Cougarlicious

by Lily Ryan

  “G’night, Mr. Carter,” Timmy says before getting out of the car and heading for the house.

  Finally we have a minute alone. It’s what I wanted he whole ride home, and now I don’t know what to do with it.

  “Night, Tim.” Chance answers.

  We are alone.

  Just the two of us. Sitting in the car which suddenly feels very small and cramped, yet we are so far apart.

  Chance reaches for the phone in my hands, and taps away at the keyboard. Before handing it back, his phone chimes.

  “This way I have your number,” he grins as he opens the car door and looks back at me, “And Kim, I want you thinking about what that kiss would’ve been like earlier when you go to bed tonight.” Without another word, he gets to his feet and heads to his car.

  I want to respond, but I can’t, he doesn’t give me the opportunity. Besides what is there to say? He caught me off guard, and I’m wondering if he’s playing off my emotions, or if I’m playing off his.

  I’m just grateful the car door was open or else the windows might’ve fogged up from the sudden burst of heat spreading through my body. He did that on purpose. He had to.

  I enter the house through the garage, and head right into the kitchen. Timmy’s there, staring at the door, waiting for me to come in.

  “What’s up, Buddy?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. You tell me.” he sounds annoyed. I feel a nervous twisting in my stomach. I think I know what he’s talking about, but I play dumb. Just in case I’m wrong.

  “What’s the deal with Mr. Carter?”

  “He’s your coach, and he’s looking to help you out.”

  “What’s the deal with you and him?”

  I swallow hard.

  “There’s no deal, Timmy. He’s a nice man and we’re sort of becoming friends.” It’s not a lie I whisper to my conscious because it’s wreaking havoc in my mind.

  “Good. As long as your just friends.”

  “Did you think something else is going on?” I’m not sure what I’m hoping for him to say.

  “No. At least I hoped not.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “No. I like him. But everyone would laugh. You’d look ridiculous with him.”

  There’s nothing like a child when you’re looking for brutal honestly. Except I’m not. I’m not looking for any sort of honesty or judgment, from anyone. Timmy least of all. There isn’t anything more going on, and Chance is being a friend. But I know he wants something more. I see it. I feel it. He’s even implied it. I want more too. Am I crazy?

  I stretch and yawn. “Don’t stay up too late. You’re going to school in the morning, and no, I’m not driving you so you could be seen in a cool car.”

  “Aww,” Timmy groans, as I head to my bedroom.

  I drop onto my bed. I’m physically exhausted, but I know I won’t be able to close my eyes and allow sleep to whisk me away. Instead, I see a beautiful set of green eyes burning as they look back at me. His full lips close in on mine. I imagine the passion in his promised kiss igniting sparks in the area surrounding us. My hand ghosts over the skin of my belly. Up, and down, and around my stomach, creeping lower.

  Even though I imagine it’s Chance touching me, my body knows better. I don’t feel the same heat and tingles when I touch myself as I do when he touches me, the same fire burning deep in my belly.

  Maybe the reason I can’t stop thinking about him, don’t want to stop thinking about him, is because I’m in need of a good fuck. A real physical release. Like hot, sweaty flesh on top of hot sweaty flesh. It’s entirely possible that my body is craving attention and my heart is getting confused in the physical turmoil. After all, I’ve been living like a nun since Mike died.

  We had a very healthy sex life. We had sex as often as time permitted, and were always up for trying new things. New places. New positions. New sensations. And then we added toys. They made what was already great sex a mind-blowing-all-consuming-addiction. For both of us.

  And then I stopped cold turkey.

  My skin goose fleshes as my fingers creep just below the waistband of my panties. Over my mound, they continue south on their journey. My body is taut as my fingers slide between my damp folds. I gasp and throw my head back as I slip a finger inside and pretend it’s Chance.

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, my phone chimes with a text message. I hope its Chance. I want it to be him. My heart thumps with excitement. I abandon my current mission, and reach for my phone instead. It is him! I want to jump up and down on the bed in celebration.

