by H. M. Ward
“Very mature, Gina. Do you always solve arguments like that? I thought I was the only one you didn't listen to. I can find better uses for that tongue of yours, you know.”
FIREPLACE MANTLES
August 3rd, 8:22pm
This cannot be happening. I want to tug my hair out. How does he do that? He keeps magically popping up like some creepy biker-elf, appearing from thin air to steal little girls’ virtues in the middle of the night.
Hearing that voice, that irritating, nerve grating, obnoxiously, wonderfully sexy voice, coming from the other end of the hall, I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and turn on my heels to head the other way, towards the foyer, my heels pounding on the hardwood floor and echoing through the high-ceilinged hall.
“Gina,” Pete calls out to me.
I keep up with my pace, walking away from the attractive voice calling to me, choosing to concentrate on my fists and the feel of my nails digging into the palms of my hands instead.
“Gina, please stop walking away from me.”
That voice, the way he pleads and says my name makes me weak, but I need to keep on walking. I can’t be near him or let him touch me.
That’s when I feel his strong warm hands grip my hand. I spin around to face him, as my other hand goes flying to smack his cheek. I hit him so hard it pretty much echoes. Pete’s head doesn’t even budge, even with the mega bitch-slap I bestowed upon him, by my hand stings like a mofo! He just looks back at me, pissed off.
“What was that for?” he points to his cheek, an angry look on his face.
“Don’t touch me!” His jaw clenches making every muscle in his body harden. Damn, he’s hot when he’s angry. His arm muscles are rippling and the way his chest moves up and down with every breath makes me want to rake my nails across it. His helmet is tucked under one arm, his knuckles white from holding onto it so tightly. A stab of disappointment mixes with my anger and desire when I realize that he’s leaving. Good, he shouldn’t be here anyway.
“Feel better?” He says through clenched teeth, referring to the slap.
I blink, saying nothing.
“Gina?" His tone is slightly calmer. He’s not quite so livid anymore but I can’t let my defenses down. He has this dangerous way of finding my weaknesses and turning me into a panting pile of lusty goo on the floor with a wink and a smile. "Can we talk?”
Talking with Pete is a bad idea. He'll use his smooth poetic words on me and I won't be able to hold onto my much needed anger. Defensively, I square my shoulders and look him straight in the eyes. “Would you be surprised if I said that I have nothing to say to you?”
He smirks in response and leans his shoulder on the wall. “Actually, that might work to my advantage. I need to talk and it gets distracting when you keep trying to seduce me all the time.”
Gasping, I nearly choke to death on my own spit. How dare he! I ask him to leave me alone, to stop his games of seduction and he throws my words back in my face. Pete takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly, looking down.
“This isn’t how this was supposed to go.” Looking exasperated, he pulls at his hair with his free hand before dropping it to his side and grunting in frustration. He pushes himself off the wall and paces back and forth across the hall. “I don't have much time so you have to listen carefully. I apologize if I hurt you. That was never my intention.”
An apology? From him? This is another one of his mind games. It has to be.
I don't trust myself with words. I don't want him to know that he did hurt me. All those times he got close, only to walk away. Taking whatever bit of determination I have left, I manage to say firmly, “Stop. I asked you to leave me alone.”
He looks up and down the hall. It looks like he’s making sure we’re alone and he moves towards me, his voice is now low so that I’m the only one who can hear him. “I’ll leave you alone, I promise, but let me finish what I have to say. I need you to be careful. Stay out of trouble and keep a low profile, okay?”
He's toying with my emotions and I'm done being played--and not just by him. I grit my teeth together and try not to yell.
“Why the hell should I listen to you? Do you want to secure a spot on the let’s control Gina’s life committee? I’m pretty sure there’s another spot available.” I look up at him defiantly.
Pete's reaction is confusing at best. His face is contorted in anger, his eyes are filled with compassion and his voice is tinged with sadness, despite his biting words. “You are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever met. Why won’t you listen?” He steps closer. He's either trying to intimidate me or seduce me again, but neither are working. It’s just getting me more riled up.
