By Micki L. Bailey
Roger felt the itchy rippling of a foul mood creeping through the nerves in his body. Without thinking about it, he wrinkled up his nose, snarl-like. He knew he was ill and didn’t care.
"Perfect!" he snapped to no one as he reached over and quickly turned off the radio. Hootie and the Blowfish had started yapping about "Let Her Cry." Not something that interested Roger at the moment.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he sighed aloud. The "her" in his life wouldn’t be expecting him at the loft when he arrived. He’d told her he was going out "drinking with the guys" that evening.
Curtly might describe how he’d told her that. It had been about the extent of their conversation that morning as she dressed for work. The air between had been frosty and tense – a direct result of unpleasant relations in their bedroom the night before.
As they lay together in the dark talking about everything, she’d gotten unexpectedly and heatedly upset over something "careless" he had said. He couldn’t even recall now what the hell it might have been. Didn’t matter. She’d been angry, and he’d been tired and low on tolerance. So he had calmly exited the conversation as well as the room, opting instead to sit quietly in the den with some Jack Daniels until she’d fallen asleep.
He awoke that morning to find her in a semi-sullen mood, no longer pissed off but still out of sorts. Feeling a bit hungover, he cared as little about conversation as she seemed to. So he told her about his evening plans as she was leaving and regretted the whole little "situation" only slightly.
Tiny, dark thoughts snuck into his mind as he drove home: Why did I ever concede to trade in the old days for the way things have shaped up now? Those comfortable days of bachelordom and self-sufficiency when MY psyche was the only one I had to care about. The simple days before I chose to permanently share myself with a woman, this woman. Was the sacrifice a little too drastic? Is this deal more trouble than it’s worth?
With not much conviction, he pushed the nagging thoughts aside and parked the Jeep. It wasn’t even a real "fight," for chrissake. He was expending far too much mental energy on this bullshit.
By the time the elevator opened and he stepped into the loft, Roger’s attitude had digressed from "foul" to "apathetic." Whatever happens happens, he thought. To hell with it.
But when he glanced up at what was casually slinking at the bar, all of him was arrested and riveted. My god.
With her back to him and her tall frame slightly bent over the bar, she wore a black leather skirt that hugged her hips and rose about four inches above her knees. A cashmere sweater, also black, clung to her snugly, and her long legs filled out silvery-gray hose, right down to black leather pumps. Calf muscles flexed, and her short blonde hair shook as she spun around to him. Her blue-green eyes lit up, and she smiled.
"Hey, sweetheart. I was just writing you a note. Thought you weren’t coming home."
Roger sucked in air for the first time since he’d entered. He consciously stared at her, from head to toe, gawking even, feeling his body beginning to react to the sight. Even her perfume was filling up his senses.
"Were you expecting somebody else, baby?" His voice came out thick, raspy. He stepped closer, wetting his lips. Could she see what she was doing to him?
"Just Diane. We’re going to dinner. She’s supposed to call from the car when she gets downstairs."
No sullen tone left over from that morning. But Roger hardly noticed. His mind was all around touching her – placing his hands firmly on her leather-clad hips. And then, maybe, her ass.
He smiled seductively at her. "Can’t you cancel? I don’t havta go to Stooges. We could—"
"No, Roger. It’s too late to cancel. She’s on her way over. And besides……..You weren’t even supposed to show up here." Elegantly, she lifted her right foot and rested it on the bar stool bottom, exposing a little more of her inner thigh.
Scrutinizing her every move, he was positive he caught a glimpse of where the hose ended and bare skin began under that skirt. This, he knew, meant the lacy garter belts and tiny sheer panties she owned. The mere possibility made his groin begin to twitch and stiffen. And imagining her nipples hardening under the cashmere as he caressed them with his fingertips only heightened the sensation.
He moved closer to her, next to her. "Sweetheart," he said quietly. "You’re killing me here…….looking as good as you do……..Please."
In her eyes, he saw that she wasn’t attempting to "tease" him. That wasn’t her style anyway. But she was standing firm about her denial right now. He breathed in her essence and lightly touched her neck.
"Roger……..You know what they say………..Love wouldn’t be worth it if it didn’t drive you to your knees once in a while," she purred.
