Why It's Called a Goodbye Page 8

  He pushes the cardigan off my left shoulder and kisses me there too and then moving up my neck until he finds his place on my lips again. This time I let him invade my mouth with his tongue. I don’t even mind that it still has a faint taste of that stout beer he likes.

  With his free hand, he makes his way up my thigh to the waist band of my sweatpants. I’m panting and waiting for the next move. The move that tells me we’re headed to his bedroom for a long night of missionary sex.

  His tongue disappears from the back of my throat, and he says, “Have you ever had sex on a deck before?”

  What? “I’ve never had sex outside before. Ever.” He’s really not suggesting…

  “The closest neighbor is miles away. It’ll be too cold to do it out here soon. The weather’s changing fast this year.”

  “Are you really trying to seduce me on your porch?”

  “If you’re willing, yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying.”

  I discard my cardigan and let it fall. Before I can finish saying the word, “Okay,” he’s naked, all but his boxer briefs. Stephen wears whitey tighties. I shake my head to get him out of my thoughts. “Wow.”

  “Like what you see, huh?” he says with a smug grin on his face. He removes his glasses and places them on the railing as he steps toward me. He pulls on the hem of my tank. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m pretty good at gauging situations, and I think you want to.”

  I press my lips in a thin line and extend my hands above my head as he slowly removes my tank and then my pants. I wrap my arms around myself because even though it’s dark, he can see my body and I’m nervous. As I stand in my bra and underwear, he makes a pallet on the ground out of our discarded garments.

  I lie down next to him.

  As my anxiety increases and I think about getting up and running, his hands find my body, and I cave against his touch. His fingertips glide around every inch of my naked flesh as I stare up at the moon and stars. “You know, you’re beautiful, right?”

  “Please, just take me.” If I keep thinking, I’m going to come up with a reason why we should stop, and I really don’t want to stop.

  “I plan on it.” He lowers his head between my legs. Out of instinct, I clamp them together trapping his head as his hands attempt to remove my panties. “What’s wrong?”

  I release my hold, “Nothing, sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just…it’s been a while.” Good thing I shaved every piece of my body earlier.

  I cover my eyes with my hands and think about how much of a fool I am and that I just need to leave. Then something amazing happens between my legs, and I forget all about my insecurities. I never knew it could feel like this. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been so long, or he’s just really good at it, but I can already feel myself building.

  I grab ahold of the curls on his head and that’s all I needed to send me over the edge and down a spiral of pure pleasure. As my orgasm ends, he doesn’t stop, and I have to pull on his head and rock my hips.

  “I want to do it again before…”

  “Ya know, once is enough. I promise. Although, I might fall asleep before you go get a condom.”

  “I don’t need one.”

  That wakes me up from my blissful trance. I sit up on my elbows, wearing only my bra. “Uh, you’re gonna need one if you want to have sex with me.”

  “I, uh, maybe I should have told you before, but I had a vasectomy two years ago. So, there’s no chance I’ll knock you up.”

  “Yeah, maybe we should have talked about protection beforehand. I have an IUD, so I’m not going to get pregnant, but I’d still like for you to wear a condom. I really don’t want to ruin the mood, but I don't want an STD.”

  He jumps up, leaving the place between my legs. “You’re not ruining the mood. I have some. Be right back.”

  I cross my legs and use my cardigan as a blanket. I remove my bra and lie with my head facing the water. I’m about to have sex with Malcom Murray. Malcom freaking Murray. And outside.

  He’s back before I can let my thoughts wonder too far. Good. He removes my cardigan and throws it beside me as he lies down on it. He rolls the condom slowly over his very erect penis. I don't know if Stephen is small, or Malcom is big, but there is definitely a difference between the two.

  He lies on his back with his hands behind his head. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

  “Yes. Now let me look at your gorgeous body.”

  I sit up. “Don’t say that.”

