Coming to an Understanding

 

The woman thinks all she wants me for is sex? Well, that's what I gave her. Over and over, until she could barely fucking breathe, much less move. 

She's going to be sore tomorrow, and every twinge will remind her of who put her body into that state. Every step she takes will disturb her abraded flesh, every ache in her muscles will plague her, standing, sitting, or just lying down breathing.

My immature overreaction to her manipulation and control of our sexual encounter disgusts me. I don't want to punish her or make her hurt. What was I thinking?

I wiggle my tired jaw back and forth, ruefully admitting that I'm suffering, too. In addition to a sore jaw, I have a raging hard-on and a colossal case of blue balls. My lips are so swollen and overworked, they feel chapped. And my tongue is puffed-up and raw like it's had an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts and shellfish.

I strip off my briefs, grab my toothbrush, and head into the shower. The temperature gauge is well above 102 degrees when the near-scalding water cascades over my head and shoulders. I quickly brush my teeth and tongue and soap my body, then fist my screaming cock and stroke it to the bulging tip. My thumb rolls over the head with each stroke, and my eyes close in relief as I begin to pull, hard and quick. In only a few drags, a fucking geyser of semen shoots into the rushing shower and down the drain. 

Still achingly stiff, I cup my sore balls and roll them gently against each other in my palm, stimulating myself again. My other hand grasps my shaft and slides up and down. I think about Juliette's moans as I repeatedly pleasured her body. Her sounds blended with those coming from the television, fueling my lust, keeping me working on her for so long. 

I come again, focusing on the memory of her convulsions as they vised my fingers buried inside her hot, wet vagina. With this second release, my cock softens to a semi and my body begins to calm. I dial down the temperature of the shower water, then decide to turn it off altogether. On a whim, I step out of the shower and turn on the tub to fill. From my suit coat I retrieve the MP3 player from an inside pocket, then fit it into Juliette's snazzy tub to pump the tunes through the tub's shell, and climb in to soak away remaining tension.

After a demanding day, I wanted to have a nice dinner with Juliette, cuddle through a movie, then share some gentle sex and dreamless slumber. Evidently she wanted a pounding ride on the Shanghai maglev, with her dinner stoking me so I could power the train. We'd each fashioned a compromise of sorts, but neither of us ended up satisfied.

My eyes are closed, my head hanging off the back of the tub, when I feel her presence. Unmoving, I open my eyes and gaze at her standing in the bathroom doorway. Her stare meets mine for long seconds, silence speaking our apologies, upsets, and disappointments. She lifts her hair and twirls it into a quick bun, secured with a clip I left on the counter. Her white lace robe flutters to the floor, and she glides across the bathroom to the tub. I put out a hand to steady her as she steps in and sinks under the water, fitting herself between my legs, resting her back on my chest, her head on my shoulder. With her next to me, music and warm water wafting around us, for the first time today I relax.

She slides a hand up and down my leg. "This is hard for me, you know.”

When she doesn't say any more, I ask, "What would help?"

Her sigh is deep. "For you to stick to the original agreement."

My hands cup water and drizzle it over her torso. "Let's talk about that."

"You're backing me into a corner, DePaul."

Her reversion to my surname doesn't bode well. "Not really. I've never made any secret of the fact that I need more from a relationship."

"And I've been up-front about not wanting a relationship."

I refuse to give up. "Do you like me, Juliette?"

"Yes." 

That's gratifying. "Do you enjoy having sex with me?"

"Of course." 

That is, too. "Do you enjoy spending time with me?"

She hesitates. "I don't know."

My hands stop cupping water over her body. "Why don't you know?"

There's a pause. "Because it's not something I do."

It’s the crux of the problem, for me. "You're right. Why don't we?"

"Because it's not part of our agreement."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't."

I scoff, "That's the answer of a 10-year-old, Juliette."

She huffs, but doesn't disagree, so I press on. "What's the worst that could happen if we spent more time together out of the bedroom?"

"We'd get too close."

"Too close? To what? What do you mean?"

She purses her lips. "Develop feelings."

"Ah." I give us space to process that response. "Why would that be a problem?"

She sits up. "This is getting us nowhere."

Instead of trying to pull her back, I sit up and slide against her, my hand on her abdomen. "Stay with me a little longer. Why would developing feelings for each other be a problem?"

The air changes, and Juliette's hands pry at the one I have pinned to her stomach. Sensing her rising fear, I let go and slide back, away from her body that's gone rigid.

"It's okay, Juliette, it's okay," I croon. "You're all right. You're safe. I'm not touching you."

She curls up in the water, hands covering her face. Hunched shoulders shake and a muffled sob escapes.

"Jesus. Juliette, what is it? What did I do? What are you so afraid of?"

She moans and scrambles out of the tub. I'm afraid she's going to slip and hurt herself, so I get out, too, steadying her with one hand while grabbing us both dry towels with the other.  She finishes drying off first and dons her robe.

She’s going to be gone before I can dress. "Don't run. Talk to me. Please."

Her chest rises and falls improbably fast, hyperventilating, but she halts her retreat. After a minute during which neither of us moves, she goes to the window seat under the picture window and scrunches into the corner, cowering under a knit throw.

I sink onto the corner of the bed across the room from her, watchful, hoping the distance will make her feel safe. "Something like this happened the first night we were together."

