I reach my hand down toward his knees, and he takes it, moving it to my center.
“Touch yourself,” he says. “Make yourself come on my cock.”
I can barely make my muscles obey my commands, but I do as he says, rubbing my fingers back and forth and then in a circle around my clit. Deklan pulls back and then slams into me.
“Ahh!”
“Shush!” He smacks my ass but only lightly. It surprises me but doesn’t hurt. “Play with that pussy. I want to feel you tighten up around me.”
He pulls back and slams home again and again. I cry out with each deep thrust, matching the furiousness of his movements with my fingers until the tidal wave builds, crests, and crashes all around me.
“Sweet Jesus, yes…” Deklan moans as I fall apart from the inside out. My muscles give up on me, and Deklan has to hold my hips to keep me upright as he leans over, grabs my arms tightly, and starts pounding quickly. “Oh, God! Kera! Kera!”
With a long groan, Deklan thrusts hard and holds himself against me as I feel warmth spread deep inside. He keeps himself there for a few seconds before he collapses on my back and rolls us both to our sides.
As we fall against the bed, he slips out of me with another grunt and then places a hand against my stomach, pressing my body to his. I curl up with my back to his chest, thoughts of dinner completely gone from my head. He wraps both arms around me and kisses my shoulder as he runs his thumb back and forth across my wrist.
“If I’m going to get that every time you travel,” I say, “you should travel more often.”
“You can have that every day when I’m here, as far as I’m concerned. Three times on the weekends.”
“I’m already sore.”
“Good.”
I snicker and snuggle closer, suddenly exhausted.
The next morning, Deklan is up early. He’s showered and dressed before I even awaken. I roll over and place my feet on the floor with a grunt. My body resists every movement as I force myself to stand.
He’s definitely left me sore. When I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I see bruises on my arms and legs. I don’t remember him holding me that tightly at the time, but I was rather caught up in it all. I’ll definitely be thinking about him every time I take a step today, which was certainly his intention. I can tell by the smirk on his face when he sees me waddle from the bathroom to the kitchen.
“Coffee?” Deklan holds out a cup.
“Yes, please.” I take the steaming cup and walk over to the couch.
Deklan butters his toast and wolfs it down as he pokes around in the suitcase by his feet. He must have packed before I woke up.
“Are you flying or driving?” I ask.
“Driving,” he says, “but not my car. I’ll leave you the keys in case you need to go somewhere.”
“Who’s going with you?”
Deklan’s only answer is a quick glance and a raised eyebrow. I give up on the questions and just watch him finish shoving things into the suitcase and draining his coffee cup.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Deklan says. “I feel guilty enough as it is.”
“Sorry.” I’m pouty. I don’t want to be alone on my birthday, and it makes me feel like a petulant child to be mad at Dek about it. I take a deep breath and force myself to smile. “What if I want to talk to you?”
“Emergencies, babe.” Deklan hauls the suitcase to the door and then walks over to me. He kneels in front of the couch and takes my face in his hands. “I’ll be working. Text if you really need something. Call if there’s an emergency.”
“An emergency, like I’m horny and I need birthday phone sex?”
“Wish I could.” Deklan grins at me as he shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry I’m leaving right before your birthday.”
“It’s all right.” I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on my toes to reach him better. “It’s my own fault for not telling you when it is. Um, speaking of such, when is your birthday?”
“Christmas Eve.” Deklan gives me a half smile. “I always ended up with combined birthday/Christmas presents as a kid. It sucked.”
“I suppose it did.” I chuckle and hug him tightly.
Deklan leans back, stares into my eyes for a moment, and then presses his mouth to mine. I try to hold on, but he breaks the kiss and smiles down at me as he stands. A moment later, he’s out the door and gone.
My stomach sinks moments after he’s left. Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday, and I have no plans at all. I could waste some time taking a shower, but at the moment, I still smell like Deklan, and I don’t want to wash him off of me just yet. I stare into my cup of coffee, now gone cold, and sigh.
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you,” I say out loud.
Though I don’t have to work today, I decide to take a little walk to the coffee shop instead of warming my existing coffee in the microwave. It would be nice to talk to Kathy for a bit. The weather is finally turning warm, so I leave my jacket behind. The sun is bright, and I squint as I let it warm my face. It mellows my foul mood a bit but not enough.
As soon as I get down the street and turn my phone on, I already have a voicemail from Kathy telling me to call her immediately or face the gravest of punishments. I snicker as I find her contact info and press the call button.
“Yo, bitch!” she screams into the phone as soon as she answers. “I sure hope you don’t have any plans for the day!”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in the airport, and I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Whaa?” I put my hand over my mouth, realizing I’d picked up one of Terry’s expressions. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a nursing conference Monday and Tuesday, and it’s just a half hour from you. I’m coming early to spend the weekend!”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No shitting,” Kathy says. “Well, probably some shitting—I’m human last time I checked. Also some drinking, which can lead to shitting…”
I laugh loudly, my mood instantly lifted.
Deklan is going to be gone for two days, so the timing is perfect. I mean, what the hell else am I going to do around the apartment?
