British Bedmate

by Penelope Ward

“Care for some cock?”

“You’re welcome to climb me, luv, but be careful, some trees have thick wooden branches and you could get poked.”

“A good wank?” I questioned. “Masturbate. You know…” Simon formed a C with one hand and pumped it back and forth, simulating a hand job. “Jerk the gerk. Choke the chicken. Pump the stump. Do the five knuckle shuffle. Flog the lizard. Burp the worm. Charm the snake…whatever you Americans call it these days.”

Take three hard poundings against wall twice daily. Repeat for seven days until stick from arse falls out.

Dear Bridget, It’s highly doubtful I’ll ever garner the courage to say this to your face. Don’t feel you need to acknowledge this note the next time we see each other, either. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. I promise to play dumb. I know you, and what I’m about to say would be awkward for us to talk about face to face. So, here goes. We’re totally wrong for each other. We both know it. You’re probably the last woman on Earth I should want and vice versa. You’re the proper mum with a good head on her shoulders, who will always need to put her son first. I fully understand. I’m just the carefree, cheeky resident passing through town and temporarily living in your house. But, here’s the thing…what they say about wanting what you can’t have is apparently true. For some bloody reason, I can’t stop thinking about you in very inappropriate ways. I want you. Wrong as it may be…more specifically, I want to make you come. Hard. I want you to get lost in me, and I want to hear you say my name over and over while we fuck. I get stiff just imagining what that would feel like, given that you haven’t been with a man for so long. And these thoughts are making me insane. I’ve stopped fantasizing about anyone else and haven’t been interested in seeing anyone, either. The only reason I’m even admitting all of this to you right now is because I don’t believe it’s one-sided. I notice your eyes when you look at me, too. You probably don’t think I can see the need written all over your ...

Eleven p.m. tonight, sharp. Why watch a video when you can see the action live? I’ll leave my door open enough so you can watch.

“I need you to open wide while I stick something down your throat.”

“You’ve been thinking with your head for a very long time. While that makes for a very safe existence, we sometimes inadvertently inhibit our true happiness when we do this. Life choices shouldn’t always be about the end result. People fail to realize that the small adventures in the middle are sometimes more important. When you’re old, you’re going to reflect on your life and everything is just going to be one big ball of memories anyway. Why not have something worthwhile to look back at?”

your eyes—they slay me.

The greatest risk is not taking one.

“It’s my bikini because every inch of the body inside of it belongs to me, whether you want that to be the case or not. I know how that struggle feels because it’s no different for me. As much as I would give anything to want someone else right now, my body only wants you. And quite frankly, Bridget, it’s not going to rest until it has you.” I took her hand and placed it on my bare chest, sliding it down to my lower abs. “Feel this. You own this. Is that wrong? Maybe. But it’s yours.” She leaned in and shocked the shit out of me when she just started softly kissing my chest. The longer it went on, the less I cared about consequences. She was running her tongue along my skin now. I had zero fucks left to give. I dug my fingers into her hair, which was damp from the rain. “Let me fuck you, Bridget.” I wasn’t too proud to beg. “Please.” My chest was heaving, and my dick was painfully hard. She was trembling as she whispered over my chest, “Just one time.”

now. I had all the signs of addiction—craving and compulsion, loss of appetite, disrupted sleep patterns, spending an inordinate amount of time planning the next fix in my head, and lying to myself that I didn’t need my drug. When I pulled up in front of her house, my hands even began to shake. Totally fucking addicted.

“I can’t take the job in Leeds or anywhere else because I can’t leave you. I think if I even tried, gravity would pull me right back.” He paused, and his voice turned soft. “The first time I saw you, I felt it and it scared me. When I moved in and realized it was you again, I thought it had to be a big coincidence, and I was afraid to get to know you. When I kissed you, it scared the living shit out of me, and I wanted to pull away. But when I tried, I realized I couldn’t, and that scared me even more. Then I went back to England and thought about what my life would be like without you in it, and I finally realized that I was more afraid of losing you than I was of finding you. I love you, Bridget. So much that it scared me and made me want to run three-thousand miles away. But I can’t run anymore because I need you more than I’m afraid of everything else that comes with loving you.”

“How about, Simon – I’m madly in love with you, too. Now get that big rig up and running and drive it into my naughty garage.”

“No? Not working for you, huh? Okay. How about, Simon – my love for you is brighter than all the stars in the sky. Now let’s go put some sour cream on the big burrito.”

I should have never made her feel like she needed to compare us. But love breeds insecurity, making people weak and needy.

“For the record, what was the name of the driver whose lap your head was on—with or without his pants being open?” The woman whimpered, causing me to look up. Tears were streaming down her red face, and she was doing her best to keep control. She looked distraught and our eyes caught as she spoke. “Ben. Benjamin Valentine.”

“You’re not enough, Bridget. Enough is the minimum amount that it takes to satisfy something. That doesn’t even begin to describe what you are—you’re everything. You’re not the fucking minimum—you’re the maximum. What he did is not your fault. Cheating isn’t about the person who was cheated on. It’s about the cheater—his own insecurities. Think about it. Did you ever cheat on a test in school? Everyone has. Why? Because you were afraid you would fail the test—afraid you weren’t smart enough or hadn’t worked hard enough to earn a good grade. This is about him—not about you.”

“I know you loved him, and he’s Brendan’s father, but he didn’t deserve you. People don’t deserve to have things they don’t respect. He didn’t fucking deserve you, Bridget.”

Love makes you stronger, not weaker.”

And just like that, on a random night with a full moon, Simon officially became the man of the house.