“IS THAT THE SOAP? Don’t slip on the soap.”
“I won’t slip on the soap.”
“I don’t want you to slip. Be careful.”
“I won’t slip on the soap. Now turn back around and be quiet.”
“Quiet? Not possible, not when you…mmm…and then when you…ooohhh…and then when you—ow, that hurt, Simon. You okay back there?”
“I slipped on the soap.”
I started to turn around to see if he was indeed okay when he suddenly pressed me up against the shower wall, holding my hands flat against the tile. Lips tickled and water sprinkled down my skin and across my shoulders as his body flexed against mine. Thoughts of runaway soap slipped from my mind as he slipped inside me, hard and thick and delicious. My breath left me in a gasp, amplified by the tile walls, made sexy by the water falling, and quickly followed by another gasp as he proceeded to thrust into me, achingly slowly and purposefully, his hands now gripping my hips.
I threw my head backward, turning my face to find the sight of Simon, naked and wet. His brow was furrowed, mouth open as he invaded completely and without apology. I spiraled fast, awareness and clear thought narrowing down to a pinpoint before exploding, wordless words falling out of my mouth and down to the water, circling the drain.
Now that O was back, she didn’t dally. So far, at least, she arrived promptly and without question, shattering the memory of days and weeks and months of waiting and crying, begging and pleading. She’d rewarded me with a steady, constant parade that left me scrambled and silly, boneless and ready for more.
Groaning into my ear, shivering and pulsing, Simon failed to slow his roll. He knew inherently, as I knew, that his girl was good for a few more. And so, with agonizing dexterity, he planted a wet kiss on my neck, left my body, spun me quickly, and was back inside before I could say, “Hey, where’d you go?”
“Nowhere, Nightie Girl, not anytime soon,” he muttered, roughly grabbing my bottom and lifting me against the wall, using his weight to crush me against the tile, holding me to him and holding me inside. His body flexed while mine flattened, our slippery skin feeling indescribable against each other. How had I stayed away from this man as long as I had? No matter. He was here, inside me, and about to deliver another O parade throughout. I pressed back against him just enough, opening the space between us just enough to gaze down, lust clouding my vision but not so much that I couldn’t see him entering me, over and over again, filling me up like no man ever had.
Now glancing down himself to see what had me so transfixed, he was captivated as well, and a sound rather like “Mmph” left his mouth. His movements sped up, chasing it down, that feeling, that tipping point that felt so close to pain and so close to perfection. Those blue eyes, now filled with lust and fire, flew back up to mine as we both threw ourselves off that cliff again together.
Seizing. Freezing. Locked and unloaded. We came together with a roar and a grunt and a groan that left my throat raw and my hoohah thrilled.
Thrilled hoohah…what a great name for a…Mmmm…
6:41 p.m.
Walking around my apartment in only a towel, dodging flour piles and raisin clumps, Simon was a sight to behold. When he skidded on a patch of marmalade and bumped into the counter, I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the couch. He now stood in front of me with a slice of zucchini bread as I laughed, an amused look on his face. I continued to laugh, and my towel slipped down, revealing more than a little of my assets. At the sight of boobs, two things happened. His eyes popped, and something else popped. Popped out. I raised an eyebrow at this latest development.
“You realize you are turning me into some kind of machine?” he noted, nodding down at his HiThere poking through the towel. Simon took the time to place his zucchini bread safely on the coffee table.
“How cute is that? It’s like he’s poking his head out from behind a curtain!” I clapped my hands.
“You may not be aware, but as a general rule, no man likes the word cute in the same sentence as his junk.”
“But he is cute—uh-oh, where’d he go?”
“He’s shy now. Still not cute, but shy.”
“Shy, my ass. He wasn’t so shy in the shower a little bit ago.”
“He needs his ego stroked.”
“Wow.”
“No, really. I think you’ll find he is quite receptive to stroking.”
“Now see, I was thinking maybe he just needed a good tongue lashing, but if you think stroking will suffice…”
“No, no, I think a tongue lashing is quite in order. He—Goddamn, Caroline!”
I leaned in, brought the shy one forth, and immediately surrounded him with my mouth. Feeling him grow harder still, I settled myself on the edge of the couch, wrapped my arms around him and dropped the towel. Pulling him closer, and therefore deeper into me, I hummed in satisfaction as I felt his hands come up into my hair and trace my face. Reverently, he placed his fingers on my eyelids, cheeks, temples, finally burying one hand in my hair and the other, well, wow. He held himself. As I concentrated all my attention on the tip of him, he stroked himself at the base, something that was quite possibly the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Seeing his hand, wrapped around himself as he moved in and out of my mouth…oh my.
