This story is fucking weird, and in my head the aftermath is drawn out and dark. I'm not sorry."Excuse me?" Chrisette's slender eyes widen in disbelief. "Did I just hear you forbid me from seeing him?"
Should I have just kept my mouth shut? "I'm just saying maybe don't hang out one-on-one."
"Are you kidding me?!"
In a way this is a variation on a theme. I think she's allowing herself to be drawn into a second relationship, she thinks I'm just jealous. I spread my hands. "What kind of a guy takes another—" I don't even finish before Chrisette groans in frustration "—man's fiancée on a date?"
"It wasn't a date!"
"Certainly not a business lunch."
Chrisette folds her arms. "I invited you along. You said you didn't want to go."
"I said I didn't want to see the movie," I correct. "I thought you would go with Sasha or somebody."
"So you're mad because I went with 'somebody,'" she scoffs.
"No, I'm mad because you can't seem to understand that you're essentially cheating on me—"
"Oh my god!"
"—without the sex! It was dinner and a movie and he paid. That's a fucking date! You're about to marry me, and you're dating him."
This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Chrisette jumps off the couch. Is she looking for something to throw at me? "I cannot believe you don't even trust me."
"It's not that I don't trust you," I backpedal. "I don't trust him. That asshole is just waiting for the big fight when you come crying to him, and he finally gets to fuck you while looking like the hero."
I didn't backpedal far enough. Chrisette puts a hand on her hip. "I don't fuck anyone I don't want to fuck," she says through her teeth, "and you should be fucking grateful that I chose you. Nobody's going to be 'seducing' me. Especially not Todd."
Taking a deep breath, I lower my voice. "Please, baby, work with me. I know how guys think. Especially single guys."
"Todd is just a friend," she says, each word getting louder. "He's only single because Emily was a crazy bitch and they broke up. We are not interested in each other." She gives me a speculative look. "Would you be this mad if he were ugly? Like if he didn't dress well, or was a complete Elephant Man."
"Yes! It's not about the whole…" I gesture at my own face, which I hadn't worried about until now. "It's that he is single right now, and that you don't think he's ugly, and you call him when you're mad at me…" Why didn't I shut up? Chrisette's eyes have practically narrowed to slits.
"So I," she says slowly, "can't recognize that one of my friends is handsome, but you can jack off to porn every time I'm gone for more than twelve hours?"
"Baby, that was once—"
Chrisette cuts me off. "Do not. Bullshit me."
It was once, and I had made the mistake of confessing when she jokingly asked. "Chrisette, come on. Just work with me here."
"Work with you? Work with you?!"
I'm on a slippery slope now, and as much as I know I should placate her and save it for later, I try one more time to make Chrisette understand. "This is exactly what he wants! You're telling me, 'Oh, there's nothing to worry about. Oh, we're just friends,' but that's exactly how you and I started!"
"I wasn't dating anybody when I met you!" she yells. Chrisette takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes for a second, and gives me the coldest look I've ever seen from her. "I am leaving," she says. Damn. It. "I might come back tonight, but I might not be back until tomorrow. But I will not be off fucking anybody else, and I will not be masturbating to the sight of fake-tittied botte blondes getting fucked by monster cocks."
She cuts me off with a sharp hand gesture. "I can't deal with you right now. If you want to be a fucking jealous paranoid idiot, do it on your own time. I'll come back when you've cooled down."
I want to tell her that I'm cool, that I'm not paranoid, that I can definitely be dealt with…all of it sticks to the roof of my mouth as I watch her put her laptop in a bag with her toothbrush. If she goes to her mom's house I am toast. I'll be in the doghouse for a week, because her mom thinks Chrisette could do better.
It's only five minutes before I've sent her the first text. Baby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off like that. No response. Has she gone to complain to her mother, or to that motherfucker as a "fuck you" to me? I send another. Please just call me.
The lock clicks about an hour later. I haven't moved from the couch, so I'm halfway to the door with an apology on my lips when Todd walks in.
"Oh, hey man," he says casually, striding past me down the hall. "Chrissy asked me to get her phone charger."
Shit. She went to her mom's. I follow Todd into the bedroom, my bedroom, and watch him unplug Chrisette's charger from beneath the desk. "Is she with you?" I ask, trying not to clench my teeth. Count to three. Slowly.
