Taking Things Deeper

 

“Are you guys having a bachelor party tomorrow night after the rehearsal dinner?"

"Don't worry, it'll be tame."

Juliette’s nod is decisive. "Good. I'll hold you to that. Because, remember that you, Tony, Jack, and the dads have an appointment at the spa at noon on Saturday. They'll feed you lunch and clean you all up for the ceremony."

That startles me. "Clean us up?"

"Oh, I've planned such a day of decadence for you men. First, you'll be picked up at your houses in limos, which will also take you to the cathedral and reception, and bring you back home afterward. You won't need your cars all day.”

No cars? Trapped with no means of get-away? Hmm…

"At the spa you're being treated to massages, manicures, pedicures, facials, teeth-whitening, waxing if any of you want or need it, hair and beard maintenance, pomade and perfume, the works!”

Are you fucking kidding me? And you expect Jack to sit for this? Ha.

"Your formal wear is being delivered there, too, so they can help you dress and make sure that everything is where it's supposed to be, the way it was designed to be, nothing missing, and that you're ready—on time—for pictures and festivities."

Fuuuck. "You girls will be doing the same, I take it?"

"Yes, we just have to start earlier."

I smirk and fiddle with a tress of hair that curls possessively around my finger. "Poor you. You still have the rings?"

"Elizabeth will give them to you at the cathedral."

Her nose is in kissing distance and my lips take advantage. "I can't wait to see you coming up the aisle."

"To the beautiful men waiting for us at the altar."

I kiss her lips this time. "Are we done watching Ivanhoe?"

"DePaul! After you badgered and even punished me for not watching a movie with you just a couple of days ago?"

My nose searches for purchase on her slim neck, lips following along. “You’re right, I did do that.” I pull back to peer into her eyes. “Tell you what. Saturday night, after the reception, let's come home and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, making love and watching movies."

Her hands cradle my face. "And cooking? We’re good together in the kitchen."

"Among other places. And cooking. Absolutely."

She kisses me. "Sounds like a plan. You remember Sunday nights I have dinner with my neighbors, though."

Where she's going with this information? Am I about to be kicked to the curb again this Sunday night?

"I guess, since we're talking about having a relationship," she emphasizes the word and then smiles as though pleased with herself, "I should invite you to join us. Would you like to meet my neighbors and have dinner with them Sunday night?"

My mouth hikes up on one side and my thumb slides down the side of her cheek. It’s soft and smooth, and my fingertip tingles, hungry for more. "Very much, thank you."

"My pleasure." She hesitates. "Leo?"

"Mm-hmm?"

She turns away, gazing in the vicinity of the TV. "Are you going to watch porn at the bachelor party?"

I pull my brows down low, hoping it projects horror at the suggestion. "Definitely not."

"Have lap dances or strippers or…?"

Now I struggle not to laugh out loud. "No."

"Okay." She sighs and her lips curl up.

What’s going on here? "Dare I hope—is that jealousy, Princess?"

She huffs.

I arch a brow.

She shrugs.

My chest expands along with my smile. "Do you know how that makes me feel?"

I cup her chin to tilt her head. She looks up at me and I want to swim in the clear gray-green ocean of her beautiful eyes as she says, "Cherished?"

My jaw drops a little, before I snap it back shut. "The very word."

I drag her onto my lap for some serious kissing.

 

*****

 

"I'd like to adjourn to the bedroom now, please."

Leo stops kissing me and kneading my breast to help me climb off his lap. "Who's in charge tonight?" We head to the stairs, holding hands.

"Either of us," I say, and stop on the landing that's halfway to the floor above. "Does it bother you when I'm in control?"

"Not in theory." We continue climbing.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't have any trouble switching back and forth with the control. It doesn't affect my male ego, and I don't have a deep-seated need always to call the shots in the bedroom."

"But—"

"To put it bluntly, I like to feel I'm more than a stiff cock."

That is blunt. But I see his point. I did use his body, pure and simple, last night. I left his dick bruised. And I never let him touch me. In fact, if memory serves, I didn't even ask him before I just shoved him down on the bed and took him. There was nothing mutual about it.

"I basically raped you last night."

He chuckles. "Not true. Nothing was without my consent. And if I had told you to stop, you would have. That's not rape. To be clear, I'm not complaining about the sex. And I actually understood where you were coming from last night, so it was okay. We can do it all again tonight, if you want. It would be fun to have you actually pay attention to me while you give me all that attention."

I'd treated him like a sex object for my needs alone. "And the first night, too."

"Again, that was different. I was busy finding out about your sexuality. And I was nearly cross-eyed from wanting to get you under me."

"And yet you couldn't support just letting us be about sex."

"Nope. Not even a little. I was willing to try, for your sake. Maybe if I were still in college, or even in my 20s. But I'm in a different stage of life. And whenever I've dated, at any age, it's never been from the perspective of a player. I'm a romantic at heart, remember. I want to feel close to my woman, part of a unit. I actually like candlelight and soulful glances and long walks on the beach holding hands."

