Home for the Summer, Chapter 5

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Home for the Summer

 

Chapter 5

I wake bit by bit, the room and the day coming into focus by degrees.  Still drowsy, I turn and reach for her, but she’s not next to me in our bed. Sitting up slowly, I stretch, remembering she hadn’t come up before I fell asleep. I scratch the scruff on my face, not bothering to look out the window to see it’s still pissing raining. Sighing, I stand and turn towards the door, stubbing my toe against a bedpost. Swearing, I fall back onto the bed holding my throbbing foot.

I dress then hobble down the steps and into the kitchen, or what is left of it. After two days of rain, two days of her spending all her time behind that closed door, I realized I needed something to do and decided to do some remodeling. After two days of demolition and more torrential downpours, the kitchen is barely recognizable. I limp over to the lone, intact counter and pour myself a cup of coffee. At least she made enough for me.

I’ve neither seen hide nor hair of her, and I have a bitter feeling she’s punishing me for the noise.  She probably has her headphones on and cranking Eminem or Ed Sheeran or Mumford, writing and shutting me out completely. On the first day of demolition, she opened her door and calmly asked what my plans were while eyeing the toolbox sitting in the middle of the floor. I’d assured her it was only a small project. 

The second day began the same, until I needed the sledgehammer. She hadn’t been impressed. Her office door bounced open and she flew out like a fury, her hair wild and eyes flaming. She scanned the room, narrowed her eyes on the offending tool and returned to her office. Moments later her stereo pounded out the heavy beats of Eminem. The floor vibrated, but I shirked it off, not offended. The sledgehammer was doing the same thing. The next few days were no better.

The morning progresses well until my hand slipped and dropped the crowbar on my toes, the toes I stubbed this morning. I see stars while blood rushes to my foot. Suddenly, I’m irrationally pissed off.

“Do you think you can turn that goddamn music off for one fucking hour?” I holler from the kitchen.

She must have heard me. She responds by opening the office door and whipping me the finger. No pity for my wounded foot. No offerings of pain pills or ice packs.

In the half-demolished kitchen, I’m contemplating diving off the balcony and end my misery. What the hell had I been thinking? I’ve no idea. Installing new cabinets and counters normally aren’t big jobs, but this isn’t London, it’s Genoa, where every project takes three times longer when your Italian is rusty.

The absurdity of the past week strikes me in the gut - the pissing and moaning and bickering over the noise, the lack of cooperation and the goddamn rain. I lean heavily against the wall and throw the tool of almost-mass destruction on the floor next to me.  In all our years together, we never spent this much time together. We talked about it, fantasized about it, even made jokes about how we’d spend all our time together in bed, surrounded by books and plates with half-eaten meals on the floor. 

But this is it, our time together. It was going smoothly until this week. We were happy and content, our days filled with sunshine and projects and sex. But then the weather turned, and so did our dispositions. Now, we are short tempered, snarly and intolerant. And worse, the transition was made so easily that I am unsure if it’s due to the circumstances or if the insults and nasty innuendos had been storing up for just such a time.

Pulling out my phone, I call the contractor we used last winter and made arrangements for him to finish the kitchen. With the call made, I scribble a quick note on piece of scrap paper and slide it under her door, then head off towards the stairs. It’s time to pack.

****

I see a piece of paper slide under my door, and I heave a frustrated sigh but go over and pick it up. I quickly scan the note and smile, leaning back against the closed door. Christ, we really need time away. Away from this house and the fucking rain.  It felt good to fight and bicker with him. To know we could, that it was inside of us all along. We rarely disagree, much less argue or fight. He would never lower himself to pitch a fit, nor he is not one to vent. A pursed mouth, a creased brow are his telltale signs of irritation. Off and on over the years I wondered if we didn’t just bottle up all of our disagreeable feelings, but as it turns out, all it takes are times of duress and a week of rain, and we can be as miserable as anyone else. We are just like every other couple. Well no, not like every other. He and I both know we are far from the typical couple.

I leave my office and head towards the steps, purposefully ignoring the catastrophe behind me. As I enter the bedroom, I see he already has our suitcases standing in the far corner. Standing in front of the armoire, he shifts through his shirts and pants. He made no mention of our destination, and I’m not in the mood to ask. It really doesn’t matter where we are going, just as long as we leave the rain and this house behind.

