“Wow,” was all Cap could say at first.
“Yeah, talk about drama!” Leah shook her head. “That stuff doesn't happen very often, does it?”
“No, not physical fights,” he replied, starting the ignition in his truck and blasting the heater for their short ride down to the inlet.
“Not physical fights...but drama?” Leah questioned.
He was silent at first, as if he was attempting to frame his answer in a neutral way. “Oh, you know, any time there's sex, there's bound to be hurt feelings, jealousy, or misunderstandings on occasion, you know? Human nature and all.”
She considered his explanation. There was potential for all of the negative things he mentioned in just plain one-on-one sex, so obviously with so many more potential configurations, the chance of drama was also magnified. “Well, I'm just glad I was there.”
“You did an amazing job handling it,” Cap assured her. “Seriously, very calm and very in charge. I rather liked seeing that side of you!”
She grinned and looked over to see his dimples in the faint light that filtered into the cab of the truck. “Is that so? That turned you on?” she laughed at him.
“I think all the sides of you turn me on,” he confessed, putting his arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. “Especially if any of those sides are naked!”
Later that night she woke up with a relentless thirst and so stumbled out of bed to the kitchen to get a drink of water. She tiptoed back to bed so as not to wake the dogs and slid back under the blankets so that her body was pressed against Cap's back. She wrapped her arm around him and snuggled her face into his shoulder. She listened to his deep, steady breathing and suddenly she had a vision of him holding a baby. A tiny baby wrapped in a bundle of blankets, just as Natalie had been when she'd seen her last. That “sexist” prediction Cap had made “When you find the right man, you're going to want to have his baby” came rushing back to her. In the quiet of the cold February night, she conceded that he may have had a point.
FIFTEEN
The saying is trustworthy: If anyone aspires to the office of overseer, he desires a noble task. Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God's church -1 Timothy 3:1-5 ESV
She was sandwiched. One body beneath her, their flesh pressing together as if it would meld into one. Behind her was a steady and rhythmic application of force against her posterior. Inside she felt completely stuffed, filled by more than what she had ever experienced before, and there was so little room that the movements were restricted to very slight ones. A strong fist firmly gripped her hair like reins and she felt a drop of...sweat?...fall onto her back and roll down her side, tickling her...till it seeped between her torso and the body underneath, lubricating the joint where they met.
She arched her back as the fist clenching her hair pulled her away from the other body. Her breasts were released and she felt the cool air rush in against her skin and in the space where her soft, creamy globes had been smooshed against the solid, well-defined chest beneath her. The coolness evaporated off the hot sweat that had accumulated between them and her nipples hardened in the sudden chill. The body underneath her pulled her back down by her shoulders, just far enough so that the tip of his tongue could taste the points of her nipples, but not quite enough to suck them into his mouth like he wanted to. She was caught between both bodies, each pulling her in opposite directions but uniting at her core.
Suddenly the passage seemed wider, more forgiving. She heard a groan from behind her and the force increased, each thrust pushing her against the body underneath her who was now gripping her hips with strong fingers, his breath punctuated with grunts as he began to move his pelvis up toward her following the same rhythm as the body behind her.
The face below her came into focus and the voice was now recognizable. Cap was behind her and Jeremy, underneath. They were sharing her, both deriving pleasure from a single source in her body. The intensity she felt was because it was both of them together, stretching her walls as far as they could go. How did they talk me into this? she wondered. Am I drunk?
Before she could tend to another thought, pleasure spiked around her like a lightning bolt, sending her crashing through a narrow tunnel of impulses and spasms. The electricity it created sparkled like a shower of stardust raining down upon her. She felt suspended in space, tethered only to what was within but not a part of her.
"Leah?" She felt a hand gripping her shoulder, shaking her, then warm breath on her neck, in her face. "Leah? Are you okay?"
She sat up, still trembling, her throat parched and scratchy and beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. "Cap?" she asked, her voice barely squeaking out.
"Are you alright?" he reiterated, relieved to finally hear English coming out of her mouth in place of incoherent murmurs. "Were you having a bad dream?"
Her mind flooded with flashbacks, moon-drenched arms and chest muscles, deep moans and the slap of skin against skin. "Oh no," she revealed, as if she was as surprised to say it as he would be to hear it, "quite the contrary actually."
He settled down on his pillow and turned toward her, propping his head up with his hand. "Do tell!" he implored, intrigued by the lust emanating from her green eyes.
"I think I just had my first double penetration," she confessed, remembering the impossibly full feeling in her pussy, the delicious feeling of being stretched to her absolute limit.
Cap nearly gasped with surprise but covered it up with a, "Mmmmmm, regular or vaginal?" slipping through his lips as an erotic growl.
“Vaginal,” she replied, the word feeling a little foreign on her tongue. Did I just say that? her mind echoed back to her.
"I really have corrupted you, haven't I, Sugar?" He pulled her body to his so that her head rested on his shoulder and biceps.
"That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her last vestiges of innocence on full display.
