Can’t stop thinking about you.
An hour later, when my dress was hanging in my closet and my face was scrubbed clean, I popped two Advil, pulled a soft cotton t-shirt over my head and stretched out between cool sheets with my phone in my hand. It was late, nearly one in the morning, but I texted him back.
Can’t stop thinking about you either.
P.S. Totally embarrassed about the nickname. Sisters!
I set the phone on my nightstand and turned off the lamp. But I couldn’t sleep. My body was tired but restless, with too much sexual energy trapped inside it, and all I could think about was Levi’s kiss. And his voice in my ear. And his hands on me.
Sweet Jesus, those hands.
I sat up and reached into the nightstand drawer for Magik Mike.
But I hadn’t charged him.
“Fuck!” I threw him back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Now what?
I was considering left-handing it when my cell phone buzzed.
Still awake?
Smiling, I picked it up again. Yes.
Cleaning the bathrooms with Pine Sol?
Hahaha no. You’re up late. How is your son?
He’s OK. He fell asleep in my bed, but I just put him in his, and he stayed asleep. Miracle.
Glad to hear it. Is your sister still there?
No, she went home. Did you have fun tonight?
Yes.
Did you have to dance?
NO, thank god. Aunt Irene let me be. She means well, but she drives me crazy.
Why?
Always bothering me about why I’m not married, don’t I want a family, I work too much, the clock is ticking, etc.
Do you work too much?
I sighed and answered honestly. Yes. But I love what I do, and I worked my ass off to get where I am.
Do you want to get married and have kids?
I knew what he meant, but I had to tease him. It’s a little soon for that, isn’t it?
Ha. I guess I did just accidentally propose, didn’t I? Oops.
Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to it. I do want it eventually. I just don’t like the way people bug me about it. Like I have an expiration date or something.
My family bugs me too. They try to tell me how to live my life, raise my son, point out everything I’m doing wrong. Then they guilt me for not coming around enough.
Yes! God, why can’t people leave well enough alone? Tonight I was told I’m not getting any younger, I’m too picky, and I’m unapproachable.
I approached you once.
With your smooth Harry Potter pickup line.
That was so ridiculous.
Hey, it worked.
It did. So clearly you are not that picky.
That made me smile. You didn’t even need a line tonight. I ran right into you.
You did. I quite enjoyed it.
There was a long pause, during which I chewed my lip and considered the interesting places this little conversation could go. Maybe we hadn’t gotten a second round in the closet, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t still have some fun tonight. So. What are you up to now?
Just lying here.
Me too.
Are you in bed?
Yes. I took a breath and wiggled my toes, which I do automatically when I’m excited about something. Are you?
Yes.
I grinned. I feel like I should ask you what you’re wearing. Is that pervy?
Ha. No. Especially since I am not wearing anything too exciting. I never changed.
Still in your suit? Damn, that was exciting enough for me. I love a man in a suit and tie. Add a wristwatch, and my panties melt. I lay back on the pillows, getting more comfortable.
I took off the shoes and coat.
Tie?
Still wearing it.
My fingers trembled a little, but I typed the words I was thinking. Take it off.
He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, or if he was really doing it. This was the problem when you couldn’t see someone’s face. I chose to imagine he was taking it off, and pictured his hands loosening the knot and sliding it free from around his neck.
My phone buzzed.
Done. Your turn.
I’m not wearing a tie.
What are you wearing, smartass?
A t-shirt. Underwear. And I’m sorry to say they are not sexy at all.
Take your shirt off.
My heartbeat pattered faster as I set the phone aside, pulled my shirt over my head and lay back again. Done. Unbutton yours.
Done.
I hesitated, breathing hard and wondering what to do next. Was this really happening? Undo your belt.
Hey it’s my turn.
I’m only wearing one more thing!
OK fine. But you’re bossy.
I grinned and imagined those hands on his belt buckle, my stomach flipping. Unzip your pants while you’re at it.
OK Bossypants. Done. Now take off your underwear.
I pushed them down my legs and kicked them off, leaving them under the covers at my feet. Done.
So you’re naked?
Yes.
Fuck.
Are you hard?
Are you kidding?
No.
Fuck yes I am. I wish I was there.
I bent my knees and flattened my hand on my stomach. What would you do to me?
I’ll tell you. But first tell me. Are you wet?
I slid my left hand between my legs, widening my knees a little, dipping a fingertip inside. Yes.
His next few messages came one by one, in no particular hurry.
I’d want to taste you first.
I’d bury my head in your thighs and lick you up down and sideways.
I’d do it softly just to make you beg for more.
I’d do it hard until your legs shook.
I’d fuck you with my tongue.
