What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed

by D. M. Thornton

  Drew turns toward me, the eyeballs cupped in his palm. “These are crazy realistic,” he says, gently circling his hand so the eyes clink together.

  I chuckle nervously. “They are, aren’t they? I have a friend who does stained glass. Call me creepy, but I love his work. He makes the most unique things. And his glass eyes, well, they speak for themselves.”

  What? It’s not a total lie. I do have a guy. A guy who I know very well, who knows not to ask questions when I bring him a new set of real eyeballs that have been spooned out of someone’s sockets. For all he knows, I work for a medical transport office, and I have a weird obsession with organs. And I bring him the ones that can’t be used. We’ll just let him keep thinking that, too. So, he removes the optic nerve and shaves down the lateral and medial rectus muscles so they’re flush with the sclera, then the whole eye is dipped and blown into a very thin layer of glass. It’s quite an art if I do say so myself.

  He’s staring down at the eyeballs. “I have to admit, they’re incredible. There’s so much detail in the work, it’s like you can see each layer of an actual eye. Crazy.”

  I have to change his focus, so I untie the belt of my coat. Yes, I cooked and ate lasagna in it—where’s the element of surprise if I had removed it? I don’t take the coat off, only unbutton it. Then I replace my hands on my hips, tucking my hands under the sides of the jacket so that the top part of the coat is still covering my bare breasts, but my pussy is presented in all its glory. Drew’s too busy inspecting the eyes to notice that I’m practically naked. I can’t wait forever. My patience is wearing thin as it is, and my arousal is now trailing down my inner thigh. We need to get this show on the road.

  I clear my throat, which makes Drew snap his head toward me. He doesn’t bother looking for the bowl that the eyes belong in. Instead, he tosses his hand back and drops the eyes wherever they land, which thankfully is on a stack of books. He makes a beeline for me, damn near tackling me. I jump into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist as he palms my bare ass. Our lips crash together while my back smacks into the wall behind me, and I’m being pushed up the wall so Drew can free himself from his pants.

  Drew slides me down the wall, impaling me on his thick erection. The more he slams into me, the more my head bangs against the wall, and I welcome the pain. I like it rough. I like it dirty. You know, there’s a big stigma with the BDSM thing. People have such strong opinions when it comes to sex and pain, dominance and submissiveness. It’s not for a lot of people, but what isn’t good for some is a necessity for others. Now, I’m not saying I need it, but I sure as shit like it. There’s something about being controlled by a man...in the bedroom that is. I sure as fuck ain’t gonna let a man control my life, but when it comes to sex, I’m all for it.

  Tie me up, spank my ass, gag me, pull my hair...it’s all a fucking turn-on. Look, if you don’t like it, then don’t participate in it, but don’t rag on us who enjoy it. Sure, it’s a lifestyle choice, but I can almost bet that if you let your panties unravel outta your ass and embrace what makes you uncomfortable, you’ll start to realize that it’s actually quite hot. If you didn’t know, BDSM is controlled and the people involved are aware of the safe words, so if at any time either party isn’t feelin’ it, it’s stopped immediately. But seriously, once you start, it’s hard to say no to anything. I’m telling ya, it’s a damn turn-on.

  I’m the type that controls every aspect of my life—my job, my home, and the assholes that we pick up at the bars. The guys that find themselves on my table are there for the sole purpose of meeting death. They don’t get the privilege of having me...touching me. They’re my toys. My game. They are the mouse and I am the cat, and I’m the one that makes the rules. But when it comes to gettin’ a little slap and tickle with a guy that I actually like, and who I would take home to Momma, I want the man to be a fucking man and take control. I want him to pound into me and take what he wants, how he wants it. I’m not implying that I’m okay with rape or sexual abuse of any kind. Fuck no. What I’m saying is, when I’m with a man that I truly care about, I want to give him all of me. And Drew is it for me. If he asked me to jump, I’d ask how high. If he asked me to dive into a pit full of honey and roll around in some feathers, I’d gladly go in head first and come up clucking like a chicken. And if he asks me to kneel, you best be bettin’ that I’ll drop to my knees and take him fully into the back of my throat and suck him off until I’m damn near suffocating and choking on his cock. I’ll do anything for this man. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

  I have it bad, don’t I?