"Because I'm done. I’m done being the perfect princess, doing this and saying that. Everyone wants me to play the part and I’m just done being everyone's stupid puppet, including yours! Go feed your poisonous crap to someone else and leave me alone."
This man is pure, raw emotion, whether it be sultry passion, soft tenderness or fiery rage. His fists are balling up and his jaw is twitchy. If I were a man, I’d probably be down on the ground with a couple teeth missing by now. I’m pushing all his buttons, and it’s doing a number on his self-control I’m sure, but I don’t care.
Pete takes a couple of cleansing breaths, looks back at me. Softly, he says, “I'm not trying to manipulate you. Please do this for you. Keep a low profile and,” he looks up and down the hall again and then places a gentle hand on my cheek, brushing his thumb against my cheekbone, “stay away from my mother.”
I know he said something because his mouth is moving and my ears heard his voice, but the feel of his thumb gently caressing my face is making everything else go blurry. I lean into his hand and he closes his eyes. My brain is sluggish, but I finally manage to understand what he just said.
“Your mother? What...?” Before I get a chance to ask him what Mrs. Ferro has to do with any of this, a door opens at the other end of the hallway. It’s where Pete was standing when I first left my Dad’s office. He removes his hand from my cheek and takes a step back, breaking the connection. A woman walks out through the door, fixing her hair and readjusting what little of her skirt there is. My eyes narrow and I shoot Pete an evil glare.
“That’s my mom’s sitting room! What the hell were you doing in there?” I point towards the door from which the woman exited.
His face changes instantly. The player is back and my stomach turns sour. His eyes light up with mirth and his arrogant, cocky grin is plastered across his face. In a sultry voice he asks, “Do you really want a detailed description? Because I’d be more than glad to give you one. Or rather, I could show you. Give you a demonstration.”
“Seriously? My mom’s sitting room turns you on?” I laugh at him, meaning to insult his masculinity. “Wow, you have a thing for pink damask and Hummel figurines? Sexy.”
Pete’s mouth twitches before he laughs, saying, “No, I have a thing for fireplace mantels. They’re the perfect height for…”
“OMG!” My hand juts up, blocking that beautiful face. “Shut the hell up, Ferro, right now!”
The woman walks up to us and wraps her slinky arms around Pete’s waist, one hand dipping down into the front of his pants, grabbing his crotch, right in front of me. “Hey, sexy. Ready to leave?”
It’s Miss Ear Licker from dinner. She wobbles a bit, trying to hold her balance in her insanely high hooker heels. Without breaking eye contact with me, Pete talks to the woman, handing her his helmet, “Why don’t you go wait for me outside, I’ll be right there.” He pretends as if he's not being dick-groped right in front of me.
I want to slap him again, so badly. I hate him. I detest him. I especially hate that I’m still attracted to him and that every time I see him with another woman, it’s just a cruel reminder of everything I am not and it rips my insides out. I feel my eyes sting and gloss over and I hope I don’t look as though I’m about to cry. I don’t want him to leave with the satisfaction of knowing he’s don
e it to me again.
Miss Ear Licker gives his package a squeeze before taking her hand out of his pants. She giggles and leaves to go outside.
Pete closes his eyes and exhales loudly staring up at the ceiling.
“Get out of my house, now.” I blink rapidly, trying to control my stupid eyes that want to betray me. He doesn’t look back my way. He just leaves. I don’t know what else I was expecting. Maybe another apology, a protest of some kind, a plea to stay or another soft touch? I stay there for a while, alone, until I hear the sound of a motorcycle revving. I look out the window and see Pete taking off at breakneck speed, with the woman riding behind him, holding onto him tightly. I'm still staring outside at the now empty circular driveway when my Mom walks up beside me and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Be careful, honey.”
“Of what?” I blink a couple of times, breaking out of my thoughts.
