My voice choked in my throat, and I was unable to say anything, barely breathing, as the pleasure showered down through me.
As we stopped moving, still clutching each other, I heard someone downstairs say, “Hello?”
“Oh, shit,” he said, and he withdrew and grabbed his pants from around his feet. He shook his head and quickly did up his trousers as he walked a few steps to the wide-open door. “Just one minute, I'm with a client,” he called down.
I was trying to get myself moving as well, but my legs were like rubber, my whole body limp and spent.
Trevor turned back, looked at me, and said, “You okay?”
“I'm great!”
“I didn't hurt you?” He looked genuinely worried.
“No,” I shook my head. “Not at all.”
He looked relieved. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“Don't be sorry, that was amazing.”
He called down the stairs again to the stranger, “Be right down,” and then he disappeared.
I made my way to the master en suite, praying the plumbing in the show suite was hooked up and working. It was, thank goodness.
After I finished using the bathroom and put my panties back on, I walked out just as Trevor was showing a young couple around the room. I wasn't certain, but I thought the scent of our action might still be in the air, as subtle as the perfume of the potpourri, but musky.
The man, a hip-looking black fellow with funky glasses, went right to the dresser and ran his hands over the surface. “This is good, sturdy furniture,” he said.
His wife said, “Is there a furniture package? I do like that furniture.”
The man went to the four-poster bed and stroked one of the posters, his eyebrows dancing suggestively. “I've always wanted one of these,” he said.
The woman giggled and said to Trevor, “We're newlyweds.”
Trevor grinned at her and said, “Oh, I remember that phase.”
At that, the mention of his ex in such a happy manner, I got a terrible sensation in my gut, and the room began to swim, as though I might faint. I had to grasp onto the door frame to keep myself steady.
Things were moving so fast.
Not long after showing the couple around the bedroom, some of the sales staff returned to the show suite and took over.
Trevor poked around, taking more photos, and even got a long construction ladder from outside so he could crawl up into the attic space to look at the insulation.
The whole time, the three sales agents made small talk with me. Well, the two guys did, and the fair-haired woman just stared at me. I knew it was crazy, but I felt like she knew we'd had sex up in the bedroom.
So what? Who was she going to tell? Trevor was her boss, anyway. He could do whatever he wanted.
As I stared at the rented art on the walls, trying to find a deeper meaning in the mass-produced paintings, I wondered if that might be a problem: Trevor could do whatever he wanted.
We decided to have dinner back at my house, rather than his, since mine was closer. I suspiciously wondered if he was trying to keep some distance, keep me from getting to know him too well.
As we were preparing the pasta, in my family's kitchen, I finally got the courage to say something.
“Trevor, would you say you think about your time with your ex-wife … fondly?”
He frowned over the vegetables he was chopping. “Where is this coming from? If you want to talk about the past, why don't you tell me about some of your relationships?”
“We don't have to have a huge discussion, but just a little info would help me fill in the blanks.”
“What blanks?”
I poured a second glass of white wine for myself. “Earlier today, at the show suite, you said something about being a newlywed, and you had a big smile on your face.”
“That?” He gave me a tough look, like a caged animal. “Sales, Naomi. You do know I work in sales.”
“I guess I'm just being silly.” I took another sip of my wine. “Just being a silly girl ...”
He didn't say anything to the contrary.
By the time dinner was ready, I wasn't hungry.
We sat in the same breakfast nook where we'd had lap-sex that morning, and we ate our pasta.
Finally, he picked up the clues and said, “What's up?”
“I don't want to pressure you to talk, because you say you're no good at it, but I'm wondering if that's just an excuse because you don't want to talk about relationships.”
“I don't see why anyone would want to talk about relationships. It's like talking about the weather. What good does it do?”
“Don't tell me you're against communicating.”
He stabbed his fork into the pasta. “I'm not against anything, except excruciating talks.”
My sister's words echoed in my head: transitional relationship; rebound fling.
And that was when I decided I wasn't going to push. If he didn't want to talk, we wouldn't talk. He was handsome and kind and we'd been having the best sex of my life—I had no idea I could have sex in the morning and afternoon and not feel sated, but, rather, crave it even more by nightfall. Like a drug. A tall, handsome, slightly hairy drug.
I had my shoes off, so I casually nudged a foot over to the top of his foot and rubbed his toes.
He gave me a gentle smile. “That's nice,” he said.
“Mm hmm.”
“Hey, remember that time you … uh ...”
“What?” I sipped my wine and gave him a flirty look.
“When you did that thing.”
“When I f**ked you in the show suite? Earlier today? Or when I let you f**k me right here, in the breakfast nook?”
He chuckled. “No, that time at my house, when you did that thing.”
I searched my memory, and what a pleasant memory it was. We'd had a great time at his house, the highlight being giving each other o**l s*x at the same time. What could he be so embarrassed about?
“Oh! You mean when I sucked your big toe?”
He blushed. It was the first time I'd seen him get embarrassed, and it made me want to rip his clothes off and eat him up right there, instead of dinner.
“Maybe you could do that again,” he said. “If you want.”
I gazed into his eyes. “You want me to put your big, hairy toe in my mouth and lick it and suck it and stroke it?”
He turned even more red and nodded.
Funny, there were some things he didn't seem to mind talking about.
That night, I did not suck on his toe.
We had sex in my little double-sized bed, twice, and it was mind-blowing, as it had been the first time.
I pretended to forget about the toe, even though I hadn't, and he was too embarrassed to ask.