Commitment

by K. M. Golland

  ‘Fuck, you smell, feel and taste good.’

  ‘I’m your Tashtray,’ she murmured.

  I licked from her arsehole to her clit, taking the sensitive skin in my mouth and sucking lightly before letting go. ‘My what?’

  ‘Oh God. Your … your … your Tashtray.’

  I chuckled. ‘Yes, you are, love. You’re smoking hot.’

  ‘No. I’m a tray of food called Tash.’

  Pausing, I popped my head up like a fucking meerkat and smiled at how adorable she was.

  ‘What are you doing? Don’t stop.’ She grabbed my head and pushed it back in between her thighs. ‘Eat. It’s bacon flavoured, goddamn it.’

  So I ate. I licked, sucked, massaged and tongue-fucked. Her body bucked, her toes and fingers clenched, and she trembled when she came.

  Rising to my knees, my lips were saturated in Tash. I unravelled the towel and palmed my cock, pre-cum dripping from the head and helping my hand slide. ‘Do you want this now, love?’

  She nodded and raised her hips. ‘Yes. Fuck me, babe. Fuck me hard. I know you want to.’

  She wasn’t wrong. I wanted to punish her with my cock. Raw. Unbridled. Deep. And when she sat down at work the next day and could still feel me inside her, I wanted arsehole Dale to look through his precious camera and see that look of delightful discomfort on her face.

  A look her husband put there.

  CHAPTER

  28

  DEAN

  When I walked into my office the next day, I was surprised to see Hillary placing mail on my desk. ‘Hey, I didn’t expect you in today. How are you feeling?’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Oh, hi. I’m okay. I’m a little sore, but mostly okay.’

  ‘You don’t have to be here, Hill. Go home. Rest. I’ll hold the fort.’

  ‘No. I want to be here. I can’t stand the thought of being home alone all day.’

  I nodded. I could appreciate that. I’d also never seen her so frightened. It was another reason why Tash was right and Hill had to report the motherfucker to the police. Not wanting to pressure her about it first thing, though, I moved it to the bring-up-later part of my brain. It was next to the shit-you’re-most-likely-to-forget part, and sometimes the two parts got jumbled.

  ‘Well, I’ll be in meetings all day, so if you change your mind just let me know before you leave, okay?’

  ‘I won’t change my mind, Dean. But sure, I’ll let you know.’

  I nodded again and sat down at my desk, very conscious of the awkwardness between us — the split-second eye contact and Hill’s rosy cheeks and fidgety disposition were a good indication.

  ‘Err … Dean …’ she called back as she grasped the door handle on her way out of the office.

  I looked up. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m sorry I kissed you. It won’t happen again. I promise.’

  I offered her a half smile, still a little saddened she’d crossed the line. ‘I know it won’t. I’m married. Happily married. And I have kids. I love them very much. You know this, Hill. I get that you were scared and confused, but it can’t ever happen again.’

  ‘I know that.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Good, because if it does, I’ll have to let you go. And I don’t want to do that.’ I offered her a pained expression, one she mirrored as she turned away and left the room.

  * * *

  Several hours later and three back-to-back meetings behind me, I was enjoying a quiet lunch in my office when Rob burst in.

  ‘I need to get my dick wet. Properly wet. Not lube-and-hand wet.’

  ‘Maybe you should try showering then,’ I mumbled around my mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘You’re a funny fucker, aren’t you?’

  ‘Try to be.’

  ‘I’m serious. I’m getting desperate, Deano,’ he pleaded. ‘I need to poke my dick into something real.’

  Scrunching up the sandwich wrapping and throwing it into the bin, I decided to taunt him more. After the incident with the pussy can in my office, the shithead deserved it. ‘Your Vulcan Vagina not real enough anymore?’

  ‘No. I need a real, warm, juicy pussy to give my dick a hug.’ He grabbed the air in front of him and thrust towards it, and I had to agree — he did need a real woman. Fast!

  ‘So find one. You’re not completely bald yet. You’ve got time.’

  ‘It’s not my shiny head that’s the problem. Women dig bald guys.’

  ‘You sure ’bout that?’

