Commitment

by Golland, K. M.

  “Ahhh … this!” Lucy waved her hand among us all then, with exaggeration, popped a chip in her mouth. “I just love this. This is what fish ‘n’ chip Saturday is all about.”

  I smiled.

  I also understood what was so good about Bryce’s fish ‘n’ chips.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dean

  After we’d eaten dinner and cleaned up, Bryce took me down to his private basement car park, or more accurately: car museum. I’d been there before, but fuck me dead it was a man’s wet dream. We’re talkin’ Porsche, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Bel Air, Mercedes Benz … a goddamn McLaren.

  “I’m an honest guy,” I said, scrubbing my hand over my face, “which is why I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t serious movement in my pants right now.”

  He slapped me on the back, nice and manly. “I can appreciate that.”

  “Good. Just wanted to clear that up.” I turned my head from one side to the other, treating my eyes to some serious machinery. “You’re gonna need another basement car park soon by the looks of it.”

  “Got it covered.” He put his hands in his pockets and casually walked ahead.

  “Yeah, I have no doubt.” I followed behind him like a kid in a candy store. “Can I ask you a favour?”

  “You’re not borrowing the Reventon,” he interrupted.

  I chuckled, nervously. “Na, na. That’s not what I’m talking about.” I stopped walking. “But hang on a minute … are you saying I can borrow a different one then? Seriously?”

  “Sure. No fucking on the exterior, though. Unless you know a real good panel beater.”

  I shook my head, bewildered. “Of course not. Who’d be crazy enough to fuck on these beauties?’

  “Lex and I have fucked on every single one of them.”

  There was so much confidence in his voice. There was also a shit load of ‘and I don’t give a fuck about it, either’. Then again, if I had as much money as him, I’d be that confident too.

  “You’ve fucked on all of them? How the hell did you manage tha—” I rounded the corner, unable to finish my own sentence for almost blowing a load in my pants. Eleanor. Oh, sweet, sexy Eleanor. “Oh yeah. Nice. She’s perfect; sleek, shiny, delicate and dangerous.” My hand shot out to caress her, but I hesitated and held it back. “Mm mmm. Curves in all the right places.”

  Bryce laughed. “Do you need a moment?”

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  “Go on then, take one. Open her up.”

  “For real?”

  “Of course.”

  I grasped the handle and pushed the release button, swinging the door open and feeling the weight of what a car door should weigh. It was heavy. Fierce. Eleanor felt like a vehicle, and nothing like the imported plastic crap that a lot were made from nowadays.

  Lowering myself into her driver’s seat, I took in the pristine interior and then simply sunk into what could only be described as pure bliss covered in sheer fucking envy. What I wouldn’t give to be Bryce Edward Clark: billionaire, smirk extraordinaire, and owner of some serious carporn.

  “You really do have everything, don’t you?”

  He appeared at the passenger side window. “What?”

  “I said you really do have everything, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I have a lot. But you and I both have what’s important.”

  “With all due respect, that’s easy to say when you’re you.”

  “What is it you want that you don’t have?”

  “Eleanor, for starters.”

  He scoffed but then smiled. “She’s just a car.”

  “A really fucking nice car.”

  “Fair enough. What else don’t you have?”

  “Errr … I don’t know. Maybe a few billion dollars, a fucking awesome sex life, and a six pack. Na, scrap that. I’d be happy with a two pack.”

  “Well, Deano, it just so happens I can help you with all of that.”

  I laughed and placed my hands on the steering wheel. “Yeah? How so?”

  “You need a loan to invest? I’ll gladly tee something up. You want to get fit? Come train with me. You want an awesome fucking sex life? Tell me what’s wrong with the one you have?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t have one.” I turned my head and met his stare. “And I was kidding ‘bout the billionaire dollars. But thanks for the offer.”

  “Well, I wasn’t kidding. The offer still stands. Same as the personal training.” He opened the passenger side door and took a seat beside me. “Now, this sex life … what are we talkin’ about here? Once or twice a week?”

  This time I full-on belly laughed. It was sad. Really fucking sad. “Try once or twice every couple of months.”

  There was silence for a moment, and I was almost afraid to check whether or not he was still breathing.

  “You havin’ issues gettin’ it up?”

  “No!”

  “Tash got woman problems?”

  “No. Well … she gets headaches, cramps, sore throats and other shit. But every woman gets that.”

  Bryce sucked in a deep breath and forcefully blew it out of his nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “What? Me? Nothing. I want sex. Tash doesn’t. And when she does want it, it’s husband and wife sex, which I’m not complaining about. It’s just always the same.”

  “What the hell is husband and wife sex?” His face was twisted with horrified confusion.

  “Ya know … or maybe you don’t. But it’s ‘let’s kiss, I’ll slip it in and out a few times, and then we’ll come together, quietly, all while the kids are asleep’.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head in disbelief.

  Shame swept over me like an icy breeze, and I felt as if I’d let him down, like he was a father with high expectations and I was the failure of a child. I also felt the dire need to redeem myself. “BUT …” I added, enthusiastically. “I fucked her doggy style this afternoon, right after she gave me head.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

  He remained impassive, almost annoyed. “Firstly, this is all your fault—”

  “What? How?”

