The Arrangement

by Jennifer Hartley

  “Don’t mind us,” Eric told him. He didn’t look forward to spending time in his old room. He and Tallulah never fucked there, but hers was right across from his. With dread, he stared at the heavy, red-brown doors with the ornate knocker. For Sasha’s sake, he was determined to keep it together. His wife seemed to be under the illusion that the holidays would mean burning bridges between father and son. She’ll have to find out for herself it’s a futile, miserable effort.

  Spencer excused himself, leaving them there at the front steps. Eric couldn’t resist sneaking a hand under Sasha’s sweater to touch her warm stomach. He grinned at the wild blush that quickly spread across her face, her blue eyes widening as they darted side to side to the servants bustling about. He leaned in close. “Do you want to rest up or go for a walk?”

  “Well . . . I’d really like to sleep some more,” she admitted shakily as his thumb skated across her belly button.”

  “I was thinking the exact same thing,” he told her, kissing the tip of her nose and pulling her by the hand.

  More servants greeted them inside the house. Eric was sincerely proud as he introduced Sasha around. His wife. His wife, who loved him. He had to stop himself from laughing as Sasha shook hands with each of them because she didn’t have to. When he finally managed to steer her towards the stairs, she whispered, “Their uniforms are fancier than my clothes!”

  “You never need clothes, pretty.” He teased her.

  She shook her head and took his hand. “Take me to your room, Eric.”

  Well. That was one invitation he will never say no to. “Our room,” he corrected.

  “How many rooms do you have here?” She asked as they climbed up the grand, sweeping staircase. The carpeted steps muffled their heavy treads.

  “The truth? I have no idea. Ivy Peak is, I don’t know, twenty hectares, more or less? I’ll take you to the beach later.”

  “Oh, we’ll go for a drive?”

  “No, pretty.” He kissed her on the cheek and beamed. “We have our own beach.”

  Her mouth dropping open was enough enticement to surprise her again soon. He pulled her to the top of the stairs and toward the hallway.

  “Wow, you have designs on the ceilings too,” she marveled, looking up. It was painted with red and gold roses and small, gold animals. The hallway was lined with sculptures, carved, antique tables, and other knick-knacks that belonged to a museum. She remarked about never seeing so many figurines before.

  “Too many beasts everywhere in this pagoda,” he said with a shrug. “No getting away from them.”

  Their banter came to a halt when they reached his room. Eric refused to look, but Sasha glanced at him then the door to the guest room where Tallulah had often stayed.

  “Are you okay?” She asked.

  He nodded.

  She kissed him on the lips, and he hauled her close to his chest. He could do this as long as she kissed him. He could do everything.

  Their suitcases were nowhere in sight. Sasha was curious about that, so Eric pointed at the walk-in closet. She went there, aahing audibly. “This is bigger than our place!”

  He laughed and put his arms around her waist. He kissed her warm neck. “Everything in Ivy Peak is bigger than anything else.”

  “Eric?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I - I know it’s difficult for you to be here, but I’m glad you did it anyway.”

  He hugged her tightly. I’m here because of you.

  Instead, he said, “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.”

  “Um, but my clothes are clean.”

  “Yes. We’re not going to fuck, sweetheart. I’m a little tired myself. But I miss your freckles already. Won’t you let me see them?”

  So, they removed their clothes, Sasha folding hers neatly and putting them on the chair, Eric leaving his on the floor. His cock was erect and pointing straight at his stomach. She turned pink upon seeing that, but he meant what he said. He simply couldn’t control his cock’s response when her breasts and pussy were out for him to see and be tempted. But his eyes betrayed his longing as they gazed at her long legs.

  “Come here.” With a boldness so uncharacteristic of her, Sasha led him to the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders and urged him to sit down. Realizing what she was going to do, he caught her around the waist. He pressed little kisses on her breasts, caught a fat, swollen nipple in his mouth, just to taste her.

  “Love, you don’t have to do this.”

  “But I want to.”

