Page 128 of Unbound

He slurped against my clit and I shuddered with the sensation. My fingers found their way into his hair. I held him to me. He wasn't gonna go anywhere, I didn't care if there was a nuclear explosion. I was gonna keep his mouth against me.

“Gonna fuck you now. You want me to fuck you sweet or hard?” I let go of his head. But I didn’t want to.

He got into position and then pushed, hard. So hard. God, it was awesome.

“Yeah, milk it baby. Squeeze your pussy tight for me. Squeeze my cock.” His thumb went to my ass again.

His dirty-talk was on point tonight.

I squeezed and he put his mouth to my ear. He made an “Mm” sound that vibrated against my ear.

I heard a gust of noise through the baby monitor on Tommy’s side of the bed (He insisted on getting up to bring her in when she woke in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I could swear he just carried her in, even when she wasn’t crying).

The baby was awake. I guess we’d finish up later.

I pouted. He rolled and headed for the bathroom, washed his hands, and then headed to her bedroom.

He changed her and then I fed her.

After, we got back to “business”… finishing spectacularly.

Two Months After That

I had joined an online dating site for people who were kinky. I know it sounds crazy and dangerous but I’m not ready for a relationship, I can’t even think about something serious. Yet, I’ve been thinking a lot about sex. I’ve been thinking about the kind of sex that goes on at fetish clubs like Fete.

A few weeks after the drama with Mexico and the rape, I was doing a lot of soul-searching. The only man I had ever had sex with, unless you count the rape, which I don’t count as anything worth remembering, (it was a violation, not an act of love or passion) was my husband. He was my first. But I’m in my 20’s. I’m not going tonotever have sex again.

And as bad as things went at that sex club opening, things I saw there got me more than a little bit curious about the spicier side of sex. I loved my husband. I liked sex a lot. But he was all I’d had. I had nothing to compare that to.

I started out with this profile, using a picture my sister took of me for a girls’ night out a few months before Jim died. I looked pretty good, I’d just gotten back into my pre-baby jeansfor the first time, and so we got all dolled up and went out to celebrate.

Luc might have actually gotten pregnant with Nicky that night. Anyway, I created a profile a few weeks after that drama and learned a few things:

1: Just because you see a hot profile picture doesn’t mean the guy actually looks like that. I was cat-fished repeatedly. I started looking up the photos on a reverse photo engine and saw that a lot of the super-hot guys were actual male models or movie stars. Too many are trying to use romance novel covers or snippets of Michael Stokes’ photos as their photo.

2: Dick pics are now considered an ice breaker. WTF? I got half a dozen my first day. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly that Christian dating site, but really? Let’s have a conversation or two before you show me your junk.

I talked to a few guys over the app and it was fun but some of it was creepy and no one tickled my interest until a few weeks later and then I started talking to a guy. He was being real sweet, not overly sexual but sort of suggestive. It was a turn-on. He’d ask me questions about the books I like, the movies I own, the music that I want played as the soundtrack if someone makes a movie about me. He would ask me what I wore, to describe my favorite meal, to tell him what I’d dreamt about the night before.

He overuses emojis a little bit and won’t share a pic (his profile pic is of his hands, playing a guitar, and his forearms and hands are seriously sexy).

I started talking to him via the app more and more often and it escalated to about a dozen or more times a day. Every time my phone made noise and I wasn’t alone, I got antsy and made an excuse to be alone to reply to him.

The boys were keeping me busy but Sarah’s always trying to give me a break and Ed hired someone new at the restaurant so I’m only helping him out two days a week.

JAKEandNotASNAKE really caught my attention. He talked to me like I’m a person. Not a widow. Not a rape victim. Not a little sister of dangerous men, or a platonic friend, but like I’m someone he is actually interested in.

We’d been dancing around the idea of meeting for a bit and I’m the one that pushed, finally. I’m going to meet him for a drink Saturday night.

We hadn’t gotten overly sexual in our discussions, but he got a little bit descriptive late one night after a long few hours of constant texting. He told me he likes to be bossy in bed. When he’s with someone, he likes to give orders around sex, around what she’ll wear, whether or not she gets to touch herself, etcetera. I got very excited about the etcetera part, got squishy in my panties just thinking about that notion.

I was honest, said I had only been with one man, it had been very vanilla, and that I was curious about the spicier side of things.

I hope that’s not a mistake. I hope Jim would understand.

I sat at the bar for about half an hour. Maybe Jake-not-a-snake saw me and something about me made him wanna leave. Maybe he thinks he’s not attractive enough for me.

Don’t hate me for sounding like a conceited bitch. I’m not a ten out of ten. I hate my chin and I’m too short. My hips and my J-Lo ass are too big, too. But as far as blind dates go, unless something about me really hits a nerve, a guy is probably gonna at least wanna talk to me.

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