Between These Sheets

by Devon McCormack

  “Holy fuck, you’re a messy shooter, aren’t you?” But the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing.

  “I’ve…never…come that much.” It must be how his cock is still jammed up against my prostate.

  We pant. Sweat. Fall from the high. He pulls out of me, grabs my shoulder, spins me around, and wraps his arms around me.

  We kiss, embrace. I still can’t get enough of him. I want to start all over again.

  He slides his arm through the crook of my leg, the other across my back and hoists me in the air again, leaning all his weight on his left leg as he falls onto me.

  We continue making out.

  8

  Reese

  That was just what I needed.

  I didn’t think it could get better than the kiss at the bar, but this was fucking insane.

  His body, his cries, his pleas for more. He was game for whatever I wanted to give him.

  A fucking amazing bottom.

  For a moment, the screaming voices in my head, the downward spiral of thoughts that so frequently plague me, dissolved as I focused only on our intense experience.

  After using a washcloth to clean up the sheets he spooged all over, I lie beside him in the bed as we pant together. My body jerks a bit, a sort of phantom orgasm lingering. Finally a pleasant phantom sensation—one that doesn’t remind me of the darkest months of my life.

  I turn to him, see his massive chest rising and falling as he stares at the ceiling, his face glistening with sweat in the light that beams in through the window blinds.

  “You sure know how to work that massive cock,” he says.

  I can’t fight the smile his words force. I want to thank him for the experience he gave me, but that’d be weird. I’d come across as a creeper, and then he’d never want to do this with me again. “With an ass like that, this cock is at your service whenever.”

  That seemed like a safe way of saying it, but what am I fucking doing? He’s my employee. The whole reason I didn’t want to do anything with him was because this was one of the stupidest ideas I’ve had in a long-ass time. I’m putting my job on the line here. I could get in serious trouble for fraternizing with my employee. The company’s fine with hanging out with people in my chain of command, but dating is a no-no. Although I’ve known a few guys who’ve dated people who report to them. They just fill out some paperwork with HR to avoid legal liabilities, and that’s the end of it. But why put my job at risk like this?

  I shouldn’t have fucked him to begin with, let alone be planning to fuck him again.

  But the look in his eyes, lit up with excitement, encourages me even more.

  It’s the only relief I’ve had since my stress about this time of year returned. I need it so much. I never let myself have anything, so in some ways, I feel like I deserve this. I know that’s what this is really about. I’m a victim of these delicious sensations, thinking with them rather than the voice of reason that keeps telling me what a crap idea this is.

  Jay rolls toward me, his tight muscles compressing together, stressing their impressive definition. His cock hangs down the side of his thigh.

  I roll toward him so that we’re both on our sides, facing one another. I offer a kiss, which he eagerly receives. It reminds me of this intense magnetism I feel toward him. Something I wouldn’t have expected—something I never could have imagined before he planted that first hot kiss on me.

  As he pulls away, he glances around my room. “You have a fucking nice house.”

  “Thank you.” Although I don’t feel all that proud of it since it’s more about the OCD I developed alongside my PTSD. Laura tells me that’s not uncommon. Sort of my way of controlling what I can.

  “You’d die if you saw my place. I’m basically a rat that rents a room.”

  I chuckle. “I was a mess when I was younger, trust me. That’s not a bad thing.”

  He looks like he’s trying to figure something out about me. Like he’s looking for something from my past. I shift my gaze because I don’t want him to see back there. I don’t want anyone to see the horrors I wish I could forget.

  “That shit that happened in the break room…how often does it happen?”

  Why did he have to take something that felt so amazing to such a goddamn awful place? I was finally enjoying myself, and he wants to dig up the worst part of my life. But he was there for me. As much as I wish he hadn’t seen that, it was nice that he kept the other guys from seeing it. I’m appreciative of that, and I owe him an explanation.

  “It’s not usually like that. I can’t ever get rid of it completely. But typically I can push through the hard parts, now that I’m on meds and shit. I have my good days and bad days. Usually I’m better on the bad days than I was in the breakroom. If I’m on edge, I can kind of sense when things are coming. Like when you dropped that box of glass before you started the fight with Tyler. That was a loud-ass noise, and as I’m sure you saw, it got to me, but at least when I see the reason for the sound, it doesn’t bother me as much as when it just comes out of nowhere. Fortunately, I’m used to checking around, being aware of my surroundings enough that that doesn’t happen much. Used to be a lot worse. I was at a job before I came to the factory, and I wasn’t there more than two months before I had an episode. They ended up firing me. Not over that, they claimed, but I know it was because that freaked them out. So I’m extra careful I don’t get caught. Easier now that I’m a supervisor because I can at least sneak off and hide it from the other guys if things get really bad.”

  “What happens in your head when you hear a noise like that?” Jay asks.

  “I don’t just hear the noise. I hear the rumbling of noises from when we were running through the streets in Fallujah. Gunfire and the sound of bombs going off. Kids, women, men, screaming. They don’t sound like echoes from the past as much as they sound like they’re happening right now. As if I’m somehow slipping through a time warp that’s taking me back to that moment.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s not as bad as it used to be,” I say. Talking with him about it is hard. I’d rather just avoid the subject, but Laura and the group sessions have made that part easier. Only took eight fucking years for me to get to this point.

