Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen


APOV


I couldn’t say this was the first time I’d woken up with a hard-on pressing into me, but it was the first time that the guy I was with had his hand on my back and his face pressed into my hair.  It felt possessive, but not dominating.  Mostly it just felt like that was where his hand ended up and so that’s where he kept it.  It felt like more of that cuddling shit.  And it felt…good.  I felt like I was being held, and I think that’s exactly what this was.  There was safeness here, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to enjoy it or shove away from it.  I could never trust anyone enough to feel safe with them, and doing it with Tyler sort of made me feel like I was letting things spin out of my control.  

But I didn’t shove away from him, either.  

Maybe this was the real thing.  

I had exactly three different sources for information on this shit: Bad experiences from the past that couldn’t even be in the same realm as what I felt waking up and having Tyler’s warmth and safety and everything; Jeremy—who was slowly fading into some part of my childhood that could be called “innocence” even though I don’t think I’d ever been innocent after my mother died; and porn.

Bad experiences included a completely different sort of waking up, and hands that were much more possessive and forceful than the way Tyler’s hand was resting on me. They included mornings where I didn’t remember who I’d fucked, where I’d been, or how I ended up there.  Those mornings were ones I hated to think about.  

Jeremy was something I was slowly leaving behind. He’d been the one thing in my past that I’d been able to fall back on, but I was kid then, and too much had happened to me since then to keep going back to that.  Tyler was slowly showing me just how simple that had been, how harmless it was, and how my idea of that—of what we had—wasn’t really what I thought it was.  Maybe it would have grown into something like this, but it didn’t, and I couldn’t keep dragging it with me.  

Porn was probably the biggest lie that I’d bought completely.  Everyone knew porn was fake, and as a stripper and a whore, I was balls-deep in the fakeness of it all.  I knew how to sell something, how to sell myself, and I thought that was all there was.  I’d sort of been led to believe that really—it wasn’t something I just decided one day.  It’s the only thing that had been real to me.  Sex was fake.  Lives were fake.  People were fake.  Words were fake.  The entire world was completely fucking bogus.  The only truth was just how much of a scam everything was.  Everything and everyone pretended, like the entire fucking world was part of some magic show and I was constantly the one who never saw anything real behind the curtain.  

I felt kind of fucking cheated by that, because that wasn’t true at all.  Sure, it was true for a lot, or even most people, but it wasn’t true for everyone.  

I couldn’t fake things with Tyler—I didn’t want to—because I knew he wasn’t faking anything with me.  

Things were easy with him.  He made it easy to talk to him, to ask for things.  He made me feel comfortable with him, and that rarely happened.  It was the trust thing.  I didn’t trust most people and I couldn’t feel comfortable with them because of it.  Tyler made me feel like things were possible, and I did shit with him that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of trying with other guys because it sent the wrong message, or made them think they were being offered shit they weren’t.  I could tease Tyler and flirt with him and not worry about something being taken the wrong way, or like I was asking for something I wasn’t.  

He made me feel normal—or whatever I thought normal was.  

I would have never tried to pull that shit at the restaurant with anyone else.  I was purposely being flirty and sexy and suggestive, and it was sort of amazing and great that he reacted to me the way he did.  I felt like he wanted me as much as I wanted him.  And I felt…proud.  Proud that I was able to do it—almost like I’d gotten away with something illegal and it had no consequences.  The greatest feeling was knowing that he felt the same things I was.  Maybe I wasn’t so bad at all of this—this relationship stuff.  The best part was, I think this was actually me; it wasn’t Mallory or any of the other random names I used in the past.  It wasn’t a faceless whore who was trying to turn a trick or line up the next in an endless string of fucks.  I wasn’t playing Tyler.  I was teasing him because I never wanted to go to dinner in the first place; I wanted him back in my bed—for me, for us.  

I’ve never been the type of whore who got off on the power I could hold over a guy—mostly because I thought that was bullshit.  I have no idea where movies and shows and shit get the idea that a prostitute has any kind of power.  There were a lot of situations I felt like I’d been lucky to just make it out of.  The fucked up truth is that women are just naturally smaller, and in the larger picture, if a guy wants something most of them can take it with or without your ok.  