"A very good thing," he assured her. "Now, quit dreaming of cocks and get some sleep, okay?"
"Aye, aye, Captain," she laughed and in a flash had drifted off again.
Leah stared at Barry, too stunned to speak. The best she could manage was to suck in the edge of her lip and bite down hard enough that it would prevent her from crying.
"Leah? What's wrong?" he asked, concern spreading across his face. "I just want to know why you were up on the 3rd floor at 1:30 AM. You look like I am firing you or something!” he laughed uneasily.
The perplexed expression painted on his face told her he wanted to believe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. He'd gone over the security guards' report of the incident in the third floor suite following Casey's event several times and it clearly stated that Guest Experience Strategist Leah Miller was on the scene. He'd squinted and reread.
"I just couldn't figure out why you'd stay at work so late unless you had a feeling something bad was going to happen after the party. And honestly, as lucrative as having her group book with us is, it's just not worth the risk if bad shit goes down. Not if it's going to be all over town that a bunch of swingers take over The Pearl once a month and the management condones it, you know? I mean, grown men fighting, Leah? I don't even know what would have happened if you hadn't been there to intervene...but I just don't get why you were."
During his speech, she'd run a list of competing strategies through her mind with computer-like speed and precision. When in doubt, honesty is the best policy, her mother's voice echoed in her head. It was followed closely by Aimee's voice instructing her to Deny, deny, deny. She turned to God with a simple, silent prayer: Please give me the right words to say, Father.
"Leah, is there something you want to share with me?" Barry asked, the edge o
f his voice tinged with condemnation after her pale, anxious face shattered his faith in the reasonable explanation theory. He seemed half-angry and half-incredulous that his star manager would ever cause him the slightest moment of worry.
"I'm dating someone in Casey's Group," Leah declared as if she was taking a stand on some groundbreaking political issue. She knew Cap would be proud of her for admitting it. She just hoped she wouldn't regret it.
Barry's reaction was not at all what she expected. Instead of disapproval, he burst into a wild explosion of laughter. "You?" he chuckled, struggling to recapture his breath, "You're dating a swinger?"
She glared at him through indignant emerald eyes. "I'm dating Chris Sheldon, and yes, he's a member of Casey's Group."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized, but he was still laughing. "I'm having a hard time picturing it, that's all. God, it's just too much!"
She stood tall, fighting the urge to put her hands on her hips and assume a defensive position. She instead made an attempt to gloss over his reaction, justifying her behavior with her dedication to professional obligations. "I happened to be at the right place at the right time. I'd just finished supervising clean up in the ballroom and Cap and I went upstairs to see how the after party was going. I heard shouting as soon as I got off the elevator and got in there as quickly as I could.”
Barry had finally regained his composure and the ramifications of all he'd just discovered began to coalesce. Leah could practically see his mind processing it, neuron by neuron and synapse by synapse. Casey's event resulted in a physical altercation. Leah stopped the altercation but was only there because she's now part of the group. Having his assistant general manager be part of a swinger group, especially one known for assaults, is not the best idea.
After drawing those conclusions, he was still at a loss for solutions. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, as if he was asking for her advice.
"I don't understand what the problem is,” Leah admitted. "Fights happen when people drink. They happen at bars, hotels, anyplace that serves alcohol. It's part of the territory."
"You told me Casey's Group was a charity organization, and it was all on the up and up," he argued, his tone leaning toward accusatory.
"And they are!" Leah fought back. "Casey is a very well-known local realtor. Cap is a respected local businessman. There are doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers and cops in the group too. Now I don't know about the guy who threw the punch but the guy who received it didn't even retaliate. Basically the entire situation was caused by one drunk, unreasonable guy. A newcomer to the group, if I understand it correctly. And Casey said she'd deal with him on her end. That's it. I've definitely seen worse from vanilla groups.”
"Vanilla?” His eyebrows raised, but he dismissed the unfamiliar terminology without comment. “Okay, okay," he sighed. "I trust your judgment, I do, Leah. I just feel a little uncomfortable with you participating, that's all. What if it impacts the reputation of The Pearl?"
I can't believe this is happening, Leah thought, her eyes threatening to well up with tears again, so insistently that no amount of lip biting was going to curtail their formation. "I didn't participate in anything here," Leah testified. "I wouldn't do that. It's not professional."
"But the group members know you work here," he stated. "What if one of them tells one of their friends and then that person tells someone else and then next thing you know, it's all over town? Ocean City is a pretty small place, you know."
"It's a small place to the locals," she agreed. "But let's face it, most of our clientele are from out-of-town. And not only that, and you may be surprised to hear this, but OC is a veritable mecca for lifestyle folks!"
"So, what are you suggesting, that we should cater to them?" he asked.
"I'm not suggesting that they be treated any differently than other guests," Leah clarified. "We have gay and lesbian guests pretty frequently. Would we treat them differently? What if I was a lesbian and that got spread around town? Would that impact The Pearl's reputation? This is the same thing. And even if we did have a reputation for being lifestyle friendly, it could translate into really big business, especially during the off season. I believe it already has. Our bookings are way up since Casey's Group started coming here."
