The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs

by Cat Kelly

  "Whatever?" he exclaimed, banging his knee under the table. "I hope you don't think you'd keep my child from me."

  She squinted across the table. The candle flames wavered. "I assumed you wouldn't particularly care."

  Most of the color seemed to have drained out of his face.

  "But yes, naturally, if we had a child, you could see it if you wanted." Bry smiled to break the tension. "It's all hypothetical anyway. There is no child. Hopefully." She looked at his full plate of pasta. "Why don't you eat?"

  "I'm not hungry," he snapped.

  "What's wrong?"

  He turned his head, his mouth tight, his eyes glaring out over the horizon.

  Bry rested her fork on the side of her plate. "I didn't mean—"

  "You thought I wouldn't give a shit. You really think I have no feelings, is that it? I suppose you believe all the crap that's written about me too—all the garbage your cousin says about me."

  "I never said that."

  "You just inferred it. This morning you suggested I needed a medical certificate to prove I was free of disease."

  "I was pointing out to you that—"

  "For your information I have never not used a condom. Never. Until the other night with you. Do you think I run around fucking everything in sight and not caring about consequences? I don't know why you even came if my company is so fucking repulsive that you couldn't bear to let anyone know you were spending time with me and God forbid I get you pregnant."

  "Benedick Petruska, you're acting like a petulant child. For pity's sake, I came here with you because..." She stopped. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap; her pulse was galloping, heading directly for a tall fence and she had no idea what was on the other side.

  Ben swung around to look at her again. "Why?" he demanded.

  She swallowed, drew back on her imaginary reins and said carefully, "Is it true that you've been attracted to me before...before all this?" Her fingernails were digging into her palms.

  His lashed flicked, his cheeks thinned. "Yes," he admitted finally, looking down, avoiding her gaze. "I wanted you for years."

  "But we've always fought, always quarreled."

  He nodded, eyes still hidden.

  Bry slowly unfurled her fingers. "Why didn't you tell me? What happened to straightforward honesty and communication?"

  At last he smiled sadly, sheepishly. One hand rubbed his brow and than slid down over his face. "I guess I don't know everything after all."

  "No one really does, Ben. In the interest of full disclosure, not even me."

  His eyelashes raised and she was pinned, stripped by his hungry gaze. "So why did you come here?"

  What was the point in coy aversion now? It wouldn't be fair to leave her mask on when his was down. "Because you're my crush, my fantasy—the man I always thought never looked at me except to find fault."

  The color gradually returned to his rugged face.

  "Suddenly I had your attention," she added, letting the words flow and feeling tremendous relief because of it. "I guess the short answer is...vanity."

  A lengthy pause followed. The candle flames stretched and trembled. Palm fronds rustled in the tickle of a breeze beyond their balcony and somewhere in the distance there was music.

  The Way You Look Tonight.

  Eventually he stood and took her hand, drawing her up to dance with him under the moonlight.

  "And I don't believe everything I read about you," she whispered. "Not anymore."

  "Ah." She felt his laughter rather than heard it, for he held her very tight and her head was buried in his firm, broad shoulder.

  "Except for the sexual deviancy," she added cheekily.

  * * * *

  "Deviancy? I'll show you deviancy, brat!" He tossed her back onto the bed, stripped off his shirt and stared down at her. Tumbled on the pastel bed sheets she was a sun-kissed vision in nothing but the pearl thong and the red shoes. Laughing, she reached for him and he covered her, licking the perfume she'd dabbed under her ear, his hands cupping her breasts, feeling the warm flesh pillow between his fingers, the taut nipples harden. The paler triangles left by her bikini prettily accentuated tits and pussy. His hand moved down between their bodies and tugged the pearl strand between her labia, letting the fattest pearl nestle at the crest where she was most sensitive.

  Under him she spread her legs, bent them up, her heels on the bed.

  Ben slid his finger between the biggest pearl and her clit, but held it still, just pressing lightly to keep her on the boil.

