Some Rough Edge Smoothin'

by Louisa Trent

  This was her first time with any man! She wanted to scream. And no, she hadn't loved Matt! That was her dreadful secret. She had never loved her husband.

  She had tried. Oh, how she had tried to love the man who couldn't bring himself to touch her, but she had failed.

  Even without the sex, if she could have only loved him, maybe then they both wouldn't have been so miserable, maybe then he would've found the strength to fight back against the disease that had claimed his life.

  But he hadn't fought back, though she'd begged him to as she nursed him night and day; Matt had given into the disease. And she couldn't help but think that Matt had chosen death as a means to escape her and the marriage he hadn't wanted. Cholera hadn't killed her husband; she had killed him by asking him to marry her.

  “So good,” Tomas rasped as he started to move shallowly within the tight clasp of her body. “So good,” he told her, sliding in and out of her vagina with the most gentle of strokes. “Ah! You feel so good, so good, so good. You're too good for me.”

  She held onto to Tomas’ shoulders as he grimly pumped between her legs. As he thrust, deeper now, faster now, the tension inside her body built and grew; her raised thighs went taut; her face set in a grimace. Release was just on the other side of the wall. Could she scale it?

  “Let go,” Tomas whispered. “Just let it all go, honey. Cry. You need to. I don't mind.”

  At his words, the fist inside her unclenched, and tears spilled from her eyes as a dam within her burst. She did scream then, a release that rocked her body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It was almost dawn, and Sera was moving in on his dick again.

  She'd been at him all night, touching him with her hands, her mouth, wiggling her fine ass up and down the length of his all too willing cock. And though he knew he shouldn't, that it was too many times, that she had to be sore, he couldn't stop himself from going between her legs each time she had whispered, “Please?” in his ear. As a last resort he'd pulled on his jeans, hoping the denim barrier would convince his cock to settle down.

  The jeans hadn't worked.

  “Honey, you need to rest,” he said, carefully flipping her so that she was on her side and he was flanking her.

  Big mistake. Right away, her bare buttocks snuggled up to his crotch.

  Tomas had to admit that he had a real thing for Sera's bottom. His bride's lush ass was the kind of ass that most men could only dreamed of snuggling up to. He loved her ass. He could hardly wait to love her ass. Would she let him?

  Upon reconsideration, Tomas decided he didn't want his bride just to let him. He wanted her to want it too, and not just as a way to escape her grief over the man she still loved. He wanted her to genuinely want it with him.

  As he was thinking about how much something like that would mean to him, Sera pulled one hand over her pert little breast. The other hand she grabbed and placed between her legs so that it covered her pussy. Then, she raised her leg, bent her knee. No mistaking that invitation.

  “Open it up for me,” he whispered.

  “Like this?” she asked, widening her slit with two fingers, so that her plump and swollen clit was displayed.

  “Your pussy is so dainty,” he said, at first, only looking. “Just seeing your clit like that makes me want to...to...shit...I can't say it.”

  “Well, I know what I want. I want you to ravage me,” was her purred reply.

  Only looking soon led to only touching. Just the sweet outside lips at first. But the more he thought about Sera's sweet bottom, which was now wiggling up and down his crotch, the higher his index finger worked itself up inside her. Pretty soon it was moving deep inside her, his thumb on her clit, and he was romancing her pussy all over again.

  She was plenty swollen, but she didn't tell him to quit. Sera was wet, her body hummin', her need taking over.

  Tomas didn't delude himself. Sera's need wasn't really for him; her need was for sex with her husband.

  He had needs too. For the first time in his life, he needed a woman, couldn't get enough of a woman. Four times, and he wanted her again.

  Sera raised her leg higher and widened her bent knee so that he could get at her if he was so inclined.

  He was inclined. Very inclined. Though it didn't sit well knowing that at least part of his wife's passion for his cock was out of a misguided sense of obligation. It was one thing being used for sex, another thing realizing that the lady thought she owed him.

  “Let's go out to the rooftop,” he said, reluctantly withdrawing his finger from her wet folds before he got the real bad idea of unzipping his fly again. “We can catch the sun come up.”

  “But I thought you wanted to...”

  “You need a break, honey,” he said, helping her up out of the bed.

  To be on the safe side, he palmed a couple of condoms in case he filled that break in with another sex attack. When it comes to sex, relaxed dress codes don't apply. A gentleman doesn't go inside unless he suits up first.

  Sera reached for the gauzy dress.

  “You don't need that,” God help him, he said.

  “All right.” This time, Sera blushed only a little.

  His palm stayed on her buttock, riding the first swell, as Sera led the way up the stairs onto the roof garden.

  Tomas knew Sera liked plants, so he'd dug a ton of flowers into a rooftop garden as soon as he decided they'd be honeymooning at the condo. The work had all been worth it when, after giving her the tour, Sera stopped against the wall that overlooked the city, turned to him with a smile, and said, “It's so beautiful here.”

  He felt his chest swell with pride.

  And when he said, “Thanks” and took her lips, something else swelled too. Not that it had been exactly deflated before. Good thing he was wearing the jeans.