Todd dangles his keyring in front of me. "Nah, she called and asked 'cause I've been working on a house two blocks down. I just used my key."
My brains goes haywire for a second. His key? Did he steal a key and have it copied? That's illegal, right? Would Chrisette defend me or him if I pressed charges? Maybe some of my thoughts are visible on my face, because Todd spreads his hands in a whoa, there gesture.
"It's cool, man," he says. "Chrissy gave it to me."
"Dude, I'm gonna need that back," I say as calmly as I can. Chrisette gave him a key? My future wife gave another man a key, and she didn't bother to tell me. She fucking gave him a key to our house.
Todd gives me this long, calculating look. I don't spend a lot of time with him on purpose; he's a smug bastard and these kind of side-eyes set me on edge. "Nah, man," he says. "It's cool. Chrissy wanted me to have it."
It's like he's trying to anger me. More of this, "Oh, Chrissy, I tried to reason with him, but he's got such a temper. Why don't I get rid of those pesky panties for you." So I take a deep breath. I lean against the door frame, blocking his way out, and speak calmly.
"Todd, my fiancée," I emphasize the word, "gave that to you by mistake. She didn't discuss it with me, and I'm really, really uncomfortable with it. If you want to be in my house, I need you to ring the doorbell."
With another of those narrow-eyed looks, Todd shrugs and works my house key off the ring. He holds it out.
I reach for the key. "Thanks for understanding," I say.
Todd snatches it back. We both pause for a second, but Todd just puts the key in his pocket. "Sorry, dude, I just can't do that without talking to her first, you know?"
Stay cool, stay cool. "You don't need to talk to her first. You need to give me back the key to my house, and then you need to leave."
"Jesse, calm down."
Iwillkillhim. I take another deep breath and count to three. "I'm calm. You just need to respect that this is not your call, and you need to respect that Chrisette is in a fully committed relationship with me, and that I don't like you hanging around her."
Hands spread placatingly, Todd moves toward me like he's going to escape down the hall and out the door. "I hear you, man, but since Chrissy was the one who gave the key to me, I'll hang onto it until she asks for it back."
"You're not leaving with that key, dude."
"I'm sorry, but I am."
"I'm sorry," I retort with a little shove that sends Todd stumbling back a couple paces, "but you're not."
Todd looks down at his chest where I pushed him. I only used my fingertips. What is he expecting to see? Burn marks? His eyes narrow. "Don't," he says slowly, "touch me."
I hold out my hand. "Give me that damn key and I will gladly never touch you again." The hair standing up on the back of my neck knows that I'm venturing into dangerous territory. Todd could be a secret cage fighter. He could be hiding a switchblade in those hipster shorts. Or maybe holding him hostage for for a house key feels a little bit illegal. Whatever the case may be, shit is about to go down.
This time when Todd spreads his arms it is anything but placating. "Come and get it, you prick."
Two steps. That's all it takes to cross the room and knock him into the dresser. My brain can't catch up to me; everything is foreign. The crack of my knuckles on his cheek, the wooden rattle when Todd crashes into the drawers and catches himself, the pain radiating from the apex of my fist. Where was the key again? Back or front pocket? Right or left?
Dude gets up, shakes his head, and gets in a fucking stance. Elbows in, hands by the head, and it's all I can do to throw my arms up in a similar position before Todd starts pummeling me. He put his head down and throws jabs at my chest and stomach, short quick blows that don't hurt until I realize he's landed another one. I didn't box. I barely wrestled. I should never have started this fight, but I wasn't thinking properly. Todd hits me right in the diaphragm and I slump. I can't breathe, and the fucker stands over me with his fists still up, ready to punch me in the neck.
Fuck that. Surging forward, I throw my shoulder into and launch us onto the bed. Todd lands on his back with a grunt, and I scramble up to straddle his chest and wail on him, slapping when my knuckles get too raw to punch him anymore. Todd protects his face, but manages to swing his knee up to catch me in the kidneys. He wraps the other leg around to flip us over, scattering pillows and ramming my skull into the headboard. I throw my arms around his neck to try and choke him out. Todd presses his head into my shoulder to avoid the hold, and I don't know how to fix that. One hand I free for a punch to the side, only for Todd to catch my arm and pin it with his elbow.