  He licked her jaw and then her glossy lips, while she purred and lifted her hips and tried to move herself against his finger. His tongue delved between her lips for another kiss. Wanting to saturate his senses with Bryony's essence, he tasted, fondled, listened to every sigh. Never had it been like this for him—this need to keep a woman close, make her scream for him, come undone. She smelled of the sun and that spicy sweet perfume. Rive Gauche by Yves Saint Laurent. He knew what it was now, having seen the atomizer in the bathroom.

  "I'm soaking wet," she panted, as if he couldn't feel how that delicious pussy flowed, how her body dripped with passion.

  He circled her clit, first with his fingertip and then with the smooth pearl.

  She choked out his name, her nails digging into his back, combing through his hair as if she wanted to draw blood. He laved her nipples, back and forth, back and forth, teasing them occasionally with his eyelashes.

  Briefly his hand left her cunt to the pearl thong and his long fingers stroked her bent leg. He slithered back on the bed to kiss the inside of her knees and when he did so his cock rubbed on the sheet. Little silk pleats tickled his engorged shaft, just as they would once he was inside her body. The head throbbed mercilessly.

  Holding her knees apart with his hands he stared at her quivering pink pussy and the line of gleaming pearls that dripped over her neatly shaved vulva and down between her legs.

  "Do you want to come now, Bryony?" he asked, watching her cunt tighten, the muscles of her inner thighs trying to pull her legs together. Her bottom rose off the bed and back down. The pearls jostled in their cozy niche. "Do you, Bryony?" he asked again, his voice husky, charged with raw need.

  "Yes," she moaned.

  "Ask me if you may." With one finger he pushed the fat bead deeper between her labia and he heard the exhale of a harsh breath between gritted teeth. He tugged the wet, sticky strand back out again and tapped it against her blossoming bud, then pulled it up so that it sank into the crack of her ass, made her hips lift again.

  "Yes," she cried out. "Yes. Please may I come, Ben?"

  He hitched forward to take in a hearty breath of her sexual fragrance and then he wound the pearl beads around his thumb, pulling the thong even tighter up into her crack. "Good girl. Here. Come for me, my love." With his pearl wrapped thumb pad he quickly diddled her clit until she jerked and the high heels of her red shoes rendered holes in the sheets.

  "That's the way to go," he hissed leaning closer so she would feel his breath on her sex. As she exploded, creaming on his fingers, he too spilled where he lay, making a further mess of those once fine sheets.

  They could add it to his bill, because he wasn't done yet.

  * * * *

  Bry stroked the hair back from his forehead and felt the perspiration. "No one has ever done the things for me that you do."

  "Good." He kissed her lips. "And the feeling is mutual."

  Her heart pulsed feebly. With his weight on her it was hard to take a full breath but she was starting not to mind. Sheathed with a condom, his cock was once again housed inside her, and that incomparable feeling of bliss made her limbs soft and useless. Living in her own romance novel, she sincerely hoped she wasn't turning into one of those too-stupid-to-live heroines. He could and had promised her nothing more than this. She'd agreed to nothing more than this.

  But it began to feel like so much more.

  The way he made love to her now was slow, gentle, but sti
ll possessive. Was there a part of her body he hadn't licked and kissed? She thought not.

  Outside the glass sliding doors to the balcony, dawn light streaked across the sky like a spilled shot of Bailey's Irish Cream. They'd been awake most of the night, talking, kissing, holding one another. Forgotten the time, it seemed.

  This was their last full day in paradise. Tomorrow morning everything would be a rush and before they knew it they'd be back in the grey of New York.

  Not wanting to think of that she gave herself up to the moments left, let herself fall further under his spell.

  Once she got back to routine there would be time enough to shake her head in despair and call herself a fool. Right now she was enjoying it too much.

  * * * *

  They spent a lazy day together, walking the beach and, in the afternoon, taking a taxi to Port Lucaya. Although it was a Sunday some stores and the straw markets were open. Everywhere they went he wanted to buy her things. She laughed.

