Wet Part 3

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  “Mm!” He grunted his approval. “Buy them both. Buy every set in the store. Please.” He closed his eyes, smiling, but trying to rein in his thoughts.

  “What’s the point?” Her anger came out of nowhere, or more likely from the restraint he kept insisting they maintain. He was really trying not to traumatize her, but she’d made it clear, a gazillion times, she believed he didn’t find her attractive. If he did, he’d want her enough to get it over with.

  “Baby—”

  “I’m nothing but a fragile weakling to you. You like taking care of me, your baby, but you’re never going to touch me because I am nothing but a baby to you, so what’s the point of buying sexy undies.”

  He frowned and glanced down. “First of all, the word undies isn’t very sexy . . . even though you look very sexy in said undies.” He took another leisurely look but his serious facial expression didn’t change. “Second . . .” He was aware of his growing interest, but he didn’t dare let his smarter head feel anything but caution. “Buy them all, and we’ll try this again at the room.”

  “But it’s not helping now,” she sneered. “What a surprise!”

  “Yeah, it’s helping pretty darn good, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Let’s finish shopping. You need clothes.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to convince himself as much as her. He had another thought he hoped would save the moment and spare him another round of knockdown, drag out, arguing.

  “We need condoms,” he spat out. “Ours are in our missing luggage, remember?”

  “You’re just stalling.” She didn’t understand what he was trying to do for her.

  “Nooo,” he said in a sing-song tone. “We’re in a dressing room.”

  “That’s never stopped you before,” she said tersely.

  He frowned again. That hurt.

  “You’re not on the pill. I have no condoms on me. I stopped carrying them a long time ago, as a deterrent, as a reminder to keep my hands off you.” He pressed his lips tightly together, remembering some of his not-so-fine moments.

  Before he met Rhees, during his kamikaze days, he hadn’t always been so diligent about wearing one.

  “I don’t know why. You don’t seem to need any reminders, now.”

  He took a cleansing breath, trying to keep his cool.

  “You know that’s not true. It’s just, after Costa Rica—I have a feeling I could get you pregnant just looking at you.”

  “I wasn’t pregnant. It was gastroenteritis, or giardia, or something. I was the only one who had a glass of water at dinner the night we got back. Everyone else at the table drank beer.”

  He made another frustrated face at his thwarted attempts to prevent another fight. He gave it another try.

  “When we get to the room, we’ll try again, okay?” he said with a forced calm. “You can model your new undies for me, there. We’ll take it real slow this time. If I jerk—” He caught himself. “It’s been a while. If I take care of a few things, first . . . it’ll help. It’ll buy more time that I can use to take care of you.” She seemed to be listening and he thought it was a good sign.

  “We’ll get through this, but not right now, not here.” He watched her eyes change from hope to something darker, anger. “We have things to do. Let’s finish getting you some clothes, and then we need to buy new phones. I have a surprise errand after that, and then, when we get back to the hotel, we’ll stop at the little shop and pick up some condoms.”

  “In the room, you say you need to get out. Now we’re out, you say you need to wait until we’re back in the room.” She shook her head and let out a humorless laugh. She turned her back on him to hang the black set back on the hook. Watching him in the mirror, she reached back to undo the bra she was modeling. “You rattled off a million things you’d rather do. Might as well just buy plain, white cotton, and park myself back in the eternal friend zone, or better yet, why don’t you just stick a pacifier in my mouth, and lock me in the nursery. I’ll never be able to compete with your groupies.”

  He closed his eyes, not quite knowing what to do or say. He didn’t understand how she could throw his past in his face, again. Not just his womanizing days, the past she claimed didn’t matter, unless she lost her temper, the only time she ever said what was really on her mind, but . . . lock her up in the nursery? Did she really just trivialize his childhood nightmare?

  For all the accusations and blame she kept heaping on him, it was her hang-ups keeping them from completing their marriage contract. She was the one who couldn’t stand him touching her. She was the one who brought up divorce and annulment, accusing him of being ready to just walk away, as if he could. He wasn’t the one mentally divvying up their assets—Custody of my shop?

  Rhees fumbled to get the bra undone but froze when she realized, by watching Paul in the mirror, she might have miscalculated how much she wanted what she knew she’d just succeeded in getting. His eyes closed, and he slowly shook his head as a low growl rumbled from his throat. His lips pressed together in a tight line, but his whole jaw twitched.

  “I am so fucking tired,” he said through clenched teeth, “of having this God-damned fucking conversation over, and over, and fucking over again!”

  She turned at his words, taken aback. She recognized the tone, she’d been needling him, provoking him all afternoon, but she never expected his reaction to be so soon, or so severe. Before she had a chance to attempt any damage control, he was on her. He swooped in against her, lifted her, and pressed her body against the wall with his own, smashing his lips over hers.

  She gasped but his mouth was on hers so firmly, the breath came from his own lungs, making the sound of a regulator, stunning her. He claimed the air back the same way, and she was sure he’d inhaled her soul. Letting him have it couldn’t have felt more right, and she wilted.

