by Sutton, Jacy
Mike was asleep down the hall. He was a hard sleeper, and with the NyQuil she was almost sure he wouldn’t wake. She laid her hand on her chest and, whether from heat or fear, she felt the too-rapid pounding. She grabbed the computer and, stepping carefully, crept down the hall to the guest bedroom. Then she locked the door behind her.
She sat on the double bed, a hand-me-down from Mike’s sister, setting the computer beside her. “Yes, Jake. Taking it off.” She slid her hands slowly down her chest, crossing them over her stomach. She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor in a heap.
“I kiss down your neck to your collarbone. Along it. And then down to the soft arc of your exposed breasts. My hands reach behind you. Unhook you. Release you.”
She slipped one bra strap down her shoulder. Then the other. She turned the bra backward and unclasped it.
“The sweet weight of your breast in my hand, Olivia” he continued. “Caress for me. Be my hands.”
Sitting half naked, her back against the wood headboard, Olivia tentatively raised her hand to her breast. Her body reacted as she stroked her own firm, warm skin, and she closed her eyes and let the physical sensation take over.
The sensation of touch coupled with the thought of his hands felt erotic, and she grasped herself harder, the way she expected he would—the way she wanted him to. She knew instinctively his hands would be calloused, faintly rough, large and strong.
The ping of a chat message broke the reverie. He wrote, “I feel you respond to my touch. Slide my hands underneath. Firm. Soft. Lean down and kiss you there. Take your lovely, creamy breast in my mouth.”
She read eagerly, massaging her breasts harder with each word, but it was the ache between her legs that became more pronounced.
“I touch your nipple with my tongue. And as I suckle at you, my hands slide down and grab your ass. Pull you into me and drive my leg between your thighs.”
He must have known the effect his words had because he typed, “Now take your hand and slip it down inside those tight little Levis you love to wear.”
With no hesitation, she slid one hand down her chest to the top of her jeans. The denim, soft from a thousand washings, felt smooth on her palm, and singlehandedly she unbuttoned her jeans.
“Olivia, are you touching?”
With her right hand she typed, “Yes.”
“Are you wet?” he asked.
Her finger grazed her inner thigh and she struggled to exhale before she moved her hand slowly to the sweet, moist softness. “Yes.”
“Pretend it’s my finger.”
“Mmmm,” she typed.
“Now I work those jeans down to the ground and then move my hands back up your legs. Separate your thighs. Mmm, silky little panties. I touch the material. Feel the heat beneath. Slide one hand inside your panties. Part you.”
She matched his heated words, touching where he would. How he would.
“I feel you respond. Slide my finger inside. Kiss you. Nibble. Liv, you are so ready.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she wrote. Olivia slid her finger deeper, relishing the decadence of reading his words and feeling her body come alive.
“I slide down your panties and push them to the floor. Now you can feel my hardness against you. Does that feel good?”
“Oh. Yes.” She could imagine how sexy it would feel to have his desire for her so clearly defined. “The button on your jeans is pressing into my naked skin,” she wrote.
“I’d better take them off.”
“I’ll help.”
“You are such a team player, Liv. Let’s move to the bed. I’ve got my jeans off now.”
“Boxers?” she typed.
“Yeah. Do you like those?”
“They’re fine, but let’s get rid of ’em.”
“Done,” he wrote. “I sit on the bed, naked. And I pull your sweet also-naked body to me. Kiss your lips as you climb on my lap. Your gorgeous breasts pressed against my chest. My hands everywhere. My lips everywhere.”
“Mmmmm,” she typed. Her hand grew more insistent.
“You spread your legs for me, and I slide deep inside you. Use two fingers, Liv so that you can feel me deep inside you.”
“Mmmm,” she wrote, as she said the same thing aloud.
“Liv, tell me when you come.”
And until she read his words she hadn’t even realized how exquisitely close she was.
“I’m thrusting inside you. And with each push, you feel something new. Something growing. Burning. You can’t stop. You’re shaking. So powerful.”
