by KT Morrison
“Fucking hell, Omar,” she said and she dropped him, recoiling, getting herself out of their sight. He was laughing, but he got off the gas and he fell behind the convoy, finally tucking in behind the trailer again. She got back in the seat and did up her seatbelt.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she said. She wasn’t laughing, she didn’t think it was funny at all. “No, really—that was really stupid, yeah.”
“Hey, come on,” he said, his voice low and deep, trying to calm her. “It was just funny—”
“No, it wasn’t. Not for me.”
She could see him shake his head from the corner of her eye.
“Isn’t that the kind of thing you like?” he asked her.
She didn’t answer. That was not the kind of thing she liked. To be made fun of. How could he think that was the same? How dare he even address the things she liked and didn’t like.
He made gestures to himself in the driver’s seat, moving his big hands on the steering wheel, like he was arguing a point in his head. He looked mad, incredulous that she would be mad at him. She knew he was now blaming her period on this rather than himself. His cock was sagging between his legs, still aroused but coming down to touch the leather again.
“You’re not going to put that thing away?” she said.
“You’re not going to finish what you started?”
“You’re going to have to wait until we’re at the resort for that now aren’t you?”
*
“That car there?” the mechanic asked him. Brody felt like he was being purposely difficult. His English was terrible and Brody knew almost no French.
Brody looked out slowly through the plate glass front window of Frontec Motorsports at his little shitty rented Renault he had picked up at the airport in Montpellier. “What? No. That's a rental.”
The guy’s expression didn't change, looking at him blankly, his eyes half-lidded, cigarette smoke spinning up past his eyes in a spiral. Brody said, “I have an Audi, I wanted it to, you know, go faster. You know, big wheels, exhaust…” He used his English with a bit of a French accent like that might help him get it.
The big dumb mechanic just looked down at the messy counter, his fat dirty hands spread wide across it on either side of a dog eared desk calendar. Every day had something scribbled on it.
“You know, it very… busy,” he said, not dismissive, but not helpful.
“Hey, is Omar in?” Brody asked him.
The mechanic at least raised his eyebrows this time. He said, “Uh, non, he is…away…race”
“Ah, oh yeah, nice. Where’s that?”
“Mugello,” he said.
“I’ll call in next week then,” Brody said and he turned away from him, left him standing at the counter wondering what that was all about. He went and got in the Renault.
He looked into the bays, they were packed, and there were more cars in the parking probably waiting to be seen to. There were mechanics in there, fucking off, smoking and talking, taking it easy while the boss was away.
He started up the rental, put on his sunglasses and headed for the highway.
*
Kiley watched the happy people of Chicago strut along the sidewalk from behind the dirty window of the A-Line bus. They were stuck in the nighttime traffic, inching along, giving her a voyeur’s wet dream; sitting behind glass watching with envy all these people you imagined had more than you did. They had more, they gave more. But Kiley was empty. She was done.
Her eyes wanted to close, but she wouldn't let them. She forced them open, she deserved this punishment. She walked this afternoon to the Fox and Hound which was not far from her apartment, somewhere along Hyde Park. She'd never been in it before, she just knew the sign. It reminded her of home. She probably left her apartment, absently headed to the pub, under some subconscious spell to ease some of her homesickness.
It looked like home but she soon found it wasn't really like home at all. Not the same people. Different voices. Chicago was her home until it wasn't. Today was that day. She felt out of place. So she had a few Newcastles at the bar and two guys bought her about sixty dollars of Jameson's and tried to cheer her up. But when she wasn't having it they rolled their eyes and moved on. Now she was sitting on this bus going God knows where.
She watched a young couple ahead, past the bench seat in front of her, sitting holding hands and looking at each other and smiling. She felt herself being watched—another man sitting on the opposite side was looking at her. Witness to her jealousy and her profound unhappiness. Did she look unfulfilled? Could you see that in a person? What must she look like right now?
She tried to see her reflection in the dirty bus glass. Could see her mane of hair looking a little ragged, a few stray tendrils. She ran her hands over them, tried to smooth them down but it didn't work. She must look a sullen mess.
She was wearing tight black denim capris with a rolled up cuff, her black loafers were scuffed and dirty—she didn't remember how they got that way. She probably looked to them all as defeated as she felt.
She stood up and pressed the tab that ran along the top of the window, let the bus driver know she wanted off. She wanted to walk the rest of the way. Get some fresh air. The demons were catching up with her in here.
She got down on the step in the middle of the bus and stepped off onto the street when the doors opened. She felt a little woozy and she leaned on a parked car for a moment to steady herself. The street was alive with activity, people out doing great things. Having fun with their friends, going on dates, having dinner, maybe some dancing. Fuck them all.
She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black sweatshirt and merged in with these people who had better things to do. Her hand still ached from punching the elevator.
She walked a while with her head down only looking up when she came to cross streets looking for a sign. She found it finally and turned right, walking down a quiet street, residential, where the trees came over the sidewalk and you walked under their dark canopy.
