She walks out before me and looks over her shoulder. “About what? About how you’re letting me do laundry at your house for the next two months? No way! I don’t want people to feel sorry for you.” She winks coyly and leaves me feeling all sorts of disconcerted, happy, confused, horny, and most of all, excited for the first time in a long time.
It’s Monday, a week later and I’m at a park with Lola and five dogs that individually weigh more than she does. They are all on leashes and I’m sitting on a bench watching her struggle to get them inside the fenced area, specifically for dogs, where they can run free. I’m laughing at how, frustrated, she blows away a stray strand of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail and is covering her eye, but she can’t reach it because her hands are currently busy.
Waiting anxiously, ready to run after a dog if one escapes, I run a palm down my face. Surprisingly, she manages to get them all inside. Then she walks over and plops down next to me and I finally relax. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she exhales loudly.
“When I invited myself to your dog walk, I assumed you were going to walk dogs, not that dogs were going to walk you.”
She glares at me then shoves my shoulder playfully. “Normally there are three dogs, max. It was a full house today.”
“I could’ve helped.” I offered to help her a dozen times but she said she didn’t need help.
“It was fine.”
I take her palm in my hand and turn it to see the red indentations from all the leashes. “I know you can handle it. I know you’re fine. But it’s okay to let me help. It’s not because I don’t think you can do it. It’s just to make your life a little easier.”
Lola
…to make your life a little easier….
And then when he’s gone? Then what? Then I’ll have only myself to count on. No, there’s no reason to get used to someone helping me. Becoming dependent on someone is the worst possible thing…
“Lola? Hello, earth to Lola.” He’s waving his hands in front of my face, which takes me out of my stupor.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, shaking my head side to side. “Yeah, uh…the dogs, I had ’em.” I reiterate. “It’s fine. Part of my job. No big deal.” I smile fakely, and he’s looking at me suspiciously. Before I have a chance to say anything else, I feel a nudge on my thigh. I look down and see Spotty, my favorite Doberman, with a ball in his mouth and his tail wagging. “You want to play?” I coo at the dog as I pull the ball Fox brought with him away and toss it far, and then all the dogs run for it. This starts an hour-long game of catch that ends with Fox on the ground with three dogs licking his face while one humps his leg, and I’m laughing so hard tears are forming in my eyes.
I yelp when I’m suddenly airborne, hanging off Fox’s shoulder while Spotty and Maverick, a big furry mutt, try to lick my ear. I don’t know if he’s saying something, but I snort out an unsexy laugh and then yelp again when he slaps my ass, causing more ruckus from the dogs.
“How about a little game of kickball?” he asks. “You against me and you can have your choice of dogs on your team.”
“I’m sure the dogs will honor their teammates.” I laugh. “Kickball? You don’t seem the kickball type.”
He shrugs looking a little somber. “I haven’t played any sports in a long time but when I was in high school, and failing most classes, the only things I excelled in were football and soccer and basically any sport. I used to play just to piss off my dad.”
With his hulking stature and body composition I can see him being athletic. I just never thought someone who starched their ties would be ready to get down and dirty in a kickball match. “Your dad seems like a jerk,” I blurt out.
“He’d kick my ass when I didn’t do well in school. I was terrified of him until I was old enough to fight back.”
“Fox…”
“I joined the football and wrestling teams mostly to keep busy and stay out of the house. I sucked at school but I was great at sports, which kept my dad off my back.” He shrugs as if he’s removed from the story, but from the way he absently pulls on his beard, I know this is a sore topic for him. “I was never good enough. But now look at me.” He runs his fingers through his hair and his shoulders relax a little. “I own a house, have a great job, getting laid regularly by the prettiest girl in town…” He winks at me, and I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood.
“I take it back. He’s not a jerk. He’s a dick.”
“It is what it is,” he replies. He kicks the ball and the dogs run for it. Next thing we know we’re playing kickball with the dogs. I realize how agile and quick on his toes he actually is. I’m impressed and a little surprised.
“That was fun,” I say an hour later when I’ve finished locking all the animals away in their kennels, and I’m about to leave work for the day. It’s probably the best day I’ve had in as long as I can remember.
“Was it?” he says, still picking leaves from his white shirt, which is full of grass stains.
I get on the tips of my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. “You had fun, Mr. Designer Jeans. Admit it! Admit to me that when I’m in the jungles of South America you’re secretly going to be sniffing laundry detergent, and you’ll probably get a big smelly dog just to remember me by.”
His devilish smile, the one I love, slowly shifts to something else. We haven’t discussed my leaving again, but it looms in the background like a big reminder that this is all just temporary. His gaze shifts a bit. “When exactly are you leaving again?”
“Five weeks,” I say, sliding my arms off him. I note that he takes a step away.
“Fox? Everything okay?”
He looks up and the smile is back on his face. “Yeah, perfect. Guess we better get busy getting busy. Don’t want you leaving the country ‘unfulfilled.’ ” He wags his brows. “There’s nothing sexier than being used for my dick.”
