by Wylde, Tara
The sound’s not loud—it’s flat, and a little dull—but I hold my breath anyway. I’m—I can’t describe it. Every part of my body’s responding to what he’s done. My ears are burning; my mouth’s gone dry. My whole scalp’s tingling—a hot, prickling feeling. A light sweat breaks out on my forehead and upper lip. My toes curl; my nipples peak—even in my palms, I feel something akin to a low-powered electric shock. I’m not sure whether it’s the spank itself, the sound in the dead silence, the irrational fear of being caught, but there’s not an inch of my body that’s spared the shock. The light sting on my ass is almost an afterthought .
When he leans in and whispers in my ear, the jolt of ticklish, shivering sensation that races down my side is so intense I almost miss what he’s saying. “How many was that ?”
Oh—oh. I was supposed to count .
“One,” I whisper .
“You like that ?”
I can only nod .
“So good. So quiet. Won’t make a peep, as I....” He drags his finger down my back, following my spine all the way to my tailbone. He spreads his palm over my ass, right where he spanked me, soothing the last of the stinging away with a firm caress .
This time, when he lifts his hand, I know what’s coming. I still can’t help but jump and gasp. It’s different, this time: instead of the sharp shock of that first, unexpected blow, I feel a deep, warm thrumming under my skin—almost like painless pins and needles, all over my body. Again, the sting of the spank only registers later, as it’s cooling off .
“Two.”
His fingertips find my clit. Somehow, he knows just how I like it, soft brushes alternating with tight, firm circles, till my head’s swimming and I’m biting my lip to keep quiet. That thrumming feeling’s everywhere—I’m not lightheaded, exactly, but I feel like I’m dreaming, floating .
He spanks me again, twice in quick succession, left-right. A vivid mental image springs to mind: my ass red as an apple, Nick kneeling to cool it with his tongue.... Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m rubbing my thighs together, unconsciously seeking sensation. I jerk my legs back into position, and —
“Three! Four !”
Maybe he didn’t notice .
“Mm...no self-control.” He runs two fingers up my inner thigh. I’m mortified to feel them slide against slick skin, right where my thighs kiss. Mortified...and a little exhilarated. There’s no disapproval in his voice; all I hear is lust to match my own .
I feel like the need for silence is the only thing holding me back. I could almost let go, almost tip over the edge, just from the way he’s touching me, the feel of his breath on my skin, his cock throbbing hard against my ass when he leans in to glide his wet fingers across my mouth, down my chin. Filthy ....
I notice something else: he’s lost his shirt, at some point, and he’s pressed to my back, skin against skin—he really must’ve been hanging on my every word, that night. He’s doing everything I said, and everything he promised, all at once .
I revel in his embrace. He takes his time exploring me from behind, cupping my breasts, working my nipples, stretching both hands till they almost span my waist. His skin’s hot on mine. I can feel the tendons standing out on his forearms, the gentle flex of his biceps as he fondles my every curve .
I can’t help but moan when he pulls away at last—depriving me of that exquisite warmth feels nothing less than cruel. I throttle the sound back almost instantly, but it’s too late. His hand flies again, much harder this time; I feel his body pivot as he puts his weight into it. This time, it’s loud, and the shock’s back, even sharper than the first time. I swear I see bright lights before my eyes, feel the floor drop away, before he catches me easily in his arms, pulling me back against him .
“Too much ?”
I shake my head. “That’s five ....”
Nick makes a funny whuffing sound, half-whisper, half-chuckle. He lifts me again, this time depositing me on the bed, so gently it feels almost...reverential .
“Louder than I’d intended, though,” he says. “Gonna save the other five for later ....”
“Oh?”
“Wanna hear you ....”
Faintly, as if from far away, I hear the crackle of a condom wrapper. I spread my legs a little, shameless. I’m more impatient than I’ve ever been, watching him roll it on. My own hand strays between my legs, playing with my clit right in front of him .
