“Shh . . . shh, baby. I know it’s the hormones. I’m not helping though, either.” He consoles her. “Everybody finish up and we’ll go get Mommy her favorite ice cream.” He kisses her head. The kids all cheer. I’m a little jealous. I want ice cream, goddamn it!
“You sit and eat, beautiful; I’m going to start cleaning up.” Kyle shoots me a wink before getting up to do so. I’d offer to help but I have an inner lazy bitch who holds me back something fierce.
I finish up and walk mi familia to the door. Charley and I watch as Mitch parades the kids down to the car and gets them in. “He’s so good to me, Ceese. I wish I could stop snapping at him.” Her chin quivers.
“Whoa! He’s not always a Miss Suzy Sunshine.” I defend her.
“Oh, don’t I know it.” She widens her eyes. “But with the exception of his foot-to-mouth disorder, he’s a wonderful man. He’s just not happy about me doing this. He’s proud of me but he hates the idea that I am carrying someone else’s baby.”
“I think that’s understandable.” I shrug.
“It is. It just doesn’t make things any easier. Alright, give me a hug.” She puts her arms around me.
“You’re lucky we’re both tired and cranky tonight or I’d be chewing your ear off about doing all of this behind our backs.”
“We wanted to make sure it stuck first. Ava’s been through so much, she couldn’t handle being asked constantly about this, too.” She lets go of me.
“I get it, but still . . .” I trail off.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Go have some great make-up sex. That’s what I’m going to do!” She clicks her tongue and winks before heading down to the car. I turn around and walk back into the house. I can hear dishes clanking in the kitchen but rather than go in there, I decided to venture back into the media room. There’s a whole mess of reality TV I need to catch up on. I’m sure Mr. Belvedere won’t mind.
After a while, I hear the water running in the bathroom upstairs. I guess he’s decided to take a shower. I have to say, this back and forth with him is getting old already. We both do it and we both need to stop. Kyle’s a very intense person. Part of that is definitely due to his OCD. I feel like I’m an item on his life list that he checked off and now we’re supposed to automatically act as if we’ve been together forever. But, at the same time, I need to remember that we have played cat and mouse for several months, we’re older, and I sort of love that about our relationship even though it scares me half the time. So maybe it is mostly me. I want this and I’m afraid of it. Poor guy is probably getting whiplash. I know I am.
“C’mon,” he says softly, holding his hand out to me. Jesus! I didn’t even realize he’d come in here. Fucking ninja! I grab his hand and stand up in front of him. Without saying another word, he turns and leads me out of the media room and up the stairs. The butterflies in my belly are going a little haywire and my pussy is tingling. He guides me into the bedroom, right to the master bath. The tub is filled (huge claw foot—it’s gorgeous.) and has bubbles. There’s candles lit everywhere. I’m trying my hardest not to ask him why he has all of these candles. But only because they’re mismatched in color and sizes. There is soft music playing in the background. Kyle grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head. He tosses it in the hamper then circles around me. I can feel his hot breath hit my right shoulder before his lips do. My girls breathe a sigh of relief when the pressure of my bra is released. He guides my bra off of me. His hands reach around me and unsnap the button of my jeans. I lay my head back on his shoulder, listening to the sound of him unzipping them. I raise my head back up as he slowly glides them down over my hips. I step out of them as well as my panties.
“Jesus!” I yelp as he nips at my ass. I gasp as I feel his fingers slide between my folds. He groans. My guess—there’s no drought.
“Step into the tub, beautiful,” he says when he stands back up. I walk towards it and he holds my hand to help me in. “Get your hair wet so I can wash it for you,” he says as he picks the remainder of my clothes off the floor and places them in the hamper. I lie back and get my hair completely soaked. I watch as he undresses. I bite the inside of my cheek when he completely unveils himself. His dick looks as solid as steal and I feel the ache in me grow. “Scoot forward so I can get in.”
“Well, since you’re pointing and all . . .” I slide up and he gets in.