Teasing Tyler in the restaurant, though? I liked it.  And I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to or not, but I liked how he reacted to me, that he shifted forward to get my foot closer to him, that his breathing changed and his palms were sweating, that I made him feel like he made me feel all the time—almost desperate.  The way we left the restaurant and the way his hand was glued to mine the whole way literally running back to my apartment—I wasn’t sure what to call my level of happiness.  

In the restaurant and in my bedroom, he was hard for me.  Just me.  And whenever he asked me something, I felt like I could actually give him the answer I wanted.  And I sort of felt like crying because he always asked.  

I couldn’t get his mouth on me fast enough, and even then, he took his time.  I had no idea where he pulled all this fucking patience from, but he always seemed to know just what to do for me, and how to touch me.  His fingers held some sort of magical power, I’m certain, because one minute he’d be tracing my pussy with his fingers and then the next they were inside me and I was fucking coming before I ever knew what hit me.  

And it hadn’t really even started yet.  

When he moved down between my legs, I really don’t know how to describe what I was feeling.  I think until it started, I was…not nervous exactly—I fucking wanted his mouth there—but I was anxious.  He thought I wanted to watch, which was true, but…I don’t really know, I think I wanted to watch his face in case something was wrong.  Or if there was some sort of neon sign that would alert him to the fact that I’d been a fucking whore or something.  It was crazy to think that, but I couldn’t really stop the thoughts.  

This was one of those times that I had a love/hate relationship with Tyler because he was incredibly gentle.  Always.  He used his fingers first before his mouth ever got on me, and he kept his eyes locked on mine like he knew I needed to see the acceptance there.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, honestly.  His tongue was fucking wet, and I’m not sure why that surprised me, but the heat that hit me from his tongue and the wetness of it sent chills all over my body.  I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore as it felt like my entire body tightened with just that first lick.  Every time he pushed his tongue somewhere new, or lick something new, I felt like I couldn’t control the response my body was forcing.  My arms and legs would jerk and I couldn’t tell them to stop, and I couldn’t stop the panting that was coming from my mouth.  

When he got to my clit, it felt like my entire body was shaking, and I was grateful for the hand he was holding me down with because I couldn’t tell my legs or my hips to stop what they were doing because they’ve never done it before.  I couldn’t even describe everything fully.  I felt like I was outside of myself but still feeling it all, and nothing but incredible tingling all the fuck over.  The moans just tumbled out; I couldn’t even stop them, and I really don’t know why I was holding them back.  

It felt amazing.  

When he sucked on my clit, I think my body jolted and I desperately needed something to hold onto.  His hand was there like a fucking lifeline as I came screaming his name.  I didn’t have words for this orgasm because the second I was thrown into that one, his fingers were in me and his mouth was on me, too, and it just started all over again, and it felt like I was burning from the inside out.  I felt completely out of control with the awesomeness of the feeling.  I felt like there was no air in the room at all—like I sucked all of it up.  And this feeling of just…I don’t even know what to call it…loss from everything I’d missed?  Or maybe it was the feeling of finding it?  I have no fucking idea, but I needed him to hold me, and of course he was right there, happy to do it.  I think I was shaking, and he figured out pretty damn quickly when I started crying that this was another first.  

I spent so long feeling nothing; I felt numb all the time.  And mostly, I liked it that way.  I would have rather been numb than constantly fucked over, but feeling that all the time makes feeling something good that much worse because when something good finally hits, it’s like a flood of everything—good and bad—comes at me. Along with all the great feelings, though, along with all the fucking pleasure that Tyler always kept up, I remembered all the fucked up shit that happened to me, all the times that assholes used me or hurt me or left me to whatever was going to happen, and it was hard to focus on just the good shit.  It’s hard to stay in the good moment and not feel like I’ve been shit out the world’s asshole so many times that this can’t be real.  

Something this good, that feels this good, and something that I want really fucking badly just can’t last.  I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted something just for me.  Just because it made me feel good and I liked it.  Not because I needed it or because it was something that I couldn’t go without, but something I could live without because I had before, but I didn’t want to.  

As all of that’s just rolling around up there in my fucked-up head, Tyler’s just there—always—worried and concerned and caring with his gentle fingers and his eyes that I swear can sometimes see right into me.  He always knows what to say, and I’m never wrong with how I feel.  

