I really, really like how gentlemanly he’s being. And yet, having his hand so close to other parts of me is reminding me just how much I would prefer the roaming. So I grab his hand and move it up.
“Here’s the deal,” I say, and then gasp as his fingers start gently moving over my flannel pants. “The deal is that we can continue to do this, but I will not be paying you.” He keeps sliding his fingers up and down for a moment before answering.
“Okay.”
Okay, indeed. I slide my pajamas down so he can really touch me and the skin on skin contact is almost too much. Wow, I really haven’t been getting laid enough. Or maybe I haven’t had anyone this talented between my legs before. Coin toss. He swirls his finger directly over my clit and I almost hit the ceiling.
“You don’t happen to have another condom on you, do you?” I ask, slightly breathless. He doesn’t answer, of course, but rather uses his other hand to extract his wallet, not stopping the strokes on me until the little foil packet is out and ready.
Then, in a fit of absolute genius, I finish taking my pants off and move to the floor as he rolls it down his hard, thick length. This way, as he lines up behind me, we can both still watch true crime.
I know.
I’ve won this year already, on day one.
I know.
I have to shut my eyes briefly when he pushes in slowly, filling me up completely, and snaking his hand back around to keep playing with me. It takes a second to adjust, and then I’m eagerly rocking back to meet him again and again until he presses down hard with his thumb and I come even harder than I did last night. It only takes a moment until he joins me, predictably not making any noise beyond a sharp intake of breath as he thickens and pulses.
Afterwards, we cuddle on the couch and finish the doc in silence. This is by far the best deal I have ever made. I’m getting the benefits of all his professional experience, and not even paying for the privilege. Something tells me that somewhere, Jana Aston is smiling.
Depression
Kiera, Kiera, Kiera.
It never ends. My sisters are absolutely insatiable. Much like me these days, I have to admit. It’s been a month now, and I’m still taking vitamins a couple times a week. I haven’t forgiven Darby so much as I have accepted that sometimes good people do bad things that have unexpectedly pleasant consequences.
She keeps trying to talk to me about it, but I refuse. I don’t want to know. This winter has been bearable as a result of my newfound sex life, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to name the puppy. He’s still Vitamin D in my phone, and so he shall remain.
Also, I did get a sun lamp, and that might be helpful too.
But probably the sexing is the most important part of my regimen. I’m slightly concerned now that my sisters aren’t getting as much as I am, because they continue asking for gory details. Well, Maggie and Darby do. Bridget and her accidental husband seem to have a real active sex life, and the others don’t chime in too much either way. I worry most about Maggie, because she very recently started a torrid fling with her boss. And if she’s this interested in me, it can only be because she hasn’t been getting enough of her own.
WHAT I finally answer. Listen, I am happy to rub it in that I’m having more and better sex than Darb, but it’s getting slightly tiresome doing the recaps all the time. Especially when I know Judd would be delighted to give her a vitamin of his own.
Look outside
Dammit. I peer through the blinds, and yep. There she is, leaning against her ten-year old Jeep, holding a bottle of gin.
The next time I move, I’m leaving no forwarding address, I swear.
I buzz her in and leave the door open as I head to the kitchen to collect tonic and limes while she crashes her way into the living room. It’s beyond me how one person can make so much noise doing so little, but she’s been this way as long as I can remember. Her feet are the stompiest, she bumps into everything, doors never shut around her when they can slam… Maybe it’s her way of making up for being on the younger end of the eight of us.
“Wanna watch TV?” I ask hopefully. It would be nice to get at least one of my sisters on the bandwagon, and I’ve got several episodes of Dateline recorded.
“No, I want to get you drunk and have a heart-to-heart.” I was afraid of that. And yet she went to all the trouble of bringing the gin, and I already sliced the limes so at this point it would just be pretty rude of me to kick her out.
“Nope.” She can get me drunk, but I’m in no mood for real talk.
“Fine, we can do it sober.” I should have known you can’t nope a Sister. “You’re making Dylan sad and it’s affecting me in the following ways—”
“La la la!” I jam my fingers into my ears and sing. His name is Dylan? I didn’t want to know that! And now I can’t un-know it. I’m not changing his name in my phone though. She pulls my fingers out.
“In the following ways. He’s stopped overlooking my tardiness like he did at the beginning of the year. He no longer brings me coffees. Yesterday he told me to stop making unofficial gossip newsletters and circulating them at lunchtime. And now I have nothing to do for the hour before lunch.”
“Except… work. Wait, the D’s your boss?” Darby works at a local television station. Social media. She’s really good at it too. Whereas most of the channels just transcribe headlines to their Twitter feeds, Darby always manages to come up with funny or clever alternatives.
“He’s a producer, so basically yeah.”
Hmm. That’s interesting. A news producer probably has a lot of good stories about local crime. Maybe I’m not furious to know this after all. But I still have questions.
“Why is he sad?”
“Well, Keira, you’ve been sleeping with him for a month now, and I just told you his name. You’re treating him like a booty call, but he deserves better than that. He’s relationship material.”
“Oh my God, Darby.” Now I really need that drink. “He is my booty call, why are you intervention-ing me over it? And also, why did you pay your boss to sleep with me? That’s just weird, and probably a real HR concern as well.”
“Oh my God, Kiera. I didn’t pay him, that was a joke. You know when I’m drunk I think I’m real funny. I invited him out—and maybe mentioned you in particular—because he just moved here and didn’t know anyone. Also, his podcast.”
Shoot, now I feel slightly bad. I didn’t know I was his only friend. Although it’s a relief to find out he isn’t a professional sex worker. I guess that explains a few things, for example why he so easily agreed to sleep with me for free.
“Wait, podcast?” I am continually a step behind here.
“Over the Kill? True crime all the time? I guess if you didn’t know his name or his job, there’s no reason you would have known that either.” But I’ve already stopped listening.
Podcasts. Of course! It’s the next logical place to get my true crime fix. I can’t believe the D has a true crime podcast. He just keeps on spreading that happiness. Suddenly, there’s a screeching of tires in the parking lot. I peer between the blinds yet again, and of course, there’s Maggie jogging towards my building.