Barry crossed his arms over his chest and studied Leah's face, as if he was trying to discern what had happened to the prim and proper ingénue he'd hired several years ago. But he couldn't form an argument to counter hers. She was right. Looking at the bottom line already indicated that the risk seemed to be paying off. "Okay," he conceded. "Like I said, I trust you. Just don't participate while you're working, and try to keep things hush hush. Remember that you represent The Pearl, alright?"
She nodded and silently turned to exit his office. As soon as the door closed behind her, the inevitable flood of tears blurred her vision until they came cascading down her inflamed cheeks. She'd never been reprimanded at work before. What the hell am I doing? she asked herself as she made her way back to her office as quickly as she could. What the hell am I doing?
She didn't feel like going to Cap's that night after work, but Glory was there, so she didn't have much of a choice. She dragged out the end of her work day, filing away some paperwork and cleaning out some other older files. She decided to give Aimee a call too, half-afraid to hear a hint of disappointment or judgment in her best friend's voice after she explained what had happened earlier in Barry's office. But maybe I'll get a pep talk instead, Leah hoped. A “you're not doing anything wrong, so fuck Barry” would be awesome right now.
Aimee sounded weary when she answered the phone but her voice pepped up once Leah explained that she had a work issue to discuss. She listened attentively, eager to hear of something happening in the real adult world she'd abandoned for motherhood. She handed Natalie off to her father when she got fussy in her lap. Leah was grateful to have her friend's undivided attention and that Aimee carefully considered her response rather than just spouting out the first retort that came to her mind, which is how she may have reacted in years past.
“That's a sticky wicket,” Aimee concluded once Leah's story was relayed from top to bottom.
“I know,” Leah agreed. “But I don't want to stop playing. I'm not ready to stop yet.” Her mind spun with images from her earlier dream about Cap and Jeremy. Just thinking about it sent sparks racing up and down her spine, causing every nerve in her body to dance an electrifying tango.
“Are you going to tell Cap?” Aimee asked.
“I'm not sure yet,” she replied, trying to imagine what he'd say. “Part of me is afraid he'd want to break up with me...because he wouldn't want to be responsible for me losing my job. And I know he wouldn't want to stop swinging either.”
Aimee was not much for beating around the bush, which was, naturally, one of the attributes Leah valued most about her friend. So she was not surprised when the elephant in the room was finally addressed: “Do you love him, Leah?”
Leah was positive the question would be posed at some point, by Aimee, by herself or by Cap, or by her mother if she ever found out Leah was dating someone. It had not been addressed by any of the parties until this moment, as far as she was aware. It was a testament that neither Cap nor Leah was ready to make at this juncture. To the latter, the whole idea of dissecting the deepest contents of her heart was making the organ beat wildly in rebellion. “I really don't know,” she confessed, trying to breathe and settle her heart back down into a normal rhythm. “I haven't thought about it very much.”
Aimee laughed. “You say you don't know and you haven't thought about it much as if it's something your mind can decide. It doesn't work like that, girlie. It's something you are going to 'feel,' not 'know.' It's going to be independent of whatever your brain wants.”
“Well, geez, Aimee, when did you become The Love Guru?” Leah giggled. Sometimes it was easier to laugh than to delve deep into the scar tissue that Will and Todd had left across her heart. “And anyway, what do
es that have to do with Barry?”
“I just think that if you really love Cap and he loves you that maybe you should quit the swinging stuff. At least for now. And just focus on each other. I mean, didn't you ask him to be exclusive for a while?”
“I did, but that was a month ago and our last agreement was to do same room only stuff. And I guess I'm okay with that,” Leah explained. “Of course, we haven't even done that yet; we haven't done anything since New Year's Eve other than going to Casey's event. But we didn't play. The altercation I took care of kinda ended the evening for us.”
“So how do you know that he's being faithful to that agreement?” Aimee questioned.
“What do you mean?” Leah laughed nervously, “I've been sleeping with him every night!”
“Sure, but people don't just knock the boots at night, you know! You're at work, what, 8 to 12 hours a day? And what does he do? I'm guessing he's not running a lot of charter fishing trips in the dead of winter, right?”
Leah felt a wave of nausea wash over her, chilling her so much that the hairs on her arms began to stand on end. What does Cap do all day? she wondered in a sudden panic, her mind reeling from Aimee's questions. She knew he had been meeting frequently with a web developer to redesign his shop's website. He had been over in Baltimore picking up new fishing and boat equipment a few times. He had done some inventory in his storeroom. But other than that, the winter was his downtime. It leaves him ample opportunity to meet up with someone, she surmised.
It was rare that she didn't dream up every possible anxiety-provoking scenario whether in the realm of work or her personal life. But here was a scenario she had refused to acknowledge until she was forced to. How do I know he's not playing without me? How can I be sure?
Fisher of Men Page 22