  She took a pillow from the bed and dropped it at their feet. She knelt, her movements oddly graceful. With her pale skin and her blue eyes soft and a little dazed from lack of sleep, there was something unearthly and beautifully alien about her. His breath caught in his throat as she turned the full, beautiful force of her eyes on him before beginning to rub his cock in her calloused hand. He groaned and sighed.

  “I like it when you play me, Sasha.”

  Her breath stirred the golden curls between his thighs before she pressed a shy but deep kiss on his head. He could melt.

  “I don’t play you, Eric,” she whispered between feathery kisses up and down his cock. “I love you.”

  He shook from her words. Spoken so easily. As if they have always been true.

  His eyes burned as her tongue circled his cockhead before dragging the wet bead hanging from it with a slow lick. Her lips closed around it then, her cheeks gently hollowing from the careful kiss that he knew would build it up to something more. Wet, plopping sounds from her mouth around his cock reminded him of her fingers gently plucking at the cello. But the sounds of her kisses were softer, more intimate. Her head and shoulders bobbed up and down as she got into the rhythm, reminding him once again of her entire body surrendering to the power of a composition.

  As her mouth worshiped his cock and her hands rubbed and fondled, his groans got rougher, louder, the sensual accompaniment to the melody they were composing. His fingers passed through her hair before burrowing more firmly, angling her head, so her eyes were bared, and he could see her red mouth parting to take him in. He chanted her name breathlessly, cried it out when she gave his balls a brief tug. Just as he liked it. Then her hands were back, her strokes beautifully gentle despite the rough, ridged texture of her palms and fingers. One hand settled on his thigh, and he took it to kiss her hand passionately.

  Her cheeks got more hollowed as the pressure of her sucking increased, drawing his cock halfway into her mouth. He shuddered at the smooth, wet feel of her tongue, at the textured surface of her palate teasing the head. His legs widened as he pressed her head closer. She moaned, opening her mouth some more.

  There.

  He took her head in both hands, angling it so he could thrust over and over in her throat. She whimpered, tried to gasp as he popped past the back of her mouth. First, he fucked her throat in earnest, but a glimpse of her eyes, and all civility was lost. He groaned and pounded into her mouth, fearing he would snap her jaw, but too greedy for his own pleasure to care and he hated himself at that point, for taking everything from Sasha and more when she had given without question.

  She didn’t fight him off. She didn’t stop him in any way. Rather, she touched him, opening her mouth wider and wider. She was rubbing herself against the pillow too.

  “I’m close,” he grunted, pulling back. Only his cockhead remained in her mouth when she shook her head and moved. He gasped as she swallowed the entire length of him, her nose pressed right at the base of his cock. “Damn.”

  He poured in her mouth, her throat. She gagged, drawing back but suddenly seized his cock. Her mouth tightened around him, and she sucked with a fury that flung him to galaxies beyond this one. He grunted and jerked against her as the last of him spilled.

  He howled before collapsing on the bed. He was panting, and his chest was coated in sweat. He heard rather than saw Sasha shuffle back to her feet. Wearily, he sat up and saw something he never expected to see.

&
nbsp; Sasha’s kisses were awkward, but she gave oral with the smoothness of a courtesan. Except this time. He stared in disbelief at his semen dripping down her chin, her neck, on her breasts. On her pink skin and freckles, the drippings of his semen looked like silver.

  “Um, I’ll just clean up.”

  Her creamy skin was the canvas for her pink freckles and the gleaming tracks of his semen streaming from her chin to the rest of her. This is us, he thought.

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  She looked unsure but went to him anyway.

  Eric grabbed her by the hand until she fell beside him. She turned away. “Eric, please. This isn’t - I don’t know how I feel about looking like this.”

  He took her chin and turned her to face him. A slim thread of his semen continued to move down her body until it settled in her belly button. “You look like mine.”

  Then he was kissing her, sinking his tongue in her mouth to dip in the little pool of semen there. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him.

