“The steaks,” she said.
“They can wait, I can’t.”
Chapter Thirteen – Easy Like...Sunday Morning
Beauregard Montgomery made love the same way he went through life, carefully, methodically, and with a plan. The rough brute Khloe expected to manhandle her in their bed was not the man she lay next to as they consummated the marriage. Slowly, item by item, he undressed her as well as himself, kissing, touching, and caressing her as he went along. He didn’t seem to have the inclination to give her empty words of praise or bark commands to her while he warmed up her body for his entry.
Unhurriedly, he nestled close to her body, running calloused hands over the ebony skin, planting delightful kisses over her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Beau held her gaze when he connected their bodies, penetrating her leisurely as if he had all the time in the world. Adjusting their bodies to have her face him as they lay side by side, the angle of entry was just perfect enough to locate that one pleasurable spot on her insides Khloe never knew existed.
Beau didn’t thrust or poke at her like a horny teenager in the back seat of a car but instead provided a consistent rhythm of rubbing a hardened sword over a smooth stone. Back and forth over the same perfect spot, creating a ripple effect in her body until, like a mother irritated by a child’s constant tapping, her insides fisted, gripping the sword, holding on tight. A wave washed over her as Khloe’s mouth opened, her head fell back, and fingers gripped his arms as she gave into the pleasure.
It didn’t stop Beau’s movements. He continued at the same rate. The same steady pace. The same rhythm until the second wave hit, making her whimper as his mouth found hers, kissing her with the same lazy ease while her toes curled, her pits sweated, and she clung to him for dear life.
Khloe’s mouth was dry and she didn’t think she could take any more. She begged him to join her, find his own pleasure, but he continued the slow torture.
“Not yet, Wife,” he said softly. The slow rocking of his hips made the bed creak in protest, creating the only music they needed as the third wave started.
“Beau,” she whispered, holding onto him as if he were the last buoy fallen over the side of a sinking ship. The tension she’d been holding in, the doubt, the uncertainty, she released and she wrapped her arms around the mass of man, planting kisses on his face and neck, crying out his name.
He joined her this time, and in the same gentle manner with which he started, her husband ended it the identical way. No fuss. No thrust. No loud nor boisterous cry of victory, but two strong hands, cupping her bottom as he finished with a heavy sigh. Her limp body lay wrapped in his large arms, the bear paw of a hand resting on her buttocks as he kissed the top of her head.
“You okay, Khloe?” he asked, his hand rubbing the firm flesh of her bottom.
“Yes, more than okay,” she said, snuggling close, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat. “That was beautiful.”
“That’s how it should be between a man and his wo...his wife,” he corrected himself. “It’s not about sex, but intimacy, and connection.”
“We are definitely connected now,” she said, feeling the start of a smile.
“As we always shall be,” he told her, holding tighter, not wanting the moment to end. All day he had wrestled with himself and the mind-numbing fear that she had walked out on him, never to return. This moment would have never happened. This opportunity to show her how a man loves his woman versus jumping in bed and pounding her into submission would have been lost forever had she not returned. There was a time for those types of encounters, but the first one between a man and his wife, in his mind, needed to be a memorable experience of connection, not three humps and two pumps of aggression. He prayed she understood.
“Beau?”
“Yeah, Khloe?”
“It was worth the wait,” she said. “I feel so...cherished,” she told him, snuggling closer, inhaling the male scent of his skin.
“Because you are,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips.
“I like this feeling,” she whispered, burrowing into the warmth of his arms. “I’m liking you more and more each day.”
“I’m liking you too, woman.”
THE EVENING WAS A QUIET one, as she cooked the shrimp, steaks and sautéed spinach for dinner. Beau offered to open a bottle of wine, which Khloe refused, opting instead to make a pitcher of tea, minus the ice. He held her hand and prayed over the meal, offering thanks for a tasty supper, cleaning his plate, leaving nothing on it but droplets of juice from the meat.
Together they washed the dishes and Khloe was ready to set to work on unpacking the bags and boxes to settle into her new home. It had been several days and it appeared that more clutter was accumulating than either she nor her husband was comfortable having around.
“Beau, where do I put the trash?” she asked, looking outside as if a magical dumpster would appear.
“I have to burn it, which is why we can the veggies in reusable jars,” he said. “Some of the scrap and items that can break down go in the composter. We just have to remember to turn it once a week. I usually turn it on Sundays.”
“So, I need to get this stuff put away and get our home in order. I’m sorry about the mess and clutter,” she told him.
“Tomorrow,” Beau said. “Tonight, is about me and you.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but her body wanted to get in the hot tub and soak away the dull ache in her hips from the round of easy loving which hit her lower back like a night of hard riding on an unfriendly horse.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, feeling the unfamiliar twitch at the corners of her lips trying to make a smile.
“An easy evening, some music, talk about the books you brought, among other things,” he said, standing in the middle of the floor like he was playing a game of Simon Says and waiting for the next command.
“Music, hey,” she said, raising an arm and hitting her signature fancy move. Khloe thought the move was fancy. To Beau, it looked like a worm had fallen down her dress and she was wiggling trying to dislodge the creature.
