Playing House

by Willsin Rowe

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? I’m over it all, that’s what. I don’t usually swear, but in your case I’ll make an exception. Back. The fuck. Off.”

  “I’m not doin’ anything. I told you, you’re not in trouble or nothing.”

  That was the final hit. His stubborn, corrosive attitude set fire to the fuse already inside me. The way he stood there as if he owned the car park and all inside it. Filling my senses like I was supposed to simply squeeze into whatever space he wasn’t using… he had come to represent every negative quality I’d seen in any man.

  “Patrick, this is your last chance.” The simple act of asserting myself had my heart pounding, but the tingling sensation running through my limbs was a delightful treat. If I had to run, I’d be chock full of adrenaline. But in the mood I found myself, running wouldn’t be my first option. I had just become the lioness. “If you won’t treat me like I’m a lady, then I will treat you like I’m a man.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  He had the height, the size and the strength. All I had was the fury of a woman scorned. Two decades and change of believing I had to put my own needs last. That I wasn’t good enough, or thin enough, or pretty enough or just straight out enough. I almost felt sorry for Patrick at that moment.

  With the fury boiling through me, I jerked my back away from the cold bricks and angled my face up to his, my teeth clenched and voice strangled.

  “Back. Off.”

  I made a fist around my car keys, leaving the long metal tip of one protruding between my fingers. Cocking that arm, ready to punch, I shoved Patrick in the chest with the other hand.

  “What the fuck are ya doin’?” He stepped back. It was almost nothing. Only a matter of inches, really, which in the greater scheme of things shouldn’t matter a whole lot. But the thrill of it came from the knowledge that, in some small way, I had just forced a man to work around my needs for a change.

  Before he could regather his balance completely, I slammed the heel of my hand against his shoulder, pushing him back another few inches. “Do not touch me, Patrick. Do not get too close.” I pulled back the hand that was packing keys and tilted my head. “Don’t even breathe my damn air, you asshole.”

  He curled his top lip skyward as he looked me up and down. “Yeah?” He slapped out at my hand, trying to dislodge the keys from my grip, but right then it would’ve taken a tornado to get them away from me. “Or what?”

  His arrogance hadn’t shifted at all. Clearly he still saw me as only a woman, and not to be taken seriously except as a place to store his penis whenever the mood hit. And where I’d been angry before, suddenly the heat of it froze over, and I became dry ice. So cold I could burn through him.

  I jabbed my free hand up and grasped him around the throat. Seeing the way his eyes bugged was almost worth all this crap. I pulled my other hand back as if to strike at him and he put his hands up like he was surrendering. “Or what, you say? Take a wild guess, you bastard. Or should I call it a… stab in the dark?” The moment I finished speaking I jerked my arm forward, making out I was actually going to sink my key into his flesh somewhere. Hearing his quick suck of air was the biggest thrill of the past week. Well, the biggest non-sexual thrill, anyway.

  “How do you like it, you fucking bully?” I didn’t have enough strength in my hand to cut off his airflow, and truthfully the idea of even trying was absolutely reprehensible to me. Despite the heart-pounding thrill of feeling powerful for a moment, it just made me ill inside that I’d been forced to sink to his level. “You don’t like it when a girl fights back, huh? Well, not everyone is as nice as I am. So maybe you’ll think a little harder before you go off and assault some other poor girl.” With another little push I forced him back further. “Maybe you’ll even go so far as to learn some respect.” Push. “Hell, next time maybe you won’t run around behind my back, sticking your tired penis into anything with a pulse.”

  At that moment, I’d almost been prepared to lash out. To slam home the fist with the car key poking out, and let this guy take one for the team. The team being men. It was only when he spoke that I realized I’d zoned a little and made my daydream into a reality for a second.

  “Wh-what are you on about, you head case? I never did any of that.”