Running his fingers down her throat to her chest, he said, "Well, consider me crawling then, baby." To give her proof, he pressed his hardness against her thigh.
She sighed. "Honey……Go on and do your ‘guy’ stuff. We’ve always got later……."
There was more, but he wasn’t hearing. Barely touching the cashmere and leather, he spun through the delicious fantasy brewing in his mind. The one in which she’d acquiesced and let him carry her to their bed. The one where he was elongated and over her now, furiously kissing every spot of bare skin his mouth could locate. As he slipped his hands expertly up under the soft sweater in this carnal daydream, he found the plump, round breasts he loved with their pert little nipples and imagined the lush oasis he’d soon discover between her legs.
He could already taste her on his lips and tongue as he slid the tight leather skirt up to her hips. His rigidness turned to rock-like as he fantasized about caressing her smooth skin under the lacy garter straps and about carefully pulling off the silky panties.
Then he kissed her inner thighs tenderly, teasingly, before diving into her quivering, hot caldron. Licking and lapping at her hurriedly, he soaked up her juices while she writhed and moaned.
As she still panted from her own orgasmic blast, he sat up and urgently positioned himself between her legs. Pulling her closer to him with her thighs, he drove into her and gasped out loud at the wet, enveloping tightness that sucked him in.
He couldn’t resist pumping into her with lustful abandon, like he’d wanted desperately to do since he saw her dressed as she was, until the heat inside him built up ferociously to a wild fireball. He shut his eyes against the shattering explosion and unleashed his torrent far into her warm, grasping center.
"Roger, you’re not listening to a damn word I’ve said." She forced him back into reality.
"Sorry, sweets. I went somewhere else for a minute." He swallowed slowly. The persistent hard-on was still in his pants.
"Yeah. I can just imagine where………Look, Diane’s here. I gotta go."
"I can’t convince you to stay here with me?"
She pretended to scold. "Cut it out now. I’ll see you later…….And behave yourself tonight." The elevator opened. "You hear me?"
"Yeah, baby. I hear ya." He smiled and blew her a kiss before the door closed again.
What was all that angst about "good ol’ days" and "self-sufficiency" he’d been plagued by just a few minutes before? By now, he discovered, it had all been vaporized from his head. Just a mood, he thought wryly.
* * *
To chase away the choking desire that was steaming up his mind now, Roger scarfed down a cold beer and then took a hot shower. His ugly mood threatened to return, but he fought it off. He’d go down to Stooges and throw back a few with the gang, chill out and relax. There would be plenty of time later on for the Mrs.
As things turned out, tossing back "a few" expanded to quite a few as Roger succeeded in mellowing out his fevered insides. Gathered at Stooges for the fun and male bonding was a select group of "the gang": Vinnie, of course, Sonny, Daniel, Albert, and Drew.
Roger and Vinnie sat alone at a high table around eleven that night and watched a pool game while they chatted idly. Both had switched from bottled beer to whiskey hours ago. And both figured silently that a taxi cab would usher them home before much longer. They were mostly drunk.
"Drew is such a shit-for-brains," Vinnie was saying. "Can he be fucking serious? Look at ‘im! I swear to God he’s NEVER won at eight ball."
"Vince says you’re a loser, Preston," Roger shouted over towards the game. Then he chuckled.
Drew glanced up and then intently returned to the game he was intently not winning. "Eat my ass, Terranova."
"No thanks, you dick. Not ‘til you win a freaking game." Vinnie shook his head.
"What eloquent company I keep," Roger said to himself. He sipped his drink. His head was beginning to spin slowly, and, oddly enough, he enjoyed the feeling.
"Say, Rog……….Can ya believe that fucker Drew mustered up the gall to put the moves on your ol’ lady?"
Roger set the glass down, laughing at Vinnie’s joke. "No……..That I wouldn’t believe. He ain’t got the balls."
Not realizing yet that he’d stepped into a field of deadly land mines, Vinnie continued. "No fooling ‘round, man. She didn’t tell ya?"
Roger stopped laughing. Blinking slowly and turning his head to face Vinnie, he said, "What did you say?"
"He went for it, Roga. Groped her one day while you weren’t home……..’bout a year ago……Thought for damn sure she’d told ya by now, man. That’s ancient history."
