by Tiffani Lynn
The doorbell rings, startling me, and I set the book down on the coffee table. Who the hell is here at this hour? I look through the peephole and see Javier dressed like he just dropped his date off and came here. What does he want?
I’m scowling when I open the door a little.
His eyebrows are drawn low when he asks, “Hey, can I come in?”
I’m not wearing a robe or a bra so I let him in with a sigh and cross my arms over my chest. My boobs may not be big but it’s obvious I’m not wearing anything under my shirt. “Is everything okay?” I ask, still wondering why he’s here.
“I’m here to apologize to you about tonight. I told Vic I was sorry, but I didn’t say anything to you.”
“Okay, I’m not sure where all of that came from, but I accept. You could’ve called, you didn’t have to come over. I’m sure your date’s not happy you’re here.”
“I didn’t bring her.”
I tilt my head waiting for him to continue.
“I wanted to see you.”
I take a deep breath, unsure of what to say to that so I stay quiet, waiting to see if he’s going to add more.
“Are you going to see him again?” he asks and steps in a little closer.
“Yes… I mean, no. I mean…yes, but only as friends. He just wants to be friends, he’s not ready to date,” I answer honestly. I don’t mention that I don’t want to date Victor either.
Javier steps closer and I step back because it feels too close. After reading that damn book and having him—this enormous, sexy male specimen—right in front of me makes my skin overheat in a way it hasn’t since the night we spent together at his place. The memory of that brings the warmth to my cheeks and I’m afraid if I speak I’ll beg him to fuck me. That thought has never crossed my mind with any man—not even Ron—until Javier and I’m so glad no one can read my thoughts. I’d die of embarrassment.
“Do you want Victor, Val?” he asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating my very core.
I shake my head but don’t open my mouth, still afraid of what I might say that I’ll regret later.
He moves in a little closer and this time I don’t back away. I want to smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body close to mine. If I were taking what I truly want though, I’d run my fingers through his hair and pull him to me for one of his mind-bending kisses.
“I dropped Marcy off because she wasn’t the woman I wanted to be with tonight.” He reaches out and gently pushes my hair over my shoulder and I shudder at the graze of his knuckles along my neck.
“She wasn’t?” I squeak. Please, please, please let him say what I think he’s about to say. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If he doesn’t say that it’s me he wants I swear I’ll spontaneously combust right inside my doorway.
Before I open my eyes, his mouth is on mine, his hands in my hair holding me while he controls the kiss. His tongue is aggressive as it pushes inside my mouth and I moan as I accept it. My breasts grow heavier with need, my nipples pearling against the thin fabric of my pajama top. The kiss becomes more in a way I simply can’t explain. I just know that I need him now. I don’t care that this could be another one-night thing, I don’t care that it’ll be awkward when I see him next or that once again his signals are mixed. All that I care about is getting him inside me. One of his hands slips down between us to graze my breast and I groan, arching into the touch. His other hand grips my hair and yanks my head back and tingles race to my clit priming my sex for what’s to come.
“More?” he asks.
Is that really a question? “Yes,” I breathe.
“You know that’s all it can be, right?”
“Don’t care, I’m ready,” I say.
“Thank fuck!” he growls and pushes me against the wall as his mouth is back on mine. I can hear the buckle of his belt clink as he undoes it without breaking our connection, so I shove my pants and panties down and wiggle out of them. The fabric of his pants brushes my legs as he lowers them and I squirm in anticipation. I’m lucky enough to know what’s coming and I’m dying for it, for him.
Breaking our kiss, he leans back a little and yanks my top over my head so I’m standing before him wearing nothing, my breasts heaving with the excitement of the moment. He’s still mostly dressed and normally this would bother me because I like flesh on flesh during sex but I’m too damn needy to care. I reach between us and grab hold of his cock, finding that it’s thicker than I remember, and I squeeze. His mouth captures mine again as I slide my hand up and down his heated flesh. He grabs my wrist to stop me and when I protest, he whispers, “Condom.”