Sexy isn’t the right word for it. It is inadequate in the face of the pure erotica playing out in front of me. And speaking of in front of me, I hummed again in appreciation, feeling myself getting worked up just at the play my mouth was getting. Lucky mouth.
I fell back against the couch and pulled Simon with me. He responded by using both hands to brace against the back of the couch, thrusting in and out of my mouth with conviction. The angle allowed him to penetrate more deeply, and made it easier for me to take more of him in. I grabbed his backside, feeling the thrill of attending to him, knowing it was me, only me, who got to have him in this way.
I could feel him getting close. I was already beginning to know his tells intimately. I wanted him again. I was selfish this way. Releasing him with a final strong pull, I pushed him down on to the couch and straddled him. Feeling me against him, he thrust upward as I sank down, and there was that moment—you know that moment? When everything feels stretched and pulled in the most delicious way? Your body reacts: something that shouldn’t be inside is now inside and for a split second, it’s alien, unknown. And then your skin senses a returning champion, your muscle memory takes over, and then it’s so good, that feeling of fullness, of wonder and awe.
And then you begin to move.
Grabbing his shoulders for leverage, I rolled my hips into his, noticing not for the first time that he’d been intelligently designed with my exact measurements in mind. He fit inside me perfectly, two halves of a whole, some kind of sexual Lego. He sensed it too, I could tell.
He placed his hand flat against my chest, directly on top of my heart. “Stunning,” he whispered as I rode him, sweet and hot. He kept my heart in his hand as I rocked into him, his other hand on my hip, guiding me, positioning me, feeling me attend to us both. He struggled to stay with me, to keep his eyes open as his release rushed in. I took his hand from my heart and placed it further down, where he began to trace those damnable perfect circles.
“Jesus, Simon…oh, God…so…soooo good…I…mmm…”
“I love watching you fall apart,” he groaned, and I did. And he did. And we did.
I collapsed into him, watching until the room stopped spinning and the feeling returned to my fingers and toes, warmth snaking through my body as he held me to him.
“Tongue lashing. What an idea.” He snorted, and I giggled.
8:17 p.m.
“Ever think about changing the paint color in here?”
“Are you serious?”
“What? Maybe a lighter shade of green? Or even a blue? Blue might be nice. I’d love to see you surrounded by blue.”
“Do I tell you how to take pictures?”
“Well, no…”
“Then don’t tell me how to pick paint colors. And as it happens, I’m planning to change the palette in here, but it’s going darker. Deeper, you might say.”
“Deeper, you say? How’s this?”
“That’s pretty good. Mmm, that’s really good. Anyhow, as I was saying, I’m thinking of maybe a deep slate gray, with a new creamy sugar marble countertop, deepening the cupboards to a rich, dark mahogany. Holy shit, that feels good.”
“Noted. Deeper is good, and very deep is even better. Can you put your foot on my shoulder?”
“Like that?”
“Christ, Caroline, yes, like that. So…new countertop, you say? Marble might be a little cold, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, yes! What? I mean, what? Cold? Well, since I’m not usually laid out like a jelly roll on the counter, the cold won’t bother me. Besides, marble countertops are the best for rolling out dough.”
“Don’t,” he warned, turning his face to kiss the inside of my ankle.
“Don’t what, Simon?” I purred, my breath hitching as I felt his pace begin to quicken slightly, unnoticeable to anyone but me, the one he was currently inside of.
“Don’t try to distract me with dough talk. It won’t work,” he instructed, letting go of the countertop with his left hand and running it lightly over my breasts, back and forth, teasing my nipples into hard peaks with his fingertips.
A frantic energy began to settle low, low in my hips and in my thighs, the pit of my stomach and points in between. “No dough talk? No dirty dough talk for Simon? Mmm, but don’t you think a little distraction is good from time to time? I mean, can’t you just imagine me, bent over the countertop, working so hard for you…” I trailed off, running my fingers through his hair, bending him to me to kiss him with a wet mouth, tongue and lips and teeth intent on bringing him deeper into me.
I was perched on the edge of my kitchen island, very much naked, as was our fair Mr. Parker, buried inside and determined to make this last as long as possible. We wanted to see how long we could carry on a conversation while…well…doing it. So far seventeen of the most intense, sensual, fantastic minutes of my life, and that wasn’t counting the foreplay. O was dancing in the periphery, wondering why she wasn’t being granted immediate access. But now I had control of the bitch, and this sweet torture was incredible. Worth enduring.