  He glanced at her, searching her eyes, and apparently, found what he was looking for because his angry kisses morphed into something more passionate and needy. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and pulled him in, closer, returning his kisses with the hunger she once feared she’d never feel again.

  He held her to the wall with his bulk while he shredded the panties right from her body as though they were cheap crepe paper. His hands were suddenly where her panties had been, fingers playing . . . his eyes watching hers, daring her to make him stop. She didn’t.

  He suddenly stilled, glanced down, and examined the fingers he’d had on her. Uncertainty clouded his expression and they hung there, unmoving, while he allowed whatever it was, to register. His eyes shot back to see hers again. He blinked, and just as fast, they were on the floor.

  He hovered over her, keeping his weight on his knees and one arm while he wrapped his other arm around the back of her neck. He waited for her to panic, to push against him, to whimper for him to stop.

  Rhees reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, instead. He helped her and tossed it into the corner before looking to her one more time to be certain. She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his mouth down to hers again, adding her tongue.

  He swore without breaking their kiss, and then reached down to undo his jeans, slipping them down as far as he could without having to release her mouth. As powerfully as she held him, he couldn’t have if he’d tried.

  He began fondling her again, watching, anticipating, holding her hostage with his gaze. He absorbed her shaky breaths with his mouth, breathing in each one while focused on her eyes, desire smoldering in the beautiful, intense blue of his own. She felt lost in him—the burning desire in his eyes—for her, and then . . . she burned.

  Rhees’ eyes snapped closed with a deep gasp, bearing through the initial sting, but also breaking the spell. She looked back again, hoping he’d resume his magic and make it all be
tter, but she’d lost him. His face burrowed into her neck, his breath, quick irregular gusts in her ear, against her skin, sent goose bumps down her body as he moved, enveloping her in his arms, clutching at her as though his life depended on climbing as far inside her as he could get.

  She tossed her head back again, wondering how much longer it would take. How much longer it would sting. It wasn’t an unbearable pain, but her eyes watered, not tears, she wasn’t crying, it just burned.

  Paul jerked himself out of her with a hiss, pressing He against her lower belly as he continued to writhe. He finally quivered in her arms and collapsed on her, panting all the names he called her, over and over.

  She held him even tighter, fascinated by the potency of his ecstasy and the warm liquid she felt pumping against the skin of her stomach. She smiled contentedly, and caressed his back and shoulders, peppering his neck, his Adam’s apple, with kisses.

  Paul lay on her, motionless until his breathing returned to normal.

  “Jesus! What the fuck was that?” he said, shuffling himself to the side so he wouldn’t smash her. “I’m sor—”

  She placed her finger over his mouth, shushing him. “I think it was just that, what you said.” She giggled, quietly. Her eyes radiated warmth.

  “Shit! Why didn’t you say something about how cold the floor is?”

  “I didn’t notice,” she laughed.

  He glanced at her and shook his head as his wits started coming back to him. He reached and gently brushed a strand of her hair from her face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, almost giddily.

  He put his arm under her so that she could rest her head on him instead of the floor. “Not quite the bed of rose petals I had originally planned—that was nothing like the way I’d planned it. I’m sorry, Baby.”

  She shrugged, and looked up at him, all dreamy eyed. “Why did you stop?” she asked curiously.

  “Why did I stop?” A garbled chuckle came out. “That’s just the way it works. It doesn’t go on forever, though it would be nice if it did.”

  “But . . .” She suddenly sounded worried. “You stopped so fast and put He on my stomach. Did I do it wrong?”

  “Oh.” He remembered her attacker had told her she’d done it wrong, too. Shit! While it made him sick to think about it, he wanted to set her mind at ease. He kissed her forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not possible to do it wrong. Outside of maybe biting—while some biting is okay—” He smiled mischievously for a second, but then gave her a quick, hesitant look, knowing she knew nothing about it. “Just . . . please don’t ever bite He, okay?” He chuckled again, kind of, hoping she understood.

  “Baby, just about anything goes. If it feels good, it’s not wrong, as long as we’re both comfortable with it, okay? So as long as we’re open with each other, you’ll never do it wrong, but you have to be honest, and let me know if you’re ever not comfortable. Got that?”

  “Okay, but . . .”

  Paul could tell her question still hadn’t been answered.

  “I didn’t pull out because you did anything wrong.” She was still so naïve. He skimmed her cheek with the back of his fingers and she hummed, savoring his touch. “No condom, remember? Pull out before the baby-builders escape, lessen the chance of the critters building a baby.”

  “Oh.”

  He felt her go slack in his arms with his answer, but something else too. Again, he got the feeling she wouldn’t mind if they’d made one. He hugged her tighter. As they lay there, he looked up at the walls. The room was so small. He glanced around. Not only was the floor cold, it was filthy.

  “We’re in a dressing room.”

