by Jessie Cooke
Thinking he would take her from behind, Bella got to her knees. She used one hand to prop herself up and the other to continue the stimulating circles Luke’s fingers had started. She felt herself hard and wet.
“Spread your legs and relax,” Luke whispered, his hands running underneath her to fondle her breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching lightly. “Pop that little bum in the air,” he instructed, to which Bella turned to him, a question furrowing her brow.
“Just how are you going to accomplish this, ninja warrior?” she asked confused by the position she was in.
“Have you ever had anal before?” Luke asked.
Bella’s ass dropped to the bed, and she shot straight up. “Anal? No! I . . . uh. . . well, I just don’t do that.”
Luke approached the bed again and slid across to her. His hand went into the open space her crossed legs created, and he fingered her pulsing pearl as he nuzzled his face into her neck. “You can trust me, baby,” he crooned. “I know what I’m doing.”
His hand worked magic, and she felt his fingers slid into her. She twisted and settled into his hand again, pushing into it as she spied how hard he was sitting beside her.
“You do know what you’re doing there,” she whispered. “But, I’m just not sure about the other stuff.”
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked. “It’ll be so good.”
She was in the mood for a good, old-fashioned pounding, and the more they talked about this back-door loving Luke was proposing, the less amorous she was feeling.
“Let me think about it,” she said. “For now, can’t you just fuck me good and hard and missionary-style?”
Luke shoved her onto her back and pressed himself against her. “I can do that, and I can show you how much you’re going to want me in your ass in the near future.”
And he slid his fingers out of Bella’s wetness and repositioned himself, running his length between her legs to moisten himself, he entered her quickly. Her breath caught as she felt him slide a finger into her ass.
“Don’t clench,” he said into her hair. “Just ride it.”
And when she released, she felt him in two places, pumping in to her, his breath hard in her face smelling slightly of liquor.
She moved her hips first to the left and then up, feeling him match her moves, driving deeper, and with one wiggle of his finger, her breath caught.
“Oh, god,” she sighed, and Luke knew that he had her. He thrust himself deeper as he concentrated on sliding and gliding his finger in unison, and the promise of her granting his wish next time, sent chills through his entire body as together they shuddered into firecrackers, pulsing together, breathing in chaos, until finally they were spent and collapsed into each other’s sweat.
43
It had been a Monday in spite of the fact that Bella had awakened to Luke’s scent on her pillow and his beautiful body in her bed. Once she got to work, she had taken one look at the messages she needed to return, picked up her phone, and dialed Christo’s number instead.
“Hello, you’ve got Christo.”
“It’s me.”
“Bella! Are you calling me from work? I don’t recognize this number.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t really meaning to, but . . . well, I guess my psyche wanted to talk to you.”
“Just your psyche? Not your whole self?” He laughed. “How have you been, my love?”
“Missing you! It’s weirder now not to see you than it ever had been. How’s married life.”
“Stupendous! I love being the wife. It’s so great. All these women who complain about it can kiss my ass. I love it when my man comes home from a tough day at the office and I can greet him at the door in my apron and boast that I have dinner in the oven and thirty-five minutes to rub his feet and shoulders—or anything else that may need it.”
Bella laughed. “And I’m sure you are wearing only that apron, too, aren’t you?”
“Are you supposed to wear more?” Christo feigned innocent surprise. “But how about you? How is your sordid love life?” he asked.
Bella responded with a groan and threw her head into her hand. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy,” she said easily to Christo. “You’d think I could count my freaking blessings, but I just can’t seem to focus on them.”
“Is it Reece again?”
“I can’t completely blame him,” she answered. “It’s just as much myself as anyone. I mean, I should be happy with Luke, right? He’s a girl’s dream: beautiful, loves to shop, sweet, chivalrous, decent in bed . . . except . . .” she sighed.
Christo said in a serious voice, “He can be a girl’s dream without being this girl’s dream, Bella. You can’t help it if something’s missing.”
She popped her head out of her hand suddenly. “That’s it: it’s not that something’s missing; it’s more like something’s there that’s not supposed to be. I don’t know what, but . . . there’s just something I can’t place.” She took a deep breath. “You know we talk about everything,” she began.
“Ye-es,” Christo drawled.
“And we’ve always said we could come to each other with anything,” Bella said painfully.
“Bella, what is it?”
“Well, last night, he took me by surprise. He asked me to do something no man has ever asked me, and then . . . well, he didn’t pressure me or anything, but . . . it made me feel like he really wanted this thing and was accustomed to getting it, and I felt weird not accommodating him.”
“Oh my god, he wants anal sex!”
“How did you get that out of what I said?” she asked exasperated at his ability to read her mind.
“Bella, I just know. Look, don’t take it the wrong way, but you are just this side of prudish, and you referred to his desire for something you weren’t willing to give and not accommodating him. Ok, so, we’re being honest here, and we can tell each other anything, right?”
“Right,” Bella affirmed.
“Well, I’ve wondered about him, Bells. Like, I caught him a time of two flirting with Simon in Haiti, and—call it ‘gaydar’ or whatever, but he’s thrown me off.”