“Are you going to stay with me?”
“The clinic is putting me up at a hotel,” Kathy says. “I figured you could stay with me! That way we can be plastered and hung over together.”
“What time does your flight land?”
“Ten thirty,” Kathy says, “but there is all that taxiing around on the runways, collecting baggage and crap. There’s an Asian fusion sort of place about a half mile from the airport. It’ll be faster for me to just take a cab and meet you there for lunch about 11:30.”
“That works perfectly! I can’t wait!”
I feel a bit like jumping up and down as I forget all about going to the coffee shop, turn on my heel, and practically run back to the apartment. Once inside, I race to the bathroom and get myself a shower. I feel a little sad that I won’t smell like Deklan the whole time he’s gone, but it’s probably not a scent Kathy would appreciate as much as I do. I scrub down and gather up my overnight bag.
It’s way too early to go, but I have nothing else to do, so I decide to head to the restaurant now. I grab the keys Deklan left on the counter and head to the parking garage. I’ve only driven Deklan’s car once, but it’s easy to drive. I just have to be careful not to speed.
I jump in the car and make my way to the fusion place. They have a coffee bar and a bunch of noodle dishes, including noodles wrapped in a tortilla. There’s a hostess near the door, but instead of leading me to one of the empty tables, she just hands me a menu.
“When you’ve made your selection, you can order right over there!” She points to a row of cash registers.
Apparently, I need to order and pay up front. I’m not completely sure how my food is going to find me, but the cashier gives me a little blinking box that will alert them to where I’ve chosen to sit. I feel completely lost and c
onfused, but I follow directions and find an empty table to sit and wait for Kathy.
As I wait, I look around at the décor and the clientele. Many of the patrons have luggage with them, so this must be a popular place to pick people up from the airport. As I glance around, I see a familiar face, newspaper and all.
I glare down at the top of the table. I’m really not surprised. Deklan probably plans to have me followed all weekend.
“Fuck it,” I mumble. I refuse to let Dek’s paranoia ruin my weekend. If it comes down to it, Kathy and I can hit a dance club, and I’ll ask the guy to dance.
Thinking about what my stalker’s face would look like if I extended that sort of invitation amuses me, and I lean back in the booth with a self-satisfied smirk, waiting for my friend.
Chapter 19
“I’ve fucking had it!” Kathy throws her arms in the air and starts in before she even says hello.
Ranting is actually my favorite thing about Kathy. Once she gets going, there is no stopping her. It doesn’t matter what the topic might be though I’ve never heard her go on about politics. But she’ll rant about everything else, from the organization of the fruit in the produce section at the supermarket to the amount of space someone leaves between their parked car and a stop sign.
Today’s rant: tipping.
“With what?” I stand up briefly to give her a welcoming hug before I sit back down and sip at my coffee, trying to hide my smile. To an outside observer, it might appear that Kathy is about to strangle the most convenient person available, but I know she’s harmless.
Mostly.
“What the hell is up with tipping anyway?”
“Tipping? What about it?”
“It’s out of control.” Kathy shoves her carry-on luggage against the side of the table, tosses her purse and coat in the booth, and then slides in next to the pile.
We haven’t seen each other for over a year, but that has never mattered with us. As soon as we are together again, it’s as if we had spent the last few days in each other’s constant company. It’s just how we are, and there is no need for pleasant “How are you?” or “Great to see you again” jabber.
“We are never coming here again.” Kathy places her elbows on the table and reaches toward me with her pinky finger extended. I grasp it with mine though I have no idea why we’re pinky-swearing over a restaurant.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what to do about the tip.”
“I paid in cash,” I tell her. “I was going to just leave a tip on the table.”
Deklan had left me a thousand dollars in cash on the kitchen counter before he left, telling me to treat myself to some birthday shopping. I had told him it was an insane amount of money, but he just shrugged, suggested jewelry, and promised to bring me something back from the Windy City.
“I paid by credit card,” Kathy says. “It makes all the expense reporting easier when I get back, but that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“Tipping is supposed to be for your server, right? Not the owner or the guy who rings up the bill or whatever. Tip the server for really good service. I’m great with that. But if I’m paying the bill up front, before I even get my food, what the hell am I supposed to tip? Five percent? Ten? The default comes up at eighteen when you swipe your card. Cheeky bastards.”
She’s on a roll and not about to stop now.
“When I bought some peanuts on the plane—and don’t even get me started on buying plane peanuts—it came up asking what percentage I wanted to tip. Since when do you tip a flight attendant? Or does the attendant hand it over to the pilot? If the pilot crashes the plane and I live, can I get my tip back? Does the dude who loads the plane up with fuel get a cut? Where does it end?”
I tilt my head to one side and consider what she’s saying. I haven’t flown recently, and I think she’s got a pretty good point. Working at the coffee shop isn’t something I do for money, so I’ve never paid much attention to the tips.
“I always thought tipping was made up for mom and pop restaurants where the kids were the servers,” I say. “The parents couldn’t afford to pay their kids, so the customers did instead.”
“Where did you hear that?” Kathy narrows her eyes at me.
