by Roya Carmen
He smiles. “Well, it was with Bridget, a few years ago, in a room not unlike this one.”
I hold on to his every word, still wrapped up around him.
“It was when we were in our second open relationship. She was with Bryce on the bed.”
“Bryce,” I say. “That name sounds familiar. I think I met him at the art show. Bridget’s friend Simone, her husband, the sculptor?” I ask before I can help myself. I’m so curious.
His hand still lingers on the inside of my thigh. “Yes, the sculptor.”
I think back to the art show, remembering Simone, the classy goddess-like, impossibly tall woman with long sleek black hair and European features. I try not to picture her with Weston. I hate the thought of him with other women—even Bridget.
“What were they doing?” I ask, eager. He’s telling me this story way too slow it’s like watching porn in slow motion. “Were they having sex?”
A hint of a smile stretches across his face. “First, they were kissing, then, they undressed each other.”
“What were you doing?”
He gives me a wicked smile. “What I always do…I was watching.”
“Of course.”
“Then, they were completely nude and he pleasured her orally, and from where I was sitting, he seemed rather skilled at it.”
“That must have been so hot,” I blurt out. “Were you about to explode?”
“I was pretty aroused. I loved seeing the way she reacted to him. Her body stretched out before me, in such a state.”
“Did you masturbate?” I ask, completely uninhibited.
He smiles. “No, I didn’t. I like the sensation of getting extremely aroused and being able to exert control over myself.”
I bite my lip. “Damn, you are weird.”
He laughs. “But you like it.”
“That must have been so much hotter than what Gabe and I did.”
“It wasn’t,” he whispers against my ear, his hand still under my dress. “That’s the thing, I was so much more aroused when I was watching you and Gabe.”
Surprised by his words, I’m brought back to that night. I pull his hand between my legs. I want him to touch me. “Why?”
His hand presses hard against my sex. I’m already feeling the pressure build, the ache.
“It was different with you two. You were wearing this pretty virginal dress, and you seemed so scared, but so aroused at the same time. You seemed lost. And you were looking at me, searching for something. I knew you wanted me to come to you. And God…when you came and you made those soft noises,” he says as he pulls at the waistband of my cotton panties. “I thought I was going to lose control. There was emotion, beauty in it—it wasn’t just about sex, about getting off.”
I don’t say a word as he pulls my panties slowly down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine. He trails kisses down the length of my leg. The tray of food and dirty dishes still sits at the edge of the bed, abandoned.
“I thought we were going to take this to the dining room?” I say, my words silky.
His words vibrate against my skin when he says, “We are. This is just a little pre-show action. I have something planned.”
I’m curious. “What?”
He looks up at me with an impish expression. “Something kinky.”
I stand next to him, eager as a horny bunny, as he fiddles with his tablet. I stare at the television, and I’m pretty sure what he has in mind.
“Are we partaking in a little audio-visual entertainment?” I ask, curious.
A shy smile spreads across his face as he looks up from his tablet. “Is that okay with you?”
I nod but I’m not too sure. I’m a little nervous—I’m not sure what kind of porn he has in mind. Last time I watched a porno (with Gabe), it wasn’t exactly the kind of stuff I’m into—it was so degrading, so raunchy.
Weston tells me he’s streaming video from the Internet to the big screen. It sounds complicated, but he makes it look so easy. I trail my foot back and forth against the soft area rug in the living room, still not sure about this. My heart is beating fast, trying to catch up with my thoughts. Filthy images play on repeat in my mind; tawdry sex involving two men and a fake-boobed, waxed-bare blonde. I didn’t enjoy it last time, and I’m not sure I will enjoy it now. I’m not a big fan of porn and I wonder what Weston has in mind. But then I look up at him, so gorgeous in his slim-fitted chinos and his open shirt. His belt hangs off him—that’s as far as I got earlier, didn’t quite get the pants off. He smiles at me and there’s sweetness in his expression and my nerves ease a little.