“What do you mean he’s thrown you off?” Bella had a feeling she knew what Christo was going to say.
“I really think he’s gay.”
Bella laughed into the telephone. “Christo, I can assure you he is not. Believe me, okay?”
“Well, maybe he’s bi? I can’t explain it to you really, but Simon wondered the same thing. I just want you to be careful. Luke should be completely honest with you about who he is, and you should know what you’re getting into if you want to pursue a relationship with him. I just don’t want to see you heartbroken is all, and you’ve said there’s something about him.”
Bella’s mind was whirling. What if Christo were right? But how would that explain the chemistry she and Luke did have between them? He’d definitely gotten better at blowing her mind when it came to sex, but there was that initial weirdness and then the request last night.
“Oh dear god, what if you’re right?” Bella breathed into the phone. Then she shook her head against the thought. “No way. He’s not gay,” she whispered. “I know for a fact that he loves having sex with me, a woman. He’s not only said it, he’s proven it. Besides, don’t you think that after all I suffered with Reece, my bullshit detector would be fine-tuned? My heart would not let me fall for another man who wasn’t who he said he was.”
Or would it?
Bella begged off from spending time with Luke that evening, the conversation with Christo stuck on replay in her head. She kept asking herself if it would make that much of a difference to her if he did identify as bisexual. Hadn’t she found herself wondering occasionally about what it would be like to be with a woman?
Wondering and being are two completely different things, Bella reminded herself. She pulled into the grocery store parking lot, convinced that there were only two men for her at the moment—Ben and Jerry—and she knew that together, they�
�d make all of her worries go away.
As she paused for the automatic doors to open, she heard her phone deep within her purse alerting her to a text message. She dug into the abyss of her large bag while walking to the frozen foods section. She didn’t even have to look, her inner compass taking her straight to the ice cream section and the general vicinity of the Ben and Jerry’s selection.
She approached the freezer doors just as she pulled her phone out and slid her finger across the face to coax it into showing her its message.
It was from Reece, and it read, “Busy tonight?”
“What the hell does he think?” she mumbled as she texted back a message that said, “Not particularly. Hot date with my Chubby Hubby.” She knew he would understand since he had laughed at her when she had confessed during some pillow talk on that fateful weekend in South Padre that she kept an emergency stash of the ice cream way back in her freezer.
“I could come join you,” came the next message.
Bella stood frowning at her phone as she stood in front of shelf after shelf of ice cream behind glass freezer doors. Her mind was spinning. What had made him think that they were friends now, friends who would just hang out?
“Off Daddy duty tonight?” she texted back.
His message arrived within seconds: “Yes, and Daddy’s feeling a little lonely . . . for you.”
Her phone rang, and Reece’s picture popped up on her screen.
“He just doesn’t get it,” Bella said as she punched the button to answer. “Reece, I just don’t think—“
Reece made a buzzer sound. “Baaaaa, incorrect, my dear. The problem is you think too much.” His speech was slurred.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked.
“Ding-ding-ding. Now she gets one correct, ladies and gentlemen.”
“It’s a Monday evening.” She checked her watch. “Not even eight o’clock yet, and you sound snookered. That’s not like you.”
“I’ll tell you why,” he drawled. “It’s because of you.”
“Me? You’re blaming your poor decision to get besotted on a Monday night on me?” Her voice had gone up an octave, she knew, but she was livid.
“I need you, Bella,” Reece came back in all seriousness. “I can’t find the same joy in life without you.”
She felt exasperated and weary from the crown of her head to deep within her bones, and she felt angry and horny all at the same time. This man did a number on her, it was true.
“It can’t happen, Reece, but I know it’s not going to do any good to talk to you about it in this state. Look, you’re a dad now. You need to be a better example. What would Hayley say if she walked in and found you like this?”
“If she walked in and found me like this, I’d fall over of a heart attack, Bella. It’d be evidence that she’s a fucking genius.”
“Reece, I’m hanging up. You definitely don’t need to do any more drinking tonight. Promise me.”
“I’ll promise you that if you’ll promise me that you’ll give me another chance.”
“Not tonight, Reece. And if we’re going to have this conversation we’re going to do it one of two ways: both of us sober or me a little more drunk.”
He laughed that laugh—the one that sounded as if it came from deep down in his belly and couldn’t wait to burst out; the laugh that sounded as if he’d been surprised by unanticipated joy; the laugh that made Bella want to spend the rest of her life finding ways to make him do that over and over again.
“Touché,” he answered. “I’m sorry, Bella . . . for everything.”
“Have a good night,” she said, and she willed herself to hang up instead of waiting to hear him say another word, no matter how much she wanted his voice in her ear.
Her phone was silent, and she took it as a sign that he’d finally received her message loud and clear. She opened up the freezer doors and grabbed a pint of Chubby Hubby, and then upon second thought she snagged a pint of Phish Food and her old standby Cherry Garcia. Juggling the three pints, Bella allowed the freezer door to slam behind her as she headed towards the dairy remembering she needed milk as well—not to mention that Cherry Garcia made a mean milkshake. She could almost taste it as she hooked her two fingers through the handle on the half-gallon of milk and brought it up to check the date just as her phone alerted her to another message.
