by Cara McKenna
“Not the way you can,” she whispered, eyes shut tight. Her fingers sped and Rasul could feel how close she was from the tightening fit of their bodies. He slowed, knowing just how to draw out her climax.
“Oh God.”
“Good.” Slowly in, then back out, just as explicit, all the way so she’d feel the next penetration afresh. The nails of her free hand bit into his shoulder, the pain racing through him stronger and more intoxicating than liquor.
“Faster,” she begged.
He obeyed only the tiniest bit.
“Faster, please.”
But slow meant control. Slow meant she’d come for ages, that she’d come in the midst of aching desire, not a flash of frantic action. Slow meant plenty of time for her to watch him, feel him, realize what he could do to her. Him and no one else.
He thrust quickly, deeply, three times to witness what it did to her then back to the torture. Her eyes opened, gaze restless, moving all over his body.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She met his stare, her own eyes widening. When her attention faltered he repeated the command, louder.
“Look at me.”
She held his gaze for half a minute, then he redirected. “Watch my cock.”
They both obeyed that one. A glorious sight, his body owning hers, her fingers caressing her arousal. He spread her wider with his hips and leaned back, taking her upright with his hands on her knees. Her lips parted with silent approval.
“Imagine he’s watching,” Rasul said. He sure as hell was. A selfish part of him might wish he was the only man Emily had ever been with, but that fantasy was easily replaced with another—to be the best she’d ever had, and for her to know that beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Before him, the evidence mounted. She felt scorching hot around his pounding cock, and he imagined the shock another man would surely feel, experiencing that.
Her eyes shut and he wondered what movie was playing inside her head. Maybe none. Maybe just their reality.
A final soft, pained “baby” escaped her lips. The hand on her clit froze as she drove her hips hard against his. He felt the spasms as she came around his cock and the scrape of her nails on his shoulder. All at once he was speeding to release himself, body electric with the thrill of watching her. He waited endless seconds for her to still and relax before he took his turn.
Her eyes opened as he slid out. As he fisted his cock he gazed across her skin, pale and rosy, her belly, her cunt, her breasts and nipples. Hazel-green eyes on his surging hand, cheeks and lips burning pink with what he could do to her. So unlike the woman he might have guessed he’d one day call his wife, yet now there could be no other vision.
His excitement mounted, the sensations nearing pain, and he closed in on his climax. The movement of Emily’s hand drew his eyes from her face to her pussy, as her fingers traced her dark, flushed lips. His own hand sped, coordination waning as he felt release edging closer. A moan tumbled from his mouth and he saw her smirk—a wry little smile that pushed him clear over the cliff, plummeting into sweet, thoughtless pleasure.
He watched his come empty onto her belly, lost in a haze of power and possession and blissful, fleeting, perfect calm. As the high faded he felt her hands on his thighs, a grazing touch that eased him gently back to reality. He got control of his muscles and flopped to the mattress beside her. Before she could leave him to tidy herself in the bathroom, he pulled her close, chest to chest, and kissed her. He stroked her cheek and marveled at the softness of her skin, her hair, her very presence.
She freed her mouth. “You tricked me.”
He pulled back to show her a pair of raised eyebrows.
“Makin’ me think we weren’t about to have sex.”
He grinned and stole another kiss. “You’re the one who ordered me to.”
“Yeah. True.”
“So you only have yourself to blame.” He kissed her a final time and she left him alone in the bed, alone but surrounded by her smell and warmth and lingering energy.
He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, sleep coming down so fast and easy it must have belonged to some other, simpler man.
* * * * *
The weekend arrived and passed, an idyllic two days of April sunshine that Emily and Rasul spent painting the guest bedroom and assembling the most overly complicated dresser in creation. Another barbecue for two; a long, pleasant walk. So normal on the outside, both of them burning up from the uncertainty of what this new week might bring.