“Do you watch this stuff a lot?” I ask, knowing the answer is probably yes. He is a “watcher” after all.
He shoots me a smile. “Not too much actually. Probably not nearly as much as most men. I don’t like commercial porn. I enjoy the amateur stuff.”
I smile. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
He fiddles with the tablet, looking rather sexy. Who knew a man setting up porn could come off as so incredibly sexy, and not pervy at all?
I take a seat on the arm of the sofa, pantiless, in my light butter-yellow dress. “How long have you had this…this fetish of yours…this voyeurism thing?”
He turns to me and smiles. “It’s not voyeurism. Voyeurism is enjoying watching people secretly, unbeknownst to them, when they don’t know you’re watching. The peephole and all that,” he says with the sexiest of smiles. “That’s not my thing. I’m not perverse.”
I smile. “Then what is your thing?”
“I like to watch people who want to be watched. People who get aroused by the idea of being watched,” he explains as he closes the distance between us. “If you hadn’t liked being watched,” he breathes against my ear. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed watching you.”
Suddenly, my light summer dress feels a little hot and I want it off. Stat.
He slides his warm hand under my dress and strokes my ass. “The people in this video want to be watched. They get off on it.”
I clear my throat, still nervous. “So this video is pretty tame?” I ask tentatively. “Nothing too hardcore?”
He smiles and pulls me to him. “Yes. It’s pretty tame, Mirella. I would never expose you to that filthy stuff. I don’t even enjoy it myself.”
I blow out a breath as relief washes over me. I stand on the tip of my toes, and reach for his neck. He leans into me, and I swallow hard, summoning up the courage to ask him, “I want you…” I breathe against his neck, “to fuck me exactly like he fucks her.”
He buries his face into my shoulder, grabs my rear and scoops me up against him. “I can definitely do that.”
And in a matter of seconds, he carries me across the living room to the sleek dark dining table and props me on the edge. My legs tremble as I anticipate his every move with every cell of my body. He grabs my face roughly in his hands and kisses me, almost knocking the wind out me. I can hear the video on the big screen in the distance. I turn to see a beautiful brunette and hot blond guy are making out on the back side of a leather sofa. Their moans travel across the sound system and heighten what I’m already feeling.
This is so hot.
Weston trails his wet mouth to my neck, to my collarbone. “You’ll like this,” Weston whispers. “It’s not too crass. The woman looks a lot like you.”
I turn around to see the video again. She has the same long dark hair and her face is similar to mine. She’s already half-naked. These two seem to work fast.
I turn back to Weston. “Her tits are bigger.”
He laughs, his mouth against my breast. “But not better.”
I want him to take off my dress and bra and have me completely naked on this table. “Uh…” I whisper as I pull off his shirt. “These two are already half naked. We need to catch up.”
He finally peels my little yellow dress off, over my shoulders. And I take care of his undershirt and pants. I dig into his boxers and stroke him. I love it when he’s hard for me.
“I’m ad-libbing a little. We’re a tad behind.”
I turn back to see. The man is going down on her, his blond head stuck between her wide-spread legs.
“C’mon, Weston,” I cry out. “Get down there.”
I am loving this video.
He kneels down, and spreads my legs over his shoulders. My blue tipped toes dangle in the air as he licks me deliciously, just like in the video. As I lean back on the table, my sex pulses against his warm mouth. The woman’s moans mix with mine, the sounds so crisp in the huge room. I close my eyes, knowing an amazing orgasm will soon pull me apart. My whimpers are almost unheard, drowned out by the woman’s loud moans.
Weston drags his mouth up my body, between my breasts and up along the side of my neck. “You are having too much fun, you kinky girl.”
“I love it.”
“There’s more. This is the part where he flips her around and takes her from behind, your favorite position.”