"Motherfucker," I grunt, the first real word either of us have uttered since he called me a prick.
Red-faced and sweaty, Todd squeezes his head out of my one-armed choke hold. He throws his weight into my chest and pulls my hands down, landing painfully on my wrists so that they're trapped under his knees. He grabs my throat.
"You fucking asshole," he growls while I buck. I can't throw him. I'm not flexible enough to kick him in the head. The bastard wants to fuck my fiancée, won't just give me back the goddam key, and now I'm pretty sure we won't let me up until he's hocked a loogie on me.
"Get off of me," I wheeze. "Get the fuck off." My peripheral vision is going dark.
Todd's grip tightens on my throat. His eyes narrow, that smug look that always makes me so angry. And he leans down and licks the inside of my mouth.
I spit at him. The reaction is immediate and reflexive, even if I mostly miss. My mouth stays open though, and Todd does it again. He sits up. Watching me, he reaches back and places his free hand on my stomach, right above the waistband of my sweats. My shirt is bunched up somewhere under his ass, so there's nothing to keep our skin from touching. He's touching me. His fingers curl on my muscles and scratch. I keep still. If this is a fucking power play then I won't give him the satisfaction of reacting.
Todd releases my throat to lean forward toward the night table. He doesn't get off of me, though. He opens the second drawer, the small one. How did he know what's in there? Did Chrisette tell him, or was that a lucky guess?
I manage to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"
Todd pours a little KY on his fingers, rubbing it between them. "Vanilla. That must have been Chrissy's choice."
It was. We haven't needed it in a while since I got better at foreplay. Plus, it turns out that vanilla and the smell of sex do not mix all that well. Since I'm still pinned to the bed, I do nothing when Todd reaches back into my shorts with his lube-smooth fingers. The bastard keeps his eyes on my face as I try, I really really try not to get stiff. He knows, though. Todd knows that I'm trying to resist because I'm breathing all weird, so he tries harder. It's mere seconds before my cock is at full attention, and I can't seem to decide if I want to throw Todd off of me or let him finish. It shouldn't even be a debate, but he has damn good fingers.
Shutting my eyes is a natural step, especially since Todd keeps staring at me. My ears barely register the sound of tearing foil when I feel a condom being rolled over my cock. What the hell? What? Todd continues to stroke me quickly, and then hops off of me to kick his shorts and underwear off before pulling mine to my ankles. I know that something is amiss, but wha…Todd straddles me again, but lower, and now that I can feel his balls on my navel I get it. Is this my fault? Did I encourage this by trying to fight him for Chrisette?
He's obviously done this before; Todd sinks back onto my cock with a triumphant smirk. Holy shit that's tight. He lifts up, squeezing as he does, and a noise that I've never made before comes out of my throat. It's fucking good.
"Feel good?" he asks.
"Fuck you," I reply even as my hands find his waist.
Todd rides me like he's in charge, grabbing my hands to pin them above my head. When he kisses me this time I respond, rising to the challenge. My head, my chest, my skin, it's all on fire. The need to fuck, to fuck hard, to dig my heels into the mattresss and thrust has taken over. Our flesh slaps together. Our breath wars. Todd uses my cock to hold me down, shoving back at me when I rise.
Suddenly Todd dismounts, slithering backward to rid me of the condom. His finger is inside me before I have time to process his intent.
"No." I say firmly, propping myself up on my elbows.
Todd reaches for the lube and another condom.
I repeat, "No."
"It's your turn, Jesse," Todd insists.
Is he serious? "There are no fucking turns, dickhead!"I knock the items out of his hand. "Goddam it, I said no!"
Todd grabs my throat again. "You want it," he says through gritted teeth. "You want me inside of you."
"Fuck you. You don't know me."
Instead of arguing, Todd kisses me again in that angry, fight-back way that sets my blood to boiling. I'm gripping his arms hard enough to bruise, but Todd presses me backward anyway, stretching himself over me, rubbing against me like an aggressive cat. He guides my hand to his cock while he rids himself of his button-down shirt. Hard and alien in my grip, it seems to pulse when my fingers close around the shaft. Something about this should feel…worse, I think. More wrong. Todd reaches over to collect the scattered fuck tools from the floor; he tears the condom packet with his teeth, quickly rolling it over his cock one-handed. When I struggle angrily he presses his forearm against my throat. When he slicks up his cock I start to panic. This isn't happening. I can't let this motherfucker get away with this. I fucking hate this guy. He presses my legs against my chest, holding them in place with the weight of his shoulders.