  "I told you I'm not for sale, Petruska. Put your wallet away." But she let him give her an authentic Bahamian straw hat, and when he wasn't looking she bought him a little dog made of shells. It was a tacky souvenir but it reminded her of a beloved mutt he had when he was young. She smiled to think of it placed on one of his dust-free, clutter-free, impersonal glass shelves. Where the hell would he put it that wouldn't look out of place in that show room overlooking Central Park? It would stick out like a sore thumb and he'd certainly never be able to forget the trip. Each time he saw it, he'd think of her.

  Until, maybe one day, bits of shell would start to fall off it. He'd look at it and say, "Who the hell bought me that piece of trash?" Because all this was a faded memory.

  They ate dinner in a quaint bar back in the West End and Ben told her all about the area's prosperous history of bootlegging and rum-runners. Naturally he appreciated the entrepreneur spirit and the idea of "getting one over" on authority. He really hadn't changed that much in the sixteen years she'd known him. In many ways he was still the loud-mouth, curly-headed boy who thought he had something to prove and believed that as long as he achieved the end he wanted any means were viable.

  "I'm sorry we're leaving tomorrow," he said.

  "Yes."

  "So much more to see on the island."

  That wasn't quite what she'd been thinking, but she nodded.

  He hadn't raised the matter of that stupid contract all day or even talked about her working for him in an official capacity. As they walked back to the hotel she said, "You didn't really need an assistant here, did you?"

  Ben dug his hands in his trouser pockets. "It's hard to enjoy a beautiful place like this alone. If I can't share my good luck what's the point?"

  "Oh." She tried to stop herself asking the next question, but it was out in the soft, scented air before she knew it. "So you always have company when you travel?"

  He looked down at her. "Not like this. You're unique Bryony Mulligan."

  And she actually believed it. So she slid her arm through his and they walked on under the swaying palms.

  That evening they made love on their balcony, under the stars and then they took a bath together in the big, beautiful claw foot tub.

  "I feel like I'm in an ad," she chuckled drowsily, "for jewelry, or life insurance... or erectile dysfunction medication."

  He laughed at that, leaning his head back against the porcelain. "Yeah, me too."

  Facing him, she lay between his legs, her hands running over the dark hair of his chest. "Thank you for all this."

  His eyes narrowed. "I always knew you wanted me for my body."

  "What else would I want you for, Petruska?"

  "I may not have your book smarts, but I have street savvy." Lifting a hand from the water, he tapped his forehead and left bubbles sliding down his face. "There's a lot more to me than you might think, Mulligan. You'll find out." He was looking smug. "One day."

  "But we've only got a few hours left." She drew a wet finger across his lips.

  He sighed. "Right."

  Oh. She'd expected him to say something about getting back to New York and seeing each other again. "One day" must simply be a figure of speech. Of course, she hadn't signed his damn contract, had she? This was just a dirty weekend because she refused to abide by his finicky rules. Well then, she'd better leave him with something more than a crappy shell dog to remember her by.

  She licked her way down his chest, took a deep breath, and descended under the bubbles to find his cock. It was resting at that moment, but she soon had it perking up again, arching tall, almost to his navel. He really was a magnificent specimen and Bry was very glad she'd got to find out the truth about Ben Petruska before they were both too old to enjoy it. Now she didn't have to fantasize anymore about what it might have been like.

  Funny, she mused, swallowing his bulging knob and sucking steadily, a few days ago she'd been quite certain that all she needed with him was the one night. Then it turned to a weekend. Now she wished it didn't have to end. But it did, because she would never become the brainless, submissive slave he wanted her to be. The occasional game was ok, but Bryony would never give anyone complete control over her.

  A second thought followed this—she was really glad she had this skill of holding her breath under water for lengthy periods. She was once the under sixteen champion at underwater swimming in the Brooklyn Sunset Park Pool. Something he, no doubt, didn't know about her. But he was clearly impressed by her lung-capacity now.