He says it with a toothy smile but there’s something behind the words that makes me think there’s no truth to them.
I rest my palms on his chest and tease him. “Are you complaining? What kind of man complains about having an insatiable woman to fuck without any strings?”
He takes a step back. “Not me. Definitely not me. Come on, times a-ticking. Five weeks to go.”
And he disappears out of the clinic, leaving me to close up for the day and to wonder what is going on in his mind.
Fox
We have two hours to kill before work tonight and my mood has gone completely south. Being at the park this morning was fun, more fun than I have had in a while. Lola is so carefree and happy when she’s comfortable. In the club, she’s not herself because she’s hiding such a big part of who she is, but when it’s just us, she’s this other person. Yes, she refuses to let anyone help her, but she can be loud (unintentionally), uninhibited, fiery, and I just enjoy being around her. I hate that we have this date looming, and I hate even more that she doesn’t seem to care it’s there, like a finish line. It’s not like we’ve been together that long or that I’m in love with her or anything. But I think that if we had time, we could make this work. We could go on dates, we could have a relationship, we could talk about the future. But all she wants is instant gratification.
She scarfed down a PB&J as soon as we got back to my apartment, then went to take a shower. I’m picking up in the kitchen when I hear her calling my name. I finish wiping the counter and put down the dishtowel and head to my room where I find her butt-ass naked sprawled on my bed. The scent of my soap filters out of the steamy bathroom, and my mouth waters at the sight of this woman, so wanton and sexy, lying on my bed.
With a crook of her finger, she calls me to her.
“You rang?” I ask, my arms crossed over my chest as if having a naked woman on my bed has done nothing to my cock.
“Thank you
for coming to the park with me today. It was fun.”
I arch an eyebrow and jut out my chin toward her. “You thank everyone like this?”
She reaches behind her and tosses a pillow at me. “Come on. I suck at seduction. Can’t you just come here and stop messing with me?”
“Ohhhh….so this”—I wave my hand toward her—“is you seducing me? Is that what this is?”
“Fox! Come on, hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time and I want to do it,” she whines.
“Yeah, I know. Five weeks. You keep reminding me,” I say as I pull my shirt over my head.
“No, crazy man. I meant we have to be at work in a couple of hours.”
Oh. Okay, maybe I’m overreacting or overthinking.
She sits up and her attempt at seduction shifts to concern and she tries to cover her breasts. “Are you okay? I mean, you’re not mad about me leaving, right?”
I toe off my shoes and then pull off my socks. “No, you’ve been very clear about leaving. How could I be mad?”
She eyes me again, not believing me but I don’t give her a chance to ask or think or do anything else because I take her ankles in my firm grip and pull her to the edge of the bed. Dropping to my knees, I use my shoulders to spread her thighs and then hold her down to the bed. Without giving her a chance to think too much, or maybe to stop me from thinking too much, I spread her bare lips with my thumb and forefinger and run the tip of my tongue harshly over her clit, over and over again. She’s squirming and yelling, her body arching but I’m possessed. Fiercely, if not roughly, I push two fingers inside of her while I keep laving and sucking. Accompanied by a loud scream, I feel her pussy tighten in my grip as I feel her coming all over my face. Before she’s had a chance to catch her breath, I stand, kick my jeans and boxer briefs aside, and then flip her onto her stomach. She tries to get away but I swat her ass and pull it up until she’s on her hands and knees. She looks over her shoulder, her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. I watch her as I roughly push my strained cock into her. Again, she moans, her back arches, and my grip on her hip, as I pull her to me while pushing into her, is relentless. I’m lost in lust as I continue to pound into her, my body arching forward, covering her, pressing her deeper into the bed as I close my eyes, dig my nails into her hips. I come with a loud roar, collapsing over her limp and drained body.
I’m frustrated, mad, and sated. Feelings I’m not used to having and I’m not sure how to handle them. Rolling over to my back, I take a deep breath and feel her small fists on my chest. “What the hell was that?”
I have an arm over my eyes and I’m still catching my breath.
“You wanted to be fucked, right? You didn’t like it? You came,” I say, swiping the back of my forearm over my beard, which is drenched in her juices.
“Ugh. You’re an asshole.”
“Why?” I turn my head, confused. “Why am I an asshole?”
“That was…”
“What? What was it? Good?”
“You never just fuck me, Fox. That was something else.”
“So it wasn’t good?” I ask.
“You know it was good. But you’ve never…we’ve never done it that way. It was rough.”
Shit. I sit up. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head and looks down at her naked body as if she isn’t sure how to answer the question. “No. No, you didn’t. It was…it was unexpected, I guess.”
I hop out of bed and turn so she can see me. “We’re just fucking, right? Sometimes that’s the way I like to fuck. It can’t all be about you all the time.”
