Knox County Ch. 07

"Please," she whispered, "please don't fuck my tight virgin pussy."

He smiled and moved his mouth to the space between her legs. He felt her rippling orgasm begin as his hot breath swooshed over her engorged clit, heard the humming of the vibrator as he grabbed the base and started moving it in and out. Her hips were writhing, and he leaned in and took her hardened bud into his mouth, sucking it in and circling it with his tongue, pressing the vibrator up at the same time. Her hips bucked into him as her orgasm intensified with his efforts.

When the shuddering ceased, he heard her voice. "Please stop. Please, sir, I'll do anything else."

He looked up at her face. Her need was plain to see, and he smiled. God, he thought, where does she get this from? He'd never engaged in role playing--well, nothing beyond the 'Howdy, ma'am, ticket or fuck it' routine. This was way better, he thought.

He pulled the vibrator from her and kneeled between her spread legs. He reached under her and lifted her to him, squeezing her asscheeks with both hands as he plunged into her in one smooth, hard stroke.

"Oh no," she moaned, bucking away from the intrusion, trying to fight him off.

"Oh yes," he groaned in response, pumping his hips back and forth with a furious pace. He pummeled her, spreading her ass as he did so. His fingers found her rear opening and pressed, two of them sliding in with little effort. Her tight ring was clenching and unclenching, and he heard her begging him to stop. He paid no attention, though, and started sawing his fingers in and out.

As he felt himself get close again, he stopped.

"No, please don't stop," she gasped. She was on the verge of cumming again. He could see it in her face.

"Sorry," he said, turning to untie her legs, "but there's one more hole to go."

"No," she pleaded, "anywhere but there. Please. You'll hurt me."

"Probably," he said, finishing with the knots binding her ankles and lifting her legs up to her shoulders. "But you'll get used to it."

She bit her lip, staring deep into his eyes. He pushed the head against her tiny backdoor, feeling the resistance and watching her bite down harder, willing herself to relax.

Then he felt her loosen, suddenly and expansively, and he slid past easily. She gave a long low groan in response, and he reached his thumb to her clit and rubbed.

"Oh my God, you're so big . . . so full . . . ."

He started pumping, slowly at first but picking up speed. He felt her shake and tremble with her orgasm. Just as it subsided, he felt his own release building. It had been months, and he knew this would be a big one.

"Yes," she panted, straining her head to his lips. He kissed her deeply, their tongues swishing back and forth. Then he felt the first rope shoot deep into her and he held himself there, pressed hard against her. She held the kiss, panting softly with each throbbing spurt, mashing her face against his as shoulders and back shuddered with the force of his release.

When he finished, he lay down atop her, his forearms holding his chest over hers, looking deeply into her eyes, his cock still embedded in her ass.

"That was fuckin' incredible," he whispered.

She smiled broadly. "Thought we'd need a change of pace. You know, make sure you don't get bored with me now that we seem to be maybe dating and all."

They kissed, tender at first, then with greater hunger. He felt his flagging hard on rejuvenate with their passions, felt her hips push into him at the sensation.

I could truly get used to this forever, he thought as he prepared for round two.

* * *

Will knocked on the her door. Just a minute, he barely heard from deep within over the sounds of Green Day singing about September ending. Please hurry, he thought. It was freezing out, the brisk north wind cutting through his light jacket and sweater. He'd lived in Chicago for years, and he was still constantly being caught unawares by the sudden turns in the weather.

After nearly five minutes, he knocked again. Just a minute, she said again, still deep within the home. He knew he should've called first. They'd gone out a few times since the first date, all of them simple dates ending in simple kisses. Maybe she had someone in there, he thought. Maybe he'd acted impulsively in moving to town just assuming they could pick up where they'd left off. He heard rustling nearer the door.

"Hi," she said, flinging the door back and smiling at him, delighted to see him there. The music was blaring into his ears now. She stepped back to let him in, and he stepped past her, looking around to see if anyone else was there.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"What?" she said, going over to the stereo and turning it down.

"Is there someone here? I'm interrupting?"

"Of course not," she said. She walked over and pecked him on the cheek. "Just cleaning."

"What took so long to open the door?"