He grabs my rear and turns me. My body presses against the cool wood. I can finally see the screen now. The blond man presses the woman against the back of the sofa and it looks a lot more comfortable than a dining room table.
I turn to Weston with a playful smile. “Let’s get the details right.”
I drag him to the living room, pulling the band of his black boxers. “They’re doing it on a sofa.”
He pulls away from me for a second, grabs his pants off the floor and pulls a condom from the pocket. I lean forward on the back of the sleek sectional, and wait. The man in the video is ripped and huge. And he’s pounding into this little wisp of a woman like all-get-out. And I wonder how he doesn’t hurt her. But I suppose it’s kind of like that with Weston and me. I sense him coming up behind me and spread my legs a little wider.
He pulls my hair to one side, over my shoulder. It’s amazing how the most softest of touches brings on such sensation. He rests his hands on my rear and breathes hard into the back of my neck. I love to be pliable in his hands like this. His hand trails to my sex and he slides his finger along my wetness back and forth, and back again, teasing me. I want to get off so badly. “Please…”
He pulls me up and kisses my neck softly as he sinks into me. He’s very gentle as he eases into me slowly. I close my eyes. I’m done with the entertainment. I just want to enjoy the feel of him inside me. He breathes harder as he presses deeper into me. I know he’s nearing. I know his patterns. I love being the source of his pleasure, making him come. I love it when he goes in for one last hard push, groans against my ear as he stills.
I haven’t quite gotten there myself yet though.
As he settles down, I don’t let up. He can probably feel me eager, still pressing against him. He reaches out and strokes me just right, hitting just the right spot. He now knows my body like the back of his hand. He knows exactly how to make me respond. He barely touches me and I fall apart.
We’re cuddled together on the sofa, in the softest throw I’ve ever been wrapped in. The TV has been turned off. The porn wasn’t quite done but we were done with it. I kiss Weston on the cheek, the tips of his fingers play with the tips of mine.
“I was thinking next weekend for New York,” he says.
“What?”
“Yes, next weekend. This weekend was out of the question because it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow but next weekend is all open for us. Although, I’m not sure about Bridget and Ashton. But Lizzie is quite excited about the whole prospect.”
“Wow.” Perhaps, I should have mentioned it to Gabe. I haven’t had the courage. I better get on that—sooner than later.
“Uh…sure,” I stammer a little, still stunned. When Weston Hanson wants something, he sure makes it happen fast.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The handsome one?
I WAKE UP TO THE DISTANT SOUND of cartoons. I guess Chloe and Claire are already up. I hope they’ve gotten themselves breakfast, but if history is any indication, they’ve probably just grabbed granola bars—chocolate covered ones. I smile at the sight of a beautiful bouquet of white tulips set on my night table. Yes, I almost forgot, it’s Mother’s Day today. I turn and look over my shoulder to see Gabe, but he’s not there.
Pity.
I hear clanking sounds coming from the kitchen and I know he’s whipping up something for breakfast.
I step into my slippers and slip on my bathrobe. I tiptoe down the stairs, make my way to the kitchen and grab him from behind.
He jumps like a girl. “Jesus.” He laughs. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I laugh. “So, what are you making?”
He smiles, looking quite delicious himself. Yes, I could use a side of morning glory. I’m insatiable.
“I’m making you strawberry pancakes,” he tells me.
I smile at the bowl of strawberries and can of whipped cream. He doesn’t make the whipped cream from scratch like I do, but that’s inconsequential at the moment because he’s just the sweetest thing. I kiss him on the cheek. “Looks good. I’m famished.”
The girls and I sit at the oak kitchen table and dig into our pancakes. They’re in seventh heaven. There are very few things in Gabe’s repertoire when it comes to cooking, but his pancakes are pretty good.
I pour myself a glass of juice. “So what’s on the agenda today?”
He shoots me a wink. “I’m taking the kids to see a movie and I’ve booked you a massage and a blowout at Anna’s.”