  I don’t hold anything back with Drew, so I let my screams explode out of me in quick, piercing bursts. Between my head ramming into the wall and my primal cries of pleasure, I’m sure the neighbors are wondering if I’m slaughtering a squealing pig. Don’t care. There’s no keeping quiet with this gorgeous piece of sex on a stick. My wails are synchronized every time I slide up the wall then come crashing down on Drew’s shaft, sharp and soul-splitting. I’m being driven on a steel rod of organ tissue. He’s so deep within my walls that it’s likely he could reach my uvula.

  I use my legs, which are tightly secured around Drew’s waist with the sharp heel of my stilettos jabbing him in the ass, to help piston me up and down as his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips. Fuck, my pussy might be sore tomorrow, but my head is going to be pounding like I’ve spent the night partying at an all-night rager. Drew pins my hands above my head with one hand while he massages one of my breasts with his other hand. He’s on his tiptoes so he can elevate himself enough to nail the sweet spot hiding deep in my core, and his face is buried in my hair. His breath smacks me in the ear in ragged, sharp pulses as his hips collide with mine.

  I’ll be singing this man’s praises until hell freezes over. Naked or clothed—which apparently, we like to get down and dirty with our clothes on—he’s a master at his craft, and I’m not ready for it to end. But as much as I try, I can’t control the rising tense quiver that’s clenching my belly. My muscles open and contract as my orgasm grows and grows until I’m yelping and shaking from its intensity. Even though I’m exhausted, I tighten my weak core and milk Drew’s orgasm out of him until he grunts against my ear.

  Drew drops us to the floor and collapses on top of me in a heap of sweaty heat. And I have to admit, even though the sex is gold medal worthy, the best part is this...right here. Being pinned under Drew, having his chest pressing into me every time he takes a heavy breath...yeah, this is what being connected is all about. Two bodies. One soul.

  I don’t move him when his breathing becomes a whispering snore. Instead, I close my eyes and wrap my arms around him, nestling into him, getting as close to him as humanly possible. I let myself drift to sleep, being cocooned in Drew’s warmth.

  Chapter 29

  Jaz

  I’m sitting in a coffee shop listening to Gray ramble on about her night of heated, no-coming passion with Jett while I sip on a small hot chocolate. I won’t drink that coffee shit, but Gray just had to get her fix, so I splurge on the indulgence and try not to feel too guilty about it. I mean, shit, at least it’s not a whole fucking bag of Ghirardelli milk chocolate with caramel squares. You put a bag of that in front of me, and I’ll eat the whole damn thing in one sitting. A fat kid still lies beneath these layers of toned flesh. I don’t kick my own ass running and biking for nothing.

  “Are you even listening to me?” I hear Gray ask.

  I nod. I’m hearing her all right, but listening...yeah, well, I tuned her out about ten minutes ago.

  “Then what do I do about Jett?” she asks in a way that makes me think she’s already asked that question.

  “Relax,” I answer casually.

  “Relax? I tell you I actually had sex with the guy, and you tell me to relax. I ask what I should do now, and you tell me to relax? What the fuck? You weren’t listening at all, bitch.”

  I laugh, but quickly stop when Gray glares at me from over the rim of her coffee cup. “My point exactl
y. Relax. Look, you like this guy, and he likes you. This isn’t middle school shit. These are true feelings, and you just happened to cash them in. Now, all you have to do is relax and get out of your damn head. The only person stopping you from having an orgasm is you. So, yeah. Relax.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing!” Gray’s voice shrills. She cowers in her chair when a few heads turn to stare over at us. For someone who tries to lay below the radar, she’s been doing a real shitty job lately. “I need some solid advice from you, Jaz. I bet I’d find a penis between your legs rather than a vagina the way you think about sex. You’re like an ol’ pro. Besides the fact that you’re dry and shriveled from the lack of cock in your pussy, you’re seasoned and primed.”

  “Hey now!” I guffaw.

  Leaning over the table, her arms crossed in her lap, Gray strains through clenched teeth. “Help me. He makes me...”

  “Wet,” I blurt out.

