Wanderlust Part 11 "No pressure..."

Another busy day here on the farm. We have pigs to...well, that's a lie. There are no pigs, just a fat wiener dachshund. But we do have a dinner out and celebrating and some chores and some lazy time and maybe a movie and birthday planning for someone's big day and...gasp!

Here's part 11. Can't believe I pulled it off. However it was on the fly and I didn't get to read it through as many times as I prefer, so if you see a boo-boo, let me know-know. Just be nice-nice! ;)

Over and out.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 11
by Sommer Marsden

He cupped the back of my head with his hand. "Bathroom is out of the bedroom to the left."

"Mmm-kay," I said, swallowing hard and choking the tears down. I was winning the no-crying war.

"Towels are in the closet right outside the door. Glasses for drinks are over the sink in the kitchen."

"Got it," I said.

He kissed the top of my head and his fingers flexed for just a second against my naked waist.

Johnny pulled an afghan over us and said against my ear "You gonna stay, Snowflake?"

God, how I wanted to stay. God, how I didn't want him to know that. I tried to force nonchalance into my voice. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

He laughed and I knew he was on to me.

"Good. Now go to sleep. It's late."

His breath was even and deep and it lulled me to sleep. I only woke once and he still had me tucked to him, right up against his hard body, like something he was holding close and protecting.

* * * * *

"Wow. You weren't kidding about the other view," I said. Then I realized he wasn't there with me. Just a warmth on the bedclothes where he had been.

My eyes tried to track every black vein but failed. The sky was still blue studded with gold from the rising sun. The tree that towered outside of his bedroom window filled all of the world from my angle. Everywhere you looked a black arm reached for the sky. Capillaries of branches and twigs grasped the air.

I heard him out in the main room. I turned on my belly, studying the sky and the tree and the neighborhood. Would he come back or should I go find him?

Across the street a woman led a toddler to a mini-van. She was dressed in a business suit and carrying three bags and a briefcase. I didn't envy her the ministrations it took to get a child off to daycare and herself off to work. It was barely light out and she looked stressed and exhausted.

More noises from Johnny and I realized that it was the first morning in I couldn't remember how long that I woke feeling mildly content.

"Weird," I said. My voice didn't sound as empty in this little apartment as it did at home. "Weirder."

There was his flannel hanging on the closet door knob. I pulled it on and buttoned it so that it didn't gape. My panties were somewhere on the floor and after finding them I pulled them on, too. The floor was wide planked hardwood and cold from the autumn chill. By the door was a laundry basket of clean clothes and on top a pair of thick wool hunting socks.

"Score!" I muttered and scooped them up and pulled them on.

I used the bathroom, assuming he would hear me and know that I was awake. Then I wouldn't startle him. Maybe he was over last night's post-fuck glow and was ready for me to leave. Perhaps in the light of morning I hadn't been so pretty or so worth holding onto. Maybe…

"Stop freaking yourself out, you dimwit, and just go see what he thinks." When I said it to myself in his small black and white bathroom I sounded terrified and angry.

Now that I was up, I was afraid that all the good feelings settled in my chest were false. My idea of an ideal morning after—and nothing more.

I tiptoed out into the main room more because I feared the outcome than because I feared startling him.

He was up on one a stool by the counter that divided kitchen from living room. A box was open on the counter, a few bits of paper and pictures scattered about. Johnny sat hunched over it, his face turned from me so I couldn't see, but his posture intense. I had the irrational urge to walk up and swipe my hands across his stubbly scalp. I could see from this angle that he needed to be shorn again. Or shaved. Or however he did it.

I took a few steps toward him, wanting to touch the broad expanse of his back. Knowing that it would be warm and hard under my fingers. I wanted another round with Mr. Rose. I wanted him to fuck me face to face in the purple glow of morning and watch me come. I wanted—

I was right there, peeking over his shoulder when he felt me and he turned the picture swiftly and shoved all the bits of debris from what I assumed to be a memory box back where they belonged.

Had a I seen a flash of jeans? Of a red jacket and some kind of toy? Of little Velcro sneakers that only small kids wore? But before I could truly process, he had secreted it all away and turned to me. At first his face flashed angry—rage was more like it—and then sadness, so intense it made my chest hurt, and then he smiled and that broke me.

I shivered and I didn't now why.

"Snowflake, how about some coffee?" He stood nonchalantly and kissed my forehead. Despite my confusion it made me smile—it was an entirely domestic gesture that was almost confusing in the current weird vibe of this kitchen.

"Sure, "I said. "But—"

There it was, I wanted to ask. And the fact that I cared, the fact that I wanted to ask, unnerved me. Let him have his secrets and his pictures and his flustered odd reaction. It was none of my fucking business.

He tucked the box under the counter and grabbed mugs. "But?"

"But I really need a shower, first," I said.

"You know where it is. Here you go. One for the road." He handed me the mug full of hot coffee and nodded toward the sugar bag on the counter. "Milk's in the fridge."

I took raw sugar and cream in my coffee, normally. Wasn't I fucking precious?

"Thanks." I doctored it up and went back to his bathroom. To think, I told myself. But it was to hide.

The shower brought back my memory of being with Jackson. Then of being with Johnny. Two men, one day, two entirely different feelings when all was said and done. I was almost grieving for the settled contented feel of the night before when Johnny had pulled me close and fallen asleep. Clearly there was more to him than a handsome beat-up guy who worked odd jobs and lived across the street from a church.

"And clearly it's none of your business."

His head appeared. "What's none of your business?"

Stupidly I covered my breasts and he laughed at me. I followed suit, realizing the exposure I felt was more emotional than physical. "Nothing. Talking to my own stupid self." I had to force the words out of me, they almost hurt. But I made myself say it. "Look, let me finish here and I'll get dressed and get out of your hair. I know you weren't…I know last night was…" I shook my head, frustrated. "I know that it was just a night is all," I blurted.

"Hunh. Funny. I just called in to my boring day job and told them they'd have to do that roofing job without me. I thought we could hang out."

He stepped into the shower naked. I swallowed hard and tried to put my mind back on track. But my eyes strayed to the bulk of him, the single tattoo on his chest that was just an "M". I hadn't really seen that the night before. The cock between his legs that was hard and straining and that I knew for a fact he was capable of wielding with spectacular outcome.

"I—"

"No pressure," he said, pulling me to him. He kissed me then. His lips were soft and his tongue tasted of sweet coffee. "As my mother used to say, it's an invitation, not an obligation."

"I…um…" I couldn't think. All I could focus on was kissing him back, touching his tongue with mine. Letting my hands explore the now-wet terrain of his body.

"Besides," he said, "I don't think we're quite done yet, yeah?"

"Yeah," I sighed.
STAY TUNED...