“I don’t know if I heard it anywhere,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just what I’ve always thought.”
“It kinda makes sense,” Kathy says with a nod. “I’ll check.”
On her phone, Kathy starts to google the origin of tipping but then is distracted by her food being placed in front of her. The guy who brings it doesn’t say a word, and when Kathy asks him where her drink is, he points out a self-service beverage dispenser.
“You see what I mean? I want my damn tip back.” She gets up from the table to retrieve her drink, and I try to keep my giggles in check.
When she returns with her iced tea, she’s still at it.
“And when did tipping become something everyone gets just for doing their jobs? I tip the hairdresser, the massage therapist, and now the flight attendants. I mean, who do I need to start tipping next? My gynecologist? Oh wow, your hands are nice and warm today! And the way you handle that speculum! I’m impressed! Here’s an extra twenty bucks!”
I can’t help it—I laugh out loud this time.
“Isn’t your gynecologist also your boss?”
“Irrelevant. Besides, I work for the clinic, not the doctor herself though she is my supervisor. You’re getting me off topic!”
“Tipping…warm speculums…I’m keeping up!”
“I told you about the peanuts, right?”
“Yep.”
It’s refreshing to be with Kathy. I’m not anxious, waiting to say or do something wrong. Even when it’s just me and Deklan, I sometimes still feel a little on edge. Everything is still so new, and it’s hard to have a conversation with a man who won’t talk about his work.
I feel like myself, and I’m completely relaxed for the first time since the marriage.
“Let’s go to the hotel,” Kath says as she finishes up her food. “There has to be a bar at the hotel.”
“It’s barely noon.”
“Then we shouldn’t have to deal with a crowd!”
“True.”
We have to bus our own table, which sends Kathy on another tipping rant that lasts for the entire ride to the hotel. Once we get there and check in, we dump our stuff in the room and head straight for the far end of the bar.
“I’ll need some ID,” the bartender says.
Shit.
“Um…” I look over at Kathy, not sure what I should do, but she’s already digging in her own purse. Then a thought occurs to me, and I quickly reach for my wallet. Next to my real driver’s license is the license Deklan used that time he took me to the hospital—the one with the name Kera Malone on it. It has my birthday as three months earlier than it is. “Here you go.”
The bartender gives the ID half a glance before handing it back to me.
“What would you ladies like this afternoon?”
Kathy looks at me sideways but doesn’t say anything until after the bartender takes our orders.
“Let me see that.” She grabs the license from me and snickers. “You with a fake ID. Who woulda thunk it?”
“Hush, you!” I grab the ID out of her hand and shove it back in my wallet. “It’s for emergencies.”
“Vodka is an emergency.” Kathy nods seriously.
The bartender brings us our drinks, and we clink them together. Being underage and rather sheltered, I’ve rarely had any alcoholic drinks, and by the time we are halfway through the second vodka-cranberry, I’m already feeling it.
“So, you don’t even know what he’s doing on this trip to Chicago?” Kathy drains her glass and orders another one.
“No clue,” I say. “He doesn’t tell me anything. I’m just glad he left me the car, or I would have been looking for an Uber to come meet you.”
“I’m sorry I
don’t get to meet him,” Kathy says. “I was kinda looking forward to that. Then again, a girls’ weekend is better. Now, show me how big his dick is with your hands.”
“No!” I laugh and feel my face getting warm. “It’s big enough.”
“But he’s tall, right?”
“About six foot four.”
“So, is it proportional?”
“Kathy! I am not talking about my husband’s cock!”
“Yeah, you will.” Kathy raises her hand and beckons the bartender. “My friend here needs more alcohol. I need her to give me some information regarding her husband’s penis, and she is thus far refusing my inquiries.”
The bartender grins and hands me another drink.
“I’m not even done with this one!”
“Catch up.” Kathy leans back in against the barstool and grins. “I need deets.”
I shake my head, finish my second drink, and move on to the third. I need to get her ranting about something so she’ll forget about Deklan’s dick.
“How was the flight?” I ask.
“Bumpy.” Kathy rolls her eyes. “And the airport—ugh! What is it Douglas Adams said? Airports are ugly.”
“Profound.” I down the rest of my drink and nibble at the basket of pretzels on the bar.
“He said they were really ugly.”
“Uh huh.” I roll my eyes.
“Context!” Kathy slams the palm of her hand on the bar. “You’re just going to have to read the book.”
“Which book?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Ugh!”
We both laugh, and Kathy downs the rest of her drink and practically inhales a basket of pretzels sitting on the bar.
“Any screaming babies?”
“Of course,” she says. “One of them was in the seat across from me. Honestly, screaming babies don’t bother me. I don’t have to deal with them, and I kinda feel sorry for the parents. Teenagers on a plane—they are the really obnoxious ones. They’re always leaning over the aisles, sprawling out in their seats, and fucking around with the window shades. The chick in front of me, who was airsick before we even took off—she was all kinds of fun.”
I try to pace myself on the drinks. I can’t keep up with Kathy—she has obviously had a lot of practice since I last saw her. I hoard the pretzels and, when the time comes, order something carb-filled for dinner.