  Gray rolls her eyes at me. I find it funny how she can say the words and not cringe, yet when I say them, she sinks into her chair with a shake of her head, like saying them doesn’t have the same potency as hearing them. “Just say it,” I coax. “He makes you wet. He makes your pussy moist and dripping with cum.” I’m hysterically laughing watching her face crinkle and wince.

  She grumbles under her breath, “For God’s sake, don’t say that word.”

  “What?” I can’t control my laughter. “Pussy?” All the giggling makes my belly hurt. “Cum?” Oh, God...her face. She’s turning red. I can’t hold in my cackling. I slap my hand down on the table, shaking our drinks over the rims of our cups, which makes me giggle even more. “Oh, you mean, M.O.I.S.T.” I enunciate each letter, slowly dragging out the word, accentuating the T at the end.

  Not being able to leave the spilt coffee and hot chocolate on the table, Gray folds her napkin in half and wipes the liquid clean, circling each spot three times, then neatly folds the napkin in half again and pushes it off to the side. “You’re such a bitch,” she says.

  I laugh. “Yup.”

  Gray crosses her arms over her chest. “I should’ve called Andi.”

  “Shut your mouth,” I tease. “Look, seriously, just relax. So the first time wasn’t the greatest, so what? You’ve been promoted from middle school to high school. Now it’s time to graduate. You over think every single thing, Gray. I get it, I do, but all it really does is limit you from getting to the next level. What happened to the Gray that was always so sharp and on point? What happened to the girl that was confident and precise?”

  “She started to feel,” Gray responds solemnly.

  I see it now. It all makes sense. Gray’s world of order only works if she remains a robot. A machine. She’s not just disconnected from the world because of her serial killer ways, but because she doesn’t think she can handle what it has to offer her. She has seen so much bad that it’s easier for her to pretend as if what she’s living in isn’t real, which means then she can’t fully live when she’s the one dead...inside.

  “It’s okay to feel sometimes,” I say. “It’s not all bad, Gray. I promise.”

  “I tried, Jaz. But Blue’s death is too much. Before he came back, before Jett...everything was aligned, just the way it’s supposed to be. Now, it’s fucked up. I can’t.” She sighs. “It’s easier to pretend that the life outside my walls doesn’t exist. I don’t like feeling like I’m spiraling out of control. I can’t have that happen, Jaz. If I lose control now, it only means that what we’ve managed to keep buried will implode and reveal what we have worked so hard at hiding.”

  I reach my hand across the table and motion for her to put her hand in mine. When she does, I give her hand a gentle, affirming squeeze. “I get it.”

  And I do. I might not always agree, and Lord knows I bust her balls, like, all the time, but in the end, Gray is my best friend, and I’ll do anything for her. Anything. Sometimes, being a friend is knowing when not to be blatantly honest and just say what you know they need for you to say. Gray and I are great at being brutally real and honest. But at times, it takes a bigger person to bite the tongue. She needs me to be supportive right now. Not a bitch, but a friend. Someone who not only has her back, but can make her laugh.

  “And for your information, I’m no longer dried and shriveled up.” I wink.

  She nods with a grin. “I almost forgot. The night you two numbnuts took Cole and Drew out to the compound.” Gray’s hand slips from mine as she sinks back into her chair. “Well, do kiss and tell, slut. I need all the juicy details. Teach me, o’ wise one, I have much to learn. Was it epic? Was it all that you’ve been longing for?”

  “Not exactly.” Gray cocks her head to the side with a smirk, and I hold up my hand to quiet her thoughts. “Not in a bad way. It was...nice.”

  One of Gray’s brows perks up as her smirk turns to a frown. “Nice? What does that mean? It wasn’t a yank your hair out by the roots, slap your ass ‘til there’s a big fat handprint embedded onto your skin, earth-shattering romp?”

  She laughs when I flip her off. I guess I deserve her patronizing me. “No, it wasn’t. But it was nice. Cole is a gentlemen, and he made sure to take care of me, and he wouldn’t let me pay it forward.”

  Gray’s head bobs on her shoulders. “Interesting. So, wait, are you saying you didn’t bang him?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “You didn’t get your pinhole poked with his needle?” To give her question more of an animation, she asks as she’s jabbing her index finger on her right hand through the circle that her left index finger and thumb are making.