  He glances down at my dick, which is still stiff as a board. “How are you that fucking hard right now?” he asks.

  I blush. Not much can make me do that, but considering the reason, I can’t help it. “I take a little something to help me out. Initially, my meds made it difficult to get hard, and I didn’t want to miss out on one of my favorite parts of living, so my doc helped me out there.”

  “Viagra?”

  “A very low dose of Cialis once a day.”

  “Well, with a hard-on like that, you must need someone on that cock all the time.”

  I smile, appreciating his playfulness about a subject that typically causes me some tension. Makes me feel somewhat emasculated.

  “It’s nice when I get the chance.”

  “You don’t fuck like you have any trouble getting laid.” Jay eyes me skeptically, as though he believes I’m some kind of man-whore.

  “I think I have a very reasonable sex life.”

  “Like what? Five guys a week?” he asks with a whimsical smirk, one of his bushy eyebrows raised higher than the other.

  He earns a smile. I like this playful side of him. If he showed this to the guys at work, I don’t imagine he’d encounter so much resistance.

  “I’m not that bad,” I say. “Hell, considering the past few weeks with work, I haven’t had much time for anything like that.”

  “Then I guess I’m just glad that you saved that load for me.”

  I smile and lean close to him, my lips right before his. “You know, I have plenty of loads to make up for it if that’s what you want.”

  “If you need a cum-slut tonight, you can just have at it.” He kisses me and that sweet feeling returns. I wrap my arm around him and push him down onto the be
d.

  I want it again. Need it again. I want all those thoughts he stirred about my past to dissolve and be replaced with the hot steamy passion between us.

  The fuck is as good as the first time, and when we finish, he showers off and then throws on his clothes. I offer him a ride back to his car, but he insists on taking an Uber home and just getting another to take him to his car tomorrow.

  I’m appreciative that he didn’t want to stick around. I was worried I’d need to find a way to get rid of him. But he obviously understands what this is. And as long as that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind making this a regular thing. What the fuck am I thinking? Fucking one of my employees?

  But as many arguments as there are against what I’m doing, as hard as I’ve worked to get where I am, something about Jay breaks down my defenses. Maybe because he’s already seen mine. And because he reminds me of my friend. A good guy who pushed a lot of people away, but was one of the best men I ever knew. A guy who deserved better than the hand he was dealt. Maybe I’m just kidding myself that Jay’s the same way, but considering the way he acted with me today, I don’t think I am.

  As long as no one at work finds out, it won’t be a big deal.

  I head into the backyard, into my garden. It’s dark out, but I need to make sure I’ve tended to all my plants.

  It’s a small garden in a fifty-by-thirty-foot space. It’s a reminder of what I’ve lost. A reminder of what I’m trying to hold on to.

  And typically a relief when I start working the land.

  I approach the security light I’ve rigged on the shed so that it illuminates the backyard at night. Then I check on my tomatoes, fixing a few of the plants where they’ve grown off the trellises. They’re looking really healthy. I’ll probably be able to pick a few by this weekend.

  While I’m on my knees, tying a piece of yarn around a vine to bind it to the trellis, I glance around at the plants that are growing some healthy fruits—peppers, cucumbers, squash, bush beans. I’ve done a good job this year. Much better than the previous ones. It doesn’t feel like all that long ago when I couldn’t make anything grow. I never had a green thumb. But my obsession with this project has improved my gardening skills. And there’s some relief in it, especially as that dreaded anniversary nears—Caleb’s anniversary—the day that is the real reason I can’t sleep. The reason I’m so on edge right now. The reason I’ve thrown myself into the inventory more than ever before.

  Because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to hurt.

  9

  Jay

  I’m listening to a Rita Rudner comedy special on my iPhone when I enter the kitchen and see my landlord and housemate Charlie. He sits at the table, a bowl of cereal before him as he reads the morning paper.

  When I pull out my earbuds, I realize I’m fucking whistling. I stop, but it’s too late. Charlie says, “Someone’s in a chipper mood this morning…”

  A retired man in his seventies with a few gray hairs left on his otherwise bare head, he’s usually around the house because he doesn’t get out too much. When I first interviewed for the place, he openly admitted my rent covers the mortgage, but he bought the place twenty years ago, so this is the cheapest option available to me, and I was appreciative to have the opportunity to stay somewhere that costs less than five hundred a month. He stays out of my way, and I stay out of his, but we’ve had a few sit-down chats in the kitchen since I got here. He doesn’t press. Never asks too many questions. Just cracks jokes and tells some stories from his youth.

  He’s the ideal living situation. Never invades my privacy but also not so quiet that it becomes awkward.

  “Just had a good week at work,” I say. He chuckles, as though he knows better.

  I open the pantry and retrieve a chocolate Pop Tart.

  “Another healthy meal?” he asks.

  I eye his Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch. “Really, Charlie? You gonna judge me?”

  “I’m old. I can do whatever I want to this body. You gotta take care of yours a little bit, at least.”