Emily always took care with her appearance, but on Tuesday she gave it a hundred-and-ten-percent. With her plan already launched, she was invested now. She wanted Jeremy to say yes worse than she’d ever admit out loud. And if he said no, she wanted to accept that answer graciously—while looking as sexy as possible. She selected a shirt with a deep vee-neck, snug jeans made snugger by the dryer. She tugged on her old, authentic Texas cowboy boots, a little tribute to Jeremy’s roots, a good-luck charm.
Rasul arrived home from work minutes before she left, and neither spoke of what was surely weighing on both their minds. Would Jeremy show? Would he have an answer? Were they in agreement about which answer they wanted? She kissed her husband goodbye and headed to the bar.
Jeremy usually arrived around eight, which would make the first hour of Emily’s shift the longest imaginable as she waited, watched the door, examined each entering patron’s face. She sighed as she parked and did her best to push the thoughts away.
To her great surprise and relief, Jeremy’s was the first smile to greet her as she stepped behind the bar from the back room.
“Hey, you,” she said. “Looks like you beat me here for a change. Hope that doesn’t mean you got fired today.”
“Nope. Just eager to see a friendly face.”
Their eye contact lingered for longer than was professional before Emily got hold of herself. Jeremy already had a beer in his hand so she excused herself to greet the other usuals and log in to the register and timecard system. She filled a few orders and glanced at Jeremy whenever possible, finding his gaze always aimed innocently at the TV. Dear God, why had she promised not to bring up their conversation? She wondered how long she could make it, waiting for him to clue her in to what he was thinking, what he may or may not have decided.
She monitored his glass and made sure to be the one who offered a refill when it got low.
“’Nother Guinness?” she asked.
“Please.”
She started his pint, and though it violated her promise to pretend their talk hadn’t happened, she smirked at him. To her delight, he returned the mischief before glancing away guiltily.
“So how was your day?” she asked as the stout settled. “You kick those hotshot rich ladies’ butts in the gym?”
He nodded. “In the morning, yeah. The afternoon was a bit different. I’m helping this one client train for the Marine Corps Marathon this fall. Today was her first long run in about fifteen years. She beat breast cancer last year and it’s on her bucket list.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. She’s sixty-one and retired from government work, real nice change of pace from the usual. Different sort of driven, you know?”
“I’ll bet.” She smiled as she finished his pour, inspired as always by other people’s ambitions, wondering what her own ought to be. “That’s so cool. I could never run a marathon.”
“Sure you could.”
“I dunno, I’m awful bowlegged. Plus my face turns bright red just jogging to catch a bus.” She set Jeremy’s beer at his elbow and took away his empty glass.
“I’d offer to train you, but I probably won’t be around here after August.”
Her middle jolted and she frowned. “Really? How come?”
“Just time to move on. I’ve saved up a bunch of money to travel, and I think it’s time to finally pull the trigger. My life here’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t want to wake up in ten years still doing what I am now.”
“Gos
h, me neither.” She stared at his hands. “I just hope that decision… I just hope it doesn’t have anything to do with Reston, you know? Anything somebody might’ve done or said that made you want to leave for good.”
She looked to his face and found him smiling. “No, of course not. I think it’s just spring. Whatever it is in the air that makes you want to try something new. Start over. Plus I always thought I’d do the travel thing before I was thirty. And I’ll be thirty-two this summer. Clock’s ticking.”
She nodded. “I hear you.” He knew better than anybody that Emily was looking to try something new. Throw me a bone, here. “Well, I won’t be lying when I say I’ll miss seeing you around this place. And runnin’ around town with your dog. Oh my goodness, what’ll happen to your dog while you’re away?”
“My sister’s going to watch him for me, back in Texas.”
She gave the bar a whap with her palm. “Darn. I was half hoping I could take him off your hands.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Sure, I’d love a dog. It’d give me something to do all day. But Rasul said let’s wait until we know what my schedule will look like, after I get my nursing degree. If I get my degree.”
