Then she lifts her eyes up my body and grips my abs with her hands. She drives her nails into my pecs.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her.
She does, immediately. “Jimmy. Please.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, I’m releasing. I come in three heavy spurts across her eyelids, solid aggressive pumps that shower her pretty cheeks in my cum. The third shot is the strongest and the most intense, so strong that I have to brace myself on the table.
But I’m not done. There’s another wave coming, and what I’m seeing just feeds the need to fill her with even more of me. I slam her back onto the table with my palm to her chest and drive inside her. Her makeup is running and her fucking face is dripping with me, and now I’m filling her back up with me all over again. With a fourth shot, and a fifth, but I know right then I could come for hours and it would never feel like enough. Never.
21
Mary
For a long while, I stay there, holding him close to me. I slip my tongue out and taste him, dragging my upper lip back into my mouth with my teeth. He stays exactly where he is, clutching me to him with his arms crossed over one another, hands to my shoulders in a big X of an embrace. I link us together with my legs around his waist and hold him, keeping perfectly still.
He murmurs, “Thank you,” into my breast once his breathing slows. “Thank you so fucking much.”
“I think I should be the one thanking you,” I say, but I lose the words to express what it really does to me, being taken like that. No rules, no permissions, just out-and-out passion like I’ve never experienced before.
My eyes are still closed, and his cum is starting to dry. But before I can ask him to clean me, he pushes himself up off me. His hand stays knitted in mine, and I hear the faucet turn on.
I know that what just happened should be demeaning. But it isn’t. It’s beautiful. It’s him opening himself to me, and me letting that happen. And I really, really love how this makes me feel.
There’s a warm, soft, folded towel on my cheek. With careful, slow strokes he cleans himself off me, moving the cloth outwards from my eyes and then doubling it over to a fresh warm side. He traces underneath my eyes and over my lids. Down my nose. Down my cheeks. I’m enjoying it so much, this tenderness, I don’t open my eyes until he says, “There you go. Perfect.”
He is inches from my face, smiling. “Seriously. Thank you.” He puts his lips to mine. It isn’t a sexy, wild kiss like earlier. This one is soft, and slow, and kind. “Can you come again? I need to see it again.”
“Give me a breather, you animal. I think I’m still coming now.” And I’m not lying. That pulsing is still there. Not the big pleasure waves, but the rush of endorphins, the warmth and the heat. My clit, it’s got a pulse all its own.
“Let me take care of you,” he says, turning his attention to the honey and champagne all over me, which he cleans away with the same careful tenderness. “Just tell me what you want. It’s yours.”
I don’t answer right away. I want to savor this for as long as is humanly possible.
He scoops me up in his arms, cradling me above the table. But I warn him, “You need to rest that leg, mister.”
“I’m not feeling any pain.”
“Jimmy.”
He hoists me up higher, closer, and grips me a little tighter. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen. Then I’ll rest.”
Honestly, what I want to do is crawl in bed with him. That’s it. Just to be close, just to be warm. “Want me to order takeout? Pizza?”
“Yes, definitely, but first,” I say, “can we take a bath?”
There’s that smile again. “A bath.”
“A bubble bath,” I tell him. “With lots of bubbles. Do you have bubble bath?”
He nods. “I do. It’s Mr. Bubble. Is that okay?”
Of course it’s okay, but it’s a little…well, it’s adorable. But I’d have thought that the closest thing he had to bubble bath was some sort of men’s body wash. “What are you doing with Mr. Bubble?”
“Sometimes my niece comes to stay. She’s a fan. But is that weird? That I have Mr. Bubble? That we’re going to use Mr. Bubble?”
Now, I’m not particular, but I am something of a bubble bath connoisseur. And in my experience, there is no superior bubble to Mr. Bubble. “I think that’ll be just fine.” I smile up at him.
“Fantastic,” he says, and he carries me off toward the bathroom, cradled in his arms again, where, I’m realizing, I absolutely love to be.
