by KT Morrison
He’d been in the mood last night but exhausted. Watched Ghostbusters with the boys down in the TV room, baby Annabelle asleep in her crib, baby monitor on the coffee table. After the movie Petey took Andy up to bed and he tried to stay awake for Jess but he fell asleep on the couch. Went to bed before ten, heard her come home shortly after that, wake him up, and by then it was too late.
He was still in the mood. Not even a quarter to six and he wanted a piece of his wife before he had to go to work and deal with the suits from Porter.
Their bedroom faced over the yard, their bed a maple sleigh under a cathedral ceiling that formed a bank of bay windows. He slipped naked into the bed, lifting the bedding and getting in right next to her from her side.
She moaned softly, feeling him coming, then hissed and jumped.
“Pete!”
Her legs kicked back from him, recoiled. He bounced himself under the sheets and covered up, soaking in the warmth from the bedding where she’d just been laying.
“You’re freezing,” she said, turning now, her face very mad, hair tangled over her, caught in the wet of her lips.
“I didn’t know,” he laughed, “I don’t feel cold.”
He didn’t. Not until he settled into her warm spot and realized how good it felt.
“Why would you do that?” Her eyes were closed again and she lay with her face turned to the ceiling, a hand rubbing her cheeks.
“I missed you last night,” he said.
“Mm, I know. You were asleep when I got home.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Who was there?”
“Uh, Shelly from Peavey Public, she brought a friend who’s a mom of one of my students—”
“From dance?”
“Mm,” she moaned and stretched, rubbing her eyes, “Yeah, from the dance class, her daughter’s pretty good.”
“Who else?”
“Uh, Rose from yoga, and Marnie.”
“I know Marnie.”
“You do.”
“Hey, I’m going to touch you...”
“You better not,” she said, blinking, letting her eyes get adjusted to being awake.
“Come on, Jess, warm me up,” he said, refraining from reaching out and touching her like he wanted.
She sighed and smiled and wormed her way closer to him, but kept a space between them.
“You sex maniac,” she said.
“I tried to stay awake last night but I was so tired.”
“Why do you go to bed so early?”
“Because I get up so early.”
“It’s that cold out this morning?” she said, looking in his eyes.
“Feel how cold,” he said, smiling back.
Her hands were folded up on the pillow under her cheek and he took one by a wrist and led it under the covers. She watched his eyes as she felt around his shriveled penis. She touched it, her fingers tweaked his tip and jiggled it.
“Where did it go?” she said.
“Warm it up for me.”
She pulled it, and gripped it, tried to squeeze it in her warm hand. When she felt lower, she said, “Pete, your balls...”
“I know.”
“They’re gone, Petey.”
“Kiss me,” he said.
“You got to brush your teeth, I didn’t…” she giggled and she kissed his shoulder.
“Come on, Jess,” he said, pleading warmly with his eyes.
“Your hands are like ice,” she said, still tugging at his shrunken size.
“Your mouth is warm,” he said.
She smiled and narrowed her eyes at him. Took the sheets then and wrapped them around herself, protecting her bare arms from touching his skin. She slipped under the blanket and he watched her ghostly shape move down between his legs. Her mouth went over his little penis and his eyes closed at her lovely warmth. The whole thing went past her lips, his raisin scrotum, his quickly hardening cock. She sucked, bobbed, his flaccid genitals entirely in her mouth. As he grew hard, as his cock stuck out from his body he peeled the cover up so he could watch her.
“Hey,” she said, catching his eye, and then frowning.
“Let me watch you,” he said.
Her heart pendant lay flat on his thigh and her hands rested on his trim belly. He put a hand over one. She grinned for him, held his erection between her fingers and slipping his tip along her bottom lip. She left his eyes and sunk his little thing in her mouth and sucked again, bobbed and fed off his reactions. He grew to steel in just a minute.
Her thumb and forefinger went gently up and down, and she said, “Did you lock that door?”
“I did.”
“Get me in the mood?”