“You will.”
“He says it’s ridiculous how Americans decide they want puppies or babies, then have to hire somebody—some stranger—to look after them ‘cause they’re too busy to do it themselves. He’s awful traditional. About some stuff.”
“I’ll bet… You’re off to school in September, right?” he asked.
“That I am.”
“Sounds like we’ve both got our sights on the next big thing.”
Another customer interrupted their chat and Emily left to fill orders. Things stayed busy and she didn’t have a chance to resume their conversation for a half-hour or more. By then it felt silly to try to jump right in and bypass the small talk.
“Doin’ all right here?” she asked, nodding at his half-full glass.
“Yeah.”
She busied herself wiping down the counter in front of the taps, praying he’d give her some kind of sign. An acknowledgment of what her mother called “the invisible rabbit in the room”, though Emily didn’t think that phrase was quite right.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “So, um…”
She held her breath.
“What are you guys up to this weekend?”
She wiped the already perfectly clean wood. “Oh, I dunno yet. How about you?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know yet either. If the forecast’s accurate, it’s supposed to be pretty lousy. Back to the low fifties and rainy.”
“That’s too bad. Just when I thought spring was here.”
He rotated his glass on its coaster. “Good weather for staying inside, I guess.”
Her heart sped, chest inflating with hope and fear. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
Her coworker Danielle’s voice burst in at the worst possible moment. “Em? I have to change a keg. Could you ring this party up?”
“Yeah, ’course. Pardon me.” She gave Jeremy a nervous smile and left him to do her job. It was another ten minutes before things quieted down enough to sidle back up to him.
“Sorry about that. So you were saying something…about the weather being lousy this weekend?” She gave herself a mental eye roll. Oh yes, very smooth.
“That’s what I heard, anyhow. Like they’re ever right.”
“Yeah…” The only word left in her vocabulary, it seemed. “Well. Um. I’m making maqluba on Saturday night.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
Emily smiled, having known he wouldn’t, proud to feel attached to anything exotic. “It’s this dish made with layers of rice and eggplant and meat, then served upside-down. Not the prettiest thing you ever saw, but it tastes delicious. When we got married, Rasul’s mother mailed me this huge box of recipes.”
“Oh right.”
“Half the ingredients in her recipes you can’t even find around here. But luckily Rasul doesn’t seem to care. I just do my best and if I screw it up, he’s nice enough not to tell me.” Emily laughed. “But if my mother-in-law ever comes to visit I’m totally screwed. It’ll be like an I Love Lucy episode in that kitchen.”
He smiled. “So, maqluba?”
“Yup. It’s real good. I make it with ground lamb. You, um, you ought to come over some night and try it.”
She waited an eternity as Jeremy sipped his beer. He stared at the glass for a moment and said, “That sounds lovely.”
“Saturday night, if you’re eager. ‘Round six.”
“I’m free then.”
“Oh?”
He nodded.
She went blank momentarily, antsy warmth filling her from the floor up. “Well. Lovely. Here, let me scribble my number down.” She grabbed a receipt and a pen and wrote the digits nice and neat for him. “Not that I won’t see you on Thursday. You can always change your mind. But I’ll be sure and make enough for three.”
He accepted the paper, folding it tidily.
Danielle butted in as she passed by, hands full of empty glasses. “Giving your number out to customers?” she asked, flashing them both a teasing smile and nodding at the receipt.
Jeremy laughed and exchanged a glance with Emily. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he told Danielle.
“Just be careful, Jeremy. Her husband’s an assassin or something.”
“Oh trust me, I know.”
“I was just inviting him to dinner sometime,” Emily said. “Been chattin’ this poor boy’s ear off for six months now and he still comes back. Least I can do is have him over for a hot meal.” A hot meal, among other offerings.
Danielle put on a patronizingly heavy Southern accent. “You sweet little slice of Georgia pecan pie, you.”
