A Mess of Reason

by A. Wilding Wells

  “Scout…now… Now I want it. Please, don’t make me wait. Jesus…now…”

  My pants are unzipped in seconds and I have her flipped onto her belly as fast as I pull my hard cock out. I lube the hell out of it, remove the anal toy, and slowly, tenderly push my way into that very beautiful snug space.

  “Scout. Oh God, yeah. Slow…slow, Scout.”

  “Slow baby…so tight. Relax. There you are. Oh God, baby, that’s right, relax….”

  I pull her ass up, positioning her on her knees, and I worship her straight through both of our orgasms in a tender, sensuous moment that has me more ravenous than ever for her.

  *

  Five days in a penthouse with Tess mostly nude. Five days of an all-you-can eat-and-fuck-palooza. Five days of her trust, her healing, our awakening. But let’s face it, once you walk out of a bubble, new questions arise, things change, realities set in in. Thankfully new answers come like water to a drought.

  “You look lost in thought. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

  Tess lies in my lap as we sit watching the sunset from inside my pool house while it snows in a light flutter outside. The beautiful thing about knowing Tess as long as I have is that every little thing she does means something. The hair twirling around her finger right now, that means the storm’s a brewin’.

  “Nothing,” she says, and flashes me a coy fake smile—as if I’m not onto those, too.

  “Nothing is not nothing with you. The quieter you are, the more I hear you. Spill it, baby.”

  She lets out a grunt-like sigh, flops her arms open in surrender, looks straight at me, then quickly away before she speaks. “I don’t want you to see me as someone who’s fragile or weak.”

  “Hey, listen. You’re allowed to struggle with this now and again, but you are not allowed to go backwards.” I force her chin up, making her look at my eyes.

  “What, are you channeling your inner football coach? What do you mean, I’m not allowed? Can I help my feelings?”

  “Do you want to live in limbo? Halfway in, halfway out? That doesn’t seem much like you.” She rolls her eyes at me along with another heavy sigh. “What are you struggling with? You see how this feels…us together in this way? This is us. Your soul found me once you quieted your mind. What are you stirring up in there now? Come on, talk. I’m all ears.”

  “Remember on the plane ride to Mexico, I told you about that big deal plastic surgeon I read about? I still have the appointment.”

  “Why are you going to see him?”

  “For me…for you. Because I still feel a little bit broken and I want to be pretty all over. Too shallow? I want you to look at me when I’m naked and see how I’m…I’m more like…”

  “Like what? Tess, sweetheart, there are little jagged, broken pieces inside of everyone looking to match up with someone else’s bits. I feel like ours finally fit. I thought that’s what you were always wishing for?”

  “I have always wished for that…for you. Yes, every birthday candle, every eyelash was a wish on you. But I can’t help it—I want my body to be more normal. My skin, my breasts. I want you to touch smooth skin, not bumpy and ugly, scar-laden skin.”

  And here we go. Tess has never been this person, but now that she has bared all, she wants it perfect to boot. I get it, she’s a gorgeous woman who’s just exposed a piece of herself that she never thought she would. For me, she’s already perfect. Nothing she does to her scars will make me love her more or less, but I know she has to love herself. I just hope that doesn’t come at too great of a cost for who she really is inside.

  “Baby…dear God. You’ve already left your mark on me. You did that eons ago. Yours was the first face I loved. The taste of your mouth on mine is the taste of us. The feel of your skin under my hands and my naked body is us. Smooth? Life is not smooth. I don’t want smooth. I want you for all of you. You, Tess. You are all kinds of beautiful—especially the magical kind. Normal? Come on. Since when have you ever wanted to be normal? You’re a standout woman, not a normal woman. Normal is vanilla, sweetheart, and you are furthest thing from vanilla. Please fucking connect that.”

  “I still want to go and see the guy. It took me forever to get in. Just please come with me. If nothing else, it’ll answer some of my questions.”