She smiled and flashed her eyes. "Because, Will, I wasn't dressed yet."

He grinned at the sight playing in his mind. "You clean in the buff?"

She laughed and swatted his arm. "In my undies and a t-shirt. I got up and started cleaning, didn't want to get dressed or take a shower until I was done."

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're done now?"

She nodded.

"Then you want to take that shower?"

She put her hands on his chest and walked him backward, pushing him when he reached the couch. He fell on it with a plop, staring up at her. Elizabeth had her hands on her hips, her hips tilted to the left, legs slightly parted, and a wicked smile on her face, her almond eyes sparkling at him. He liked the look.

"So you thought you'd just bust in on me here, huh?" He nodded. "Unannounced?" He nodded again. "Like, checking up on me or something?" He shrugged. "And what were your ideas, Will Sherman? To just barge in here while I'm half dressed and . . . and what . . . and ravage me? Is that what you were going to do?"

He laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. "I didn't know you'd be half dressed, swear to God. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have waited outside freezing my ass off. I'd have kicked down the door for at least a peek."

She stepped forward and sat on his lap, her arms going around his neck. He felt her legs on the top of his thighs, and he put his hands on her knees, stroking her smooth skin through her sweat pants.

"You look kinda hot in sweats and a smelly t-shirt," he said.

"You hitting on me?"

He nodded.

"This whole dating thing going a bit slow for your tastes, I take it?"

He nodded again, pulling her toward him as he did so.

"What're you doing?" she said as she was drawn in.

"Kissing you at the beginning of the date for a change."

Their lips met, a light brush, then he felt her mouth open and her tongue emerge, seeking his. He kissed her back, lowering his hands to her ass and pulling her hips toward his.

"You sure this isn't too fast for you?" she said between kisses, unbuttoning his shirt as she did so.

He murmured his approval. "What's the harm in a shower? Cleanliness is next to Godliness and all."

She opened his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. Then he felt her palms gliding over his ribs, her hands warm, the skin smooth. "I don't remember inviting you into the shower with me," she whispered in his ear just before sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

"I've babysat Brandon four times now," he said, running his hands over his back. "I figured you'd want to show your appreciation." He felt her back stiffen.

"As in sex for services?"

He stopped, unsure what to say. She pushed away from him, anger flashing in her eyes.

"I asked you a question."

"That's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant, Elizabeth."

"It's what you said." She stood off of him.

He felt his anger rising. He had to keep in check, but he couldn't help himself. "Oh for fuck sake, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"You think I'm a whore is what's wrong."

"Bullshit! You know I don't think that, that I've never thought that."

She turned her back to him. "I want you to leave."

He grabbed her shoulders from behind and twisted her around.

"No. Not until we've talked about this."

The anger remained in her eyes. "Get your fucking hands off of me." She pushed him away and stalked down the hallway.

He followed behind. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry. Please, let's talk about it. Please, you know I didn't mean it that way."

She wheeled on him. "Then why did you say it?"

"So every time I say anything that you can construe even remotely as insinuating that sex is in exchange for anything--whether I'm joking or not--you think I'm saying you're a whore? Is that the way this is going to be? Forever?"

"But you won't tell me why you said it."

He threw up his arms. "Fine. I said it as a joke. I realize now you don't think it was funny. Fine. I'll make sure I never say anything spontaneously again, never try to make light of anything again. Okay? That make you happy?"

He turned and walked to the couch, buttoning his shirt as he did so. He felt her footsteps behind him as he reached over to pick up his jacket.

"Where are you going?" she said behind him.

He turned, pulling on his jacket. "What do you care? You already told me to get out." He walked past her to the door, but she ran over and put her hand on it, blocking his path.

"You're just going to leave? Before we've talked it through?"

He looked at her, seeing the anger still in her eyes. "Yes. It's what you wanted, it's what you'll get." He lifted her arm from the door and walked back into the cold.

"Goddamnit, Will, come back."

Will ignored her. He was seething with anger, unable to contain himself. He got into his car and, without a look back at the door, started it and drove away.