No hard feelings, his note had said. He knew what he was going to do. He knew he was going to cancel his account with her. Had he no idea how that would sound to the people she knew? Didn't he know the trouble that could come? And then to tell them—off the record of course—that there was some indiscretion. People would think the worst.
But good. When they ask her she should tell them the truth. See how he likes it. He came in her hand in about fifteen seconds. He's a terrible kisser. His prick wasn't anything to brag about. Make them write all that down. If she were as big a piece of shit as Jay was she should tell them he started it. That he seduced her. Got her to take her clothes off in the hot tub, plied her with wine, invited her to his home on a Saturday night, made a move on her. He said, she said. If she wanted to she could ruin him. If she wanted to make a scene, wanted to lie to everyone, she could turn this around on him. Make him the one who suffers.
She stopped at the iron gate. She didn't know at what point she had decided to come here. Was it on the main street, the bus, the bar? Was it sitting home alone crying in her darkened apartment this afternoon? Did she get herself those stiff drinks to prepare herself for what she knew she desperately wanted to do?
She looked at the black box with the gold buttons. She could buzz him. He might answer maybe but she knew there was no way he'd let her in. She could see his lights on past the glass panels on either side of the big, glossy, black door. She could see movement in them, shadows made on the wall beyond that black door. He was home.
She was feeling fit. Thanks, Jay. Fit enough to get up his stupid gate. What was he so afraid of, hiding behind this iron barrier? It was only about six feet tall really. She put her hands up on the crossbar and pulled herself up. She put her foot out on the brick column that held the hinges of the gate and pushed herself up high enough to swing a leg over top.
Her momentum was a bit more than she expected and she tumbled right over and fell six feet and landed in a heap on the pat
io on the other side.
“Ah, fuck,” she moaned, laying on the flagstone. She didn't want to move, she thought she might have broken her collarbone. She sat up slowly, her eyes shut tight, her face scrunched up.
“Ahh,” she hissed and she ran her hand along her collar expecting to feel a jagged bone poking through the skin, maybe right through her sweatshirt. But she was fine. She lifted her shoulder, she could move it, she could rotate it. She was okay. There was blood on her hand though. She was bleeding somewhere.
She patted around. It was her forehead, her temple, just over her right eye. She pressed the fabric of her sweatshirt against it. Thank God it was black.
She got to her feet, saw that she had also torn the right knee of her pants. But still, she was all right. She was young, she would bounce right back. She walked to his front door a little unsteady, but she held her hand out and ran her fingertips along the boxwood shrubs and that helped her from falling over.
When she got to the door she didn't even hesitate. She pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her fist and she pounded on the door. Not too hard, she didn't want to scare him off, so she held back as much as she could. As much as she could, considering how mad she really was. She saw the shadow move on the wall across from the door and knew he was coming. She stepped back and let him come.
His face appeared in the window and she watched his expression change from puzzlement to shock, saw that he wanted to get away from there, not deal with her, but she was going to make him answer to her. She said, “Jay, open the door.” He stared back at her, his mouth slightly open, he looked worried.
“Jay, just open the door.”
His shoulders slumped and he said, “Kiley I don't think you should be here.”
“Jay, what are you afraid of, open the door.”
“Kiley, what happened to your head?”
“Open the door you fucking coward. Afraid of a little girl?”
“You're bleeding.”
“Do you have any idea what you have done?”
“I'm sorry Kiley, I have to protect myself.”
“Protect yourself from what, Jay? Protect yourself from me? Little old me?”
“I have to follow a protocol, it's only to—”
“Well, you really got me. Now I've got nothing. I'll have to go back to England. I just want to understand why you would do this. You have everything and I have nothing. I have no one, no family. And you took the one thing in my life away because of why, Jay?”
“Why do you have to go back to England?” He opened the door only slightly, just enough that his face appeared in the crack between the door and the jamb. He kept it braced with his knee so he could close it quickly if she were to lunge at him.
“They want to understand why you cancelled on them. Cancelled on me. You told them I did something. Did you think they would ignore that? Do you think they're that stupid? Of course they want to know what exactly it is you're not telling them. They're going to make me pay for it.”
“I didn't want that, Kiley. I didn't want to tell them anything.”
“Well, you've made them think something happened. I don't know what you said but they know that I did something that wasn't right.”
“Just don't tell them anything. I will take back whatever I said.”
“It's too late Jay, it's too late for that.” She hadn't wanted it to happen but she felt it begin. She was going to cry. When she got here she felt pretty strong—she was quite sure that she could give him a piece of her mind and get away with this without embarrassing herself. But it wasn't going to happen. Her face struggled not to contort and that made it worse. Her eyes went wet with tears and she squinted, futilely struggling to stop it from happening, but that made them spill over her lids and roll down her cheeks. The feeling of the wet on her face broke her down. Her body shuddered as she felt herself begin to sob; she tried to push it away.