“Uhmm, nothing like that,” he said, frowning.
“Okay, then surprise me,” she added, almost issuing him a challenge.
Beau surprised her in more ways than one. She discovered that night her husband could play the banjo. She also learned there was such an animal as jazz banjo, which confused and titillated her at the same time. Sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her dress, she listened as he hit the chords, playing a song familiar to him that he’d loved since the first time he’d heard it. Billie Holiday, one of his favorite jazz artists, sang a song titled Tenderly, which was the first jazz song he’d learned to play.
“Tenderly,” he sang softly, in a hillbilly drawl but with a jazz flair, as he plucked the strings of the black banjo. Lost in the words and the melody, he sang for her as if no one else in the world existed but the two of them. He strummed the chords with nimble fingers and finished the three-minute tribute, looking up from the instrument to his wife’s face. He didn’t know what to expect from her but he wanted to give her this personal gift from his heart.
Khloe was frozen, immobilized in her feelings by the sensual rendition of the Billie Holiday song she wasn’t very familiar with, but her mother had played the artist on Friday nights in between her Millie Jackson and Betty Wright songs. Jazz on a banjo. He can carry a tune. He played this for me.
Then, the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world for his new marriage happened. Khloe Burgess Montgomery smiled at him. She showed her beautiful set of pearly whites, as the little crinkles formed at the edges of her eyes, and the smile widened.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“You put it there,” she responded, touching his thigh. “That was lovely.”
‘Thanks,” he said, blushing. “Ready to call it a night?”
“After that, yes, I am,” she said, getting to her feet.
She
slipped her hand into his as they went back to the bed, facing the crumpled covers, still disheveled from their earlier lovemaking. Khloe changed quickly into a nightgown as Beau stripped down to his boxers. In the bed, she rested her hips into the crook of his body in a spooning position, cuddling up with him, holding onto his hand, pressing it to her heart. Beau's lips planted a light kiss on her shoulder, before drifting into a peaceful sleep.
This was the life he wanted.
This was the life he wanted with her.
This was the life.
KHLOE WOKE IN A TIZZY, wanting to get so many things completed before the evening came and she had to report to her new office in the morning. By the time Beau joined her in the kitchen, she’d eaten, had two cups of coffee, and unpacked three boxes. The china stood out in the formerly empty cabinet, giving the hexa-house a new ambiance as if people who lived inside mattered.
“Woman, slow down,” he said to her.
“Beau, good morning. I have to get the boxes unpacked so I can see what I have. My uniforms are in the suitcases I have been living out of for the past week, and Lord knows, all the stuff I bought yesterday has to get put away, hung, and everything else,” she said. “So much to do, so little time.”
“Khloe,” he said, taking her hand, making her face him and breathe. “Let’s go easy like, you know, it’s Sunday morning.”
“Thank you, Lionel Ritchie, but this has to get done,” she said. “I will not go to work with this house all upside down. Hey, where’s the washer and dryer?”
“In the closet in the office,” he said.
“Awesome,” she said, pulling her hand away for a high five.
“Don’t high five me! You aren’t some dude seeing his favorite NBA player make the free throw,” he said.
“I spent 20 years working with dudes. The only touching they were allowed to do with me was a high five,” she said. “Old habit. Muscle memory.”
“Let me lend you a hand,” he said to her.
“Great, eat first, then we can get started,” she said, opening bag after bag of items, and he had no idea what to do with more than half of the things she pulled out one after the other, outside of the rugs. And there were a lot of rugs.
The rugs were simple. Natural fiber floor coverings which she had selected coordinated but didn’t necessarily match. The smaller of the three which had a pop of red in it, she asked him to place under the coffee table. The soft rug was large enough for both ends to go under the couch and love seat, plus the table. Beau had planned to hunt a bear this season clean the skin to make a rug to place under the table, but this would work as well.
A larger, rounded rug, with a pop of blue color, went under the dining room table added warmth to the space, reducing the echo that he truly hadn’t noticed was present until the lack of buffering pointed out there was no longer a reverberation of his voice in the space.
“Nice,” he said, as she shoved a painting in his hand. He held it, not knowing what it was supposed to represent, because to him, it looked like a bear shitted on a canvas then stepped in his mess twice.
“Husband, will you please hang that over the china credenza?”
“No,” he said. “What is this?”
“Trust me, you will like it once it all comes together,” she told him, giving him another full-toothed smile.
The smile got him. He hung all six of the paintings. Each uglier than the last, plus a new rug for the office under his desk and one for the bedroom which covered most of the floor. To him, it defeated the purpose of having nice wood floors if she was just planning to cover them all up. If he wanted carpet, he would have put down carpet.
Next, she put up fluffy, foufou towels along with little mats to step out of the shower with wet feet. Even the water closet got a little rug. Khloe went on to add matching dishcloths and plates with saucers and cups to match the rugs and shit-splattered art on the walls. She had cushions for the benches and seats outside. New, hard plastic cupholders adorned the hot tub, flanked by outdoor candles which she swore would ward off mosquitos. He knew that shit didn’t work, but he wouldn’t comment. In his experience, you burn that kind of crap and it draws more bugs, which brings bigger animals to eat the bugs and left you praying those animals didn’t attract bigger animals to eat you.