Nick’s eyes widen. His hand grips his cock. He gives it several lazy strokes as he drinks in the sight. Never thought I’d want an audience for something like this; never thought I could bear it. But for him, I spread myself open, putting everything on full view .
“Can’t wait another minute ....”
Seems Nick needs no further invitation; just like that, he’s on me, pinning me flat to the mattress .
“Stop biting yourself,” he whispers, thumbing my lip from between my teeth. I’m about to protest that I won’t be able to keep quiet, the whole building will hear, when he seals off my mouth with his palm, sheathing himself in the same instant. One sharp thrust and he’s in me, almost too much, too full, too much to process all at once .
I see stars, actual stars, shimmering flecks of light before my eyes. His face swims in and out of focus. Then I remember to breathe, and I match his rhythm, taking his cock like nothing else matters. For right now, it doesn’t. It all melts away—the thin walls, the squeaking bed, every worry, every care—and everything’s starlight and ecstasy .
I feel perfectly transfixed by him, held tight, filled to satiation, his hand over my mouth keeping my moans in check. Even the roughness of his pant legs against my thighs only adds a welcome friction. The draft from the window feels like a caress .
It’s the simplest of gestures that brings me to an unexpected, overwhelming peak: he takes his hand from my mouth and cradles the back of my head, sealing my lips with a kiss. For a moment, I almost panic—this is new; I wasn’t ready—I’ve never given up that last shred of control in front of another living soul. But it’s too late. There’s no turning back. I give myself over to the tide, letting myself come apart in his arms. I’m dimly aware he’s stroking my hair, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips, but I couldn’t respond if I wanted to .
I’m so lost in my own orgasm, I’m not sure when he reaches his, but I know he must. I come down from my high to find him as boneless and fucked-out as I am. We’ve sort of crumpled into the pillows, still tangled together, breathing hard .
“It’d be...totally gross to fall asleep like this, right ?”
I clap my hand over my mouth to hold back an indecorous snort. “Completely nasty .”
“Hate ourselves in the morning .”
“Mm-hm.” I should peel myself off him. I really should. Just one more moment, till my knees stop quivering. I feel like rubber from the waist down .
I feel his muscles tense and ripple against me as he stretches. Maybe he could just...carry me to the shower. Hold me up while he rinses me clean. Even better—if my bathtub were big enough for the both of us ....
“All right. Okay. I’m getting up. Just....” I linger for a kiss, and another...and maybe a few after that. In a moment, we’ll be all elbows and sliding soap in my tiny shower, hurrying to beat that hard five-minute cap on the hot water. I take my time savoring this warm, lazy feeling .
He helps me to my feet, and we get caught up again, making out against the wall. He doesn’t seem to be in any more of a hurry than I am, pausing to play with my hair, wrapping a stray lock around his finger. “Can I brush this for you later ?”
“My hair ?”
“Mm...it’s really soft. I’ll be gentle. Start at the ends, work out the tangles .”
I like the thought of him taking care of me. Especially now, like this. “Yeah. You can brush it. Paint my nails too, if you want.” I mean that last part as a joke, but I feel his lips curve in a smile against my neck .
“Maybe I will. Like, a nice soft pink. Kind of a dusty rose, so
it doesn’t clash with your hair .”
I bite my lip again. “Don’t make me laugh... I’m not one of those quiet, delicate laughers .”
“Mm, I know.” Nick gives my ribs a quick tickle, causing me to squeak and double over. “I like that about you. You love a good laugh: you forget yourself for a while. Get right into it.” He slides his arms around my waist. “I noticed that about you the first time we went out. At the comedy club. Wanted to make you laugh all the time .”
“We can go back when they do an open mic, then. Triple-dog dare you .”
He nudges me in the back. “C’mon. Let’s go shower .”
“Yeah, changing the subject—bok-bok-bok .”
“I’ll do it if you will .”
We’re still whisper-fighting over who has the guts to do the open mic and who doesn’t when we step into the shower. Honestly, in this moment, I’d swear I could face just about anything .
