by Amy Brent
All of those things still reminded me of home, at least the concept of home as I defined in my mind, though I knew in my heart that version of home was a place I’d never visit again.
Two thousand years ago, the Roman philosopher known as Pliny the Elder (probably just Pliny to his friends) said, “Home is where the heart is.” I didn’t know if that was true or not, but I’d go with that philosophy for now. It sure felt like I was home back at Midwestern with Holden.
My parents had been dead for nearly a decade and I had no siblings. The bank took the house when they died, and I had never bothered to put down roots anywhere I’d lived since college.
The beach house in Malibu was the first house I had ever purchased outright, and I bought it more as an investment than with the thought of making it my home. Most of my time had been spent sleeping on Holden’s couch until he bought a bed for his spare room and dubbed it my space. I was glad he did. It felt like home. It was the best night’s sleep I had had in a very long time, even if it was filled with visions and dreams of Jude.
Seeing her in the bubble bath with her pink plump nipples peeking out at me was almost more than I could stand. It took every ounce of willpower not to tear off my clothes and jump in the tub with her and Holden. But I could tell by the look in her eye that she still was not sure that having sex with us both, either separately or at the same time, was such a good idea.
Some people found it difficult—if not downright impossible—to separate the emotional drive from the sexual drive, even though they were clearly two completely different parts of the brain.
Science would probably never concisely be able to separate the two, so why should we mere mortals even try?
There was no wrong and right.
It was not a matter of black and white.
It just came down to how people were wired.
People either related love to sex—and vice versa— or they didn’t. The in between was a gray area of many different shades. Sadly, most people, i.e. men, tried to use the divide between emotions and sex to defend their infidelity by saying things like, “She meant nothing to me. It was just sex.”
While the statement was probably true (guys like that usually lacked emotions on any level), that was usually just the guy trying to beg his way out of getting caught sticking his cock in a pussy that did not belong to his wife.
Yes, you can have sex without getting emotions involved.
Yes, you can have sex with someone without attaching feelings to it.
Feelings like love and jealousy and commitment and resentment and possessiveness.
It was possible to have sex just for the sake of doing so, to satisfy the most primal of urges in all of us. I fuck because I like to fuck. I fuck because that’s what my body tells me to do. I fuck because it fucking feels good.
That does not mean I must possess those I fuck or vice versa.
Hmmm…
I think I just came up with the topic for my next book…
As I knew I would, I dreamt of Jude all night long, her naked body covered in bubbles, her nipples peeking through, her eyes dreamy as they lingered on mine, her lips on the wine glass, smiling at me.
I explored every inch of her in my dreams, and when the sun shined through the window waking me at seven o’clock in the morning, I had a raging hardon. My cock was so hard it throbbed with my heartbeat. It literally felt like it was going to burst.
I raised my head off the pillow and listened for a minute. The house was still quiet. The only sound was my own frustrated breathing. I wondered if Jude was still in bed with Holden; naked, her long legs wrapped around his, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting casually on his sleeping cock.
I closed my eyes and pictured her lying in bed naked while Holden slept beside her. She was on her back with her eyes closed but smiling. Her left hand was on her left breast, kneading the flesh, pinching the nipple so hard it turned crimson between her fingers. Her right hand was at her shaved pussy (all pussies are shaved in my imagination). Her legs were spread wide. She was pointing her toes, biting her lower lip. She was rubbing her clit. Her pussy glistened as hot oil seeped from deep within her well.
I inhaled deeply and could smell the salty tang of her pussy. I licked my dry lips and imagined it was her tongue at work. I wrapped my hand around my cock and started to slowly milk myself, squeezing tight, rolling the thin skin over the hard muscle from sack to tip. I closed my eyes and watched Jude do the same.
She had both hands at her pussy now. She was holding open her pussy lips with two fingers on her left hand while the fingers of her right hand rubbed all around her hole, lubricating her hand with her juices.
She moaned as the two fingers pulled back the hood of her clit to expose the little pink man in the boat. She rolled her fingers over the nub and her body went rigid.
She sighed my name.
My right hand started milking my cock faster as my left hand kneaded my ball sack. Her fingers went back to her pussy. She spread her pussy lips again and slowly slid two fingers inside her wet, hot hole. I felt my balls twitch as I slid my finger down my taint and rubbed the tender spot between my asshole and balls. The orgasm was building inside me, threatening to erupt at any moment. It would be a marvelous release.
Jude started plunging the two fingers in and out, in and out. She licked her lips and slid in another finger, then another. I sped up my hand on my cock as I imagined Jude plunging the four fingers in and out of her beautiful pussy, ramming them in to the knuckle and back out again. Her hand quickly became drenched with her juices.