  With one final, hearty shove, I got him moving backward again. The moment before I released his throat from my grip I tightened, leaving a bunch of satisfying scratch marks on his skin. “I’ve had it up to here with you!” I turned to the sky and screamed. “With every single one of you! Leave me the hell alone!”

  “Jesus. Are you on your rag or something? Fucking crazy bitch.”

  With my arms stiff, my fists back down by my sides, I marched toward him. “That’s right, Patrick. I’m the worst bitch of all. A green-eyed redhead. They don’t come any crazier than my kind. In my mighty chest beats the heart of a Viking. Running through my body is the blood of a witch. And my soul drinks from the same pool as Boudicca!”

  At that moment, everything I’d said was supremely true. My Dark Ages ancestry had come boiling to the surface and I was the warrior queen, just looking for blood to drink.

  “Fuck. You’re off your damn rocker. I can’t believe I was gonna let you come out with me.” He turned up the alleyway and left, walking like he’d rather be running, only looking back long enough to be sure I hadn’t followed.

  “Keep walking, you turd. And you better just hope I don’t press any charges. You’re a big man out here, mister postman, but when you’re in prison you’ll find out what a male slot really is!”

  By that time he was almost certainly out of earshot, but that didn’t matter to me. Once he’d reached the street and turned the corner, common sense would dictate he’d have run like a mad fool in case the fiery Gaelic bitch was on his tail.

  With the words and the anger drying up, I turned back to check on Mario.

  “Come on, let’s get you to the doctor.”

  “No, no. I am okay, Lucy. No break, just scratch. I will have bruises for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “You do not need to be sorry, bella. That man, he is the one need to be sorry.” Mario pressed his palm to my cheek. “I am so proud of you. Sofia, God rest her soul, would sing songs about you. Warrior woman.”

  His words worked magic on me again, and I stood, helping him to his feet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, Lucy. I would like to go home, though.”

  I helped him to my car and unlocked it, slipping him into the passenger seat and myself into the driver’s seat. For a few breaths I sat there as if nothing had happened. I was so damn proud that I’d stood up for myself, and that I’d come back into my own relatively-sane mind almost instantly. For a moment, I stared at the featureless back wall of my shop, letting my heart pound and my blood flow. And then the weight of delayed fear and emotion overwhelmed me.

  The tears burst forth like a fountain. So many of them I wondered if they’d ever stop, or if I’d dehydrate fully before I could even start the car. They felt as old as time, but were as hot as my red, shameful cheeks. Loss, injustice and fear were at war within me, but as much as anything it was my own actions that had me at a loss. So much of what I’d hated in the male gender—threats, violence, rage—had come streaming out of me without any trouble. Either I was an excellent observer, or I was a terrible person, too.

  Anger finally trumped all the other emotions. Patrick. Cameron. Every boyfriend, every male colleague, all the way back to high school. No man had ever treated me the way I deserved. And I wasn’t even moaning about love anymore. It was in every part of my life. I would have settled for acknowledgement. Grudging if envious respect, even.

  Yet, whether it was through a passive choice to avoid conflict, or a polite fear of consequence, I’d allowed myself to be treated poo
rly. I’d settled for it and neither asked the right questions, nor raised the right points. Until recently.

  Until that damn Mark moved in and tilted my world. Right from the start, even when he was still with Gabrielle, he’d treated me the way people are supposed to treat each other. With warmth, respect, and even humility. Like I was a human being and everything. Without it being about scoring with me.

  But now things had turned physical, and every time I looked at him there was something else in there. Something more. And, though I dared not think it could be true, that particular something felt dangerously close to love.

  Of course, that whole concept was so ridiculous, and so damn impossible, that it scared the hell out of me. Because whenever I looked into his eyes, I could see the same feeling glowing from within him too.

  The bastard.

  19

  Mario patted the back of my hand where it sat on the steering wheel. Only lightly, since he was using his bandaged hand. He said nothing, but that little contact was enough to bring me back under control. At least enough to drive.

