In to Her

He stops in the doorway to look over his shoulder. “You two coming or what?”

“He’s so romantic.” Yvette laughs. But she sits up, swings her legs over the side, and follows him.

I just lie there for a few more seconds, looking up at the ceiling with a stupid grin on my face. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday night stuck in a blizzard, that’s for sure.

The shower starts and steam puffs out from the open door to the bathroom. I sigh and look over at the window. There are heavy golden-yellow velvet drapes pouring down the edge of the frame and outside there’s enough light to see that the snow is still coming down in sheets of white.

I look over at the other bedside table and see a drawer partially open. Turning over to reach for it, I open it up and see a book. Or a journal.

Or a diary. Hmmm. Bet there’s some good reading in there. This Yvette is a total sexy freak.

“You coming or what?” Logan calls.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

I get out of bed and the cock-ring vibrator loosens since I’m no longer hard. I take it off as I walk, then toss it into the sink where the other two toys are already waiting.

Yvette and Logan are in the shower, Logan standing off to one side as secondary jets spray his back, Yvette standing under the circle pouring down from the rain shower above. She’s got her arms lifted up, working the water into her long, blonde hair, and this makes her tits look delicious.

I meet Logan’s eyes as I open the glass door and step inside.

We grin together.

Because we know. We know what we’re gonna do next.

The tag-team fuck cannot end until there’s been a double penetration.

Sex toys don’t count.

But first we wash each other. I grab the sweet-smelling bottle of soap and squirt some onto my palm as Yvette and Logan trade places. I step towards her, massaging the bubbles onto her breasts. She gives me a quirky smile and I wonder… how did Damon let her get away?

Or maybe the question is… why did he make her want to run?

She seems cool. Nice. Open to new experiences. Interested in Logan and me equally. Kinda chill, actually. Which is a welcome change to the women I’ve dated in the past who were all psycho.

Because that’s how this goes. Psycho comes along for the ride. You want kinky girls who are up for anything? You got it. Just deal with this unstable personality while you enjoy your vibrating cock ring and prostate stimulator.

But Yvette seems calm. Almost Zen. Like she knows her place in this world and she’s satisfied with it.

I like that.

I might even like her.

She has soap in her hands too. And when she places them on my shoulders and begins to rub up and down my arms I feel myself relax. A warm rush of easiness fills me.

I want to talk to her. I want us all to talk for some reason. It feels like we should have things to say. About our day. Or what some asshole did in the car behind us on our way home from work. Or some jerk person we were forced to interact with at a drive-through while we got lunch. Small talk, I realize. It feels like we should have some small talk.

Which most people might think is meaningless, but I don’t. Small talk says you know each other. You have little things on your mind you’d like to get over. And this person you small-talk with is the one who erases the tension or the leftover bad feelings about an argument, and makes everything better.

Just makes things better. Life richer. Shit like that.

Logan and I trade places. I stand under the rain shower and rinse off while he shampoos her hair.

It feels like such an intimate gesture. Feels almost… wrong. Because even though we all just fucked and blew each other’s minds, we are not connected. Not even a little bit.

Logan and I are here to kill this girl. Kill her.

We have a plan. We have body disposal figured out.

And yet he shampoos her hair.

I step away from them, trying to figure this all out. Trying to make all these jagged pieces fit together into something that makes sense.

Yvette steps under the water and he helps her rinse out the suds so he can apply the conditioner.

I just watch them. Take a seat on the stone bench on the far side of the shower, some random shower head down by my feet blasting hot water onto my lower legs, and become an observer. A voyeur.

We say nothing because there’s nothing to say. We literally have nothing to talk about. And that sucks.

After Logan rinses the conditioner out of her hair I stretch out my hand. Because I know what comes next. I want there to be more to this. I want there to be a connection, but there isn’t. It’s not there. And it’s not gonna magically appear.