  But then the kiss deepened and heated, and his hands started moving, and pretty soon he was groaning, “Open your legs,” against a pair of clinging lips, and his finger was pushing into a silky wet pussy all over again. He had to have one part of himself inside Sera.

  She looked shyly around.

  “No one can see,” he told her, though at that moment he didn't care if every voyeur in Fenton could see him making love to his wife. They were married; it was allowed. Too bad. And he had to say that being outside on the roof, with nothing but blue sky overhead, was a real turn on.

  Sera must have thought so too, because even though she was a cute shade of pink, her thighs opened for him.

  And fuck, he was there. Right there. At her clit. His thumb working it and Sera writhing to the beat.

  “Please Tomas. Please, Tomas.”

  “Say it,” he ordered, needing to hear her speak the words.

  “Come into me.”

  “Here?” he asked, because a gentleman always makes sure.

  She grinned. “No. In the elevator.”

  “Not the elevator again,” he groaned.

  “Yes. Please! Pretty please?”

  “You just want your own collection of porn pics.”

  “Not at all,” she protested. “I just like doing it while we're going up and down.”

  “That's me going up and down, woman, not the damn elevator,” he growled. “And the answer is N-O! Hell, no. You want it, we do it out here on the roof, like regular respectable married folks.”

  He didn't understand why she started to laugh, and he didn't much care. She was happy, and that's all that mattered.

  She'd cried during the first time.

  It just about broke his heart to hear her weep. Hurt his masculine pride a little too to know his bride was thinking of her first husband, not her new husband, while he was inside her body. But he did understand. Sex. Tears. Sera needed to do both.

  “This is the very last time,” he told his bride, and lifted her atop the table where they'd had their wedding dinner.

  He stepped between her legs, his whole insides melting at the greedy expression on Sera's face, and eased his way in.
r />   His bride was having none of it. She dragged him closer, two hands in a stranglehold around his neck, forcing to make a faster connection.

  “Stop it, woman,” he rebuked. “You're not getting all of it. I don't care how much you pout. I've got over ten inches of meat here and you ain't got that much room.” He kissed her lips and put only half of what he had to her. “Now easy. I know you want it hard, but let me do you sweet.”

  He always wanted to do Sera sweet and gentle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tomas wasn't home yet from the site.

  While Sera waited for her always on-time husband to rush through the door, she stirred candy mix-ins into the brownie batter, careful not to let any fall on the shiny new emerald-green linoleum floor.

  Tomas had insisted upon the impractical color, saying the green perfectly matched her eyes.

  That was her husband: Her eyes were a very common shade of hazel.

  When she'd still requested a dark color, better to hide the dirt, he said the linoleum was a remnant, that he'd only discard it if she didn't take it off his hands. A preposterous fib, of course, and she didn't believe him for a minute, but she was a practical woman and so she accepted the inlaid gladly; money not spent on the small apartment at the school would go towards classroom equipment.

  Sera stirred some more candy into the brownie batter.

  Her husband had to have the world's largest sweet tooth. She was sure it came from him not having homemade goodies as a youngster. Tomas hadn't had any treats as a kid, and now that he was an adult, he was making up for lost time.

  He was making up for lost time in the wardrobe department as well. Tomas was buying dressy clothes, suits and ties and footwear that weren't boots. He had also added several wild Hawaiian shirts in floral patterns of bright reds and yellows to his everyday wear of generic black tee shirts and jeans. He'd cut his hair too and started to shave on a regular basis. He looked like a changed man.

  He looked like a changed man, and she felt like a changed woman.

  Gradually, her guilt over Matt's death was lessening. Slowly but surely, she'd realized that she'd done all she could to make him happy; she'd fought to save his life when he'd sickened and, she'd tried desperately to love him. Yes, their marriage was a terrible mistake, but their friendship was no mistake. From the beginning, there was a genuine fondness between them that their sad wedding night hadn't blighted. It was time to let go, and move on with life.

  With the diminishing of her pervasive sadness, her joy in little things had started to return. She was sleeping better-attributed by her husband to the great sex he was giving her. And more and more, she thought about all the happy times she'd spent in India; she no longer dwelled on only that tragic last year.

  At night, after dinner, she'd tell Tomas about the mission. He never said much; he'd just mainly listen. It helped to talk. Not that she told Tomas about her relationship with Matt; she couldn't bring herself to do that.

  Often, her husband would sit beside her on the piano bench at night as she practiced the scales, intently following her fingers. Then, he'd mimic her hand movements on the keys. He was a quick study. He also had excellent pitch. There was no doubt about it, Tomas had natural ability. His talent should have received nurturing as a child, and it frustrated her that his gift had gone neglected. Naturally, she'd offered him private instruction-

  He'd declined with a little crooked smile, saying, ‘Someday, babe. Someday I'll learn the keys.’

  When? When would Tomas Ruiz get his chance? When would he get what he wanted out of life?

  Now!

  She'd make it happen now, because it wasn't money Tomas Ruiz wanted. What he wanted was something money couldn't buy: Respectability.

  Call it arrogance, but when she saw an opportunity, she grabbed it and held on tight. Fred Connor was her husband's opportunity to prove himself in Fenton, his chance to gain respect. Although he never told her so, she had seen that architectural model at the trailer. She knew Tomas wanted the Riverfront Project.

