by K T Morrison
He said, “How could Finn stand a chance being near you?”
“Stop it,” she whispered in a tone that made him smile. She liked what she was hearing.
“You’re sexy in your own way, Lib. Chelsea’s got her thing, she’s aggressive and intimidating, she puts fangs in throats, you lure men to you, sing sweet songs till they fall at your feet. All your curves, your sweet charm... you’re irresistible...”
Now he caressed her face; she leaned her cheek into it and he rubbed the pad of his thumb under her eyelashes. She kissed the inside of his wrist.
He said, “Your body is unbelievable, Libby, and the more you hide it, the more guys like Finn want to see it.”
“Get out of here,” she whispered.
“I saw you in your little shorts.”
“Stop,” she said, but that curl of a smile was still there.
“You bought those shorts to go out with Finn?”
“For the concert,” she said, her tone slightly scolding.
“Finn sent me a video, you weren’t looking, you were dancing, and you had your arms above your head, I couldn’t stop looking at that perfect little butt of yours.”
“Ben,” she said and laughed a little.
“It was Finn that took the video, how could he not want to kiss you?”
Now he leaned forward, not neglecting the fact that he just mentioned Finn and Lib kissing and was now leaning forward to touch his lips to his wife’s. It was like some sort of ritual, a conjuring spell, bringing his wife back to the moment where her lips touched Finn’s last night, put her in touch with that bad side of her...
He stayed close to her, his lips near her ear. He whispered, “I’m not mad at him and I’m not mad at you. I love you so much, Libby. We’ve been together so long, I’ve known you my whole life. Look at me...” He gripped her neck, held her face close, their eyes only inches apart, a Little League coach giving a halftime pep-talk. “You can’t do anything wrong, Lib. We’re in this together. This big game of life, it’s just you and me. If anything happened, I wouldn’t be mad at all...”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not mad about what happened in Finn’s room.” Just saying that made Lib’s face scrunch up. “Listen,” he said, “seriously, you can’t do anything wrong. If something more happened—if the worst thing ever happened—I would never leave you...”
“Ben,” she said in an annoyed sort of way, though she leaned forward appreciating what he said. She slumped, and he stroked her jawline.
He asked, “Did anything else happen? You can be honest...”
She shook her head no.
“Just tell me, Lib.”
I know there was more. I heard there was more, heard it with my own ears...
He bit his lips as he held her, and his wife let the opportunity to be honest slip away. His words were true, he was here for her—sure he’d set her up, but nothing more honest could have been spoken right now than that he could see her through anything. The fact that she would let a chance at honesty slip right by her and not even reach for it for some reason made him even harder.
His hand came up and cupped her bare breast, he squeezed her nipple in the V between his thumb and index finger and took her mouth again. He guided her to her back, the two of them on their sides and kissing on their bed. They wiggled their way up so their feet and legs were resting on the mattress. He stroked her warm side, brushed the backs of his fingers over her soft tummy, drawing circles around her navel.
He said, “How could you do that to poor old Finn?”
Lib smiled, got bashful again, swallowed her lower lip and dipped her chin down. He kissed her forehead.
“Poor guy, having to spend the whole day with you bopping around in those shorts. No wonder he got an erection.”
She smiled a little wider. He slipped a hand under the waistband of her sleeping shorts and pushed them down to expose a hip. Libby rolled to her back, let him peel her shorts down and off. She planted the soles of her little feet on the mattress and kept her knees raised and together. He slipped a hand between them, found his wife’s furry little patch glistening with the dew of her arousal.
He said, “You’re excited...”
“Ben,” she said, chastising him, her two hands coming down to cover over his. He still stroked his middle finger over her tight opening. It was slick and hot and eager.
Now his own heart was racing. He whispered, “I bet Finn wishes he was me...”
Libby couldn’t answer, but he watched a wink of light reflected off her front teeth as she nibbled on her lower lip. She arched her neck and raised her chin. She liked it.
“What do you think he would give to be in bed with you right now?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Boy, if he could see what I was doing right now...”
“Ben,” she chastised him again, but there was a tiniest giggle and lightness to her voice.
“Do you think he likes to do it like spoons?” He said it close to her ear and he could see goosebumps raise up in humps on her bare flesh. Her nipples hardened further right before his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said, that light giggle there, but there was a deepening to her breath and he could tell she was considering it.
“I bet he does. Bet he wishes he could’ve last night. Bet he wishes he could’ve rolled you over like this,” he said, raising her hip and guiding her to roll on her side with her back to him. He kissed between her shoulder blades, ran a hand down her silky skin, over a round ass cheek and finding that wet hot stripe between her legs. He put his ring finger inside her and watched her lips part...
