by KT Morrison
He could never be the one who could be that for her in bed. The doer of the dirty thing she needed. He was her sweet Geoff. He made love to her. He could never make her relieve herself or come all over him. He’d never tie her hands behind her back and fuck her til she screamed. If he tried to tie her up, she’d giggle and he’d feel self-conscious and he would probably lose his boner.
“Ah, Nia,” he groaned. His balls tightened, his belly fluttered. Her tongue darted, probed and licked. Her thumb worked in slippery circles over nothing but his sensitive glans. “Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck, Nia," he creaked, his face bursting red. He came hard. He felt his warm plopping up his chest, along his own collar. Her thumb never stopped, her tongue worked harder. It kept launching from him, spurting hot onto his belly. He could feel the breath of her laughter against his balls now. She was watching him come.
He laughed too, laying back with his eyes closed and enjoying it. This was the Nia he had selfishly wanted when he was just her friend. He’d wanted her wildness in his life. Even then, twenty-year-old Geoff wanted to taste her badness. But he was too afraid to ask for it. Instead, over the years, he’d given her his goodness. She’d taken it and been nourished by it. He’d changed her. He forgot how much he longed for her back then, to know her like those scary masculine men knew her. He’d been afraid to try, afraid to ask and instead she’d taken from him what she needed. Stability and kindness. Love and family.
Maybe it was her turn. Her turn to give him something. Nourish him in the way he needed. He would let her take the lead.
Part V
Sanctity
21
2 Series
Friday, August 4th
GEOFF
The Saturday after Geoff’s birthday they went out and bought Nia a new car. It was a great way to take his mind off the distressing gift she’d given him that day.
He’d been excited by it, and then, afterward, horribly frightened. She’d calmed him, soothed him. Slowly, overnight, there grew an anfractuous lust in his belly. Something dirty and profoundly carnal. A desire to see it all again. Now that he was prepared for it and knew what it was, he wanted more.
When they’d woken the next morning, he said, “Let’s get you a car.” Fuck prudence. He wanted a smile on that pretty face and he didn’t care what it took. She was all in. They shopped online, found what she wanted (she couldn’t believe he’d agreed) and they found the nearest dealership with one in stock and they drove north and signed the lease. They spent that day out doing something spontaneous and crazy, and so much fun. It had made his Nia very happy.
“There it is,” she bubbled.
This morning, six days later, paperwork completed, plating done, insurance arranged, her car was ready. They pulled into the BMW lot in Thornhill, about an hour north of the city, at a little after six in the morning. The car would not be ready, the dealership said, until mid-morning. Nia would drop Geoff off and he could drive it home.
“You excited?” he asked her.
“You know I am,” she said. She drove between the rows of glistening new cars, sun winking off the chrome, her eyes locked on her new baby.
They’d leased her a 2-series cabriolet. Nia didn’t care what motor was in it, didn’t care about packages or drivetrains. She wanted a black one. Thornhill had a black one, ready to go. It was a year old, never owned, convertible, paddle shifter, eighteen-inch wheels. She looked incredible in it. Once she got behind the wheel for the test drive, he knew they would take it.
“Damn it, Geoff! Look at that,” she laughed, clapping her hands once, her wide and happy eyes out her driver side window as they stopped at the new car. Its polished paint glimmered in the early morning sun. A little, black two-door with a black soft top and tinted windows. It looked like it was up to no good. Much like Nia these days.
They got out together and they walked around the compact, muscular car. The dealership wasn’t open, wouldn’t be for another three hours, and they had the place to themselves. Nia cupped her hands around her face and peered in through the window, bent at the waist, legs straight, feet pointed in black heels. She wore a short, black skirt, and a slim-fitting black top. It put a greasy, sexy feeling in him, one he shouldn’t have out in public so early in the morning.
The dealership was on a busy, semi-suburban street, protected from the traffic by a swath of grass but no shrubs to block the sight of him grabbing her hips and pressing his bulge between her cheeks. He didn’t care.
