“Come
for me, now, Colleen!” I say as I slam into her roughly. A few panting breaths and she regains her composure. With a raised eyebrow and smirk on her lips, she stares up at me, completely incensed.
“Are you serious right now?” And with that, my
Colleen is back—snarky and irritable and so goddamn difficult. I think I actually missed this side of her.
“Yeah, come on,” I’m whining again, but I don’t care. I’m not going to last throughout this arg
ument if she doesn’t fucking come soon. I swear, I’m going to be pissed at her if I embarrass myself. “Please, Colleen,” I grit my teeth, trying to hold myself off.
“It doesn’t work like that
.” Her lips are pursed and she’s looking at me like I’m the biggest idiot on the face of the earth; which is very likely an accurate assessment.
“It does in those books that
Lindsay reads,” I try to defend myself, barely able to speak as the heat begins to spread from my groin down to my toes.
“You’re really talking about
Lindsay right now?” I slam into her, changing the angle that I’m entering her. That shuts her up immediately as she throws her head back and moans. My thrusts are rough and soon enough I can’t hold off any longer. My head drops into the crevice of her neck as my orgasm rips through me. Just as I think I’ve let her down, her body spasms beneath me. I’ve come down from my high just enough to watch her face as she loses control. It’s beautiful and unlike anything else I’ve seen.
(Colleen)
To my face he defends me…
"FINALLY DECIDED TO
treat your husband right, eh, pretty girl?" Brad says, lying on his side, facing me. I snort, feeling like I'm on a cloud. My body is heavy with exhaustion and for once my mind is clear. I'm not over-thinking this, I'm just enjoying it.
It hasn't escaped my attention that ever since I threw caution to the wind and accepted
Brad's ridiculous marriage proposal that life has gotten much more interesting; and even when I have half a mind to choke him-- more fun.
And the sex—Holy hell, that was amazing. I had been so worried that if we ever had sex that it would change things between us. Prom night doesn't count. My poor virgin vagina was not ready for that; and it didn't help that neither
Brad nor I really knew how to pleasure a woman, so there was no clitoral stimulation. We just kissed for a few minutes before attempting to have sex for the first time. That had been the only time until now that Bradley Patrick had been allowed anywhere near my poor, traumatized vagina. But damn, if I had known what I was missing out on, I would have hung on for dear life and let him go at it. Being a virgin himself, it likely wouldn't have lasted that long anyway.
But not tonight, tonight the sex was... us. It wasn't angry, hot sex. It wasn't beautiful, romantic sex, though, there was a connectio
n there. It wasn't random or a mistake; it just was, and it was us through and through. We argued and laughed and had those little moments where I remember why he's always been my best friend.
And then there was the moment that I realized that I am completely and totally in love with
Brad Patrick-- my husband, my best friend-- that I won't ever forget. We were looking at each other as he moved in and out of me. There's no denying that he's quite well-endowed (which, Emily informs me is an inherited trait-- yuck!), and even though he felt really, and I mean really, good; that's not what sent shivers down my spine. It's the look that was on his face.
He looked like a man enraptured. He studied me, every inch of me. I have never felt so loved, so in love, so right, in my entire life as I did in that moment. And frightened with the intensity of it all, I was on the verge of tears. So instead of doing what I really wanted to do-- tell him that I just figured out that I'm in love with him-- I burst out laughing. That could have gone really bad, but in true
Brad fashion, he just rolled with it and broke out laughing, too; because we were-- after all this time-- finally having sex. No. It wasn’t sex. We were making love. And damn Lindsay's romance novels to hell. They can keep their wall sex and their steamy love scenes; I like this, just me and Brad, just us. It was just as it should have been.
And the entire night should have been perfect. It should have been the beginning of "us." But only minutes after we finish, just barely coming down from our highs, there's a knock at the door. I don't have a clue about who could be
here this late or why, but judging from the look on Brad's face, he knows exactly who it is.
"
Damn it," he says, his face paling. "I'll be right back. Don't you move an inch, pretty girl," he smiles and kisses my lips. I can barely respond before he's flying out of the room, pajama pants in hand.