Within ten minutes he has his clothes laid out –crisp, white button down shirts and smartly creased gray slacks, soft, cotton pull over shirts and well-worn denims and a bathing suit. My raise my eyebrows slightly over that addition.  He is neither a sun worshipper nor water lover, but as I am both, I am not going to quibble.

I take my cue from him and open my closet, taking out dresses, a halter-top and skirt, some thin, cotton tops, pencil trousers and shorts. If he is talking, I’m can’t hear him; my head is buried in clothes.  I grab four bathing suits and the backless romper I bought online and hid in the back of the closet. I pitch shoes, from sandals to heels, behind me, laughing with childish glee as they thump and bounce on the floor behind me.

I straighten and stand back to stare at the contents of my closet another minute, mentally picturing the clothes I took out and what I might have missed. Sighing, I close the closet door and turn. Next to my pile of clothes is a suitcase. A packed suitcase. While I was debating halter-top versus silk blouse, he finished packing. I set my hands on my hips and glare at him across the bed. He smirks.

Disgusted with his efficiency, I start moving things around, organizing and coordinating jewelry, shoes, and bags.  He leans against the door jam, watching as I mutter and push piles of clothes around for a few minutes before grabbing my shoulders and pulling me away from the bed, and out of the room.

“Come on.”

I turn to tell him what I think of his pushiness, but before I say anything he kisses me, hard and fast.

 “There’ll be time to pack. Later.” 

He owes me, and he knows it. Best not open my mouth. He reaches down and takes my hand, leading me to the newly remodeled bathroom. It had been a disgrace, but now it’s one of my favorite spots in the house, quiet and soothing. The only feature in the bathroom I barred him from removing was the tub – a huge, high-back soaker tub. The tub was probably designed to bathe a few children at a time, or two healthy adults.

I put my hand on his hip as I follow behind, nudging the door shut with my foot. Stopping in front of the tub, he turns on the faucets, adjusting the water as I sit on its side, watching for a moment the water slowly puddle in the long, deep basin. He kneels and slowly removes my fuzzy slippers and socks, leaning in to kiss me as his fingers unbutton my shirt. Leaving it hanging open, he slides his hands under my ass, lifting me to my feet. While his warm mouth skims my exposed skin, roaming over my stomach and hips, my fingers comb his hair and hold him close.

He opens my jeans, and as he strips them off, his mouth follows. I whimper as his crafty tongue laps at me. He parts me with his fingers and swipes my clit with the tip of his tongue. His tugging and licking, drives me up, swift and sharp. He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me to him, as his hand moves to the small of my back, pulling me closer, steadying me.

 His fingers thrust into me, and I shriek as he fills me suddenly and completely. My fingers grip him as he relentlessly takes more and more. The orgasm whips me, causing my legs to shake and pussy quiver. His growls fill the room, blending with my breathless moans as I spill into his mouth. He gentles his mouth and murmurs his pleasure as I slowly come back to earth. 

Slowly, we disentangle. He stands and slips my shirt from my shoulders. He cups my cheek in his large hand as his eyes roam my face. His intentions are there; to care for me, pamper and spoil, and in an instant, the rainy, irritating week disappears.

**

Because it pleases her, I let her undress me while my tongue rubs against hers in a slow, melting kiss. Her scent is on my face; her taste on my tongue. She responds heedlessly, recklessly, her hands rushing over my body, jerking and pushing clothes down and over. Her frustrated moans fill my mouth, and I swallow them hungrily as she peels away the last stitch of clothing, and I pull her to me so my hard flesh presses into her soft belly.

Steam billows from the tub, filling the room as we kiss. We pull apart slowly, druggingly, and I help her into the tub. I sink into the high-backed tub and stretch out before I take her in my arms. She snuggles against me, brushing her soft, smooth back against my chest. She turns to me, and I cup her face, brushing the hair off her check before capturing her lips.

The steamy water laps against us as we shift and settle, and neither of us feel compelled to speak. It feels good to have her in my arms, the flavor of her filling my mouth. She is my calm, my haven. Scenes from the past few days run through my head, and I start chuckling. She turns her head to my cheek, nuzzling and murmurs a content, “What?”

I push water over her breasts, letting my fingers trace over her warm, fragrant skin. She purrs softly.

“This past week. We were idiots.”  She snorts, but the corner of her mouth lifts in a grin.

