by Gabrielle G.
Oliver, the owner of Absinthe and if I understood correctly, the brother-in-law of Dan Darling, is harassing my girlfriend. But try to say anything, and Sal becomes Medusa. So I shut up and try to hide her phone.
Shoot me now.
The worst is...
She wants me to attend.
It seems that Dex and Luke have these awesome friends I should get to know. Wonderful.
“Hey, Ol, no, of course, I’m fine. Oh, you know, just growing a tiny human inside me. Yes, of course, I can come now. No, don’t send me a car, I’ll Über over. I’ll be there in fifteen.” I grunt even before she comes closer to me.
“Don’t be mad, honey bun, I need this event. I promise I’ll be here for dinner.” I grunt again, like a hog at the ridiculous nickname she uses since we watched Pulp Fiction together and because I’m spending my afternoon alone, again.
When I said I wasn’t going to be working, I thought I would spend time with her during the pregnancy, not waste time waiting for her. But what kind of asshole would I be if I told her now that I don’t want her to work until the baby is out of her?
And even then, I hope she’ll take at least six months before going back to work.
Men are not as stupid as women think.
We do have survival instincts kick in once in a while.
She kisses me quickly and starts running around like a chicken so she can get what she needs.
And then she’s gone, leaving me to stew on the couch.
Five minutes and I’m bored out of my fucking mind.
I have literally nothing to do. Nothing at all.
How did my life go from work, money and tons of sex to boredom?
I mean, we have tons of sex, don’t get me wrong, even more than I got with Jordan, and I have money aside and invested, we’re never going to miss any, but shit, I miss work.
Am I really going to stay at home and take care of the kids for the rest of my life?
So, I clean butts for like, what? Three years? I guess we’ll have three or four kids, each two years apart, I’m still counting to at least seven years of cleaning butts.
Then what the fuck am I supposed to do once they’re in school?
Cook and clean? Golf? And where the fuck am I going to golf in New York?
Where am I going to accommodate four children in New York?
I’m back at my first idea.
We need to move back upstate, and she’s going to hate me for even proposing it, but we could build on her piece of the land at the farm.
Or did she sell it to start her new business?
I don’t even know what she lives on.
Does she even make enough money to survive?
There are so many things I don’t know.
We’re closer physically, but it feels like we’re worlds apart.
I miss the connection we had before Jordan, and I understand she thinks I let her down, that even maybe I betrayed her, choosing Jordan over her, but I need her to let me in. Having Jordan tell me she was bisexual, was like discovering Santa didn’t exist when I was twelve.
I felt deceived and mocked.
Like she didn’t believe I was worthy of her secret, the same way I’m not worthy of her financial statement.
I want a clean slate, a new start from the beginning.
So, to do so, I spend the afternoon printing every piece of paper I can think of, bank account, medical records, and investments.
It might not be the most romantic gesture, but I want her to know all that’s mine is hers, and there are no secrets between us, and I sure hope she’ll do the same. It takes me all afternoon, and by the time she gets home, I’m the one exhausted by paperwork, but again, survival instincts and all.
“Hey.” She curls up on the couch next to me and lays her head on my shoulder before yawning so hard I think I just got a glance of her panties.
“Hey, babe. How was your afternoon?” Just having her next to me, all the anxiety I felt dissipates. She always had that effect on me.
Looking back now, I was less at peace around Jordan than I am with her.
It felt like something was missing, and I think what was missing was her.
I let him freeze her out because I was hurt that she hid things from me.
I always wanted to know everything I could about her.
She was like a shadow in our relationship, and I wouldn’t let Jordan be one.
We haven’t talked about him since we started being together, and this needs to end today.
“Where did you go just now? I can feel your body tensing, and what are all those papers on the coffee table?” She picks up the bank statement, and I see her face fall.
“That’s everything there is to know about me. I can’t have secrets, Sal. There are clearly things I didn’t know about Jordan, and I can’t have another relationship where we aren’t transparent. And I want to be able to talk about him without you freezing like you’re doing now. I want to be with you, a hundred percent, and know all there is to know about you.” She looks at the paper in her hand for a second and back at me.
“So… you’re rich?” she frowns.
I want to laugh because I’m the one who took care of the investments for the Gritts for years, still do, and shit, they aren’t poor.
Bella being the sole beneficiary of one of the wealthiest families in the country and having lived a simple life for years with her husband, the Gritts have money tucked away for the next five generations, but of course, they never said anything to their children. They just help when they can, letting me invest in Aaron’s restaurant, Luke’s tattoo parlors, Barnabas’ adventure venture under their anonymous trust.
The only one I heard nothing about is Sal’s business, but I know Dex invested in it, so maybe her parents didn’t have to.
“We’re rich,” I tell her. “What’s mine is yours.” She nods, undoubtedly trying to swallow the sum she discovered I earn. If only she knew how much she’ll get once her parents pass away.
I’ll then be the poor one in our relationship.
I always wondered how my friends didn’t realize they came from money.
How did they think their parents could sustain the farm in winter when they were barely making ends meet in the summer?