  Chance: Want to know a secret?

  Me: Depends. Is it juicy?

  He’s typing. I sit up in bed and stare at the dots on the screen eager for his response. It’s not coming fast enough. I’m too excited. Too intrigued. I feel like a five year old promised an ice-cream sundae if I behave. Given the option, I’ll take a serving of Chance drenched in chocolate syrup with a cherry on top. Preferably my cherry on top.

  Chance: I didn’t throw Timmy in my car and race to you just because he was upset.

  I cover my mouth and suck my lips into a thin line between my teeth. He’s waiting for a response. I need to say something, but what? I tap my finger on the screen, thinking.

  Me: Why did you bring him?

  It’s lame, but I can’t think of anything better and I don’t want to keep him hanging for too long. My hands tremble while I wait for his response. The dots start and stop several times before his message comes across.

  Chance: I was worried and needed to see for myself that you were okay.

  Me: Needed to?

  Chance: Yes. Or else I’d worry when I didn’t see you that you were seriously hurt and not just avoiding me.

  Oh shit. I can’t believe he knows what I’ve been doing and called me on it. And still, he’s been so nice to me.

  Me: Why would I avoid you?

  Chance: Could be a lot of reasons so I’m not taking it personally. Yet. I guess the question is now that you know I want you, are you going to keep hiding or meet me half way.

  My chest feels heavy with my heart pounding like a sledge hammer as I read and reread his text. He wants me. Thank goodness he’s not here to see the big-ass smile covering my face.

  Me: Are you calling me a coward?

  Chance: If I am are you ready to prove me wrong?

  I hesitate while trying to catch my breath. It’s coming quick, along with my racing pulse.

  Me: I tried meeting you half way earlier. You were the one that chickened out.

  Chance: Chickened out, huh? You know what that comment is going to get you?

  Me: What?

  Chance: Pinned underneath me.

  Me: You wouldn’t.

  Chance: Is that a challenge? Don’t forget, I’m quite good at it. I get paid to teach others how to do it.

  Me: Is that all you’re going to do? Prove your dominance by pinning me?

  Chance: Once I have you where I want you, you’ll be at my mercy. And I think in your case, being merciful means helping you give in to every feeling and desire you’re afraid to let yourself feel.

  Me: You’re that sure of yourself huh?

  Chance: Yes. And I’m that sure of you, too. We’ll be good together. I promise.

  He’s pursuing me. He’s pushing the issue, and it feels amazing. More and more he’s invading my thoughts, and continues to thaw my frozen heart. I already feel things I’m afraid to feel, and they aren’t just the sexual desires I’m rediscovering. They’re actual feelings.

  It’s the excited anticipation of seeing someone that with just a simple smile or look makes me feel beautiful and relevant in a world I thought forgot me. It’s the fact that he’s reaching in with his strong hands and yanking me out of the black hole of loneliness and sorrow that sucked me in and suffocated me for the last two years. It’s the fact that for the first time since my husband died, I can look at a blue sky and feel hope, instead of resentment that somewhere out there someone is fall
ing in love for the first time.

  Chance: You’re awfully quiet. Did I lose you?

  Me: You wish

  Chance: Never. I don’t want to lose you. I want to catch you and wrap you up in my arms.

  I melt a little more with every word he types.

  Chance: Where are you right now?

  Me: Home, where you left me. :-)

  Chance: Wise ass huh? Where in your house?

  Me: In bed.

  Chance: Are you thinking about that kiss like I told you to?

  I take a deep breath, surprised he asked.

  Me: Maybe.

  Chance: I told you one of my secrets, now it’s your turn.

  Me: I don’t have any secrets.

  Chance: I call bullshit. I see mischief hidden in those beautiful eyes of yours.

  He thinks my eyes are beautiful. The man needs to look in the mirror.

  Me: You think you know me that well?

  Chance: I’m trying. I want to know you that well.

  Pause. My heart thrums. I know I should question it, ask why, but at the moment, I don’t care why. I only care that he wants to.