  He leans up and grabs my arms and moves me so I’m straddling his legs. While he lies back, he says, “You’re fucking hot.”

  I don’t know if it was the you’re or the fucking or the hot, but one of those words gave me some confidence. I slide his length inside the space between my legs. It’s very intense this way.

  I never felt good enough to be on top with Stephen. We probably only did it this way a handful of times. Why hadn’t I felt sexy with him? Right now, here in this moment, I feel sexy as hell.

  I move up and down as he tightens his grip on my hips. We find a rhythm. He moves his hands behind his head again. His eyes lock with mine as I move up and down. My hair falls from its band and cascades around my face as I become exhausted. I lean forward as Malcom moves his hips from underneath me.

  “You feel so good. You know, you taste sweet, like candy?” he says, as he kisses my ear, and I’m glad he can’t see my face.

  He thrusts into me, and it’s too deep. “Ow, that kinda hurt.”

  “Sorry.”

  I thought he might be embarrassed, but he continues back to his old rhythm. I can feel his heart race beneath my chest, and we’re both breathing heavily.

  “Would you sit up? I want to look at your perfect tits while I come,” he says.

  I do as he says, but I close my eyes. I can’t watch him watch me. His thrusts become faster until he grunts, and I know he’s found his release.

  “Wow, that was just, wow,” Malcom mutters out of breath as my body falls on his chest.

  TWELVE

  I’m on a roller coaster. My body is bouncing up and down as I’m being shifted around in my seat. Why am I on a roller coaster? I hate roller coasters. I turn to my left, and Stephen is beside me. I look down, and he’s holding my hand in his. I pull my hand away as soon as we reach the top. I close my eyes and scream, “No!”

  “Shh. It’s okay,” I hear Malcom say.

  Wait a minute…I open my eyes to find my face buried in his chest as he carries me down the hall and into a room. I cling to him. I must have fallen asleep. My cardigan is draped over my naked body.

  “I need to be getting home,” I say as he sits me on a bed. I pull my cardigan so it’s covering my private areas. “Where are the rest of my clothes?” I cross my legs as if he hadn’t already spent a decent amount of time getting acquainted with the apex of my thighs.

  “I couldn’t carry our clothes and you. They’re still out on the deck. You don’t have to leave, but I understand if you don’t want to stay.”

  Only now do I notice he’s still bare-ass naked. He’s so confident. Maybe he’s one of those nudist people, and he wouldn’t wear clothes at all if it wasn’t for his chosen profession. School teachers can’t be walking around all willy nilly in their birthday suit.

  I don’t really know much about him.

  “I’ll stay if you let me sleep in one of your dumb t-shirts and answer all my questions.”

  He walks over to his dresser and tosses me a shirt while he pulls on a pair of boxers. “You drive a hard bargain, Sugar Tits. You ask your questions, and I’ll answer the ones I want.”

  “Sugar Tits? And that wasn’t the deal.”

  “You taste like sugar, and I like your tits,” he shrugs. “You call me Malcom, so I’ve been trying to come up with something for you. And we hadn’t made a deal yet. You said what you wanted, and I offered a compromise, Sugar Tits.”

  I throw my cardiga
n at him. “Quit calling me that. It sounds naughty.”

  “You know you’re the one sitting in front of me, with the tits I like so much, out for my viewing pleasure?”

  “Shut up! Do you want me to leave or stay?”

  “I want you to do what you want to do.”

  I roll my eyes as I pull the shirt he gave me over my head. “You really know how to make a girl feel wanted, I tell ya.”

  He leaves the room and I cover up under his blanket on the left side of the bed. I look around his room. The walls have a typical log home feel, no decorations on them. There’s a dresser directly in front of the bed with the door we came in to the left of it. There’s a door on the right. I’m assuming it is either the closet or maybe he has a second bathroom connected. On top of the dresser is a half-full jar of change, a wallet, and a picture of Elsie on monkey bars at a park. I squint. It looks like it’s a recent one of her, but the only light on is the lamp on the table on the side of the bed I’m sitting on.