How could they give them each a piece of land?
Barnabas said he bought the barn, but he just gave back some money to his parents for the investments they made. It’s so typical of Bella and Ridge.
“Well, I’m broke,” she says, shamefully.
“How is your business doing?”
“Okay. I mean I’m lucky this apartment belongs to Dex, and he invested in the business, but I’m okay.” She hides her face in her hands. “I hate talking about money.”
“How much did he invest?” She reaches out for the pen on the table and scribbles a number on her hand. I look at it and smile.
“I can cover it. I don’t want you to be in debt to anybody.”
“Chris, you can’t just walk in, reimburse Dex and take care of everything.”
“The fuck I can’t. What do you think being in a relationship means? The grand gesture, the huge declaration, the enormous presents are nothing if we don’t share everything we can. What’s mine is yours. We love one another, we rise together, we drown together. That’s me showing you there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“When I was younger, I imagined what it would be like to be with you. I thought of you as the dirtiest, cockiest, asshole there could be. I was afraid you would take me, toss me and laugh at me because I had a crush on you. And instead, I get that swoony, adorable and vulnerable guy who would do anything for me. I’m not sure how I got so fucking lucky, but I like it.”
“Wait a second, you’re telling me you thought you’d get an alpha asshole, and instead, you think of me as a beta puppy, and that’s okay? Get on your knees, Sal, and suck my dick!”
“No fucking way. I’m too tired to be on my knees. If you want me to suck you, I need
to be lying down, in our bed. You can literally fuck my mouth.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Is that a challenge? Because the idea of you immobilized in bed with your mouth open and taking me deep is very appealing right now. Are we talking jack hammer blow or plumber blow?”
“I was more thinking face fuck. All I want is just to open my mouth and cradle my tongue for you.”
“Shit,” I say, pulling on my hard cock. “Let’s get you to bed then. We’ll finish this later. I’m going to straddle your face and fuck your mouth exactly like I thought I could dirty you up when you were the not so innocent teenager you implied you were. And you’re going to end up with a facial. We’ll see if you’ll still think I’m not a dirty asshole when you’re gagging on my dick, girl.” I slap her ass while we walk to our bedroom. She squeals.
“Spa day! I get a facial, and you get a full ball’s massage, including finding your G-spot. I can’t wait,” she says, jumping on the bed, and laying down there to wait. I free my cock and place my knees under her armpits, so my dick is right in front of her mouth.
“Open,” I order. And when she does, and I’m fully inside her, I remind her I’m not a fucking puppy she can manipulate. “Once we’re done, you’re going to sit on my face, and you’re going to tell me your truths, Sal. You’re going to tell me all I need to know because I won’t survive having secrets between us, I won’t bear losing you and discovering you're a mystery to me, and I have no fucking clue why you jumped off a bridge out of the blue. If you keep something from me, I will get it out of you by fucking you hard and deep, like the asshole I was would have done before all that shit went down,” I say between hard thrusts bringing tears to her eyes. Then I say, “Moan if you understand.” She does, and I thrust harder and harder, taking control of her mouth like I need to take control of our lives.
26
Salomé
Last night was a clusterfuck of orgasms and revelations.
Chris licked me until I spilled all my secrets, and only then granted me an orgasm.
I had to tell him how I was mad at him for having ignored me while being with Jordan. How I hated Jordan for betraying me and stealing Chris from me.
How I never stopped loving him, even when I fucked other guys.
How I thought of him with every man I had sex with.
How I missed licking pussy myself, but how I can’t think of having a threesome with him because I couldn’t stand having anybody else touching him.
How I could murder my own brother because he was the first one to have had Chris’ cock in his mouth, and I was jealous of him.
My truth wasn’t pretty.
It was filled with jealousy, resentment, and trust issues, and I let him mishandle my orgasm until he got everything out of me, knowing he needed it more to heal than me to protect myself.
He was afraid I would end up committing suicide as much as I was scared that he would turn his back on me.
We both had loved and lost Jordan and were both trying to navigate life after a traumatic event while expecting our first child. First, as if there would be more kids.
For someone who had printed everything he owns, shared all he could think about, Chris hadn’t said a word about our future.
It was all about the past.
I didn’t know how many children he wanted or where he wanted to live.
He had his opinion about my job, thought I worked too much and certainly was hoping I would have to stay in bed for the next six months, but he hasn’t come clean about us, not yet.
I reach for my phone, and he grunts next to me.
“What?” I ask. “I heard it chime. Could be Oliver.” He starts to bounce his foot up and down nervously.
“Don’t check,” he puts his hand on mine and pushes it away.
“Might be important…” I wince.
“More than what we’re doing?”
“No, but just…” Chris sighs heavily.
“The guy knows we’re at the doctor for our first ultrasound, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, I told him.”
“So, whatever it is, it isn’t as important as what we’re doing.”
I put my hand on his thigh and dig my nails in his skin for him to stop the nervous bouncing as well as the pouting. He turns to me, irritation transpiring from each of his pores and frustration in his eyes.