Olivia moved her hand more forcefully, the heat nearly boiling over.
“Liv, do you like the feel of my kisses? Hard? Demanding? Do you like the touch of my hands, exploring your warm, soft skin? Do you like the pulse of me thrusting into you, Olivia?”
“Yes.” It took all her strength to leave her own touch for a moment and type a response.
“The thought of you riding me,” he wrote. “Oh, Olivia. I want you. I need you. Olivia, come for me, babe. Please. Please.”
And in a blinding moment of release, she did, exploding in a glorious wave of sensation to his alluring words. She bit down on her left hand to silence the sounds of her pleasure.
He continued writing. “I’m thrusting deeper. Starting to tense. I’m driving into you, giving you what you want so badly.” There was a short break in his writing, and then he said, “Olivia, let me know when you come.”
Beaming a bedroom smile, she typed, “I did.”
“When?”
“A moment ago. When you told me to.”
“Oh,” he wrote, and it read like disappointment, but she couldn’t understand why.
“It was amazing,” she told him. “And it was from your words. Your erotic, passionate words.”
“I wanted to know when. The exact moment.”
“I should have written something. To let you know.”
“Yes,” he typed.
“Yes?”
“No,” he wrote. “Not yes. Too confusing. Something else.”
“Oh,” she responded.
“Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” he typed.
“Ooooooooooooooooooooooo. ’Kay.” She put a smiley face after, which was silly, but the evening seemed to be tending this way, and it did accurately express her present delight.
“What a way to blow off steam,” she read, and she sensed his buoyancy return.
She heard Daniel’s footsteps upstairs. He was likely just walking to the bathroom, but the sound alarmed her. “I should go to bed now,” she typed, then added, “Jake, that was an amazing date.”
“It was. A bit tough to say good night.”
“For me, too,” she wrote.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams,” she answered. She remembered telephone good nights to a high school boyfriend that had lasted nearly an hour. She waited to see if Jake would write back once more, but then she heard Daniel’s steps again, and she quickly logged out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHAT TIME DID YOU COME to bed last night?” Mike asked, walking into the bedroom.
Olivia stood half dressed in jeans and a utilitarian bra. She answered his reflection in the mirror as she jabbed at her eyelashes with half-dried mascara, badly in need of replacement.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess late,” she said, not catching his eye.
“What were you doing?” He walked to her and rubbed her shoulders.
“Just playing online.” Her stomach tightened, although her words were literally true.
“I wish you would have come to bed.” He kissed her neck.
“Mike,” she said, her voice like needles.
He sighed audibly, hunched his shoulders, and turned away.
“Tonight,” she said, forcing herself to kindness. “I’m late for work now.”
“I can’t tonight.”
“Why?”
“I’m working on a food story for that South Dakota outdoors m
agazine. I have to do some cooking and take photos.”
“We’ll have time after dinner.” She turned from the mirror to look at the real him.
“We’re not cooking here.”
“Who’s we?”
“I’m working with Jo. I figured it wouldn’t be as intrusive to your evening.”
“Joe?”
“The intern. I told you. From the Outdoors Consortium. At Jo’s aunt’s house, actually. I guess she’s got a restaurant-quality kitchen.”
“Oh,” Olivia said.
“Big divorce settlement.”
Olivia nodded, mostly to Mike’s back as he stepped out of the room. Honestly, she hadn’t really kept up with most of the conversation. She didn’t remember him mentioning an intern and wasn’t sure who was divorced. It must be she wasn’t paying close enough attention these days. She turned back to her dresser and rummaged for a sweater to wear. Pulling out the burnt orange one with the ruffled cuff, she chided herself, thinking tonight when Mike got home she’d ask him more questions.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A FEW DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING, Olivia, along with Nancy and her two daughters, braved the crowds at the mall. The four were rewarded with charming Christmas decorations, piped-in holiday music and wall-to-wall people. The girls pushed past shuffling senior citizens and beleaguered young families saddled with strollers, heading strategically to Forever 21, home of cheaply made, gaudy, tiny, trendy outfits. They arrived at the store’s welcoming double doors, then took off like puppies set free in a park.