He nodded, feeling excitement tighten his ribs.
“Don’t touch me with your cold,” she giggled as she lay back and he took his turn under the covers. Her knees drew up and he got between her legs. Her warmth radiated from the flesh between her thighs and he was careful not to freeze her with his coldest parts. His shoulder touched the inside of her knee and she flinched but she didn’t protest.
She was wearing a white undershirt and black cotton panties and he slipped his fingers into her waistband, keeping the contact with her sensitive belly to a minimum. He pulled them up her thighs and her knees rose above his head, came together to a point and he hooped them over and then down her calves. He smelled her. She was warm and sleepy and she smelled like his Jess. He tasted her. Just his face touching her.
His tongue swept her wrinkled folds and she began to moan in anticipation. Two fingers came up and touched her in her center where she was so hot his cold was extinguished. His fingers parted like a V and he spread her, kissed her at the warm wet inside of her labia, his tongue starting to curl and point and penetrate. She moaned more loudly and her hips started to rock. The deeper her breaths grew the closer he came to her hood and when he had her breaths scoring and her hips writhing he took her swollen clit. He worked it and his finger gently caressed and plunged ever so slightly. He brought her up slowly, let her body tell him what it wanted. He responded, kissing and suckling and stroking and lunging, giving her what she needed, advancing when she did, receding when she wanted. Hard strokes and delicate tickles until those breathes became whines and he felt her nails in his hair. There was a tremble in her thrusts as she ground her hips into his driving tongue.
When she got like this he wondered if she thought of the other man. He thought she must. That she would do it to take herself over the edge. He didn’t mind if she did, just don’t tell him. He imagined it, but he didn't want to know for sure.
He felt safest with Jess when he was between her legs like this. Or if he took her from behind. Sometimes it hurt him to look in her eyes when they made love. Most of the time it hurt—it hurt to see her face in ecstasy because it made him think of bad things. Not all the time, just when things were stressful or he was feeling down.
“Pete, Pete,” she whispered and her hands left him. His eyes wandered up her belly, up over her breasts pressing against the white undershirt and saw her face turned to the ceiling, her hands over her head and clutching the top of the polished sleigh. She was going to come. Closed his eyes then and he gulped her. Took all her hot wet flesh in his mouth and pulled it, sucked it into him, tongue driving, flexed and curled, the strong base of it riding her bucking clit. She gasped, and the headboard banged, and her hips thrust up against him. She tightened and twisted and she held her breath.
She turned to her side, ass still flat on the bed, but spun at the waist holding a pillow clutched over her face as she groaned into it. He kissed his way through her bushy pubic hair, up her flat belly, and ran his tongue over her belly button like a pool ball being drained. He pressed his cold body to her and she inhaled sharply and said something into the pillow. He held her, took her heat from her and she didn’t fight him.
He fixed his penis inside her. She was hot and wet still, so slick, and his small size slipped right u
p. His fingers clutched into the pillow, pulled it from her face. She turned her head too, and he didn't try and look in her eyes. He fucked her missionary with his face buried in her collar. Sucked on her neck and along her clavicle, and she rubbed his back, waiting for him to come. Her knees came up and she clasped them to his waist. She was soundless. Just his breaths rushing as he got closer and closer to orgasm, dry burgeoning desperate sounds as his semen began to boil in his balls hiding somewhere inside his body.
He closed his eyes and pictured her out last night with friends. His bad Jessy. There was a guy who brought his daughter to her class that hung around sometimes. Single dad. A mechanic down at Ray’s Auto Shop. He was a good dad, burly, big gut, friendly smile but dazzling icy blue eyes and white teeth. He pictured Jess lying last night. Meeting him, whatever his name was. Maybe she didn’t know his name. Maybe she just took him behind the Theater, down the walkway that looked out over the Peavey River and he fucked her from behind, bent her over the metal railing, the rushing river drowning out her cries of passion.
“You, uh...off your...pill?”
“Yeah, I...I stopped...”
“You ovulating?”