  She rolled her head to look at him, too adoringly. He didn’t like it, not after what he’d just done.

  “I wouldn’t care if we were in a stinking bathroom.” She beamed. “We did it. We’re really married now.”

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t seem to realize what she’d just said, but he did. The magnitude of what they—what he’d just done hit him full force. He already felt regret for being weak, for not holding out until he could make it special, but now—he didn’t know how he was supposed to live with himself. He didn’t know how she could possibly live with him. But she would because she was so . . . he was muddled and angry with himself—and her, for putting up with his selfish shit, yet again.

  “Look around. It’s filthy. It doesn’t remind you of something?”

  She seemed taken aback by his sudden fit of temper. She looked around, trying to see what he was talking about, but she was blind to anything but rainbows and butterflies—and him. She leaned into him and tried to kiss him, but he turned his head, pretending not to notice.

  He sat up, still pretending to be oblivious to her love-struck swooning, and started pulling his jeans back up. He caught a glimpse of himself and froze—the blood shocked him and he sat, staring at it for much too long. He finally snapped out of the stupor, jerked his pants up the rest of the way, but didn’t zip them up. He needed a few more minutes to make room, and it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded a little longer, what he’d done.

  The thought of never washing it off came to mind. Maybe the constant reminder of how he’d never change would be good for him. He rested his arms on his knees, staring at it, shaking his head, over and over.

  “Do you think you might tell me what’s wrong, why you’re so detached all of a sudden?” she asked. He turned and watched as she tried to sit up but his cum ran from her stomach and she stopped to stare at the white mess, tinged with blood.

  He hurriedly grabbed her scrubs, the first thing within his reach, top and bottoms, in one handful, and started wiping the mess a little brusquely. She perched on her elbows, watching as he worked to clean her up. When he finished the job, he tossed the scrubs into the corner of the room with a little too much emphasis. He glared at her with a mix of anger and remorse in his eyes.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  “Too late!” he hissed. “You should have said that a little sooner.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why would you ruin it?”

  “It was ruined before it ever started.”

  “No.” It came out a quiet plea, a whimper. She teared up. “We just made love. Why would you spoil—”

  “We didn’t make love—we fu—” He stopped himself, unable to finish what she knew he’d almost called it. In spite of his anger, he couldn’t stoop to calling it what he’d been about to, for her sake, but she knew it was only for her sake. He dropped his head onto his arms and took a few deep breaths.

  “That wasn’t making love.” He tipped his head to face her, his lips pressed into a tight line and he almost trembled, holding back the anger and self-loathing that would have otherwise seethed from every pore. “Welcome to Angry Sex 101.”

  Chapter 15

  Paul lay back down, his legs bent at the knee, and he covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. He didn’t move again. Rhees watched him for several minutes wondering how he could be so indifferent after what they’d just done. His regret felt like rejection and made her feel the need to get out of there, away from him.

  Still naked, she wore only the orange bra that didn’t belong to her. She reached for her scrubs and got a handful of gooey mess, which repelled her hand. She felt faint. She had to get out. She looked up at the clothes on the hooks. She stood and grabbed the black panties, they didn’t match, but caring was the farthest thing from her mind. She pulled them on and the tag dug into her hip. She ripped it off and grabbed for one of the shirts and a pair of shorts, shrugging them on in haste, breaking the tags off of them as well. When she grasped the doorknob with her trembling hand, she hesitated.

  Fight or flight. Paul’s words stung her conscience. Dammit! He was right. She did run fro
m everything painful. She said she’d try not to run anymore and she kicked herself for making such a stupid promise. He’d set an impossible standard for promise keeping and she was too stubborn to disregard it, but she could push it to the limit. She’d given her word not to run so far he couldn’t find her, but she could at least get the hell out of that room.

  She took one last look at Paul, still on the ground, still shutting her out, covering his eyes. It was the last nudge she needed.

  “I’ll leave you alone so you can reflect on what a horrible ordeal it was, forcing yourself to have sex with me. I’ll be outside.”

  “Rhees!”

  She ran out, slamming the door as she did. She burst from the dressing rooms and drew in a long breath of air as if she’d been holding it for a long time. She flailed about with indecision. She wanted to run even farther but couldn’t. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to scream. She’d finally gathered her resolve, walked to the counter, and handed the tags from the clothes she wore to the clerk.

  “I’m going to wear these clothes out,” she said in the most reserved voice she could muster.

  The clerk returned a blank look. Rhees had to think about how to say it in Spanish and did the best she could. Pointing to the new clothes on her body, she said, “Lo siento, no hablo Español.” She pointed to the tags on the counter and then back to the clothes she had on. The girl finally understood and turned to the register to ring her up.

  “Wait. I don’t have any money on me.” Rhees turned to go back to the dressing room but caught herself. Her purse with her new credit card was still in there, but so was Paul. Her heart pounded against her chest, she couldn’t gain control over her breathing, and the need to get away hit her again.