by Scott, Kylie
“But at first when you woke up in the hospital, not knowing anyone.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even recognize my own sister,” I say. “Think I initially probably trusted the doctors and nurses more. I just saw them more often. Or maybe their roles in my life made more sense. I don’t know.”
“So you want to know what love feels like,” he repeats, little lines appearing between his brows. “Of course, there’s the love you have for your family and friends. It’s pretty different to what you can feel for your significant other. I’m guessing the latter is what you’re interested in?”
“Yes.” And it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if I fall under this heading. But I don’t. Go self-restraint.
He’s silent for a long time, the sound of the tattoo gun the only noise. “For me, it’s more than just thinking about the person all the time, wanting to get into their pants.”
“I’d hope so.”
“But don’t kid yourself, that’s part of it as well.”
I just smile.
“It’s wanting to know what they’re thinking, how they’re feeling. Just keeping an eye on them and checking they’re okay. Because if they’re not okay, you want to fix it. Make life smoother for them. Put a smile on their face.”
“That makes sense.”
“The first stage is like, whenever you see them or hear their voice or hell . . . even just when someone says their name, it kind of causes this response in you. This automatic physical, mental, and emotional response. It makes you happy. It’s exhilarating,” he explains. Though I’m already familiar with stage one. Not that this is necessarily the right time to enlighten him as to this fact. “Then that grows into something more. Like, putting them and their needs first most of the time just starts to come naturally. You make what changes are necessary to fit your lives together because it’s the right thing for both of you. Early on, their little quirks, idiosyncrasies, and shit like that are kind of cute and amusing.”
“Let me guess, that doesn’t last?”
The edge of his mouth moves upwards. “No, it doesn’t. But you accept most of these things as being a part of them.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
“Exactly.”
“You keep using the word most,” I say. “Most of the time. Most of these things.”
“If you’re going to meld two lives together, there’s got to be some willingness to change on both sides. You both have to want it equally. A big part of making it work is your willingness to compromise. Some things just are deal breakers. But mostly you accept and respect the person for who they are and they accept you.”
I nod.
“What love means is probably pretty different for everyone, though. I feel like I only gave you a mechanical rundown. But there’s all of the emotion behind it too.”
“And you loved me.” Just the thought of it staggers me. So maybe Frances is right about me putting him on a pedestal. Though I don’t think I’m blind to the idea of him having flaws. We all have flaws. It’s like he said about being willing to overlook certain things and work on others. Becoming a real live functioning couple sounds as difficult as I’d suspected. And despite us quasi-dating or whatever we’re doing, there’s every chance that at the end of the day Ed doesn’t want to take such a mammoth risk on me again.
Who could blame him?
Then again, there might have very well been aspects of his behavior that fed my inner demons. All of previous me’s insecurities and shit. He’s open to talking to me about pretty much everything now. But he wasn’t always. A habit that might go back much further than I know. He’s already admitted to working too much, to not paying attention. Caution would be wise on both sides. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to bleed my heart out all over him, however. Lately, when it comes to him, I always feel like I’m leaking emotions. Perhaps this tattoo will be as long-term as we get this time around.
“Yes, I loved you. Very much,” he says matter-of-factly. “And before you ask, I don’t know what I feel for you now, Clem. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He turns off the tattoo gun, sitting back on the stool. “Right. We’re done. What do you think?”
I smile. “I love it.”
Chapter Thirteen
So it turns out that the internet can provide you with an absolute wealth of tips regarding the giving of blow jobs. One of the top suggestions is to just ask the guy what he wants and or likes. This, however, doesn’t suit what I have in mind because it’s the next morning and Ed is fast asleep and I kind of want it to be a surprise. We, of course, had sex the night before. Because he’s gorgeous and hot and wants to fuck me, so ongoing inner emotional turmoil or no, why wouldn’t we?
This is my point. Life is short.
Oh, and I’m pretty sure he held back using the excuse of watching out for my newly inked arm. Like I wouldn’t see through that excuse. The jerk.
It’s a good thing we slept nude and he’s on his back. Otherwise, access could have been a real problem. I crouch beside his magnificently slumbering form admiring the ink, the art spread across his skin. My own freshly tattooed arm is a little tender, but no big deal. And it’s tempting to take a picture of him, though it seems distinctly wrong and stalkerish without previously given permission. I’ll just have to commit him to memory and hope this time it sticks.
I stroke him at first, working the morning wood into something more solid. The trail of light hair leading down from his belly button is nothing short of a delight. I kiss his chest, sliding my free hand over his pecs, up his shoulders, and then down his arm. When I reach his hand, his fingers mesh with mine for a moment.
“Clem.” His voice is thick from sleep. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm. I don’t believe you.”
As the bulk of the internet articles advised, I start by getting his cockhead damp, care of my tongue. While I guess it’s vaguely kind of like licking an ice cream, as advised. It’s also kind of definitely a dick so I don’t really get the correlation, but whatever. He smells and tastes of musk and sweat. It’s unique, though not unpleasant. His pubic hairs are crisp and his balls are soft in my hand. Because all of the tip lists said some ball rolling action is recommended. Given the happy rumbling sound Ed’s making, they were right. I hold his dick firmly with one hand while massaging his balls with the other. Occasionally slipping a finger back to rub his perineum, which is the bit immediately behind the balls. Apparently, this is quite important and experience enhancing for the dude.