And then with “Who were you seeing that never got you off?”  “Or never gave you oral?”  “Did you only meet complete creeps?”  I hated that he could do this to me.  That he could look at me and not see the roadmap of my life written all over me.  Or if he did, he didn’t care, and that meant that he was really the wonderful, sweet, gentle guy he showed me.  I didn’t even know if that was something I was allowed to have, because the minute I was wavering and confused and not sure I even wanted everything that he gave me without asking for anything back, he’d follow it up with a “If you don’t want to do it again, that’s ok.  You just have to give me a little direction, then.  Because I’m not sure what you want.  I want to give you want you want.”  

And why did he have to be so selfless and nice?  I didn’t know what to do with nice.  I didn’t know what to do with him.  Why should he be with me when there were tons of women out there who could give him more, who wouldn’t need as much patience and gentleness and understanding?  What had I done to get him?  Was he like my consolation prize for a life of being fucked over?  Was that fair to him?  He still had no real idea what he was signing up for, what he was getting himself deeper into here with me.  

He just needed to shut up…and hold me.  To be that quiet presence who asked no questions and just let me deal with shit.  

He wanted to be here—that was obvious—and he just gotten done telling me that he wanted to give me whatever I wanted.  None of it was an act, and he didn’t expect anything in return.  While those were all ideas that didn’t make a lot of sense to me, this was Tyler.  This was who he was.  He had his own set of flaws, and I’m sure we hadn’t scratched the surface of his own problems, but this was who he really was.  I had to come to some sort of decision with myself that I could have this because I wanted it, and there was nothing to stop me from having it.  No one was standing in our way.  No one was telling us we couldn’t have it or that I couldn’t try to make it work.  I just had to take the chance that it was going to, because that seemed to be the route he was taking.  

Then, as we were eating, he tossed out this question that sort of threw me.  Probably because I’d been thinking sort of the same thing when I’d gone to get our dinner.  If I was going to just trust what we had going here, and I didn’t have anything to hold it up against for comparison, then I was basically in new territory.  I had to just accept that I really had no fucking clue what would happen or how things would go, but I wasn’t sure that was even necessary anymore either.  I thought my life had been pretty cut and dry.  It followed a set of events every day—before I’d given up the hooking—it’d been a routine of hustling.  I had no more control then than I did now, and I probably had even less then because nothing was steady or certain, and at least with Tyler, he was.  Tyler was present constantly.  I could depend on that, I think.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  

So the question was kind of perfect.  If we were doing this, it meant we were…seeing each other, or whatever.  We were really dating.  It wasn’t just some idea anymore; he managed to break me into it.  But I didn’t know if that was what he meant, so I let the question fall back to him.  We did this a lot, asked each other something and then had to answer it first ourselves—we couldn’t hide that way.  

People talk about their hearts or chests swelling with emotion sometimes, and I hadn’t ever understood what the fuck that meant until that moment because that was the proof or confession that I probably needed to hear.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t said he wanted to date before, but saying it meant something else now.  I dunno why; it just did.  I want to be all of them.  In the scope of the boyfriend role.  I almost wanted to giggle at how childish that sounded.  A boyfriend.  This is Tyler, my boyfriend.  Such a silly statement that meant something huge.  

Boyfriend—that’s what this was.  Not my definition from years ago, at all.  I’m not sure why those other guys had held that term for me.  They were nothing like this, and they’d been nothing like Tyler.  Those were never relationships, or they weren’t two-sided, but I hadn’t known anything else at the time.  I really never dated anyone, at all.  

It’s funny how things like that change.  How an entire definition can switch.  I was in a relationship.  I was in a relationship with my boyfriend Tyler.  I sort of wanted to tell someone, ‘Hey—I’m finally kind of normal.  I have my own place, a steady job that pays ok, and I’m seeing a guy named Tyler.  What’s he like?  He’s really fucking attractive and smart and patient and the gentlest guy I’ve ever met.  He never expects things I can’t give him and he makes me feel proud about things that other people don’t notice.  I think I’d like to make him proud.  Oh, and he’s kind of selfless sex-god.  My own personal selfless sex-god.’  

I felt kind of horrible just before we were going to go to sleep and I realized that, yet again, he’d gotten me off and was being completely selfless with his own orgasm.  I think he turned it down when I asked because of my meltdown after he’d gone down on me.  But it wasn’t really fair for him to go without just because I was an emotional basket case when he was being decent.  He did a lot for me without expectation of anything.  Not just sexually, but in general.  

His body shifted in sleep and his cheek nuzzled into my hair in way that made me feel warm and protected.  The shift pushed his hard-on into my thigh more, and I decided I really needed to do something about that.  He totally deserved it.  