  “Fuckin’ oath it is. And I’ll tell you why.” This’ll be good.

  I crossed my arms and listened.

  “Who wears the pants in the relationship, Dean?”

  “We both do.”

  “Good answer, but you’re wrong. You don’t. Tash does.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  I waited for him to continue.

  “Uncross your arms.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, apparently, you wear the pants. Pant-wearers don’t cross their arms like pussies.”

  He had a point.

  I uncrossed them.

  “Look, mate, it’s really quite simple, so pay attention.”

  I waved my hand for him to continue. “Go ahead. Enlighten me.”

  “Women don’t think they want sex but they do. Men know they want sex but, more often than not, have no fucking clue how good it is when women have the type of sex that they want but don’t know they want.”

  “Huh?” I was back to feeling so fucking confused.

  “Okay, put in simpler terms … Men and women want the same type of sex but fuck it up for different reasons. Women tend to be preoccupied with irrelevant shit. They make excuses they believe are legitimate. For instance, the kids are awake, the dishes need to be done, I haven’t shaved, I don’t have time … my fat bits jiggle when we’re doing it.”

  “Shit!” I laughed, astounded. “You sounded just like Tash then. She wouldn’t let me go down on her today because she hadn’t shaved.”

  “That’s a whole other story. We’ll get to that another day.”

  I nodded, now intrigued as to what else he had to say. “Okay. And what about men? What do we fuck up?”

  “Not ‘we’. I don’t fall into that category because I don’t fuck anything up. I ha
ve sex with Lexi whenever I want, which just so happens to be whenever she wants, too. It’s you and a shit load of other non-pant-wearing poor bastards that fuck it up. And here’s why … because it’s your job to make her realise that she does want it.”

  I furrowed my brow. “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, but how do I do that, especially if she’s hell bent against it? No means no.”

  “Yes, of course it does. That goes without saying.”

  So. Fucking. Confused.

  “So when does no mean yes?”

  “Never. No always means no.”

  I dragged my hands through my hair, frustrated. Sex shouldn’t be this bloody hard.

  “Look, it’s not about you asking for it or telling her she really does want it. She’s got to tell you that SHE wants it. And she’ll do that when she realises that she does.”

  “But how does she realise that if she thinks she doesn’t want it?”

  “Her body.”

  “What about it?”

  “Don’t say that again.”

  “What …‘what about it’?”

  “Yes. A woman’s body, especially your wife’s, shouldn’t be dismissed like that. Her body is everything to you. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” Shit! He’s for real.

  “Her body will tell her mind that she wants it, like it’s supposed to. Not the other way around.”

  “But how does her body tell her mind that she wants it?”

  “Easy. You’ll tell her body.” Oh for the love of fucking God.

  “Riiiiight. So I’ll just mosey on up to her pussy and say ‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you sleeping. I just thought you should know that it’s time to wake up and eat some cock.’”

  Bryce burst into laughter, and not just ‘ha ha, that was a good one’ laughter. He burst into uncontrollable, gut clenching, rumbles. “Deano, you’re good value. I mean that. But you’re the one that needs to wake up and eat some cock.”

  “Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

  “If you’re not gonna use the cock you’ve got, you need to hurry the fuck up and consume another one. One you can put to use.”

  I sighed. He was smartarse. “Whatever, come on. Back to the body telling the mind bullshit.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not bullshit, mate. It’s the key. Her body, like ours, is covered in little trip wires of pleasure. You gotta figure out what trips those wires.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “With this.” He pointed to his mouth.

  “Kissing?”

  “Sure. But more so, words. You’ve also got to use these.” He pointed to his eyes. “And these.” He lifted his hands.

  “Okay, hands, I get. Hands can physically trip her wires.”

  “Correct.”

  “But eyes?”

  “Your eyes can let her body know your intentions. Foreplay, Deano. Always foreplay.”

  “I do foreplay.”

  “You probably do boreplay.”

  I wanted to punch the fucker, but I knew he’d kill me in seconds.

  “Words?” I huffed. “Explain the words bit.”

  “They’re the most important part. Choose the right ones, and you have the potential to trip every single one of her wires.”

  “And how do I know what are the right ones?”

  “Whisper words that steal her breath, her cognition … her soul.”

  “Like what?”

  He ran his hand along the door trim. “Tell me, have you ever gone up to Tash and said ‘You’re perfect; sleek, shiny, delicate and dangerous. Mm mmm. Curves in all the right places’?”

  I swallowed, heavily, my throat all of a sudden dry. “No.”

  “And yet you had no problem saying it to a 1967 Shelby Ford Mustang GT500?” Fuck!

  “Point taken,” I said, disappointed with myself.

  “Look, mate. All you gotta do is make her feel sexy, really feel sexy. She’s gotta believe it. She’s gotta believe that you believe it. That just her being her drives you crazy beyond all measure, that you want nothing more than to be inside her and all around her. If you do that with your eyes, words and hands, I guarantee you’ll trip her wires every time.”

