Page 36 of Little Secrets
She breathes a sigh of relief.Whateveris Ty speak for yes.Whateveris also Ty speak forIf you let me down again, I’ll never fucking forgive you, so she knows she can’t mess up again. God, she misses feeling on top of things. She’s normally very organized with her schedule, but everything for the past six months has revolved around Derek. It’s not easy being in a married man’s orbit.
Frustrated, she closes her messaging app and tosses her phone onto the bed. Derek opens his mouth like he wants to ask her again who she was texting, but then he changes gears. He comes over to her. Rubs her shoulders. Kisses her neck. She knows what this means, and where he wants it to lead. He’s rarely affectionate unlesshe wants sex, and she moves forward, closer to the window, out of his grasp.
As usual, he assumes her frustration is entirely about him. In this case, it is, so he’s going to have to work for it.
“Babe, I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood,” he says.
He moves up behind her, and she notices he hasn’t yet gotten dressed. He wraps his arms around her waist, the full length of his body pressed up against hers. He nuzzles his face into the back of her head and inhales, and she’s reminded how much she loves the length of him, and that he’s taller than her, even when she wears her highest heels. His cheek rests against her cheek, and he smells amazing. He’s wearing that cologne they found at Nordstrom, the expensive one that she picked out because the scent is sexy; he must have spritzed some on after his shower.
“I know I was a dick about the burger and that I made you feel like shit. I probably did order the Big Mac, because I was distracted and not paying attention, which is uncool all by itself. I’m really sorry.”
Already she can feel herself softening. He understands better than any guy she’s ever known how to apologize properly, and that a good apology involves an acknowledgment of the shitty thing he did, along with a clear understanding of how said shitty thing affected the other person.
“I’ve got a lot going on at work, and the backers are getting squirrelly. There are a lot of people demanding things from me that I have no control over at the moment, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” He sounds genuinely upset, and it makes her feel better. “I’m sorry, Kenz.”
“It’s okay,” she says, and she finally allows herself to melt into him. His strong arms wrap around her tighter, and she feels his lips on her neck, his breath hot.
She’s starting to feel bad now that he feels bad, and she wantshim to feel better. She hates that she cares so much, because normally she doesn’t. She hates that she’s getting attached. She knows so much about him, that he aches for his kid, that he’s sad all the time, and it bothers her now that she might in any way have added to his stress by buying him the wrong fucking burger. She knows he always gets Quarter Pounders.She knows that. She should have ordered him one, because she did suspect he’d misspoken. But she was aggravated by his silence in the car, and how he’d snapped about her feet on the dashboard.
This is part of their pattern. He’s insensitive, which makes her feel bad, which then makes him feel bad, which then makes her feel worse, and then she’ll do anything to make him feel better. This is what they do, but she doesn’t know hownotto do this with him. When it was just an affair, things were easy. But it’s starting to feel like a real relationship, which is adding a layer of complexity she isn’t prepared for. Her feelings are messing with her judgment, and she hasn’t allowed that to happen since J.R.
Derek’s hand moves down, past the waistband of her leggings, and he’s still kissing her neck and whispering that he’s sorry and then his hand is outside her crotch, stroking. Every part of her body is on fire and his thumb and his forefinger know exactly what do to, and the fabric of her leggings and panties is thin, and she can feel everything he’s doing, and she wants more. She leans back against him, pressing her ass to his erection, breathing harder, and he knows that means she’s not angry anymore and that she wants him to do everything to her.
Everything.
She tries to turn around to kiss him, but he won’t let her, and that turns her on even more. His hand slips down into her leggings and into her thong and he moans when he feels how wet she is, and she loves that he’s always surprised by it, always so delighted and grateful that he doesn’t have to work that hard to get her to thispoint, that she’s always ready for him. She knows it makes him feel like a god, and she loves that she can make him feel that way, and that he’ll do anything to keep making her feel this way, because he’s patient and undaunted by anything he might need to do to get her to orgasm.
His fingers are inside her and it feels incredible, but she still wants more, and so she tugs her leggings down, and bends forward, against the window, pressing her hands against the cold glass. She doesn’t care that any person walking the grounds below could look up and see them. His face is now where his hands used to be, his tongue is everywhere and tasting everything, and it’s so good and so kinky and he’s groaning with pleasure like she’s the one doing it to him.
And this is what makes it so different with him. It’s the sex, yes, but it’s also how the sex makes herfeel. When they fuck, she can be anything she wants to be. She can say anything she wants to say. She is completely uninhibited in a way she’s never been with anyone before. She might not know how to ask him to hold her hand in public, but she does know how to demand he stick his tongue deeper into her. She comes hard, writhing in his face, and he doesn’t stop until she’s finished and tells him to.
When she turns around he’s pulling down his underwear, but she wants him inside her, and so she pushes him onto the bed and climbs on top, where she can look into his eyes and kiss him and taste herself on his lips, and it only takes a few minutes because he’s so turned on, and she rides him as hard as she can stand it until he cries out her name and his eyes bulge and that vein in his forehead pops.
There are two things she loves about this moment. First, it’s the only time Derek ever looks ugly, because otherwise, he is always beautiful. Always. Even when he’s being a dick at McDonald’s or talking about his old-man music or snapping about her feet on his well-oiled dashboard, he is beautiful.
Second, it’s the only time she’s ever fully in control in their relationship. He’s the one who dictates everything that happens, and being able to make him come like this—hard, without having to hold back for her orgasm—is the one thing she gets to do.
But there’s now one thing she’s starting to hate about it. It reminds her that there’s an expiration date on their time together. Right after this, Derek will leave to go to work, and she’ll go back to her shitty apartment, to her resentful roommate and neglected cat, to cupboards full of mismatched bowls and packets of dollar-store ramen, feeling emptier than she did when this whole thing started, because every day that she’s with Derek, every time they do this, she loses a piece of herself.
They don’t cuddle after sex. Instead, she lies on the bed, sated, watching him get dressed, observing the meticulous way he buttons his shirt and tucks it into his pants, the way he ties his shoes so precisely. His shoes cost more than a month’s rent for her and Ty. She knows, because she looked them up.
“I can’t drive you home, I gotta head straight to the office,” he says. “But I think you should stay. Get some breakfast. Get a massage if you want. Charge it to the room. I’ll leave you money for a cab.”
She sits up. “You can’t eat with me?”
She senses he wants to come sit by her; it’s in his body language, the way he seems to want to step closer to the bed but is willing himself not to. He’s been like this the last few times, strangely hesitant with his goodbyes. Like there’s something more he wants to say. Like he knows he should end it and end itnow, but then he chickens out.
“I have a meeting,” he says. “But you go. Enjoy. And when you’re ready to leave—”
“Use the side entrance.”
He nods, and she lies back down as he finally comes over to thebed and gives her a kiss. It’s on the lips, but it’s chaste. It makes her wonder if she’s ever going to see him again. In the first couple of months, goodbyes were so easy.
Now they’re hard.
He grabs his bag and he’s gone. She turns toward the window, looking at the pretty trees and the overcast sky, trying to enjoy her last few moments in the luxurious hotel room, which probably costs more per night than what she makes in tips in a week at the Green Bean. It’s depressing. But then her stomach rumbles, and she perks up—at least she gets breakfast out of it, and the hotel restaurant makes a mean eggs Benedict with avocado toast.
As she heads toward the bathroom, she sees the money on the dresser and stops. Derek’s left her cash, and it’s way more than what she’d need for a cab. The stack of bills is thick, all twenties and fifties. She picks it up and counts it out, and her mouth falls open.
