“Kyle . . . gah.” My hips jerk up over and over again, helping me to find my pleasure.
“That’s it . . . that’s my girl.” He attacks my neck. “Is this what you do, when you’re in bed at night, thinking about me? Do you touch yourself?”
“Please,” I beg, wanting to feel him inside of me. As soon as I reach my climax, his mouth is on mine, our tongues aggressively petting each other.
He pulls back abruptly, getting on his knees. Oh, thank Christ! I watch him jerk his cock up and down. It looks painfully hard and I can’t wait for it to slam inside of me. I widen my legs for him some more, and give my pussy another rub or two . . . a pep talk, if you will.
“I’m so ready for you, Kyle,” I breathe. He gives me a little smirk.
“Patience, beautiful.” He grabs my left leg and brings it up against his chest.
Patience? What?
Kyle slips my shoe off and starts to massage my foot slowly, deeply. Oh, you have got to be kidding me! See? I’m not cut out for this shit. I want to get right to—oh. He’s nipping at my insole. He chuckles lightly at my reaction then, carries on, nipping at the skin up my leg. The only way I could describe the sensation that is happening to my entire body, is to say it feels like “pins and needles” but at the very beginning, when it feels sort of cool. I’m on sensory overload, the more he travels, the more my anticipation builds. Just when I can’t take anymore, Kyle flips me on to my stomach. Yes, I yelped. I wasn’t expecting him to go all ninja on my ass!
It won’t be long now. You know how I can tell? Kyle’s hands are beginning to massage me a little more aggressively. The pressure feels awesome. The sound of his rapid breaths—even better. Suddenly, his hands both slam on to my ass, squeezing my cheeks harshly. He pushes them up and I feel his tongue slide along underneath my right cheek before giving me a good bite, then . . . whack! “Ah, Kyle!” Holy fuck, that was hot.
Please do that again.
Please do that again.
Chant with me—it helps. (Shut-up . . . it does!)
Please do that again.
Squeeze. Lick. Bite. Smack. Dear God, baby Jesus, and all them bastards, who hauled ass, through the desert—thank you. “You have the most gorgeous back,” he murmurs, dragging his lips up it.
“Kyle?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
“Yeah?” He makes his way up my neck.
“I’m going to get on my knees, so you can take me. If I don’t feel your cock slipping inside of me in the next ten seconds, I’m going to push you off of me and grab Purp,” I state as clearly and calmly as I can.
“Purp?”
“Yes. Purp—vibrator to the gods.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says in a tone that reminds me of being a kid and hearing “ooh, I’m tellllling,” remember that?
“What?” I snap lightly. I mean, honestly, I’m hanging by a thread here.
“You shouldn’t have told me you have a vibrator with you. You are definitely not getting any rest tonight.” He flips me back over again. Sure, I love being treated like a ragdoll. “Is it really called Purp or is that your name for it?” He smiles down at me as he settles himself between my legs.
“I named him,” I reply quietly, honing in on his eyes and lips.
“Why Purp?” A flicker of amusement comes over his face.
“Because he’s purple and . . . he does magical things.” I bite my smile back.
“Magical things, huh?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“What kind of things do I do to you, Ceese?” His previous amused look falls.
He waits.
I stare into his blue eyes.
The silence is so loud.
“You do things to me that take my breath away. Amazing things. Things that frighten me.” I hit him full force with my honesty, no fucking around, no bullshit.
No wall.
“Frighten you, how?” His fingertips dance across my cheek like a feather and I find myself leaning into his touch. I close my eyes; relishing it. I don’t know if I have the right words to answer his question. If I did have them, I’m not certain that I’d want to lay them out. I think that’s what frightens me the most . . . not knowing which side of the fence is the better side—the right side. “You’re not going to answer me?” he almost whispers.
“I don’t know how.” I let my eyelids flutter open.
