: After she blows him, he’s ready to come. But does he come in her mouth, or grab her and fuck her on the bed?
I sat back in the chair, realizing I’d been holding my breath and digging my nails into my palms.
Rage. Instant, uncultivated, untamed. I was jealous, and furious, and just fucking pissed for every reason and no reason.
How dare she talk to him like that!
They’re chatting, they’re flirting, he’s not yours.
Come in her mouth? Are you fucking kidding me?
He’s. Not. YOURS.
Angry tears pooled in my eyes and slid down my cheeks as I squinted to see the screen without my glasses.
Jason Brewer: If he cares about her needs too, he should take her to bed. Unless he’s going to take care of her after.
Carissa Steel: Oh, he’s going to fuck her all night, lol
Jason Brewer: Really? All night? How many more does this guy have in him?
Carissa Steel: At least five. Maybe six. They’re drunk, and all inhibitions are gone.
Jason Brewer: So, he’s been drinking, too. How old is he?
Carissa Steel: 35
Jason Brewer: Honey, I hate to tell you this, but if he’s 35, drank all evening, and he’s got her mouth wrapped around his dick, this is the end. He’s one and done.
Carissa Steel: LMAO! Are you speaking from experience??
Jason Brewer: Just being practical. But in romance novel land, sure, he’s got his magical Viagra and he’s ready to roll.
Carissa Steel: Maybe she just IS his Viagra. She’s so young and hot, and he just can’t turn it off.
Jason Brewer: You’re the writer ;-)
Carissa Steel: J, you sound a bit jaded. Maybe I need to show you what I mean.
I was openly sobbing now. Yes, I was being immature, and probably hormonal, but reading them banter back and forth about sex was killing me.
Jason Brewer: lol
Jason Brewer: someone just walked into my office, be back soon
Carissa Steel: k
Jason Brewer: This’ll take a while. Chat later?
Carissa Steel: I know what you mean. Sure! XO.
He’d avoided her.
That was what what it looked like, anyway, but it was entirely possible that someone had walked into his office.
Joplin whined at my side, obviously distressed by my tears. I closed the laptop, moving to the couch to stare out the window.
Jason had every right to be happy, and he’d already been through enough as it was. Carissa would be coming into town soon, and based on the box of sex toys she’d sent him, she was offering herself up on a silver platter.
And I had him taking me to therapy, pretending we were married.
“I’m taking him down with me,” I whispered to Joplin, and she whined again, resting her chin on my thigh. “He’s ready to move on from Elaina. He deserves happiness.”
The German shepherd raised her dark, brown eyes, listening to me talk.
I focused on the tree in the front yard, noticing that a few buds had finally begun to bloom after the long winter.
Early spring always reminded me of our last year of college at Cleveland State University. Jason had been dating a girl he’d met in his accounting class, Rachel. They’d gone out a few times, and then she seemed to have dropped off of his radar.
It was 2003. I’d been in my bedroom, I remembered vividly, listening to my Audioslave CD on repeat and writing some totally shallow poetry when he knocked on my door.
“You naked?” he’d called.
“Completely.”
“Can I come in?”
I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t in the mood to joke around. I opened the door, and his blue eyes were almost luminescent in the soft lamplight.
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.
He closed my door, turning to wrap his arms around me. He might have reached for me, but I knew right away that I was the one holding him together.
“Do you remember Rachel?”
“Rachel from two months ago? Sure,” I’d agreed, sitting at the foot of my bed with him.
He took a gigantic breath, lying back on my bed to stare at the ceiling.
“I just got back from a clinic. I took her to have an abortion. And I paid for it.”
I remembered his words, that exact sentence, as the momentous initiation into our adulthood. Until then, we were children. We were young adults, still depending on our parents for approval, for direction, and for guidance in determining the logical next steps in our lives.
I’d turned to look down at him, holding my breath.
“Jason?”
His eyes flickered to mine, and I knew he was trying not to cry. Jason refused to cry in front of me. The last time I’d seen him cry, we were both ten-years-old. He’d fallen out of a tree in his backyard and broke his arm.
“San, I don’t love her. I didn’t love her when I slept with her. I feel all this… this guilt, for that reason more than anything… and I don’t know if I did the right thing.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered, my exclamation for anything I felt was beyond my control. “Brew, only you know what’s best for you. I’m listening,” I assured him, curling on the bed, on my side to face him.
My sheets of poetry crumpled beneath our bodies as he turned to look my way. “I don’t know how to feel.”
“There’s no right or wrong way to feel,” I said, reaching for his hand. We threaded our fingers together, moving even closer.
“Of course I want… a family someday… but not now, not with her, and she didn’t want me, either,” he poured, his eyes bloodshot, strained.
“That’s okay too,” I assured him.
“I feel relieved, but guilty because I feel so relieved,” he went on, growling angrily as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye to the notebook paper below his cheek. I focused on the word “forever” that I’d written, watching the ink blot and cloud over the line.
“Jason,” I countered, my grip on his hand tightening. “You’re a good man. And you’re brave. And I’m proud of you
for making such a hard decision.”
He held my hand so tightly, I felt his arm shaking. “I knew you’d know what to say. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
“I’m never at a loss for words.”
He’d smiled- a little- brushing at the back of his cheek with his hand. “I ruined your poem.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was lame anyway.”
“Please read it to me.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling the sheet from under him and clearing my throat exaggeratingly. “New to Me by Alexandra Quinn.” I began.
“Even got a title. Nice,” he commented.
I winked, rolling onto my back, paper in hand.
“Everything is new to me, yet as it always was.
Once a quiet symphony, and now we’re all abuzz.”
I smirked, turning to him.
“Yes, I rhymed, shut up.”
“Please go on,” he urged, ignoring my commentary.
I took a deep breath.
“You used to be just background noise, and now you’re amplified.
I used to tune you out, but now I couldn’t if I tried.
I wonder what you’ll be like, when all that’s changed is us.
I wonder what forever’s like, when it’s as it always was.”
He gazed at me thoughtfully, a slow grin playing on his lips. “Who is that about?”
“You. Me. How everything feels different now that we’re grown-ups.”
He inched a little closer. “Are you in love with me, Sandy Quinn?”
I blushed, wrinkling my nose and tossing the piece of paper over the side of the bed. “I’ll always be in love with us. Our friendship is going to last forever. That’s the only thing I’m absolutely certain about when I wake up every morning.”