  Chance: Where are your hands?

  I hesitate, nervous and excited to take the conversation in this direction.

  Me: I’m using the fingers on one hand, moving them back and forth and all around the screen, while the other is holding on tight to my phone.

  Chance: Too bad. I was hoping they were moving over your hot body.

  Me: What if they are? Or were before you texted me.

  Chance: Then I hope you were thinking of me.

  Me: What are you going to do once you have me pinned under you?

  Chance: Is anything off the table?

  Me: Honestly, no.

  Chance: Then close your eyes and imagine it. Fantasize about what you want me to do. How you want me to touch you. Where you want me to kiss you. Everywhere you want to feel me.

  Is it me or is the phone fifty degrees hotter than it was when we started texting?

  Me: Where are your hands?

  Chance: I’m using one to type and drink my beer.

  Me: And the other?

  Chance: Touching myself the way I wish you were touching me right now. With long slow strokes . . . Through my hair.

  I laugh.

  Me: I had no idea you wanted me that way.

  Chance: Then you’ll be surprised to learn every way I want you.

  Me: Do tell.

  Chance: Nah, it will be much more fun showing you.

  Me: I really don’t know how to thank you. For everything.

  Chance: I’m sure we’ll come up with something. I’ll leave you on that note.

  Me: I have a confession. Before you texted me, I was touching myself and thinking of you.

  Chance: If it makes you feel better, I’m doing the same. Now get some sleep. And have sweet dreams of my hands all over your body.

  Me: I’ll do my best.

  I clench the phone close to my chest for the next fifteen minutes, playing with the idea of messaging him again. That give and take was fun. I want more of it. More joking and teasing. More promises of what’s going to come. Really I just want more of Chance any way I can get him.

  Chapter 10

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The timer sounds. I slip my heat resistant gloves on and open the oven door. Careful not to burn myself, I lean in and pull the tray of freshly baked oatmeal cookies out. They’re a perfect golden shade. The sweet smell fills the kitchen. It’s a smell I miss wafting through the house for no reason other than I feel like baking. I wonder if the scent made its way down to the basement.

  Chance is making good on his offer from a few nights ago to work with Timmy, teaching him some new moves. He brought a couple of mats over for us to hold onto and laid them down on the basement floor. It’s way too cold to work outside. And this way they’re here when Chance has the opportunity to sneak over.

  They’ve been going at it non-stop for the last forty-five minutes. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be working, but with each passing minute, my face gets hotter and my heart beats faster because I know I’m that much closer to sneaking a few minutes with Chance.

  “Go hit the shower,” Chance’s voice carries into the kitchen. I look down trying to hide the smile drawing my lips up.

  He’s on his way in. I’m squeeing on the inside, giddy as a million dollar lottery winner. I look for some way to busy my nervous hands, and transfer the cookies into a plastic container. This way I don’t look like I’m waiting with baited breath to talk to him, even though that’s exactly what I’m doing.

  “Those smell delicious. Almost as good as you.” Chance whispers into my ear. His warm breath tickles as he cages me in from behind by gripping the counter on either side of me.

  He’s not touching me. Not with his hands, but his words and the heat of his body caress me. Stroke something inside me. Stoke the embers of a very dull flame that he’s bringing back to life. A warm shiver races up my spine.

  “Want one?” I turn around, with a cookie in hand, not prepared for how close he is. I can feel his strength, his energy just from our proximity. We’re much closer than we’ve ever been. Face to face. Chest to chest. Even when I thought he might kiss me for the first time, more air and space existed between us.

  “I’d love one,” he says, his voice smooth and confident, his green eyes are pinned on mine as he takes my wrist and leads my hand to his mouth so I could feed him the sweet treat.

  “Chance!” I scold with a smile. “Timmy’s in the other room.”