I let go, ready for the main event and knowing that once he rolls that condom on I’ll get what I’m practically begging to have. I feel him fidget a little and then both hands come up under my arms and lift. “Wrap your legs around me, bella,” he commands.
I do it and lock my ankles at the small of his back. He leans in, pressing his forehead to the wall next to my neck and thrusts inside me fast and hard, jolting me upward, my skin burning a little as it rubs against the wall.
“Fuck,” he growls, and I clench around him, giving him pause.
While I’m waiting, I slip my hands up under his shirt to feel his skin, and then he begins to move, thrusting harder than I’ve ever taken it before. I score his back with my nails, probably breaking the skin, but unable to stop my reaction. The fullness, the pain mixed with pleasure, and the fact that I’m getting fucked against a wall for the first time in my life all has me so turned on I’m coming in just a few minutes’ time.
Javier continues his beautiful brutal rhythm and another orgasm begins to build. I don’t think I can take another one. The last one was so powerful I’m having a hard time holding on.
“Javier,” I moan against his ear pleading, but I don’t know if it’s for him to go harder or stop altogether. Before I can put much thought into it his beard scratches the sensitive skin along my neck right before his hungry lips touch the skin. The abrasiveness of his beard is just enough to push me over the edge again and for the first time in my life I scream someone’s name during sex. If I could hold a coherent thought I’d probably be embarrassed, but honestly there’s no way I could control my reaction. This is my first back-to-back orgasm and it’s absolutely fucking amazing. I didn’t know the back-to-back was a real thing, never imagined how damn good it could feel. Before this, it was hard enough to have one, the idea of one after the other is mind-blowing.
“Val, oh God, I’m coming, Val, Val, Val…” he trails off as his hips slow their thrusts. I stay locked around him like a koala, kissing his throat and running my fingers through his long hair for a minute or two. Finally, he lifts me up and away by my thighs and lowers me to my feet with my back still against the wall.
“Trash,” is all he says and I point to the kitchen. Tugging up his pants and boxers, he shuffles in the direction I sent him.
“Under the sink, right side,” I call out. All the heat and excitement from a moment ago is dissipating as the hormone-high I was riding is leaving me rapidly. Now I feel a little lost.
When he returns to me I’m shrugging my top back on. I’ve never done anything like that so I have no idea what to expect. I also have no idea what he’s thinking and I’m suddenly insecure. I bend over to grab my panties and pajama pants, and pull them back into place. When I look up, he’s finished tucking his shirt back in and getting straightened up. What the hell do I say in this situation? He was clear before we went at each other like lust-crazed freaks that this was only a hook-up. Do I ask him to stay? Do I send him out the door? There needs to be a single woman’s handbook to address these things.
Javier steps close to me, the earlier tension sated now, his eyes soft, almost tender as he brushes my hair away from my face. Before I can tell him how uncomfortable I am he leans in and kisses my cheek quickly and says, “I’m sorry.” I don’t even get a chance to ask for what because he’s out the door and almost to his car before I can react.
What
’s he sorry for? Is he sorry he gave me the most exciting sexual experience I’ve ever had, or is he sorry he came here at all, or is he sorry about what happened with Victor? I have no clue because he took off before I could figure it out.
I’m pissed at myself for letting that happen and I’m pissed at him for not being man enough to stay long enough to explain. I hate feeling like someone’s mistake. How will I face him if I see him again?
Two days later I get a text from Javier asking to meet me at Hector’s. Although I’m still pissed and hurt by his behavior following our last encounter, I accept the invite. They say curiosity killed the cat. I’ve turned it over in my head repeatedly, trying to figure out why he practically ran out of my house like that. I knew in advance not to expect anything from it, but running out the door with an unexplained apology was the wrong move. It left me feeling insecure and uncomfortable, which are two things I hate.