“Close...You going to give me an-another baby?”
“Tell me...Jess, tell me you want my baby...”
Her hand rubbed his back as he humped his little cock inside her hard and fast with short earnest strokes.
“That’s it, Petey,” she cooed in his ear, “Give me a little baby, I want another little baby...”
He stabbed her, stabbed her as hard as he could and he made her grunt with each one. She felt him coming. Could feel his seed shooting out of him. He grunted and groaned and thrust himself into her, trying to get that seed of his as deep as he could. He’d give her another baby. If it kept her in the house, he’d keep her full of babies.
Pete came downstairs after his shower to his family in motion. The boys were at the kitchen table and Jess was at work in the wide space between the island and the stove, weaving around toys and Sargent, who was following her and almost purposely trying to get in her way. Annabelle was on her knees, three-years-old now, blonde hair, long and silky and light like Jess’s. Pete pulled the latch on the baby gate that crossed the door from the hall into the mouth of the spacious kitchen. When he closed it behind him, Jess turned and smiled and she squat right down on her heels next to Annabelle and said, “Who’s that?”
She lifted a finger and pointed it to Pete as Annabelle turned, one hand on her Peppa Pig, the other on Peppa’s piggy husband, George. She had her Peppa’s Deluxe Playhouse hinged open on the bleached maple floor, pig tables and chairs, and a bright yellow clawfoot tub scattered at its base. Her face brightened, eyes went wide when she saw Pete and she worked her way to her feet and ran to him, saying, “Daddy!”
Annabelle came to him, sure-footed these days, and Jess patted her bottom before she went. He squat down too, just across from Jess and held his hands out for his daughter. She fell into them and he hoisted her as he stood and plopped her against his chest and kissed her cheek. Annabelle launched into a story and while it made no sense to him, (he thought it might have been about the Pig family) she was enthusiastic and lively and had a flare for drama. He nodded and said, “Oh, really?” at appropriate points. Jess pressed herself against him in her robe, kissed Annabelle’s cheek too, and sneakily patted Pete’s bottom so the boys wouldn't see.
“Eggs?” she asked.
“The works,” he said, seeing she had bacon and sausage on paper towels, and buttered toast.
“How you want yours?” she asked as she returned to the stove and Pete walked with Annabelle on his hip to the kitchen table where the boys were getting themselves together with their breakfast. Andy was bringing Petey’s tablet to him, watching something on the screen and stumbling along.
“Scrambled, Jess,” he said, then to Andy, “Come on buddy, come and sit, please.”
“Petey, buddy, what’s with the long face, kid?”
Petey said, “My face isn’t long, Dad.” He frowned, swiped the tablet that Andy had brought him, his long lashes blinking while he watched his fingers manipulate the screen.
“Buddy...” he said.
“Yeah?” he said, looking up now.
“You’re going to cream those Tigers, you know.”
“I know, Dad,” he said. He was worried. This was a big weekend coming up. He had his Aunt Patty, Uncle Russ, and cousins coming, they would be attending his Saturday morning hockey game and that was giving him stress. He was pushed to the limit already with his team. It was Peewee hockey, but the coach was straight NHL. Hammering plays into them, making them memorize complicated strategies while some of them were not even competent skaters or puck-handlers. Left Wing Locks, forechecking, face-off strategies... Petey was a good player, getting lanky this year, shooting up just before his tenth birthday. He was tall, uncoordinated, but a fast skater. Coach was throwing him into a lot of plays because he knew he could get to spots fast, but the anxiety of accepting the puck was working his poor son, making him tense. Some of the other parents had complained about the stress, but Coach Harrison hadn’t changed. He was young. A real bearded hothead and he was the kind of guy who didn’t know any other way to do things than the way he already did them. There weren’t many games left in the season any way.
“Here, Pete,” Jess said, coming over to the table holding a plate with one piece of raisin toast spread with peanut butter on it. It had been cut in half then in narrow strips.