  I watch her pierce her nails into the palms of her hands. I’m not immune to her continued angst over this whole thing. I realize we’re still at the beginning of a long road of healing.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course I’ll go with you. And whatever you choose to do, I’ll support you. But for me, you’re perfect. Don’t do this for me, okay? If you need it for you, I’m cool with that. But I would imagine you’re talking about a major investment of time, emotion, and pain, with likely no guarantees and a hell of a lot of risk.”

  “Yeah, I’ve done my research—apparently you have, too?”

  “Yeah, I did check him out after you told me about him. He’s impressive, so if anyone can do it, it sounds like his success record is impeccable. I have to ask, though: What if you’re pregnant? We fucked for a week straight with no protection. You know I’m happy as hell to be your baby daddy, but that could be a deal-breaker for the skin grafting.”

  “Well, if I am—which I’ll be squealing about if that’s the case—I would wait. But, part of why I want it is nipple reconstruction. I really want to breast-feed on both sides. My right side will be fine, I think, but my left…not so much.”

  “Will that leave you numb? You sure do seem to like what you’re feeling now. You should have a list of questions ready for him.”

  She shoots me a partly vacant, insulted stare. “Yeah, I have a list, Mr. Professor. Um, remember, I tutored you in high school…straight into that football scholarship, I might add. I got this, but thanks!”

  “I’m only asking. I know you’ve got this. You’re amazing, you know that. I always think of things and people as stories, but you, Tess…you’re more like a poem than a story. My forever and a day.”

  “I think I hear a new song brewing.” Her eyes dance as a viciously sexy smile skates the width of her face.

  “Sweetheart, every time I look at you, there’s a new song brewing. I owe my career to you.”

  “Ohh, you’re getting all cotton-candy sweet. I love that you trust and believe in me. Please don’t ever leave me. I made such shitty choices for us, and you stayed…you never left.”

  “Baby, I’m not cotton-candy sweet. In guys’ terms, I’m more like middle-of-the-pussy sweet. And I’ll never let you lose me; I’d hate to be the cause of that much regret.” I grab her by the waist and tickle the hell out of her tiny midriff. It doesn’t take much for Tess to buckle, and my huge hands on her little body seem like a baseball glove on a small ball.

  “Oh, getting cocky, are you?”

  “What am I to you, Tess, if not your cocky? And I know you love my cocky. Probably ready for more cocky right about now?” I trace my hands from her slender shoulders down to her tight ass, then grip it firmly with both hands. It’s so small that I can hold the entire thing in my two mitts.

  “My wild blue yonder…take that. I got game, too.”

  “Oh yeah, I can up that.” I skate my hands inside her shirt, across her taut belly until I reach her tiny bikini top to feel her small, perfect breasts. Perfect to me, anyway. “You will forever be my once in a blue moon.”

  “Oh, I love it. I’m not as fancy as you are, but I can pull these oldies out of my hat. You’re my Twinkie birthday cake, my bubblegum-machine prize, my smoked oysters, my red Swedish fish.”

  “Kid stuff. I need some new inspiration…time to get some lovin’ on.” I yank her swimsuit bottoms down, open her legs to find her as turned on as I am. “That got you going already?”

  She’s soaked—how can I deny myself a taste of her sweet? “Melting sugar for me, are you, my sweet steel magnolia?”

  “It’s all your fault,” she says while she lifts her hips up into my
mouth as I find my way through her slippery folds. My tongue loves her, and the way she moves with it and into it makes it pretty damn clear how much she loves my tongue.

  “I’m gonna take you on a little trip.”

  “Yeah? Where to? Oh God…”

  “Nirvana. Bring me a little souvenir.”

  “I’ll smuggle something in…something sweet and hot.”

  Her taste is all woman. Her desire and arousal are evident in every soft moan and the grip she holds on my shoulders in as she eases herself into my mouth, undulating in slow motion. The look of pure ecstasy rides her face, seemingly tearing her apart as her orgasm nears. Wrapped in emotion, I feel her legs trembling, her skin heated and slick with need, making me want to bury myself deeply inside of her tight, wet pleasure.