“Now rest back against my chest,” he commands gently. This obeying shit is becoming a real habit of mine. After several minutes of just laying here like this, in piping hot water that smells of coconut, I finally feel every nerve ending in my body relax. “Birkita . . . we have to stop behaving this way.” His voice is just as soothing as his fingers, leisurely travelling up and down my arms.
“I know,” I sigh.
“I get that you’re scared. Having feelings for someone is very scary. I know because I feel the same way about you. Purposely hurting each other to protect ourselves is proving to not be a very good idea.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Well, if you know and I know, then it stops right now. Yes?”
“Yes.” I turn my neck to give him a kiss. “Can I ask you a question, though, without you getting upset?”
“Of course, especially when you put it that way,” he teases.
“Have you stopped and thought at all this weekend that maybe we’re moving a little too fast?” I cringe.
“No. That’s society telling you that.” He sighs with frustration. “Look, I don’t know who the hell came up with the rules as to when the appropriate time your heart should start feeling stuff—it’s bullshit. You feel it when you feel it. Ceese, we’re in our thirties. We’re not some teenage couple having ‘I love you more’ battles after two days. We both have life experience under our belts—it’s different. Besides, I’ve been chasing you for a few months now. It’s not like you haven’t gotten to know me at all yet. Is this one of the things that has been bothering you?” he asks as he brings all of my hair over to my left shoulder.
“Yes. It has weighed on my mind.”
“Well, tell it to shut the hell up. Now, let’s get a move on in here because I really want to fuck you.” He nips my ear.
“I want to fuck you more.” I play.
“No. I want to fuck you more.” He chuckles.
Bottom line: we’re both gonna be fucked.
I’m not going to lie. Watching him board that plane right now is just about destroying me. I begged him to stay but he had already put the trip off by almost a week. What a week it has been. Kyle and I, since our talk in the tub, have been solid. No, honestly. Something inside of me just clicked. I know it’s only been a week since said clicking but I can’t even begin to describe to you how freeing it is. To just say, “fuck it” and throw all of my trust into him . . . into us. Yesterday was the only day we really got into a scuffle—if you want to call it that. You see, by Wednesday night (which coincidentally was Addie’s funeral) I was emotionally spent. Between Addie’s death, trying to get my head in the game with work, and figuring out the shit with my house, I finally broke down and told him everything: the bills, what I was doing with my house, and my idea for the shop. Kyle was amazing about it all, he really was. He helped me organize everything and make lists. Then, he asked me to move in. Okay, he didn’t exactly ask me—he told me. I didn’t freak out (I totally freaked out, but I kept it to myself.). I simply told him that I would think about it. Thursday came and I had to leave work early to go to the reading of Addie’s will. She left me Pearl and the shelter. She left the shelter all of her money. Needless to say, her family was pissed and thought I had brainwashed Addie. I don’t give a flying fuck, though. They can all kiss my ass. I may have said that while I kissed my two birds off at them before storming out. Immediately following that . . .
I hyperventilated.
Let me tell you a little something I’ve learned about hyperventilation. When done long enough or quickly enough (not really sure of that equation
because why the fuck would I be?) it causes your muscles to contract (picture how your toes curl during an orgasm.). This occurred just as I made it down to the lobby where Maddie and Julie were waiting for me. I didn’t know what was happening. Jesus Christ, I thought I was having a stroke. “You’re not having a stroke,” Maddie said. “Just breathe.”
“I. Am. Breathing. Bitch,” I said in quick pants.
“No you’re not.”
“Is there a priest in the house?” Julie yelled; spinning around to look or to turn into Wonder Woman—either was a possibility. “My friend, here, needs an exorcism!” She then, opened her bottle of water and started to shake it so it would splash on me. “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!” she yelled. Now to get full appreciation of the scene displayed before strangers, you must understand what my hands looked like as I raised them at her, yelling. They were gnarled up as if I had been suffering from Rheumatoid Arthritis for twenty years without a single dose of treatment. I couldn’t pick my nose if I wanted to! All I needed was a witch’s cackle. Those bitches laughed their asses off in between telling me to breathe and taking pictures of me. Fucking assholes! In any case, yelling was the sure fire thing to get me breathing correctly and I was miraculously cured. I immediately posted one of the pics to my Facebook timeline. What? It was fucking funny—after the fact.