He made an excited face for Annabelle and said, “What did mommy bring for you? Your favorite...you want some? ...” He took a corner piece of the warm bread, held it by the crust and swooped it towards her talking mouth and she paused her story.
He paused too, said, “What do you say?”
She smiled and squinted hard like she was going to sneeze, didn’t, then said, “Yes, peez.”
“You are so smart,” he said and he kissed her head and she took the toast into her mouth.
“Okay, Annie, let’s get you in your spot,” he said then, and he took her and lifted her into her high chair, holding her by her armpits and dangling her legs into the chair’s holes. Set her down, got her situated with her toast in front of her and sat back at the table, in time for Jess to bring him his breakfast.
He looked up at the clock on the wall above the archway that led into the laundry room. It was after seven now, almost a quarter after. He scorfed his eggs, and washed it back with coffee.
Petey, said, “Dad, you’re eating too fast, you’re gonna choke.”
“Mmn-mm,” he shook his head, felt a crisp piece of bacon stick to the back of his throat and cleared it, felt it shoot up and hit the roof of his mouth. He coughed and his eyes watered.
Petey laughed and said, “I told you so,” and went back to his tablet.
There was a sound in the hall, someone coming in to their house and Jess watched the dining room where she could see through to the hall, watching to see who it was though they knew who it would be.
Stuart Tillman, neighbor and also a Save-Mart exec, lived down the street and they walked to the train together in the mornings. He was the same age as Pete but he didn’t get up early in the mornings to run and he also didn’t watch what he ate. He was a big guy, he carried his weight well, but he filled his suit out pretty good.
“Hey, Jessy,” he said and he kissed Jess’s cheek as he came into the kitchen, stepping over the baby gate instead of opening it. “Petey, Petey,” he said, looking at Pete trying to stuff a sausage in his mouth while he stood up, coffee cup poised to wash it all down. “Let’s go, chop chop,” he joked.
Pete nodded and Jess said, “Stuart, you want a cup of coffee, can you sit for a minute?”
Pete shook his head no, drinking his coffee, his other hand lifting his short juice glass.
“That’s all right, Jess,” Stuart said, “I had one already. I’m flying high as it is.”
Pete knocked his juice back and l
ooped around the table, kissing the top of Annie’s head and dodging her peanut butter hands as they reached for him, tried to grab his tie. He kissed Petey on his hair, Andy too, then crossed the kitchen to Jess and Stuart. He stepped between Stuart and her, took her in his arms and kissed her for real and she leaned back with him, one foot coming off the floor. He caressed the small of her back, dipping a little low for public. He got her laughing and she pulled from him and wiped her mouth.
“You taste like bacon,” she laughed, then darted in and kissed his cheek and he winked.
“See you tonight,” he said
“By-eye,” she said, with exaggerated desire for him to get the hell out of here.
“Bye, boys, bye Annie,” he said waving from the baby gate. They waved back, Petey not looking up from his tablet. He and Stuart headed out their front door.
They walked down the cul-de-sac and made their way to the Holly Springs boardwalk that would take them across the marsh on a wooden bridge, a shortcut that would bring them into the Village in time to grab the train to Cleveland. As their feet hit the pressure-treated planks, Stuart turned to him and said, “You’re one lucky guy, Pete. That Jess is something. You got a real great family.”
“Thanks,” he said. “They’re everything to me. I’d do anything for them.”
Jess got the boys fed, helped them clean up after themselves and walked them to the end of the cul-de-sac and got them on the bus. It was still such an odd feeling to get used to. Standing with the mothers of other children, waving at the school bus full of kids, then turning around and going home to her quiet house, alone but for baby Annie.
She was taking a break from teaching, taking a break from a lot of things since they moved to Cleveland. She’d had her baby, her beautiful little Annabelle. Then took time to stay at home with her and run the house. Pete had settled in at the corporate office and within eighteen months he was promoted to a VP position in charge of vendor relations. It just worked out well with her not going back to work. There had been the new house to be bought, and all the work that comes with that. She was doing well staying at home.