by J. A. Huss
“Of course, dear. Take anything from the closet you want. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
The look on Mom’s face is way more upset than it needs to be. Except that it’s not. Because the fact that some shit got accidentally spilled on me is not what she’s apologizing for. She’s apologizing for so much more.
“It’s OK, Mom. It’s OK.” I give her a hug, keeping enough distance so that I don’t get booze all over her. “I am too,” I whisper into her cheek.
She pulls back, tears in her eyes, and smiles. I smile too.
“OK!” Dad merrily intones. “Well, then we’ll head down to the restaurant and get a table, and you just come on down whenever you’re ready.”
“OK, Dad.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek and heads off. Mom gives me one last, brief hug, and heads toward the door as well, leaving Tyler standing there.
“Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t—Fuck. I was just trying to—”
I cut him off before he can say more. “It’s OK. I know what you were trying to do. So…”
I pause because I’m still not ready to just fucking forgive Tyler Hudson Morgan for everything he’s done. Or hasn’t done, more accurately. But I think about what Pete said to me. “You don’t always get a second chance to make things right.”
Tyler’s trying. Like, he’s really fucking trying. And even though I’m still not sure that it’s all gonna work out, and we’re gonna live happily ever after or whatever weird fantasy it is that Tyler and Annie and whoever else are all thinking is going to happen… Right here, right now, on Thanksgiving, I can at the least offer him this act of generosity. Because he’s offered me one.
“So… Thanks,” I say and nod to him. “I’ll be down in a minute,”
He smiles and nods back, then heads to the door. I watch it close behind the three of them as they make their way out, then I head up the stairs to the bedroom.
Making my way through the master bedroom into the en suite (again, this is a fucking hotel room), I strip off my blouse and pants, leaving them on the bathroom floor. I want to make sure the whiskey that got on my ass didn’t stain my underwear. It’s a new lacy white bra and panty set that I bought because it looked pretty and because I realized I more or less only own really slutty stuff that I can also use at work. Sexy, but not very practical. I thought this set was sexy and practical, and I really don’t want it stained by Johnny Walker.
I contort myself in front of the mirror to make sure I’m clean—as clean as someone like me can be, anyway—and it looks like it’s all OK, thank God. And as I stand in front of the full-length mirror in this gorgeous marble bathroom that looks like it got pulled out of a French castle, looking at myself in my pretty white underwear, red hair styled and coifed and laying over my shoulder, wearing sapphire and diamond earrings that were a present from my parents, and elegant heels that one wears because they make one’s calves look good and not because they make men in a dark room want to jerk off to visions of you later, I feel almost like an angel. Again.
In the way that Tyler thought of me as an angel, and for a few seconds when we were together, made me feel like I was one too. Before the truth came out and the clouds got pulled from underneath me, and I came tumbling back down to earth.
But right now, I can pretend. For a little while. I can pretend I am working on a successful business that I started myself, and don’t owe a bunch of money to Carlos, and don’t work in a strip club, and don’t live with hookers, and haven’t fallen in love with the one guy in the world who really and truly has the ability to destroy my heart, and—
Wait.
What?
Did I say…?
Hold on.
That’s not right.
I’m not in love with Tyler. Not anymore. I was. Kind of. When I was a kid. But that wasn’t real love. And I’m not now. No way. That was just… I was just letting my mind wander. Kind of getting lost in the fact that I feel safe right now. But I’m not in love. I’m just… appreciative. At present. I’m sure that once the heady romance of this day wears off, I’ll go back to being as justifiably pissed at him as I have been. Once I’m back in the day-to-day of my struggle, I’ll—
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door frame of the bathroom.
“Um, sorry… I took off my watch earlier when I was washing my hands and I think I…” Tyler stammers as he half looks at me and half looks away.
“Tyler—” I sigh.
“Maddie, look, I’m not trying to fuckin’—I just… I just want you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Fuckin’… everything. Jesus. Why I dunno. Like, just why shit went the way it went. Why I am the way I fuckin’ am. Just…goddamn… Everything.”
“Look, you don’t have to—I get it. OK? It’s fine. I get it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to fuckin’ ‘get it.’ I want you to understand.”
“Ty—”
I start to tell him that I do, and to just go back down and I’ll be there soon after I’ve cleaned up and changed into some new clothes.
But before I can get anything other than his name out of my mouth, he’s next to me, pulling me close to him, his lips on mine.
“Tyler, Tyler,” I work out between kisses.
“What?” he says, panting.
And I jerk my head away, look into his blue eyes, and say…
“Fuck it. I’ll clean it up later.”
As I kiss him urgently back.
TYLER
“I’ll clean it up later” could mean a lot of things, but I make the choice not to analyze.
I did not expect to find her standing here in her underwear. I really didn’t. But as long as we’re being thankful for shit, this one jumps straight to the top of the list.
Her lips barely touching mine, licking at them as she speaks, she says, “My parents are going to be wondering what we’re doing.”
