And I was happy…I was waking up in the morning to sex, I went to bed and had sex (or was woken up by it if I fell asleep first), and the day after we were home from Vegas I’d been washing a frying pan in the kitchen sink from the breakfast I’d made him and he’d come in and screwed me from behind. Just waltzed in, lifted up my sundress, slapped my ass super hard, and then took me with his cock and his fingers and I didn’t even get the way unsexy yellow rubber gloves off. When he finished he washed his hands, grabbed an apple from the fridge, winked at me and then went back to his office. I was just standing there, propped up by my elbows in front of the sink with the ugly yellow gloves on, skirt up, hair all mussed up, and feeling boneless and thinking that it was fairly calm for Tommy but it’d definitely been fucking.
It’d been three days of mostly sweet beautiful vanilla sex and cuddling and talking (but never about the serious dark stuff we eventually needed to discuss) and just enjoying one another. We did things like curl up in front of the big screen at night watching TV or movies, me cooking for him, a naked swim together (it must’ve been premeditated because he’d obviously made the bodyguards leave for a while because I never saw them). He’d just lifted me after sex, both of us naked, and carried me through the bedroom balcony doors down the stairs and then jumped into the pool with me. I’d said, “Hey! What about security?” and he’d answered, “Do you really think I’d allow anybody to lay their eyes on your beautiful naked body?"
We hadn’t left the property since we got back from the drive-in. He’d spent time on the phone and in his office a lot but he spent a lot of time with me, too.
Sarah was due back and the next day we were having dinner at his father’s. And I was starting to get a little bit worried because there’d been no sex games since Vegas. He didn’t seem stressed, he seemed fine. But how long would it last? Would I see the sudden shift so I’d know it was something I needed to handle proactively or would it come out of nowhere and blindside me?
Maybe I should initiate something. Or maybe we should talk. Every time he came in the room I was in I was looking to see if his necklace was on. He’d talked about us needing to talk a few times but it never seemed to happen. I couldn’t blame him for that; I wasn’t initiating it either. It was easier to be ostriches and pretend there wasn’t an elephant looming in the corner.
As he held me that morning after our wake-up sex, he talked about the possibility of moving Sarah out.
“Why?” I asked, tracing the pattern of his tattoo, with my head on his chest.
“She’s gonna get in our way. I like that I can just bend you over anywhere I like without worrying about someone else coming in.”
I laughed but then turned serious, “She already warned me not to put her out of a job! She’ll be pissed at me. Put a price on my head!”
“She won’t be surprised. She cleaned and cooked at my condo but has only been live-in since I moved here so hasn’t had time to get too comfy. Nita’s retiring so we can move her back there until Pop retires. He may even want her to come to the Caymans. She’d have her pick at either of my sisters’ places, too, helping with the kids and their houses. And if she wants, she can come in here to clean based on a schedule you set up with her. If she doesn’t want to take care of multiple houses I’ll hire someone part-time. Then it’s just us most of the time. You’re a way better cook than she is, anyway. If you don’t mind feeding your future husband, that is?”
I winced, “oh please please please don’t tell her that. And no I don’t mind. I love to cook. And you have a very healthy appetite, my future husband.”
He laughed and then kissed me, “We need to talk,” he said.
I felt my heart constrict. His tone was serious, “Okay?” I said, hesitantly.
“I don’t want to just brush shit under the rug, baby. We need to talk some things out and I need some info from you.”
I nodded but wanted no part of this conversation. He looked thoughtful for a second and then seemed to change gears, “First, I’ll go get us coffee and cook you breakfast,” he said, “I do a mean stack of flapjacks.”
“Oooh,” I answered and stretched out, “Bacon, too?”
“Duh? Of course.” He kissed me and left the room.
I was now on his side of the bed and I was suddenly very aware of the weapons under the bed. Maybe him talking about us needing to talk had jolted me out of my self-imposed stupor. I leaned over and hung over the side and looked under the bed. I couldn’t see very well so I reached my hand up and yep, still armed to the teeth.
I rolled back under the blankets and got lost in thought. I’d been so happy these past few days but he was right, we did need to talk about stuff. It was healthy that he wanted to, wasn’t it? What wasn’t healthy was me wanting to keep ignoring it with the idiotic notion that it’d just go away.
Tommy
The last few days had been just what I needed, a bubble with just her and I, mostly. I was finding a way to blend my work life with my relationship with her. Things with work were going well, smooth. And I was thinking about our wedding, a honeymoon, about the future.
I hated that we’d soon have to leave our bubble. I was putting it off. I was putting a lot of things off. Here I was putting talking to her about her Dad and my Pop again with breakfast but before I pricked the bubble with a pin I wanted a few more moments of peace, to show her what life could sometimes be. It was like I was trying to fortify things before bursting the bubble or something.
I used to help my mother make breakfast on Sunday mornings before she got sick. Breakfast was the only cooking I’d done. Really, she’d only let me handle the cracking of the eggs and the putting bread in the toaster and popping the button down as I was just a kid but it made me want to learn how to do breakfast so when I lived on my own for the first time I mastered the art of breakfast. I’d had burnt pans and smoke alarms going off at first but I’d gotten there eventually.
Before Tia, if I wasn’t slammed with work, I’d make it for myself and sit alone and eat it as I read the paper as Sarah was always off on Sundays. I wanted to make making Tia’s breakfast on Sunday mornings part of our tradition together as a couple. Someday our kids would be part of it, too. Sundays were important in my family, always had been, and I wanted that for when me and Tia had kids. Breakfast with us, dinner with the whole family. Church, maybe, too. She’d be a good mother.
I had things to figure out, still, but I was confident that I’d get to where I needed to be with the business, with ensuring I’d eliminated threats but I wasn’t so sure in one area. Sex. I wasn’t clear how that’d be managed. I was loving all the vanilla we’d been having, surprisingly, but that might’ve been because of the guilt I felt about Vegas. How long before I wanted more flavor? How long until something tipped me over the edge of frustration and I took it out on her? How did I get what I needed without hurting my relationship with her? Better yet, how could I make myself not need it?
She loved the pancakes. She ate everything on her plate and declared I was making breakfast for her as often as possible. I told her I?
?d do Sunday breakfast from now on and she asked if she’d be getting a repeat performance the next day, since it was a Sunday.
I agreed and couldn’t bring myself to ruin the day with talk about the dark shit in my head, the shit I was dealing with regarding her father and my father. I needed to do it soon, though. I was at a dead end with the PI and needed some answers from her. She didn’t ask about what I wanted to talk about but she broached another topic.
“Umm…” she said, after she loaded the dishwasher. I’d been sitting at the kitchen island reading the paper and finishing my coffee.
I looked up from the paper and waited.