Roger glared at him, giving Vinnie the alarm signal he’d overlooked about the land mines. "Drew came on to my wife? Touched her?" He screamed with a whisper. His head was certainly spinning now.
Vinnie recoiled at the look in his eyes. "Sorry, man…..I thought ya knew. Guess I fucked up."
"No, Vince……..You’re not the one that fucked up."
Before Vinnie could respond, Roger was up and out of his chair. With the grace and agility of a large feline, he swiftly moved across the room and pounced before Drew could even get his pool stick up in self-defense.
The stick fell to the floor loudly as Roger grabbed the other guy and hit him squarely in the jaw. Then he picked Drew up by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall, peering into his face. Their friends gathered behind.
"You bastard," Roger hissed. "Of all the women in this fucking world, you gotta go and pick MINE to mess with, huh? Somebody oughtta teach you some manners, asshole." He slung him into the hard wall one more time.
Drew was petrified in the strong grip. He stared wide-eyed at his attacker. "I lost my head, Roger. I shouldn’ta done it. I’m sorry." He was close to panting. "She was a fighter, though. Thought she was gonna kick my ass."
Roger was in his face. Eye to eye. "Maybe I should just kill you."
In a flash, they were both on the floor. Roger, on top, pummeled Drew unmercifully around his face and chest. Seconds later, though, Sonny and Albert had forcefully dragged Roger off and held him as he struggled violently.
"Settle down, Lococco. You wanna put ‘im in the hospital?" Albert asked. Daniel was attempting to raise Drew back up to his feet.
Roger snarled. "Lemme go."
"Fuck you, Roger. You’re rabid." Sonny maintained his hold.
"I said……….let me go," Roger articulated through clenched teeth. "I’m going home."
Vinnie stood up finally and walked over to face Roger. But he said nothing for a moment. The two stared at each other.
"Let ‘im go, guys."
Albert and Sonny glanced at each other, hesitating. Then, as Drew snuck away, they released their mad dog who rushed away from them and out the front door of the bar before anyone could detain him again. Everyone left standing glared at Vinnie.
"What?" he asked, puzzled.
"Where’s he going, Terranova?" Albert sounded dangerously serious.
Vinnie shifted his gaze to him. "He’s going home……..just like he said."
"Shouldn’t you stop him? He’s wasted and pissed off as hell. What if he goes after her too?"
Vinnie looked at him incredulously. "He wouldn’t hurt her."
"Yeah, and it’d take a tranquilizer gun to stop ‘im now anyway." Sonny turned and went back to his beer, and the group dispersed weakly.
Twenty minutes later, troubled thoughts floated through Vinnie’s foggy brain: I’ve really screwed up this time with my drunk mouth. How much damage have I caused? He took out his cell phone and called the loft.
* * *
Roger sensed she was still awake when entered the loft. He was also aware that he wasn’t concentrating well or thinking straight. He was still livid and unsettled and knew that he should remedy that before he regretted not doing so. He needed to find more restraint from someone deep inside than he’d utilized at the bar.
He did not, however, regret beating the shit out of Drew. Drew, in Roger’s opinion, deserved twice the pounding he’d suffered.
When Roger had realized that Vinnie was relaying actual, real-life events, all he could envision was her oh-so-hot image from that afternoon – the all-black cashmere/leather drag that had caused his blood to boil. She’d been outrageously attractive and desirable – his lovely chosen one.
And then to imagine that Drew, someone Roger actually considered a friend, had soiled her with his filthy, lecherous hands……….Roger felt the bile rising in his throat again. And his blood simmered at bubbly levels.
He smelled her perfume now as he sauntered through the den. He still reeled from the alcohol and the flare-up of his temperament, but his mind had focused on something tangible – her, his other half. He was on a mission, per say.
The spacious bedroom was lit by the single lamp on her nightstand. She was lying against some pillows and reading. Waiting for me, he thought.
When he noisily entered the room, she looked up and smiled in the lamp’s glow. There was no sound except maybe her heart beating. Or was it his?
He stopped at the foot of the bed, dead still in his tracks. Jesus, what’s she trying to do to me? From black leather and cashmere this afternoon to white silk and lavender tonight. And those eyes……..They’re looking right into me…….