  Six

  Sasha slowly opened her eyes, looking right at Eric’s sleeping face. It was fast becoming one of her favorite past times. It was not just because of how gorgeous he was. He was the perfect mix of classically handsome and raw animal magnetism that made her body ache even at the mere sight of him even though it was all hers for the taking. But it was so much more than that. When he was awake, Eric was always a force of nature – magnetic, passionate, unyielding, and so irresistible. When he was asleep, everything that he was still remained but softened. Even his hair seemed to fall over his forehead more softly compared to the riotous way it usually moved around him. It was the epitome of peace, and late at night or in the early morning when she happened to wake up, Sasha reveled in it.

  Her breath softly ruffled the hair on top of his head, while his feathered her throat. They lay entangled around each other; one of her legs was trapped between his. How she felt all of him - his hair soft on her cheek, his skin warm against her, the bulge of his muscles settling on the firm planes and slight curves of her, his cock nestled between her thighs, firm even at rest, the curls covering his thighs all the way to his legs. Every breath from her brought her lips to his forehead. Her tongue flicked out to taste the faint salt of his dried sweat.

  Eric continued to sleep in her arms as her eyes drifted to the rest of her new surroundings. His loft was all soft creams and the palest brushes of gray. Drapes hung open all day because he liked lots of natural light. The first floor was uninterrupted space, with only one wall to the bathroom, the only demarcation from the rest of the area. The rest flowed into the next - the worn couch in front of the fireplace, and next to it a shelf of books, then his work area, with the easel stand, shelves for his painting supplies, a worktable. Up the stairs was their bedroom, where the principle of flowing, uninterrupted space continued.

  Their loft brimmed with life. She remembered that on the couch was a short, knitted blanket in white and aquamarine that found a home there almost as soon as she moved in - it was from Addison. There were also photos of their wedding on the walls. Their bedroom was a mess, not because it was disorderly but bits and pieces of them were thrown together. It was a little embarrassing that it wasn’t too long ago when she was cleaning houses, but it now took her days to tidy up. Under the bed was a collection of mismatched socks and their used underwear, kicked there during bouts of passion. A pair or two of Eric’s pants on the floor, hers folded neatly on a chair. Though their bed was always made, there was no getting rid of her favorite sleep shirt - a worn, faded green sweater of Eric’s that had become hers. The sheet was a canvas of very telling stains. The bed smelled of sweat and fucking. Right next to it was her cello.

  His bedroom in Ivy Peak was the exact opposite.

  First was the four-poster bed they were on. It was painted with a dark varnish that was almost black and covered in dark burgundy sheets edged with bronze. She stared at the tightly-shut cabinet doors, wondering what boyhood mementos were in there, if there were any. She eyed the doorway leading to the walk-in closet and the other dark wooden door that was a replica of the one leading into the bedroom. There was nothing of the boy or even the younger man Eric used to be, except maybe for two framed photographs on a desk. They were too far away to make out their faces. With servants cleaning daily, there was not a single speck of dust. Everything seemed glued or nailed in place, like in a magazine spread. Though the temperature in Ivy Peak was significantly warmer than in the city, the neatness chilled Sasha the first time she saw it. It was unreal. It didn’t belong to a real person because it was staged. Perfect.

  She remembered her old bedroom back in Addison. It was a quarter, maybe even less the size of his room, but her identity was on every precious inch of the space. Her cello on its treasured spot beside her bed. Small jars on her nightstand, her desk, her dresser, and her shelf that she had filled with smooth, white stones from the beach. Her teddy bear on the bed. Her small collection of cello music and other popular tunes of the day. A photograph with her parents, taken when she was a baby. Her room was so small it just about fit a queen-sized bed. She slept with her legs bent or sometimes with her feet sticking out from the edge. But her room with its blue-and-white striped carpeting was her refuge and haven. She had not wanted to leave it and felt herself die when she had to sell the house and everything else in it, donating the rest to charity. All the remained of her life in Addison was in her studio apartment, and now, in the loft she shared with Eric.