That is, until Simon asked me to place my foot on his shoulder. Holy hell, he was wrecking me. One leg on his shoulder, the other leg he held open to one side, his hips rotating in maddeningly tiny circles, increasing in the smallest of increments. He was the one who insisted on the conversation, and I’d been able to keep up, until the foot on shoulder. Suddenly, parts that hadn’t really been a part of it before were now being stimulated, and it was getting harder and harder to keep my wits about me. But really, who needed wits? I could be witless. As long as I could be under Simon, I was okay being witless.
But I could still play this game right now, while a few lingering wits remained.
“Don’t test me, Naughty Girl. I will dirty talk you right off this island.”
“Mmm, Simon, can’t you just see me? Bent over, little apron with nothing underneath, rolling pin in hand, and a bowl full of apples?”
“Apples? Oh boy, I love apples,” he groaned, picking up my other foot and placing it on the opposite shoulder, his hands roughly pulling me even farther toward the edge, his pace picking up again just a bit.
“I know you do, with cinnamon? I could bake you a pie, Simon. Your very own apple pie, even a homemade crust…all for you, big guy. You know all you have to do is ask me…” I smirked, trying to keep my eyes from crossing as he sped up again, the sound of skin slapping not even funny at all. There went another wit.
“How does that feel, Caroline. Good?” he asked, surprising me.
“Good? It feels amazing.”
“Amazing? Really?” He pulled out almost all the way before sliding back into me all at once, making me feel every single inch.
And the wit stands alone. “You know, it does, but back to the apples. Would you like your pie served hot with vanilla ice cream? Warm and melty with—oh my God…”
“You really want to talk about this right now? Because if you keep this up, I’m going to be forced to get really dirty myself.”
“Dirtier than apple pie talk?” I asked, stretching and pointing my toes toward the ceiling, creating a new sensation.
“How about this, if you don’t stop all this apple pie talk,” he started, leaning down to place his mouth against my ear, making me shiver. One hand grasped my breast, roughly turning and tweaking my nipple. The other snuck down, feeling against me until he found the spot that made me tense and cry out. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to stop fucking you, and believe me when I say I haven’t even begun to ravage you in all the ways I’ve dreamed about.”
He stood back up and thrust. Hard.
Last wit? Bye-bye. I ain’t too proud to beg. “God, Simon, I give. Just fuck me.”
“Apple pie for me?”
“Yes, yes! Apple pie for you! Oh, God…”
“That’s right, apple pie for me, apple pie for—God, you’re tight this way.” He groaned, switching both of my legs to one side, holding them up as he pounded into me, again and again, never retreating, only advancing, looking down at me, watching as my back arched and my skin flushed, heat creeping as my climax broke over me, stunning me silent in its intensity as I was shaken to the very core of my being.
“I love you, Caroline, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chanted, thrusting erratically now as he sped toward his own release, sweat breaking over his brow as he clutched at my hips as I clutched him from the inside, holding him as long as I could, feeling his solid weight on me as he laid his head on my breast. How could his warm weight feel so good? It should have made it hard to breathe, constriction of the lungs and all that, but it didn’t. Holding him, cradling his face as I swept his hair back, it felt the opposite of heavy.
“You’re going to kill me, sure as I’m lying here,” he moaned, kissing everywhere he could.
“I love you too,” I sighed, gazing at my kitchen ceiling. I could feel a smile as big as the bay across my face. The O was going to be around for a very long time.
No way am I painting my kitchen blue.
9:32 p.m.
“I can’t believe this is the second time we’re cleaning flour and sugar off each other. What’s wrong with us?”
“The sugar is good for exfoliation,” I explained. “Not sure what good the flour is doing us, though.”
“Exfoliation?”
“Yeah, I figure every time we sex it up out there, all that sugar helps us remove dead skin cells.”
“Really, Caroline? Dead skin cells? That’s hardly sexy.”
“You weren’t complaining earlier.”
“Well no, how could I? You promised to bake me an apple pie. Don’t forget that part.”
“I won’t forget, but I was somewhat under duress.”
“You were under me, not under duress, under me.”
“Yes, Simon, I was under you.”
“Wash your back?”
“Yes, please.”