Chapter Seventeen
N ick
She must’ve had a burglary, and recently: that’s the only thing that can explain the complete lack of, well, much of anything in the kitchen, plus the brand new locks. The place looks pretty grim in the light of day. It’s neat and clean, but apart from the sky-blue spiders painted all over the walls—must’ve been the kid—there are no homey touches, no signs anyone lives here. In the cupboards, I find one pot, one pan, one mixing bowl, and...whew! One sad plastic spatula .
The Iron Chef kitchen it’s not, but I can work with this. Which is good, because I’ve decided the best way to make a good first impression on the kid is to be the guy feeding him pancakes .
After last night, I definitely want to make a good impression. I’m still feeling kind of sheepish after my meltdown at the opera, but what came after... It did feel good to get everything out in the open, to slide some of the burden off my shoulders. And later, in bed.... I can’t help but smile. This time, I know it was good for her, too. I think we’ve got something here, something promising .
I shake flour and baking powder into the mixing bowl, and a little sugar and salt. Been a while since I made these from scratch: Katie likes that Aunt Jemima pancake-and-waffle crap, which is total sacrilege, but what can you do ?
Awkwardly, it’s the kid who wakes up first. He wanders into the kitchen in his Superman footie pajamas just as my bacon’s starting to sizzle. I’m fully prepared for him to scream bloody murder and get me in trouble, but he just rises on his tiptoes, trying to see into the pan. He’ll probably be tall enough to get a peek pretty soon...but not today .
He tugs on my pant leg. “Whatcha making ?”
“Bacon pancakes.” I flip the bacon, holding up my free hand to keep any spatters off him .
“Can I have some ?”
“That’s the plan .”
“I never had bacon pancakes.” He lifts up his arms. “Put me on the counter ?”
“Your mom lets you sit on the counter ?”
He nods .
“Really? She does ?”
“No....” Sneaky little guy! He pulls at my pant leg again. “Are you my new babysitter ?”
“If I am, would you say I’m doing a good job ?”
Joey takes his time and thinks about that, standing back to take me in fully. “Well... You’re tall. And I like pancakes. But I don’t know yet if you’re fun or boring .”
Fair enough. “Okay—so what’s fun to you ?”
“Going to the park or the beach. Feeding birds. Finding shells .”
“And what’s boring ?”
“Watching TV on your phone .”
“Yeah. That is pretty boring.” I start crumbling the bacon into the pancake batter. Joe starts jumping up and down, trying to get a better look. I envy him. I never have that kind of energy this early in the morning .
Lina makes her appearance just as the first pancakes are fluffing up in the pan. She’s in a fuzzy pink dressing gown that someone seems to have gone to town on with a tube of yellow puffy paint. Must’ve been the kid. He seems to have a thing for adding his own personal touch around the place .
Joey jumps into her arms the second he spots her. “Mom! The new babysitter’s making bacon pancakes !”
She musses up his hair. “Is that so ?”
“Yeah. I like this one so far .”
“Yeah, so do I.” She winks at me over his head. “You wash your hands yet ?”
“I was just gonna .”
“All right—so go on then.” Lina gives him a little push. He bounces off in the direction of the bathroom .
“He thought I was the babysitter. Wasn’t sure what to tell him, so I kind of...went with it.” I ladle out more pancake batter .
“He’ll be disappointed when Maria shows up.” Lina retrieves a folding TV table from on top of the fridge. Hadn’t noticed that there. “She’s good with him, and all, but she’s in high school. Spends most of her time doing homework, or on her phone .”
“He might’ve mentioned something about that.” An idea occurs to me. “Hey, when do you work today ?”
“Not till six. Why ?”
“I don’t have anything pressing to do, and Katie’s got a half day at school. Thought we could pick her up at lunch, take the kids to the Museum of Natural History? Checking out the dinosaurs might soften the blow of me not being the babysitter .”
