by J. P. Oliver
It wasn’t until I was in the car and we were cruising through the brightly lit streets of LoDo that I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I had one more vacation day before I was expected back at work, and I’d be able to fill that up by bullshitting with my brother-in-law and playing with my little sobrino, but right this second I was lonely.
Noah. Pinche Noah.
He was a sexy guy, and our relationship, at least at first, had been full of excitement. It wasn’t until a few months in that I’d started really getting uncomfortable, and a few months after that when I’d realized neither of us was going to change enough to be the guy the other really needed. I’d felt kind of bad about breaking up with him, but then his behavior in the months since then had demonstrated he was toxic, and I was better off by myself.
Except I wasn’t by myself, was I?
I was tonight. Tonight, I’d sleep alone. But there was someone waiting for me an hour away. I considered, wildly, just for a second, directing my driver to get on the highway, but I couldn’t do that to Xiomara.
When I got to my sister’s place, I slipped inside as quietly as I could, taking off my shoes just inside the front door and padding to their guest room in stocking feet. I was too tired to shower, but I brushed my teeth and washed up and crawled into bed, wishing mi tesoro were there to warm the cool sheets for me. I took the spare pillow, hugged it to my chest, and fell asleep.
13
Beck
Friday.
One week, exactly, since I’d seen Jamie.
And the day he was coming back.
I’d been on pins and needles since I’d woken up. Jittery with excitement, feeling literal tingles on my skin and in my guts and…all over.
We’d talked every day since he’d left. Only once on Saturday, the day I’d gotten my phone and he’d given me my first assignment before going out with an old friend from college.
But we’d spoken three times on Sunday, and at least twice a day since then. And that wasn’t just the video chatting. It seemed like once an hour I’d get a text from him, and every time I did, I’d break my neck texting him back. By mid-week, I was confident enough to text him first. He’d respond as quickly as I had. That made me happy.
But tonight I was going to see him. Finally.
He got off around six, same as me, and he’d told me he was going to go straight home and shower—“I want to be clean for you, mi tesoro.”—then get on the road.
Nine o’clock. By nine o’clock, I’d be in his arms, kissing him.
Tomorrow, I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore.
I’d had that thought more than once this week, and every time I did I got a little dizzy. Jamie and I had talked about it. He’d told me fifty times that there was no pressure, that I could change my mind, that he could wait for me. There were a million things we could do with and to each other besides that. He’d described them, slowly, until I leaked precum. But I told him I was ready. I told him I wanted him to have me, and soon.
I smiled to myself as I shelved, thinking about how he could still make me feel, even after all the things he’d done to me on the afternoon he’d left Harlan. It was silly, I guess. But the nerves felt good. The jitters and tingles felt good. The way my face and chest felt warm every time I told him what I wanted him to do to me felt good.
I’d never met anyone before Jamie who could make me feel so shy and so safe at the same time. I guess he must be pretty special.
I shelved and stocked by rote. I sorted dry goods and cold goods mechanically. I barely sat down at lunch, needing to move. Jay had grinned slyly at me while I ate my grilled cheese, but he hadn’t said anything. I think he knew I wanted to be alone with my imagination.
He certainly knew Jamie was coming to town that night. Gavin, too. I hadn’t told them I was a virgin, but they did know—they’d picked up on—how important tonight was for me. They reminded me of a couple of clucking hens, in a good way, when they’d fuss over me, or ask me every morning how Flores was doing.
Forty minutes before the end of my shift, Gavin found me.
“So, Beck. Any plans for the weekend?” He was teasing. I could tell by his eyes.
I smiled.
“Listen, buddy, you know how Friday evenings are. People get off work, they want to go somewhere a little more exciting than their friendly, locally owned bookshop. I think we can handle the rush, such as it’ll be, without you.”
“Am I in trouble?”
He snorted in response, then smiled. “’Course not. I just want to make sure you have time to get ready for Flores’s triumphant return to our fair city.”
I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do.
“Go on, Beck. Get. You deserve a good weekend.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
I turned to go, but Gavin’s voice stopped me.
“How long you been with us, Beck?”
I paused and turned, subtracting in my head. “Three months and two weeks.”
Gavin nodded slowly, calculating. “I’d forgotten to mention Sit and Sip’s most important human resources directive. All full-time employees earn two vacation days at the three-month, two-week mark. Go get ready for your guy, Beck. I’ll see you Monday.”
...
I showered until the bathroom was foggy as a mountain morning, scrubbing my skin pink and making sure I would be even cleaner for Jamie than he’d be for me. I ate quickly, just some crackers and an apple, and then brushed my teeth until my hand cramped. Standing in front of my mirror, I messed with my hair, trying to push it off my forehead, but the drier it got, the higher it stood and the wilder it behaved.
I dressed without putting on deodorant. Jamie’s instructions. He’d told me he wanted to taste me.
I made my bed, smoothing the sheets out. I fluffed the pillows.