I head to the bathroom and lock it behind me, not wanting to hear her reply but most important, not wanting to see the hurt look in her eyes, which I know is undoubtedly there. But I need to get this nonrelationship back on course. She wanted just sex and we’re crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed. I need us both to remember what this is. Well, she remembers it clearly, since she reminded me of her leaving. I am the one who needs to get my shit together and this is the only way I know how to do that—less “making love” and more fucking.
We don’t talk while I drive to work, and she’s looking out the window the entire time. As soon as I park, she jumps out of the car and heads straight inside the club. The entire night, I spend it working and trying not to seek her out. It’s busy, so it’s not a hard feat to accomplish.
At the end of the night, after a brief meeting with David, I head out to find Lola but she’s gone. For the last two weeks she’s been sleeping over almost every night. When she doesn’t sleep over, it’s because she has work the next morning and at the very least I drive her home, hating that she has to take the bus.
Where are you? I text.
Almost home.
You didn’t wait. I could’ve driven you. You know I don’t like you taking the bus.
We’re just fucking. And and felt like sleeping in my own bed tonight.
Lola…
She doesn’t answer. And I know I’ve fucked up. I let my emotions—emotions I have no right to feel, or rather, express—get the better of me.
I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line.
The world doesn’t revolve around you, she texts, paraphrasing the words I said to her earlier. I just wanted to go home. Nothing to do with you.
I exhale deeply. “Fuck this,” I whisper to myself and head straight to her house.
As I park my car I see a figure rounding the corner of the street and I know by the shape of her body and the movement of her walk it’s Lola. And I’m once again mad that she took the bus home. Alone. At night.
I’m leaning against my car, watching her and ready to react if there’s a need. There’s a group of men loitering around the other side and cars on the street and it’s just a bad scene all around.
“Why are you here, Fox?” she says as she comes closer.
“To tell you to your face, not on text, that I’m sorry. I was a dick.”
“And why was that?” she asks, her hands crossed over her body protectively.
Why? That’s a damn good question and something I’m not prepared to answer. Because I’m starting to get used to having you around? Because I like you more than I should. Because I hate that in a few weeks I won’t see you again? Instead I say, “I don’t like when you say we’re just fucking.” That isn’t a lie, even though it may not be the entire truth. “I thought at the least we were friends.”
Her arms go soft and she uncrosses them and places them on my chest. “Fox, we are. I’m sorry if that comment sounded like I don’t enjoy being around you or as if I don’t like you as a person. You’re kind and sweet and funny. We are friends. Of course we are.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Fox.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t hurt my feelings, Lola.”
She chuckles. “Oh, well, of course I didn’t. You’re too manly for something girly like feelings. But I’m sorry nonetheless.”
I reach forward with one hand and pull her to me by the loop of her jeans. Without hesitation, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me.
“You’re forgiven for earlier but not for leaving without telling me and taking the bus at night.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re staying over?”
“Yes.”
Taking her by the hand, I lead us up to her apartment. “I’m going to have a word with your landlord. The lights in that stairwell have to get fixed.”
“Good luck with that. He’s a dick,” she says as she unlocks her apartment. “My lease is up in a few weeks and I want to get my deposit back. I don’t want to piss him off too much.”
I close the door behind her and lock it securely. “You’re going to get your dep
osit back regardless. The light is just something he needs to do. When is your lease up?”
“In about three weeks. I need to play nice so he lets me live here on a week-to-week basis until I leave.”
“No. Fuck that. You can stay with me,” I say without so much as a pause, and when I see her eyes widen I continue. “We just had this conversation, didn’t we? We’re friends. You can crash at my house for a couple weeks. It’s not a big deal. Don’t overthink it. You’re there all the time anyway and honestly”—I look around at the tiny shithole—“I can’t stand that ugly lamp. You’d be doing me a favor by staying with me and tossing the green lamp.”
“Hey! It’s sea foam not green and it’s vintage.” She feigns anger.
“Sea foam or green. Don’t matter. It’s hideous. Now kiss me and show me how sorry you are for hurting my feelings earlier.”
“I thought you didn’t have feelings.”
I wink playfully and wait for her to make it up to me.
* * *
—
We’ve been sleeping together for weeks now and it’s the first time we have the entire day off. I’m utterly exhausted. Maybe I am too old for her, after all. Or maybe we’re having too much sex. I want to drive her to work in the mornings because I hate the thought of her having to wake up early and take three buses to the clinic (it’s an extra bus from my house). But the long nights and early mornings are taking a toll on me and I have no idea how she’s able to keep it up. At least I can go back to sleep after I drop her off; after her day job, she has to get ready to go to Duality. It’s exhausting just watching her.
But today we finally—finally!—got to sleep in and it turns out that when Lola doesn’t have work she sleeps in. At two in the afternoon, after a random pickup game of basketball while jogging, I actually check her breathing because she hasn’t moved since we went to sleep at four in the morning. Poor thing, she really needs her rest, but being the selfish bastard that I am, I also want to spend time with her outside the rush of work and sex.
Kiss Me Back Page 12