by Neal, Xavier
The information stuns me.
Cheating bastard!
A rush of giggles comes out of me as I mutter to myself, “Pussy cat...” Shutting them off I scold him, “Never call me that.”
Archer smirks. “How about my Fat Bottomed Girl?”
With a good shake of my head, I snap, “No!”
“It's a good song though,” he sighs while his fingers still work their magic. “Classic.”
“I see you were listening to old school music while you worked today.”
“Little bit,” Archer offers me one more smile just as I release a moan caused by the spot he found. The sound causes his cock to rise against my ankle. Archer ignores it rather than caving. “So, what'd your parents say at dinner?”
“About what?”
“Us.”
My lips purse.
Archer's fingers stops. His head tilts to the side. “You didn't tell them.”
I move my mouth to make an effort to say something, but nothing comes out.
Not the best time to be speechless.
“Of course you didn't. Why would you?” He gives me a shrug. “What's there to tell? That you made a ludicrous choice not only to invite the homeless man who was scavenging in your garbage into your home but into your pants too?”
Hurt , yet not sure I deserve to be, I fight, “Archer-”
“Don't.” Very carefully he removes my feet from his lap and stands. “It's not worth the breath.” He gives his chin a rub. “I'm gonna go to bed a little early. It was a long day.”
Dropping my jaw to argue, I'm once more cut off.
“Finished the office by the way. Left you a surprise on your desk. Night, Jaye.”
My shoulders slump. As soon as I hear the garage door close, I ruffle my hair.
He didn't have to say it like that! And that's not why I didn't tell them. I just...I didn't feel like having that discussion with them. It's enough that every time I see my mother she's insisting I start dating, could you imagine her reaction if I told her not only that I had but that it was to a homeless man I invited to live with me. That I would rather date someone struggling to find their way in life than the award winning doctor she scoured the medical field for. Not even sure that first sentence would be finished before my father was calling in cop favors and my mother was trying to find a way to get me committed. They may both be loving, but you tell me what parents in their right mind would just be that accepting of this kind of situation? Hell, tell me a pair that would be willing to even listen!
More than ready to call it a day, I hop up off the couch, head for the stairs where I linger for a minute, debating whether to go push him or give him some space.
What do you vote? Space? Good idea.
Quickly rushing up the stairs, I head to the left driven by the curiosity of the office present waiting for me. I hit the light to the space with a smile. The beautiful chandelier he installed ties the new posh décor all together. We bought dark gray curtains, two leather lounge chairs, and a glass desk for them to sit across from. Behind it is a matching computer chair. Each of the walls have freshly painted bookshelves, the one to the left for my favorite adult books, the one to the right for my favorite kid books. Archer tore off the closet door to give me an open space for my art supplies as well as creating me a working area on the floor close to it.
He did that after I casually mentioned I was working on writing and illustrating my first kid's book. He even sat down and listened to me read the few lines I haven't scrapped yet.
Impressed by the finished product, I roll my eyes back to the glass desk where the gift is waiting to smack me in the face. Slowly, I reach for the silver picture frame.
Jaye,
Turns out Ms. Kelli around the corner needed help moving her ex-husband’s things to the curb. I would've done it for free, but she tipped me for the help. I know it's not much, but hopefully it's enough to start.
- Archer
Guilt simmers up my throat as I move the sticky note to the table itself revealing a photo of Archer and I from our first date. Staring down at the selfie we took at the bowling alley, my body leans against the edge of the desk, needing the support. In the photo his green eyes are lighting up the entire room while his head is tilted towards me.
You know what's crazy? We're not actually touching in this thing, yet there's more warmth and attraction in it than any of the ones I had with Chris. Hey, let's judge one of my life screw ups at a time please. Starting with the fact that I need to talk to Archer.
My eyes loiter on the photo for a moment longer, lost in the simplicity of the action, but more importantly of the tremendous thought behind it.
He could've spent that money on anything. He could've saved it. He could've bought himself new....well whatever it is dudes like. Tools? I don't know. The point is, he helped someone for free, was rewarded and what did he do with it? Somehow got this photo printed, walked through the cold to buy this frame, walked home in the cold, and gave it to someone who couldn't even confess that she's falling in love with him. I'm such a bitch. Don't agree!
After putting the frame back on the desk, I hustle across the upstairs to my master bedroom. I change out of my work clothes and into my pajamas before heading for the garage. At the door, I swallow the trepidation in my throat.
Here goes nothing...
My knuckles lightly tap the door. When Archer doesn't answer, I crack it open, in case he really did fall asleep already. Seeing him lying on the air mattress with his arms folded behind his head causes my lower muscles to ache.
For not being back into this sexual world very long, it sure is a greedy little thing.
