Page 30 of Deep Gap

14

________________

Byron’s crossover pulls into the driveway as I’m modeling a new dress in the hall bathroom mirror. Its pattern is flirty, and it’s probably way too short. It’s definitely not something I can wear while cleaning. If I bend over I have to be careful my butt won’t show. I justified the buy because I have a little padding in my bank account. The top also was such that it didn’t require the padding of a new bra. Plus, I can get away with wearing the canvas sneakers I wore last summer if I run them through a bleach cycle in the washer.

I guess hearing Byron tell me he thinks I’m attractive makes me want to be attractive to him. Admittedly, it’s not that I hadn’t tried with the red sweater all those months back while my inner monolog stiffly maintained that it was just me dressing appropriately for the occasion. I suppose the part of me that’s giddy over Byron’s invitation agrees looking nice at the party is important.

Which is to say, I had a whopper of a mental argument on the appropriateness of rewarding myself with a twelve-dollar garment someone else has already worn.

Telling Karen today that I wasn’t moving in was hard. But I’m proud that I did it. It won’t be as tricky the next time. I’ll have more confidence. I won’t feel like I’m letting her down by sharing the things I remember about Ellis with her less frequently.

About to duck into my room and slip into my comfy jeans, a gruff grunt sends my shoulders to my ears and my bare feet skidding to a halt.

“Stop,” Byron says in the same gravely manner as he’d asked me to touch myself this morning in bed.

An electric skitter of awareness prickles over my skin. I turn around before he commands me to. And make no doubt, those are the next words out of him.

“I’ve never seen you dressed up.” Tossing his keys on the nearest hard surface, he swaggers toward me, pressing his body to mine. “I want a chance to admire you.”

“You can’t exactly look at me when I’m pinned to the wall, can you?” I smart, flushing.

We’ve changed course and are at a place where flirty interactions have been replaced with intimate, straightforward, and outright suggestive communication.

“Sure I can,” he taunts, taking a lock of my blonde hair between his fingers and arching a brow.

“Speedycuts.” I treated myself to a trim to get rid of the split ends.

With a wolfish grin, he brushes the lock over my back and places a kiss on my mouth. One more on my chin. A third, when my head shifts, exposing my neck, landing under my ear. His fingers dip between my breasts, cupping one and folding the layers of fabric down so that it’s exposed to the air. Taking it between his lips, there’s a tug from his teeth. Remnants of the shimmery peppermint lip balm I’d tested out tickle my nipple. A soothing pull follows as Byron sucks the slightest hint of pain away. Recognition that he intends on playing with my body again shoots right to my core, filling me with an aching need for the satisfaction he gave me when we woke.

I whimper as Byron’s hand skids up my thigh, bunching the fabric to reach underneath the skirt, and drawing my panties down my legs.

He kneels. “Step out, Beautiful.”

I lift my toes, doing as he says. He grasps my thigh, guiding it over his shoulder, and brings his nose to my pussy. A tentative tongue darts to taste me. My knees buckle and Byron’s chest rumbles.

“You like that, honey bee?”

I hum my appreciation. The briefest pause in what he’s doing causes my breath to come in sharp pants.

He slides his tongue against my slit again, curling it at the contours of my clit, and taking the hard nub into his mouth to suckle the way he had my nipple.

My shameless moans have Byron taking the weight of my hips. He grips my ass, bluntly instructing me to fuck his face. As if there was any question. I run my hand behind his neck. My fingers thread into his hair. The scruff of his perpetual five o’clock shadow combines with my titillating wetness. The two sensations create a third even more gratifying one. Two fingers enter my soaked cunt and my muscles convulse, tipping me over the edge, and making me cry out.

Steadying me, Byron stands and picks me up. He carries me to my bed, where he places me down. Without wiping the taste of me away, our tongues tangle leisurely while he readjusts my dress. The panties are still in the living room. Jovie is sacked out on my floor.

I cover my face. “Did she watch us?”

“No, she didn’t. There’s a reason she has a dog bed and doesn’t sleep in mine.”

“Ooh,” I drag the syllables out. It makes sense that Byron’s had women over before, even if he hasn’t since I’ve lived under this roof.

“I have a sticky question. Did you ever mention Ilona to Karen?”

“No.”

Bisexuality played the smallest of roles. My parents accepted me for who I am. They’d taught me if anyone took issue with my sex life that was their problem, not mine.

Given the heat, we had much bigger fish to fry. I was already dealing with the judgment of others. Karen’s and Mac’s being the harshest. It was a conscientious decision to avoid the fact that while I’d wanted Ellis as a boyfriend, Ilona was my girlfriend. I never brought our relationship up with them because—male or female—I wouldn’t have been as cruel during their brief visits as to make Karen and Mac believe I wasn’t mourning Ellis anymore.

---