In the Nick of Time (75 page)

He could barely comprehend what was happening, what his mind and body were doing. He tore at her clothing as if the damn things were mocking him, making matters difficult. The silky articles flew across the room here and there, strewn colors in shades of the past, the present, and the future. Soon enough, he tugged and pulled at his body, taking himself apart via his shirt and pants, piece by frantic piece.

“Ahhh!” She sighed when he pressed her into a heap of soft pillows, his weight hard and strong on her welcoming flesh. Grabbing her by the neck with one hand, he guided himself inside of her with the other, plunging within her security deep and hard, making her plead, scream obscenities, and moan.

“I need you so bad!” He gnashed his teeth, his body tormented as he plunged hard and forcefully within her. He couldn’t move quite fast enough, hard enough… rough enough. Unable to control himself…unable to stop… unable to leave her or release her from the bond that kept them glued to one another in a way that was beyond anything he’d ever known.

He craved the woman, needed so desperately to pour himself inside of her, dominate her damn body and mind, draw her deepest, most coveted reveries forward, and make her face them front and center.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

His grip on her like a vise, she jerked hard and spastic beneath him, her legs shaking. Then, he slowed for a spell, needing to feel her orgasm vibrate from her temple to his… After a few moments, she wrapped her long legs tighter around his lower back while he regained his momentum. The unceasing thrusts continued on and on, his cock pushing within her to the limit.

“Ahhhhh!” They sighed against each other’s lips, grasping and gasping each other’s resolve.

Faster and faster he went, thrusting, pushing and fucking her with all of his might. Their bodies twisted about amongst the sheets and the headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall—loud, thunderous—bruising the paint and marking it up with each plunge. She screamed at the top of her lungs, making him impossibly hornier as he manhandled her pussy, showed it who was boss. Her voice grew hoarse with each scream, and her long fingers raked urgently through his hair.

“Nick! Baby! Baby!” she cooed.

“I’ll share you. I’ll share you with him! You’re killing me baby, but I’ll share you with him!” His hips dipped and gyrated almost out of his control, while the bed squeaked and rocked violently beneath their thrashing bodies. He traced his fingers along her slick pussy, making his way to her engorged clit. The sweet little nub greeted him at the door, protruded from its sheath and bumped against his digital stroke. “What you tryna do to me?!” He nestled close to her, rendered her speechless, and she squirmed about, her body demanding more, but retreating from his intensity all the same.

“Stay still!” He pinned her down by the wrists, made her take it… made her feel what she’d given him, complete… control… over her heart.

“Nick… baby I love you! I love you, baby!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice choppy and wanting.

“Mmmm!”

His hips strained, contracted between her thighs as she vibrated beneath him. Her eyes fluttered when yet another orgasm took her away, stole her from being fully present. He kept on, fucking her with due diligence, ramming into her. And he swallowed his pride, no longer caring that he was fucking her hard and weeping at the same goddamn time. Sitting up, he placed one hand on each of her shoulders, and forced her into each and every lunge. “Uh shit! Shit, baby!
Fuck
!” he roared, his groans guttural and croaky between each expulsion.

His cock stiffened and jerked within her, his emulsion leaving him a mere fraction of his prior self.

“Uhhh…” his abdominal muscles compressed, drew in, and his breath was nearly taken away. “Uhhh!” He paused, looked between their legs at his thrusting dick, refusing to let go and release her just yet. His cum and her delicious nectar intermingled, covering his cock, leaving slick, copious designs all over his nature. Designs that changed over and over as he thrust back inside of her, then pulled out, time and time again. He kept on until he had nothing more to give and he slumped onto her body, melted against her. She moved her hands against his sweaty skin, then through his hair, causing the strands to spread and coolness to hit his scalp in a comforting sort of way. After a few minutes, her voice broke through their mutual trance.

“I can feel your heartbeat… it’s beating so fast.”

He held on to her, wanting to make a pillow out of her and drift away. His lethargy gave way, but as soon as he entered into a dream state, she gently shook his shoulder, then whispered, “Baby, I’m going to do the dishes.”

“Nah, I’ll do ’em. You cooked.”

He tried to gather his bearings, pull himself into the land of the alert. In a half daze, he reluctantly rose from her, softly patted her hip, then covered her body tight and snug with the sheets. As he stumbled out the room, he leaned sluggishly against the hallway wall, a terribly mischievous smirk cursing his face. Navigating further up the way, he re-entered the living room and looked about almost as if he’d never seen the place before. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen, at the table covered in their empty dishes while the scent of garlic and rich seasonings still hung in the air. Glancing over his shoulder down the hall, he could partially see the woman with the sheets wound tightly around her naked body, one of her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, the light skin of the sole of her foot contrasting with her tawny flesh. There lay the scene of the crime, reminding him the monsters that had made him do it… With new eyes, he caught sight of the pile of drawings—the other man. He swallowed and made his way over, needing to have a word with him. Sitting down on his couch, legs spread far apart, he got comfortable and delved deep in thought as he ran his hand along his hairy legs. The fine hair moved to and fro from his light massage while he stalled, bought a bit of time. He had no idea what stood behind door number three, what else the woman had in store. Taking the plunge, he yanked the sketchpad from the table and turned the page from the drawing that proved the culprit to his most recent emotional detriment.