While I expect him to look away from the episode of Friends playing on the tablet that's beside the lamp on the storage station he turned into a dresser, he doesn't. His eyes never leave the screen.
On a deep sigh, I lean against the door frame and rub my arm. “Brrr. Aren't you cold? Wouldn't you rather move into the guest bedroom?”
There's a delay in his response. “No.”
The laughter from the show redirects my attention. Remaining silent as another shiver shoots through me from the winter air, I wrap my arms around my body in hopes of keeping some of the warmth from escaping.
With his eyes never meeting me, he sternly states, “Get under the covers.”
I don't hesitate to shut the door to the house and relocate under the blankets on the air mattress. Like there's no other place for my body to be, I curl into him, head landing on his chest. To my surprise, a bit of the tension in his body disappears.
Glad that works two ways.
Innocently my eyes lift upward. As soon as they do Archer grumps, “What?”
Stumbling to get my words out I answer, “I didn't...I didn't say anything.”
“You don't have to.” Puzzled at the response, I lift my body up to lean on my elbow, doing my best to keep it covered. When his face finally turns to look at me, the only thing I can see is disappointment in his green eyes. “You don't have to say something is bothering you for me to get that. I may be homeless, jobless, and mentally unstable, but I'm not a fucking idiot.”
Flustered I bite, “Don't do that.”
In a level tone he retorts, “State the obvious?”
“Belittle yourself,” I argue.
“I'm not belittling anything. I'm giving you the facts. You don't like them? Too fucking bad. It is what it is.”
Anger at his self-loathing guides my reaction. “You want the facts? Fine. You're not homeless. Your home is here with me. And one day, what day I don't know, but hopefully one day soon, it'll be in the house. You're not jobless. You're a goddamn handyman who has completed renovations in record timing as far as I'm concerned. You're mental health isn't nearly as bad as it once was thanks to the medication you started and believe it or the therapy sessions are going to help. The only thing unstable about you is your emotions.”
Oh...shit, did I really just say that?
“And w
hat the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I prepare to back down when he pushes. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
“That you give me whiplash!” I shriek. “One minute you're angry and cold and distant and the next your warm and caring and I'm convinced that you really do want to be in this with me. But just when I'm settled in those emotions you put up a wall for whatever reason yet , have the audacity to be angry with me for not telling my parents about us yet. Hell, Archer, I didn't even know there was an official us, that's how confusing you are!”
He doesn't argue.
My run away mouth continues. “I don't know if you consider us going anywhere or something you just caved into doing to keep me happy. To busy yourself until you decide to leave-”
“Don't you fucking dare,” he growls. “Don't you fucking dare do that to me.”
Hearing the pain in his voice I rush to apologize, “Archer-”
“I'm not fooling around with you so you keep giving me a place to fucking live, Jaye and the fact that thought ever crosses your mind-”
“It doesn't-”
“You just said it!”
“I'm frustrated!”
“So am I!” He shoots up onto his own elbows. “You're not the only one this isn't easy for. You're not the only one who's been letting their past dictate what lies ahead. I'm trying, Jaye. I really am, but this shit is hard. Some days I see a life time with you and others I loathe the thoughts because I know you deserve better.”
“I-”
“Let me finish,” Archer cuts me off. “And you do deserve better. You deserve diamonds and flowers and whatever the fuck else it is chicks want. You deserve a man who can provide for you and the fact that I can't, yeah...it's put up a wall. Knowing I'll never measure up, puts up a fucking wall. You don't have to say it for me to see you're embarrassed to be with me.” The small pause he takes is accompanied with him shaking his head. “And the worst part of that is, I can't even blame you. I could never blame you for not wanting the people you care about most in your life to know that instead of dating some doctor who could give you the world on a silver platter, you're slumming it with the garbage the military fucking threw out.”
Can we say heartbreaking and inaccurate?
I sit all the way up and gently stroke his cheek. “Baby...”
“Jaye-”
“Your turn to listen,” I state softly, my hand continuing to graze his face in an attempt to calm him down. “First of all, me not telling my parents about you had nothing to do with you not being good enough for me and everything to do with the fact that I wasn't ready to deal with the headache that comes from the additional interrogation. My mother has been pressuring me so hard to date. To have kids. To do the picture perfect thing it's so exhausting and my dad... Well, my dad just wants me to live again and with you....I am. Call me selfish or whatever, but I'm just not ready to share that with them. I know my dad would probably understand, but my mother would take more effort and time. She has great intentions, I swear, but at some point she lost sight of letting me decide what’s best for me. She shoves rather than pushes.” Brushing off those thoughts I start again, “Archer, I'm not ashamed of you. Not even a little. I just wasn't in the mood to fight today. It was a shitty day at work. They screwed up my work order, so teachers were without learning material, which even though it was the companies fault, I somehow still managed to take the heat for it. I had to rush out and scrounge up replacements that would satisfy. A parent threw a fit because she didn't like the topic of one of the books we read yesterday and a two year old got a hold of a paper book and tore it to shreds, again, somehow, my fault. It was just one of those days where it was one thing after another and all I wanted to do was get home to the one person who could make it better.”