Without
Brad beside me, I shiver under the cool breeze of the ceiling fan. I pull out one of his old Patriots' t-shirts and creep out of the room and down the hall, intent to find out who's visiting us this late. The perky voice I hear stops me dead in my tracks. It's Officer Barbie from this afternoon, the same bitch who had her lips all over my Brad!
"Well, handsome," her nasally voice
echoes off the walls. "You look like a hot mess," she giggles.
"I am,"
Brad says and he sounds really happy. I feel a twinge of pride knowing that I’m the reason he looks like a disaster—and if this bitch would leave, we could have shower sex.
"Oh God,"
she groans, "I should go then."
"Yeah,"
Brad says, "I don't want her to know." He doesn't want me to know? What doesn't he want me to know! And it dawns on me-- they are seeing each other. And after what we just did, he doesn't want me to know. Maybe he's going to break it off with her, I try to rationalize her visit away.
"Right," she laughs, "wouldn't want the old battle axe to catch on to our dirty little secret, now would
we?" What the hell? Battle axe? Oh hell to the no! This bitch is about to be on my bad side.
"Be nice,"
Brad warns, "I know she's a royal pain in the ass, but she's my royal pain in the ass." I smile smugly. Take that, Vanna White!
"Whatever, dude," she quips, causing me to snap. I walk out onto the landing, smiling wide and fake as hell. I am going to make this stupid cow like me. All of
Brad’s girlfriends have liked me. They have always adored me. Every.single.one. How dare she not like me! I'm not the one visiting a married man! I realize that I’m glossing over the bigger problem—I just figured out that I’m in love with my husband and his new girlfriend has shown up; but one thing at a time, okay? Right now I need to get this wench to like me.
"
Valerie!" I say in a cheerful voice. Both of their heads shoot up to look at me. I'm aware that I'm standing in nothing but Brad's old t-shirt and that it barely covers my naked ass; but right now, I have more important things to deal with, such as that Blow-Job-Barbie wanna-be in my house.
"Please, come in! I'll be right down." I smile and turn around. I can hear her telling
Brad that she'd rather leave as I walk back to our bedroom. He assures her that leaving would be a bad idea. He knows me so well. I grab a fresh pair of underwear from the drawer and go to the bathroom to clean up. I forgot how messy sex was; then again, I also didn’t realize how good it could be. Hot damn, I want to do that again and I most certainly won’t be letting that Vicky get in my way. Come hell or high water, she needs to go.
I slip the fresh panties on, fluff my hair up a little, spray a tiny bit of perfume on and walk out—without pants—because this is my home and I’ll walk around butt naked if I want to after my husband has taken me in our bed. I walk down the stairs an
d find them in the living room. Brad is on the couch with Vicky by his side and they’re talking quietly. I clear my throat and they look up, both smiling nervously. Vicky stands first and stretches her hand out to shake. I close the distance and take it gladly.
“I’m
Vicky,” she says, making damn sure I know her name. I grip her hand tightly in an attempt to make her squirm. I want her to know who she’s dealing with; but she’s strong. She squeezes back and I squeeze harder. The smile has now fallen from her face and she’s giving me a pointed look. It’s a challenge.
“
Colleen Patrick. I’m Brad’s wife. But we went over that at the station,” I say, a fake smile plastered on my face. I look down at my attire or lack thereof and give my best innocent look. “You’ll have to forgive us. We’re newlyweds, you know.” She’s squeezing me too tight, I try to pull my hand back but she won’t let go. I look to Brad and whimper.
“Vic
, come on,” he urges her to let go. I smirk at her. That’s right, Bitch. Brad shakes his head.
“Come sit down, pretty girl,”
Brad says in a gentle but commanding way. I would go sit down, you know, if I could get my hand back!
“It’s okay,
Colleen,” Vicky grins, “you don’t have to pretend here. I know you guys aren’t really married. I never would go out with a man with a real wife.” Excuse me? She’s joking, right? If what I just did doesn’t qualify me as a real wife, then everything Grammy said about marriage is a lie.
“Oh,” is all I can say. She finally lets go of my hand and takes her seat beside
Brad. I narrow my eyes at her as I watch her hand touch his knee. Brad grits his teeth. I walk over and plop down on his lap, crushing her hand beneath my leg. She yanks her hand back, clearly annoyed. Brad is shirtless and he looks amazing. I wrap my right arm around his neck and place the other on his chest, making a light trail. His entire body tenses.