Wow… nice…

There, on the paper, stood a woman, showcasing a bikini.

Damn, she is good…

He kept on going, looking at sketch after detailed sketch of what he presumed were models, people sitting on park benches, and just everyday occurrences that she’d breathed new life into.

It was more than apparent to him that Taryn wasn’t on the outside looking in as she placed her work onto paper. No, with a talent like this, the woman stood on the inside looking out, becoming
one
with the scene.

Yes.
Inside.

He had to be inside of her, for that was where he felt most at peace, comfortable, himself. A new erection formed, drawing a light laugh at the thought of his misfortune. He could hear faint snoring coming from down the hall now, and realized at that moment that any initiations of another romp, sexual solicitations and invitations would go unanswered.

She’s sound asleep… even her damn snore is cute…

Regardless, it was a struggle. He wished his libido would tamper down a bit, give him a break. He’d been pawing all over her since the moment she’d moved in, like some fucker who’d never had sex before, never touched a woman or tasted her kiss. Everything felt so new, yet so familiar and beautiful, and he couldn’t seem to get a hold of himself. He liked it, despite the torturous frustration it occasionally brought his way. If he were to desire a woman in the capacity that he did, he was grateful that it had to be a woman like Taryn. He finished one sketchbook, then began another, and then another until he landed upon one filled with the strangest, yet most intriguing illustrations of all.

“What is this?” he whispered aloud, his curiosity piqued. “What have you been up to, Taryn?”

His eyes narrowed as he brought the drawings closer to his face, turning the sheets in different directions, trying to decipher what he was seeing, taking in. Numbers and measurements lined the paper, swirling all about. The markings looked like something an architect would draft…only they manifested on a woman’s two-dimensional frame.

“This is mind-blowing yet also strange…hmmm.” He kept the conversation going, as if he had an audience waiting to hear his thoughts. He continued to turn the pages, seeing more and more of the same in many different styles.

“She’s gotta do something with this… She’s gotta do something about this… she can’t just sit on talent like this. This is your dream, isn’t it, Taryn? This is what has caused you so much frustration, hmmm?” He grew a bit aggravated on her behalf, wanted to make some calls, tell someone—but who? She was right. How could he help her? This wasn’t his field of expertise; he could barely draw a stick person, let alone some shit like this!

These are definitely drafted designs… and good ones, too…

He continued on, falling head first into the illustrations until he’d reached the last book, and nearly lost his breath.

Oh my God… so this is what all this is?! Taryn… shit!

She’d written out a series of names he’d never heard of, and made little notes regarding who she’d called and who she still wanted to get the designs in front of. He saw a long ass list and he got a taste of her frustration, seeing why she was tired, so very tired. She’d been working so hard, yet just as she told him, it appeared no one was giving her the time of day…

Time? I’ll give you time, baby.

I’ve got your back, baby… You need money to get this off the ground? I’m nowhere near rich, but I’ll give you what I can. You need a studio? I can work on that… make some calls…

He set the drawing book down in the most careful of ways and got to his feet. Pausing, he looked down the hall and took notice to the fact that she hadn’t moved one damn muscle since he’d last spied her out. He smirked, loving the fact that he had fucked her pretty little ass to sleep. At times he felt spoiled, undeserving… but he took her nevertheless…drained her out.

He made his way over to his small dining area, cleared the table between stifled yawns, and set all the dirty dishes in the sink, one by one. Turning the music up, the volume a mere whisper so as to not wake and disturb his baby, he twisted the faucet, allowing a burst of water to come forth. Taking a light pink sponge from the counter, he then poured a generous helping of the blue, gloppy concentrated dish detergent in the center of it and went to work. A sense of euphoric peace took him over, enveloping him just like the warm water as it ran over his roving hands. The song sent him somewhere, on an excursion, and he welcomed the reprieve. It was one of his favorites—Jacoo’s ‘Memories.’ And yeah… the title was befitting to his newly simmered mood as he lulled between the past and present, feeling comfortable in his own skin, embracing both.

Ma…

He smiled; this time, no tears came, no pain… just peace. The music continued to play and so did his heart, to a happy internal beat.

Are you proud of me, Ma? I hope you are. I really do.

He rinsed a glass, set it on the rack, and picked up another…

If you’re up there watching, and you’re still worried, just sit back and watch… I’m going to show you something, Ma. I miss you so much, you know that. I know you do… but I’m happy, I’m free and I have everything I need to make it. You deserve this; you deserve a good son. Just sit back and watch me, Ma… I’m about to show you something and I know I’m late, yeah… I’m late, and I hate being tardy, but in some way, in some strange way, you know, I think … I think I’m here right on time…