"Are you sure you're a guy?" I snark.

He gives me a half-lidded look. "Enough of one to remind you of it."

He cups my pelvis and gives my clit a quick hard rub with the heel of his hand. I whimper when he takes his hand away and continues speaking.

"My parents—fading hair, not as strong as they used to be, talking smack with their sons—they look so content with each other. They’re heading into their happily ever after, and I envy them. I want that, too. Sex—even great sex like I think you and I have—will only get me so far toward that dream."

In the guest bedroom, we strip out of our clothes as Leo talks. I crawl across the bed, lie down, and hold out my arms to him. He falls into them and holds me close, careful to keep us on our sides, so as not to overwhelm me. It makes me hug him even harder.

"Don't you want a dream like that, too, Juliette?"

"Yes, Leo, part of me likes that dream very much. So much it frightens me. You know I tried being part of a unit before, and it didn't turn out well."

He strokes my hair, one of his favorite things to do. I enjoy feeling his hand cup the back of my head and then skim down my hair to my hips. I even enjoy it when he takes one of my tresses and uses it like a paint brush on my breasts as he talks to me, like he's doing now.

"There are several differences between then and now. For instance, at age twenty-something, don't you feel better equipped?"

"If you had asked me that a week ago, I'd have said no. But that was before you and Cleo got your hooks into me. Now I'd have to say I'm not sure. I'm not convinced that I'm any better equipped for a romantic relationship. I'm thirty, by the way. How old are you?"

"Thirty-three. You are better equipped, sweetheart. You have so many more options now than you had all those years ago. You have the ability to control much more around you than you could back then. You have nearly twice the life experience to draw upon. It's a brave new world for you." His smile is gentle and encouraging. "We're not kids anymore. We're used to analyzing situations and making rapid-fire decisions."

That’s certainly true. Everything he says makes sense. I'm considering my next move when he breaks into poetry.

 

Come live with me and be my love

And we will all the pleasures prove

That hills and valleys, dale and field,

And all the craggy mountains yield.

 

 I giggle.

Leo’s eyes pop wide and his mouth forms a hard O. "You're laughing at Marlowe? At Christopher Marlowe. Shakespeare's rival, Kit Marlowe."

I shake my head, eyes wide, stifling more giggles. "We live on the beach."

Leo snorts and covers his face with his hands. "Arguably one of the most famous pieces of love poetry ever written, and you quibble over the geography. Woman, I'm wounded."

I reach for him again. "Show me your wounds, my romantic knight, and I will take care of each and every one."

He pulls us crosswise on the bed, my head falling back, nearly off the mattress. His left arm is under my neck, providing support. The kiss he gives me is so tender, tears wet my lids and threaten to seep out. He rolls his body over me, parting my legs with his thigh, and after a quick test of my readiness, feeds himself into my opening, sliding in deep. Everything inside me relaxes and rolls over from the luscious feeling of Leo inside me, filling me, slowly stroking in and out of me.

He watches closely as he makes love to me. I understand now why he positioned us with my head hanging partially off the bed. I am not completely cocooned, and I can turn my head to the right to see out the window if I need to. And he gets to lie on top of me. Another new missionary position for us to try, tailored to my special needs. Like Cleo said—actions demonstrating care for my emotional safety.

I lean up and take his mouth with mine. I need to feel his lips on mine, taste him, connect with him in this way as he connects us elsewhere. My legs wrap around his hips so I have leverage to meet him at the top of his slow slides. He groans and tunnels deeper, using his arm under my neck to leverage the extra power he needs to get that far inside me.

Somehow he keeps us from pitching onto the floor in spite of the intensity of our coupling, one hand on my hip helping to hold us in place. The sound of our bodies slapping against each other and the feel of his balls against my bottom add to the eroticism, making me tighten around him like a wet fist. Leo hisses with an indrawn breath and tells me, in dirty words that excite me, how good I feel around his rigid cock. I reply, not nearly as fluently, telling him how I feel him thickening, filling me up even more, and I beg him to keep pounding me, stretching my sex to bursting.

I clamor toward climax, and for the first time in my life, I'm not going to need extra stimulation to reach orgasm. Leo's thrusts turn erratic as he gets close. I wrap my arms tight around him, holding him deep inside me, and then I'm falling, spasming on the column of flesh he has buried inside my body. Before my convulsions finish, I'm scorched with his molten heat, jetting in rhythmic eruptions, washing me with his passion. His heart races against mine.

He starts to free me, but I hold onto his torso and tighten my legs around his hips. "Don't," I say. "Not yet. Stay with me a little." He searches my eyes, then kisses the shoulder that's on the side away from the window, giving me unfettered access to it, even in the dark.

Amazingly, I don't need it as urgently as before. I'm suddenly so in love with the feel of this man's body on top of me. He's still hard enough that I can squeeze my muscles and caress him, and feel him twitch back in response. I realize the sex act is evolving for me. It's a new and different type of communication between two people. Maybe a more organic way of communicating than with words. Communication so intimate that words might actually diminish its message.

What does this mean?