Oh, hell no.
A breath or two later and Todd is fully inside me. "Fuck yes," he breathes, already starting to thrust. "Oh, fuck yeah. Goddam that's tight."
I just groan. It doesn't hurt like I would have thought, but it's weird. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Todd doesn't pause to let me adjust or anything. He scoots backward, yanking me toward the edge of the bed until he can put his feet on the floor. With his arms holding my thighs tightly Todd can ram himself into me more easily; I put up less resistance because only my shoulders and head are still on the mattress. My fingers dig into the mattress to keep from being fucked into the headboard. Every stroke is long, deep, harsh, traveling all the way to my throat. This should hurt more.
My cock points at me, angry and red. I grab it instinctively to jack myself in time to Todd's cock in my ass. His abs flex, already glistening with sweat. I wouldn't have guessed he had that much muscle on him, but every ridge is clear when he fucks, grunting when our bodies smack against each other. Todd places one hand on my chest to keep me pinned to the bed, sliding his other hand around to hold my waist. I'd bite his hand if I could, but I settle for gripping his wrist hard enough to bruise, glaring back at him.
Suddenly Todd picks up the pace: short, sharp thrusts that hit something inside me like a jackhammer. "I'm coming," he says, "I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming oh my god—" The rhythm gets irregular, unpredictable on that one spot and I can't—I can't hang on; I don't want to be but I'm coming—it hits my cheek, my forehead and my legs start shaking; I can't speak, I can't even breathe; only the painful grip of Todd's fingers on my inner thighs keep me from kicking him away as I thrash on the bed.
It won't quit, this spasming. It's like I'm shivering but from the heat generated at my core. Todd pulls out and I shake. He puts my legs down and I shake. I can't even control my body enough to roll to my side and hide myself from him.
"Oh my god," Todd exclaims, out of breath as he flops down on the bed for a moment. I stare at the blades of the ceiling fan. They need to be dusted. I never think to do that. Chrisette certainly hasn't ever gotten up there, but she'd need a step stool and ours is broken. I should fix that. And then I'll just clean the fan, because now I can't unsee it.
"I'm gonna use your shower, dude." Todd gets up and walks into the bathroom.
I should change the sheets, right? Maybe not—we never actually got under the covers. Is the washing machine big enough to hold the whole comforter? Vanilla and jizz and ass smells even worse than vanilla, jizz and pussy. I'm fucking thirsty now.
I don't want to just be here when Todd gets out of the shower. Little steps: Sit up. Pull my shorts back on. Go to the kitchen. Wipe off with a paper towel. Avoid reflective surfaces. Throw paper towel away. Drink a glass of water. Drink another. Put the glass in the dishwasher. Sit on the couch. Stare blankly at the piano. Avoid looking at the photos of Chrisette and me in Thailand that sit on top of it.
My ass hurts like hell now. What do I even do? How am I supposed to…take care of that? Is it permanently stretched out, or can I like, do exercises to get it back to normal?
I can't even look Todd in the eye when he comes back into the living room. He pauses by the door.
"Here's your key back," he says, holding it out.
I get up to take it from him, but Todd snatches it back just before my fingers close around it.
"Enough, Todd. Gimme the damn key."
"Kiss me goodbye," he orders.
"Fuck no," I counter swiftly.
Todd holds up the phone charger. "How much do you want Chrissy to know?"
Smug bastard. I lay a quick, tight-lipped peck on him, but Todd reaches around my waist to pull me forward. The buttons on his shirt dig into my skin.
"Ah, ah, ah," he says. He sounds like a fucking cartoon villain. "Kiss me like you'll miss me."
Ugh. I'd rather choke him. Still, I unclench my teeth and press my lips to his, only to have Todd's tongue slip inside my mouth to caress the back of my teeth. When we part the wet smack assaults my ears.
"I'll tell Chrissy you're sorry," Todd says with a grin, and leaves.
That bastard didn't give back the fucking key.