We lay on opposite sides of the tub, relaxing and soaking off yet another round of kitchen goo. At some point, I was going to have to clean all that mess up, but right now the only thing I could concentrate on was this man in front of me. This man, up to almost his neck in fragrant bubbles, strong arms snaking out now to bring me closer. I spun in the tub like a buoy, bobbing back and forth and arranging myself in front of him. He used a washcloth to gently remove the last of the sticky that covered me. Then he pulled me to his chest, leaning back against the edge of the tub. Arms encircled me, tucking me in, surrounding me with warm water and warmer Simon. I closed my eyes, relishing the feel of it all. The safety, the sweetness, the sexiness. I shifted, trying to get impossibly closer, and then I felt him against my bum. Growing.
“Why, hello there, friend,” I murmured, sneaking my hand through the bubbles to find him, wanting and wanton.
“Caroline…” he warned, laying his head back on the edge of the tub.
“What?” I asked innocently, trailing my fingers along the sides of him, feeling him react.
“I’m not seventeen, you know.” He chuckled, his voice growing husky and needy in spite of his words.
“Thank goodness, or I would have to answer for my actions—corrupting a minor and all that,” I whispered, slowly turning over to rub myself along the length of him, soap and bubbles and water making me slippery.
He hissed slightly and smiled. “You’re going to break me, you know this, right? I swear on all that’s holy, I’m not a machine—Christ, don’t stop doing that.” He groaned, thrusting into my hand without thought.
“Ah, break schmake. I just want to fuck you until you can’t see straight,” I purred, tightening my fist as he splashed water over the side a bit.
“I can barely see as it is. There seem to be three of you.” He moaned, pulling my legs apart and positioning me above him.
“Aim for the one in the middle, Simon,” I instructed and slid down.
Yeah, we had some water to clean up.
11:09 p.m.
“I’m just going to get the food. I need sustenance, woman.”
“Get it, then hurry back to me. I need you, Simon. Why are you crawling on the floor?”
“I don’t think I can actually stand at this point. The machine needs a break. The machine may very well need repairs. The machine, wait, what’re you doin’ there, Caroline?”
“What, this?”
“Yeah, yeah, it looks like you’re—wow, do you touch yourself like that a lot?”
“I haven’t lately, why? Looks good to you, yes?”
“Yes, that’s…wow…um…that’s the door…the guy with the Thai is here. I…and I…Thai…I…”
“Are you really rhyming right now, Simon? Mmm, that feels nice…”
“Hello! Hello, anyone there? Someone called in an order for—dude, how am I supposed to give you your change?”
“Keep the change.”
“Dude, you shoved a fifty under the door. You know that’s like a thirty-dollar tip, right?”
“Keep the change. Leave the Thai. Caroline, get on that bed.”
“Mmm, so close, Simon. Sure you don’t…want…me…to…mmm…finish…oooh. I love when you do that.”
“Mmph, mumph, hah, hooo…”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon, Siiimmooooon…”
“Okay, dude. I’m totally setting your food out here. Um, thanks for the tip.”
1:14 a.m.
We lay in bed, limp and a little stupid. My poor Simon, I’d ridden him to the brink of extinction. He wasn’t a teenager, but even he was surprised by his…hmm…stamina. After the last round of crazytown, he crawled back to the hallway, retrieved the food, and we ate Thai sitting in the middle of the bed. I’d quickly stripped the sheets because raisins and flour clouds lingered from earlier. The amount of work I was going to be faced with in the kitchen tomorrow was daunting, but it was worth it. All of it. All of it was worth it.
Now we lounged, settled but not settling. Still wrapped around each other but now clad in a pink nightie and a pair of sweatpants. To be clear, I wore the pink nightie. We lay side by side, facing each other, legs tangled and hands held.
“When do you have to go back to work?”
“I told Jillian I’d be back Monday, although that is the last thing I can think about right now.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Spain.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it was amazing. Thank you so much for taking me, and then taking me.” I nudged him with my elbow.
“It was my pleasure, on both counts. I’m glad you could…come,” he snorted.
Now that the O had returned, we could joke about it. We were quiet for a moment, just enjoying the music. Simon had hobbled next door a little while ago to put on a record. Even hobbled, he was sexy.
“When are you leaving for Peru? Ass, I still hate you a little for getting to go, but when are you leaving?”
“About two weeks. And no hating on the photographer. I have to go, but I’ll always come back.”
“Oh, to be clear, I don’t hate you for leaving. I hate you because I want to go too. But I digress. I love you more than I hate you, so we’re good.”
“We’re good?”
“Yes, of course. You have to travel for your job. It’s not like I didn’t know this.”