I light up. I love Anna. Anna is a friend of a friend. About once or twice a year, I get a free massage or a facial.
“That’ll be so nice.”
“What the heck is a blowout anyway?”
I laugh out loud.
He smiles at me. “Well, whatever it is, if anyone deserves it, it’s you.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling shy all of sudden. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way.”
He shoots me a playful smile, and takes a seat at the table. “I know tulips are your favorite,” he says, digging into his pancakes. “Unlike some people we know, I know you. I know you’re not a huge fan of roses.”
I smile, remembering the bouquet Weston sent. It’s true. I’m not a big fan of roses. But those lavender roses were exquisite.
“And who sends purple roses, anyway?”
His words linger in the air like an afterthought.
We eat dinner at a local Italian place. The restaurant is packed. It’s my favorite place, a privately owned bistro-style eatery. It’s kitschy as hell, but the service is warm, the wine flowing and the food amazing.
The girls are consumed by activities on their place mats, crayons in hand, this is as good an opportunity as any. I really don’t want to have this conversation over lasagna but I have no choice. I’m not sure how Gabe will react. On the one hand, it involves Weston, but on the other, it sounds like a lot of fun, and it’s a great opportunity for the girls.
I drop my fork and down a sip of my cola. “I wanted to talk to you about something Weston mentioned.”
I can’t quite seem to say the words.
“Mentioned what?” Gabe asks, curious.
“He was talking about a trip to New York. All of us. Next weekend. He has a private plane which holds nine people.” I don’t think I’ve ever spoken so fast. The words come out so swiftly, I probably sound like Minnie Mouse. “Anyway, it sounds fun. He wants to go see The Lion King.”
Gabe is slack-jawed. “Uh…another trip. And on a private jet, no less. The guy is sure trying to impress you.”
I smile. “I really don’t think this is what this is about.”
He sighs. “Well, I can see you want to go.”
“I do.”
He stares down at his spaghetti and meatballs. “How long?”
“Just one night. We would leave very early on the Saturday an
d return by Sunday.”
“Is this plane safe?”
“Very. He says the company has a perfect safety record. There’s two professional pilots.”
He nods slowly and doesn’t say a word. My spirits lift because I know this is a reluctant yes. When Gabe doesn’t say no, it usually means yes.
Gabe and the girls have a store-bought cake waiting for me at home. Gabe dims the lights as Chloe carries out the chocolate cake, topped with flowers. And as I venture my first bite, I’m glad to discover it’s delicious. Claire digs into it with gusto, her sweet adorable face covered in chocolate.
Lots of prezzies follow; bubble bath, a box of Lindt chocolates, the Jane Austen complete collection, cozy pajamas, and a new brooch for my collection—a sparkly elephant.
I don’t think about Weston. Well, just the once. I wonder where he’s taken Bridget for Mother’s Day. Somewhere expensive and posh I’m sure. I picture them and their kids sitting in a fancy restaurant. Everything is light and airy; tables covered in white linen, cool cream leather chairs. It’s like they’re in heaven. Ashton wears a suit jacket like his father. And Lizzie wears a flowing white dress, her hair in a sleek French braid.
Chloe’s high-pitched voice snaps me back to reality. I look over at her, she looks completely unkempt—I haven’t had a chance to comb her hair because I was at the spa all day. Well at least, one of us looks good. I notice there’s a huge bird’s nest in her hair and my gaze travels to her sister who has a fresh pasta sauce stain on her white shirt. And I just know I’ll never get that damn stain out.
And there goes another day in the ordinary life of the Keates family.
I jest, but it is wonderful. I can’t complain about the most important people in my life and the most perfect day.
Almost perfect…
Later at night, Gabe and I are watching a romantic comedy. Gabe usually doesn’t watch those with me, but today I convince him to because it’s Mother’s Day and all, and I’m going to milk this day for all it’s worth. One minute I’m fine, and the next…