37
The moonlight traced a silver rim over Libby’s curves. The swell of her shoulder, the shallow of her waist, the rising crest of her haunch. She’d never been more beautiful. She had hidden things. Hidden sexual value. These last two weeks he’d dusted and rubbed at it, brought out its shine. And this affair with Finn was like a jeweler’s precision, cutting facets to make Lib’s gem sparkle. Petite, full figured, womanly, and old world classic modesty that had her constraining her wonderful feminine bounty with demure costuming. But on any day of the week, Libby was just as sexy as Chelsea. It was under the surface. Chelsea was all choppy waves and stormy skies and driving rain. Everything Libby had was that quiet dark mystery that lay in the depths. But it could be just as dark, just as bewildering, just as powerful.
Just like that, he was switching characters... He whispered to her, “Do I need to put on a condom?” His voice, but done in the laconic ease of that cool and casual bad boy covered in tattoos—the one who may or may not have had sex with Libby last night.
“It’s okay, tonight it’s okay…”
It chilled him. Was it okay last night? If they’d had sex, were they smart enough to use a condom? Or could she not even facilitate any sort of defense once Finn’s words got her lubricated? Once action began, was Libby an easy lay? Chelsea said Lib would go to her back. He could picture it. At least the first time. Poor Libby, frightened, but curious and aroused. Helpless in her naïve way. Her knees coming up to her breasts, Finn lowering himself…
“Are you sure?” he said, giving it that easy-going drawl.
“Put it in,” she said.
Utilitarian yet dirty. Libby yet not Libby…
He guided a hand over the back of her topmost thigh to raise her knee and give him better access. He stroked himself against her wet and hungry aperture then sunk slowly inside.
In character, he thought of himself as Finn claiming a woman who’d only been with one man. Giving her something she herself had told him she’d never had. A man with a large penis. He whispered, “Should I go slow?”
And to his horror, Libby played along: “Be careful,” she whispered
His heart snapped off a rimshot and his eyes widened. His neck swelled, his blood pressure kicked into high gear. Was she getting into this?
“You let me know if it’s uncomfortable,”
he said in imitation-Finn’s voice.
“Deeper,” she sighed and he just about died. He cupped a hand on her hip, his other one snaking through her silky hair to seize the back of her slender, graceful neck. He slipped himself in and out of her, her tight little insides gripping and milking on him. Oh, what a treat she would be for Finn…
With his eyes clenched shut, he imagined himself as the other man last night in a Barrie hotel bed. Hand on her hip, hand on her neck, timid little mousy housewife doing the worst thing she’d ever done in her entire life. The thrill was insane, and the impending orgasm built to gargantuan proportions.
He ventured forward into dirtier territory, feeling bold and well-armored, a warrior galloping into battle in a berserker fury: “What are we going to tell them?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“We can do this all night...”
“I want to...”
“We can’t tell them, this has to be our secret...”
“I won’t,” she squeaked.
Then dirtier: “Am I hurting you?”
She moaned, hissed, and bucked against him. Her body squirmed and went open-faced for a second, and he slapped a hand just below her navel, drove two middle fingers down between her legs and did something he’d never done before: pleasured her clitoris while they made love. Too bold for Libby, but not too bold for this new Libby made razor-sharp by her bad boy crush, Finn Slade. She was panting and gasping, and didn’t bat away his hand, in fact, Lib let her legs drift a little farther apart.
The sound of his rock hard erection goring in and out of her brought slick suction sounds and he could feel her tightness gripping and milking on him.
“Is it okay?” he urged, and she nodded. “It doesn’t hurt?”
“Ah, oh, you’re so big,” she panted. Then she came.
Came in a way he hadn’t seen before, too. Lib wasn’t easy to orgasm. She liked sex, she wasn’t afraid, she just seemed to have a lot of shame wrapped around it like hairy twine. He always was joyous when he’d coaxed it. Today was no exception, but it certainly was far darker than it had ever been before. Like a candy with a coppery bitter aftertaste.
You’re so big...
Then she came… thinking of her larger, well-hung lover...
The orgasm had her gasping and panting. He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly, her breasts jostling and jiggling. They were pointed with hard arousal, cheery pink nipples on a caramel platter. The most beautiful woman around, and she was here with him all the time. He felt crushed and hurt and wonderful simultaneously. He ejaculated inside her.
He knew not to thrust, because when Lib was in the throes she told him not to do that. So he winced and grimaced and tried to keep his eyes open as his seed spurted inside her. It got him panting, too.
Her heavy breathing was laced with a high whistle; a restriction in her lungs. She coughed a little, getting those breasts shaking again. He caressed her stomach, his brow creasing with worry and his eyes beginning to swell with sadness.
As she came out of it, her eyes fluttered, long lashes quivering. Then her eyes opened wider, dumbstruck, rolling around in their sockets like a frightened horse’s. He knew the horror of what they’d said while making love was getting to her. The words he’d provoked from her like some sort of admission. He just administered to her the dirtiest and trickiest inquisition. He got her aroused in order to admit her wrongdoing.
Lib’s mouth fell open, and she looked to say something but could only utter a thin croaking sound. She bit her lower lip, rolled over to her side away from him and folded both hands under her cheek. His penis slipped out from inside her.