I got my lube out of its hiding spot and tucked it into the nightstand near the bed. Jamie had told me he’d bring condoms. I had told him that since I was a virgin, he didn’t need to worry about me, and I trusted him. He’d smiled, then told me I didn’t need to worry about him either, but wasn’t going to put me at the tiniest risk. I think my disappointment must have shown on my face, because then he’d said, “Don’t worry, mi ángel. Being extra-safe this weekend only gives us one more thing to look forward to down the road.”
That had made me tingle, too.
I straightened up my tiny room as much as I could, but it was small enough and already neat enough, it didn’t take me long.
And then I waited for my man.
...
8:59.
A knock on the door.
I flew out of my chair and opened it almost before the sound stopped echoing.
A gym bag thudded onto the floor as Jamie stepped into my room, and before I knew it, I was in his arms, his mouth on mine. I was hard for him before our first kiss ended. He lifted me into the air, bringing our faces level, and I wrapped my legs around his middle, wanting to touch him everywhere.
We kissed again. And again. Feverishly. And then I was falling, and my back thumped against the mattress, and I was looking up into his warm brown eyes and noticing his dimple and his white teeth and that one strand of hair always hanging onto his forehead.
“I missed you, mi tesoro,” he said, already tugging off his left boot. “I missed you cada segundo de cada día.” His boot thunked to the floor, and he started tugging on his right.
“I missed you, too, Jamie.” His voice sounded better in person than on the phone, that low, husky almost-growl, bathing me in Spanish.
“How much, mi tesoro?” He was teasing me, making me speak. I played along.
“A lot. All the time.”
“And you thought of me when you made yourself come?” He was unbuttoning his shirt. I wanted him to rip it off and weigh me down with his body, cover me with his hot skin.
“Every time. Every night.”
“Bueno.” A long line of olive skin showed as the shirt hung o
pen. He peeled it off, exposing his shoulders and arms and the lines that kissed his stomach and disappeared behind the waistband of this jeans. “I will tell you how I’ve missed you later, but first…” He unbuttoned his jeans, but left them on. Then, as I’d wished, he lay on top of me, supporting most his weight but still making sure I could feel him. “…I want to show you.”
I think I whimpered. I know I twitched inside my pants, and my face grew hot again.
He kissed me, and I kissed back. We kissed for a long time, and I wondered how something my mouth was doing could make me feel good all over. I gripped his naked back, running my hands along its length until I was frustrated by the stiff denim, then ran my hand back up to his shoulders. On my next descent, I flattened my palm and slid my fingers between the cotton of his briefs and the warm, firm skin it covered. He growled and bit my lip, and tugged, and I moaned.
Eventually, still kissing, we tussled out of our clothes, him removing his jeans and underwear in one swift tug and a couple of kicks, then opening me like a present. I liked that. I wanted to give myself to him.
“Can I… Can I suck your dick?” The words surprised me. Not that I wanted it, but that I could ask for it.
He grabbed my hair and craned my face toward the ceiling, drawing a long, thick, wet line along my throat with his tongue, then he disentangled his body from mine and stood beside the bed. “Por favor, mi ángel.”
I looked at him, really looked at him, down there for the first time. He was thick, and he curved gently toward the sky. When I reached out and touched it for the first time, I was surprised by his weight and heat.
He touched my head, fingers stroking my hair, smoothing it, petting me like a good puppy. That was nice. I wanted to play with him, please him, obey him. I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to the tip, and felt him throb against me.
“Please, Beck.”
The need in his voice made me feel powerful, even as I opened wider and took him. He moaned, and the fingers in my hair tensed briefly, then relaxed, resuming their gentle motion.
“Show me, tesoro, how you trained yourself.”
I did. I moved slowly down his length, swallowing him until he touched my throat. He wasn’t as big as my white toy, the one I practiced on while riding my pink toy, but I still wasn’t prepared for how different this felt. The heat and the texture and the smell of his body as I pressed my face against his stomach almost made me come. I paused to clear my head, then concentrated on pleasing him.
Most of what he said for the next few minutes was unintelligible, muttered Spanish and choked whispers. Every so often, he’d give me instructions, teaching me how he liked it. I’d adjust the angle of my head or slow my pace or use my hands in such a way, then wait for the quickness in his breathing or the soft purr of his voice that told me I was doing it right.
It felt good to give myself to him like this. To thank him for his gentleness, his conversation, for all the meals we’d shared, for the gift of his brown eyes, for the perfection of his dimple. It felt good to focus on him and hear his approval.
“Paras, Beck. Stop. Stop.” The clarity in his voice, the urgency, shocked me into stillness. He stood motionless for a moment, then slid out of me. “Too soon, mi tesoro. Not yet.” He leaned down and kissed me, long and slow, then stood again. “You learn quickly.”
I smiled up at him, both proud and pleased.
“Lie back,” he said then, all business. I complied.
It was as perfect as it had been a week before. Today, I lay across the bed, making my legs jut off the side. He lifted them, spreading me, and placed them over his shoulders. He went down on me like before, tenderly at first, teasing me, but as my heart started thundering in my chest, he responded in kind, licking and kissing and sucking until I had to grab a pillow and mash it against my face to keep from screaming. Part of me imagined my voice echoing down to the Sit and Sip, and the faces of Gavin and Jay and whatever patrons were browsing its shelves, and my muffled yowl became a half laugh, partly because I felt so good and partly because I wondered what they’d say if they knew how I was spending my night.
