by L. B. Dunbar
“Don’t play with my fat,” I warned, trying to tease him but slightly serious. Squeezing me there was only going to remind me again that I wasn’t groupie material.
“Fishing for compliments isn’t flatterin’, beautiful.”
“I’m not fishing. I’m stating the obvious.” My voice rose an octave, irritation filling it. A forced compliment was the worst kind of compliment—the obligatory one said after a negative comment. It was so disingenuous.
“What’s obvious to me,” he started as he slipped to my side and let a finger trail down the middle of my stomach, which I sucked in. “is you don’t see yourself clearly.”
I wanted clarification, but I didn’t want to ask. Anything he said to me was within the realm of the heat of the moment. I needed to get out of that realm and back into thoughts of having sex with him, because I wanted that. I wanted to have sex with him again and again. There was no room for my emotions.
His finger travelled lower, combing through crisp curls before diving in deep. My back arched off the bed at the intrusion, loving every bit of pressure within me. He twisted and released me before torturously entering me again. I gripped the bedsheets in a fist when his thumb hit that spot, the one that triggered all my pleasure.
“You’re sweet, darlin’,” he whispered as he watched me, my body rolling without control, drawing his finger into me and begging for the friction on that nub. The orgasm crawled up my thighs and crept down my belly, and when the two ends met I detonated, my knees collapsing and pressing together to hold his hand between my thighs. I moaned as my back curled off the bed, and my head fell back. The sensation wasn’t ending, but curling and crashing like the waves off in the distance, and I let the tide roll.
“Now that’s a sight I want to see again,” he said, releasing his fingers slowly and climbing over me for his nightstand.
Foil ripped. Lightning struck again, flashing behind him. The world was dark and murky around us as the storm outside continued, but all I sensed was him. He was thunder, and I anxiously awaited the strike. He held himself outside my entrance, teasing me with the tip, as he parted me.
“This might be quick, darlin’. Morning sex usually is.” If he didn’t want other women in this bed, he just brought them here, but I quickly forgot them when he rushed into me. I bowed off the bed again as he swiftly filled me to my depths. The missionary position was different from the other day. Some might think it mundane, but something felt strangely intimate about him over me, looking down at me as he filled me. He must have felt it too, because he slipped his knees forward and pulled himself upright. Taking my hips with him, keeping us attached, he lifted me by my backside. I used my feet to help balance myself as he held my hips and pummeled into me repeatedly. Each thrust hit a spot deep inside me that I didn’t know existed, tapping it over and over and over until I couldn’t take anymore. My body wanted another orgasm, although I’d never had two in a row before.
When his thumb hit my center, stroking me rapidly as he thrust deep inside, tears filled my eyes again. Frustration. I wanted this, this release, this pleasure, this painful tapping deep within me.
“You right there again, darlin’?” He questioned, and I was reminded that we hardly knew one another. There were signs, sighs, sounds people too comfortable with one another expressed if the other is paying attention. Sometimes when you are with the same person for so long, you forget. I’d forgotten the joy in discovery, and I loved that Tommy didn’t recognize yet that I was about to come a second time, and it was going to be huge.
I tipped my hips, clenched within and released so large my toes curled. Moisture seeped from my core, and I heard the slapping of our bodies against one another in the wet heat I’d produced. He stilled, and with my hips raised, I felt the sharp jolt of him inside me, pulsing and jerking. My head rolled to the side. I was sweaty and lazy, depleted of all energy.
He lowered my hips, slipping out of me, and removing the condom. It disappeared off the side of the bed and he stretched out next to me. His hand scaled over my stomach as my chest rose and fell with the exertion of what we just did. Propped on an elbow next to me, he looked like he’d barely broken a sweat.
I chuckled, and his hand jiggled on my belly.
“I love that you’re like opening a bottle of fine wine,” he said. My laughter died, and his finger traced circles on my soft abs. “You’re refreshing,” he said, swiping his other hand through his hair, but not looking at me.