  Her husband was getting that project!

  He need never know that she had used her influence with Fred Connor to see that his bid got the recognition it deserved.

  As she looked out the bay window, the new one Tomas had installed to give her a better view of her backyard garden, she was content in the knowledge that she had acted in her husband's best interests in swaying Fred's vote to Tomas’ side.

  And there he was now! The man of her thoughts slammed out the door of his truck and race towards the house. Sensing her presence at the window, he looked up at her and waved.

  Her husband was a self-made man, a self-designed man. He could have given up when he was a kid, but he hadn't. He was driven to make something out of himself, to carve a niche in a world that had abandoned him years ago. And it wasn't enough that he was bringing himself up. No, he was bringing others up with him. Tomas Ruiz had a mission.

  Sera now knew whom Tomas employed at Ruiz Construction. She had done her research. The predominance of men and women on his payroll were from the Southside. Very few had a high school degree. Many had been in trouble. Tomas ran an apprenticeship program on his site where these individuals were given a second shot at making a success of their lives. How could she not want to be a part of all that?

  Tomas never talked about what he was doing to make a difference on the Southside; that wasn't his style. But Sera knew. She knew all about Tomas Ruiz and what he had accomplished and what he still wanted to accomplish.

  Racing through the kitchen door, Tomas let out a whoop when he saw what she was doing. “Making brownies?”

  “For dessert,” she said, slapping his hand away. Then, “Tomas-”

  “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “I saw Fred Connor today.”

  The grinning man became suddenly serious. “Oh?”

  “He wants to see all the changes at the school. So—I invited Fred and his wife over to a dinner party to show them off. I hope that's all right?”

  “Sure. That's fine. When?”

  “Next week. Will you be able to make it? I know how busy you are with work, and I know it's a tremendous imposition, but I'd feel so much better if you could be here with me when I give Mr. and Mrs. Connor the tour. I can explain the musical end of things, but I'm hopeless when it comes to blue prints. Those building codes lose me. Please say you'll be here to help me?”

  “I'll see what I can do, Seraphina,” he replied.

  So-they were back to Seraphina again.

  She'd see about that!

  Sera undid her apron. “We have thirty minutes until supper.”

  “Oh, yeah? That long, eh? What will we ever do?”

  She started to undo her blouse, one button at a time. “I can't wait for bedtime. That's hours away yet.”

  He chuckled, getting out of his bright floral shirt, yanking it over his head with a complete disregard for the buttons. “Sera, you can never wait for bedtime, so we never do.” He eyed the triangle of bare skin at her throat. “You better not be wearing a bra.”

  “Not since you told me not to.”

  “Panties?”

  She shook her head. “Un-un. Not since our wedding night, a week ago today.”

  “I'll need proof of your wifely obedience.”

  There was that dominance in his tone again, the possessiveness that thrilled her. “What kind of proof?” she asked guilelessly, although after seven days of marriage she was not so innocent any more. She knew the evidence he would require.

  “Lift your skirt,” he said.

  “But I have to put the brownies in the oven.”

  “So?” was his husbandly reply. “And don't forget to get your slip out of the way.”

  Knowing she was wearing neither panties nor stockings underneath, Sera lifted her skirt and slip.

  “Higher,” a frustrated male voice said from behind her.

  Throwing caution to the wind, she lifted the skirt and slip to her waist, and then bending
over, slid the pan one-handed into the oven, placing it on the middle rack.

  The oven was hot, but not as hot as her face when a hand cupped her derriere. “Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?”

  Only every day...

  “You might have mentioned it once or twice in passing.” She closed the oven door, set the timer for thirty minutes, and turned.

  Tomas, his chest now gloriously bare, his brown skin glowing with virile good health, had backed up to a chair and taken a seat. His tan trousers were open at the fly, revealing the nest of crisp black hair that cushioned the weight of his enormously jutting penis. He'd already installed a condom.

  She licked her lips in anticipation.

  “C'mere,” he said, crooking a finger.

  She did better than that; she straddled him. One leg on either side of his lap, she came down on his erect penis. All the way down, taking all of him.

  Her eyes went wide; he'd filled her completely with nothing left over.

  Watching her squirm, watching her try to adjust to the pressure inside her, he asked softly. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes,” she said honestly.

  “Can you take it?”

  Too pained to speak, she nodded. He'd never given over full control to her before; he'd never allowed himself a connection this deep. He'd always held back.

  She understood why; she was painfully engorged. Her vagina was throbbing. Her opening was stretched to the limit. But she had accommodated him. Rising above her discomfort, was a sense of womanly pride in the accomplishment.

  “Take off the blouse before you start. I want to see your pretty tits bounce up and down when you ride me.”

  At his words, at the image those words created, her vagina gushed wet, her natural lubricant making their bond much less uncomfortable.

  “Better now?” he asked knowingly.

  Why he'd done that intentionally! He'd purposefully used language to get her hot. And it had worked. Her passage had moistened and she was able to take him without discomfort. “Much better. Thank you,” she said, stripping off her blouse.