“It’s ok,” he breathes before his lips caress mine. It’s light and sweet at first, but quickly turns urgent. Our intent, coming back to focus. I feel him slide my right leg around his left hip as his tongue licks hard into my mouth, warranting a submissive groan from me.
“Please, Kyle,” I beg again.
“You ready?” he baits me.
“Yes, please,” I pant, secretly congratulating myself for keeping my smart mouth under wraps. Am I ready? Wtf?
My hips respond wildly to the sensation of him rubbing his cock up and down my center. He leans in towards my ear, “You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought home, here, and made love to. I have every intention of making you the last.”
I tried to respond, but my words got cock-blocked . . . ahem.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts. I’d respond to that, as well, but my body is still arched and my mouth’s open, in a silent scream, as I try to accommodate him.
Yes, Imma little concerned for my lady boom boom.
Just give me a minute . . . I’ll be all right.
Lawd . . .
The tension in my back finally lets up and I ease myself down only to be greeted by his hungry lips. He reaches down and hikes my leg up higher on his hip as he pulls out and slowly begins to fill me again. Just as I’m almost full to the brim, he pulls back, taking with him the satisfaction of that final stretch. SLAM! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! He pulls my hands off of him and whips them above my head. “Keep them there,” he commands as he releases them and brings his hands to my hips. He pushes up on his knees slightly; lifting my hips with his movement, tilting them up for a better angle. Once he seems to have me the way he wants, he hovers over me again, pinning my arms down, conquering my mouth, and guiding his cock to hit my g-thang over and over again, merciless.
“Kyle,” I break away, “please!” I feel as if I’m on the verge of tears. It’s too slow, too full—too much. The intensity of the dragged out pace is more than I can bear.
“Shh . . . I’m almost there.” He attacks my lips again. His breath becoming more labored, his hips, pumping into me at a quicker pace. I scream as he slams in to me. He holds it for a moment then thrusts little, yet deep, thrusts into me. It feels like he’s pulsating deeply inside. I squeeze around him to stop it, but that only eggs him on more. He bites the ever-loving-fuck out of my lower lip as he releases my hands. Quickly, he reaches for my legs and whips them up and then down on either side of my head. “Relationships. Are. All. About. Compromise,” he pants. Huh? He plants another kiss on my lips, and then he leans back on his heels, holding my legs back, and he lets me have it.
“Kyle! God, oh God—Kyle!” I’m a mess. I can’t organize a single thought as he pounds so hard into me, his cock almost becoming my cervix’s wombmate.
“Are you there, baby?” he grunts, barely letting up.
“Yes . . . Oh, God, yes!” I practically scream. “Don’t call me baby.” I add. Kyle just growls at my comment and may have found his second wind on the whole pounding thing. I grab at him, the sheets, my hair . . . anything and everything to help me. And then . . .
He lets out a barbaric groan.
My toes curl, painfully.
I look down and watch his cock slide in and out of me for the last few pumps. You made it, boom boom, you made it. My head collapses back onto my pillow. Kyle’s head collapses onto his or, as others may call it, my boob. We’re both gasping for air like the fat kid in gym class. What?!
“You frighten me, too,” he suddenly says in a low, almost too quiet voice. I have nothing to say on this matter. What c
an I say? Instead, I let my fingernails trail up and down his back, comforting him without words. Soon enough, I hear the tempo of his breathing change. He’s asleep. Before I join him in slumberland (Oh, and I will soon!), I put some serious thought into my feelings and actions.
Maybe I am ready for this. Maybe this is just what I need. It’s been long enough; God, I’d love to just let go of the past. The thing is; I don’t remember feeling this way with Drew. I remember being in love with him, but that was love in your early twenties. It’s different when you’re older, right? You’ve experienced the world a lot more. You know more of what you want and what you don’t want for yourself. It’s different. I feel different.