“Something different for the palate,” I suggested. His lips curled as I played along with his metaphor.
“Something different, darlin’, definitely.”
He rolled away from me after that and picked up the condom from the floor. I still hadn’t moved. I didn’t know what to do next. Did I dress? Did I ask for a shower? Did I just leave? I sat up as he returned from the bathroom, a towel in hand.
“I guess I should…” I faltered, knowing I wasn’t about to clean myself in front of him. I started scooting for the edge of the bed.
“I don’t want to leave this bed,” he said. “Not yet.” His tone matched the one he used the night before, the same one where he told me he wanted to hold on, just a little bit.
He reached for his phone and ordered room service again. He’d slipped on his boxer briefs sometime when he went to dispose of the condom. Reaching for my dress on the pillows, he handed it to me.
“Would you be more comfortable if you put this back on?”
I nodded and took the nightshirt from him, excusing myself from the bed for a moment, and awkwardly covering myself as I briskly walked to the bathroom. Once inside, I collapsed against the door only briefly before realizing I was a mess. Using a washcloth, I cleaned myself, said a silent apology before I used his toothbrush, and dressed. My underwear was still missing.
I returned to the room and found him in the same position as I’d left him: one arm behind his head, partially propped up on the pillows, legs sprawled across the bed. He stared out the open balcony door at the dulling storm. Turning to me, he held out a hand, and I took it. His hands were thick, the tips of his fingers rough. Mine looked so small inside his, veiny and sprinkled with freckles. Beauty marks, my mother called them.
He sat forward, wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me over him to bounce on the bed beside him.
“You have that look again,” he said, staring down at me where he towered on an elbow over me. “No running. Breakfast is coming.”
He returned to his resting position, and I sat up.
“We should talk,” he said next, and I stiffened. Here it comes, I thought, not even knowing what he could say. This was nice. Let’s exchange numbers. I never want to see you again.
My chest clenched with each scenario.
“Tell me about your ex-husband.”
The command took my breath. “What?” I choked.
“You said he was an alcoholic. Tell me about that.”
“Why?”
“You’re doing it again,” he chuckled, looking at me, but my question was an honest one.
“Really, why do you want to know?”
“I find I still don’t have you figured out. You keep surprising me, and I want to know about this.”
“I thought you said no other people in the bed,” I teased, trying to make light of discussing David and wishing to avoid all messy conversations anyway.
“That was before. When I’m about to enter you, make us one, there’s only room for us two.”
My breath hitched again. There was something sweet in that statement.
“But now I want the deets on the ex.”
This was too strange, I thought, as I shook my head and answered. “He was an alcoholic. End of story.”
“Not enough,” Tommy said, letting his arm fall from behind his head. He clasped his hands on his lower abs, and I forced my eyes not to linger on the covered package, knowing how large it could get.
“I was married for twenty years. We were young when I got pregnant. We got mar
ried. It was the right thing to do, so we did.” I shrugged as my mother’s words echoed in my head. Twenty-one and a recent college graduate. Pregnant and married wasn’t the life plan.
“He graduated college a year before me and had a high-pressure job in an accounting firm. He worked long hours. He travelled. We seemed to circle one another instead of blending like married couples. We had been people who partied, but not partiers, if that makes sense. I guess life just got to him.”
“You making excuses for him, beautiful?”
“No,” I scoffed. “David had choices. He just chose himself, as he always did.” He’d been a selfish man all our marriage. Even the times he tried not to drink, the selfishness was still part of his personality.
“You stayed with him,” he stated. This was always where things got sticky.
“I did. I thought it was me. I thought it was the kids. He sometimes told me it was me. He mentioned a few times he didn’t want to be a father. We did therapy. We tried vacations. But the bottom line was David had a problem that he didn’t see as a problem. He lied to me and he lied to himself. I couldn’t take it any longer.”