So, moving on here. Thursday night, Kyle came home and I unloaded everything on him. As if I wasn’t stressed enough about my business, now I had to worry full-time about the shelter. Kyle didn’t miss a beat; he comforted me right away and assured me that everything would be all right. He also took about two minutes flat to fall in love with Pearl. He even told her that he was going to be her daddy now. Don’t worry, I told him never to say that to her again. In other news, Pearl, we’ve learned, is a visual fucker as well! How did we discover this? Ha! Kyle was balls deep, pounding me. It was so good. Fuck me—it was sooo good! He held my legs down on either side of my head like he always does when he fucks me this deep. And when this is happening, I grunt and groan with every thrust. Every time he would thrust in and I would grunt, she would yelp simultaneously with my grunt. Sometimes she would even yelp right before I did. And when I came hard and let out a prolonged cry of “ooooooh oooooh” like I was singing the chorus of a New Kids on The Block song, she howled with me.
Friday—Pearl got her own bedroom.
You know what else happened Friday? A guy in front of me switched to the other lane just as the light turned green. The douchebag that was in front of him, for some reason unbeknownst to everyone, had his car in reverse. He hit the accelerator and, having enough room and good pick up, slammed right into my car. When Hondas get hit in the front, the engine drops and the car is totaled. Silver lining? Kyle pampered the shit out of me and I get to use his car while he’s gone.
Then Saturday came and our scuffle. We stopped by my house only to find a shitload of people coming in and out, placing things on a moving truck. I jumped out of his car and raced inside, cursing the whole way because I was sore from the accident. I started screaming obscenities at these people until Kyle grabbed me by the arm to get my attention. “Ceese, I paid for them to come here and pack up your house. I wanted you to have one less thing to worry about. They are moving this all to our house and they will unpack it for you there.” He waited for my response. I was fuming. I told him I was going to think about moving in. I didn’t say yes. This is how the rest of the argument went (all one-sided, mind you).
Me: “Dude!”
Him: Eye fuck.
Me: “I love your house,” I conceded due to soakage of my panties from said eye fuck.
Him: Smirk.
Me: “I’m gonna go change my panties.”
Kyle helped me usher myself into the bathroom. He also helped strip me of my panties and bend over my sink vanity so he could fuck me from behind.
Banner fucking week, huh?
Now today, I had to say goodbye and only God knows how long he’ll be gone for.
Three weeks and counting . . .
Pulling clothes out of the dryer, I hear the chime for Skype ringing through my laptop in the bedroom. I hurry up and run to the bed, plopping on my stomach and hitting accept. Kyle flashes up on my screen. I may have sighed.
“Hey, beautiful.” He smiles.
“Hey, yourself.” I push the laptop back a little. And then . . .
We stare.
Lips (his) and inside of cheeks (mine) are bit.
Smirks are made.
“Shut-up!” I say. It’s become a habit of mine to say this after we stare for a while.
“I can’t help it, there’s so much to say.” His usual reply. Thing is, at night (my time), we have nothing left to say because we talk constantly throughout the day. So we just take this time to connect visually. Sometimes we have a continuation of the day’s events that we’ll share. But mostly, it’s just us looking at each other and exchanging how badly we want to be together. The subject of video sex comes up—all the time. I won’t do it. I have no problem with phone sex. I just can’t do the video. He asks me why and I give him the same answer—personal choice. He’s not happy with that answer but he sucks it up.
“So, I have some good news.” He rubs his eyes.
“How do you already have any news when it’s six in the morning there?”
“The meeting for today got cancelled.”
“You’re coming home!” I practically screech.
“Well, no, not exactly.” He rubs the back of his neck. “There’s an issue in Germany. I’m flying there today.”