‘Hey, gorgeous," she said in a hushed, sultry tone.
He gripped the iron railing of the bed. "Why didn’t ya tell me……..’bout Drew, baby?"
She sat up then, visibly alarmed. "I was hoping not to ever bother you with that crap, honey…….It wasn’t any big thing……..And that was a long time ago."
"Hmmm…….It was big enough to come up at the bar tonight…….Explain that for me…….Little Miss ‘Behave Yourself.’" He moved slowly around the foot of the bed to the side of it.
She retreated, backing up to the headboard, watching him every second. "Gimme a break, Roger…….You don’t think I provoked or invited him, do you? Is that what you’re getting ‘round to?"
"I’m just asking questions, sweetheart…….questions I shouldn’t havta be asking." He spoke steadily, controlling the anger.
"I handled it, honey……..It was nothing," she pleaded.
"And if I kept something like this from you…….correct me if I’m wrong here, but you’d be enraged…….You’d blow the roof off this fucking place. Right, baby?"
She held his eyes with her own. "Yeah, Roger……..I probably would."
"You knew I’d find out eventually, didn’t you, my darling?" Sarcasm mixed with guarded venom.
"I guess so."
He slammed his palm down on the mattress, startling her. "Then why keep it from me? Huh? You’re always bitching at me ‘bout being totally truthful with you, and then you do this? What gives here? Some man – my friend, no less – comes in MY house and tries to molest MY wife, and she can’t even find the decency to inform me of it? What the fuck kinda wife are you?" he shouted at her, realizing he was losing restraint.
She could no longer hold his fiery gaze. Tears fell down her cheeks as she bowed her head. "A lousy one, I guess……I shoulda told you…….But I knew you’d get exactly this pissed……..So I only told Diane………She told Vinnie, and he musta told you……..What a fuckup I am……..Drew was drunk that day, Roger……..It was over in a heart beat." She sniffled. "I’m sorry……..Really I am. I was just trying to spare you the bother."
Her words softened him. He watched her crying and didn’t quite know what to say next. Should he just walk away? Or go over and gather her up in his arms? Then the phone rang.
"Fuck it," was all Roger said as he turned and quickly left the room.
So she answered the phone by default. "Hello?"
"Hey, dollface. Everything okay over there?"
She sighed. "Yeah, Vinnie. As okay as a mangled situation can be. What exactly happened on your end, if ya don’t mind me asking?"
Vinnie hesitated. Then he answered rather sheepishly. "Sorry, honey…..I spilled the cookies……I swear I thought he knew by now……It’s been so damn long……but he didn’t, and he flew into a rage……..Beat up Drew and left……..He’s there with you now? Everything’s cool?"
She put her head back on the pillows and closed her eyes. "Yeah, he’s here. We’re cool. Is Drew okay?"
"He’ll live……..Just a few bruises. No broken shit or stitches…….He’s alright. What ‘bout you?"
"Ah, I’m okay, Vinnie."
"Listen…….I didn’t mean to—"
"Drop it, Vinnie. It’s all over now. Don’t worry over it. Roger’s home, and that’s all I care about."
"You’ll call me in the morning?" He still sounded apologetic.
"You can bet on it," she assured him.
"You handle ‘im better than anybody, sweetie."
"Goodnight, Vinnie."
"Later."
She hung up the phone and put her book on the nightstand. Then she reclined on the pillows again. That’s how Roger found her when he crept back into the room.
He’d been standing outside the partitions listening to the phone conversation – not hearing the words, but feeling her familiar voice gently trickle through him, coating the bitter harshness there with a sweet softness. The sound soothed him, quieted the anger, persuaded him to forget everything else.
He saw no fear in her eyes as he approached the bed. Only honest welcoming. Shimmering, bottomless pools of affection and devotion. And trust. She understood everything. The "drastic" sacrifice hadn't been a sacrifice at all -- it had been a necessity.
He climbed into bed and silently laid his head on her warm abdomen, encircling her waist with his arms. Surrendering. The rest of the world receded when he felt her respond – she turned off the lamp and gently ran her fingers through his hair.
He buried his face and his soul in her comfortably and securely. He was home.