“Listen to me, Chris, it’s not because I let you dominate last night and face fuck me until I cried that you’re the boss of me. If I want to read my text, I will, even if it irritates you. You can pout, you can scream, you can roll yourself on the floor, I don’t give a damn shit as long as at the end of the day you’re mine.” I kiss him and slide my phone open. “And look at that, it’s my mother asking us to call her after the appointment. As I’m not the one who told her we were coming here, you can call her once we’re done.”
“Gritt?” A nurse with long blonde hair and voluptuous lips peruses the waiting room area until her eyes fall on Chris. Her cheeks redden.
I get it, she wets her panties looking at my grumpy old man.
I’m used to it with all the handsome men in my family.
Even Luke gets women hot and bothered.
I smile at her before standing. Chris follows, still glowing with his dark mood. “Follow me.” We enter the cold exam room, and Chris gulps when he sees the bed with the stirrups.
“I think it’s the same bed for rectal exams,” I whisper, only for him to hear.
“So, Miss Gritt is going to get comfortable here on the bed, and Daddy, I presume,” she purrs, “you can wait here.” She points at the chair next to the bed. If she wasn’t annoying enough, the fact she calls him Daddy is sickening and fucking insensitive. Or is it her way to flirt with a man who escorts a pregnant lady. If he says no that he’s not the dad, she slips him her number.
“Calm down, tiger.” Chris chuckles once she leaves the room.
“You think this is funny?” He can’t answer before Doctor Hot Fuck comes in. Well, his name is actually Dr. Ashfaq, but a little mispronunciation never killed anybody, and holy moly he’s hot.
Tall, dark, nicely built under his tight shirt and dress pants. I feel drool dripping from the corner of my mouth, and I sure hope I’m not too wet for the exam.
Men that hot shouldn’t be allowed close to vaginas that are not theirs to pleasure. Seriously? Did he like glistening pussy so much that he thought becoming an OB-GYN was an excellent way to make a comparative study on how many women found him sexy? Only old, ugly, paunchy men should be allowed to become pussy doctors.
“Hi, Mrs. Gritt, I’m Dr. Ashfaq. I heard congratulations are in order. Today we’re going to perform a physical exam, which will include a pap smear, and an ultrasound to know how far along you are. Do you have any questions?” I shake my head, still not able to mutter anything without blushing. “Get comfortable, and once you’re under the sheet, send your husband to get the nurse, and I’ll come back to examine you.” As he leaves, I send a guilty look at Chris, who’s grinning.
“Fuck, that man is hot,” he says, readjusting himself on the chair. Undressing, I get my panties in a ball and hand them to Chris. Rubbing his thumb in my wetness, he smiles at me before biting his lips. “We’re so playing doctor tonight,” he adds with a sparkle in his eye.
By the time Dr. Ashfaq is back, I’m spread on the table, ready for the ultrasound. It’s all fun and giggles until a twelve-inch long device gets inserted inside you.
“What the fuck?” Chris mumbles.
“It’s to help us determine the actual date of birth of your child.” Dr. Hot Fuck explains, “Everything looks normal, and you’re 8 weeks pregnant, is that the approximate date of conception?” We nod. “Are you experiencing any symptoms that you have any concerns about?”
“She’s always tired, and she works too much,” Chris cuts me off. The doc looks at me, waiting for me to speak.
“Are there any concerns, spotting, cramping?” Ashfaq asks.
“No, Doctor
, I have this event, and he just thinks I work too much, but I don’t work more than before. He’s just a little concerned, I guess.” I smile again.
“Well, you didn’t eat your lunch last week.”
“Mr. Gritt, it’s normal sometimes, with the hormones. I’m certain Mrs. Gritt listens to her body and is reasonable about eating. You have nothing to worry about. All the exams are clear, and here,” he turns the screen, “is your baby.”
What follows is a full romantic moment like you see on TV. Our peanut is on the screen, all cute and shrimpy. Chris’ eyes mist. Mine as well. He takes my hand, kisses my forehead, and we grin like two morons.
We’re still grinning when we get home, and we pin the picture on the fridge with a magnet.
We’re still grinning while we eat the leftovers from yesterday’s meal and when we go to bed.
We settle in bed, tangled into each other, holding on for dear life, just the way we like to fall asleep until one of us gets too hot, when Chris gets serious. “I don’t want to raise the peanut in New York,” he says out of the blue.
“My business is in New York.” I shift to look at him.
“I know,” he kisses the top of my head, “but I can’t stand being here. I can’t stand having you working. I’m bored out of my mind too.”
“So you telling me that you were willing to support my business was horseshit?” I sit up cross-legged on the bed.
“No, Sal, I’m just saying, raising kids in New York City is not what I want.” He sits up.
“So what do you want?”
“I want to go home…”
“Home? As in…”
“Springs Falls.”
“You want to raise our child where we grew up? In a shithole in the Adirondacks?”
I always wanted to leave. New York was always my end game. I came home for a few years, but I never planned to make my life or raise my kids there.
“You loved it there. What are you talking about?”