“Fuck… Fuckkkkk…”
I moaned as the hot load shot from my cock, sending milky ropes into the air and splashing back down on my stomach and chest. I imagined Jude coming at the same time, squirting, gushing, teeth gnashing, groaning my name.
I milked my cock until there was nothing left to give, then blew out a long breath and opened my eyes. I glanced toward the closed door, almost expecting Jude to be standing there. Sadly, she wasn’t. I closed my eyes to find her smiling at me in my mind.
I blew out a long breath and with my hand still on my cock, and my stomach covered in jizz, paddled off the bathroom to take a hot shower to start my day.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Wynn
I was sitting at the table in Holden’s kitchen nursing a cup of black coffee when Jude appeared at the doorway. I was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting black silk boxers. Jude was wearing a long white t-shirt and nothing else. Her thimble-like nipples poked through the thin cotton material and there were no panty lines that I could see. She had obviously just woken up and put the t-shirt on. Or maybe she wore it to bed. Either way, I couldn’t help imagining what she would look like with it off. Her hair was messy, and her eyes were puffy. She rubbed them like a little kid and gave me a smile.
“Good morning,” I said, getting up from the table to hold out a chair for her. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thanks,” she said, sitting down with a heavy sigh. She stretched out her long limps and groaned, then narrowed her eyes at the coffee maker sitting on the counter. “Is there coffee?”
“There is,” I said, already moving toward the pot. “Would you like a cup?”
She gave me a sleepy smile. “Oh my god, yes, please.” She rubbed her cheeks between her hands and glanced around the kitchen. Holden’s empty cup was still on the table. “Has Holden left already?”
“He had to get to the seminar early to help set up,” I said as I took down another cup and filled it with black coffee. I set the cup in front of her and took the chair across the table. “I make it pretty strong. Strong enough to jumpstart my system. Do you take sugar and cream?”
“No, black is fine,” she said, pushing hair from her eyes and reaching for the cup. “I learned to drink it black my freshman year. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters to keep up back then.”
“That’s the way it is with a lot of us,” I said, nodding, remembering my own freshma
n year that seemed a lifetime ago. “I just hooked up an IV bag and had Holden pour in gallons of black coffee to keep me awake.”
“I can just picture him doing that,” she said with a sweet smile that told me she truly liked my boy Holden, and was not just using him for sex (okay, that was hard to say with a straight face).
I smiled at her and she smiled back. Even with the puffy eyes and a crease from the pillow down the side of her face, Jude was strikingly beautiful. The photos that Holden had sent me did not do her justice. Selfies during sex rarely do. I couldn’t wait to see her naked body for myself.
She had a sleepy, hungover look about her that made me ask, “Too much vino last night?”
“Yeah, I think I drank a little too much last night,” she said, picking up the cup and holding it to her lips so she could blow cool air across it. “Holden and I had been at it quite a while before you arrived… I mean… well… you know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said, giving her a playful look with the cup to my lips. “Define ‘at it’ for me.”
When she smiled her entire face lit up. “Well, let’s just say that we had not seen each other in a few days and we were trying to make up for lost time.” She took a sip of the hot coffee and smacked her lips. “I guess Holden told you about what happened with Keith Calloway.”
My head slowly nodded on its own. I had known Professor Keith Calloway from my time at Midwestern before moving away. He was a world class prick that preyed on female students. He and I had almost come to blows several times over his harassment of students I happened to be sleeping with. I was shocked to learn that he was still teaching at Midwestern when Holden told me about Jude’s involvement with him, but I feigned ignorance to see what she would tell me.
“Holden mentioned something about Calloway, but nothing specific,” I said, sipping the coffee as if making casual conversation. “Care to tell me what happened?”
Her shoulders went up and down as she sighed. It made her melon tits bounce in the shirt. “Well, sad to say, I got involved with Keith a while back, not knowing that he was married. His wife found out about us and all hell broke loose. I ended things, but he kept after me. I told him to leave me alone, and even swore out a restraining order, but it didn’t do much good. He tried to attack me a while back and Holden saved me. If he hadn’t come along when he did, well… who knows.”
“And that caused you to reevaluate your life and relationships,” I said knowingly, sounding very much like the head shrinker that I was trained to be.
She blinked at me. “Yes, how did you know? Did Holden say something?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s what I’m trained to do, remember?” I gave her my best professional look and held out my hands. “When someone experiences a traumatic event, such as getting attacked or injured, it is normal for that person to reevaluate their life, their priorities, and their relationships, especially when it was a relationship that led to the event.”
She gave me a sideways grin. “Wow, so you really are a doctor of psychiatry? Good looking and educated.”