“Listen, you can’t solve Germany’s problems. Don’t they have a president or something there?” I’m not going to lie—I’m pissed.
“Beautiful, are you talking about Germany as a whole or are you on the same page as me and know we’re discussing our plant there?” I can see he’s trying to fight a laugh; he’s not doing a very good job.
“Of course I mean your plant, dipshit.” I lie. “Don’t you have a head asshole in charge over there?” I ask.
He eyes me suspiciously but I think he decides to let it go. “We do, but he’s clearly not doing what he’s supposed to be doing. I need to head over for damage control. I’m sorry, Ceese.” his shoulders slump.
“How long?” I look away. I don’t want him to see me tearing up. Not to sound like a selfish bitch here, but I’ve got a lot going on and am more than ready to throw in the towel and let him help me in a more hands on approach (both on and off the court—know what I’m sayin’?). Ok, fine, I’m being a selfish bitch. Whatever; I’ll own that shit. I just want him home.
“I don’t know. I will try to get home to you as soon as possible. Hey!” He sits up straight. “Come out here!”
“What? Kyle, I can’t come out there!” He is out of his damn mind.
“Why? You’re not that busy, close the shop for a few weeks.”
“I have bills that need to get paid. I have a shelter I am now in charge of. Oh, and I’m trying to sell my house. Do you really think taking off to Germany so lady boom boom can get some action is really a good idea?”
“I think I just fell for you a little harder . . .” he trails off.
“Huh?”
“Lady boom boom.” He bites back his smile.
“Stay focused, please,” I plead. He sighs then does a little shiver. “Jesus Christ, are you breaking out the riverdance now?”
“What?” He laughs. I imitate him. He laughs harder. “I miss the hell out of you, Birkita,” he says as he comes down from his laughing fit.
“I miss you, too.” I frown.
“Then come.”
“I’d love to come.” I waggle my brows at him.
“Ugh!” he grunts. “C’mon, say you will.”
“I don’t have a passport.” My hands fly out in emphasis.
“How is that even possible?”
“I stick to my turf.” I shrug.
“Where’s that—in t
he middle of West Side Story?”
“Haha, very funny, asshole.”
“Get the notepad with all of your lists in it.” He shuffles his finger at me. I roll my eyes, him and his fucking “lists.” I get up on my knees then reach over to the nightstand drawer where my trusty notepad is. “Stretch a little more,” he says softly. I jerk my head back to see him checking me out. So now I gotta get all dramatic and shit. I shift my knees so that he gets a full view of my ass. I will neither confirm nor deny that I may be moving in such a way that would be suggestive of getting it from behind. “Fuck and Jesus Christ,” Kyle says under his breath. Oh, I should probably mention that I’m only in my lacy G-string. While we’re on the subject—I hate these fuckers! I’m only wearing them because I ran out of my usual faves. Hence: laundry night. I don’t feel sexy wearing them; I feel like I need to pick my wedgie—all day! Kyle, apparently, does not agree with me. I hear Kyle let out a low groan and I suddenly don’t feel very good. I look over my shoulders and there he is . . . working things out on his end. I immediately turn to my laptop and shut it.
I sit in silence.
For about one minute till my phone sounds as if it will explode. It rings. It buzzes. It chimes. It sings. Wait for it . . . wait for it. It vibrates. I open my notepad to my list of things to do.
22. See a therapist.
The house phone starts. Not sure why he even has one since he’s never home. I finally take it off the receiver. I know this seems like very odd behavior on my part but if you only knew . . .
Ten minutes goes by and my cell rings again. I glance at it and see that it’s Charley.
“What the hell is going on?” she asks as soon as I answer.
“What do you mean?” Always play dumb first—just in case.
“Kyle is a mad man right now!” she yells in a whisper.
“Why?” Always get more info—just in case.
“Ceese, he thinks you have another guy there!” Urgent whisper.
“What?! No!” I sit up quickly. “Why the hell would he think that?”
“He said you abruptly ended your skype call with him and won’t answer him on any outlet.”
In the Mix Page 23