I carefully eased out of his grip, smirking at the way he snuffled like he was unhappy with my movement, but he didn’t wake up.  I debated whether or not to sneak attack him under the covers or peel them back, and decided a sneak attack was…sneakier.  And he would probably sleep longer and wake up to a better surprise.  If he was a light sleeper, moving the covers back could ruin the entire thing.  

It occurred to me that this was probably the first sneak attack blowjob that I’d ever done.  It was also probably going to be the first blowjob I was going to enjoy.  I never had this reaction before.  Mostly, blowjobs were just that: a job.  It wasn’t something I was enthusiastic about; it was just a means to an end and it was a quicker buck than a total fuck.  I always made sure they got what they paid for, but I also knew just how to bring a guy off and sort of prided myself on reading them before we started and knowing just how to do it to get them off as quickly as possible.  

I didn’t want to do that with Tyler; this wasn’t just a means to an end anymore.  I wanted to blow him.  

Maneuvering under the covers was more of a chore than I imagined because I had to fight with the damn sheet and blanket and still wind up between his legs and keep the touching to a minimum so he didn’t notice.  I found myself half giggling by the time I was actually in a position to start.  That was a new element to all of this, too: this was actually fun.  Fun and sex never went together before.  

I couldn’t resist running my fingers up his thighs; I have no idea why.  I think because I really liked his body and this idea of gentleness and touching was something I found I really enjoyed and had always been missing.  I liked touching him.  I liked the differences between his body and mine—that his thighs were hard and strong and that the hair there tickled when I moved my hands over it.  His cock was half-hard, the head just pushing out from beneath the foreskin.  I decided to take him in my mouth first and wait until he was more awake to use my hands.  

I took him in slowly, letting my saliva coat his cock as I sucked him gently.  His legs shifted, but he was still asleep, and let out low, drowsy moan as I felt him start to lengthen in my mouth.  As the moans got louder, I started massaging his shaft with my tongue, humming as I backed my way off.  

His hips pushed up the same second he mumbled, “Jesus fucking…” in this completely fucking sexy, sleepy voice.  My name tumbled out next, all lost on a groan, and I didn’t think I ever heard it quite that way while doing this.  I actually couldn’t remember anyone saying my real name during a blowjob.  

I hummed around his cock again and the covers started to move, shoved back until my eyes locked on his the same second I started to circle my tongue under his foreskin, all around the head of his cock.  

“Oh fuck.”

That was enough to make me move my hands to grip him, and I will admit, I’m sure my look when our eyes met was appropriately wicked and totally matched me smiling around his cock.  

I pulled off long enough to throw out, “Good morning” while smiling at him, and then I dove back down, one hand squeezing the base of his cock while the other rolled his balls between my fingers, my mouth descending until he was resting at the back of my throat.  

His eyes slammed shut when I swallowed, and his whole body went tense, and I watched as the orgasm became this full-body experience.  His cock surged in my mouth and I started swallowing him down as muscles in his body twitched.  He started letting out this incredibly sexy series of grunts as his cock spilled more come in my mouth, and I was sort of surprised that I had no thought to doing anything but swallowing him.  Porn-style hooker blowjobs in general did not include swallowing.  In fact, I used to make guys pay extra for that.  Swallowing random dude’s load was not on the menu, and most got off more by watching it land on my face or my tits.  Unless they asked for it specifically, my mouth wasn’t anywhere near the head of their cock when they came.  I didn’t want Tyler’s cock to be anywhere but my mouth when he came. I wouldn’t tell him this because it sounded completely fucking lame, but he looked incredibly beautiful, if guys could look beautiful while mid-orgasm.  

I kept swallowing until he was done and all these little aftershocks hit.  He was breathing hard and his eyes were open again, just watching me, and I had no idea what he was thinking.  I eased back off of his cock and the minute my mouth was gone he was moving.  

I squealed when I was suddenly jerked onto my back and he was between my legs, and for a split second I thought we were going to have sex.  I thought he was just going to push inside, and part of me really wanted him to.  Instead, his mouth crashed into mine and his tongue shoved into my mouth as his fingers were pushing inside my wetness, thumb rolling over my clit, and within the span of eight minutes tops, we both came.   

