by Amy Brent
“Nice pajamas,” Eric said, finally cracking that overdue smile.
“Thanks,” I said, lowering my eyes.
I didn’t want to say anything more. I still didn’t know what his answer to the whole situation was after all. What was the point of getting my hopes up only to have them dashed down so cruelly?
Thankfully, the pizza arrived a short time later. Once we had finished a good quarter of it each, Eric rose.
“Before you have any more, I should remind you to save room for dessert.”
He returned with that distinctive bag of red gummies.
At the sight of it, my eyes filled with tears.
Eric paused, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the table with the bag of gummies.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “If you want me to put them back—”
I shook my head furiously.
“No. It’s not that. It’s just”—my voice broke—“it’s everything. You’ve been so good to me all this time, way better than I expected, and I’ve been deceiving you every step of the way, even deceiving myself.”
Looking at him miserably, I admitted, “I never intended for things to get this far.”
“I never expected them to either,” Eric said in a low voice, carefully sitting down as if sensing his presence might set off a bomb. “But it happened, and we definitely need to talk about it.”
Nodding again, I brushed away an annoying tear.
“We do. But first, I want to apologize. For my part in everything. For lying to you for so long, even when it tore me up. For deceiving you, deceiving myself, and letting things get out of hand. It was not only unprofessional and unethical, but it wasn’t fair to you. I see that very clearly now.”
“So you’re saying you’re sorry for this whole thing?”
Eric’s gaze rested on me carefully. This was a test.
“I am, but not in the way you think,” I said quietly. I brushed away another oncoming tear impatiently. It seemed impossible, but the more tears I brushed away, the more new ones gleefully rolled down to join them. “I’m sorry for lying to you for so long, even after my gut told me you were a good man and not guilty of any crime. But I’m not sorry for all the time we spent together or for getting to know you. I’m not sorry at all for us.”
Eric nodded, his eyes closing, as if some unavoidable door had finally been passed through and closed, never to be backtracked through again.
When he opened his eyes, there was a sheen over them.
“I’m not sorry either, Kathryn.”
The next minute, he was on his feet and at my side, his lips following the trail of my tears. They settled on my lips, and my whole body slumped with relief.
This was exactly what I needed.
He swept me up in his arms, and as more tears trickled down, I couldn’t tell if they were the sad or happy kind. It didn’t seem to matter.
Conveying me out of the kitchen, he carried me down the hallway and into his bedroom. When he gently placed me on his bed, it felt like we had never left. With outstretched arms, I pulled him to me and our lips met like déjà vu. Our hands rolled over and under each other, like skins we were destined to shed. Our bodies were plastered into each other.
A sigh of exquisite release rolled out of my lips, and Eric hurriedly kissed it away.
“Hold on there, Kathryn,” he whispered in my ear. “You better be ready for what we’re going to do next.”
As we ground our pelvises into each other and he held my hands down, I realized exactly what I wanted.
“Can we try the handcuffs again?”
At my question, an invigorated light shone in Eric’s eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached over to his bedside table. Seconds later, there was a silver cuff closing around my wrist. The other, he attached to the bedpost.
Once again, I was seized by a delicious sense of déjà vu, but only of the very best kind—the kind of excitement that was all the more for knowing how the story ended. The sex was going to get even better from here on out. I knew that now.
Yes, as he traced my body with his lips, there was no doubt in my mind. He nestled his face between my breasts and feasted on the warm flesh there. Little sprinkles of sensation popped up all over me.
How was it that every single action we did seemed to be divinely preordained? As if every one of the other’s moves was somehow in our DNA or something.
When he grabbed my breasts, one in each hand, his face assumed such a look of complete gratification that I felt a spurt of added pleasure myself. That look—of love and contentment—it was enough to almost make me come on the spot.
His hands sloped down me, gripping, massaging, and savouring every piece of flesh. They stopped at the uppermost part of my ass and gave it a good slap. That sent the whole bed shaking.
A new moan rolled out of my mouth, and Eric paused to grin.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, sweeping his index finger along my jawline. When it passed over my lips a second time, I latched onto it. Our gazes shot to each other.
The next second, Eric was ripping off his pants and boxers. Then, he slammed himself into me.
Shock and pleasure rippled through me. My body twisted in gleeful agony, but I couldn’t shift much because of my hand cuffed to the bed. As I twisted myself to position my pussy just right to clasp him back, Eric ran an approving hand along my hair.
“Good girl.”
As he twisted his dick into me again, new tremors followed. Fuck, did this feel good. Right now, we were just in missionary position, but it felt like an intricate pose out of the Kama Sutra.
Every time, sex with Eric felt different, new and stimulating. Maybe it was because each time we came to the act with fresh knowledge about each other, almost like we were different people entirely.
Eric slammed himself into me once more, stabbing a yelp right out of my throat. Whoever the man was who was fucking me now, I couldn’t get enough of him.
As he started building the pace of his merciless thrusts, my body started shaking. It knew what was coming. It was the type of orgasm that had you limping the next day.