“Well, knowing about it and then being the one left behind are two different things,” he said, eyes getting a little cloudy. I smoothed my hand across his cheek, feeling his scruff and skin and watching him lean into my touch. His eyes closed, and he hummed a contented hum.
“You’re not leaving me behind. We live busy lives and will continue to do so. Just because you get to stick your dick in me now, that isn’t going to change us,” I replied.
A slow grin spread across his face. Eyes still closed, but grinning. “Sometimes dicks change people,” he said through the grin.
“Sometimes dicks change what needs to be changed. Sometimes dicks make it better.”
“Sometimes dicks make it better—what an odd thing to say.”
“Stick around, who knows what I’m gonna say next.”
“Sticking.”
“Stuck.”
“Going to kiss you now.”
“Thank Christ.” I giggled as he wrapped his strong arms around me. We kissed quietly, thoughtfully. I settled down into his nook, perfectly shaped and smelling like heaven.
“I adore this nook.”
“Good.”
“No one else gets this nook.”
“It’s yours.”
“Yes, yes it is. Make sure you tell that to all those gorgeous Peruvian women who will try to seduce the hot American.”
“I’ll make sure to tell them my nook is spoken for.”
I smiled and yawned hugely. It had been an exhausting few days. I was jet lagged and had been rocked to within an inch of my life. Tended to make a girl tired. Simon leaned across me to shut off the light and tucked me back into the nook.
1:23 a.m.
“Simon?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Mm-hmm…”
“I just wanted to say, well, I’m really glad you came home early.”
“Mm-hmm, me too.”
“And I’m pretty smitten with you.”
“Mm-hmm, me too.”
“Smitten like a kitten.”
“Mm-hmm, me too.”
“Who’s lost her mittens.”
“Mittens, mm-hmm…”
“Simon?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Mm-hmm…”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
…
…
…
“Caroline?”
“Mm-hmm…”
“I’m really glad I came home early too.”
“Mm-hmm…”
“And I’m really glad you came.”
“Enough.”
“’Night, Caroline.”
“’Night, Simon.”
And as Count Basie and his orchestra played us off into dreamland, we curled around each other and slept.
Text between Simon and Caroline the following Tuesday:
Talked to a buddy of mine. I think I figured out how to do those prawns you went so crazy over in Spain.
Perfect, they’ll fit in with the Spanish feast I am planning for Saturday. Everybody’s coming, even Jillian and Benjamin.
Sure you don’t want to have it at my place?
No, it’ll be easier at mine. I have the island, which is better for prepping, but I’m commandeering your oven.
Can I commandeer you on the island?
That’s not the correct use of the word commandeer.
Please, you know what I meant.
I did, and you may.
Sweet. Have you seen my running shoes?
Yep, they’re in my bathroom where you left them.
I tripped over them this morning.
Is that the thump I heard?
You heard that?
Yep, woke me up.
And yet you didn’t come see if I was okay?
Didn’t want to disturb Clive.
I can’t believe he’s been sleeping on your side. Traitor cat.
We’re friends now…well, almost friends.
He peed on my sweatshirt again.
HA! I have to get back to work, cat stealer.
We still watching a movie tonight?
If that’s what you want to call it.
Makes it seem like we actually have plans.
I have plans. Oh man, do I have plans.
As do I…
I’m sitting here eating your apple pie…think about that.
That’s all I can think about now…hating you.
You don’t hate me.
That’s true. Now go eat my pie.
…choking…
Text between Mimi and Caroline on Thursday:
You sure I can’t bring anything Saturday?
Nah, Sophia is bringing drinks,
and we’re taking care of the rest.
So good to hear you in a we again.
Yes, I’m enjoying the we.
And the we-we?
What are we, 7? Yes, the we-we is good.
Good to hear it. So have you slept in the bed of sin yet?
No, we seem to be staying at my place.
I think I’d feel weird in that bed.
Many walls were banged from that bed…
Exactly. That’s my point, feels strange.
Maybe it would be nice to make your mark on his bed, so to speak. New era, new girlfriend, new banger?
I don’t know, we’ll see…I know at some point
I’ll sleep there, just not yet. Besides,
he’s having too much fun bonding with Clive.
WHAT? Clive hates guys! Except gay guys.
They’ve come to some kind of weird kitty/man understanding. I’m not questioning it.
It’s like a new world order.
I know.
Want me to come over early Saturday and help?
You just want to get into my drawers again.
They need to be reorganized…
Come over early.
WAHOO!