  “He’s in the shower. I hear the water running.” Chance takes a bite and moves the cookie into his other hand. “This is delicious,” he says, still gripping my wrist, and slipping the tips of my fingers into his mouth. “It’s soft, and sweet.” He adds circling his skilled tongue around my fingers. “The perfect consistency.” Still holding my hand to his mouth, he closes his eyes as he sucks on my fingertips giving them a final massage with his tongue before releasing his grip on me. “Best damn cookie I ever had.”

  I can’t speak. I’m too focused on the low burning fire throughout my body, most especially in the sea between my legs where it seems to have settled. Baking these cookies is the best damn thing I could’ve done with my free time this morning.

  Mike always liked when I surprised him with a tray of warm, home baked cookies. These were his favorite. They’re everyone’s favorite. I didn’t make them today out of some sort of allegiance to my husband. Not out of guilt or because I wanted to keep Mike’s memory close at hand. I baked them to do something nice for Chance. Just for Chance.

  “You good?” He asks.

  My lips curl at the corners as I nod in response. “Never better.’

  “Never? I don’t believe you, but I like the sound of that.”

  There’s been a change in me since the accident. A big one. It’s like I woke that night and found I’ve been living in a cave of darkness. I stayed there, trapped, only I couldn’t see it until Chance peeked his head in and found me. He reached in and pulled me from the cold and darkness.

  I’m ready to start living again. It’s an effort, but I’m willing to give it a go. Even just in small doses. I’m not hiding anymore. I like the excitement Chance riles up in me. The way my heart beats and thrums with thoughts of him. How my whole body responds to the little things he does.

  The last few days I’ve made a point of going inside the school to meet Timmy at the end of practice. Chance and I don’t speak in public, don’t say more than hello and share a caudal smile, but this way I get to see him and catch the heat in his eyes when they land on me.

  The nights though, that’s where the fun has been. I spend all day looking forward to the dirty words that fly across the screen when I’m alone in bed. Usually around ten o’clock, the texts start up. I make a point to say goodnight to my son and sit in my room, lights dim, with nothing but a bra and underwear on.

  I feel pretty and s
exy, and it’s easier to talk to Chance this way. Easier for me to flirt over text messages. I’m vulnerable but don’t feel completely exposed. The interactions are light and playful, and I don’t have to worry about getting mind fucked by staring in his green eyes.

  At least the cookies give me an excuse to keep him here for a few extra minutes during day light hours while I’m fully dressed, and doing something productive. It’s a success. I wanted face to face time where we could speak without any jealous mothers or overly hormonal pre-teen boys adding their fifty shades of perverseness to our interaction.

  Here I have only to worry about one set of spying eyes. Timmy’s.

  “Hey, Mom.” Timmy bounds into the kitchen. “I just got a text from Kyle, he invited the team to a sleepover tonight.”

  “I don’t know, buddy. I mean I don’t really know him or his parents. I’d have to speak to them to make sure it’s really okay and that there’s going to be parental supervision.”

  “Yeah, he said his mother will answer any questions. His parents are going to be there and it’s just going to be the team. Please mom, we don’t have anything planned. And I heard Mr. Carter talking to Kyle’s mom yesterday. He said something like this will help us bond as a team we’ll all do better individually, too.”

  I feel a spike in my stomach. A quick sharp jab I have no right to feel.

  I keep my eyes off Chance, wondering what really prompted this. “I don’t know, honey. I need some time to think about it.”

  “Fine.” Timmy storms back off in the direction of his bedroom.

  I turn my pointed stare on Chance, sure he manipulated the situation. I’m just not sure why. “You’re the one responsible for the imminent sleepover tonight?”

  Chance’s eyes smolder as they lock on mine. “What can I say? I threw the suggestion out, and Mrs. Coggins ate it up.”

  Mrs. Coggins? Mrs. Elaina Coggins who wants to find and follow Chance in a back alley and jump him five ways to Sunday! My stomach roils. I don’t like this feeling. It’s foreign, and I haven’t felt it in years.

  “You didn’t just throw it out there, you did it on purpose. You knew she’d take the bait,” I say with a sarcastic smirk, hoping to get a clue as to what game he’s playing.