Off the bed now, he went into the closet to retrieve a clean hand towel. He brought it to her, draped it over her bare rump then massaged her seeping seams. She put her hand between his and the towel and took over. She cleaned herself folding the towel over and over then tossing it toward the hamper but missing. If she wasn’t hurting, she would’ve slunk away and put it properly in with the dirty laundry.
He watched her breathing, could hear a soft whimpering and knew she was crying. She didn’t want to admit what had happened, but she was getting there. He ached for her. There was no reason she had to hurt because he was the one who should be sorry. Still, seeing her this way was destroying him. Just tell me the truth, Lib. We have so much to discuss... And seeing her hurt amplified the effect on him. He was crushed to think of her with Finn. To think of her enjoying a man physically.
He sighed, asked her: “Are you coming up to the pillows?”
He could see her small ear move as she nodded slightly. On her knees and elbows, she crawled up to the pillows, keeping her face turned away from him, slinking to the wrong side of the bed and facing away.
All she had to do was tell the truth. Why was she being so evasive?
It’s so big…
His stomach tightened and just as he was about to slip an arm around her and hold her, he put it under his pillow instead. Then he rolled over.
Both of them lay with their backs to each other now, and it took a long time before he finally fell asleep.
Part 7
Brand New Day
38
In the morning he woke alone in bed. Plates clanked downstairs and delicious food smells drifted up the stairwell and into the bedroom. Hand sweeping over his side of the bed where Libby slept last night, he found his spot cool. He went downstairs in his pajamas to find Libby in a robe standing at the stove, the sunlight coming in their kitchen window in a warm, happy glow. She looked at him quickly and sheepishly, smiled briefly, bid him a soft Good Morning, and went back to her pan.
“Good morning,” he said, sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
Libby looked over her shoulder at him, gave him another smile that seemed a little more confident but still tentative. She said, “What are you doing today?”
“There’s a half-dozen cars in Scarborough I gotta go take a look at.”
She smiled, played with her hair. “When are you leaving?”
“Soon.”
“You want to drive me to work?” She smiled cute.
The more sweet she tried to be, the more innocent, it seemed to have the opposite effect on him. It irritated him, aggravated him. He wasn’t going to forget what she said last night.
She prompted again: “Can you?”
“Sure,” he said.
“I’m making you eggs,” she told him.
“Thanks,” he said.
The perfunctory responses he’d given made Lib’s shoulders slump. He got up, came near her, poured himself a coffee from the carafe, sat back down and had a sip.
She brought the plates to the table, sat across from him, hunched over and small. She’d made him scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. The toast had been buttered and then braised with a hot stamp shaped in the Game Of Thrones wolf head.
She saw him studying it, said, “When you get home tonight, do you want to watch the rest of the season?”
Appetite gone, he stared at the food with no interest. He said, “What happened last night, Libby?”
Lib’s mouth tightened, and she looked at her plate. “You said you weren’t mad.”
“I’m not. Why can’t you just tell me what happened?”
“I did,” she pleaded.
He grumbled, took a bite of the buttery toast. It was like flaky nothing in his mouth. His knee was bouncing, and he finished chewing, took another sip of coffee. “I told you you can tell me. You can tell me anything that happened.”
“I know,” she said, running hair behind an ear and avoiding his eyes again.
“What about what you said?”
Still not looking at him: “When?”
“Come on, Libby.”
“What, Ben?” she said, looking at him now, and he could see her eyes glistening in the morning light with the threat of tears.
His lips twitched, and he forced himself to get it out. “About being big.”
It looked like Libby’s stomach rolled over. She went nauseous right before his eyes. She sniffed, licked her buttery lips, folded her arms around her plate and dipped her head low.
“You said Finn was hard?”
Into her plate: “Ben, come on, it’s the morning…”
“Did you see it?”
“See what?”
“See that he was hard...?”
“Kind of...”
He twisted in his seat, irritated that she wasn’t forthcoming when he’d made it so easy for her. “Is that why you said that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he big?”
Libby winced, an ugliness to the question testing her pluck. “I don’t know,” she said, eyebrows folding up right in the middle, her brow creasing.
“You said he showed you. You saw it…”
“I couldn’t tell...”
“Libby, come on,” he said, getting irritated.
“What, Ben? Don’t make me talk about it…”
“What did you see?”
“It was just, I don’t know, Ben, a bulge...”
“Just a bulge.”
Her head rolled weakly on her neck. “I’m sorry I said anything...”
“Libby, I just want you to tell me the truth.”
“Ben, I’m telling you the truth, why won’t you just accept what I’m saying?”
“Sorry,” he said, “it would’ve been fine except you said that thing...”
Her lips thinned further and she bit them, sucked them under the bite of her teeth. “Don’t be mean to me,” she whimpered
“I’m not,” he said.
She moaned, “I never should’ve gone...”
“You should have gone, Lib, I said I mean it.”
“I told you what happened,” she implored.
“Okay,” he said, “okay,” showing her his palms. “Sorry, okay.”
“This is why I don’t like to say things in bed.”
He dropped his fork, and it clattered against the plate. “Libby, I want you to say things in bed. It’s not that...”