My hand finds its way behind the white lace at her hips and my fingers land on the soft, already wet flesh between her legs and I say, “No, they won’t. They’re adults.”
I drop my mouth to her neck and nibble at the skin along her throat and up to behind her ear. She’s wearing beautiful earrings and I take them in my mouth along with her earlobe, sucking and tugging at the skin and allowing my hot breath to pulse in her ear, the whole time working my fingers inside the folds of her pussy.
Her head drops back, like it’s done every time I reach into her, and with my other hand I force her to undo my pants and take hold of my cock.
She moans as I get two fingers worked high into her and then she pushes me backwards against the wall, kissing and pulling on my shaft. She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, pausing as she sees the fresh splotches of red that have yet to become scars themselves dotting my body along with the long-forgotten scars that have settled into their final resting places.
“Is that what I did?” she asks.
“It’s what we did,” I tell her. “Did it feel good? To do it? To punish me?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“OK.”
I finger her deeper and she coos. It makes me harder.
Then she pulls my fingers from inside her and places my arms at my sides. She begins kissing the healing wounds. She rests her palms on my stomach and kisses her way down. Starting at my collarbone, working down my sternum, kissing, licking, nuzzling every rugged edge of me.
She goes down on her knees and pulls off my boots, one at a time, then draws my jeans down to my ankles and pulls them free as I step out. She looks up at me and I run my fingers through her hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say.
She says nothing, puts her hands on my hips, and flicks at the tip of my dick with her tongue.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
She slides the very edge of her tongue inside the slit in my tip, wrapping her lips around the head, building pressure as she lets her tongue swirl around. I fist her hair and f
orce her head all the way down my length, and she bobs back and forth, making me dizzy.
I glance ahead and see us in the full-length mirror she was looking at herself in when I interrupted her. Me, battered and bloodied but still here. Her, without visible scars, but no less punctured and bruised. And also still here.
I watch the ocean of red hair push in and out. In and out as she sucks and licks and teases my cock. Her gorgeous ass is propped on her heels and her back arches and bends with every movement she makes to consume me.
I push her head gently back, withdrawing myself from her mouth, and a strand of saliva pulls back with her, like it’s a lifeline connecting us and is afraid to let go. We won’t be apart for long.
I take her by the shoulders, stand her up, and turn her around so that we’re both facing the mirror. I drape one arm around her chest and the other around her waist. I kiss her shoulder, put my cheek next to hers, and say, “I want you to see everything.”
“Why?” she asks, a hint of sorrow in the question.
“Because,” I say, “I want you to understand.”
We stare at our reflection, her looking into my eyes and me into hers. I’m waiting for her to ask, “Understand what?” But she doesn’t. She says, “I want that too.”
And then she takes my hands and pulls me with her over to the mirror. She places her palms on either side of the frame, sticks her ass out to me, spreads her legs, and, looking up at my reflection in the glass in front of us, says, “Make me understand.”
MADDIE
He stands there for a moment, not breaking eye contact with our reflection, then he bows his head down to kiss me on the shoulder again. He presses his cock up against my ass and I take a breath at how hard and perfect his dick is. Each time I feel it it takes me by surprise. Like it’s the first time.
He takes my breasts in his hands, pulling the material of my bra down just enough to pinch my nipples as he kisses down my spine. He keeps kissing down, and down, sliding his hands along my stomach as he pulls back. I have a moment of what I can only call separation anxiety when his dick loses contact with my ass, like it’s somehow going away for good and I’ll never feel it again. I try to shake that notion from my head. Not because it might be true, but because I don’t want to care if it is.
And then I’m not thinking anything because I feel something warm. I look into the mirror and all I can see is myself bent over and, down below my spread legs, him on his knees, his massive cock pointed directly north. His face is obscured by my backside and I feel him pulling my panties to the side and then spreading my ass with his thumbs.
His warm breath is on my rear and then suddenly his tongue is inside it. He’s reaching around, rubbing my clit, and tonguing my asshole. My eyes squeeze shut tightly and I can feel water gathering at the corners of them.
Now that his mouth is on me, he’s burying himself inside me. Lapping and prodding. His one hand is still rubbing my clit in tight, fast circles, and two fingers of his other hand are inside my pussy, spreading me open, massaging my walls.
I let out a sound that’s not quite a moan, not quite a cry. A combination of both. A sound I don’t recall ever having made before in my life. And I can feel his smile spread across my skin.
He works into me harder. Rubbing, stroking, tonguing. I slap my hand against the wall next to the mirror as I shout, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck me! Now!”
I no longer feel his smile. I see it. As he leaps to his feet, takes me by the hips, and pushes himself into my dripping wet pussy.
“Oh, Jesus,” he says, sliding all the way inside.
And now our eyes are locked onto each other’s in reflection as he works his way in and out. Back and forth.
“Make me,” I cough out as he thrusts. “Make. Me. Un. Der. Stand,” I grunt with each push, never breaking eye contact with him. I’m tempted to glance away, to look at the rest of him, or to look down at the floor, or just to close my eyes, but I don’t let myself look away from him. And he doesn’t look away either. And with each slap of his hips against my ass, he drives in harder, pushes deeper.
