by Abby Brooks
"Not even a little."
I smile. "Good. Drink," I say with a gesture towards her wine glass. "All of it." When she's done, I take it from her hand and set it on the table along with mine before I take her by the waist and turn her away from me. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, I find the zipper at the back of her dress and slowly lower it, kissing her neck and shoulders as I do. When it's undone, she turns to face me and slips the thin straps off her shoulders and lets the dress fall to her feet, revealing a dark lace bra and matching panties.
"Blue," she says with a shy smile, trailing a finger along the edge of the lace.
"And it looks fantastic on you." I let my eyes rove over her body, taking in her soft curves in the faint light. Her hands move to cover her stomach and I shake my head. "Don't hide anything from me. I want it all."
"All of it?" she asks, her voice low and uncertain.
"All of it."
Her eyes still trained on mine—wide and trusting—she reaches around and unhooks her bra. The straps slide off her shoulders as she holds it in place and then lets it fall to the floor beside her dress.
"Oh, shit, Michelle. You're gorgeous." My cock strains against my pants, throbbing with need. She lowers her panties and steps out of them, standing naked in front of me under the cover of darkness. The candlelight flickers across her creamy skin and I reach for her.
"Come here." I pull her towards me, twisting to pick up my wine from the table. She reaches for my belt, fiddling with the buckle as I take a drink and watch her undo the button. Her eyes hit mine as she slides down the zipper and tugs at the elastic on my boxer briefs.
"I'm the only one naked," she says, slipping her hand down towards my dick.
I step out of her reach and she pouts up at me. "Oh, the things I would do to that mouth.”
"Like what?" Michelle grins. "Tell me."
"Not yet. First I want to explore that body." I close the distance between us and dribble the wine on her shoulder. She gasps as it runs down her chest and drips from her nipple. I drag my tongue across the trail, pausing to suck her taut peak into my mouth. She moans and stares up at me as I straighten to pour more wine down her body. I let it trail lower and lower down her abdomen before I catch it with my tongue, using my hands on her hips to pull her close to me.
"Please, David," she begs.
"Please what?" I wait for her answer as her chest heaves.
"Please," she repeats, her voice even smaller than before.
"What do you want, Michelle?" I bend to pull her breast into my mouth, nipping and sucking as I look up at her. I want her to get dirty with me. I want to hear filthy things come out of that sweet mouth. I want her to let me in to the deepest, darkest parts of her mind.
"You," she manages.
But maybe, given how reserved she is, I should take things slowly. At first.
"Like this?" I ask as I slide my hand down her abdomen and brush a finger across her clit. She jumps and sighs.
"Yes."
"Or like this?" Ever so slowly, I slide my fingers between her folds and press against her entrance. "Shit, Michelle. You're so wet for me. I love it."
She arches her back, moaning, pulling at my T-shirt, and that does me in. I tear my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor. Press her to me, her skin so warm against mine as she tugs at my pants.
"I want you inside me," she says, her voice small but determined.
It may not be filthy, but it lights me on fire anyway. I pull a condom out of my wallet and step out of my pants. Her eyes go wide as my cock springs free and she bites her bottom lip as I slide the condom into place.
"You're so big."
Her voice fans the flames of my excitement. I perch on the edge of one of the chairs and she straddles me, her eyes trained on mine as she slowly lowers herself down onto me. I give her a moment to breathe, to get used to me filling her so full. And as her face softens from pain to pleasure, my need overtakes me.
"I need to move," I say.
Michelle rolls her hips. "I need you to."
And so, with none of the care or control I planned on showing this woman, I drive into her again and again, digging my hands into her ass and lifting her up only to drive her down, forcing her to take me deeper and deeper. She gasps and rolls her hips, gathering her hair on top of her head before letting it cascade down her back.
"I'm..." she begins before her body tenses around me, her orgasm taking the words from her mouth. She drops her head back, looking up at the moon hanging full and low in the night sky. Watching her let go, feeling her come undone around me, it ends me. I grip her hips, pull her down against me, and come.
MICHELLE
It's official. After years of confusion, I understand what all the fuss is about. If that was an orgasm, then I think it's safe to say I've never had one before. I collapse forward, draping my head over David's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, embarrassment surging forward to cover up the ecstasy.
He brushes hair back from my face, straining for eye contact. "For what?"
I bury my head deeper into his shoulder. "For losing control like that."
David laughs and shakes his head, guiding me into an upright position so he can make eye contact. "Oh, darlin'. You can feel free to lose control with me any time you want. Over and over again." He grins. "In fact, it is now my personal mission to make sure you spend less and less time in control." He threads his fingers into my hair and pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply. When he breaks the kiss, I stand carefully, gasping as he slides out of me.
I pull my dress over my head and carry my bra and panties with me into the bathroom while David gets dressed and disposes of the condom in the trashcan in the kitchen. I have no idea what to expect when I leave the bathroom. Was this a bootie call? Will he meet me with a vague excuse and a promise to call me later or will he stay with me for a little longer? I desperately hope he chooses the second option. I'm not ready for him to leave.