The master bathroom is neat and organized. On the counter is a single bottle of cologne, a single toothbrush, and a 64-ounce bottle of sensitive skin moisturizer.
While he’s testing the water, I peek into his linen closet. Everything folded neatly and about a hundred rolls of Costco toilet paper in a basket on the floor. On the hook on the back of the door is a little girl’s robe, pink with embroidered penguins, hanging next to his.
“How old is your niece?” I ask him.
He turns to face me, still with his hand in the water. His smile is so warm, his happiness so pure, I can feel in that look how much he adores her. “She’s three. Her name is Annie. She’s the cutest human being on the planet.”
He opens the cabinet under the sink and takes out an extra-large bottle of Mr. Bubble, gallon sized. I see a few other things under there too in a pink plastic basket. A rubber ducky. Some sort of octopus with a motor, and a big fluffy bath puff in bright purple.
“You don’t have kids, though, do you?” I ask. And I’m not asking because I’m afraid, I realize. It’s just it would seem so natural. I can see him as a dad.
He looks me right in the eye and reaches out for my hand. “Not yet. Do you?”
I shake my head and watch the tub fill. “I’m on the fence about them.”
A little laugh comes from his nose. “I know. I don’t think I’d be nearly so close with Annie if my brother wasn’t such a shithead.” There’s a growl in his voice “But I’m glad I am. She’s a real treasure.” He pours a long, luxurious stream of Mr. Bubble into the bath, changing the tone of the water falling into the tub to a soft, foamy hush.
But before any time at all has passed, he says, “Okay, you get in first.”
I look at the tub. It’s not even close to half full. Well stocked with bubbles, but still, barely filled. I look up at him puzzled. “I’m all for water conservation, but…”
He grins. “I’m a big guy. I’ve flooded this bathroom more times than I care to admit. We can always add more water. But let me tell you, better to start with too little than too much. That’s what I say. I may own this building, but leaks are a real bitch. After you.” He extends his hands to me like he’s helping me from a carriage. I step into the huge, luxurious tub. The water comes right below my knees.
I lower down into a crouch, hardly covered by the water at all.
But then he gets in, and the water line goes up, up, up as he situates himself behind me. Now more than ever, I’m aware of his massiveness. The water displacement, I think it’s called, is absolutely astonishing. With me in a ball, it takes all manner of adjustment and repositioning his legs before I slide back into him.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask, turning to look.
He can’t possibly be comfortable. The ultra-modern faucet, with all the smooth lines of a paring knife, is poking him in the shoulder. But he just grins and pulls me closer. “Never been better.”
And there, in the tub, we talk. Just like we did at dinner last night. Easy and smooth. We talk about the groin, about the shoulder. He tells me about the home game on Sunday, versus the Jets. And then the away game the week after, which is at Denver.
“That means in Denver?” I ask, watching him over my shoulder.
“Right,” he says, giving me a proud eyebrow. “You’re getting it. In Denver. They always put the away team first. Bears at Denver.”
Makes sense, I think. Sort of. I’m not sure why in wouldn’t have worke
d, but that’s okay. Football is a whole new language, and if it means knowing what he’s up to, I’m more than glad to learn it.
I let my body ease back into his, and his hands come together around my waist, under the waterline, pulling me close. I put little clumps of bubbles on his knee and blow them off. “I like being with you. A lot.” I knit my hand into his. “I haven’t really been with anybody in a while. Nobody serious.”
One of his hands moves up my body and draws my head back into his chest. He gives me a soft, warm kiss on the head, taking a deep breath as he does.
“I’m having some feelings, Mary,” he says against my hair. “Just want to be upfront about that.”
I laugh, which makes a clump of bubbles fly from his knee. “I know. And I’ve only known you what….” I turn to face him a little better, the skin of my thighs squeaking on the tub as I do. “…One day?”
He gives me a sort of cocky nod. “Sure. But you know where you can go in a day?”
I shake my head. In the silence, I can almost hear his heartbeat, and mine, over the husssshhhhhh of the disappearing bubbles.
“All the way to the moon.”