Her voice is small and faint, angled toward the ocean. "I panic when I feel trapped."

"You felt trapped when I laid on top of you."

"I think I could have stood that. But the position of your arms and even your head, all at the same time…" She fades out with a shudder.

I remember. I had her hemmed in, and with my size, she was trapped. It wasn't my weight; it was the confinement. In the tub, as well, where I had her pinned between my chest and my hand, with my legs wrapped around the outside of hers.

"I see now. And I apologize. Juliette, that's a relatively easy fix. I can avoid making you feel trapped by my body position in the future." Her breath leaves her lungs in a relieved rush. 

But I’m confused. "Later that first night, what did you call it…the spoon-shag. That didn't stress you? I was wrapped all around you.”

She nods, then one shoulder jerks. "There was an opening. To the room in front. Yes, you covered my back and my legs, but I felt like if I had to, I could break free. And I could see out the window, which helped. I felt some stress because of where your arms were positioned, but as I became more aroused, well, that overrode the panic."

That is an interesting piece of information. "So it can be overridden. Does that mean it might also be controllable at some point?"

She studies me in silence. "I don't know. I've never considered it. It—it's never been an issue."

I nod. "That's all right. I was just curious. The important issue is that I can—and will—help you feel safer. I won’t put us in positions that make you feel trapped."

The smile she gives me is tremulous, but hopeful.

 

*****

 

I'm glad he convinced me not to run. I'm not sure how he did it, but I'm grateful he made the effort.  He has no way of knowing how much I've been compromising myself to accommodate him, right from the beginning.

Since my marriage, I've never brought another man home, or cooked for him, much less spent an entire night under the same roof with him. But then I'd known from the beginning that an arrangement with Leo would be different from anything else I'd had. Many men were happy to have affairs with no strings. But I grew bored and restless with them, which is why I was primed to take a chance on DePaul.

Tonight caught me by surprise. All this time, I thought I just wanted sex. When Leo pushed me for more, suggesting a movie and a cuddle, I retaliated by selecting a highly sexual movie and stripping us down to our underwear to watch it, on a bed instead of the sectional he requested. In return he gave me sex—multiple orgasms, repeatedly—until I begged for mercy. 

So, in the end I'd withheld the portion of myself he wanted, and he'd returned the favor, withholding the part of himself he knew I wanted.

We screwed each other over, and fucked ourselves in the process.

The minute he dropped me onto my solitary bed, I knew I was in trouble. Not so much with Leo, but inside myself. I was chagrined at his tactic, but disappointed in myself. It’s one reason I don't do relationships. I don't like feeling guilty about my own needs and wants. I knew I wouldn't sleep until I hashed things out with him, so I'd gone hunting for Leo back in the guest room. When I saw him draped across the back of the tub, looking wiped and vulnerable, something rolled over inside me.

Something that had nothing to do with his long beautiful locks or the bone structure of his face, or the toned arms resting along the rim of the tub, or the expanse of chest with its smattering of hair, trailing down to treasures underneath the water. It was that unnamed something inside me, foreign to me, that propelled me to the side of his bath and into it, as I never had done with any other man before. It was that foreign something that made me endure his grilling inquisition, letting him peel away layers I keep tightly wrapped around myself.

But that something also unsettled me, and prevented me from dealing better with his hand pinning me to him, holding me in place. I had a tearing need to escape—emotionally and physically—and  then that unnamed something made me stop running when Leo asked me to. Made me try to communicate with him rather than let him go. 

So now I feel exposed, yet relieved I got that much out of the way with Leo. He needed to know that much about me. I'm glad he didn't try to delve into the whys and wherefores tonight. The rest can wait, retrievable on an as-needed basis.

My breathing has returned to normal, but I'm shaky and raw. We should go to bed—we both have plenty of work tomorrow. I set aside the blanket and stand to leave so we can take our rest. 

On my way past him, I make a monumental change in navigation and pitch myself onto his lap instead. My arms wrap around his neck and my lower legs twine around his, holding on tight.

His arms come around me slowly. He’s allowing me physical space, as he promised. I can resist and pull away if I need to, but I don't.  He squeezes me hard, then loosens his embrace. In acknowledgment, I tilt my head and press a kiss to his neck.

 

*****

 

I lean into Juliette’s kisses. She’s soft and clingy, in a moment as intimate as I can possibly imagine. More intimate than I expected her to let herself be with me…with any man.

The avenging knight wants to protect her from whatever spooked her tonight. The more rational part of my brain realizes that while my female Bambi might venture out of the forest, the slightest commotion could frighten the little deer straight back into hiding.

So I sit and hold her in my arms, on my lap, and I stroke her hair.

She burrows closer. “You scare me, Leo.”

I search her eyes, glittering in the dark. “How?”

Her sigh is tremulous. “You might be a nice guy.”

My smile feels lopsided. “Believe me, I’m a lot more Arthur than Galahad.”

The top of her head nuzzles under my chin. “It’s only been four days.”

“We’ve covered a lot of ground.”

Her body sags. “I need sleep.”

I turn my head and kiss her cheek. “Hold on.”

When I stand with her in my arms, she wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her to her room, pull back the covers, and lean over to let her drop gently onto her bed, then tuck her in and kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

She’s almost out, her voice a mumble. “Tomorrow.”