On his way home, he replayed the scene in his mind. He still wasn't sure what had happened. They'd been on numerous dates, chatted easily and gotten to know each other well. It was there, he knew it was; that spark he'd been waiting for in a relationship his whole entire life, they had that spark. And he'd babysat Brandon while she was away at the artist's house on the weekends, enjoying his time with the tot, getting comfortable with each other and having fun learning how to care for a toddler. He had to admit he was learning about child care much the way a drowning victim learned about water, but still, he thought, I've been doing a damned good job.

Then the whole scene today erupted. One minute they were kissing, touching, loving. The next minute she takes offense at the slightest remark, an innocent remark. He put on his lawyer's cap, trying to see it all her way. Okay, if she's still uncomfortable about her past, and about him knowing about it, then fine, maybe she was justified in taking offense. But when he'd tried to explain, to apologize, she'd shut him out. Of course, losing his cool didn't do any good. And maybe his apology was just so much muttered nonsense.

So why did he say it? Will knew why. He'd said it because he figured he proven himself to her. In taking it slow, in babysitting for her, in being there and not pushing things. He'd proven she could trust him and that he was serious about them. Then why didn't I just say that? he thought.

He was mortified when his mind whirred through the end of the scene. She'd asked him to stay, but she was still angry. Still, she'd asked him to stay, and he'd ignored her. He'd walked out.

"Fuck," he said, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He didn't know what to do, but his anger remained. She was still uncomfortable with the whole thing, and he wondered if she'd ever be able to get over how they'd initially met. Will felt the first twinge that maybe he'd made a mistake in moving here and going after her.

* * *

Sean watched her sip her tea, staring at her drawing.

"I don't understand," she said, still staring. "They're the same thing, mine and yours, but yours has more. Not just the precision or the detail, but the emotion." He looked at her drawing. Elizabeth, her long, shiny black hair, oval face, almond eyes, high cheekbones. She was smiling, and there was a glint in her eyes. It was definitely Elizabeth. But Aimee was right, and he wasn't sure how best to put this to her.

"C'mon," she said, looking back and forth from her drawing to hers, "what is it?"

Sean sighed. Then he felt her green eyes turn to him, and he was afraid to look back at her. "It's Elizabeth, yours is Elizabeth. They look almost identical, but yours is . . . just way better. Why?"

He looked at her, then back to her sketch. "Okay," he said, turning his easel so she could more easily see, "tell me what you see."

She looked closely at it. "Elizabeth."

He shook his head. "No, you see an apprehensive girl is what you see, right?"

Aimee looked at his drawing more closely, then nodded. He turned his sketch pad over and pointed to her drawing. "Now tell me what you see."

She stared. "She doesn't look apprehensive."

He nodded. Then he leaned over and flicked in a few lines, changing the angle of the eyes and lips, the eyebrows, the length of the chin. The changes were slight, but their total effect altered entire nature of the drawing.

"You drew her as you wanted to see her. You didn't listen to her, didn't pay attention to what she was saying or how it changed the way she felt about what she was saying."

Aimee flipped his drawing over, then looked back to hers. They were nearly identical now.

"You have many of the technical skills," he said. "You've learned to make something look like it's supposed to, but you've never learned to allow the audience to see beyond the shape of the face, the likeness. Know what I mean?"

Aimee nodded, then turned to face him. Her eyes met his, serious, attentive. "Then how do I learn to let them see how she's feeling?"

Sean smiled. "First, you have to see how she's feeling. You have to listen to her, hear what she's saying, and then see how it changes her."

"So you were listening the whole time she was talking?"

Sean was taken aback. "Well of course I was. Why do you think I get them to talk?"

"I just thought it was to keep them relaxed, something to pass the time while you drew them."

He shook his head and laughed. "Oh no," he said. "No, if you really want to catch the spirit of a person, have them tell you their happiest memory. Then have them tell you their saddest memory. See if they'll do it in painstaking detail. The more detail, the better. So they'll relive it as they tell."

Aimee was nodding with her entire upper body, swaying in understanding. He watched her, transfixed by her figure. Here, these dozens of days and nights, hundreds of hours later, she still took his breath away.

"Why don't you ever draw me?" she said, breaking his reverie.

He leaned back, surprised. He hadn't, he realized. Here she was, the most wonderful creature, and he'd never even thought about it. Instead, he'd focused on drawing and painting with her, enjoying their time together, his as teacher and hers as student.