His breathing hadn’t slowed and his mouth had completely swallowed my own orgasm.  I reached for him and his cock was still hard, or hard again, and he moved over me enough that I could jerk him while our tongues kept sliding along each other.  I can’t say I was surprised to find that he didn’t mind kissing me after I’d blown him, but that was just another way he was different from most guys I encountered.  Part of it was probably the simple fact that I was a whore, but kissing wasn’t high on the list for most tricks.  And if it was, it wasn’t after a blowjob, no matter if they came in my mouth or not.  

I found it incredibly adorable that he was having trouble focusing on the kissing the longer his cock was in my hand.  He wound up leaning over me, his forehead pressed against mine as I tugged another orgasm from him and he came all over my stomach.  

It wasn’t exactly what I had planned when I decided to wake him with the blowjob, but I hadn’t thought I’d be getting an early morning orgasm out of it either, so I was pretty fucking happy with the way it turned out.  He sort of collapsed next to me on the bed with one hand spread over my stomach, right in the middle of all of his come.  I could not begin to describe how fucking sexy I found that.  It was another one of those possessive things while not being at all dominating.  I think it was just because he wanted to, and I loved that.  

His face was turned toward me, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was still a little fast.  His face looked incredibly relaxed and relieved, and I was so fucking pleased with myself that I’d been the one who made him that way.  This was so…satisfying.  And not just because I got off myself.  

It was all so different and wonderfully amazing at the same time.  

And because he did things just because he wanted to, I didn’t stop myself from running my fingers through his hair and resting my hand on top of his head.  His eyes opened slowly and his smile was just as slow and easy.  

“That was one helluva wake-up call,” he said, and his voice was still all low and growly and sexy and I just wanted to make him come again, but I forced myself not to.  

I smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”   

“I loved it.”

My smile got wider.  

He watched me for a minute.  “You don’t have to, you know.  I don’t expect that.”

I knew he’d say that.  I nodded, my fingers still combing through his hair.  “I know.  I wanted to.  I liked doing it to you.  That’s probably the first time I actually liked giving someone a blowjob.”

He smirked. “Well, good, then.”  His eyes closed again. “You’re really, really, really good at it.”

I snorted.  “Well, that might be because you’ve been hard since last night and shot off really quickly.”  I giggled.

His eyes opened again. “Are you questioning my stamina?”

I really could not stop smiling.  “No.  Not really.”

“Because you came pretty fucking quickly yourself.  Like, less than a minute after my fingers were in you.”

I nodded, smirking. “You were counting?”  But I gave in. “Touché.”

“I didn’t have time to count,” he teased.  “Maybe we’re just really good at getting each other off,” he suggested.

“That could be.” I nodded.  

He closed his eyes again and his breathing evened out.  I hadn’t stopped messing around with his hair as I leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, and then felt kind of bad that I kept forcing him to open his eyes.  He smiled at me.  “I’m…” his brow furrowed for a second “…I don’t want to sound condescending…”

I raised my eyebrows in answer.  “What?”

“I’m glad you’re getting more comfortable with the…I dunno, random affection shit.  I like it.  I like when you touch me like this.”

I nodded. “I like it, too.  You’re easy to get comfortable with.”

“Thanks.”  He said that so happily.  

“You hungry?  You wanna take a shower?”

He shook his head adorably against the comforter.  “No, I wanna nap here with you and then we can do all that shit.  I can’t just get up and start shit after all that.  I need respite or something.”

I giggled, “Ok.”

He was silent for a few minutes.  “Although, food might help recharge.”

I snorted.  “Would you like me to get you some food?”

“What kind of food would you be getting, if I was interested?”

“I can make whatever you want.  Eggs, pancakes…we might have some waffles.  Those would be toaster, not from scratch.”

He chuckled.  “What do you feel like?”

“I could go eggs.  Or pancakes.  I think we might have bacon.”

“Ohhhh, bacon.”

I laughed.  “Ok, bacon.  Do you want eggs and bacon, then, or pancakes and bacon?”

“Is it illegal to have bacon, eggs, and pancakes?”

“You’re kinda pushing your luck.”

“But you like making me stuff to eat, so…I’d be happy to eat it.”

Who was I kidding?  I gave in.  “Ok.”