He could see it happen to her and she could see his face get upset, worried. She hoped he knew what a horrible thing he had done. He had ruined her.
“Kiley, I'm sorry. I thought I had to do it. I'm… I'm getting back together with Tess. I'm trying to. We might make it work, we've been talking. But I thought that anything that you might say could ruin it. Any allegation.”
“Jay, who do you think I am? What kind of person do you think I am. Why would I have said anything?”
“I don't know, Kiley, do you know how many times I've been sued? It's all the time. I mean literally all the time I'm dealing with it.”
“Why do you keep thinking I'm after your money?” she sobbed. “Why do you keep thinking that I want you in court? Why are you so afraid? How does your mind work?”
“Kiley, I…”
“You have dark thoughts for a guy who always wants everyone to think how great he is. You did this to me, I can't even explain how huge this is for me—you did it all because of some imaginary complaint? Worried that I would say something? You're the good guy right? Good old Jay? By the book, going to protect himself. You’re a fucking asshole. You are, yeah. You know that? I was no harm.” She had to wipe her face again, the tears were rolling down her cheeks but she was keeping it going, she wasn't going to run away from him.
“Kiley, I'm sorry, I swear I'll call them, I'll take it back. I can't work with you, but I'm sorry, I said too much. I was mad and they pressed me…”
“Yeah, it's done Jay. You've left it so I can't recover. You protected yourself. I don't know what you're so afraid of. What kind of man can't just call me and talk to me. All that shit about being my friend, yeah? What happened to that?”
“God, Kiley, please… I know I should have stopped. I wanted to, I do like you, I should have done something to stop you I just didn't know how.”
“You did, but you didn't do it. If you could have used words, told me, I would have stopped. If you had let me know I wouldn't have gone on.”
“I couldn’t…”
“Come on, Jay, you didn't really want me to stop. Face it, Mr Nice Guy. You just felt guilty once you came in my hand.”
“Kiley…” She heard his foot scrape on the brick, venturing out now, feeling braver.
“Stay in your house Jay, don't come out and don't touch me. I don't need you to make me feel better, I want you to know what you've done. That's all. You're a real good guy Jay. Real swell fella. I hope Tess takes you back, maybe you can fool her too, you selfish prick.” She turned on her heels, she felt good. She didn't lose it. She told him well. She saw it in his face, she knew he'd heard her, had fucked her up good.
She heaved a little as she got to the gate. One brief big sob, one big hoarse gasp for air. So now what? So now he knew. It didn't change anything. All that she's accomplished in the last few years have been washed away by one careless act. On her part, but he overreacted. She'd let him know, but with that over what was left? Where would she go from here?
She pulled on the gate but it just rattled. Oh, shit. She pushed but it didn't give. She shook it, it was definitely locked. She looked back at his door. It was closed and the lights were off now. She looked up at the crossbar of the gate. Her shoulder, her knee, and her forehead ached. She may have wrenched her back too, she would know in the morning.
She looked back at Jay's door again. How stupid was she going to look when she asked Jay to buzz her out of here?
Thanks so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the fifth story featuring these characters as much as I enjoyed writing it. There’s a lot more in store for this crazy foursome and some major events are going to change them all. If you’d like to catch up with the series, you can get first four at a reduced price in one click on the Box Set.
Keep in touch, go on and send me an e-mail or get me on twitter. I’d like to hear from you!
—KT
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Other Books by KT Morrison
Going A Little Too Far
You couldn’t picture a sweeter couple than Troy and Emma.
Troy’s a former Division One college wrestler. A walking water park at two-sixty-five, with shoulders no woman could get her arms around and a set of abs you could scrub laundry on.
Emma’s a sweet little Georgia Peach. Pretty as can be in her proper dresses; she’s a good girl from a good family that raised her right.
You couldn’t tell by looking at them that they were two straight-up freaks that loved to push each other’s kinky buttons.
Emma, with all her book club shyness, loves to be man-handled, loves to be lifted off her feet and dominated. Troy is a monster with a six-hundred-fifty pound deadlift and she's like a feather in his arms.
Troy likes to be humiliated. He knows he doesn't have much 'down there' and he likes his virginal wife to tell him he's no good and she’d have to get what she wanted elsewhere.
Couple of closet freaks.
A summer housewarming party on a scorching hot West Texas day puts a gift in their lap. A big, larger-than-life playtoy for Emma to tease her husband with. He wants her to. She wants to do it. But once it starts, where do you stop? What’s going too far?
Measured Next To Her Ex: A Medical Size Comparison Cuckold Fantasy
When Ben Watson went to the new Sexual Performance Clinic across from his office he was just looking to get some help.
But when he showed up on Opening Day the place was so overwhelmed they started doubling up in exam rooms to make sure all the patients were assessed.
Of all the gin joints in all the—
Guess who his exam partner is? Yeah, his honey-pie's ex-boyfriend. He is going to be sitting next to him, knees practically touching, while theses nurses assess their size and performance using only their latex hands.