"Well?"

"I don't know. I suppose I never really saw you that way. As a model. I saw you as a fellow artist."

She leaned over. His eyes were open, and he watched her move into him, frozen in place. His eyes watched as her lids slowly closed just before he felt her lips on his. They were and smooth, moist from the tea, just making contact before pressing in a little more. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, feeling the sensations of their contact course through his brain. It was strange and natural at the same time, like remembering an old memory and letting it wash through your nerves.

Then her lips were gone. Sean kept his eyes closed, letting the sensations ebb before slowly opening his eyes.

Aimee was looking at him, her bright green eyes entrancing him. He was unable to speak and realized he wouldn't know what to say anyway. What did he see there? Was it sadness? Did she regret kissing him? Oh bollocks, he thought, he probably wasn't much of a kisser, and she pitied him that.

Her voice was soft. "Tell me about her Sean."

What was she talking about? He tilted his head, unsure what to say.

"Holly, your wife. Tell me about her."

Aimee's eyes remained on his, and he was lost in them as he heard his voice answer. "She's dead. We thought she was pregnant, and she was. But the doctors said there was more there. More than just our baby. There was cancer."

He felt her hand on his, squeezing his palm, her eyes telling him to continue.

"She lost the baby. The cancer killed him, caused her to miscarry. He was going to be our first. But the cancer took him from us. Then it took her from me."

His face felt warm and wet, and he saw her hand in the periphery of his vision wiping the wetness away. Her hand was warm, smooth, gentle, but he was still captivated by her eyes.

"It took a year. She whithered away to nothing, maybe sixty-five pounds at the end. She'd scream from the pain, and I'd tell her, 'Baby, there's nothing I can do. You've already got all the morphine I can give you.' But still she screamed."

He felt a catch in his throat and cleared it, heard his voice getting hoarse.

"By the end, she couldn't scream. She didn't have the energy any more. She begged me to kill her, to let her die. But I couldn't. She was my Holly, my wife. She was all I had, and I couldn't let her go. She knew that, I could see it in her eyes, but still she'd plead with me."

Sean turned away from the green eyes. He stared out the window, watched the raw winds of November shake the naked branches.

"Then I came in one morning and she was still. I started crying, afraid she'd left me. But then she turns, tries to smile. I went to her, climbed in next to her and held her. I heard her saying something, but I couldn't hear, so I leaned in close."

He wiped his own tears away.

"What did she say?" Aimee said.

He turned back and faced her. Her eyes, those beautiful, bright green eyes, were slick with a film of tears. He looked down, was both of her hands not holding his.

"She said she forgave me." He looked back into her eyes. "Then she died before I could tell her I was sorry."

Sean watched as Aimee stood before him, felt himself being pulled from the chair. Then she hugged him tight and held him, her body swaying gently to and fro. After a few moments, as if in a trance, he felt his own arms hugging her back. She was small, three inches or so shorter than him, but tiny, too. Like Holly.

Her head was against his chest, pressing into him. He could feel her hot breath through the opening in his shirt, warming him. Her hands were kneading the knots in is back, her fingers poking into the muscles while her palms held him to her. Sean felt her smooth back through his fingertips. He stroked her shoulder blades, then felt the bony ridge of her spine. One hand slid up into her hair, feeling its silky smoothness part between his fingers.

He felt her head tilt. When he looked down, she was staring back at him, her tears drying now. He leaned in, now knowing what he was doing and knowing what he wanted to do. When his lips met hers, he felt hers part and her tongue press against him, pushing through. His lips parted, their tongues met. They stood, still hugging and swaying, as they kissed. It was soft, slow, patient.

Sean felt her left hand slide lower and stop on his ass, squeezing him before pulling his hips toward hers. He moved his hand lower as well, feeling the gentle rise of her hips before running his palm over the soft roundness of her ass. Then he squeezed, kneading her small, round cheek as his kisses grew more frantic.

Sean felt them moving, stepping slowly toward the lounge chair on the other side of the easels. When they got there, they sank into the chair together, their lips still together, their kiss unbroken, their tongues still exploring. He felt Aimee twist over him, then the kiss was broken.