22
Jimmy
For the second day in a row, I wake up to her next to me. She sleeps in a little ball, a corner of the comforter in her fists. I reach across and move her hair from her forehead.
What I said in the bath last night, I meant it. I’m having some feelings. A stirring that I thought I might have lost the heart for. And I know it’s fast, but they’re there. Since I've met her, she’s hardly left my side, and not even once have I thought, I wish this girl would go home, or, she’s getting on my nerves, or, she eats like a bird, or, why does she talk during movies? In fact, totally the opposite. We fell asleep on the couch last night in front of the TV, a bowl of popcorn between us, me with an ice pack on my leg and her in my hoodie. She’s easy-going, sweet, funny. Smart. And sexy.
She moans a little something into the pillow and nods at something in her dream. She smiles a little into the crook of her arm and then, in a sleepy, sultry voice says, “More honey. Please. Right there.”
I ease myself back into the pillow.
Damn it all. How great is that?
Carefully, I roll out of bed and put on some pajama pants. I turn on the fireplace and get some coffee started. I look in the fridge and think about what kind of breakfast I could throw together for her. Glancing around, I wonder if I’ve got a tray to serve it to her on. I don’t think I do. Which is bullshit. Amazon Prime, here I come, I think, grabbing my phone. I type in breakfast tray, and a whole spread pops up on the page. I zero in on the best choice, fourth from the top, cherry with curved handles. But before I can hit BUY NOW, the buzzer at the door shatters the silence. And it’s not a short buzz either. Instead, a finger placed on the button and left there. Only one person I know buzzes like that.
I hustle down the front hallway, and then quiet it by hitting TALK. “Yeah.”
“It’s me, dickwad,” says an unfortunately familiar voice.
That’s Michael. He sounds just like me, if I had sociopathic tendencies, smoked a pack a day, and had a small but not insignificant criminal record.
“What do you want? It’s seven in the fucking morning.”
“Going to make us stand out here in the cold or what?”
I think about it. Yeah. Actually. Maybe that’s exactly what I should do, because what I don’t want is him coming up here and fucking things up. The guy is like a slow-moving hurricane. Seems like it’ll all be okay until it’s too late to save yourself.
So I stare at the intercom and put my forehead to the wall.
Wait, did he say us?
Oh fuck. He’s got Annie out there.
I press my thumb to the DOOR button for three seconds and open the front door to the apartment. I stack up the Post-its from last night and begin a high-speed scramble to get rid of any evidence of what we did. I’m not embarrassed, but Michael will use any excuse to make me feel like shit, and having women’s underwear on the floor when he comes in here with my niece would be a pretty fucking good one.
With her clothes bundled in my arms, I creep into the bedroom. She moans as I do. “What time is it?”
“Early. My brother is stopping by. Just stay here.”
She blinks. “Your brother?”
“Yeah, I’ll get rid of him. He’s got Annie with him. I don’t know what he wants. Sorry.”
Again, she blinks and wipes her eyes with the tips of her finger. “Okay. I don’t mind meeting them, though…”
“Just stay where you are. Okay? He’s not…just stay here.”
I shut the door behind me, and I hear his footsteps in the hall. Rap-rap-rap goes his fist on the door, and I open it up. “It was unlocked.” I go toe to toe with him. “Like always. Unlocked. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“A lot. I’m not the smart one, remember?” he says in a long-practiced seething voice that puts my hackles straight up.
It’s like looking at the worst part of myself. The dark part. The angry part. The part that comes out in a losing game. The reason I don’t drink much. The reason I fucking meditate. The part I wish I wasn’t. But the part that, because of him, I can’t ignore.
Holding his hand is Annie. She looks cold and small. The coat he’s got her in is way, way too light for this weather. No hat. No gloves. And I know for sure he’s not giving her enough to eat. Before her mom split, her cheeks used to be chubby and full, but now they’re almost sunken. I lift her up from the ground and she wraps her arms automatically around my neck. She doesn’t say anything, but squeezes hard and long.