“I was making such progress until the rain began,” she said. “I wasn’t planning on it raining. Why did I think it never rained here in the summer?”

“Because we were told it only rains one day a month during the summer.”

Water sloshes as she turns quickly, her irritation quickly rising. “That’s right. That’s what we were told. Someone lied to us. I don’t remember who it was. When I remember, I’m going to say something to them.”

I’m thankful she can’t see me grin as I ease her back against me. Apparently, more time in the tub is needed.

“That they were wrong?” I offer helpfully. Her back stiffens as she starts to lean forward, but I pull her shoulders against me.

“Settle,” I order gruffly in her ear. With a small huff, she leans back, my thighs feeling her indignation and she digs her fingers in. A bit more distraction is needed.

My palms skim down her torso, seeking her nipples, rubbing and tweaking until they are firm nubs under my fingertips. Her shoulders sink into my chest as her fingers draw lines and circles on my thighs.

Slowly, quietly in the cocoon of our bath, our lazy fingers and mouths indulging and soothing, we talk about the past week, our frustrated goals, our intentions and miscommunications and our surprising plunge into passive-aggressiveness. Her giggles stir the water as she relates her diabolical schemes, both for her book and for me. I tug her hair playfully.

“Nasty bit of baggage, aren’t you?” I growl, slipping my hand beneath the water to pinch the side of her ass. She wiggles, sliding back and pressing her rounded flesh tight against my cock. It responds appreciatively. My hands wrap around her thighs and spread her legs, draping them over mine. She rests her head against my shoulder and presses her face into the crook of my neck as I trace her slippery soft skin, parting her, finding her. I want to go slow, but she isn’t having it. She reaches beneath the water and covers my hand with hers, pushing my fingers into her, rubbing her clit against the palm of my hand.

She slides away suddenly and water sloshes over the side of the tub. She twists to straddle me and sit, thighs spread, across my legs. My hands slide under her ass to lift her to me, capturing her nipple in my lips and pulling it into my mouth. She reaches beneath the water to wrap her fingers around my hardening cock. I position her and she sinks down slowly, her silky hot flesh snug. I groan as I thrust, quick and sharp. For a few heartbeats, the only sound in the room is dripping water and shallow breaths.

And then we move, rocking slowly, measured and controlled. She smiles as she rolls her hips, enjoying the challenge, her mouth and hands compensating for the restrictive pace in the deep water. She buries her fingers in my hair, and grabbing, she pulls my head back, exposing my neck to her lips and teeth. My control breaks. Wrapping my hand around her waist, I stand.

I step out of the tub and set her on her feet, in front of me facing the tub. With a hand on her hip and the other on her back, I lean her forward until she is bent over the tub. Dripping water onto the carpet, I take her ass in my hands, squeezing and lifting to expose her pussy and tight little hole.  Taking my cock, I rub it along her hot skin, clit to ass, before thrusting home. She moans, loud and low. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the side of the tub. She meets my thrusts, pushing her ass against me. The sounds of skin slapping against damp skin, thighs to ass, balls to pussy, drives me hard.

Seeing her bent over before me, the curl in her back, the arch of her neck, fills me with pride and wonder. To have her, shuddering under my hands and body, moaning and lost in the reckless haze of passion and need, drives me. I feel my balls tighten. It is forever a struggle reining in the need ripping through me.

“Cum for me, love. I want to feel your beautiful pussy quiver for me.” Her head drops to her hands as she pushes back harder. I bend over her, wrapping my arm around her abdomen and my pluck and tease her clit. She explodes, her stuttering breaths urge me to fuck her faster, to cum for her. Her legs tremble against my thighs as she tightens around my cock.

My hips slow as I cum, filling her. With my chest heaving, I curl over her back and kiss the bumps of her spine, my voice low and rough as I praise her, thank her, rejoice with her. As my strength returns, I gather her to me then step into the tub once more. I grab the detached showerhead and rinse off. She lays her head on my shoulder as I carry her downstairs into the living room and settle us on the couch.

She laughs quietly. “The bed is a bit full. That suitcase isn’t going to fill itself, you know,” she reminds me as her mouth skims my shoulder.

I feign a disgusted tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll pack for you. I always do, don’t I?”

She didn’t hear me, as she was already asleep. I wrap us in the thick blanket on the back of the overstuffed sofa. Time enough to pack in the morning. I needed this more, I admit to myself, and close my eyes.