  Slowly rocking into me, she climaxes hard. Her hands fist through my hair while she thrusts deep rolls of her hips into my mouth. There’s nothing I love more than watching her ride the edge of her ache as she comes undone, writhing under my touch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  TESS

  I’m clear there’s not going to be any spit-shining the mix of feelings I’m struggling with about my appointment. I had no idea that baring myself to Scout would dredge up all sorts of feelings of insecurity about my scars. In my mind, no one was ever going to see this part of me, so I hid all of those feelings practically before I became a teenager. It’s not that puberty didn’t bring out a whole new buffet of emotion. I mean, hell, it’s already a trying time—the developing body, hormones, discovery of boys not to mention self—add to that a torso of disfigured skin to hide from everyone’s eyes. A noxious Molotov cocktail anyone would have a tough time dodging.

  But, I managed, and my bag of tricks became easy foils to use. Unfortunately, my tricks are all out on the table now. I have nothing to duck behind and, with so many years of hiding, being out in the open—although partly freeing—often feels too naked for me. Hiding it became part of my identity, and the very act of it has me now facing the truth of my personal hypocrisy. I realize I can’t ask Scout to understand all of this. I’m still trying to figure it out. To him, I’m sure it’s simple. He’s not over thinking any of this; he can accept me for who I am. The question is, can I accept me for who I am?

  *

  I hear them the moment I head down the hall towards Scout’s home office, but what hits me as I approach the door throws me into a helter-skelter bag of emotions.

  “Seriously, look at these photos. It’s pretty obvious she needs a full body of new skin.”

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Check out the headlights.”

  I flatten myself against the wall, my heart racing, insides twisting.

  “I saw these gorgeous cans online the other day—pure porn—I had to sneak these photos just so you could see what I was talking about. Don’t tell her…and please, not Rox, either. She’d die if she knew we were even having this conversation.”

  I scoot closer to the slightly open door. Their booming voices thunder into me, every word a clear as a bell, making me want to sink through the floor in humiliation. I feel all the blood draining from me as wild rage replaces it. She’d die? Hot tears sear my cheeks as I drag my nails up my thighs, wanting to draw blood. I wish to hell I could move my feet, walk in there, and rip their collective heads off.

  Today of all days. My appointment day. Nice timing, ace.

  “I say we do one of those new designer wraps…something super-smooth and sleek. These guys can do anything. Trust me, she has no idea what’s even available.”

  I hear Striker talking in wild animation, the shock of it dulling my senses, every word nearly bankrupting me. Such a verbal slap in the face. I had allowed Scout to take photos of me in Mexico after a few days, and when he showed them to me, I thought they were artful—beautiful, even. Not something that falls from my mouth very easily considering how I feel about my skin. But to betray me like this, after everything we’ve just gone through…after the trust I placed in him.

  “What a mess; no wonder she keeps it under cover. She’ll be like new…then you guys can really have some fun on the open roads!”

  Every word knocks more air out of me, as though I’m some sort of object to re-skin and make perfect. Have I been hallucinating all along? Am I actually this delusional?

  “Have you found anyone to do the job? It’s gotta be the best hands, otherwise it’ll be a butcher job and she’ll end up hating you.”

  Scout chuckles, his laugh feeling like a sock being stuffed down my throat. “Yeah, but look at these shots—can’t get worse than this, right? I’ve been in touch with a guy, a master surgeon…an artist. I’m telling you, man: not a word. I want to surprise her. I keep telling her everything looks fine, but she has too many memories attached to it, all the way back to high school. So I figure I need to step in here and take over—that’s what best friends do, right?”

  Best friends. Right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SCOUT

  My day has been crazy, jam-packed with meetings, so when I finally scoot out of the studio to head over and pick up Tess for her doctor’s appointment, I’m a little surprised by a text that comes in from her, making me wonder if she’s re-thinking the idea of the skin grafting.

  needed to run errands–going to appointment alone

  I quickly respond.