  ‘Fuckin’ oath. Jason Strathan, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Bruce Willis … that guy in Fast and Furious, they could get any pussy they wanted.’

  I wasn’t about to disagree with him, but Rob was more a Dr Phil and George Costanza type of baldy. ‘That’s because they’re rich famous actors, you idiot. You’re not. You’re a horny, loudmouthed, inappropriate middle-aged accountant.’

  ‘Ease up.’

  ‘Just being honest, mate. And you’re probably too picky.’

  He sat his fat arse on my desk, and I swear there was a permanent indent from all the times he sat there. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not. I just want a living breathing pussy with a woman attached to it. And she doesn’t even have to be that hot.’

  ‘You’re a disgrace, you know that?’

  ‘What?’ The poor fucker looked confused. ‘Fine. She does have to be hot then.’

  I closed my eyes and shook my head briefly before tugging the paperwork trapped under his arse in order to coax him off my desk.

  He stood.

  It worked.

  ‘Surely there’s got to be qualities that you like in a woman other than her living breathing pussy?’

  He shrugged. ‘I like the feisty ones.’

  ‘God,’ I grumbled. ‘Apart from sex stuff. Do you like sporty types, women that enjoy cooking, camping, movies … have a sense of humour. That kind of thing.’

  ‘I meant that kind of thing, but now that you’ve mentioned it … feisty in the bedroom is a must.’ He performed an arse-slapping action. ‘I actually meant a woman who’s not afraid to say it like it is, keep me on my toes … shoot a man if need be. That type of feisty.’

  An image of Trixiebell holding her gun popped into my head, and I wondered if she and Rob would fit together. She was a single cat, dog, bird and plant lady. He was … single.

  ‘She’s gotta have balls, you know? Without actually havin’ balls.’ Rob shuddered. ‘Bad experience once. Never again.’

  The second image that popped into my head was enough to scar a rock. Jesus Christ! Where’s Hillary? I needed to buzz her with our secret help-me-get-this-person-to-leave sentence.

  Pressing the button on my phone, I spoke into the speaker. ‘Hill, what time is my phone conference?’

  Usually, she’d buzz back with ‘In ten minutes, Mr Jones’, but she didn’t, so I held a finger to Rob and repeated my message. ‘Hill, what time is my phone conference?’ Again she didn’t answer, and I wondered where she was.

  ‘She wasn’t at her desk when I walked by. And who are you conferencing with?’

  An uneasy feeling churned in my gut, and I couldn’t explain why. Hillary wasn’t at her desk many times throughout the day, but today, it just seemed odd. There was no reason for her to leave, and if she had left to go home, she’d promised she’d tell me first.

  ‘Never mind,’ I answered Rob, then I stood from my desk and walked out of my office.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he called.

  ‘To find Hillary.’

  ‘She’s probably out to lunch.’

  ‘She’s had it already.’

  I stopped at her desk. ‘Her bag is still here.’

  ‘Maybe she’s taking a piss.’

  Good point. My instincts told me that wasn’t the case, but I walked to the toilets anyway, opened the door and called out, ‘Hill, you in here?’

  Silence.

  My unease amplified, and I started to fear the worst.

  Jogging back to her de
sk, I picked up the phone and dialled her mobile. It rang, but it was ringing from inside her handbag. ‘Fuck!’ I exclaimed and hung up abruptly, jogging out to reception. ‘Val, have you seen Hillary?’

  ‘Yes, she walked out maybe twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘Shit!’ I muttered, heading to the door. ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘No! Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Which way did she go?’

  ‘Um … left, I think. Dean what’s —’

  I didn’t have time to explain, so I burst through the door and hung a left, jogging towards the shops. As I went past the small alleyway that led to the parking lot at the back of our building, I paused, wondering if she’d gone to her car. It didn’t make sense, considering she’d left her bag in the office, but then Hillary leaving her bag and heading out didn’t make sense either.

  Rounding the corner and stepping out into the open car park, I noticed a tall, blond guy standing in front of Hillary, her back pressed against her car, his towering frame obviously intimidating.

  It was the arsehole boyfriend. No doubt about it. And she looked terrified, cowering before him.

  ‘Hey,’ I shouted, picking up my pace.