My hand stops caressing his skin, which is when he asks, “And that's me?”
“Of course it's you.” A deep sigh comes out. “If it's that important to you, then I'll call and tell my parents tomorrow. Hell I'll stop by and tell them face to face. Whatever you want. Just don't think doubt for one sec ond that , I'm embarrassed of you. I'm proud.”
Genuine confusion appears. “Proud?”
“It takes guts to move forward. And if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have found the courage to do it myself.”
In a swift motion, Archer pulls my lips on top of his with a gentle tug on the back of my neck. On impact our mouths part, tongues desperate for the time together they were robbed of earlier. While he commands the speed to stay slow, it doesn't demonstrate anything less than strength. Power. Dominance.
His mouth falls from mine. With his eyes still shut he rests his forehead against mine. “Your choice.”
In a slight sexual haze, I hum back, “Hm?”
Once his face is pulled away from mine, he tilts my chin up so our eyes can lock. “You pick the speed, Jaye. I can at least give you that. When you wanna tell your parents about me, I support you. When you're ready to take our relationship further...I am too.”
My voice drops to a whisper, “Then lie back...”
Archer stifles a groan as he does what he's told.
Completely oblivious to any cold air that hasn't been eliminated by the space heater, I toss the covers off, and straddle his body, my hands running themselves up his solid, bare chest. I carefully allow my hands to roam over the taut muscles mesmerized by the intricate tribal tattoos that blanket his tanned skin. The purposeful marks cleverly dance around the ones that forced their way in.
Another groan slips out when I drag my finger across another scar. My hand flies off in fear. “Oh my God, does that hurt?”
In a barely audible voice he replies, “No...”
When my finger skims the area again he bites down on his bottom lip, pushing me to ask, “You sure?”
“The only thing that hurts is having your beautiful body on top of mine and not being balls deep inside.”
My pussy cries out at the words, wetness soaking my already damp panties. Thoughtlessly my hips rock on top of the hard on I'm straddled against.
“Goddamn,” he whimpers. His folded hands that are behind his head, tighten, flexing his muscles. “You're wet.”
Heat fills my cheeks. “You can feel that?”
The mumbled answer is drenched with ecstasy, “Fuck yes.”
On a deep exhale, I let my hands lead themselves further down to wrap around his cock as I slide out of my own way. On contact he moans loudly. The sound reverberates throughout the garage and my body alike. Anxious to hear it again, I grip his dick giving it another firm squeeze.
Forgive me for this but I've had sex with literally two guys in my entire life and neither of them had dicks this...what's the word I'm looking for? Thick? Are they supposed to be this full and long or did I just hit the jackpot? What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Archer helps me tug his boxers down to let his cock spring free. Unable to resist touching it again, I wrap my hand tightly around and begin to stroke, entranced by the heaviness in my hand.
His body lifts to meet my touches as his mouth tries not to give away the level of elation he's reaching. I continue to slowly jerk, tongue snaking out, tempted to taste the tantalizing treat in front of me. Suddenly a drop of pre cum drips down his shaft beckoning me to catch it before it goes to waste. My mouth falls on top, whirling around the flavor as I inch down, easing his dick towards the back of my throat.
Like a murmured plea my name slips off his tongue, “Jaye...”
Taking it as encouragement to continue, I wrap my hand around the base. I work the two in tandem, each suck eager to taste the reward he hinted at earlier.
“Jaye, I uh...I can't...this won't...this isn't gonna last long,” Archer notifies on a breathless whisper.
Pleased, I glance up, loving the sight of him struggling to keep himself still. With sheer determination to push him closer to the edge, I continue to bob, working in a rhythm that is intoxicating for me as much as it for him. Every pull with my mouth is awar
ded with louder groans teetering between tamed and savaged.
Letting the less controlled sounds be my guide, I suck harder, faster, more aggressively, until he finally breaks. “Fuck!”
The word is the only warning before a warm rush rolls around in my mouth. An odd combination of pride and excitement pumps through my veins as I swallow the creamy accolade that I've only received a handful of times in my life.
Wash away that look of disbelief. The first guy I was with was more shy than me and barely wanted to have sex at all. Turns out he was gay. Chris on the other hand wasn't a fan of foreplay.