Get some help…
Thursday evening all was quiet. Simon and I sat on my couch, working. I was sketching a holiday concept for someone’s ballroom. Yep, ballroom. This was the world I visited. Just visited, not lived in. I was still in my yoga clothes. Simon cooked, using my kitchen, in which he was becoming very much at home. He said it would be easier since we’d just end up at my place anyway, but I caught him lifting Clive up onto the counter so he could “watch.” I put that in quotes because the actual word was spoken by Simon to Clive. The entire sentence, I believe, was “Here ya go, buddy. This way you can watch! You can’t see too well from down on the floor, I bet, right? Right?”
And Clive answered. I know it was technically impossible, but the meow he uttered sounded like, “Thanks.”
My boys were bonding. It was nice.
So here we sat, me sketching and Simon making his travel plans for Peru online. He had something like seventy billion frequent flyer miles, and he loved to flaunt them in my face.
So quiet it was, save the scratching of my colored pencils on the page and his clickety-clack on the keyboard. And the clicking from Clive. Most stubborn kitty hangnail in the free world.
Simon finished and closed up his laptop, stretching his arms over his head and exposing his happy trail. I may have drawn outside the lines a bit. He laid his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed. Within a few moments, the tiniest of snores began, and I grinned silently. I continued my sketching.
Ten minutes later I felt his hand reach out across the pillows, and grasp my hand.
I only needed one hand for sketching after all.
“Holy shit, Caroline, these prawns are sick!” Mimi moaned in a way that made Ryan readjust the way he sat.
It was Saturday night, and we were all gathered around my dining room table, full of Spanish food and Spanish wine. I’d had a blast trying to recreate all the wonderful food Simon and I had eaten. Not as good certainly, but pretty close. And of course we were without the coastal ambiance, but instead had the coziness only an autumn evening in foggy San Francisco can provide. The city lights twinkled through the windows, a fire crackled in the fireplace, courtesy of Benjamin, and laughter filled the apartment.
I sat in my chair, tucked in to Simon’s side as we laughed with our friends. I’d been a little nervous that we’d be subjected to some kind of hazing, since our inevitable getting-together had been the topic of conversation for so long. But it was good, everyone settled into the evening with only minimal teasing. Simon and I had stuck pretty close together most of the evening, but I could already tell we would morph into one of those couples that didn’t need that.
I never wanted to be that couple, the one that was entirely codependent and in constant need of reassurance. I loved Simon, that much was clear. One of us traveled, for goodness sake, so we needed to roll with it. And I thought we would. I felt him next to me, and I moved just a little closer. He slipped an arm around my waist, his hand patting my arm, squeezing and just making me more aware of him. I was aware. His fingertips traced little circles around my elbow, and I sighed as he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.
I would never need the Honey and the Baby. I just needed him and his little circles. Just needed to feel him at my side, whenever he was here. Jillian caught my eye from across the table and winked.
“What was that for?” I asked, sipping my second glass of brandy. Simon was going to have no trouble getting me into bed later that night, not that he ever did.
“Things worked out well, didn’t they?” she asked, looking back and forth between Simon and me.
“Couldn’t have worked out better. Subletting your apartment to me was the best decision you ever made.” I smiled, leaning into Simon as he rubbed my shoulder.
“Jillian giving me your number so I could text you from Ireland, now that’s the best decision she ever made,” he added, winking at Benjamin from across the table.
“Oh, I don’t know. Pretending I didn’t know your mysterious neighbor was a damn good decision too,” she said, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as Simon coughed into his brandy.
“Wait, what? You knew all along I was the one living next door?” he asked, sputtering as I handed him a napkin. “But you’ve never even been to my place!”
“She hasn’t, but I have,” Benjamin spoke up, clinking his glass with his fiancée’s.
Simon and I sat pie eyed as we watched them laugh and congratulate themselves.
Well played…
“Okay, that’s the last of it. No more dishes,” Simon announced, closing the dishwasher. After everyone finally left, we decided to clean up the rest of the mess instead of leaving it for the morning after.
“Thank goodness. I’m beat.”
“And I have dishpan hands.” He winked, showing me how red they were.
“That’s the mark of a good housewife.” I just barely sidestepped his grabby hands.
“Just call me Madge and bring that fantastic ass back over here,” he fired back, snapping a dishtowel in my direction.
“This ass? This ass right here?” I asked, propping myself against the island just so, leaning forward on my elbows.
“You want to play now, is that it? Thought you were beat,” he murmured, catching my bottom in his dishpan hands and giving me a light smack.