But Eric wasn’t about to let me off yet. Gripping my breasts for support, he drilled into me deeper and faster, just enough to get me writhing with agony, although not completely released yet. He was holding back.
Gazing up pleadingly at him, I groaned.
“Please, Eric.”
Smirking down on me, his eyes were wild. He patted the words back into my mouth. I sucked on his fingers pleadingly.
“I have to see if you still deserve it,” he said in a cruel tone.
Distress clenching the pleasure deeper into my body, I flung out my pussy desperately, wagging it up to meet his every thrust. Eric aimed another look at me. This one contained a bit of admiration.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” he said tauntingly. “You think you deserve it?”
Nodding furiously, I hoisted my pussy up even higher.
“Oh, fuck, please.”
When he jammed himself into me this time, there was no question. He was going to deliver me now.
As Eric stuffed me with his last spurts of energy, my pussy recoiled in shock. I had already reached the zenith and was tumbling off it. But, with his every thrust, he was throwing me up higher and higher into thin air. This kind of sensation was terrifying to say the least. He was pushing me past my limits, past old limitations.
The shriek coming out of my mouth wasn’t mine, and even his dick between my legs wasn’t his. None of this was him and me. It was bodies and movements, parts and feelings. Then I was seized with it. The orgasm took over, threw my body down, and shook it so thoroughly, I didn’t even know who or what I was anymore.
***
I awoke to my feet being moved over his shoulders.
“Hate to interrupt the afterglow,” he said, “but I still have a cock to get off.”
And, without a moment’s hesitation, he dipped himself into me dee
ply.
The first insertion pierced me awake. My eyes flung open to see his face. It was drooped with pleasure, absolutely slack with enjoyment. This was the face of a man who was as fully clenched into the present as I was.
He repeated the motion, just as slow but somehow even deeper, nudging into my depths. As he pulled out, it felt like I was being impaled by the tremor that followed.
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at me adoringly, stroking my head from one ear to the other. “You like that, don’t you?”
It took all I had to let a contented gurgle flutter out of my mouth with his next long, slow thrust.
Each motion was bittersweet. It was long, glorious, and yet teasing too. Eric had to feel how wet I still was. He was drawing this out for his own benefit, not mine.
And yet, as he continued his thrusts, they gradually built up. Each one was the longest stroke of my depths I’d ever experienced. It was like a kind of meditation on fucking. It was as if every part of the act was concentrated in that single unyielding rod that was flowing through me. In. and out. In and out. The gradually building pace was matched by my body’s own building shakes. It could barely handle this.
Nonsense syllables followed each other out of my mouth. The voice saying them wasn’t mine.
Once again, my body was nearly out of my control, and I fucking loved it.
Eric looked to be near the edge as well. Every one of his thrusts was so precise, I now practically shook with anticipation. He entered me and I clasped one hand. In and out, more and more. When I began swirling my pussy in circles around his oncoming dick, he lost it.
He jammed his hard cock into me with no hesitation now. With its last joyous spurts into me, he clawed my pussy so thoroughly that I exploded into an orgasm of my own. Like this, clenched and gasping all the while, we came as one.
Afterward, we had a cleaning spree. It was kind of funny, us attacking each other and cleaning in swipes, giggling uproariously all the while.
After a little while, Eric started eyeing me with a hard-to-place look.
“What is it?” I asked.
He only smiled and shook his head before getting up.
“I have an idea.”
He left for the bathroom with a couple pillows. Then, without another word, he lifted me up and carried me off.
“Eric!” I protested, laughing again.
“Just wait and see,” Eric announced, chuckling himself.
It was only once I was resting in the pillow-bottomed bathtub that I realized it. Eric had done exactly what he had scoffed at the other night!
As he clambered in beside me, I waited until he was slumped back onto the pillows and his eyes had closed in repose before I said, “You see?”
He nodded slightly, his smile growing. Then, he rested his head on my shoulder. It was such a tender gesture that I wanted to kiss him and throw my arms around him and squeal all at once. Instead, I said the only thing that came to my mind.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Eric’s naked body registered no response. His head lay on my shoulder in the same position as before, as if he hadn’t heard me. Had he heard me?
I sat up so he could no longer rest on my shoulder.
“I said I think I love you,” I repeated, louder this time.
There was no doubt Eric had heard me. There was no doubt as to what his response was either—nothing.
No, Eric stared dolefully at the bathroom cabinet across from the tub. His expression was unreadable, although he didn’t need to say words to make his reply clear. He didn’t feel the same way.
Throwing myself upright, I stormed out of the tub and into the bedroom. As I struggled into my stupid penguin pajama bottoms, Eric followed.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” I demanded, not looking at him. “Like someone who just made a complete idiot out of herself? Because I did.”
My penguin pajama top finally over my head, I stormed out of the room.
Downstairs, after I’d gotten on my shoes and was out the door, it occurred to me how dark the night was. And how the clouds themselves were raining down tears at my predicament.
Chapter 32
Eric
What was my problem?
I stared at the sloth sticky note on my computer dejectedly.
It read, Have you talked to her yet?