Got it.
In all honesty, sucking cock isn’t anywhere near as complicated as some of those websites made it out to be. Pretty sure men in general are just happy when the right person pays attention to their dick. Fair enough. Ed playing with my pussy is a thing of wonder. When I take half his length deep into my mouth, firm my lips around his width, and drag my mouth back up him, he groans. Then, when I have his cockhead in my mouth, interspersing lashing him with my tongue and sucking, he fists my hair, holding it tight.
Ha. So much for his treat Clementine like a delicate little doll bullshit. It only lasts as long as he thinks he’s in charge. Now I know for certain.
His cock swells and I can only fit so much of him in my mouth. But all good. I lick him and suck him and stroke him with my hand. It’s not exactly science so much as common sense. He reacts and I give him more of whatever made him happy. When the noises he makes get louder, his stomach muscles tensing. Just when I think he’s probably about to come, however, things abruptly change. I find myself suddenly on my back with Ed crouched over me. He pumps his cock vigorously until warm come spills over my bare stomach. His hot face is buried in my neck, teeth sunk into my skin again as he comes and comes.
At least he’s bit me on the other side this time. Both sides of my neck will match. His broad shoulders heave, the quiet of the room full of his panting. I totally nailed this. Honestly, I’d high-five myself if I thought I could get away with it wit
hout him noticing.
“Baby.” He sighs all happy like. “Hell of a wake-up.”
“Alarm clocks are so passé.”
“I’d take your mouth any morning.” He raises his head, fixing his lips to mine. There’s no light and easy. We kiss slow but deep. Morning breath be damned. And meanwhile, he’s spreading his seed over my body as if I’m a canvas or something. Pretty sure he even doodled a smiley face in it all.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking down with a smile.
“Just marking what’s mine.”
“I see.”
His gaze turns somewhat wry. “I bit you again.”
“I know, and after all of your oh so gentle lovemaking last night.” I sigh. “You’re going to have to stop fighting it, Ed. Besides, I like you a little out of control.”
He shakes his head. “Just like I said, you always get your way.”
“But when we both win in the end, is that really such a bad thing?” I smile. “I match now. Got a love bite on both sides of my neck.”
And yet his smile is fleeting. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt your head or anything when I pushed you onto your back just now?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, okay,” he groans. “I’ll try not to worry so much.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “That was a great blow job.”
“You’re welcome. Though I kind of got carried away and forgot to do a few things. For instance, apparently outlining the cockhead with the tip of your tongue works well.”
“You can save that for next time,” he assures me with a grin. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some research.”
“Oh, I have. Question, do you not like me swallowing?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Do what you like. I just felt like covering you in my come and went with it.”
“Huh. Okay.”
With a final kiss, he picks up a T-shirt off the floor (the one he stripped off last night when we were in a hurry to get naked) and wipes off my belly. I stretch and groan some when I get to my feet. Ed, meanwhile, strips the top sheet off the bed and proceeds to wrap me up in it.
“I kind of need my arms,” I say.
“It’s just to get you to the shower without my brother seeing anything interesting.”
“You do realize he only pretends to flirt with me because it annoys you.”
A grunt as he heads for the door au naturel.
The man’s swaddled me so well I can barely walk, but I shuffle down the hallway with him close behind. From the kitchen comes the sound of feminine giggles. I raise my brows and once the bathroom door is shut behind us say, “I think Shannon had a sleepover with Leif.”
Another grunt. Blow jobs or not, Ed’s no more of a morning person than I am.
“And you’re walking around bare-ass naked,” I say. “Hope she didn’t see anything.”
He gets the water going, testing the temperature with his hand. “Shannon’s not interested in seeing my ass.”
“I don’t know. It’s a very attractive ass.”
“You’re funny.” Glad he thinks so. I drop the sheet and follow him into the small space. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair.”
“Thanks.”
Few things compare to him rubbing shampoo into my scalp. Ed and his magical fingers. “Clem, you’re not really worried, are you?”
“Worried?”
“About Shannon.” There’s a slight thread of tension running through his voice. And who can blame him, given the catastrophe my last bout of jealousy triggered? So I take my time, considering the question with all due seriousness. “No. If you were actually interested in her you’d tell me, we’d break up, then you’d make your move. And if she was interested in you, despite apparently banging your brother, I’d kick her ass with my newfound self-defense skills.”
“Pretty sure self-defense doesn’t mean kicking people’s asses.”
“Hmph. The best form of defense is attack.”
“But your faith in me is humbling. Tip your head back.”
I wipe some suds out of my eye. “Are you mocking me?”
“Absolutely not.” He so was.
“I just mean . . . if you were into someone else you’d tell me, right?”
“Yes, baby. I’d tell you. But I’m not, okay?”