He didn’t open his eyes this time, but he smiled.  “Score.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

He mumbled a reply back to me, but I think he was already dozing.  I looked around the floor for his tee shirt but couldn’t find it, instead grabbing his flannel and adding a pair of underwear in case Jordan was up this early.  I wondered if he’d mind if I sorta…borrowed this shirt?  Borrowed, as in kept it.  I wondered if he’d notice if it was just missing.  Probably, since he’d only worn that and the tee shirt.  Maybe I could swipe it later.  Or he could just wear the tee shirt today. 

I walked out to the kitchen and got everything out, smirking at how easily I caved to making him whatever he wanted.  I got the pancake batter mixed and had just poured the first pancake in the skillet when hands slid around my waist.  I didn’t exactly react well.  In fact, I kinda whacked him in the head with the spatula. 

He backed up a step and winced, but I couldn’t exactly do a lot of damage with a spatula. 

I chucked it on the counter. “Oh fuck, Tyler.  I’m so sorry.”

He waved at me, rubbing at the top of his head.  “No, it’s ok.  I should have made some noise.”
 
I pulled him closer to me and inspected the top of his head, but if there was a mark I couldn’t see it.  I kept my hands on his face, and while he still had his head down, I pressed a kiss into his hair.  I sighed and backed up, letting go of his head.  I turned back to the stove and angrily flipped the pancake in the skillet.  It’d been on the first side too long and now it was burned.  That was fitting.  I chucked the burnt pancake harshly in the trash and slammed the skillet back on the burner, pouring another scoop of batter in there, determined not to ruin this one like I just ruined the last moment there. 

I was so pissed off at myself.  I mean, even when I thought I was getting somewhat normal I just couldn’t make it last.  I was such a fucking freak.  I couldn’t even manage to be a normal girl for an hour at a time.  He was probably wondering what the fuck I’d hit him with next.  He hadn’t said anything else, and I really didn’t want to turn again to look at him.  I didn’t want to see the look in his eyes; the one that people looked at me all the time with.  The one that was half-pity and half something else, like disgust, like I was a fucking bug, or I was so fucked up I wasn’t worth the disgust so they just felt sorry for me.  Tyler had never looked at me like that yet, and I really didn’t want to see it now, so I just stood there with my back to him, flipping the fucking pancake and kind of wanting to cry. 

He’d probably give up soon and just take off or something.  I was so fucking stupid.  How did I ever think this was going to work?  How did I ever think that I could be something I wasn’t?  I wasn’t ever going to be normal, and he somehow made me think it was possible.  I was probably very disappointing when he put so much…effort into this and it was all for fucking nothing. 

I heard him shift and move, but I didn’t want to watch him leave any more than I wanted to see his face.  And I wouldn’t ask him to stay.  I wouldn’t beg.  That was something I would never do again.

Hands landed on my hips and I tensed all over.  I wasn’t expecting it again, but I didn’t want to lash out like last time.  Maybe he was nice enough to try to let me down easy before he told me I was a freak with violent reactions.  It’d just been instinct.  I would have never hit Tyler like that otherwise.  I just didn’t think, or I’d been too fucking happy thinking and wasn’t as aware as I should have been.  He made me sloppy.  Defense is always the first feeling—always protect yourself.  That’s was the only way I made it this long.  Behind me like that had just made it worse, like coming at me from a blind spot.  It made me feel weak, and powerless.  Two other things I wouldn’t be again.

I sort of just stood there, completely still and frozen and on edge.  I wasn’t paying attention to the pancake either, and it was burning in the pan.  I still couldn’t make myself move. 

His right hand moved from my waist and trailed down to the spatula hanging in my hand.  He pried it out of my grip, which was just as tense as the rest of me, like it was a real goddamn weapon or something, and for a second I had a flashback of a disgusting kitchen on a hot, sticky night in NOLA, and Teddy standing there, speed bumps up and down both arms, pipe in one hand as his other fist clenched tight in anger.  

Tyler wouldn’t.  No.  He wouldn’t.  He wasn’t like that at all.  Instead, I watched like I was standing away from us as he leaned over me and scooped the pancake from the skillet, laying it down on the counter.  

His lack of talking was making it worse; it was making me nervous on top of tense.  He was talker; we always talked about shit.  Once the pancake was safe from burning, the hand went back to my hip and he pulled me so my back was pressed against his chest.  

“Relax,” he said, quiet and right next to my ear.  His hands flexed on my hips. “Relax,” he said again.  

And then he said nothing else.  Just stood there with me in front of the fucking stove that wasn’t even cooking anything at the moment, and it felt like the longer he stood behind me like that, just a warm, solid body, the more tension that just slowly leaked away.  Like the contact from him was just eating it up.  