My shoulders are stiff with tension when I arrive. He rises from his seat, kisses my cheek and waves toward the other side of the booth for me to sit down. Pedro comes over and gets our order and leaves. I sit quietly, trying to figure out why I’m here.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” he says as he looks up from his fingers where he’s flipping a chip over and over.
“You said that before you hauled ass out the door. I can’t figure out if you’re sorry you screwed me or if you’re sorry you took off with barely a word.” I chew on my bottom lip, waiting for him to elaborate. This is so uncomfortable.
“I should never have shown up or jumped on you.”
My stomach sinks. I didn’t expect anything to come of it, but for him to totally regret it is a slap in the face. I narrow my eyes on him and ask, “Do you call all your one-night stands to meet you for tacos so you can tell them how much you regret it?” I can’t keep the bite out of my tone.
“I don’t regret it. Well, I do, but not…”
“Javier, you’re pissing me off. I get that you wish it didn’t happen. Couldn’t you leave it at that instead of trying to make me feel like shit about it? Have some heart.”
His head jerks back. “You’re not upset it happened?”
“I told you I understood it wasn’t a commitment. I may be a little naive but I’m not stupid. I wasn’t upset about the sex. I was upset that you regretted it so much that you couldn’t even say a nice goodbye. You apologized and hauled ass like you thought I’d tie you up in the basement and make you marry me or something idiotic. That was insulting.”
He sits back in his seat, speechless. I wait him out. I said what I had to say, so it’s his turn.
“I thought I took advantage of you. I felt like I couldn’t control it and when it was done I felt guilty.”
“I knew exactly what that was and I went along with it, enjoyed it even.”
“You did?”
“Oh my God. You’re killing me. I’m not some delicate flower. I wanted it, I got it, I knew what the rules were. The end. The way you’re acting now, after the fact, is the only thing that’s pissing me off.”
“Oh.” He’s looking at me like I’m some kind of alien. I’m not going to sit through an entire lunch like this so I grab my coat and purse and slide out of the booth. I get about three steps away and I feel his hand clamp down on my arm.
“Wait. I’m sorry, I just thought… Never mind what I thought. I’m sorry for all of it. Come back and sit down. If you’re okay being friends, I want that.”
Reluctantly, I sit back down and it takes a few minutes of awkward conversation to lighten up the mood before I can finally ask him what’s been bugging me since Saturday night.
“Did you take your date home Saturday night before you came to my place because you were worried about her breaking curfew?” He sprays Coke all over the table when he busts up laughing. His warm, loud laughter turns my body inside out almost as much as one of his orgasms. I’ve never had laughter affect me like his does; it’s musical, magical and filled with happiness. I love it even though I’m covered in Coke spray. I grab my napkin from my lap and wipe my arms and chest down. He’s still laughing so I smile at him.
“Why’d you make me laugh right after I took a drink?”
“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh, I really wanted to know about your high school date.”
He grins. “You’re right, bella. She’s young, but not that young. I checked and she’s 21. I won’t be going out with her again, but she was of age so I don’t need to worry about the police showing up to cart me away.”
“Wow, is there a name for men who date much younger women? I know if it were reversed she’d be called a cougar.” More laughter spills out.
“The term is rhino and by definition I guess that night I was a rhino.”
“Rhino? Are you screwing with me?”
“Look it up in Urban Dictionary. You’ll find it. Age doesn’t bother me. Older or younger. I look for what appeals to me and go for it. As long as they aren’t already taken and are of age, that is.”
“I’m sorry to say I can’t see what you saw in Marcy.”
“That was my first and last date with her. When I met her at the post office I thought she was different. Anyway, let’s forget her and have a nice lunch.”
I love how he’s skipping over the subject of Marcy from the post office like he’s leapfrogging out of town. She must have been more of a bore than I suspected. If she was exciting, he never would’ve made it to my house. I smile to myself at the memory of him when I opened the door.