Sighing, she cradled the stacked pints of ice cream and transferred the half-gallon of milk to the same arm that held the ice cream so that she could operate her phone. She slid her finger across the screen, saw a picture of Reece attached, and then read his message: “It’s alright; you’re with me always now.”
Frowning, she zoomed in on the selfie he’d taken of himself in his new apartment, a gigantic painting on the wall behind him. As she looked closely, Bella understood the feeling of familiarity as she saw her own naked form, leg kicked back, arm draped over one breast, and her neck slightly craned. Slowly Bella felt the milk and ice cream lick at her toes on the floor bringing her back to realize that she’d just dropped all three pints and a half-gallon of milk as she stood gawking at her phone that revealed the painting Christo had done of her now hanging in her ex-lover’s apartment.
“What . . . the . . . hell?” she heard herself say aloud just as an annoyed voice came over the loudspeaker.
“Clean up aisle 9.”
44
“How could you, Christo?” Bella was screaming into her phone, tears streaming down her face, as she sped her car towards Dallas.
“What? Bella, what’s happening? How could I what?” Christo asked desperately.
“I’m on my way there, and you’d better have a good explanation, and then you’re gonna help me get it back!” she said through clenched teeth.
“Look, I don’t know what is happening or what you’re talking about,” Christo said trying to calm Bella. “Did you say you’re on your way here?”
“Yes!” she seethed.
“Now is not a great time, Bella. Are you in the car?”
She shot out into the darkness after sitting idle at a stoplight, and the squeal of her tires could be heard through the phone’s speaker.
“Nevermind. Listen, you are obviously very upset, and I want to talk to you about this, but not while you’re driving. You’ll kill yourself.”
She knew he was right. She pulled into the vacant parking lot of Dallas Savings and Trust.
Trust, her mind echoed and fixated on the word. I’d like to throw a rock through that word right now.
The bank was closed. This would be a good place for her to collect herself and calm down before driving to Dallas to rip Christo’s head off.
“Ok. I’m parked. And I’m sending you the image that has gotten me so upset.”
“Ok, good.” Christo said, and Bella could hear him whispering. It dawned on her that there was background noise and clinking and clanking.
“Are you out?” Bella asked.
“Dinner party— one of the guys in Simon’s office invited everyone over to celebrate a big win. A bit impromptu for a Monday night, but it was hard to say no when they were so excited. Plus, the guy’s wife is a gourmet chef who just loves throwing dinner parties. The food she cooks, Bella, you’d—oh, there’s your message. Let me see.”
Bella felt guilty for interrupting him at a dinner party, but then she remembered why she had done the interrupting in the first place. The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone let her know that Christo had seen the picture.
“That’s you!” he squeaked into the line.
“No shit!” she answered allowing the bitterness to drip of the end of her words.
“What the hell?” Christo asked.
“Exactly what I’ve wondered. Why wouldn’t you tell me that the painting was going to him?! I knew I shouldn’t have done that stupid sitting for you. Jesus! I let you talk me into anything, and now look at where it’s gotten me. But what kind of friend traps his roommate and so-called best friend into sitting for
a nude portrait that he then sells to her ex-lover who is also the father to her best friend’s baby?! Who does that?”
She knew how ridiculous the entire situation sounded, and if it weren’t happening to her, she would be rolling her eyes and making some quip about joining the ranks of Reality TV, daytime soap operas, and telenovelas, but unfortunately for her, this was her life.
“Bella, you’ve got to believe me. I never met the guy who commissioned the painting in person. I just met with an agent who brokered the deal, gave me the specifications he’d requested, and then brought me the cash. That was it.”
“I can’t believe this guy. It’s like I can’t get away. Even when I try to disentangle myself from him, he finds some way to get back to me. I’m never going to escape.” As she said this, she slowly pounded her head on the steering wheel and realized that, ironically, the idea of his pursuit sent a thrill all the way through her body, and she felt it end in dampness between her legs. “What am I going to do?” she asked not expecting an answer but open to the possibility of one.
“Go home,” Christo began. “Pour yourself a big glass of wine. Eat a box of chocolate—but dark chocolate, it’s better for you—and we’ll regroup in the morning.”
She sighed. “Okay,” she conceded. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Christo said. “I never want to hurt you, Bella. Believe me: if I had known anything about this---“
“I know. I guess it’s just a lesson learned,” she said. “But I’m going to at least ask if he’ll sell the painting to me.”
“If you have the kind of money he paid me to do the painting, then more power to you, girl. But something tells me, he won’t sell.”
“I have to give it a shot,” she said.
The line was quiet on the other side.
“Christo? Are you still there?” she asked.
“I’m here. I was just looking at that picture you sent again, and I must say.”
“Yeah?”
“You are one helluva beautiful woman, Bella Ryan. Just remember that. One helluva beautiful woman.”