  I’m close by if you change your mind and need some emotional support, I can be there in 5… u sure

  no need. I’m sure

  text me later, good luck…love u baby

  Ok

  Clearly she’s freaked-out nervous, because every text that comes in from Tess is typically all hearts and rainbows slathered in a heavy side of emojis. But this response? “Ok”? It’s the furthest thing from her. I’d call it alien body snatchers if ever. She must be shitting herself to respond like this.

  I decide to head over to the doc’s office and surprise her. This is too big of a deal to her; it’s obvious she’s slumping under the weight of it already. The hot-shot doc has flown in just to meet with Tess at our local plastic surgeon’s office. I know she’s paying top dollar just to see the guy. That she paid to fly him in seems incomprehensible to me, but it was all set up pre-wedding, so at this point she’s on a solid fishing trip, and I’m just along for the ride.

  The nurse at the clinic, Susan Pikens, is an old friend from high school, so luckily I don’t have to convince her to take me straight back to his office. When I walk in, Tess is standing in a white, flower-dotted gown, facing away from me. The doc, who looks to be all of twenty-three, is a buck of a stud, and the fact that his hands are on my girl’s naked breasts sends more than a jolt of jealousy shooting through me.

  “Dr. Andrews, this is Scout Steele, Tess’s boyfriend. He came to surprise her. Sorry to interrupt.” After giving me a wink and a knowing nod, Susan leaves the office.

  “Scout Steele? The Scout Steele? My girlfriend is gonna flip when I tell her that I’d met you. She might be your biggest fan!”

  Fine. I like him, stud or not. I remind myself he does this for a living. I walk over and shake his hand. Tess makes no effort to look at me. I grab her face in my hands and sink a big kiss on her lips as her eyes fill with tears. Her lips tremble under the clamp of her teeth. She can’t even speak, she’s so nervous. Thank God I had the sense to show up.

  “Hey, you doing okay?”

  She shoots me a look that feels more like daggers than fear or emotional distress, but I get it: this is big for her. Plus she’s naked in front of this stud of a guy and I’m sure that’s only adding needles to her anxiety.

  “Fine,” she says in a low growl that I decide to let lie.

  I take a seat on the other side of the room where she can’t see me, and listen in as Dr. Andrews explains the ins and outs of this type of skin grafting. My understanding is that she could do it if she really wanted to, but the level of emotional and physical pain combined with the exorbitant costs scares most people away. On
top of that, the success rate is not high for someone her age, someone who has scars from childhood. Her voice shakes and is barely audible to me as she pelts him with questions. Dr. Andrews, although young, has the bedside manner of a guy four times his age. It’s no wonder he’s the top-dollar dawg in his field of work.

  I pull Tess into my side, grabbing her hand as we walk out of his office together. She makes a more than noticeable effort to get away from me. I brush it off, chalking it up to anxiety, and just let her do her thing.

  “How about you hop in my truck and I take you out for a martini? We can talk over your options. I’d like to know what’s going through that pretty little head of yours, sweetheart.”

  She walks in front of me at a hurried pace through the parking lot. As she turns back to look at me, her dark, chocolate eyes are wide and wet with what seems like shock. I catch up, pulling her into a hug since she looks as though she was just released from hell. Her body is wire stiff. A dry, aching sob comes from her mouth, sounding more filled with pain than anything I’ve heard since the disaster of her wedding day.

  “Hey, baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to decide anything today. We don’t even have to talk about it. You’re really upset…what’s going on?”

  Her mouth is pressed in a tight line, and she covers it with one hand while glaring at me. She seems furious—if not a bit crazed—as she speaks to me in a voice that’s sharp and broken.

  “Don’t play games with me.” Her growling tone comes out like a mess of fury and splintered anger, snagging me in the gut as my mind jumps everywhere, trying to understand her accusation.

  “Are you mad that I showed up here? I’m sorry…I just wanted to support you. Maybe I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.” I wreathe her body in my arms, but she slides out from underneath me like she’s greased. She takes a giant step, backing herself away from me.

  “You and your surprises. How about you never surprise me again. I wish I had known all along how you felt. And you called me a liar for keeping this from you.… How could you?”