“What happened?”
“I turned forty. I was over it. My kids were older, and I didn’t like my life. I didn’t feel like I had one. I found a new job and asked him for a divorce. When I found out he had an affair, it sealed my determination to take back something for me.”
“You seem like an independent woman.” It was the first impression I think Tommy got correct.
“I am. Or at least, I like to think I am.” I couldn’t admit to him that there were many times I was weak. I still wanted to be held. I still wanted someone to tell me things would be all right when they didn’t seem to be. I still wanted someone to love me.
He took a deep breath, and I continued.
“I got cancer around the same time I served David with divorce papers. He swore he’d change, that he’d be there for me. But he wasn’t. It was just one more thing that drove him to drink. I knew I’d be better alone than with him.”
“Very independent,” he muttered, as if surprised or impressed.
“I just wanted me back. I wanted my life,” I stated, patting at my chest. “And then I thought I was going to lose it. Lose everything. I couldn’t stay with David. I’m forty-three. If I’ve lived half my life, and was fortunate enough to get the other half, what would that other half bring? It couldn’t be a failing marriage, an alcoholic husband, and a very unhappy me.”
The air in the room grew heavy, and darkness filled the balcony window, bringing on another round of stormy weather. The oppressive atmosphere matched the one in Tommy’s room, and my stomach dropped at how I’d taken our carefree minutes and tainted them with memories of a man I once loved, but who didn’t love me.
Tommy hadn’t spoken, and I scrambled to the end of the bed, reaching over it for my underwear. I’d said too much, and the weight of it crushed me. If I was going to bare my soul, I wanted my underwear back on.
“I should go,” I muttered.
“I don’t want you to.” The words startled me. “I want to eat eggs, discuss music, and just look at you.”
“I…” I had no words. My heart raced. My stomach flipped. I wanted to kiss him. His lip twitched, and he tipped his head as if he read my thoughts. Taking another risk, I climbed over his feet, straddling his legs and crawled up the length of his body. His smile widened as I sat at his lap, painfully aware of what lay just underneath my backside.
“I’d like that, too,” I said softly, tracing a nail over his abs, making them suck in. A hand came to my hip.
“Kiss me, darlin’,” he asked, and I did. I kissed him with the same tenderness I did last night, with the longing I had to be with someone who was rough on the outside like him, but equally sweet. I kept my body still as I concentrated only on his lips, letting the tip of my fingers stroke the stubble on his jaw, shifting to nails scratching through the short hair.
“You like that, darlin’?” he muttered against my mouth.
“I do,” I purred, continuing to scratch while I returned to kissing. His lips were plump and delicate when he’d let them be, and the kisses washed over me, cleansing me of thoughts of my ex. I pulled back slowly, taking his lower lip with mine before releasing him. His eyes were closed, and he opened them slowly.
“You brushed your teeth,” he chuckled.
“So did you,” I replied.
“Is it strange that I like you using my toothbrush?”
“Not if you aren’t offended that I did.”
“Please, offend me,” he said, leaning forward for my mouth and forcing my body to rut back against his growing length. A knock at the door interrupted.
“Breakfast,” he muttered, gently pushing me off of him. “I’d rather get drunk on you instead, but I am starving.” He said it so casually, so nonchalantly, as if he had no idea how that thought ricocheted my heart rate and sent desire rushing through me.
If he wanted fine wine for breakfast, who was I to deny him?
+ + +
“Your music knowledge is horrendous,” Tommy chuckled, pointing a crispy slice of bacon at me. I smiled in response. I described every song by the singer—you know, the one by the short, pixie blonde about being alone—or—the band with four guys and the front one looks like so-and-so. Tommy was good natured about my lacking information.
“Favorite song of all time,” he asked. I had to really think about it and then I had to try to clarify without using a movie or television show, which he mocked mercilessly, telling me those references didn’t count.