“So, wh
at brings you to our home, Vanessa?” I ask, watching her ire rise.
“Actually,” she reaches out and rubs her hand on
Brad’s arm and batting her lashes at him. “Brad invited me.” My nails dig into the back of his neck as I fight the urge to slap her hand away.
“Oh, did he?” I ask, glaring at him. He’s wincing. How in the hell could he do this to me? This is beyond mortifying. I compose myself quickly, removing my nails from his neck and stand up. “Where are my manners? Is there anything I can get you two to drink?”
Brad shakes his head but Vicky nods.
“Yes, do you have any juice
?” she asks.
“Is Cranapple alright with you?” I ask. She nods again and I walk off. From around the corner in the kitchen, I can h
ear their muffled conversation.
“… Great ass,
Bradley. Seriously, it’s firm and perky. God, you’re a lucky man.” I hear him grumble and then walk into the kitchen. I try to look like I was getting glasses out of the cupboard the entire time.
“Would you put some goddamn pants on, please?” he snaps, his face li
vid. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Why would I do that? You don’t want your precious little tart to know that you fucked me? Or is that a dirty little secret you’d like to keep?’ My voice is cold and callous; bu
t his face softens at my words.
“No,” he says softly, his hand finds mine. “You are not a dirty little secret,
Colleen, not ever. I want you to put some pants on because Vicky is bisexual and apparently she thinks you have a great ass.” Oh.
“Oh,” I say, blushing just slightly. I move our hands to my ass, encouraging him to touch it. “And what do you think?” He grins and pulls me flush against him.
“Keep it up and I’m going to bend you over this counter and give Vicky a good show.” I laugh and slap his chest away. I walk to the fridge and pour two glasses of Cranapple juice. Brad takes one and downs it. I want to be annoyed with him—he said he didn’t want any juice, and yet—but I can’t bring myself to be. It’s not like he’s being a jerk. I refill the glass with Cranapple and put the juice away. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, so I sneak in there and grab a pair of sweats and pull them on. Vicky may be bisexual, and she may think I have a great ass, but I know she still wants Brad, I can tell.
Walking back into the kitchen, I pick up the glasses. I peek around the corner an
d see that she’s looks unhappy.
“I get that I have bad timing, but she’s being a real bitch,
Brad,” she grumbles. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”
“She’
s just embarrassed,” he whines.
“Is there ever going to be a day that you won’t blindly defend her?” she grumbles. “You told me that Medusa in there tries to make friends with your girlfriends. You promised me lunch dates and clothes shopping and gossip, not bruises and emotional scarring! You owe me for putting up with her bullshit, pal.
” Well… I’ve never. How rude. I have been as nice as I possibly can to an interloper like her.
“I know. It mu
st be the effect my manhood has on you ladies—fighting over me,” he sighs and they laugh. Suddenly I feel very small and inconsequential. To my face, he defends me; but now I know what he says when he thinks I can’t hear, and I don’t think I like it. My eyes water and I bat the tears away. I refuse to look so needy in front of her. Once my eyes are dry, I leave the kitchen about to show her what a bitch really looks like.
I bring
Vicky, the two-bit floozy, her juice, a fake smile plastered on my face. Brad smiles at me. He is oblivious to what is about to happen. I neatly tuck my left foot under the rug and continue on with my right. As my left foot catches, I lean forward-- planned shocked look on my face-- as the She-Devil's juice flys out of the glass, drenching her perfect bosom.
"I'm so sorry!" I screech, playing the part of the apologetic host. I don't offer her a napkin as she whimpers and tries to wipe down some of the mess. "Your poor thing," I lay it on thick, "you must be used to having jizz--" I contain my giggl
e, "I mean juice all over you."
"And why would she be used to that!"
Brad snaps; his voice thick with rage. I shrug, though inside I’m upset. He should be on my side.
"Oh, well," I say innocently, "I must have heard
James wrong, then," and I rush out of the room to clean the few drops of juice that landed on me. I sure do hate to be sticky.