Page 41 of Second Round

“You feel so good around my cock,” Leo murmured. I tried hard to squeeze him inside and wriggled to increase his sensations. But I didn’t know what turned him on, so I had to be aware of his reactions. I listened for a sharp intake of breath or word of approval as I raised myself to meet him and he stroked in and out. That beautiful perfect friction. It felt so good, and finally I was beyond thinking and worrying. Our bodies parted and met in a basic animalrutting.

“Ugh, so good,” I groaned. Leo was moaning too. His pace was getting faster and more erratic, and then he pulled outcompletely.

I let out a noise of complaint. He flipped me over and spread my legs apart. He fastened that talented mouth to my clit again. His tongue flicked and teased out that incredible rush ofsensation.

“Oh my God, I’m coming,” I screamed as Leo held my thighs wide and worked me until I collapsed limp on the bed. Then he moved up between my thighs and pushed inside me again. It was even more intense this time as he raised my ass and thrust harder and went deep, increasing the pace. I could see him now, but the sharp planes of his face were shadowed by the bedside lamp. He closed his eyes as he let himself relax and feelitall.

“Oh fuck,” he cried out as he thrust one last time. Then he collapsed onto me. I held him to me, feeling the hot sweat on our bodies slowly evaporate. I felt exhausted and exhilarated at thesametime.

He finally rolled off me but kept an arm drapedacrossme.

“That was fucking amazing,” hemuttered.

Uh, yeah, times a hundred. I wanted to scream out loud, “I just had sex! And orgasms.” But instead I snuggled into Leo’s side. I liked the feel of his strong body next to mine almost as much as the actual sex.Almost.

“Should I stay or go?” I asked. What was theetiquettehere?

“Stay.” His eyes were closed, and his voice half-asleep. He was going to be out in about two minutes. But staying meant the possibility of even moresex.Yay!

14

NothingCompares

Jackie

Leo was kissing me—messy,passionate kisses with his tongue deep into my mouth. Then he stopped and began kissing me all over my face, licking my cheeks, and lickingmy...hair?

Someone was lickingmyhair.

“What are you doing?” I sat up in bed. Minx was sitting on my pillow. “Were you licking me? That is soweird.”

She meowed loudly, and I looked at the time. Sunday morning and I had slept in until after eight o’clock. Her breakfast time was an hour ago. I never slept in. In fact, I hadn’t slept through the night since... well, sinceBrentleft.

But I had slept well at Leo’s place on Friday night, and now againatmine.

Crapola. Was I turning into some kind of stereotype? Dried-up single mom who finally gets some and comes to life. I got out of bed and fed Minx on autopilot. There was no question, I felt fantastic. A good night’s sleep and orgasms were acure-all.

Since nobody was around, I skipped my morning shower, pulled on old jeans and a button-down shirt, and began painting. The large vase of bright red tulips that I was painting yesterday were sitting on the buffet, but after a few frustrated moments, I dropped my brushes into a jar of water. There was too much energy in me to paint something small andfidgety.

I grabbed my mug of coffee, went out on the deck, and looked out at my garden. The dappled morning sunshine spotlighted all the spring bulbs pushing their heads up: the lavender croci, the white and yellow narcissi, and a tide of dark purple grape hyacinths. And all the flowers were set off by that bright green that signalled the early spring. Our cherry blossom tree was beginning to bud. The tree had been here when we moved in, but every flower was from a bulb I’d planted. They had naturalized and spread everywhere. A shadow of sadness loomed, but I didn’t want to dwell on how much I was going to miss my garden. I needed to memorialize this sight. I pulled out my phone and took a few photos, then went back inside and grabbed my sketchbook and some markers. I did a pencil outline, and then sketched in some colours and played around with the composition. If I moved the cherry tree to the foreground, made the wave of purple hyacinths move towards the centre, and then added some pink tulips—not yet in bloom, but I was taking artistic license—then this would make an incredible painting. And I had the big stack of blank canvases that I had bought for thatrestaurantshow.

I set up my easel on the deck. First a charcoal sketch on the big canvas and then I blocked in some big squares of colour. Freeing myself from replicating exactly what was in a photograph or still life was incredibly freeing. I was painting my vision of life—an enhanced reality where the colours were more vivid and elements were freely added andsubtracted.

The glorious flow state emerged where I was losing all sense of time. Yet this flow state was different. Now, I wasn’t escaping from my problems, I was painting for the sheer pleasure of painting. It was sensual, tactile, relaxing. At times my mind drifted back to Friday night. Was that what post-divorce sex was going to be like? Because pre-marriage sex had been wracked with worries: Am I going to get pregnant? Is he going to think I’m a slut? Are my breasts too small? Is he the one? Am I doing thisright?

But Friday night had only been about sex. I wanted it as much as Leo did, and he had been incredible. Whenever I shifted, the soreness between my legs reminded me of every naughty thing we had done. It was ridiculous, but I felt like a pirate—lawless, swashbuckling, daring. Not the boring hockey momanymore.

Finally the loud gurgling of my stomach signalled how much time had passed. I checked my watch and found I had an hour until the kids were home. Exactly the right time to clean up my painting stuff, eat, shower, and be ready for theirreturn.

I stood back and looked at the painting. It wasn’t done yet, but it was going to be good. The bright colours gave it an energy and movement that drew you inside. I exhaled happily. I had stumbled into my theme for the show: painting all the scenes I’d miss when I leftmyhome.

Brentand the kids exploded into the house and for once I was exactly where I wanted to be: on the living room couch, reading a book with a cup of teabesideme.

“Mom!” Tristan threw himself into my lap. “Imissedyou.”

I kissed the top of his head. He had the sharp scent of ripe boy. Brent was pretty lax about showers after hockey. But I didn’t care, I hugged him tightly. “Missed you so much. Did you have a goodweekend?”

“Yup. We ate at Boston Pizza tonight.” No matter how many incredible things he did since I last saw him, Tristan would only remember the last one. He stayed perched on my lap and peered at the crumbs on my empty plate. “Are there chocolate chip cookies?” Tristan could have worked on a C.S.I. team, as long as the C stood forcookie.

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