  * * * *

  Next morning a wake-up call from the front desk pierced her dreams and she rolled over to find herself alone in bed.

  Beside her, on the pillow, was her copy of the contract which she'd printed out and brought along with her just to tease him about the terms.

  He had drawn a line through the page and written two words in red ink along the top.

  Chapter Eleven

  They were late to the airport, but since it was his private jet they got away with it. Who was going to admonish Benedick Petruska? Even she couldn't do it when he sprang things on her.

  "The perks of filthy lucre," she muttered.

  "One of them." He grinned and winked.

  Bry buckled up and looked out the glorious blue sky they were leaving behind. It made her want to cry and she wasn't usually the sentimental sort.

  Across from her Ben was on the phone, absorbed in his conversation. Suddenly he reached down, took off his shoe and tipped out a whisper of sand. When he looked up and caught her smiling, he did too. That was the beauty of a good holiday by the sea. They'd be finding sand in odd places for a while.

  The steward brought her a glass of orange juice and she drank it down in a few gulps. Hadn't realized how thirsty she was, but there had been no time even for coffee. Only as the drink hit her with a little slap did she realize it wasn't straight juice but a mimosa. Her head was already spinning enough and now she was slightly tipsy too.

  Oh well, it wasn't every day this sort of thing happened to a girl.

  She glanced down at her finger and the enormous diamond twinkling up at her. In the words of Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, it looked like it "oughta have a highball around it".

  Christ on a cracker, what had she done?

  This was going to take some explaining.

  * * * *

  In New York his lawyer was waiting to go over a few things. Ben was prepared. He knew what he'd hear about pre-nups and all that crap. Like he cared.

  "I have to go." He kissed Bryony on the lips. "You take my car to work."

  "Ok. You sure?"

  Just what she'd said to him five hours ago when she ran down to meet him on that white sand beach, barefoot and in her sundress.

  "Never been so sure of anything in my life," he'd told her.

  It cost him a bit to make all the last-minute—very last-minute—arrangements for a hasty service, but he knew he couldn't do anything else.

  He simply couldn't lose her, couldn't go back
to New York and say goodbye. He wanted Bryony at his side and whatever he had to do, he'd do it. Maybe she would have preferred a big cathedral, ivory satin and fifteen bridesmaids, but she didn't complain about the impromptu vows. She was shocked though, as if she hadn't guessed how much he was in love with her.

  Now, standing in the rain on a grimy New York pavement, that ocean-side wedding seemed like a pleasant dream, but she was still there. Beside him.

  As she turned to get in his car, he tugged her back by one hand and kissed her again. "I love you, Mrs. Petruska."

  "Don't get all mushy on me."

  He laughed. "Ok, brat. I'll see you later."

  "Now have a good day at work. Play nice with the other kids."

  "Can I have cookies when I get home?"

  His wife reached around and slapped him on the ass. "You'll get your cookies, Petruska."

  The lawyer was watching him with a confused look on his face. No one had seen Ben in love before, of course. They'd have to adjust to it. As he had. Eventually.

  * * * *

  "You got some color this weekend. Did you go away?" Sandy was drooped over her desk, head hanging in a cup of herbal tea—the usual Monday doldrums.

  "Er. Yeah."

  "Nice. Adam Rostrop was looking for you this morning."

  "Ah, I forgot to tell him I was coming in late today." Better get this over with. "Is he around now?"

  "Nah, he went out for a long lunch."

  Relieved, Bryony walked into her office and sat. The world hadn't stopped turning yet. It still felt as if she was thousands of feet in the air. Every time she moved her hand she was conscious of that massive diamond ring. Probably ought to take it off until they'd broken the news. Her stomach cramped when she thought of telling her parents and Helena that she'd just gone away for the weekend and gotten married.

  An email popped up on her laptop. From Ben.

  She opened it and then sat staring like a dope at a photo of the two of them on the beach. The newlyweds. He looked gorgeous of course. She looked slightly stunned and half asleep. As she had been.