  “Sweetheart. I can hear you thinking,” he murmured against her neck, cuddling closer. She blushed and looked at him.

  “I’m trying to find you here,” she admitted as he kissed her. His leg climbed higher on her side.

  “I’m not here,” he said, licking her, freckle by freckle it felt. “I’m in you. I’m on you.” He suckled her nipple hard to make a point, and she felt a burn that swept through her like a tidal wave.

  She had been shocked when Eric kissed her in her condition earlier. She was not yet done swallowing him when he attacked her tongue, sucking his taste off her. His semen flowed between their lips. Though she was feverish with want for her husband, it took her a while to get into the rhythm of things. Never did she think he would lick and suck himself off her body, from her mouth, as he had, proclaiming how good he tasted on her, them, together. As he kissed her now, she felt the familiar hardening of his cock between them. Her pussy was still sore from last night and from earlier, but it was eager to spill in welcome. She could only mouth his name, her eyes closing in rapture as he nudged her outer labia apart, a firm finger sinking in the sodden depths of her pussy easily. He fucked her with languid, lazy strokes. Nevertheless, she fell apart at the third glide of his finger, her hips lurching sharply as she gasped. He watched her through half-closed eyes.

  His finger was still inside her moments after her crash. She was grateful he couldn’t see how bright red her cheeks were at the secret pleasure. It was difficult to sleep and relax without his hand between her legs. Sometimes, in the night, she would wake up and feel his head between her thighs, his lips suckling her clit with mind-blowing savagery, or his tongue fucking her. Eric confessed he did it because he would have dreams she wasn’t real at all. Smelling her, tasting her, calmed him down.

  “Where are you?” She asked as he settled back in her arms and seemed to doze again. “Where’s your train set? Your paintings?”

  “Not here,” he mumbled. “Trash.”

  “Come on.”

  “Purged, burned, gone, gone.” He was rambling, which meant he was half-asleep. “Nothing’s good about me here.” They tumbled out, the words nearly tripping all over themselves that she had to strain to hear and make sense of them.

  “I don’t believe that.” She whispered, kissing him. Her arms tightened around him protectively.

  He sighed and nuzzled against her breasts. “Sweetheart.”

  “Eric?”

  “Don
’t let me go.”

  “Of course not.” She hugged him tightly. “I love you.”

  “Sasha.” She waited for him to say more, but the soft snoring against her chest meant it would be long in coming - if he remembered what they just talked about.

  With Eric slumped and snoring in her arms, she wouldn’t dream of disturbing him just so she could join Spencer for lunch. The right thing to do was to wake him up, but she did understand the upheaval it took him to return to Ivy Peak. He vowed never to bring her here again after telling Spencer of their engagement, calling it ‘poisonous.’ She still hoped that father and son would be able to fix what problems they had, if not during the holidays, then at least for them to be more involved in each other’s lives. She loved Eric. Should they become a family someday, she wanted their child to know Spencer Cohen. Family will always be family, no matter what.

  She joined Eric in dreams soon after, floating in a dark world where ideas such as time did not exist. There was comfort in this unknown, where she was just drifting along a black sea, looking up at a black sky with no sliver of light. The water felt like a warm embrace. But she wanted light after some time. In this dark world, she felt as if she was waiting. Waiting to be reborn.

  When she woke up, she was alone in bed. The drapes were drawn closed, allowing only a shaft of light into the room. Sleepily, she stretched her arms and legs until hearing that satisfactory pop of joints. She lay with arms and legs in an unintentional wanton spread that Eric, emerging from the closet with clothes draped on his arms, welcomed with a smirk.

  His eyes were green fire, and she felt herself licked in one hot swoop. Instinct almost had her curling into her body in embarrassment. Down her throat, toward her breasts, her stomach, all the way to her legs were dry tracks of semen. It took all the courage she had to keep her arms and legs spread, to look at her husband as if this was no big deal at all to be caught nude and luxuriating as she was.

  “You’re beautiful.”