“Joey does love a good dinosaur. Yeah—yeah, let’s do that.” Lina digs out some plastic kiddie cutlery and a sippy cup, and sets them up on the TV table. “Sorry—there’s only enough table for Joey. We’ll have to balance our plates on our knees .”
I shrug. “No table, no problem. Did I mention I love camping ?”
“I wanna go camping.” Joey’s back, holding up his freshly-washed hands for inspection. “See? All clean .”
“Good job, honey.” Lina kisses him on top of his head. “Go ahead and sit down—you want syrup or jam ?”
“Syrup!” He starts toward the table, but screeches to a halt moments later. “I mean, syrup please . ”
“You got it .”
I’m impressed: Lina’s got a happy, healthy kid. Polite too. Whatever her place looks like, whatever her life looks like, she’s doing something right. Joey’s positively bubbling with energy and good spirits, and there’s no mistaking the affection between them .
When we’re all crowded around the tiny table, passing the syrup back and forth, Lina nudges Joey. “Hey, you remember that picnic we had the other night ?”
Joey nods, mouth full of pancakes .
“Nick here’s the one who gave us the basket .”
His little face lights up. He chews, swallows, and jumps up to give me a sticky hug. “I liked the mouse brains,” he says .
“Mouse...brains ?”
Lina laughs. “He means the smoked oysters .”
Of course. “They do kind of look like mouse brains, don’t they?” I make a mouse face, pulling out my ears and baring my front teeth. Joey giggles, especially when I start squeaking at him .
“Oh, God, don’t encourage him !”
“Mouse brains !”
“Ugh! Boys !”
Lina somehow manages to get breakfast back under control, but every time I catch Joey’s eye, it sets him off snickering again. Looks like I could be a bad influence .
Joey winds up quite spectacularly glazed with syrup and pancake crumbs, so Lina whisks him off for a bath while I tackle the cleanup. I text Katie, as well: can’t have her taking off with her friends and ruining my plan. She texts back right away, which tells me she’s got her phone on in class—what’d I tell her about that ?
wat? y the museum? cant we go shopping? and whos ur friend ?
Sigh. because, katie, shopping is not a leisure activity. it is something you do when you need supplies. and the museum is educational. also, why are you texting in class ?
because im not .
Eyeroll emoji, eyeroll emoji, and...yep. Another eyeroll emoji .
im in home ec which is not a real class .
Did I? Maybe... I hope so. Still. Time to put on my stern dad hat: katie, can you get an F in home ec ?
wat? i guess? if ur rly dumb ?
then it is a real class. pay attention in home ec. and you’ll meet my friend this afternoon . :-)
I get a sticking-out-tongue emoji for that—and, a moment later, a line of thumbs-ups .
Guess we’re on for the museum .
Chapter Eighteen
E lina
“What’d you do, tell her it’d be good practice for babysitting jobs?” It’s cute, the way Katie is with Joey: she’s been helping him sound out the names of all the dinosaurs, and lecturing him on what they’d have looked like with their skins still on. He’s eating it up, even though I suspect she got half her information from Jurassic Park .
“Nah. She just loves an audience .”
“Ha—look at that!” They’re roaring at each other now, holding up their hands like claws .
“Katie, no roaring indoors.” Nick grins. “Besides, I heard this theory, a while ago, that they actually sounded more like birds. Cuckoo! Cuckoo ! ”
Joey and Katie look at each other and burst out laughing. They head off for the next exhibit, honking and whistling .
“Yeah... Not sure that’s an improvement.” I shake my head as Joey launches into his best crow-in-a-garbage-can squawkfest .
Nick leans in close—so close I feel his stubble on my neck—and does a Donald Duck kwaaaaaaa in my ear .
“Oh, not you too !”
Nick darts this way and that, quacking at me from all angles. The kids, of course, take note. In an instant, I’m the center of a storm of hoots and chirps and squawks. Reminds me of the time Joey got chased by a pack of aggressive geese at the park. Only I can’t distract these three with a well-aimed breakfast burrito .
Well... If you can’t beat them, join them .