But Jamie’s fingers knocked all rational thinking, any silly make-believe out of my mind. Two slippery fingers pushing against me, pushing inside me. I tensed, then relaxed, then pushed against him, allowing him in. I moaned into the pillow.
“Let me see your face, Beck. Please. I want to see how you look while I’m inside you.” I obeyed.
“Beautiful. Hermoso. My perfect angel. My Beck.” He was deep inside me now, curving and teasing in a way rubber couldn’t. Even his fingers felt powerful. I bit my lip and began rocking against him, instinctively at first, and then deliberately. I wanted all of him, as much as he could give.
I let his hands work for as long as I could stand, stifling moans and squeezing my eyes shut against the pleasure. And when I got too much, I gasped, “Jamie, please fuck me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely sure?”
“Ahhh. Yes.”
“One-hundred percent?”
“Jamie, please fuck me.”
“Of course.” Amusement played in his voice, and when I opened my eyes, his shone playfully.
When his fingers slid out of me, I almost wept from feeling empty. I needed him. Now.
He turned toward the dresser.
“No. Nightstand.”
He smiled as he walked to his gym bag and rifled through it, pulling out a box of condoms. He then walked past me, around the bed, his erection proud, and crossed to the nightstand. I craned my neck to watch him tear into the box and slip the condom on. He popped the lube and poured some into his hand, warmed it, then gave himself a slippery, shiny coating. When he returned to me, he slid his fingers back inside of me, just long enough to make sure I was slick and ready for him.
“Lie like this,” he said, lifting my legs and shifting me lengthwise on the bed. When he released me, I parted my legs, and he knelt between them.
We kissed some more. Slow, wet kisses that made my guts and my groin clench.
And then pressure. Strong, sure pressure against me.
And then he was inside me.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and sing. After years of fear and threats and hiding and trying to make myself small, I’d given myself to a good man. After years of being too frightened to look a stranger in the eye, I’d found the courage to let a man in.
He stretched me and filled me, and without his weight holding me down, I think I would have floated away from pure joy.
He felt good, so good inside of me.
I looked into his eyes. I watched his face flush, just the faintest tinge of pink on his olive cheeks. I watched the sexy little flop of hair that I always wanted to play with bounce against his forehead to the same rhythm with which he took me.
I don’t know how long we were like that, me open to him, him inside of me, our eyes locked on each other, his little growls and my little moans coming together in a harmony of needs and wants and pleasure. It felt like forever, but it wasn’t long enough.
I came first. I could feel it building inside of me, the sight and sound and feeling of him taking pleasure from me making my own pleasure rise and explode. I white-knuckled the comforter and bit my lip, and I felt myself shatter into a million shining shards.
“Ay, Beck. Mi tesoro,” he muttered, even before I’d come back to myself, and then a few thrusts, even harder and more complete than before, and he bellowed into the air.
Then he was on me, fully, for a few seconds. He breathed and I breathed, and then he moved, shifting most of his weight onto the bed.
When my throat was wet enough and my lungs were full enough to speak again, I shifted slightly and looked at him. He watched me, too, those black-coffee eyes half-lidded and full of affection. I touched his little cowlick, brushing it off of his damp forehead.
“Thank you, Jamie.”
He chuckled and shook his h
ead softly. “Thank you, Beck. That was perfect.” He kissed my cheek tenderly. A protector’s kiss. “And as promised, I have nowhere to be for two days, except by your side. I can sleep tonight with you in my arms.”
“I want that so bad.” It felt strange, being so honest, but I couldn’t have not said those words.
“I am here for you, mi tesoro. I’m here for you as long as you want me.”
I did cry then, a little, and he kissed my eyes.
Eventually we slept, and I dreamed of him holding me.
I’d never had a dream come true before.
14
Jamie
I loved my job, mostly, and I was good at it, and it was useful work, but I wanted to be in Beck’s tiny room, with him in my arms. I did not want to be in my squad car, returning to work after another pinche domestic violence call.
My feelings for Beck, and the mystery of what had made him so timid, and my need to help him heal, had done nothing to make me more patient with bullies and abusers. And as so often happens, the woman who’d been hit or shoved or screamed at had turned on me when I arrived, defending “her man.”
I stayed as long as I could, asking all the right questions, trying to get her to budge, trying to win even a shadow of an excuse to do something, but she wouldn’t help me. I tried not to be angry. I knew there was psychology involved that I barely understood. Something had happened to her that made her behave this way, and blaming her was unfair. Still, frustration ate at me on my long, slow drive back to the station.
Gracias a Dios Beck had broken free. He was still haunted, but I could see him fighting and growing, blossoming into the man he wanted to be. The work was slow, but his progress since I’d met him was undeniable.
We’d spent two days in bed, getting up only for the occasional shower, or for me, twice a day, to dress and walk down to the Vista and bring us back some food. We’d eat in bed, naked or half-naked, laughing, feeding each other, learning each other.