“Geoff!”
He squeezed her slim waist and smiled, let her go and leaned against their sporty car. She leaned next to him, facing him, her hip pressed against the car door. She put her palm on his beard.
“You going to keep yourself busy, I leave you here?”
“Yup,” he nodded. He’d brought a sketchbook to work out some ideas for an assignment for an editorial illustration. No big deal, he’d finish by tonight, but it was for the National Post so he was on his toes. He had his iPad too, and lots of communications to catch up on. Winslow would be in to the studio today around lunchtime, likely before he got back with the car, but he had a list of things to do. He wouldn’t get behind.
“Thanks for getting my car for me.”
“Your car? I can’t drive it?”
“No.”
“You’re so mean to me,” he laughed.
“You can drive the nerdy Volvo.”
“I like our Volvo.”
She kissed his chin, then his lips, said, “We’ll take my new car to pick up Odie tonight, she’ll be so excited.” Odie was coming home from Camp tonight and Geoff couldn’t wait—was tingling with anticipation, he missed his little girl so much.
“She’ll be mad she didn’t get to pick it out,” he said.
“Glad we did it without her help. Last thing we need is a pink car.”
“I know, I wouldn’t be seen in it.”
“My servant husband, what if I made you do that?” she crooned.
“Do what?”
“Made you drive a pink car and take care of my Yorkie or something.”
“You wouldn’t,” he laughed.
She lowered her brows, smiled, said, “No, I hate dogs.”
“Lucky for me,” he said, “but you know I’d do it.”
“I know you would. I fucking own this little cock, don’t I?” she said and her hand went between his legs, grabbed a handful of his sleepy genitals.
“You do.”
She laughed, her eyes twinkling under her lashes and she kissed him again, her hand still finding the shape of his cock in his jeans, her fingers playing along the edges of its shape. “You want me to drive you to the Tim’s?” she said, jerking her head down the road where there was a Tim Horton’s.
“I’ll walk,” he said, “You go on, get to work.”
He felt her badness leaking into him, making his cock swell under her fingers. His bad girl. She smiled again, her eyes narrow, giving away she had something devious working through her mind. Her lips peeled then, showed her white teeth. She’d piqued his curiosity, she’d got him wondering how bad she could be.
Her thumb found the flared edge of the head of his cock and stroked it. It had been a rough week for him but he was strong for her. She’d shown him what he asked for and it was a lot. He’d challenged himself on what he’d learned, laying sleepless while his wild wife slept peacefully next to him. Did he regret ever starting this? The answer was a surprising No.
Given the bladder-squeezing fear he’d felt watching her enormous, naked lover search the hall for the source of his accidental noise it was surprising. And more: her twisted love to be abused, defiled, tied, pounded. The way her body accepted the size of her lover’s cock.... But once his brain stopped struggling, twisting and trying to get out of the grip of his wife’s shocking sexual behaviour, his heartbeat returned to normal, his pulse slowed, his breaths came more easily, he accepted it. In a way, it was like he was submitting to destruction. Like the force of Nia’s revelation was some
thing too big for him ever to fight. Too large an opponent, too ferocious, its claws were too sharp, its fangs too deadly. Best to show it your jugular and hope your end comes quick.
She asked him, “What are you smirking about?”
“I love you,” he said, and he kissed her forehead.
“I love you too, you weirdo,” she said, smirking and frowning at him. She kissed his lips and gave his erection a pat, turned, said, “See you tonight,” and he watched her get into the station wagon and turn it around, wave to him as she passed.
The Volvo paused, blinker blinking, waiting to make a right turn, get herself out to Etobicoke and start her day with her boss, the man who was also her dominant lover.
He wasn’t really submitting, was he? This wasn’t the end at all. It was more like a beginning. Her sexuality was maybe too big to get his arms around, but while it was daunting, fearsome, it was welcoming him, drawing him forward with a long, ghoulish finger curling and curling...