At the same time, I really haven’t a clue as how to handle this in anyway. And I can’t begin to tell you how angry that makes me. It’s like, in every other aspect of my life, I’m thirty-four (almost five, but let’s not really mention that. Also, my behavior, around the GEGs, does not count in this equation; we are a separate entity.), but with love, it’s as if I’m stuck at twenty. I never let myself grow in that department. What Drew did to me really did ruin me in a way that makes me hate him even more, thinking about it. I think what makes me mad the most is that I feel somebody else would’ve moved on a long time ago. I hate that I’m not over it—that I have no peace with the past.
Here, I have this amazing, gorgeous, patient man in my arms and . . . I don’t know what to do with him! I mean, I know what to do with him. It’s the emotional part. I don’t know how to allow myself to do that. I have to try, though. He’s different. He feels right. For him, I will try.
“Go to sleep, Birkita,” he mumbles.
“You’re awake?”
“Mmm hmm.” He squeezes me.
“I’m not surprised.”
“No?”
“Nope. We’ve just had some nasty hot sex, I’m sure you want to get up and sanitize everything,” I tease.
“Shut-up,” he laughs lightly. I join in a little.
“So, is there something you feel you should tell me about?”
“What?” He lifts his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve left one shoe on me. My guess is that you have a secret fantasy about fucking a one-legged woman.” I point out, though he’s not bothering to look.
“You have a really warped brain, you know that, right?” He nudges my nose and gives me a quick kiss.
“Why, thank you,” I smile. “It takes a lot of work to think up these strange thoughts and ideas.”
“Hmm, c’mon, let’s jump in the shower.” He gives me another quick kiss, and then pulls out. I let out a disapproving sigh. It only takes a second to be reminded of something that shouldn’t have happened. Kyle’s baby batter trickles out of me. Yes, I could’ve said something, given him a reminder, but in all fairness, he wasn’t rushing with urgency, and I was completely incapacitated what with all he was doing to me. I can’t help but question whether he has a motive or not. However, we’ve had a busy day with up and downs, as it is. Also, I don’t want to ruin our evening by arguing over something that can’t be changed now. Oh, but it will be, in the future—I can guarantee that.
I take his hand, following his lead into the bathroom. One thing, of course, leads to another and Kyle is showing me his version of “leave-in conditioner”; know what I’m sayin’?
I try to move. Not only is my body arguing with me over this, but Kyle’s body is preventing me, as well. I’m trapped. Very carefully, I slide Kyle’s arm and leg off of me. It’s no easy feat, I tell you. Slipping out of bed, I grab my yoga pants and t-shirt out of my bag, quickly dressing. I sneak out of the room as quietly as I can before running downstairs. I need to hurry and get back before he wakes up. Spotting Kyle’s car keys on the little table by the door, I snatch them up and run out of the house. I climb into his Lexus—who gives a fuck model—SUV. It’s goldish-tan, that’s all I can tell ya! I start it up and back out, slowly. I hit the GPS and the motherfucker starts talking to me! I need one of these puppies. I tell it what it wants to know and, like magic, I arrive at the closest pharmacy. Within twenty minutes, I’m out and heading back to Kyle’s house. As soon as I pull up into the driveway, a very fucking hot-as-hell Kyle darts out of his house, towards the driveway . . . in only pj bottoms. There’s a sudden weather alert going on in my pants. They say, “It’s going to be a wet one!” Yup . . . pretty much!
He whips the door open, anger all over that beautiful face of his. “What’s the matter?” I ask innocently.
“What’s the matter?” he seethes. “Oh, I don’t know, Ceese. Could it be the fact that I’ve been dealing with fire and police up until five minutes before you came back home?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You left without the damn code to the alarm system.”
“Oh, shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Where the fuck did you go? It’s five in the damn morning, Ceese!” he whisper yells then slams the door after I get out. Kinda defeats the purpose behind the whisper yell, but I won’t mention that to him.
“I needed to go to the store.” I attempt to throw my small pharmacy bag into my purse.