  Do you see what I mean? She rides my ass about saying certain words all because she doesn’t like how they sound in her own head, but yet, she can indicate Cole and I having sex with finger puppets. WTF?

  “No, brat, I didn’t get my pinhole poked with his needle.”

  “Well I’ll be fucking damned. So you’re telling me that I got laid before you did?” Gray lets out a sharp, “Ha!” before adding, “Who woulda thought?”

  “Don’t get too excited. As I recall, you may have been probed by the police baton, but he didn’t beat an orgasm outta you, now did he? I, on the other hand, was on the receiving end of a big, screaming O. I tell you, that man, God bless him, has a tongue that can make God appear straight from the heavens.”

  “Good God,” Gray says with a shake of her head. “All right, all right. Don’t rub it in. And I take full responsibility for the lackluster performance that I got. Don’t get me wrong, he’s good...amazingly good. It’s not his fault I’m fucked up. But hey, I’m gonna give it my ol’ college try and just...relax.”

  “There ya go.” I grin. “Now, let’s get outta here. I got a date with a sexy beast that likes to flutter my nutter.”

  I burst out in laughter when Gray rolls her eyes at me again. “Yep,” she says. “Time to leave, otherwise I’m might do more than just flutter your nutter. Although, you’re such a skanky ho, you might like me to punch your munch, you crazy biatch.”

  I’m doubled over with laughter, holding my stomach as we stand outside the coffee shop. “You got it! You know that’s why you love me, brat.”

  “Lord knows I do.” Gray sighs.

  * * *

  It’s been awkward with Martin still living here. He will eventually be moving out, but it seems that his fairy friend wasn’t aware that he was married...to a woman at that, and broke if off with him, leaving him nowhere else to go. I say it’s for the best really. How do you come into someone’s home and not see the wedding photos on the walls or the women’s clothing in the clean laundry hamper waiting to be put away? You must be blind and stupid or two balls deep to not notice that the guy you’re fucking has a wife. Oh well, he’s no longer my problem. Martin’s actively looking for a place to live while I continue to live my life, and I’m okay with that.

  Martin’s at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal when I grab my purse from the counter. “You look nice,” he says with a mouth
full of Lucky Charms. He even eats gay fucking cereal. That should have been my first clue.

  “Thanks.”

  “Have a date?” he asks.

  As if things aren’t already weird enough, we have to discuss our social lives. I guess it’s fine. Now that we’re on both ends of the spectrum, neither one of us feels guilty. There’s no animosity toward one another. I suppose we’re the couple that’s better off as friends. Oh well. I’m not going to dwell on the past when I’ve got a real man waiting for me. And I won’t make him wait any longer.

  “Yep,” I yell over my shoulder as I walk out the door, slamming it behind me.

  Cole wanted to make this a real date, picking me up at my front door. But without getting into much detail, I told him it wasn’t a good idea and asked if we could meet instead. I kinda figured it would rub salt in the wound if Martin saw the hot piece of ass that I was dating. Not that I care much after all that pole boy has put me through, but still, I’m too nice sometimes...only sometimes. I can be a real bitch, but for my family—as much as they shit all over me—I will always be for them.

  Anyway, I’m meeting Cole at a swanky steakhouse, and when I pull into an overcrowded parking lot, I see him standing off to the side of the front door of the restaurant. I park my car and sit, staring out the rearview mirror, gawking at his sleek physic. Even from the tiny mirror pinned to the windshield, I can see how his suit hugs his muscles. I could easily become a stalker. Follow a few car lengths behind him...just watching from afar. Though, doing what he does for a living, I’m sure he would spot me in a matter of minutes.

  I can’t wait any longer. I exit my car and cross the parking lot, heading straight for Cole. He glances up from his phone just in time for me to bombard him with my lips. He rocks against me, my intrusion catching him off guard. And when it clicks in his head that it’s me that’s kissing him, his arms wrap around me and pulls me tight against his chest. It’s a movie moment. Time stands still as we make out on the sidewalk in front of this lavish restaurant. People are forced to walk around us to get inside while we stay connected, lost in each other. I’m tempted to yank Cole to the car and fuck him in the backseat, or demand for him to take me home so I can show him that he doesn’t need to treat me with kid gloves. I want him to have his way with me. I don’t want him to be gentle. I want him to ravage me.