“’Wait For Me’ by a band called Colt45.” I shrugged my shoulder, glancing down at my plate. “I saw them in a small venue when I was in college. They were amazing, and I just loved that song. It hit the radio, but I remember hearing them before it went public.”
I looked up to find Tommy staring at me, bacon still poised in between his fingers. He dropped the bacon on his plate and turned his head toward the balcony window. I had no idea what I’d said, but the air around us dropped ten degrees. He sat back and rubbed at his jean-covered thighs.
“What did I say?” I asked, bewildered. His head turned back for me, and a smirk curled his lips but didn’t reach his eyes.
“Nothing, darlin’.”
I nodded not understanding what happened. Turning toward the clock, I gasped.
“Oh my gosh, is it really nine-thirty?” This wasn’t some play on escape and using the time as an excuse. It really was three and a half hours after we woke, and I could only imagine how my kids might react to my walk of shame across the resort complex. Thinking of that reminded me I had only my nightdress and bare feet to carry me back to the condo. I groaned, standing.
“How am I going to get out of here?” Tommy followed me up from his seat.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, darlin’. You don’t need to rush off.”
“But it’s nine-thirty. Oh, my God, my kids are going to think…” I let the thought trail off and covered both my cheeks with my hands.
“They aren’t going to think anything,” Tommy said. “Why don’t you call Masie, ask her to bring you whatever you need.” He paused and looked around his room. “Where are your shoes?”
“I didn’t wear any,” I said. “You were making a small scene, and I just wanted to get you back to your room.”
Tommy’s face dropped. The edges of his jaw hardened and his cheeks angled.
“Don’t ever let me do that again, you understand? You kick me to the curb. Tell me to fuck off, but don’t walk across a resort without shoes for me.” His tone was serious, almost eerie, and I nodded to agree.
“I really need to go, though.”
He offered me a pair of way-too-large slides before he tugged on a T-shirt, slipped into his own flip-flops, and escorted me from his room. When we neared my room, after walking through the parking lot instead of the lobby, a sadness pressed on me. Each time I parted from him I felt as if it would be th
e last time I experienced him. It wasn’t just the sex, but sex with him. To my surprise, breakfast afterward had been equally rewarding. He was funny, smart, and nice to look at when he smiled back at me.
As we stood before my door, I awkwardly played with my key card, twirling it in my hand.
“I want to give you my number,” Tommy said. Although it was only a phone number, the thought warmed my insides. He pulled out his phone, and I realized I’d left mine in his room.
“I’ll just text mine to your number,” he said, typing in the digits.
“But I left mine in your room,” I said sheepishly. He smiled slowly, and I noted this meant we’d have to see each other again. “Come in for a second. I’ll write your number down.”
He followed me into the condo where I noticed all the lights were still off. The blinds for the balcony remained closed. The door to my bedroom was shut.
“Just a minute,” I said, stepping over to my room, and opening the door to find Caleb sleeping in my king size bed. My heart pumped faster as I crossed the foyer, and knocked on the door of the room Masie and Caleb shared. They hadn’t minded sharing a room. Caleb said it would be like when they were children in bunkbeds on vacation, only this time they each had a double.
“Masie,” I announced, opening the door to see Masie spring from her bed and West roll to the opposite side. I shoved the door completely open.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, stepping into the room.
“Mom?” Masie questioned, blinking while she ran a hand through her long hair. I’d clearly surprised her.
“Weston?” Tommy said behind me, and my heart dropped. This didn’t look good for any of us.
“Nothing happened, Tommy,” West defended quickly. He tugged at his T-shirt, straightening it over his abs. “I swear, Tommy.”
Masie watched him as Tommy snarled, “If you touched her, you’re a dead man.”
“Mom,” Masie started, turning back to me. “We only slept together.”
I gasped, a hand covering my mouth to suppress the whimper.
“I mean…I mean, sleep. Mom, we literally only slept.”