As he talked, I touched myself in just the ways he described, first with light, gentle strokes, soft little circles over my clit that made it ache and hum, feather-light brushes over tingling nerves. Then harder, pressing more firmly, dipping one finger inside myself, all the while imagining the feel of his beard against my skin, the sight of his dark hair between my thighs.
Yes yes yes was all I managed to type. The hum was building into a buzz, spreading throughout my whole body and I encouraged it, opening my legs wider, moving my fingers faster, dropping the phone on the bed and taking one hard nipple between my fingers. I glanced at the screen one last time.
I’d use my fingers inside you and my mouth on your pussy until you came so hard you couldn’t breathe. I’d feel it happen on my tongue and fingers, hear you scream my name, watch your back arch off the bed.
At this point I stopped reading because my eyes were closing and my body was tight with tension, bursting with the need to come. His words and the thought of him doing what he described pushed me over the edge and I sighed his name as the orgasm crashed through me in blissful, rolling waves.
Then I lay there for a moment, panting and sweaty, until I recovered enough to pick up the phone.
Oh my god
Oh my god
I can’t
Type
Are you breathing?
Heavily
Did you come?
Hard
Did you like it?
YES. My turn.
I rolled onto my stomach, smiling mischievously. If you were here, I’d be begging you to fuck me right now.
Would you?
Yes. You’ve got me hot and wet and wanting you.
What do you want?
First I want my hands on your cock.
I want to feel how big and hard it is.
I want to wrap my fingers around it and wonder how I’m going to take it all inside me. I’m remembering how hard you fucked me years ago, so deep it hurt.
But I liked it.
I think about it all the time.
I make myself come when I fantasize about it. He
wasn’t typing back. I hoped his fingers were busy. Can you feel my hands on you?
Yes
Good. Now I want to straddle you and rub the tip of your cock against my pussy, so you can feel how wet I am.
oh fuck
I take my time, slide down onto you, inch by inch.
I take you all the way in, so deep I can barely breathe.
I move my hips over yours, slowly at first.
I lean over you, kiss you, taste myself on your lips.
You put your hands on my ass, force me to move faster, ride you harder.
jesus fuck
I smiled even wider. This was like directing my own porn movie. I only wished I could see him, his white shirt and black pants undone, his hand on his dick, his eyes dark with lust. God, I could come again just thinking about that.
But I was on a mission.
Now for the big finish.
I can feel you getting even harder and bigger, you’re hitting that perfect spot inside me, the one that makes my entire body clench up, my heart pound. I’m screaming your name as I come on your cock, and I bounce up and down even faster and harder, and it’s so tight and wet and hot and you dig your fingers into my ass and tell me you’re going to come. And then I feel you do it deep inside me and I don’t stop moving until I’ve taken every last drop and feel your body go still.
OK, that had to do it, right?
I waited for him to text me back. It took a minute, and then the messages came in slowly.
Um
Fuck
That was
So hot
I laughed softly. It was.
Be right back
OK
I assumed he went to clean up a little, and I was thirsty, so I pulled on my t-shirt and took a minute to wash my hands and grab a water from the fridge. A few seconds after I got back into bed, he messaged me.
Hey.
Hey.
That was amazing.
Agreed.
I’m surprised I didn’t wake up my kid.
I giggled. Were you that loud?
I don’t know. Maybe. You were very vivid in your description.
It was very vivid in my head. I confess… I may have thought about it before.
You mentioned that.
It’s the truth. I hesitated. Did you ever think about me?
You know I did.
I don’t. Tell me.
I thought about fucking you. A lot.
Where?
Um, wherever I happened to be jerking off.
Hahaha that’s not what I meant. I meant when you pictured it, where were we?
I have no idea. I don’t think I pictured anything but bodies.
I sighed. You’re such a guy. But I’ll take it. I like that you thought about fucking me.
But now I want the real thing. Not in a closet. Not on the phone.
My breath caught. Me too.
Maybe we should go on a date first.
Haha maybe. Although we have already banged in a closet and sexted. The jig is up.
Right. But I would still like to take you out.
My whole body tingled, and I wiggled my toes. OK.
I’ll call you this week.
Sounds good. Night.
Night.
I set the phone on the nightstand and pulled the covers up to my chin, unable to keep the smile off my face. All the worry in my head, and all the tension in my body, had been replaced by something else.
Exhilaration. Anticipation. Hope.
This felt like the beginning of something.