He chuckled, watched her finally get a break in traffic and pull out, head along Steeles. He pushed his erection so it went straight up and he picked up his art bag and headed along the street to the coffee shop.
NIA
Maria had been giving Rocco a hard time at home, and work had been weighing heavily on his massive shoulders. It was affecting her sex life. Two days ago she’d tried to give him a blow job and he pushed her away.
She’d thought he might like to blow off some steam, maybe knock each other around a little. At the least, she’d thought, he’d like her to make him come. Suck him off in the cedar cabana of a mansion when no one was home. She would have liked that. Have him lean back on the heater, his sexy cock hanging out of his fly, and just make it quick—bob on him until he came in her mouth. But when she’d done his zipper down he stopped her, grabbed her wrists and pushed her. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He was aroused. A girthy swell pushed through his denim.
She’d smirked and shrugged, left him alone and went to the truck. Fuck him, she thought. She wouldn’t let him see her sweat. She wasn’t the hysterical type.
They were in Etobicoke now, close to home today. Late afternoon and it was looking like she could be home for dinner tonight with Geoff. They’d tool around in her new car maybe, go pick up Odie coming home from Camp.
The house they were at was a rather regular sort of home but probably cost more than those mansions they’d work at north of the city. Crew One was finishing a concrete pool. Black tinted, 18x32, kidney shaped, then with a custom built waterfall and alcove right up next to the house. Rocco was here to supervise, but as was typical with her macho boss, he had his shirt off and was taking the lead, showing them all how you fucking did it.
Rocco had worked side by side with his dad all his life practically. He knew this business inside out. From the ground up. He hustled, he broke a sweat, he broke his back. He was daunting. He was impressive. Inspiring.
He stood now, sweat glistening on his skin, leaning on a shovel with its blade dug in the dirt. He had a boot on its step, his arms draped over the end of the grip and he watched Doug operate the Bobcat, forming a planting bed around this family’s new pool. Rocco had definitely lost weight. He was still a monolithic slab of hairy, masculine flesh but he’d narrowed at the waist. His gut, not fat but somehow hard mass, still bulged over the waist of his jeans. Now his back seemed even wider, his shoulders even broader. Nia would like to think he was hitting the gym, doing it for her. That their heart-pounding sessions had excited him enough that he was sexually invigorated. Wanting to impress his raven-haired lover, shed some of that excess his fat housewife had fed him. He didn’t need to do it. He was no pretty boy. He couldn’t wear slim-fit anything. That’s what turned her on. His power.
Her stomach flipped with an urgent dread. She’d been originally unaffected by the news but in passing days she’d had an unshakable, pervasive thought: her white lie brought pain to Sebastian, the young stripper she’d alluded had forced himself on her. Those giant hands she was watching may have taken Sebastian’s hockey stick from him and smashed it over his head in a dark parking lot. Put him in the hospital. She hadn’t cared at first, now guilt kept clawing at her back, tugging on her shirt, not letting her forget.
She’d thought of visiting him in the hospital. She’d even headed that way one day after work but only went a few kilometres before coming to her senses and going home. She couldn’t tell Geoff. She was frightened to. Ashamed of herself. But maybe she had nothing to do with it. Sebastian had come on strong. Maybe he’d done it to someone else and that someone else had a big, hothead boyfriend who’d almost killed him. Maybe not.
She leaned to the steering wheel and she honked the horn. Rocco turned and looked over his tattooed shoulder at her. She held her wrist up and pointed at her watch. He nodded.
It was blazing hot out there and she wasn’t going to stray from the AC if she didn’t have to. Rocco waved to Doug and he stopped the Bobcat. Rocco went to him, leaned on the side of the tractor and rested a boot on its track. He shouted and pointed instructions to him, Doug nodded, Rocco’s voice loud enough to be heard while she sat in his lifted pickup. He gave Doug his orders and turned. His torso gleamed and his dragons rippled as he strode back to the truck and climbed in.
