One hand on my hip pushes me down, lowering my feet flat to the storage room floor.
“No, Carla, you let me decide what you feel or I’ll leave you hanging.”
Outrage heats my face, would he really do that? “No!”
Slap, slap, slap! “Shush, baby, or you’ll never get there.”
Annoyance courses through me as the sting in my ass settles down. Who in the hell
does he think he is? If I want to come then I should be able to do whatever the hell
I want to get myself there. A second finger plunges into my depths, stretching me
and pumping faster. The hand on my hip reaches around and rubs my nub through the
cotton crotch of my underwear.
All of my anger fades as a small circling starts. “More,” I say.
Wet fingers pull from inside me.
Smack!
The hardest slap yet. Five more follow quickly and tears sting my eyes. The circling
pressure on my clit doesn’t stop the entire time, it increases, pushing me higher
and into a wild state of frenzy.
Soft moans and whimpers spill from my lips and I worry he’s never going to put those
fingers back in. A short caress of his hand soothes where he spanked and then he sinks
two fingers into me.
“I’ll tell you when to come. And you’re going to cream over my hands when you do.”
His soft voice sounds just above a whisper, sending a chill racing down my back. “I
know what you need, Carla.”
Desperate to hold myself as still as possible, I clench the shelf as another gasp
escapes me. A third finger stabs into my depths, driving me higher and closer to the
brink.
“You want it, baby. I feel your muscles inside gripping my fingers.” The hand working
my clit stops circling and pulls the fabric roughly to the side. “Just like if my
cock were working you deep.” Light pats to the aroused flesh pulls my focus from his
plunging fingers.
“Uh... uh…” Low guttural noises reach my ears, foreign sounding and far away. Good
God, they may be coming from me. Pleasure spirals up my spine to course through my
body and I bite down to clamp the begging word please from spilling into the night.
“That’s it, Carla. You’re ready now.”
Rubbing starts on my clit again and the sensations rocket from my crotch in wave after
wave of tingles. A scream bubbles forth and echoes back in the small room.
“Come for me, baby.” Desire pours from me, coating his hand like he said. The pumping
continues and my orgasm drags on and on, wringing the very life from me.
Collapsing forward, I catch myself by locking my elbows for support. The blindfold
at my head is loosened and stars fill my vision. Tender hands adjust my underwear
and pull my pants and shirt into place.
Andy wraps himself around my back and wedges his face near my neck. “Consider that
your first lesson.”
Chapter Eight
Andrew
My phone rings as I’m getting ready for work. A slow smile creeps across my face as
I reach for it, hoping it’s Carla. She refused to come to my place last night and
practically ran out of the bar as fast as she could. My musings stop cold when I see
the call is from the nursing home caring for my mom.
“Your mom’s condition has worsened. We think you should come see her today if you
can.”
Pressure fills my chest as I grip the phone. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
I call work to schedule a personal day and then call my sister, Andrea. She answers
on the first ring. “Did they call you, too?” she asks in lieu of a greeting.
“Yeah, I was about to leave. Want to go together?”
“I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
Twenty minutes later and we’re driving to the home in Brooklyn. “Talk to me Andrea.”
I close my fingers over her hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “How are
you doing with all of this?”
A heavy sigh escapes my sister. “As good as can be expected, I guess.” She takes her
eyes off the road to glance at me quickly, the bright blue orbs piercing in their
intensity. “It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming.”
Once more, I grasp her hand on the gearshift, grateful I’ve got her by my side, not
dealing with it on my own. “She’ll be with Dad soon.”
We spend the rest of the day at the facility, alternating between sitting at our mom’s
bedside and double checking the paperwork to make sure her wishes will be met when
she passes. She and my father even picked out their headstone together. If there were
ever a more pragmatic and loving couple, I’ve never seen one.
In a way, watching them as we grew up was a blessing and a curse. Andrea and I never
doubted we were loved—our parents were older when they underwent fertility treatments—but
we witnessed such a powerful connection between a married couple that we could never
settle for less in our own lives.