That made me chuckle. “Yes, believe it or not, I am not just a pretty face,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, what you experienced was perfectly normal. You needed the time to work through, and apparently now you have. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving me a little nod.
I took another sip of coffee and arched my eyebrows. “What’s the deal with Keith now?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The restraining order is still in place, and he’s locked up for at least thirty days for violating it. Beyond that, he will probably get out on bail pending charges for assault. I really hate that he’s going through this. I don’t want him locked up. But I hope he has finally learned his lesson and will leave me alone.”
“Keith is where he is because of Keith,” I said seriously. “Do not feel bad for the guy.”
“I know, that’s what Holden says,” she said with a quiet sigh. “Still, I can’t help but feel partially to blame. I mean, he had a wife and kids. And now…”
“I remember Keith Calloway from before I left,” I said, shaking my head. “Keith was always a bit of a prick, but I can’t imagine him wanting to spend much time in jail. I’m sure he got the message.”
“I hope so,” she said, staring down into her cup. “I sure hope so.”
That fucking prick… I was suddenly filled with rage toward Keith Calloway. I wanted to drive to the jail, bail him out, then beat the living shit out of him and make sure he never bothered Jude again.
It was odd, having such feelings of protection for a woman I didn’t really know. But Holden had confided in me that there was something special about Jude, something that made him want to take her in his arms and protect her from the world.
Watching her eyes tear up across the table I understood exactly what he meant. There were women so precious you just wanted to protect them. And slaughter anyone who threatened them in any way. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Then make gentle love to her, just me and her. No theatrics. No weirdness. No swinging from the rafters. Just simple, sweet love.
“You look a little pissed,” she said, smiling at me.
“Do I?” I asked, rubbing the tension from my forehead with my fingertips.
“You do.”
I shrugged. “Well, guys like Keith piss me off.”
That made her smile. “I know. They piss me off, too.”
“So, tell me something good about your life,” I said, attempting to redirect the energy of our conversation because I had truly managed to bum her out.
She gave me an inquisitive look. A strand of hair fell across her forehead. I resisted the urge to brush it behind her ear. “Something good about my life?”
I tried to match the warmth of her smile and held out my hands. “Yes, tell me something good. Holden tells me you have an incredibly bright future and might even become a psychiatrist.”
Thankfully, the light returned to her eyes. “Oh, yes, that’s what I’m thinking now,” she said, nodding. “I have a few months of grad school left, then I’m thinking about getting my doctorate and opening a practice here at Midwestern.”
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Do you have a focus for the practice or will you do general psychiatry?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said, frowning in thought. I watched her tongue go around her lips. I felt my cock twitch in my boxers. “I’m thinking that sex therapy might be interesting.” She picked up her cup and took a sip, then looked me dead in the eye as she licked coffee from her lips. “What do you think? Is sex therapy a good field to go into these days? For individuals and couples? Or maybe… more?”
I smiled because we were back on track and I could tell she had brought up the topic to tease me a little. I said, “Well, as you might know, I’m a big fan of therapy and a bigger fan of sex. And considering that most of the world’s problems stem from sex, I think that’s a great path to follow.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked.
“Do I really believe what?”
“That most of the world’s problems stem from sex?”
I shrugged at the question. “Well, think about. Wars have been fought over sex. Men kill for sex. Many crimes pertain to sex. Most betrayal stems from sex.”
“As does most happiness,” she said with a grin. “You make the world sound like such a dark place.”
“The world can be a dark place, and the most common denominator among people on the planet is sex,” I said, shifting into professor mode without even thinking about it. “Most people want to have sex, some more than others, some will do unspeakable things to get sex, and some focus so harshly on sex that they allow it to destroy their lives.”
“You have a very cynical view of sex and the world,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Especially for a guy who makes a very good living writing and speaking about s
ex.”
“Oh, I’m not cynical about sex,” I said with a smile. “I am cynical about human beings and how they use sex to get what they want or hurt one another or satisfy some dark need. Or those who use it as a tool or as a power to hold over others.”
“So, you’re cynical about people, but not cynical about sex.”
“Correct.”
“So, sex is great, but people suck.” She said it and arched her eyebrows over the cup. “I can agree to that.”
“Are you ever cynical about sex?” I asked, lobbing the ball back into her court.
“Sometimes, I’m cynical about my own motives and sexuality,” she said, her eyes turning serious.
“Can you elaborate?” I asked.
She grinned at me. “Jeez, when did this become a therapy session?”
“Humor me,” I said with a smile. “I need the practice for this weekend.”
“Ah, I see.” She let her eyes drift slowly around my face. “Fine. What was the question again?”
“I asked if you’d care to elaborate on being cynical about your own sexuality.”