All of it made her happy. She lost all of her stuff and has to start over, ass. It’s not much. Besides, it looks like a woman lives here.
“I like it,” he lied, partly. “It feels homey.”
“I tried to match your style without overwhelming you with too much girly stuff,” she said.
“Good choices,” he lied again, looking at the bear-shitted paw print painting.
“I think Jethro would like that one a lot,” she told him.
“Yeah, about him,” Beau said, easing into the subject. “If it gets weird, him being so close around all the time, let me know. Even though he’s my cousin, I still don’t like a man sniffing up round my woman like that.”
“Jethro? Sniffing around me?” she asked, laughing.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes,” she said, taking a seat at the table. He didn’t know. Truthfully, it wasn’t her place to tell him, but she’d rather him find out from her than to think his cousin was making a move on her. “Have you ever been to Jethro’s house?”
“Of course, I have,” he answered with a twinge of defensiveness in his tone.
“Does he live alone?”
“No, he bought this big two-story house a few years back, but it was just him,” he said. “He got himself a roommate named Ennis Shaken. Odd dude.”
“So, the bedrooms are upstairs,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat at the table, listening, knowing she was leading him down a rabbit hole where he didn’t want to see the contents.
“You’ve been upstairs in Jethro’s home?”
“Yeah, he has a really big bedroom, large closets and way too many clothes to live in a small town,” Beau nodded.
“What about Ennis’ bedroom?”
Beau sat for a moment and thought of the four bedrooms upstairs. One was an office, the other a fitness room, Jethro’s bedroom, and a guest room. Khloe placed her hand over her mouth as the reality of the imagery she painted formed in his mind’s eye and on his face. His forehead furrowed, then his eyes squinted, the nose upturned and the mouth turned down. Her husband looked as if he’d eaten a ghost pepper and the hot had snuck up on him and singed his taste buds.
“Uh-uh!” he yelled.
“Oh yeah,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at everything he was thinking showed on his face.
“But! He’s seen me naked!” Beau said, bounding to his feet. He started swatting at himself as if he were brushing off attacking ants, dancing around the floor, trying to escape the feeling of yucky covering him.
“He’s your cousin, Beau, unless you guys get down like that up here,” Khloe said, choking on the laughter.
He stopped dancing. His eyes were wide. “Oh shit, he’s gone camping with Lil Bo who said they went skinny dipping!”
“Good grief, Beau. The man is not contagious, just gay,” she told him. “I hope you are not going to treat him any differently.”
“Differently than what? He gets on my damned nerves, but he is also one of my favorite people in the world,” Beau said, just trying to make sure he had it clear in his brain. “Him and Ennis?”
He frowned, shuddered, and moved to the couch where he sat hugging himself. Silent for many minutes, he replayed in his head the first time he’d met Ennis and the stupid movies he and Jethro liked to watch. All of it made sense now.
“Beau, are you okay?”
“No, I’m not,” he said, looking at her. “Ennis is ugly with a pot belly and the top of his hair is missing like one of them monks with a bowl haircut. Couldn’t Jethro find a sexy dude with a six pack and a full head of hair? Why he gotta go digging at the bottom of somebody’s gene pool? I bet next they want t
o adopt a Chinese baby or one from the Ukraine with a missing left foot.”
“Well, shit,” she said looking at him. “I read you all wrong thinking you had an issue with your cousin being gay.”
“No, I have an issue with him butt banging that ugly ass man,” Beau said. “Eeeww, what if Jethro is the bottom and that ugly man is butt banging him?”
His eyes were wide as he started making gagging sounds. “I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick,” he said, holding his mouth.
“Beau, seriously, the man can’t be that bad,” she said but swallowed her words when he pulled out his phone, went to Jethro’s social media page and showed her the image of Ennis.
Khloe shrank back at the image of the man in front of her on the screen, “Oh Dear Jesus, what is that?”
“That’s an Ennis and it’s violating my cousin,” Beau said. “My eyes. My brain! I can’t unsee it in my brain. I rebuke you, Satan! Get thee outta my head!”
She watched Beau scramble through the cabinets looking for liquor but only locating the two bottles of wine. He opened a bottle of red and chugged half the contents down in one swallow.
“Beau?” she called to him as he lay back on the couch, holding the bottle like it held the salvation for his soul.
“I was better off not knowing,” he said sorrowfully.
“I only told you because I didn’t want you to think he was trying to make a move on me, because he just wants to be my friend and have us come over to watch movies with them,” she said, trying to take the bottle out of his hand, but he refused to let go.
“Next, they will want us to go to New York and watch Sponge Bob: The Musical on Broadway. I refuse! I refuse to partake in this chicanery!” Beau said pitifully.
“Stop this at once,” she said, yanking the bottle out of his hands. “Are you upset that Jethro is gay or that Ennis is his choice?”
“I’m hurt that he didn’t tell me himself,” Beau said, throwing the back of his hand over his eyes.
The Tennessee Mountain Man Page 13