A Many Splintered Thing / Day 15: "...that would make me a real asshole, don’t you think?”

Day 15 and the beat goes on. We roll along...
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He knew he was wrong to do it. You weren’t supposed to get off like a teenager when someone was out walking your dog. And yet, he couldn’t seem to help it. Getting himself taken care of seemed a necessity at the moment. Like eating, showering, sleeping. He needed to do it or he’d never be able to be around this woman or have a conversation without intermittently sporting wood. No matter what he did, his mind kept returning, over and over again, to that kiss. To that moment she gave in. To him.
Gave in. To him.
He shook the water out of his hair and gripped his cock. It wasn’t going to take long. “Fit to pop, fit to pop,” he muttered, shutting his eyes to the spray as he stroked himself roughly right out of the gate.
Caleb pressed his left arm to the wall, pushed his forehead against his arm. Kept his eye shut tight to block out the world. His hand going up and down his shaft was both mesmerizing and not quite good enough. But it would have to do, so he forced himself deeper into the memory. The moment her lips softened. The moment her tongue touched his for just a millisecond. The moment her limbs went loose and her body relaxed and he could tell she was lost to the kiss.
That moment.
And then he let his mind run with it and he was parting her legs, knocking them wide, running his cock along her wetness. Staring at those three deep scars now bared to him, disappearing somewhere in the beautiful cleavage that hid beneath that black tank top. And his mind carried him forward. Forward into her, over her, lost with her.
All the bullshit soap opera script craziness fell away and it was him and Dahlia. Her blue eyes wide, her dark hair loose and fanned out, her lips parted and her body arching up under his.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered as he came.
Simultaneously, the dog barked outside the bathroom and a fist pounded the door. Caleb jumped. “Stop diddling yourself and come out. Mary up in the kitchen sent back enchiladas. Herenchiladas. Homemade. They are magical…mystical. They’re better than sex. And you have five minutes to get out here or I’m eating yours.”
And then he could tell by the shift in the energy that she was gone.
He shook his head, his hands shaking in sympathy or from the adrenaline rush he wasn’t sure which. “Coming,” he whispered. And then he laughed.
*
He grunted.
“Told you,” she said. Dahlia put another forkful in her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Better than sex.”
Caleb mumbled around his own mouthful of enchilada. “You’re having sex with the wrong people then.” He looked into her unamused face and shrugged. “But close. They’re definitely a close second.”
He finished his enchilada, took a swig of ice tea and then a sip of a whiskey she’d poured. “So, when Jasmine called me to come down here she said Harrison was fucking the maid. That would be you?”
He realized he was holding his breath, hoping she’d say no. How embarrassing.
Dahlia tipped her head back and her braids danced as she laughed long and loud. He watched her, feeling himself smile. Apparently he was way off on this one.
Finally, she straightened up and took a deep breath. “Um…no. That would be the extended staff who come in to help me. This place is a handful but I prefer to do it alone. It’s a long, hard day of work but I like long, hard days of work. They keep you honest. Physical labor is as Zen as I get.”
He raised his glass to that but kept silent.
“When they have guests come for extended stay or a large party, they bring in auxiliary staff to help me out. And that, I welcome. This was Harrison tip-toeing through the tulips. Actually, her name was Rose. The other one was named Willow which is a tree, not a flower, but you get my little joke there. See, even their maids are pretentious.” She winked at him.
It went straight to his cock. So he took more whiskey and let it sit on his tongue before swallowing it down.
“So, tell me, loverboy. I know why I’d roll over and do her bidding, she can fire me if she gets it in her head to. But you? Why did you come all the way down here at her beck and call? Is she that good of a lay? I have a hard time imagining it.”
He shook his head. “Well, first, you’d be wrong. She’s pretty good in the sack. And by the way, you just answered one of my questions. If you two had ever…” He twiddled his fingers at her until she snorted.
“Fucked? No. I’ll explain me and Jas another day. For now you tell me about her magical vagina and why it was worth a trip from Boston.”
“Baltimore.”
“I stand corrected.”
“And not really Baltimore proper. I was on the shore. But you get the idea.”
“I do. A hell of a pussy for that kind of trip.”
He grunted again. Considered another enchilada and realized it would be a huge mistake. He was stuffed. He stood, to give himself something to do, and found the plastic wrap in a drawer on the fourth try.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
“A little,” he said. He hated it, too. He was used to being the person who made other people uncomfortable.
“Was it my use of the word pussy?”
“Nope.” He put the pan in the fridge and refilled both their glasses of tea. Odd, but he was getting rather domesticated already. Maybe it was the dog.
“Then…?” She left the question open. He watched her stretch out her long, long legs and put her feet on one of the kitchen chairs.
“It’s a hard question to answer. I’m not sure why. I mean, yeah, there are other women to have sex with in the world. Some of them can put her to shame. But…” A sudden rush of anxiety filled his chest at the shift the conversation had taken. It startled him into taking a deep breath.
She waved a hand. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. Sorry I asked. None of my business.”
“No, it’s fine.” He sat. “I didn’t realize my reasoning until you asked.” He fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers. “I guess she’s the closest thing I’ve known to actual love.”
He looked at her and she looked back. Dahlia’s eyes were amazing. Especially when she was thinking of what she should say.
“Well, damn. I can’t make a joke out of that, can I?”
“Well, you could.” He chuckled softly, drank more whiskey.
“Yeah, I could, but that would make me a real asshole, don’t you think?” 


photo credit: Katie Ring via photopin cc