I can feel myself on the verge of coming, but I’m forcing myself to wait, to hold out. I want to come with him. I want to see what it feels like for us to come at the same time.
I want to understand.
TYLER
Fuck me, I’m going to come. But she hasn’t come yet, and I won’t do it until she has. I’m trying hard to maintain eye contact with her, but it’s so goddamn intense that I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to hold out. I can’t look anywhere else though, because when I catch even a glimpse of her body, grinding back and forth along my dick, or her hair bouncing as she pumps, it’s even more unlikely that I can keep it inside me.
So I take things down a notch. I draw out slowly, pulling myself completely out of her. As I do, I see a hint of confusion and disappointment in her gaze. I smile, then slide back inside her again, just as slowly, and she lets out a long moan. So I do it again.
I draw back. Back, back, back, pulling out until just the tip is resting on her entrance. I reach down, take hold of the shaft, and rub the thick end of my cock up and down against her soaking wetness. Teasing. And then once again, I slide deep into her, giving an extra push at the end that drives her forward a step and makes her squeal and giggle.
It’s the giggle that does it.
Fuck it. I’m done.
I continue pulling out of her all the way and driving in, but not slow and methodical. Hard. And animal. My grip tightening around her hips, making her creamy, white skin redden under my touch.
And now I stop pulling out and stay in her. Back and forth. Stiff. And fast. Almost lifting her off the ground with the tension in my grasp and the strength in my pull as we crash into each other.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, baby… I’m gonna come,” I call out.
“Yes,” she says, “Yes, do it. Come. Come now.”
And I remember what she said when she was driving away last week. “Next time, just come inside me.”
And so I do. I come.
Inside her.
And I never want it to stop.
MADDIE
I can feel the contraction of his dick as his come throbs into me. And it drives me insane. I let go and a flush of wetness pours from me.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, shit,” I cry.
“Yeah, yes, baby, come, come on me,” he says. And do I fucking ever.
I tense and release around him, never breaking eye contact, moaning and wheezing, knees buckling, legs shaking, but refusing to fall. I refuse to fall.
I push my ass back into him so that I can take even more, if that’s possible. He apparently assumes that’s a sign that I want him to shove his thumb into my ass, which is fine by me, and then what I thought was an orgasm pales in comparison to whatever the hell is happening to me now, the way a dwarf star looks weak when compared to a supernova.
“FUCK. YOU!” I scream, no longer able to keep eye contact. My eyes close and my head falls forward as he just keeps shooting his come inside me and I keep spilling myself around his dick.
My forearms tense against the wall to keep me upright, and behind me, I can feel his knees buckling against mine, like he’s about to collapse too.
“Jesus!” he calls out as, with one last push, he finally empties what he’s got left inside him into me.
I swallow, and then gulp in air. I lift my head to look in the mirror and see him, his head down now, his eyes shut tight and his body twitching with small spasms.
When he finally lifts his head again and opens his eyes, they immediately find mine. We stare at each other. Neither one of us says anything. Neither one of us wants to. Both of us are aware that we have crossed over somewhere. Both of us seem to know that even though there is still much to figure out, we are perhaps one step closer. On this day of giving thanks, we are unexpectedly and incomprehensibly edging toward something with each other that we have both lacked for a long time and that we both ver
y much need.
Understanding.
Chapter Thirteen - Tyler
“Why are you staying at Evan’s? What happened with your place? I thought you liked it.” she calls to me. She’s in the walk-in closet, looking through her mom’s things for something to wear. I’m sitting in one of the chairs in the… I dunno. Parlor? I guess? This place is pretty sick. I should see if they’ll just let me live here.
“Um, my place got…” I stop short because for whatever reason—maybe it’s because her parents are here, maybe it’s just because my dick has magical powers—things seem to be real cool between us right now. And I don’t wanna ruin it. And call me crazy, but telling her that I burned my apartment down during a psychotic fever dream after I found out that she, Maddie, was the person I was fucking seems like it might just set us back a step.
“Got what?” she asks from the other room.
“I just… felt like it was time to move on from that joint, honestly. It was so, y’know, hectic in the middle of the Strip and all. So, I dunno, I’m thinking of moving out to the desert. Quiet feels like the right play for me right now.”
“Yeah? Well, if you need somebody with a twelve-thousand-dollar drone to scout territory for you, I may know someone.” She steps out into the main bedroom area wearing…well, mom pants. And, like, a flower shirt thing. “How’s this? OK?” she asks.
Fuck. Do I lie? Do I tell her that it makes her look a fifty-five-year-old? Albeit a sexy-as-fuck fifty-five-year-old, but still. Or do I—?
“OK,” she says, and marches back into the closet.
“What? I didn’t say anything!” I call after her.
“Yeah, you did,” she shouts back.
“Do you want help?”
There’s no response. I take that to mean that she doesn’t want any help. That’s cool. Two can play this silence-implies-information game.