“Deep breath.”

I followed his direction because I didn’t know what the fuck else to do and everything else seemed to be helping.  I sorta wanted to just melt into him and let him hold me up, but I didn’t.  

Once I was mostly relaxed again, he squeezed my hips gently.  “Ok, so I’m gonna go back to the bedroom, and then I’m gonna come out and make some noise, and we’re gonna try this over.  Ok?  So you pour another pancake and forget the last five minutes ever happened.”

And then he was gone—the warmth, the quiet breathing, the quiet talking, gone.  But gone to the fucking bedroom and not out the door.  

And…what?  

Just like that?  No bailing?  No anger?  No thoughts spiraling out of control like I ruined everything?  

I poured another pancake, but only because I didn’t know what the fuck else to do.  I wasn’t going to argue with him if he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, but it just felt like I was always so close to what I wanted and then it blew up.  

But he was still here.  

The toilet flushed down the hall and the door squeaked open, and I had to smile because… I just did.  

“Hey,” he said before he slid back into his position behind me.  His hands landed on my hips and pushed forward to rest on my stomach, his chin resting on my shoulder for a second before his lips pressed a kiss into my neck.  “This shirt looks even better on you than the tee shirt…which I can’t find.”

I snorted.  “I couldn’t find it, either.  That’s why I grabbed this.”  I craned my neck to look at him.  “You’re not wearing a shirt.”  Obviously.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ve stolen one and we’ve lost the other.  I wasn’t going to put on one of yours.”

I shook my head. “No, I like it.  I like it a lot.”  I hadn’t even noticed in my temporary insanity.  

“What’cha making?”

I craned back to look at him again. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, which made it feel like we both shrugged because he was sort of glued to me.  I didn’t mind that either, and when I wasn’t startled into violence, it was really nice.  

“I think you know what I’m making.  And you’re really fucking weird.”  I smiled at him, though.  

He squeezed me and simply raised an eyebrow, smirking.

I sighed, nodding and looking back at the pan with the pancake in it.  At least I hadn’t burned this one yet.  “I know.  I’m sorry, it was just reflex.  I’m really sorry.”

“Forget about it.  It’s not like you could kill me with a pancake flipper.”

“A pancake flipper?  You mean the spatula?”

“That’s not a spatula, it’s a pancake flipper.  Spatulas are used for scraping out the brownie mix from the bowl.  That’s a flipper.”

“Right.”  I shook my head.  

I poured another cup of mix into the pan and noticed his hands on me had moved a little lower and his fingers were linked together now, like he wasn’t planning on moving anywhere soon.  His mouth pressed into my neck again and then trailed down my shoulder and back up.  It was extremely difficult to focus on the pancake, but I managed to turn it before he switched to the other side and did the same thing.  I let my head roll back into his chest, offering him more of my neck, and he didn’t need to be asked twice.  Poor pancake almost became another casualty.  

He hummed over my throat.  “Seriously, you in this shirt is sexy.”

“Good.  I might keep it.”

“It’s yours.”

I finally had to shove my elbow back into him to get him to stop when he started rubbing his stubble into my skin.  Food would be over and breakfast would be completely useless if he kept that shit up.  It was becoming a huge turn-on and I think he knew it.  “Behave.”

“I really don’t want to.”

Hey, at least he was honest.  

He sighed, back to just holding me.  “Can I help?”

“How do you want your eggs?”

“I don’t care.”

“Scrambled is easy.  Can you scramble eggs?”

“Probably.”

I laughed.  “Get the eggs from the fridge.”

Watching him attempt to beat eggs was hilarious.  It wasn’t exactly that he wasn’t doing the job, it was just how he was doing it.  I didn’t have a whisk and realized with a guy that was not a good thing to be missing.  I was perfectly capable of scrambling them with a fork, but Tyler sort of looked like he was really intensely stirring something.  He just didn’t get the whole beating idea.  

There was a joke there—a sick one—and one that seemed horribly sad to me now, but I tried not to stay in that kind of thinking.

He “helped” some more by providing moral support behind me again for the rest of the meal prep, and I found I loved that kind of “help”.  I tried to explain to him in more detail why I’d reacted the way I did, but I should have known already that he figured out enough.  He called this intimacy, closeness—familiar—and that we had both physical and emotional.  Physical I got; that was easy.  Emotional wasn’t as easy for me to understand, but when he gave me examples of it, then I thought I understood.  