I’ve wondered if searching for what they shared has kept my headstrong sister single
all these years. She may be a pain in the ass at times, but she’s still an amazing
woman.
Even though I’m here with Andrea and our mom, my thoughts drift to Carla. I’d like
nothing more than to call, just to hear her voice. Whether or not she’d be happy to
hear from me is another story altogether. We’re not there yet. And I don’t know if
we ever will be.
I’ve watched her for months, slowly falling for the headstrong woman so like my sister.
Carla has a softer side, too, one she doesn’t let out much. But I’ve seen it nonetheless.
I’ve witnessed her race from the office when her friends needed her. I’ve heard her
on the phone with the charity she feels so strongly about. I forwarded the email she
mistakenly sent to me for donations to my sister who happily sent some older suits
to the cause. I’ve seen her return from a yoga session during lunch, with the inner
glow of contentment shining from every pore.
She’s like a spiky durian fruit: her thorny exterior hiding all the sweetness within.
Sweetness no other man but me has taken the time to notice. If they had, they wouldn’t
have given up after one round with the bossy hellion.
Carla has ignored my casual advances for months, and rather than put me off, her behavior
has intrigued me further. No woman has mentally challenged me as much.
As I sit here next to my dying mother, one of her favorite sayings comes to me, “Anything
worth having in life requires hard work.” Our parents encouraged us to follow our
dreams, to never be afraid of failure, and to never give up on what we wanted most.
The doctor came in a little while ago and assured us she is holding steady, out of
the worst part of this recent decline. We can leave and not worry she’ll pass in our
absence. But they did advise us to stay in town to be easily reached when her condition
changed.
I lean forward and kiss my mom’s forehead. The waiting is awful, but I know she’ll
soon find peace in my father’s arms.
The car ride home is quiet, each of us mulling over our own thoughts. Soon we’re minutes
from my building and I realize I don’t want today with my sister to end. “Want to
go to an early dinner? I’d like to hear about your work.”
Andrea shrugs, the g
esture somehow elegant on her. “Work is work, up and down at best.
Got an article coming up about the rise in education for women through online courses.”
Andrea started out of college as a journalist and now writes independent pieces for
various online news reporting agencies.
“Good for you. Steady work is all that matters.”
Her mouth contorts into a grimace. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to contribute more
for Mom’s care.”
I glance out the window, hoping we can find a place to park. “We’re getting by fine.
Don’t worry so much.”
“You say that… but only you are sacrificing your dreams. It just kills me.”
“If music paid the bills I’d be happier, sure, but I’ll get back to it eventually.
This accounting gig isn’t permanent.” I motion out the window. “There’s a spot, grab
it.”
My sister maneuvers her old Honda into the tight parking space. “It certainly seems
like it after two years. I don’t know what we would have done if we had to pay the
medical bills on what I make as a writer.” She looks at me and smiles, “Probably have
to start consolidating expenses, like moving in together.”
A shudder runs through me at the thought of living with my perpetually messy twin.
“Hey, now, let’s not get hasty.”
She laughs as we exit the car. “Wouldn’t want me to cramp your musician lifestyle?”
I think of Rocko standing at his doorway last month, a mid-twenties bar groupie hanging
on his tattooed arm while he tried to give the woman the polite shove off the morning
after a gig. Do I miss the one-night stands? I shake my head while joining my sister
on the sidewalk. I outgrew those empty encounters years ago.
“Not at all. More worried your slovenly habits would push me to kill you in your sleep.”
She shoves me hard, laughing the whole time. “Let’s go inside,” I say, motioning to
the closest restaurant. “I’m hungry.”
Chapter Nine
Carla
Andy wasn’t at work today. I tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out what
I should do and how I should approach him, only to find the effort was all in vain.
I’m curious why he’s out of the office, but still uncertain on how to act. If I text
him, he’ll think I care and I’m not sure it’s a good idea to open that can of worms
again.
But you are starting to care, you idjit. The passion he stirred in you last night
was explosive.