  We made it to Mario’s house in a few minutes. He kissed my hand and got out, but I called after him.

  “Can you manage at home with your hand like that?”

  “I will be fine. There is a service I use sometimes. Nurses come to me.” He lit me up with a smile. “You are like fussy granddaughter.”

  “I’d be honored if I were your granddaughter, Mario.”

  “Ah, bella. You are so beautiful.”

  As I drove away I felt a weariness settle over me. Not the kind that would send me to sleep. More the kind that would require a blanket fort as therapy. And lots and lots of books.

  A particularly frustrating drive home got me all worked up again, though. Traffic snarls, red lights and the occasional side-of-the-road sessions to clear my vision when a fresh batch of tears filled my eyes. It wasn’t even sadness by that point. I swore it was simply my body offloading all the toxins after the stress of dealing with Patrick.

  The moment I stepped inside my house I felt my tension ease just a little. Then I noticed the sound of the shower running, and a small swarm of butterflies made themselves known in my belly. I hung my car keys on their hook, closest to the door, and slipped off my shoes. Little rituals to help ground me in my sanctuary. With my handbag on its hook, lower down but still close to the door, I sauntered over to the fridge and took out the carafe of filtered water, pouring myself a nice tall glass of it. My hand was barely shaking as I drank the cold liquid, but by the time I placed the glass in the sink, my entire body seemed to be vibrating.

  The trouble was, this was no longer a release of tension. This was a whole other need. I scratched at my own arms, and fidgeted side to side, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

  I’d officially taken up residence in uncharted territory. All that power and strength I’d felt, the confidence to back that asshole Patrick down, had been intoxicating. And though it was my skin itching, I knew for certain that the true tingle came from deep within me. I began to wonder if this was how addiction might feel. Toni had long given me a hard time about my quirks, and hinting I was addicted to cleaning, but the buzz I got from eradicating chaos was nothing compared to the thrill running through my body at that moment. And it was all to do with Mark.

  As if my thoughts had reached him, suddenly Mark coughed. It was nothing, really. Just an everyday sound. But it echoed a little because of where he was, and it cut through all other sensations. It set my brain—and body—to high alert. That one deep, masculine sound had taken all my thoughts and distilled them into a single, simple visual. Mark. Standing in the shower, naked and wet. Running those big, strong-but-gentle hands all over his wonderful lean body. Glistening as if he’d been working hard on top of me. Or beneath me. Either would be perfect.

  And with that dirty movie running through my head, suddenly I wanted nothing else than to bust in on him. To take out all my frustrations against the brick wall of his amazing abs. To grind all my woes out on the hardness of that gorgeous man.

  A tiny voice inside my head warned me of all the reasons I shouldn’t. They were good reasons. Strong, sensible reasons. Ones that I’d explained so clearly to Mark almost the minute I’d come back down from my third orgasm last night.

  But before I could let common sense dictate my life and spoil every chance of fun, I slipped out of my clothes and crept into the bathroom.

  When I wrenched opened the shower door, Mark jumped in surprise. Seeing the shock on his face gave me a tiny bit of satisfaction. After all the times he’d crept up on me it was nice to get one back on him. But his shock eased in less than a second as his eyes narrowed, and he scanned my naked body.

  “Luce? What are you doing?”

  “Shh.”

  This was something I couldn’t explain to him. Not because of a lack of words, but more a lack of time. If he made me stop long enough to form a sentence, that sentence would undoubtedly become you’re right, Mark, we can’t do this. It didn’t matter if that was true. All that mattered in this moment was my own need.

  If I told him what happened at the store, about Patrick and his threats, the moment would be spoiled. Mark would get all protective, which was lovely, but the last thing I needed right then was a hug and a sweet dose of there, there. What I needed was to let the utter beauty of Mark push all other men from my mind. But more than anything else, I needed to be in the driver’s seat this time. To shape a man to my wants and desires instead of the other way around.