  Both Hill and the abusive prick looked up, the arsehole turning to face me front-on. ‘Is this the guy, Hillary?’ he asked, stepping away from her, his hands by his sides.

  ‘Yeah, I’m the guy, you prick,’ I answered, swinging my fist at him and connecting with his jaw. ‘How’s it feel when someone fights back, huh?’

  He stumbled backwards, losing his bearings for a second before charging at me. Hillary screamed ‘Stop’ just before a reflection of light caught on the blade he was holding in his hand, a blade I wasn’t quick enough to dodge.

  ‘Dean! Oh my God, Dean! HELP! Somebody help!’

  The clang of metal hitting concrete sounded in my ears, followed by the most intense heat I’d ever felt. I raised my left hand to just below my right armpit where the burn was most extreme, and that’s when I felt pain. Severe pain. Sharp, deep, excruciating pain. It was the worst kind imaginable. It was also the moment that what had just happened registered.

  I’d been stabbed.

  Removing my hand, I looked down, seeing nothing but blood staining my fingers and shirt. I tried to speak but nothing came out.

  My knees buckled.

  And everything just … faded.

  CHAPTER

  29

  TASH

  Dean.

  Has.

  Been.

  Stabbed.

  Four of the most frightening words I’d ever heard, but even more so when spoken from Hillary’s panic-stricken voice as she’d sobbed them through my phone. They still rang in my head, haunting me, as I clasped my fingers around Dean’s. He looked peaceful, lying in the stark white hospital bed, and he would have almost passed for sleeping soundly if it weren’t for the chest tube poking out of his side, the drip in his hand, and the nasal cannula protruding from his nostrils.

  ‘Mrs Jones, I’ve just paged the doctor. He’ll be here shortly to explain your husband’s condition and the injuries he sustained.’

  I looked up, blinking away my tears. ‘Oh, thank you.’

  The young blonde nurse taking Dean’s vitals jotted something down on her clipboard and smiled encouragingly. ‘He should wake up soon.’

  I scoffed. ‘Knowing my husband, he may just decide to sleep in today.’

  ‘He’s not a morning person, huh?’

  ‘No, not normally.’

  ‘Well, I guess he does have a good excuse this time,’ she said before leaving the room.

  ‘Yeah, I guess he does.’

  I trailed my hand down the side of his face, taking note of the grey hairs in his stubble and sideburns. They were a new feature, one he hated and one I loved. He also hated the mole on his left cheek, which I thought added character.

  There was so damn much I loved about Dean: his eyelids that were closed and lightly fluttering, his soft lips that were never dry, and the way the tip of his nose pointed, subtly.

  Skimming my finger across it, I appreciated its existence — I appreciated his existence.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I quietly gasped, the reality of what had happened mere hours ago hitting me. I nearly lost you, Dean. Our boys nearly lost you.

  I couldn’t even comprehend what that could’ve meant; his absence in our lives would have been just … unfathomable.

  From what Hillary had told me, Dean had been stabbed in the parking lot outside his office building by her ex-boyfriend. Apparently, Glen — the scumbag’s name — had a knife to her throat when Dean stumbled across them and hit the guy. Dean hadn’t seen the knife, and the next thing Hillary knew was that Dean was on his knees covered in blood while Glen fled the scene.

  Just the thought of what had happened, what could’ve happened, tore me apart. I was so angry. Scared. Proud. My husband had the purest of hearts and it had nearly cost him his life.

  ‘You stupid idiot,’ I whispered, lowering my head to the bed and crying into his crisp white bed sheets.

  ‘Who are you calling an idiot?’

  My head shot back up at the sound of his raspy, dry voice. ‘Dean! You’re awake?’

  ‘Not quite,’ he groaned. ‘Just pressing snooze one more time.’

  Wiping tears from my eyes, I smiled. ‘Okay. Just once. Then it’s time to wake up and come back to me.’

  He nodded. ‘I never left you, love.’ His face fell peaceful again. Still. And all I could do was shake my head in wonderment and grip his hand even tighter.

  ‘I may be a hero, love, but ease up on the hand a little.’

  ‘Shit! Sorry.’ I let go and rested my hands on his leg instead.