Lunch continues pleasantly and when we’re getting ready to part ways, I say, “Thanks for calling. Your friendship means a lot, even if you keep blurring the lines.” His eyes widen and I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m kidding.” I’m not really kidding, but I don’t want it to be awkward between us. He may say he only wants to be friends, but I can see it in his eyes when he’s with me. He wants more. I just wish I knew what was holding him back. “Thanks for calling. Everything is cool, let’s just move on.”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth for a second before he finally nods. “Okay, I can do that. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
With a quick kiss to his cheek I pull my coat on and rush to my car, trying to avoid the sleet that’s making a slushy mess everywhere.
Now that things are settled with him, I think I’ll spend the rest of the day doing something for myself until Thea gets home from her time with her dad. More than anything, I’m tired of the same look I’ve had for the last 10 years. I’m tired of appearing run-down and out-of-date so I spend the afternoon shopping for new clothes and an updated look at a salon. While I’m at the second store of the day, I run into my friend Rebecca, and she ends up joining me. She helps me pick out some clothing that’s flattering and more youthful—but not too young—and talks to the stylist about my hair for 10 minutes before allowing her to get to work.
By the time I’m done, I’m pleased with the look of my long layers streaked throughout with different levels of auburn and caramel highlights. I’m not afraid to say it looks amazing with my skin tone and I feel pretty damn good about it. I can’t remember the last time I came home from the salon excited about the result.
That evening at eight sharp, Ron walks Thea to the door when it’s time for drop off. When he gets a glimpse of the new me he blurts, “What did you do?”
Before I can answer him, Thea squeals in obvious excitement and pushes past me into the house, “Mom, you look awesome! I love your new hair!”
I smile at Thea. “I brought myself into this decade.” My smile broadens as his confused expression continues. “Same thing for Sunday night?” I ask, hoping to send him on his way. He nods and I finish, “Goodnight, Ron.” As I’m shutting the door he grabs it, halting the progress, and asks, “Why are you changing?” His eyebrows drop low like he’s trying to figure this out.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not changing, just enhancing. I think I d
eserve to update things a little in my life. If you stay the same, you’ll get the same results and I really don’t want the same results.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Now he’s not only confused but agitated too.
“Think hard, Ron, and it’ll be obvious. Have a good night. I’ll see you after your next visit.” This time he moves his hand so I can close and lock the door. I strut into the living room with a big smile on my face.
For the next couple of weeks leading up to Christmas, Ron is nicer than usual and makes sure that he sees me during drop off and pick up. It’s weird and a little unsettling. I keep waiting for him to ask to have Thea at his house Christmas morning, but it never happens. I’m not sure how much more of his lingering I can take and it also makes me wonder where Sheila is in all of this.
The more time I’ve spent away from him, the more clearly I’ve seen him for the asshole he really is, and I wonder how I lasted as long as I did with him. I’m not sure if I overlooked who he was all these years or if he morphed into this person while I was gone, but I’m understanding more and more that I’m getting the better end of the deal with the divorce.
Christmas is quiet with it being only Thea and me. We decorated the tree a couple of weeks ago and she seemed a little melancholy while we were doing it so I wasn’t sure how she was going to be the day of. I get up early that morning out of habit and turn on both the lights to the tree and the Christmas music. Then I bake cinnamon rolls like I do every year when I’m home. After that I sit on the couch sipping my coffee until Thea shuffles from her room looking sleepy and rumpled.
“Merry Christmas, Muffin!”
“Merry Christmas, Mom. How long have you been up?”
“A couple of hours. Cinnamon rolls are on the stove when you’re ready.”
“You made cinnamon rolls?” Her eyes widen.
“Of course, that’s what I always do.”
“I wasn’t sure since Dad’s not here.”
“It’s still Christmas and I’m still excited to spend it with you, so of course I’m going to do the things I love.”