“For what?” He grabs it from me as he opens the door to the house. I follow him in, not knowing how to prepare for any reaction from him. Kyle stops dead in his tracks. My heart races a million miles a minute. “Did you take this already?” he asks, not even looking back at me.
“Yes.”
“Wow, ok,” he sighs. Shaking his head, he tosses the bag onto the counter as we enter the kitchen. He turns around, leans up against the counter, and crosses his arms.
We stare.
Not eye fuck stare.
Just regular “Who’s going to talk first” stare.
“I think it needs to be said that if I did, in fact, get you pregnant, it doesn’t mean I would leave you,” he pipes up first (there’s a shocker!).
“Well, then, it should also be said that if you did, in fact, get me pregnant, it doesn’t mean I would stay with you,” I counter.
“Touché.”
“Look, I don’t want to argue about this. We are both at fault here. Let’s just move on and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” I toss out a white flag before one is truly needed.
“Oh, I agree. But before we lay this to rest, I need to tell you how I feel about this.” He stands up straight. “You just said we were both at fault, no?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, don’t you think we both should’ve been involved in your little decision here?” he asks and I notice a little tick-like action happening in his jawline. I may also be a little mesmerized by his slight flexing and releasing of his chest and arm muscles. It’s like he’s fighting back an eternal battle or something.
Flex.
Release.
Flex.
Release.
“CiCi!” he yells, bringing me back to focus.
“It’s my body, Kyle. I’m the one who decides.”
“It’s my baby, too!”
“We don’t know if I got pregnant, so just stop. You’re taking this to a place it doesn’t need to go.” I try to calm him down.
“What you did is against everything I believe in, regardless as to whether or not a baby was created.”
“Listen, if you’re going to get all political on my ass, then I’m leaving. I don’t have to listen to this bullshit.” I head towards the stairs.
“It’s not bullshit. It’s a life and it shouldn’t be canceled out because you don’t feel like being responsible for it!” he seethes.
“Whoa! Back the fuck up, Jack! First of all, don’t talk to me like that. Second of all, where do you get off judging anybody? You know, Kyle, I share those same views as you—to a point. But, there are always exceptions.” Oh, fuck it to hell; my blood is boiling.
“Was my sister one of those exceptions, Ceese?” he asks in a condescending tone.
“Oh, don’t you fucking dare! Don’t yo
u bring her into this conversation! This has nothing to do with her!” I stalk towards him. “You think I’d terminate a pregnancy over downs syndrome?! You asshole!” I poke at his chest.
“There are no exceptions. Even in the worse conditions, there’s always adoption. So many couples who can’t have kids are waiting. Look at Ava and Trent.” He pushes into my finger.
“Don’t you tell me about my friends!”
“Don’t tell you. Don’t . . . don’t . . . don’t! That’s all you’ve got! What can I tell you about, Ceese? Can I tell you that being adopted is probably a hell of a lot better than being—oh, I don’t know—dead?! How about the burden of the mom’s decision, weighing heavier than the burden of raising that child?” he yells in my face.
“No, Kyle . . . you definitely don’t need to tell me about that burden.”
Fuck my chin and it’s quivering.
Fuck my eyes and their inability to fight off my tears.
And fuck my heart that has been breaking for fifteen years.
I don’t know how much time has passed. All I know, is I somehow ended up on the floor, in Kyle’s arms, gasping through my horrific-sounding sobs. “Shh . . . shh,” he whispers against my temple. “I’m so sorry . . . I’m sorry,” he adds and kisses my hair. Stop, CiCi, stop. Oh, God, he wasn’t supposed to know—nobody was supposed to know! Think. Think. Think.
I wipe my face and try to get out of his arms. “I need to go,” I say casually as if I didn’t just have a mental breakdown (or whatever that was).
“No!” He jerks his head and stands up with me. “You’re not going. We’re going to sit down and you are going to talk this out with me. You’re not running away from us or your past anymore. You’re done with it. It’s time, Birkita. It’s time to let it go.” He guides me to the living room.
In the Mix Page 17