“Okay. Understood.” Next comes the conditioner and more scalp massage. So damn good. Maybe I should grow my hair back. With longer hair it would take him longer to wash it and the whole experience could be drawn out further. A fine idea.
“You’re not jealous, then?” he asks, the tension still lingering in his voice ever so faintly.
“I’d prefer I was the only one to see the glory that is your bare ass. If that’s jealousy, then I guess I am a little. But when you think about it, it’s no better or worse than you mummifying me with a sheet on the off chance Leif might see some skin.”
He carefully rinses out the conditioner and we’re sadly done. I pump some of the body wash into my hand and get good and clean while he does the same. There’s something fascinating about watching the way his hand moves over his body, the way he handles his goods. So matter-of-fact about the way he washes himself, while here I am ready to write his dick bad poetry. Though to be fair, he does have a really great dick.
“You have a point,” he finally concedes.
“I think a certain amount of jealousy is probably par for the course for the human condition.”
“Agreed.”
We finish up and turn off the water. He towels himself dry with the same efficiency while I dawdle. The thought of going out there and socializing with Shannon doesn’t fill me with glee. It’s just kind of weird to have her here this morning. Or any morning. Given her overabundance and very open (to me at least) opinions regarding previous me and Ed, I’d rather keep the woman at arm’s length.
Obviously I’m not moving fast enough for him, because he wraps a towel around me, carefully tucking the end in above my breasts. Then he kisses my shoulder and leaves. At least he’s wearing a towel around his waist this time. We have actual butt coverage. Sad but necessary.
I put some styling product in my hair and blow dry it. It’s too short to do my makeup first. I learned this by trial and error. Once my scar is covered by my bangs, I apply some concealer, mascara, do my eyebrows, and add a little lip balm. Done. The girl in the mirror looks okay. Despite her matching hickeys, one fading but the other fresh. I’m half-disposed to keep them in clear view. Because Ed did that. Because I made Ed do that. But in the end, I decide that decorum requires the hiding of rough sex. A little concealer goes on either side of my neck.
And I’m delaying. Anxiety has soured my stomach. The question is, do I feel this way because it’s Shannon or because someone new is in my personal space effectively? It feels mostly like the latter with a bit of the former thrown in for fun. Though I didn’t freak out when Leif turned up, so . . .
Ugh to this. I ever so bravely speed walk back to the bedroom and quickly get dressed. There’s conversation and laughter coming from the dining table. The chink of cutlery against china. When I get out there, my eyes no doubt go a little wild. She’s made a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. There’s also sliced strawberries, banana, and blueberries. I’m pretty sure half of this stuff wasn’t in the fridge. God knows what time she got up and went to the shops to get it all. Normally we just down a coffee, maybe eat a granola bar, and call it good. But oh no. Shannon has pulled out all the stops. The table is even set all pretty like with a blue-and-white-check tablecloth and matching napkins. I had no idea Ed even owned a tablecloth and napkins.
“Grab a seat, baby,” he says, pouring me a cup of coffee as I sit. The way he looks after me makes me melt despite the morning’s weirdness. It’s far more important.
Gordy’s tail beats against my legs. He’s counting on me to get him some of the bacon. Not that he doesn’t love me, but bacon.
Leif looks as happy a
s a king. A well-fucked and well-fed king.
“Morning, Clem,” says Shannon, sitting on his lap. Her smile is so wide and doubtless genuine. I feel like a bit of a bitch.
“Morning.” I attempt a smile. “You made all this? Wow.”
“She’s spoiling me.” Leif grins, kissing her on the cheek.
“She sure is.”
Despite shoveling pancake into his mouth, Ed doesn’t seem so happy. “Just make sure nothing spills over into the workplace. I don’t want shit getting weird with you two seeing each other.”
“Nothing’s going to get weird. My disciplined professionalism will be more than enough to quell Shannon’s inevitable lustful advances.” Shannon rolls her eyes as Leif shakes his head at Ed. “And you’re worse than an old woman.”
“That’s sexist,” I say, sliding a pancake and some berries onto a plate. Sort of healthy. Of course, drowning the whole thing in about a gallon of maple syrup makes it less so. Whatever.
“All right. He’s worse than an old man, then.”
“And ageist.”
“I’m not going to win here, am I?”
“No.”
Gordy rests his head on my knee, giving me the saddest of sad eyes. I can’t blame him: the smell of bacon is pretty tempting and there’s a heap even with Leif and Ed downing food like the end is nigh.
“Don’t do it, Clem. You’re teaching him bad habits,” says Ed. “Go to your bed, Gordon. Go on. You know better than to beg for food.”
With a heavy doggy sigh, Gordy goes. Oh, the cruelty. His life is a veil of tears. You can tell by the way he flops onto the giant comfy cushion and cuddles up to his stuffed toy friend, the slightly gnawed on squirrel. No dog has ever been treated worse. It’s obvious. I send him a silent promise to sneak him some bacon later.
Shannon climbs off Leif’s lap, picking up the half-empty coffeepot. “Let me make you some fresh, Ed. This has been sitting for a while.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
“Oh, it’s no worry.”
Once I swallow what’s in my mouth, I say, “You’re a great cook.”