  I really need to pee and clean up. I should have asked for underwear, but if I don’t wear any, it will allow better access. I hop out of the bed and head for the bathroom in the hall between this room and Elsie’s. As I close the door behind me, I hear some clanging around coming from the kitchen.

  I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m back safely in the bed now. I was hoping he’d keep me up all night, but my eyes are heavy. They shut as I roll over.

  My bladder wakes me up. I move on my other side in an attempt to relieve the pressure and hopefully fall back to sleep. I’m snuggling into the pillow when Malcom says, “You know that’s my side of the bed you helped yourself to.”

  “I can’t help it; you were busy doing something that didn’t involve me, so I fell asleep. But I prefer this side of the bed.” I throw his words back at him. “You’re gonna have to compromise and let me have it.”

  He rolls on his back as he grabs his stomach and laughs like I just told the funniest joke. When he finally calms down and can form words that make sense, he says, “This is my bed.”

  “And?”

  Instead of answering, he pushes the covers down, gently shoves my shoulder, putting me on my back, and climbs on top of me. He moves down to the end of the bed where my feet are and begins leaving a trail of kisses up my right calf, over my knee, and up to my thigh as he inches closer to my apex.

  I halt him by grabbing a hand full of hair. “You already did that last night. Don’t you want me to, ya know, reciprocate before you do it again?”

  “I’m doing what I want, and you don’t owe me a blow job because I gave you oral last night.”

  “Oh.” Stephen always made sure he got his if he was that nice.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good blow job, just as I assume every other guy in the world, but I don’t keep score.”

  “Hmm. You don’t have to go down on me every time either. I don’t expect you to.”

  “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to,” he says as he spreads my legs wide. “I like it, and I want to taste how sweet you are again.”

  “Oh god. Not that again.” The daylight is beaming through the sheer curtains on his windows. I begin to worry he’ll see my c-section scar. I pull at the hem of the shirt I’m wearing.

  Malcom places his left arm on my abdomen. “Quit wiggling around. What are you doing?”

  I lie. “It tickles.”

  “Just relax.”

  I don’t think he knows how hard it is to relax after someone tells you to relax.

  His hand slides up under the shirt and grabs a handful of my right boob. As he begins to lick my clitoris, he inserts a finger into my tunnel.

  After we settled the fact that the left side of the bed is my side, Malcom made breakfast. He kept going on and on about how he’s left-handed, so he was entitled to the left side. Who knows if I’ll ever stay over again, but the banter was kinda nice. To be arguing over something that wasn’t really an issue.

  Dinner last night was great, and breakfast has been just as good. I don’t want to leave, but Sawyer and Atticus will be arriving back here shortly, and I want to be at Mom and Pops’ when they get there.

  Malcom finally finishes his omelet, and I say, “I best be getting back. This was nice.”

  I’m still in his shirt, and I stole a pair of his boxers this morning, but now I need to put my clothes on so I can leave.

  “Do you have time to take a shower first?”

  I sniff my armpits. “Do I smell?” Of course, I want a shower, but I was going to take one when I got back.

  “No, I thought I’d help you get clean before you leave.”

  “Oh.”

  He smirks. “Yeah.”

  “You know shower sex never works out the way they make it look in movies,” I say embarrassed, but I know he knows I’ve had sex with someone other than him. I want to ask how many women he’s been with, but I bite my tongue.

  “Oh, I had planned on taking you again before we got in.”

  As we make our way to the bathroom that is behind the door to the right of his bed, I think about how Stephen almost always made me go down on him anytime I initiated sex and that was one of the reasons I quit initiating it. It was robotic, blow job and then missionary sex until he got off. Only when I begged first did he ever go down on me, and he almost never initiated it without me asking.