  ‘A little higher,’ his gravelly voice suggested, and I wondered if he needed water.

  ‘Should I get the nurse? Do you need anything?’

  He didn’t answer, so I just stared at him, studying every inch of the man I fell in love with eighteen years ago. The man I married, shared children with, and would love for the rest of my life. My normal.

  ‘Hi, I’m Doctor Williams,’ a man explained, offering me his hand to shake as he entered the room. ‘Your husband’s surgeon.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Tash. I can’t begin to thank you enough—’

  ‘Please, there’s no need to thank to me. Your husband did most of the hard work.’

  ‘He’s telling the truth,’ Dean murmured, slowly opening his eyes.

  ‘Oh good, the hero awakens. How are you feeling, Dean? How’s the level of pain from zero to ten? Ten being the pain of running out of beer.’

  ‘No beer? Shit, this doesn’t even come close.’ Dean winced when he tried to shuffle on the bed. ‘Let me see, maybe a six.’

  ‘Okay, good. Your wound was packed with anaesthetic before we stitched you up, so that will last you a little while longer. In the meantime, we’ll keep your pain meds up and see how you’re travelling tomorrow.’

  I nodded and squeezed Dean’s thigh.

  ‘Love, just a little higher.’

  Oh my God! I could hit him.

  ‘Dean Jones, I will yank that chest tube out of you if you mention that one more time.’

  Dr Williams laughed. ‘Well, we don’t want that, so my recommendation is that you behave, Dean, because when you were stabbed you suffered a perforated lung, which then collapsed due to an abnormal build-up of air and fluid between the chest and lung cavities — known as a pneumothorax. That chest tube is draining that abnormal build-up of fluid and air, therefore helping your lungs expand fully. We need it to remain in there a little longer.’

  ‘Was anything else perforated when he was stabbed?’ I asked, worried. ‘And will his lungs be affected or permanently damaged?’

  ‘Apart from the obvious — skin, fatty tissue and muscle — Dean was very lucky nothing else was penetrated by the blade.’

  I sighed with relief and rubbed Dean’s shoulder.

  ‘As for permanent damage,
he should be fully recovered in five to six weeks if he adheres to the recommended post-operative care.’

  ‘Oh he will!’ I stated. ‘Won’t you, babe?’

  Dean nodded but his eyes had closed again.

  ‘It’s normal for him to drift in and out of consciousness until the anaesthesia wears off.’ Dr Williams flipped a page on Dean’s chart. ‘Everything looks fine. We’ll monitor him and keep his pain meds topped up for the next couple of days and then he should be right to go home. He won’t be able to drive for roughly two to three weeks, nor lift or do any strenuous activity.’

  ‘Sex isn’t classed as strenuous right, Doc?’

  Both Dr Williams and I glanced at Dean who still had his eyes shut but was sporting a mischievous grin.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. ‘Are you sure that chest tube is important?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he answered sternly, but offered me a secret fifty/fifty hand gesture.

  I giggled and Dean opened one eye suspiciously.

  Dr Williams dropped his hand by his side. ‘Right. My job here is done. Do you have any further questions?’

  ‘No. But thank you again.’

  ‘My pleasure. Now, no more heroics, Dean, okay?’

  ‘Sure thing, Doc.’ Dean’s eyes sprung open and he went to sit up in bed. ‘Hillary? What happened to Hillary? Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes!’ I gently coaxed him back down with Dr William’s help. ‘She’s fine, babe.’

  His body relaxed but the discomfort he’d just instigated wasn’t lost on his face; his eyebrows pinched and his teeth clenched.

  ‘Dean, you have to try to remain calm. No sudden movements.’

  ‘Did they catch him?’

  I kissed his cheek. ‘I hope so.’

  * * *

  Six weeks later, Dean was fully recovered and due to return to work the next Monday. Bryce and Lexi had insisted I take carer’s leave to play ‘home nurse’ — Lexi even lending me a costume, which was not the type of ‘nurse’ costume suitable for my caring role. I’d declined the costume by politely saying, ‘Hell fucking no! You actually wear that in the bedroom?’ but gladly accepted the leave from work until day three, when I was begging to go back.