“Peter Ferro. I saw the looks you gave each other throughout the evening and I know the feeling. Those boys are hard to resist, but try not to fall too hard. They are hard to love because they don’t know how to love in return. Trust me. I had a crush on their father a long time ago, before he married, before I met your father and I was devastated when he didn’t feel the same way about me. I just don’t want you to get hurt, sweetie. You have Anthony. He can be a good man for you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I hate Pete Ferro.”
“I know you do.” She offers me a comforting hug, the kind that only a mother can give, and we walk out onto the grounds together.
WAKE UP CALL
Sometime in the middle of the night between August 3rd and 4th
“Mmmmm”
A small whimper sneaks out, unable to hold it in any longer. The pit of my stomach flutters to life and my fingers clutch at the hard, narrow edge of my perch. Another decadent wave of pleasure washes over me and I arch my back, gasping. I push my shoulder blades against the hard, cold wall behind me. I whimper again. The feelings are so intense, so unrelenting. I'm losing control. Over and over again, my insides quiver and my whole body starts to tremble. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold on very long and I don't want to. I'm ready to give in. I want more. I need more.
“You like that?” His smiling voice is cocky and I bite my lip and nod instead of answering. I don’t want to admit I very much like what he’s doing to me. Another slow, wet stroke of his tongue on my tender flesh sends shocks through my entire body and I gasp loudly. I’m on the edge. I’m right there, I can feel it. The wicked things he’s doing with his mouth… Oh God! If he touches me again, if he licks, sucks or bites me again, I think I may die. My legs rest over his shoulders and my heels press into his back while my fingers tangle in his silky hair, keeping his mouth right where I want it. He stops and pulls back just enough to make me want to scream out in frustration.
“Tell me what you want me to do, Gina.” He’s going to make me say it. If I don’t, he won’t let me come and I need to. I’m ready to explode. I open my eyes and look down into his. They are a brilliant blue and full of mischief. Just the sight of him in front of me, his lips moist with my arousal, is more than I can stand.
“I want you to make me come. Please, Peter!” He licks his lips before dipping his head down and I shatter into a million pieces.
I sit up straight in my bed, tangled in my sheets, a sweaty, soaking mess. I’m breathing heavily and I feel the unmistakable pressure pulsing in my core. My room is dark, with only the dim light of the moon coming in through the small slit in between my curtain panels. Everything is quiet in the house, except for my heavy breathing and my father’s snoring from farther down the hall. When my heart rate starts slowing down, I feel the chills of the night air sweeping across my moist skin, giving me shivers. I flop back on the bed, pull my down comforter over me and put one of my fluffy pillows over my head.
Another Pete Ferro sex dream. Except this time, I was sitting on the mantel over the fireplace in my mother’s sitting room, legs spread out and Pete standing in front of me, his face at just the right height to… no, no, no… I can’t conjure up those images again. I squeeze my thighs tightly, hoping that the pulsating inside will subside soon.
After a long bout of tossing and turning, trying hard to fall back to sleep, I finally give up and slip my white silk robe over top of my matching silk button down sleep shirt and walk to the kitchen for a glass of milk. This is not getting any better. In fact, my dreams are becoming more and more vivid with every encounter. I never knew you could actually climax in your sleep.
I lean against the counter in the dark kitchen and finish my glass of milk. Why can’t I shake this man out of my system? I hate him. But then again, there’s always that little look, down deep in his eyes, like he’s hiding a piece of himself from me, or from himself. His words are always so confusing. Why should he care if I keep a low profile or stay away from his mother, of all people? He seemed sincere and genuinely worried. Is he really as bad of a person as everyone makes him out to be? So many times I’ve seen him with a genuine look of concern on his face. And what about the poetry? Is it just part of his seduction arsenal? So many pieces don’t fit.
I put my empty glass down on the counter and rub my tired eyes with the heels of my hands as I walk silently back to the soft carpeted stairs that lead to my room. With a foot on the bottom step and a hand on the rail, I stop, looking down the corridor that leads to the guest bedrooms on the main floor. Anthony is there.