When I come back around the corner, David is leaning on the kitchen counter with a big smile on his face. "I took the liberty of pouring us some more wine," he says. His gaze travels across my body and smile plays at the corners of his lips. "You are so fucking beautiful." He says it like he means it and I'm embarrassed to admit how good it makes me feel.
My alarm goes off bright and early the next morning and I bound out of bed, happy as a lark. David didn't leave until well after two and I went to bed expecting to be miserable this morning, but I'm so energized I might as well be Cinderella—waking up with a song in her heart as birds and mice flit around her. Claire and I laugh our way through the morning as I get us ready for the marathon dress rehearsal that will consume our Sunday.
The next several hours are a whirlwind of kids freaking out about going on stage, teenage drama, costume emergencies, and so many texts from David. So. Many. Texts. If it wasn't for the constant stream of sweet messages coming to me through my phone, this day would be awful. But every time some new problem erupts, I get a text from David that keeps me laughing. Or swooning. Or feeling so sexy that I can't wait to get naked with him again.
That's right. Me. The self-proclaimed hater of sex is busy daydreaming about having more sex.
"Who do you keep texting?" my mom asks towards the end of the day.
I bite my lower lip. "No one."
Mom shakes her head. "I refuse to believe that's no one. I haven't seen you giggle like this since… well…ever."
I could keep insisting that David is no one special, but I'm a terrible liar and my mom can read me like a book. "I met someone," I say, grinning like an idiot.
Mom's eyes light up. "Misha! What's his name?"
"David."
"Ohh. That's a good name. Is he handsome?"
I nod, unable to keep from smiling when my phone chimes. I look down to read the text while my mom shakes her head and walks away.
Mr. Wonderful: When can I see you again?
Me: When do you want to see me
again?
Mr. Wonderful: About four hours ago.
I laugh and begin a response as a student comes around the corner.
"Ms. Michelle? One of the little kids is having trouble with her hair and is freaking out and crying and stuff, and now her mascara is starting to run down her face." She looks disgusted. "I tried to tell her she was making a mess of herself, but that only made her cry harder."
"Okay. You go ahead and calm her down and I'll be there in a minute." The girl dashes away and I slip my phone into my purse before pulling open the heavy door that leads from the backstage area to the dressing rooms. I round the corner and run right into Russell.
"'Chelle," he says, breathing a poisonous brew of Crown Royal and vomit into my face.
I flinch back. "What are you—"
Russell grabs my wrist and yanks me down the hall. I squawk and stumble along after him before he pushes me into a large supply closet and bars the door with his body. "I know you're fucking him." His voice echoes down the long hallway behind him.
"What?"
"That guy. David." Russell spits his name at me.
"This is stupid. Let me out." I try to push past him, but he presses an arm against the door jamb, blocking my way even more.
"I know where he lives, too," Russell says as if that has any bearing whatsoever.
"Well, that means you know more about him than I do because I haven't been to his house." At least not in years. "Besides, none of this matters," I hiss. "We're divorced, remember?"
"It matters," he slurs. "If that douche comes around my daughter, it matters. I'm her father."
Defiance burbles up from my belly. Where does he get off, thinking he can come here, to my work, and treat me like this? What if someone walks by? Would a parent feel comfortable with me as a role model after seeing me trapped in a broom closet by my overly inebriated ex-husband? "Then you should have acted like it mattered when you had the chance."
Russell's eyes go wide and his face goes red and he staggers toward me. I back up, my heart hammering its way up my throat as I reach for something, anything to put between us.
"Hey. Excuse me?" A man's voice from the hallway. "What's going on in here?" A large man stops outside, though I can't make out who it is because Russell's big head is blocking my view.
Russell whirls and loses his footing, stumbling and steadying himself with a hand on the door. "Jus' had somethin' I had to say to her."
The man, a father of one of my oldest students, looks past my ex-husband and meets my eyes. I watch him recognize my terror before he turns his focus back to Russell. "And there are much better ways to do it than this. You let her out of the closet now or I'll call the police."
Russell laughs and mutters something unintelligible before he turns and staggers out of the theater. I thank the father, embarrassment twisting my insides into knots, and race off to find Claire before Russell does. When I do, I scoop her up and hug her tight.
"Did you see me dance, Momma?" asks my little Bear.
No. I didn't. Because her father had me pushed in a closet in the hallway for God knows why.
"You were fabulous," I say because I don't need to have seen her to know it's true, even as I fight back tears at having missed her. I keep her backstage with me the rest of the night under the pretense of letting her see the other dancers perform. Every couple minutes, I pick up my phone with the intention of texting David and explaining what happened. Each time I pick it up, I put it right back down again. In fact, after reading a few of his wonderful texts and not knowing quite how to respond, I put my phone in my purse for the rest of the evening. David is too good to have this kind of crazy in his life.
DAVID
Friday morning and we're up before the sun, the whole family gathered in my kitchen while Mom makes breakfast.
Dad hovers behind her, leaning over her shoulder and watching the stove like a half-blind hawk. "You sure you don't have the heat too low for those eggs?"
Mom wields her spatula with the precision of a samurai with his sword. "You can't rush perfection, Dean," she says, glancing up at her husband. "You know that as well as anyone."