  I stepped into the hot stream of water and rested my hands on his shoulders a second before running them down his amazing chest and belly. A moment later I leaned in, avoiding his mouth and instead pressing my lips to his sternum, letting the shower water drizzle through my hair and down my back.

  Mark brought his hands up to my hips, holding tight, squeezing my flesh. Any other time that would be everything in the world, given how many guys had bypassed them in favor of the more obvious areas. The way he touched my every curve, every time, had my belly buzzing with desire.

  But this was not about my hips, or his hands, or anything he might want. This was my moment. I kissed a path down his hard abs until all I could see was the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about. His gorgeous cock, thickening and rising before me. Without a single word I pulled his length deep inside my mouth and sucked on him, squeezing the base of his shaft and twisting.

  “Oh, hell. Luce...”

  The delightful smooth heat of him radiated against my tongue and it just made me hungrier than ever. He moaned and growled as I worked him over with lips and tongue, drawing his whole length inside me like a dirty girl would. Pulling out and licking the length of his goddamn beautiful cock. Sucking on his fat, roiling balls like they were filled with syrup. It was a moment of sheer, animalistic perfection.

  He seemed to sense something within me. Of course he couldn’t know what I was feeling, nor what actually drove me to slut it up like I was doing. But he took my attention without any further question. Because guys always like to stop and question everything when a woman leaps onto his cock and sucks the life out of it. Totally.

  As I pistoned down his length and back up, I reached for his chest and traced his wonderful muscle tone. I devoured him as if he was the source of all my worries, and I could eradicate them by making him come.

  Mark burrowed his hands into my hair and squeezed, pulling all my awareness into my scalp for a moment. It was heaven and it was hell and I had everything I needed. His delicious cock in my mouth, and his body in my control. My tongue pleasuring him while he punished me. I couldn’t see his face through the cascading water, but it took little imagination to picture him moaning to the skies.

  The deep rumble of his voice sounded, as if he was reading my mind. At first the vibrations rippled through the length of his body and buzzed against my lips and tongue. Then,
as I worked him harder, the moans grew louder, taking on a gurgling sound as the hot shower ran into his mouth and overflowed.

  I cupped his balls and licked up and down the length of his cock, desperately trying to taste every inch of him, all at once.

  When I pulled him back inside my mouth and ground my tongue against the belly of his beast, he tightened his fists in my hair even further, making my scalp almost scream with pain and delight. A moment later his moan became animalistic grunting, almost coughing, and he tried to pull free of me. I wasn’t having a bar of that, and held him inside my mouth, craving what was about to come.

  Mark’s legs juddered and he drove his hips forward and up, filling my mouth as far as I’d let him. A moment later his hot, salty juice burst across my tongue, almost like ocean waves, and I moaned with fulfillment. It was such a healthy, masculine flavor, with a texture so smooth and creamy. As his climax dissipated, his groans became whimpers and his muscles turned to san,.

  Certain he’d be looking at me, I let his come slide out the side of my mouth. Judging by his long moan, he was not only watching, but loving it. I even put in a little showmanship, moaning with desire as I felt the juice drizzle onto my breasts and down my body.

  “Luce...”

  I kept my eyes closed as I looked up into the stream of water, letting the shower spray wash into my mouth and overflow to take the rest of Mark’s fluid with it. With a quick and showy wipe of my lips to finish the job, I stood and shook the water from my hair. Giving Mark that pleasure, without asking anything in return, had been a beautiful moment. My way of saying sorry without words, I suppose. But as soon as we dried off, I planned to make an even more beautiful moment with him.

  After all, though I’d managed to stand up to Patrick, the threat he’d posed was a stark reminder of the worst side of men. That in turn only really served to prove how wonderful Mark was.

  “God, Luce. You’re spinning my head here, babe.”

  His words were hard to read, and his tone was neutral. Had I somehow messed up by giving him a no-strings-attached blow job? Was that even possible? “I–I hope that was okay?”