I’d been quickly speed-walking past Mark this whole morning when I wasn’t just downright holing myself up in my office. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him about my latest screw-up. Wasn’t it enough that Kathryn and I hadn’t discussed what we’d gotten together to talk about? Did I actually have to go and mess things up completely by not saying I love you back, too?
I sighed as my mind unhelpfully recalled the weekend’s events. How many times had I called Kathryn on Sunday anyway? Did it matter? The damage was clearly done. I wouldn’t have picked up if I were her either. She’d given me two chances—two chances I’d royally fucked up.
Why had I fucked them up anyway?
Ripping down the sloth sticky note, I turned it around in my hands. If I’d been able to admit to Mark that I loved Kathryn, why couldn’t I admit it to her too? Maybe it was because hearing her say what I had so secretly hoped for was such a confirmation of all my dreams that it hadn’t seemed real. It had seemed like it couldn’t have really been happening, like I was misunderstanding or something. It had taken me completely off guard, but that still didn’t explain why I had frozen up like an idiot.
I sighed, checking my phone again. No, Kathryn still had not responded to my fifteen plus calls and countless apologetic messages. Would she ever?
There was a knock on my door. It was probably good old Mark leaving another sticky note with another message for me. I was halfway there when my phone rang. It was Kathryn.
“Hello?” I said hurriedly.
“I’m just calling to let you know that I have my first checkup for the baby this Friday. It’s at one thirty at Briar Hospital. You can go or not.”
“Kathryn, I—”
She hung up before I could even respond.
I gazed at my phone in a daze, my attention switching back to the door. I opened it to find Mark, his head now tilted to the side with curiosity. I waved him away impatiently, turning my back on him.
What the hell had just happened? Kathryn had just called me back, but only to tell me about the baby’s appointment? Was that a good thing?
The corners of my lips tugged downward. She had basically said she didn’t care if I came along and then hung up in the middle of my response. How could that have been construed as a good thing in any way, shape, or form?
But still, it was an appointment for the baby. Of course I would go. That much was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious, however, was how to get into Kathryn’s good graces again.
Just that second, my phone started ringing again.
“Hello?!” I said excitedly, thinking it might be Kathryn again.
“You sure sound excited to talk to me,” my dad said in a jovial tone.
“Oh, Dad, hey,” I said, trying not to sound too disappointed.
“Don’t be mad,” he said quickly, “but your mom told me.”
I groaned. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about already. Although I hadn’t asked my mom not to tell him, and he was my dad.
“Anyway,” he said, “we’re in the city, only a block away. Want to meet for lunch?”
This groan I kept to myself. My dad had always scolded me for groaning or sighing outright when I was upset. He claimed it was rude, but really, I thought he just had an overactive sense of guilt.
“Sure,” I said. “I can meet you in the lobby of my building in ten minutes.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said. “See you soon!”
Luckily, he hung up before I was expected to make an equally cheery response.
As I closed my laptop, my gaze stopped on the little sloth sticky note. With the way my luck had be
en these past couple days, my parents were going to be asking me the very same thing. How were things with Kathryn?
What exactly was I supposed to tell them when I had no idea myself? Not to mention that every time I saw her, I seemed to screw up even more.
In the lobby, my mom was armed with a big sunbonnet and a wicker basket.
“Your father wasn’t entirely truthful with you,” she said, expressing the obvious as I took in how they were decked out.
They looked more ready for an outdoor walk than lunch. My stomach growled petulantly.
My mom smiled knowingly and put on her sunglasses. Patting my hand, she said, “Don’t worry, darling. I packed us some sandwiches.”
As I grudgingly followed them out of the lobby and out to wherever their car was parked, my dad gave me a supportive pat of his own.
“Sorry, my boy, but your mother and I know how you hate the park.”
I nodded without saying anything. Really, I was just relieved they hadn’t organized some sort of weird intervention for Kathryn and me. My parents—as loving and supportive as they were—had come to develop a kind of thing over the years for interventions. In particular, they loved nothing more than sitting me down and, in very concerned tones, asking me what was wrong.
It was a question to which no answer under four paragraphs and two good cries would do. Me? I preferred the good old-fashioned way. Actions spoke louder than words, also known as: Let me figure it out my own damn self.
Although, I supposed my parents did have a right to talk to me about the future of their grandchild, but I wasn’t going to give them any answers they’d be happy with. Damn was this situation frustrating. These days, I could hardly tell whether I missed Kathryn or was frustrated with her. Probably a nice queasy cocktail of the two.
As we pulled up to the park, my mom opened the lid of her wicker basket. She handed me a sandwich as we got out of the car.
“Bologna and mustard, your favorite,” she said.
With half the sandwich in my mouth, I mumbled thanks, although it wasn’t my favorite and hadn’t been for at least ten years. No matter how many times I reminded her, my mom seemed to forget I was no longer seven years old. Not to mention that realistically, I needed about three times the portion she prepared for me (no upgrade since my childhood years). No matter. Mark and I could sneak out for a doughnut break later if I was in the mood.