I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d ever had intimacy with.  Other people to a point, but never to any level like this.  

“Or, think of it like this: it’s the difference between fucking and warm and fuzziness.”

I burst out laughing and he chuckled in my ear.  

“Well, well.  Isn’t this cozy?”  

I think in general, Jordan had stopped believing I was telling the truth when I kept insisting that Tyler and I were not fucking.  We weren’t exactly just holding hands, either, but that was none of her business.  I also knew she was just trying to protect me, or saw Tyler as some kind of threat to me, but she really needed to stop this whole bitch act.  I thought it was a small victory that I didn’t tense up when I heard her voice.  I wasn’t comfortable with her seeing shit between us; I wasn’t sure why.  I think because I wanted something that was just my own, and because she’d seen so much of…everything in Vegas.  And because every night I worked, my entire life felt like it was visible onstage with me sometimes, and I liked that Tyler wasn’t a part of that.  And because sometimes I think she thought she needed to be my parent instead of my friend, but I lost my parents before I’d ever really had them.  They weren’t something that could be replaced, and it was sort of insulting to me when she tried.  

This was that tone.  The I know better than you; I know better for you one.  

I sighed, leaning back into Tyler, who hadn’t made any movement from where he was.  This day had already had a few ups and downs and I didn’t want Jordan to become another one.  She seemed ok with all of this when Tyler and I were in the sort of awkward pre-dating phase—she’d been happy that I wanted to actually go out with a guy, that I could—but somewhere along the line she took this bitter turn or something, like I wasn’t capable of deciding who was good for me and who wasn’t.  Why she thought Tyler wasn’t a positive influence, I didn’t really know, but I really had to find out soon.  

“Morning, Jordan,” I said instead—rather cheery, too, I thought. 

She didn’t respond.  Instead, she walked over to the coffee pot and started to make some. 

“How ya doin’, Jordan?” Tyler offered, and I thought that was pretty big of him, given that she was normally a complete bitch to him. 

She scoffed, “How’re you?  Get what you came for?”

“Jordan,” I started, warning.

“No,” she said back, “this is bullshit.  You lie to me all the time now because of him.”

“I haven’t lied to you about anything.”  I was impressed with my level of calm.

She gestured to us. “I think the fact that he’s standing in my fucking kitchen with nothing but his fucking underwear on, and your shirt looks about three sizes too big, is enough evidence, don’t’cha think?”

“Why are you so hung up about our sex life?” Tyler asked.

Fair question when he didn’t know everything about my past.

“She doesn’t have to clear things with you,” Tyler added.  “This is none of your business.”

Jordan pointed at me. “She is my business.  Who the fuck are you?”

Tyler was going to keep going, and Jordan wouldn’t back down from a fight. 

“Jordan, stop it,” I said.  “We’ll talk later, ok?”

Jordan was still pissed off, but she bit her tongue.  She slammed the pot back in the coffeemaker and stomped off down the hall, slamming her door shut for good measure. 

“Maybe I should have looked harder for my tee shirt,” Tyler said quietly.

I shook my head. “I don’t think it would have mattered.  She was gonna be pissed about it no matter what, because she thinks she knows shit she doesn’t.  Ignore her.  I want to have a good day.”

“Why is she pissed at all?  What did I do?”

I sighed. “You didn’t do anything.  I think she’s just being over-protective or something.  She practically pushed me out the door the night of our first date because I was freaking out.”

“You were freaking out?” he asked, amused, his fingers squeezing me.

Not exactly the part I wanted him to pick out of that sentence.  “Well, yeah.  I didn’t date; I didn’t know what I was doing.  And I did a really shit job with that first date.”

He chuckled. “It was slightly…awkward.  It was only at the beginning.  That’s always awkward.”

“I think you’re being nice because I was a disaster, but thanks.”  I shrugged.

“Well, she obviously hasn’t met me because I’m unfailingly persistent.”

I chuckled, leaning back into him. “You are.”








One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) |   Two   |  Three  |  Four  |  Five  |  Six  |  Seven  |  Eight  |  Nine  |  Ten  |  Eleven  |  Twelve  |  Thirteen  |  Fourteen  |  Fifteen  |  Sixteen  |  Seventeen  |  Eighteen  |