Nancy stopped in front of a slinky, sequined something. “Is this a shirt?” she asked, holding it against her chest. “Or a dress?”
Olivia glanced around at the young women shopping, took in their outfits, and said, “I’m going with dress.”
“Ugh.” Nancy hung it back on the rack. “I’m sorry to drag you in here.”
Olivia gave an it’s-nothing shoulder shrug, but secretly she loved the store’s glittery audaciousness. Shopping with Daniel, or Mike, was an exercise in brevity. How few shirts could you try on? Should you choose the jeans dyed midnight or indigo? And if Olivia were ever to stop and thumb a sweater or blouse, a groan like an old man wheezing his last breath would be uttered, and a grumbled, “You’re not going to look around now, are you?” asked in exasperation.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be long,” Nancy said. “I told the girls we need to be back by two to let the dog out.”
Olivia’s head snapped up. “Since when do you have a dog?”
“It’s not our dog. It’s Gus. You know, Brad’s dog.”
“Why is Brad’s dog at your house?”
“Brad’s on an all-day motorcycle ride with friends. They’re going to Wisconsin, and he didn’t want Gus to be alone. Plus, the girls love having him over.”
“Do you watch Gus a lot?”
“We’ve watched him about half a dozen times. I’ve gotten used to taking my walks with him, and now when I’m dogless, it feels lonesome.”
Just as Olivia began to pose the question of how often Nancy walked with Gus, and if all the walks included Brad, the girls reappeared. Olivia was struck again by how beautiful they were. It seemed to Olivia that all girls today shared porcelain-clear skin, perfect smiles, and straight noses. Jackie, at twelve, was tall like her mother, with a slim, no-belly no-butt figure. Liza, a year younger than Daniel, stood shorter than her sister, but had a perfect hourglass shape and long curls cascading down her back. Liza’s goal in life, at sixteen, was to ensure every man, woman and child on the planet dressed fabulously. And when Olivia went along on a shopping trip, Liza found as many things for Olivia to try on as she did for herself.
Liza returned now, her arms overstuffed with hangers and choices. “Olivia, these are for you,” she said, handing her the bulk of the pile. “And, Mom, I found you some leggings and three scarves. This one would be perfect with that red cashmere sweater.”
“Why do you always find more for Olivia?” Nancy asked, looking at her meager haul.
“Olivia’s got the body for this place. She’s short. And toned,” Liza said, whispering the last part to Olivia.
“What she’s really saying is I’m suited for cheap fabrics, and you look good in cashmere,” Olivia said.
For Olivia, Liza had chosen some knit tops, an oversized white sweater, a pair of high-heeled boots, and a skimpy, lacy teal dress. Olivia liked the dress right away and tried it on first. It was form fitting, hugging her breasts and emphasizing them with little cut outs around the neckline. She turned to look at her butt in the mirror. She liked the outline. Damn, the dress made her feel good about herself. Just the little belly bulge gave away that she was not a teenager. She paraded out of the dressing room to show Nancy and Liza.
“O-liv-i-a!” Liza shrieked. “You look hot!”
“It does look great, Olivia, but where would you wear it?” Nancy asked.
Liza reached for the price tag, holding it up to her Mom, “It’s only thirty bucks. You should get it, Olivia. Have Mike take you out to celebrate.”
“To celebrate what?” Olivia asked.
“To celebrate this great dress,” Liza deadpanned, shaking her head at Olivia’s thick-headedness.
Jackie called to Liza from across the store, and Liza went to her sister, leaving Olivia and Nancy alone.
“I have a belly,” Olivia said, turning in front of the mirror, checking different angles.
“Babies do that to you,” Nancy said. “But you do look good.”