“Maybe I’m catching my second wind.” I giggled as he promptly swept me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and headed for the bedroom. Upside down, I beat my fists against his bottom and kicked, though not so much as to actually get away. His feet stopped at the bedroom door.
“Forget something today?” he asked, turning so I could see inside: stripped bed, no sheets.
“Damn, I forgot to put the sheets in the dryer. They’ll still be soaked!” I grumbled.
“Problem solved. Slumber party at Simon’s,” he announced, pulling open my lingerie drawer. “Pick a nightie, any nightie.”
“You want to stay at your place tonight?”
“Yeah, why not? We’ve been sleeping here since we got back from Spain. My bed’s lonely.” He ruffled through piles of lace and peekaboo.
Hmm, his bed was probably lonelier that it had ever been before.
“So, pick one.” He gave my ass another slap.
“Eh, you pick out something you like. I’ll model it for you.” I grinned, talking myself into this. Come on, I could certainly spend the night in his bed. Could be fun. I saw a familiar something pink and lacy make its way under his arm, and then we were off across the hallway. I managed to kick his door on the way in, something pretty hard to do while upside down.
Once more, I found myself in a bathroom, putting on lingerie for Simon. He really liked everything I wore. Whether it was actual lingerie or one of his old shirts, he didn’t seem to care. And it was rarely on for very long.
Without meaning to, I thought of all the women who’d come before me, all the women he’d enjoyed and had enjoyed him. But I was here now, and I was who he wanted. I smoothed the silk over my body with a deep breath, my skin already beginning to tingle in anticipation of his hands.
I heard him messing about with his record player—the telltale crackle and pop of needle on vinyl such a comforting sound.
Glenn Miller. “Moonlight Serenade.” Sigh.
I opened the door, and there he was. Standing by the giant Wallbanger bed of sin. His slow grin overtook me, and he looked me up and down.
“You look good,” he murmured as I walked in.
“You too.”
“I’m wearing the same clothes I was wearing earlier, Caroline.”
He smirked as I encircled his neck with my arms. His fingertips dragged up and down my arms, tickling the inside of my elbow.
“I know,” I replied, placing a wet kiss under his ear. “You looked good then, and you look good now.”
“Lemme get a better look at you,” he whispered, responding with his own wet kiss at the base of my throat. I shivered. The room wasn’t at all cold.
He spun me out, as if on a dance floor, and held me at arm’s length for just a moment. The pink nightie, his favorite. He’d neglected to bring the matching panties, and I neglected to notice. He spun me back into him, and I immediately began to work the buttons on his shirt.
“Quite a night tonight,” he remarked.
Two buttons down.
“You’re telling me. I can’t believe those two were matchmaking from the very beginning! Although I don’t think they can take credit for the other two couples. That was all us.”
“Who knew love was in the air when you banged on my door?”
Another button down.
“Luckily, you were so taken by my charms, it was inevitable.”
“It was the nightie, Caroline. It was the nightie that did me in. The charms were a bonus. I had no idea I’d be getting a girlfriend out of the deal.”
Shirt untucked and on its way off.
“Really? And here I thought we were just messing around!” I giggled, scrambling to get his belt buckle poked through.
“Well, then, here’s to messing around with my girlfriend!” Belt buckle undone, jean buttons popped. Thank goodness for the old-fashioned button fly. He picked me up, by my naked bottom I might add, and walked me to the bed as I pushed his shirt off. It hung from him by the sleeves.
“I like the sound of that,” I whispered in his ear as he laid me down on the bed.
Hovering over me, placing kisses across my chest, he kept saying the word over and over again. Girlfriend, then kiss. Girlfriend, girlfriend, then kiss.
“Did you know Mimi and Neil are thinking about moving in together? Isn’t that a little soon? I hope they know what they’re getting into,” I reported, arching up to meet his kisses.
“I know what I’m getting in to.”
“What’s that?”
“You, silly,” he said, and I heard the blessed sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor. “I’m only concerned with our happy ending. Or two, or three even. Drank that ginseng tea you left me this morning—watch out.” He chuckled, lifting one of my legs on to his shoulder and kissing a path down the inside of my calf.
“Happy ending, huh?”
“Don’t you think we’ve earned it?” he asked, kneeling now, lips trailing along the top of my thigh as I panted.
“Oh, hell, yes,” I laughed, throwing my arms over my head and arching up to meet him. Hello, O! Nice to see you again. With his lips, he brought me one. With his tongue, he brought me another. And when he slid into me and pushed me high up on to the bed, I almost had another on contact.