“What now?” he asked.
“Mississauga,” she reminded him, “quote on a waterfall.”
He grunted, put his truck in gear, and looked over his shoulder before backing up. He drove shirtless, his body shone with sweat and matted his hair to him. She breathed him in.
“Remember that stripper?” she muttered as they banked the on-ramp to the Gardiner.
“What?” he said.
She cleared her throat, said, “You remember that stripper...one from Donna Vitolo’s bachelorette?”
He snorted, kept his eyes on the road.
She said, “Remember I told you he did something?”
“Not me,” he grunted, shook his head once, turned his mouth down.
“Not you what?”
A smile curled up a corner of his mouth and he said, “Wasn’t me.”
He seemed pleased somehow. He knew what she was talking about. Knew that someone had bashed his head in.
She let it go. There was something telling in that answer. There was an acknowledgment of sorts. She couldn’t believe what that might mean...
NIA
Nia checked her watch while she clicked across the street. She was cutting it close. She and Rocco had stayed late at the home in Mississauga. The quote took a lot longer than she’d thought. Then there was the paperwork. She wouldn’t have time to have dinner with Geoff and she wouldn’t get to cruise around in her new convertible. She’d make it home just in time to leave with him to go pick up Odie.
That inescapable thought, though, was pushing her to do something crazy first.
It was seven in the evening and the sun, exhausted from assailing them all day, ebbed a dying orange glow on the street. She’d parked the Volvo behind the shrubbery island, underneath the oak by the park across the street from fire station 455.
She’d sat and watched Dino with his firefighter buddies from the car. Waited for them to part and get back to work. They’d shot the shit, three good looking young men in their tight uniforms. Laughing, leaning, arm punching. She’d seen Dino beat the living fuck out of a few different guys. Two of them for messing with her. Another one just for looking at her.
She stood in her heels at the grill of the fire engine, nosing out of the arched bay of the old red-brick firehouse. She listened. Dino’s friends had headed to the office. Dino was still in the bay she thought. She headed down the outside of the fire engine, not between the two, but along the wall. She stopped at the back, stood by the bumper at her thigh, leaned against it. Dino was around the corner, behind the trucks, he had a zippered bag open, a red cross on the open flap and he was taking supplies out from it and putting them on a table at his side.
“Hey,” she said.
He stood and turned to face her, cocked a hip, frowning, but a smirk pulled one side of his mouth up. “You again,” he said.
She pointed with her chin to the bunk room they’d spoke in last time. He rolled his eyes.
“What the fuck did I do now?” he said, looked over his shoulder to see if they were alone. He smiled and nodded, led her to the metal door that went to the bunk room and kitchenette.
He went in first and leaned on the counter by the coffeemaker and she left the door open and stood by him. She folded her arms up, rubbed her own elbows, said, “I suppose you heard some story about me at a bachelorette.”
“Maybe.”
“What did you hear?”
He folded his arms now and his face got serious. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Ahh, fuck,” she exhaled, exasperated, looking up to the fluorescent light over the kitchenette. “Something happened to...the stripper...from that night.”
He breathed deeply, his mouth twisting up, his big arms rising the swell of his chest. “I heard someone beat the fuck out of that guy.”
She nodded and bit the inside of her lip.
“Did you...”
“What, Nia? Beat him up?”
“It’s something you would do.”
“Risk my job? My family. I could go to jail.”
She looked in his eyes now. First time in probably a decade. She saw him how she knew him. She saw him how she’d loved him all those years ago. She exhaled and couldn’t inhale. She shrank underneath him. He swelled above her, large and muscular and confident and capable. He was lying.
“You did,” she said.
“For you? For an ex?”
“You were mad. And I’m more than an ex.”
He looked away, his eyes glistened, his black pupils trembled.