Olivia continued checking different perspectives in the mirror, standing on her tiptoes to mimic high heels. “This would be fun to wear out on a date,” she said, nearly giggling.
“You and Mike could go to that new sushi place uptown.”
Olivia deflated slightly, falling back to flat feet.
“You were going to bring Mike on the date, weren’t you?” Nancy asked.
Olivia looked in the mirror once more, and then turned to her friend. “Did you ever Snowball?”
“What?”
“When I was a kid, I used to go to this roller rink every weekend, all through seventh and eighth grade. And they’d have the Snowball Dance. You’d start with one partner. Skate a bit. The boy would hold your hand. Or maybe put his arm around your waist if he were really confident.” Olivia smoothed at the nap of the dress. “After a few minutes, the DJ would come on the loudspeaker and shout ‘Snowball,’ and everyone would go pick someone new.”
“Yes?” Nancy asked, tilting her head as if trying to catch Olivia’s meaning.
“Sometimes I just wish….” She turned back to the mirror. “I just wish someone would shout ‘Snowball,’ and for a moment, I could just glide away.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
MIKE AND DANIEL ANNOUNCED they were going to play a game of driveway basketball, so Olivia volunteered to clean up the dinner dishes after a quick email check. And, of course, being online, she opened up Facebook to nose around for a fast minute.
A message popped up as soon as she logged on.
“Hey there,” Jake wrote. It was the most casual of greetings, and yet Olivia felt it everywhere, so much so, she had to bite down on her lower lip and cross her legs.
“I can chat for a bit now,” he said, “or come back later.”
“Later,” she typed, glancing over at the dirty kitchen and thinking the late evening afforded a measure of privacy not possible just now.
“Okay, later it is.” There was a pause, and then he wrote, “Olivia, you’re not thinking about doing what we did the other night again, are you?”
She felt as if he had just taken her by the shoulders and vigorously spun her in the opposite direction, then gave her a swat on the butt for good measure.
“No. Not at all.”
“Okay. Today went well?” he asked.
“Very good. Yes.”
He didn’t respond for a moment and then he wrote, “A minute ago.…”
“Mmm hmmm?”
“
When you said ‘no’ about the other night, were you fibbing?”
She tapped her index finger against her lip, took a deep breath and typed, “Yes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE NEXT NIGHT, Daniel made it home by eight, but only lingered in the kitchen long enough to grab a granola bar and Gatorade, mumbling something about practice going too long and overdue homework.
“What did he say?” Mike asked from below the sink, where he was screwing and unscrewing valves in an effort to stop a leaky pipe.
“I think school and swimming are overwhelming him at the moment,” Olivia said, standing backed up against the center island, supervising the toolbox and waiting for further instructions.
Mike made a noise that either meant he sympathized with his son or that water was dripping on him. Olivia was about to ask for clarification when her phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered.
“What?” Mike shouted.
“Deborah needs to be more lifelike,” Ruth said, beginning where she normally did, halfway through the conversation.
“Nothing, Mike,” Olivia stage whispered, covering the phone so as to not be overheard by Ruth. Then, speaking into it again, she said, “Yes?”
“The hook is that she was a real woman,” Ruth said. “A hero. Expand on the time she spent as an indentured servant. That makes it clearer why she was willing to take this risk.”
“I need a wrench,” Mike said.
“Okay,” she answered both of them.
“The background you’re giving about the Continental Army is too damn detailed,” Ruth continued. “A twelve-year-old won’t wade through that.”
The criticism settled sharply in Olivia’s abdomen. “Mmm hmm,” she said.
“Are you getting all this down? I have a few more things.”
“Was there anything you liked?” Olivia asked, her voice high and tinny.
“Is this upsetting you?”
“It’s just…well,” Olivia said.
“Wrench, please,” Mike said.
“Olivia, get over it. I’m not criticizing you. I’m telling you to rewrite a few damn scenes so we can get this thing published.”