My parents insist that he stays in one of the guest bedrooms, alone. I guess they feel weirded out by the thought of their daughter possibly having sex under their roof. I look up to the top floor. My parents’ room is so far from the guest bedroom and, with my father’s snoring, they won’t hear a thing. I can be quiet. It feels wrong to want to have sex with my boyfriend after having had a very explicit dream featuring another man. I can’t control my dreams, but I sure as hell can control what I’m doing when awake, and right now I desperately need to feel a connection with Anthony.
I pad down the quiet hallway to his room. I turn the handle to the door and open it as quietly as possible and I sneak in. His breathing is slow, deep and steady. Anthony is lying on his back, one arm up, covering his eyes, the other resting on his stomach, above the sheets. An idea pops into my head and I grin. Tip-toeing carefully towards the foot of the bed, I drop my robe to the floor and unbutton my night shirt. I sneak in under the blankets and try to crawl my way up towards his hips without waking him up. From what I can tell, he has a middle of the night erection going on, making this all too perfect. I’m nervous because I’ve never done this before. And it’s not because I didn't want to or for lack of trying. Anthony likes things a certain way and, well, so far, this hasn’t really come up on his “to do” list. He’s more of a conventional unadventurous type of lover. I’m hoping I can change his mind after tonight.
I hook my fingers in the waistband, about to lower his pajama bottoms, when my imagination takes over and I picture myself about to do this with someone else, someone I just dreamt about, and my giddy excitement turns into an aching rush of longing and hunger. I hesitate. I can’t go on imagining I’m with someone else when I’m with Anthony, but when I think about the man in front of me, the feelings are so different than when I think of Pete. Anthony is cozy, familiar and safe. Isn’t that what a long term relationship should feel like? Maybe I can’t get past my obsession with him because I need more time with Anthony? I need to stop thinking so much. Really, I mean, seconds before one’s first attempt at giving a blowjob shouldn’t be the time for deep, life-altering introspection.
I manage to pull down the waistband just low enough for my purposes when I hear him stir above the blankets. Crap! I stop moving. I can’t have him wake up yet. After a muffled groan, he puts his hands on my head and lets out a long, drawn out, sexy exhale while guiding my head down towards him. To my surprise and delight, he’s awake and actually giving me the okay.
“Hey, baby. It�
�s your middle of the night wake up call.” I say teasingly. I start to bring my head down, parting my lips, ready to take him in and wanting to taste him when the sheets are abruptly pulled off of my head.
“What the... Regina?” Before I have time to take the plunge, Anthony pulls his pajama bottoms back up and sits up in bed, backing away from me as fast as he can while turning the bedside table light on. We both squint very unattractively. That was not the reaction I was hoping for. I need to try something else. He's a man for crying out loud. There has to be a way of getting him in the mood. I get off of the bed and slowly let my night shirt slide off until it drops to the floor. I stand in front of him, wearing only my panties. Trying my best to look as sultry as possible, I kneel down in front of him, my hands on his knees. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, both feet on the floor, his legs spread apart just enough that I can scoot in between them. My fingers trail up his thighs and find the waistband to his pants again and I look up at him with a shy smile on my face. Doing this with the lights on is a bit more daunting but it’s exciting too. He looks down at me with a look of surprise on his face and grabs my hands.
“Regina, what are you doing?” He looks towards the closed door, then to my hands, to my exposed breasts, to my face. His blond hair is all messy and his torso is bare. He’s more on the slender side, not overly muscular, but there isn’t an ounce of fat on him either. I guess you could say he has a nice body. When I look at his face, conflicted doesn’t even begin to cover the look he’s giving me. He can’t seriously be asking me this, can he?
“Um, uh… I’m about to give you a sexy kiss in the perfect place?”
It sounds strange coming out of my mouth but, how do you honestly answer that question? Maybe I should have gone for the word fellatio, instead? Anthony stands up and pulls me along with him, both his hands wrapped around my upper arms. I step into his embrace, trailing my fingers across his chest. I press closer, wanting to feel my chest brush against his. Standing on my tiptoes, I reach up, silently asking him for a kiss. He lets go of my arms and cradles my face with both hands but doesn’t bend down to kiss me.