  I nodded, finally getting it.

  “When you look at her and just the mere sight dries your throat, or when she says and does mundane things that cause your heart to fucking flip inside your chest, tell her that. Tell her what you’re seeing and feeling. Tell her what it does to you. Hold her like you never want to let go. Touch her like you’re the only man who can, because you aren’t and you should be — never forget that. And then reinforce all of it with just your eyes. That’s it.”

  There was silence until Bryce broke it with the opening of Eleanor’s door. I followed suit and got out. “I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”

  “Yeah. But you’re only male.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Alexis’s. Always. And you should be on Tash’s.”

  “You’re right. I’ve let us both down.”

  “Then fix it. What’s broken can always be fixed.”

  “Not always,” I said, lacking conviction.

  “Yes, always. It depends on how much effort you put in and whether or not you give up.”

  “She’s my life. I’d never give up.”

  “Good man. All you need now is to start wearing the pants.”

  “I wear the pants, Bryce.”

  He gave me a look, and again I wanted to punch him. But deep down I knew he was right. All of what he said was right. I needed to pick up my game and let Tash know just how sexy she was, how much I needed and wanted her, and how much I loved her, appreciated her, and couldn’t live without her.

  I needed to fuel our flame.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tash

  The term ‘on edge’ was to feel highly-strung and irritable. Kinda like suffering a highly-strung, tightly pulled wedgie up the crack of your irritable bowel laden arse. Understandably, it wasn’t a nice feeling and certainly not one I’d wish upon anyone but my worst enemy … and Donald Trump … and perhaps the guy down the road who kept allowing his cocka-shitzu-poodle-spaniel fluffball fucker to defecate all over my front lawn.

  But it was a feeling I’d become familiar with over the past few weeks — none more so than during the short walk from the staff carpark to Lexi and Bryce’s apartment. Every step I’d taken at the City Towers complex had been akin to walking the unstable fringe of a cliff ledge. I’d moved with caution — stealth-like — while remaining alert and in control, for at any moment Dale could’ve appeared and caused my wary, life-or-death tip-toeing to falter.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t appeared. And thankfully, I hadn’t been forced into a situation I wasn’t yet ready to face, although I was more than aware that I would have to face it sooner or later, because I’d fucked up and let him get too close. Plain and simple. I’d enjoyed his company, his attention and attraction when, instead, I should’ve kept our relationship strictly platonic and reinforced my marital status. I should’ve made it clear that he’d crossed a line and to cross it again would spell the end of our friendship. I should’ve lied and told him I had no feelings for him, and I should never have kissed him.

  Shoulda.

  Coulda.

  Woulda.

  I’d done none of the things I should have done. I’d been greedy and selfish, fuelled by desire he so easily and effortlessly blanketed me in. But worst of all, I’d let him start to fill a void left by Dean, a void I should’ve let Dean try to refill instead. He was my husband; it was his to fill.

  “Is that your phone again?” Alexis asked, as she ripped open the tabs on Brayden’s nappy.

  “Yeah.” I picked up a small soft toy, shaped as a guitar, that had been sitting on top of Brayden’s tallboy, and smiled before dismissing her question. “It’s okay. Whoever it is can wait.”

  “Do you at l
east know who it is?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me but then wrinkled her nose. “Yuk! I’d forgotten how bad baby shit smells when they transition to solid food.” She held Brayden’s legs in one hand, suspended above his head, while she wiped his bum with a wet wipe, her neck, head and shoulders resembling an emu as she dry-retched.

  I laughed but kept a safe distance from the stench, instead taking in the outerspace themed mural painted on Brayden’s bedroom wall. Unlike Lexi, I hadn’t forgotten that smell. It had permanently penetrated my nostrils.

  “So…” she gagged. “If you know who is messaging you, there must be a good reason why you’re ignoring their texts.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I watched as she disposed of Brayden’s shit-filled nappy in the bin, her other hand placed on his tummy, securing him safely on the changetable.

  “I’m not ignoring them. I’ll answer them later.”

  “You can answer them now. I don’t mind.” She scratched her nose with the back of her hand and grabbed a clean nappy, an I-know-you’re-not-telling-me-something look on her face — lips pursed, cheek sucked in, deliberate and cocky refusal to look my way.

  She wore it well.

  I sighed. “It’s Dale, and I don’t want to talk to him right now.”

  Alexis nodded but didn’t say anything, as if she somehow knew I had more to offer … so I did. “I kissed him last night … in the pool on the sundeck … after the Gala.”

  Her eyes widened but then softened immediately. “Why?” she asked, no criticism in her tone. She gathered Brayden in her arms and placed a kiss on his lips then handed him to me while she cleaned her hands.

  I jiggled him on my hip. “Because I got lost in a moment.”

  “Could you get lost in a moment again?” she asked, reclaiming him before taking a seat on the rocking chair and unbuttoning her blouse ready to breastfeed.

  I turned to face the window and focussed on the view of Port Phillip Bay, my mouth open with every intention to say ‘no’. Instead, I automatically paused. “I … I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Do you want to get lost in a moment again?”