Colton and I sit at the table, him slumped over a cup of coffee while I sit back in my chair and sip from my steaming mug. "You look awfully awake this morning," my brother grumbles my way.
"And you look like hell warmed over."
Colton makes the same face he's made at me for decades—one that means he's about to try and pull a fast one. "I don't have the company of a lovely woman to look forward to like some of us," he says, enunciating each and every one of his words and glancing at our parents.
Dad wraps an arm around Mom's waist and pulls her close. "That's sweet of you to say about your own mother." He plants a kiss on the top of her head as Colton shakes his head.
"No offense to Mom, but, eww." He sits up and takes a drink, humming his approval at the rich brew as he swallows. "I'm talking about David." He indicates me with a jerk of his chin. "He's been seeing someone."
Mom spins, pulling out of Dad's embrace, her eyes wide and her spatula lifted. "What?" Surprise gives way to happiness. "Who? How have we not heard about this before now?"
"Because," I say, giving Colton a look. "It's not that big of a deal."
Mom and Dad exchange a look. "Whatever you say," my mother singsongs sweetly, before turning back to the eggs.
The truth is, I don't know what the fuck happened, but something sure as shit did. Saturday night, Michelle and I had what was undeniably the best porch sex in the history of porch sex, solidifying Shiraz as my favorite wine of all time. Sunday, we spent most of the day texting back and forth while she was at work and I swear, if ever there was a woman who understands witty text banter, it's Michelle. And then, right at the end of the day, she ghosts on me. Nothing. Not one word. Not even a goodnight, and I stayed up an hour past my bedtime just so I wouldn't miss it.
And the rest of the week? We haven't hit total radio silence, but I sure as hell haven't gotten the flood of sweet words that I had been getting from her. It's like someone flipped a light switch. She was on and now she's off, and something about it has me worried. Today is Friday, and that means she has to work in the morning, but I'm asking her to meet me tonight and I won't let her turn me down. It's just not an option. If something happened, I need to know what it is so I can fix it.
After spending the morning working with Colton on repairs to the chicken coop and the fencing that keeps the little rascals out of the garden, I head out to the grocery to stock up for the weekend. I spend the entire drive there and the whole first half of my shopping trip working out the details of Operation Hot Stuff. Something spooked her and whatever it is that's happening between us is too good to let her run off. With my mind wrapped around what I'm going to say to un-spook her, I round the corner into the dairy aisle and right in front of me, pushing one of those tiny little carts while staring intently at what looks to be a calculator, is Michelle.
"You know," I say as I come up beside her. "The trick to stalking is to make sure the other person doesn't see you."
She looks up, startled, and a wide grin stretches across her face. "Hey there, handsome."
"That's it? Hey there, handsome? After all we've been through? That's all you have to say to me?"
Michelle looks surprised. "All we've been through?" She can't hide the humor in her voice or the guilt in her eyes. "Do tell, Mr. Carmichael. Just what, exactly, have we been through?"
"You know what I'm talking about." I lean in to whisper conspiratorially. "The loving. The leaving. It might as well be daytime TV around here."
Michelle nods her understanding, sarcasm dancing through every move. "Wow. Sounds dramatic."
"It is dramatic. Just imagine you're me. You meet this beautiful woman. Hit it off. The chemistry is off the charts. The intellectual stimulation is…stimulating." I raise an eyebrow. "And then? Boom. She's gone. And I'm left to wonder just what she found so lacking in me that let her simp
ly walk away without an explanation."
Michelle's face falls. "It's not that at all," she says, taking my little joke way too seriously.
"Great." I grin. "Then go out with me tonight."
She hesitates, looking everywhere but my face.
"And you can't even use Claire as an excuse because she is nowhere to be found and nothing about the plain Greek Yogurt, sprouted bread, and—" I peer into her cart and make a funny face.,"—jelly beans tells me that she's going to be taking part in this nutritious dinner."
"Claire is spending the night with my mom tonight." She looks up at me shyly.
"Perfect. Then you can come to my house for dinner. I promise I'll prepare you something way better than a yogurt and jelly bean sandwich."
Before she has time to make even one excuse, I step into her space and kiss her. Yes, right there in the grocery store, and no, I don't give two shits who sees. Michelle melts into me, sighing with her whole body.
"I've missed that," she says when I'm done.
"Then that's a yes." I spin her around so we're walking in the same direction. "We'll have drinks. What do you think about Jack and Gingers?"
"Jack and who?"
"Jack and Ginger. It's a drink. Jack Daniels and ginger ale."
"I've never even heard of it before."
"Then that settles it. We'll grab some ginger ale on the way out." I head off towards the soda aisle before she can put up any resistance.
MICHELLE
"I got this," I say when we arrive in the soda aisle and I discover that the store brand ginger ale is on sale.
David raises an eyebrow. "You got what?"
"The ginger ale." I swipe a bottle off the shelf and put it in my cart next to the bread, proud to be able to contribute, even if it is in the smallest of ways. All the tweaks to my budget added up to mean my checking account has a little breathing room. I wouldn't go so far as to say that all my financial troubles are solved, but a two liter of off-brand ginger ale? Yeah, I totally got this.