  I tear the Pop Tart wrapper open and flex my bicep so that it stretches the sleeve of my shirt. “That’s how I take care of this body,” I joke.

  He laughs. “Ooh…now you’re just trying to get me all worked up,” he says with a wicked smile.

  Charlie was quick to call me out on being gay when I came over here to see about renting. At first, I was defensive. Guys never notice, and I thought he was trying to say I was some kind of flitty thing, but Charlie relaxed me with his friendly smile and a laugh, telling me, “Don’t get your masc ass in a bind. I just have the world’s best gaydar. Only way I could get the boys when I was younger.” He had spent his youth in San Diego and would go prowling for guys around the naval base—something I’ve heard some fun stories about since I started staying with him.

  We chat a bit more before I toss out my trash and start to head out.

  “Don’t forget your comics,” he says. He has the comics section of the paper sitting on the table beside his bowl. He apparently picked it out for me since I’ve asked for them pretty much every morning that I’ve seen him from the time I moved in.

  I retrieve them from the table. “Thank you, Charlie,” I say before heading off.

  I feel alive. It wasn’t just the sex with Reese. Hell, fucking is nothing to me. The sort I’m used to can’t hold a candle to what Reese and I shared.

  I could tell he wanted me to leave his place after we fucked again, and I was cool with that.

  I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Didn’t want to make him uncomfortable with what was going on, especially since he’s my boss. Shit. My boss. I fucked my boss, and I want to fuck him again.

  It’s a bad idea waiting to happen. I know that.

  But isn’t that the story of my life?

  I head to the factory and get to work, feeling more alive than usual.

  Today’s a big pickup day, so I’m extra-busy, moving boxes on the forklift to the loading dock before the trucks arrive. I slide the fork under a box when I catch myself whistling again.

  Shit. I need to stop that.

  “Having a good day?” William asks with a smile on his face as he wheels a cart of boxes toward me.

  “Oh, no. I was just…”

  I don’t really have an excuse, but fortunately, he doesn’t seem to care. He just says, “I’ve got to get these nails over to Amy and Terrence for pallets, but then I’ll be over to help you in about ten. That work?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Hey, guys,” Reese’s voice comes from beside us, startling me.

  He approaches William. Starts chatting him up. He looks as relaxed as I feel. I like knowing I can help alleviate some of the stress he’s been under. I know he can’t make a big deal out of what we did, but every time he comes back into the warehouse, he ignores me. Acts like I’m invisible. Even now when I’m right next to him.

  It reminds me of those days after he had his breakdown.

  The first few times he was like this today, I figured it was a fluke, but now that I know it’s intentional, it’s getting on my nerves. I’m fine with leaving it at what it was, but does that mean I can’t exist outside of that? Really?

  Rather than cause a stir, I ignore him the way he ignores me. I back the forklift up and drive off.

  But I’m a little worried. What if the moment I left his place, he started to rethink what we did? It was so hot that I’d love to go again, but what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t think he should be fucking around with an employee?

  No, he wouldn’t do that. He needs it, too. There’s no way the passion during that sex was one-sided.

  But maybe it was.

  I shouldn’t obsess about this.

  I’m never this way with guys. I can fuck the shit out of someone and then just walk away.

  I want to believe it’s just how hot it was, but I’m intrigued by him beyond that. He’s an interesting guy. Most of the blockheads I’m used to are so uninteres
ting that I don’t give a shit about whether I get to know them or not, but he’s mysterious. There’s this whole other life that he re-lives on a daily basis. This world that he struggles with while simultaneously trying to exist in the present. I want to know more about that past. Want to know more about these nightmares that plague him. Of course, I know that’s the last thing in the world he wants to tell me about, considering he didn’t seem all that eager about sharing that shit he told me yesterday. He sounded like he was straining just to tell me that much.

  When I’m finished moving some of the boxes into the warehouse, William asks me to help Tyler out with another pallet accident. We’ve had a few of these recently because of some crap wood that was ordered for pallets. We’ve had to go back and secure some of them in hopes that we won’t ruin another batch of bottles.

  I head over and give Tyler a hand with the cleanup. He hasn’t talked to me much since that day when we fought, but he hasn’t given me any shit either. I pick up broken bottles and toss them into a box we’re collecting the broken shards into.

  “Look, man. I’m sorry I gave you a rough time when you first got here,” he says as he sweeps up some of the debris.

  “What?” I ask. He’s really caught me off guard. Is this some kind of a trick?

  “I wasn’t actually trying to trip you. I just wanted to tell you that. I mean, I was an ass. I was giving you a hard time and doing everything I could to make your job harder, but when I bumped into you that day in the warehouse, that was actually an accident. Until you started being a dick about it, I was actually worried about your fall.”

  Well, that was fucking unexpected.

  I think about what Reese said about me in the parking lot. I’m just saying if you make enemies everywhere you go, it’s probably not because everywhere you go has a problem.

  “Why were you ragging on me when I started up?” I ask.

  “You came here, and you were all quiet. Had this cocky look on your face all the time like you were better than everyone else. Just kind of bothered me.”