Fucking breaks my heart. “How’s everything with my little Jellybean?” I ask, smoothing her tangled hair as best I can.
She hangs from my neck and wipes her nose. Shrugs. Doesn’t say a word.
That nickname used to make her laugh. Not today, though. Today she looks scared in the eyes and tired. Her hair is a little bit dirty and messy around her face, like she was sweaty as she was sleeping and it still shows.
Without asking Michael to come inside, which I know full well he will, whether I ask him to or not, I turn and carry her down the hallway. “Everything going pretty well? How’s that dollhouse I bought for you?”
Again, she says nothing. Just tightens her grip a little more and presses her face to my shoulder. I carry her into the kitchen and open the fridge. I move aside the milk to get to the yogurts. Full-fat, like I like…and like she needs. With her legs dangling from the swing my arm has made for her, she watches me.
“What flavor do you want, Jellybean?” We do this every time. There’s only one flavor she likes, which is the expensive one at the store: banana cream pie.
“Banana?” she asks.
“Banana it is.”
I set her down on one of the stools and unpeel the foil from the container. While Annie is busy with her yogurt, using a little plastic-coated kids’ spoon that I bought especially for her, I ask Michael, “What do you want?”
He wanders around the kitchen. Opens a drawer, then a cupboard. “Cash. What do you think?”
I close my eyes. In addition to being a drinker and an asshole, he’s also a serious gambler. And he might only be two minutes younger than me and make me feel like I’m five years old, but I don’t want the bookies on his ass either. Because shit like that could turn Annie’s life right upside down.
But the guy is a born troublemaker. Never worked an honest day in his life. Never finished college. And I know that’s my fault. I was the good son. He’s the bad apple. The further I went in football, the worse he got. Until he ended up like this.
“How much?”
“Make it ten.”
I mouth “Fuck you” to him, so Annie can’t hear.
He laughs. “Don’t pretend you don’t have it. You might not be able to complete a pass, but I know they give you a paycheck.”
Turning my back on him, I take a banana from the bowl an
d slice it onto a plate, which I slide in front of Annie. As she takes one slice with her fingers, I grab Michael by the arm and pull him around the corner. I get right in his face, up against the thermostat. “You know what? No. Nope. I’m done. Fuck you. Deal with the bookies yourself.”
But Michael only smiles. “Yeah? How do you think that would go for your Jellybean? When I have to foreclose on the house? How do you think that’ll feel?”
Glancing into the kitchen, I watch her place a little dollop of yogurt on her slice of banana and try to maneuver it into her mouth. A glop of it falls sadly onto the granite counter. “I can take care of Annie. Sort your own shit out, Michael.”
Again, he shakes his head. “I’m her dad, dickhead. I’ve got rights. We’ve been through this, or don’t you remember?”
Yeah, I fucking remember. It was when her mom left for good and Michael went on a week-long bender. What I tried to do was get custody. But my case wasn’t strong enough. I’m an uncle. He’s the dad. And not having the heart to watch her suffer means it never got bad enough for social services to come take her away. The fucking system, man. It exists for a reason, but sometimes I just don’t know what it is.
“And she needs to go to the dentist.”
I hate him. He is a master fucking manipulator. He knows that little girl is my weak spot. He knows it and fucking digs the knife straight in.
I pour myself a cup of coffee without asking him if he wants one. “I’ll have to go to the bank. Might surprise you, but I don’t have 10K hanging around like some effing money launderer.”
Michael shrugs. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll wait here. I’ll have a beer.” He peers over my shoulder into the fridge
“It’s seven in the morning.”
“Five o’clock somewhere.” He shoves me aside to grab a cold one from the shelf. He opens the goddamned thing with his teeth like a barbarian and then drops down onto the couch, where he puts his feet up on the coffee table.
Now, I’m not a religious guy, but I do fucking look at the light fixture above me and think, Don’t let her come out. Not now. He will fuck it up. He fucks everything up. And she’s a good thing, a perfect thing. He’ll see us and do everything he can to ruin it.
Hail Mary Page 13