  Maybe because we were so young and hadn’t been with a lot of other people, but I never had the kind of sex you read about, or the kind you watch in movies. Most people write sex like it’s some magical thing where women are always ready, and men are always the most exceptional lovers. They depict that the lovers always finish at the same time. That’s why I hate writing romance.

  A lot of the time after sex with Stephen, I’d lie there wondering where my multiple orgasms were and why it only lasted thirty seconds.

  We walk through a closet that has clothes hanging on either side and into a bathroom. It only has a standup shower, but it’s big enough for more than one person.

  The tile is cool on my feet. He turns the shower on, and the steam begins to fill the small space. I want to give him what he wants, and I know he hasn’t asked. He did say earlier he enjoys it though. I fling my arms around his neck and give him a smooch on the lips before dropping to my knees in front of him.

  He’s quiet. He stares into my eyes as I pull his boxers down. I don’t know what it is about his gray eyes, but they’re haunting and hypnotizing at the same time. His erection bounces as I bring his underwear to his ankles. I grab ahold of his length and let only the head pass my lips before removing it. I swirl my tongue around the tip three times before taking as much of him as I can without gagging myself.

  Vomiting on a guy is not a good look.

  “Fuck, that’s great.”

  He places his left hand on the back of my head, and I think he’s going to force me down farther than I want, but he doesn’t. He gently rests it there while he massages my scalp. I feel a warmth grow between my own legs, so I shift side to side as his length moves in and out of my mouth.

  “Are you trying to make me come? If you don’t slow down, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  I pump him as I shove him deep into my mouth. His hot liquid surprises me when it bursts from his shaft, and I swallow it before I even realize what I’m doing.

  THIRTEEN

  The boys are back. I heard the car pull up out front, but by the time I made it from the back porch to the front door, Stephen was already gone.

  They dump their bags by the front door as they make their way in the house.

  “Boys, these go in your room, not next to the door.”

  “But Mom,” Sawyer whines as he leans out the doorway and picks something up. “Dad bought us a new television and the new PlayStation.”

  “Why would he buy you guys a new television?” I ask.

  Atticus replies, “Because Sawyer told Dad the one in our room here is from 1950.”

  “We
ll, just so you are aware, it’s actually from the 1990s, and it works perfectly fine.” It’s my old television. It’s big and bulky and doesn’t look as cool as a flat screen, but it works. They’ve been able to play their games on it so far. They didn’t need a new one.

  Sawyer’s holding the flat screen box. “Okay, Mom. We get it. But this thing is heavy.”

  “As long as you boys come back and get these bags, you can take your new stuff upstairs, but you’re coming down in an hour to have dinner with your mom and grandparents.”

  They run out of the room before I finish my sentence. I attempt to call Stephen to see when he was going to tell me he can’t take the boys next weekend and inform him that he’s supposed to tell me ahead of time, but he doesn’t answer.

  Stephen finally answered my phone call today. It’s Wednesday. He said, “It’s just a conference, Addy. I’ll pick them up next weekend.”

  I don’t believe him. Something seemed fishy. He answered during his normal lunch hour, but he sounded out of breath. He said he was running on the treadmill, but he hasn’t run on that thing in over two years. It probably doesn’t even work anymore.

  I’ve been focusing on work, aside from trying to get ahold of Stephen. The boys have been consumed with that stupid video game. All they do is yell at each other. I don’t even understand video games. They seem boring to me.

  I haven’t heard from Malcom either. It’s not like we're dating or anything, so I’m trying to not be too needy. I’m going to tell him if he wants to continue whatever this is, then he can’t be with other girls too. I know I have no right to ask because my divorce isn’t final yet, but I don’t want him having sex with me and with his females, as well. We could be friends with benefits, for now, but he can’t be getting benefits from other women too.

  I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to reach out or what.

  I’ve written four chapters since Sunday in the Christmas romance novel, and The Hive reached out wanting me to write another senior article.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon on The Christmas Farm. As I’m finishing up rereading chapter ten, I get a text from Malcom.