I squirm in my chair, unable to deny how exciting our escapade in the storage room
was. Where did he learn to do that? Does he spank women all the time? Damn, it was
hot. Probably the wildest thing I’ve done in my life and I thought I was pretty damn
wild already.
Screwing lots of men doesn’t make you wild. It makes you easy.
Freakin’ hell. Is that what I’ve done? Slept with a lot of men with nothing to show
for it? No mind-blowing orgasms, no satisfied sleep, no fond memories of men I’d like
to encounter again? Damn, I really have made a mess of my life.
I’m grateful Heather agreed to dinner after work. I need someone sane to talk to.
I’m all over the place with what I want and I’ve never been so confused in my entire
life. Last night shocked the hell out of me. I loved it. Every exhilarating second
of it—but what does it mean?
Am I ready for more? Do I want something beyond casual sex? The dampness in my panties
seems to be screaming, “Yes, stupid bitch, you do.”
I pack up at the end of the day to meet Heather, giving a rueful glance toward Andy’s
cube. I wonder where he is.
“It sounds like a ‘unique’ experience to say the least,” Heather says, a sparkle of
from you than a one night stand.”
I glance down at my hands twisting in my lap. “But that’s the problem. I don’t know
if I want more.”
“Why not? Didn’t we talk about this the other day? At least giving him a shot takes
the ‘casual sex’ and ‘friends with benefits’ listings off the table.”
My frustration comes out in a huff. “Heather, you talked about your damn list the other day, I didn’t agree to anything. I like my
life the way it is. Uncomplicated and alone. Alone doesn’t always equate to lonely, you know.”
“I think thou dost protest too much, my lady.” At my deadpan expression, she shakes
her head and continues, “What the hell are you really running from, Carla? Have you
ever stopped to figure that out?”
Shock sets my skin to tingle. I’m not running from anything, am I? A flash back to
last Saturday with my mother snaps into my mind. A sigh escapes and I slump in the
chair. “The visit with my mom really sucked the life right out of me. She’s such an
unhappy person.”
“Whoa. Where did that come from?”
“What?” I ask.
“We were talking about you and Andy and then you jump subjects to your mom.”
“No, I didn’t. You said…” my voice trails off as I see the truth in her words. I did
leap from one topic to the next. Damn, I hate how the mind works behind the scenes
on crap we don’t want to face. Tears form in my eyes and I blink to rid them of the
extra moisture. “Ugh. I really hate talking about this shit.”
“Yeah, don’t we all. What kind of friend would I be if I let you get off the hook
that easily? You don’t talk about your mom very often. What happened Saturday?”
I shrug, and pick at the food on my plate. “Nothing much. She was her usual judgmental
self, putting down what I wear and how I live.”
“Ignore her. If I had a rack like yours I’d show it off, too. What else?”
“Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary for her. Next, she launched on her regular
man-hater campaign. Ending, of course, with her favorite diatribe on my father.”
A look of sorrow crosses my best friend’s face, exactly what I’d hoped to avoid and
why I don’t normally open up about my mother. “I’m so sorry, Carla.” She reaches across
the table for my hand and I resist the urge to pull away and reject her sympathy.
I don’t want her pity. I’m not my mom.
I must have mumbled part of that last thought because she says, “Of course you’re
not your mother—not all men are like your dad, either.”
A jolt spikes through my heart and I clench my hand on the table. Heather feels the
movement and looks at our joined hands. Is that why I’ve become content to be alone?
Because I secretly fear the man will walk out on me in the end? Unable to voice such
raw emotions, I attempt a smile. “Thanks, Heather. I know you’re right—but I also
know, I don’t know what I want.”
“The first step is to stop trying to control every interaction and just be yourself
for a change.”
I nod. I’m too afraid to speak and reveal more than I’d like. And what if I do as
Heather suggests and the man still walks out on me? The devastation almost killed
my mother. Would I survive such a loss any better?
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A familiar pair of shoulders
and bright blue shirt slides between people. Is that Andy? He wraps an arm around
the torso of the striking brunet
te at his side. He leans in to place a brief kiss
on her cheek, a soft smile curving his mouth.