“I know. But you city folks should try it. Y’all don’t even know your neighbors’ names, I bet.”
“Sure we do,” Danielle said, filling the dishwasher. “I’ve got Baldie to the left, and the Parking Nazi to my right, and Guy Who Doesn’t Pick Up His Dog’s Shit right across the street. Very cozy.”
Emily shook her head. Danielle headed out to pick up more empties and Emily looked to Jeremy.
She blushed and cleared her throat, realizing with a start she was likely going to sleep with this man. “Well, how exciting.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows in agreement as he sipped his drink.
She felt awkwardness descending and shuffled away to organize the register. With a glance back at Jeremy, she decided that was a stupid impulse. This was something to be over the moon about, not scared of. She should be flirting her head off, not avoiding the boy. She poured a shot of bourbon and filled a tumbler with seltzer, setting the former in front of him. He picked up his shot and she clinked her glass against it.
“To trying new stuff,” she announced. “Travel and school. And maqluba.” She said the final word with a wiggle of her brows, feeling slightly drunk on their conspiracy.
“Cheers.” Jeremy sipped his drink and smiled.
She might see a different smile on that face in a few days’ time. Other expressions too—anticipation and helplessness, uncertainty, maybe fear. But when she said goodbye to him on Saturday night or Sunday morning—goddamn, she’d make sure he was smiling then.
Chapter Five
Emily had told Rasul once that the abuse she’d gone through as a child had been the best thing that could have happened to her.
“Not that it was good that those things happened,” she’d corrected herself. “It was awful. But if that hadn’t happened, and if I hadn’t acted out and turned into one of the ‘bad girls’ in high school… Gosh, it scares me to think it. I’d probably have ended up one of those perfect, freaky pageant girls. And those perfect girls, none of them ever made it out of my crappy little hometown. They all wound up pregnant by twenty-one and married to the only guy they ever let get a hand up their shirt. Jesus forgive me, but I’m so glad I turned out rotten.”
R
asul was continually surprised by his wife’s odd brand of wisdom. He couldn’t ever agree that her being abused was a good thing, but he was flattered beyond words that she seemed to think it was a reasonable price to have paid to end up here, with him, in the life they were making together.
It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon and Rasul was reading the news online in the den. He glanced over his laptop at Emily puttering in the kitchen, assembling ingredients to mangle one of his mother’s recipes. Not that he minded her mangling it, particularly. He forgave Emily a thousand things he’d never expected he would. He’d been issued a very specific set of expectations for the woman he’d one day marry, and Emily was few of them. Kind and patient, surely destined to be a good mother…a good cook, if not of the cuisine he’d grown up with. Not yet, at least.
But innocent, obedient, deferring? Not in the slightest.
“Do you need any help?” he shouted.
“Nope. All set.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Will do.”
He’d not been taught to make such offers—yet another unexpected modification of his manhood that he’d come to enjoy. He trusted the States had little to do with this spiritual makeover. It was all Emily. She’d corrupted him so effortlessly. Without a trace of manipulation, she seeped through every miniscule hole in his armor, and now he’d never get her out. He wouldn’t ever want to.
If someone had told him as a twenty-something that his wife would have a sordid sexual past before he met her, he’d have hit them. Yet looking at Emily now, flesh and blood and untheoretical, he couldn’t care less.
Where he was from, it was far too easy for a woman to find herself ruined. That was how his sister had seen herself, and perhaps still saw herself, though she had eventually succeeded in marrying. Rasul no longer valued such things as perceived female “goodness”. He valued Emily, a woman made up of flaws as well as gifts. Some other man might call her damaged or soiled, but to him she was merely Emily, angelic on the outside, all her scar tissue hidden by her soft exterior. Stronger than she ever gave herself credit for. She’d forgiven people who’d hurt her beyond Rasul’s comprehension. He could fuck up a man in a hundred brutal ways, but he couldn’t ever do that—forgive someone. That made her more powerful than him by miles.