Setting my phone aside, I lay back on my bed and put my hands behind my head, my legs crossed at the ankles. Probably I should take off my pants and hang them up, put my shirt in the laundry basket, check on Scotty…but for a moment, I just wanted to lie there and think about her. Not about today’s minor meltdowns over the yellow spoon or the seam in his socks, or the major ones about the hair-washing and stained pajamas. Not about the conversation with my mother in which she told me I wasn’t severe enough in disciplining my son when he acted out. Not about the arguments with my sister in which she told me I can’t keep letting Scotty make the rules. Not about the email I got yesterday from the school saying they still don’t have his new IEP ready despite the testing results being sent to them weeks ago.
For a moment, I blocked all that out. I wasn’t anyone’s son or brother or father or advocate. I was just a man thinking about a woman.
But just for a moment.
• • •
A noise woke me, and I sat up quickly. Waited in the silent dark. Had I actually heard something? Or was the dull thud part of a dream? My mind was cloudy and my head hurt a little, probably from such an abrupt waking. I waited, scratching my beard and stifling a yawn. Then I heard it again. It was coming from downstairs, most likely Scotty trying to get a snack in the kitchen. He did that sometimes in the middle of the night. I picked up my phone to check the time—just after four. I bet Jillian is sound asleep. For a moment, I pictured her in bed, her skin warm and soft under the blankets, and imagined what it would be like to roll over at four in the morning and throw an arm around her slim waist. Pull her closer. Breathe in the scent of her hair.
Get hard against her ass.
Thump.
Sighing, I stood up and headed down the hall, where a nightlight kept the stairs well lit. They creaked as I went down, and the house felt a little chilly, the wood floors cool under my bare feet. We’d had a warm September, but soon I’d have to turn the heat on at night.
I went to the kitchen, where all the lights were on and Scotty was opening and closing cupboards. I figured he was looking for his cereal bowl, since the box of Fruity Pebbles was already out on the counter.
“Hey, buddy,” I said.
“Do you want some cereal?” He meant that he wanted cereal. Pronouns still gave him trouble, and although his language and communication skills had improved a ton with therapy, he often repeated questions he’d heard asked before. Almost like he had scripts he recalled in certain situations when he couldn’t find the right words to ask the question or make the statement he wanted.
“It’s not time yet.”
He ignored me and went on looking for his bowl, the dinosaur one he likes to use at breakfast. It was probably in the dishwasher, but I didn’t want to tell him that. When he’d finished looking in all the cupboards he could reach, he stood still and fidgeted, facing away from me. “Let’s have breakfast right now.”
“Hey.” I went over and hugged him from behind, hoping to head off his frustration. “It’s only four in the morning, so we’re not having breakfast yet, OK? We’ll find the bowl at breakfast time. Come back upstairs with me.”
“But I woke up, and after I have breakfast and get dressed, I can play on the iPad before church.” He pointed at the fridge.
I laughed a little. Pinned to the fridge with a Detroit Tigers magnet was the Sunday chart with a symbol for each thing Scotty would do today. Once each thing was done, he’d move the little symbol, which was Velcro-ed to the chart, over to the column that said Done. If he got through three things on the chart without hassle, he got fifteen minutes of free iPad time. “That is the order of things, you’re right. But look at the time. That order needs to start around seven in order for Dad to be sane. Let’s go back upstairs now.”
He let me lead him up the stairs, and I could almost taste the victory of a couple more hours of sleep, but he fussed when I tried to go back into his room, glancing down the hall like he might try to make a run for it.
“It’s not time to wake up yet, Scotty,” I said firmly.
“But you’re dressed.” He pointed to my clothes—the wrinkled, unbuttoned white shirt and rumpled black pants I’d fallen asleep in.
“Not really, bud. This is what I wore to the wedding last night.”
“You slept in your clothes?” A hint of a smile.
“I guess I did.”
“I want my iPad.”
I
sighed, exhaustion weighing down my bones. “How about if I lie down with you in your bed?” In my head I could hear my mother telling me this sent a confusing message. Either you want him to follow the rules on his own or you don’t. She was probably right, but sometimes I just needed to buy myself a little more rest. Scotty loved to be close to me, and usually fell asleep right away if I lay next to him.
He considered it while he twirled a hand in his hair. “OK. Yes.”
We both climbed into his double bed, me on my right side and Scotty on his left. Immediately he reached over and started to play with my earlobe, almost like it was a security blanket. He’s done it ever since he was a baby, and his therapist says it probably calms him, quiets his mind so he can relax. But sometimes he even does it during the day while he’s playing—he’ll just run over to me while I’m working at the table or folding laundry or cooking dinner and rub it for a few seconds, and then take off again. Those times make me laugh, which he loves, so maybe he’s doing it for me as much as for himself. But in my heart I think it’s his way of telling me he loves me and feels safe and happy. Those moments are gold to me.
Some Sort of Love: A Happy Crazy Love Novel Page 4