Clothes now discarded, skin on sweaty skin, my legs wrapped solidly around his hips, which pushed against mine. His eyes burned as I felt every inch of him. Inside. Outside. All around the town.
“Oh, God,” I moaned. And then I heard it.
Thump.
“Oh, God,” I moaned again.
Thump thump.
I giggled at the sound. We were banging.
He looked down at me, raising one eyebrow. “Something funny?” he asked, pausing his movements. He pushed back into me slowly, very, very slowly.
“We’re banging the walls.” I giggled again, watching his eyes change as he registered my giggling.
“We sure are,” he admitted, chuckling a little as well. “You okay?”
I wrapped my legs even tighter around his waist, making sure I was as close to him as I could be. “Bring it on home, Wallbanger.” I winked, and he complied.
I was being driven up the bed with the strength of his thrusts. He drove into me with unflinching force, giving me exactly what I could take, then pushing me just past that edge. He stared down at me, hard, flashing that knowing smirk. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel how deeply I was being affected. And by deep, I mean deep…
He grasped my hands and brought them above my head to the headboard.
“You’re gonna wanna hold on for this,” he whispered and threw one of my legs up over his shoulder as he altered his hips.
“Simon!” I shrieked, feeling my body begin to spasm. His eyes, those damnable blue eyes, bore into mine as I shook around him.
He called out my name, and no one else’s.
A little while later, almost asleep, I felt the mattress dip as Simon left the bed. Hearing him flip over the record, I snuggled deeper into the pillow. My body was deliciously tired, having been worked to within an inch of total exhaustion. We banged that wall, yes indeed. I owned both sides of that wall now.
I heard him bumble down the hall and half wondered what he was up to. Thinking in that tired, half-awake way that he must be getting some water, I slipped back down to sleep.
A few moments later I was awoken by his arms sliding around me, pulling me against his warm body. He kissed me on my neck, then cheek, then forehead as he got settled. Then I heard…purring?
“What’s that?” I asked, looking around.
“I thought he might be lonely,” Simon admitted sheepishly. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Simon, and then Clive. Simon had gone over to get him. Clive was purring very loudly, quite pleased with all the attention he’d been receiving lately. He poked his nose in to me and settled into the nook between us.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, rolling my eyes at the two of them.
“Are you that surprised? You know much I love pussy,” Simon deadpanned. Then his silent laughter shook the bed.
“You’re very lucky I love you,” I added, letting his arms hold me tight.
“I’ll say.”
And then, as the laughter faded and sleep took hold, I pondered what the future might hold for me and my Wallbanger.
I knew it wouldn’t always be this easy. But it sure as hell would be a good time.
All was quiet as I set out on patrol, making sure the perimeter was secure. I padded through my new territory, taking notice of any loose Q-Tips. They would need to be dealt with if unruly. If allowed to run unchecked, they would multiply. I’d seen it happen.
I came upon a curious shelf with nothing but glass bottles on it. I batted at one, watching as it fell to the floor. I would have to come back to this location, but for now I had rounds.
Checking the view from the front window, I saw that I could retain control of my neighborhood from this vantage point. I scouted a possible napping station in another window with southern exposure, then stopped for a stare-off with an owl outside. Neither of us gave in willingly, and it was another fifteen minutes before I continued on to check on my people. They had finally quieted down after several rounds of caterwauling. Honestly.
The Feeder was, predictably, taking up most of the sleeping quarters. The Tall One, aptly named because he was taller than The Feeder, was making that noise again—the noise I simply could not tolerate. The Feeder was beginning to toss and turn. She was not sleeping soundly. Without enough sleep, she would be unlikely to play with me the following evening, so this situation would have to be remedied. She did seem to enjoy our games, so I would once more take matters into my own paws.
Jumping from the floor to the bed with a natural grace—a grace that was not fully appreciated by my people, I felt—I navigated my way through knees and legs, arms and elbows, until I reached the pinnacle and came to rest just beneath his chin. Stretching out one paw, I placed it over his breathing holes, stopping the noise momentarily. The Tall One brushed away my effort, although once he rolled onto his side, the noise stopped. He curled in to himself, in the one corner The Feeder had allowed him. As he had done so, I remained standing, doing my best log-rolling impression and maintaining perfect balance. Again, my people just didn’t get it.
Settling into the nook between them, I rested. Our home was secure, and I now watched over The Feeder and The Tall One, so I allowed myself to dream. Of her. The one that got away…
