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4
Heath
“You’re fooling nobody but yourself,” I mutter to my scarred reflection in the mirror. More than a little surprised to be back here so soon, assessing my body like an image-obsessed teenager. My hand strokes my cock to the memory of Betsy asking if I wanted to breed her. I hadn’t until she said it. Now it’s all I can think about.
As my cock lengthens, the scars on my thighs feel like mountain ranges against the back of my hand. My brain knows they aren’t that severe. I didn’t even spend a week in the hospital. They stitched me up and then had me come in twice a week as an outpatient. Surface damage, you might say, except for those nerve endings. I wasn’t lying about that. And it shocked me probably more than Betsy to have such a fast and hard response to her teasing. Still not going there.
My cum sprays into the sink in long ropes as I relive the sweet taste of Betsy’s lips. Her soft squeak of submission right before I came to my senses. I rinse the basin. I’m simply off track because I wasn’t expecting Betsy to throw so much at me this morning. Once I’ve processed that and found a way to let her down gently, things will get back to normal.
I brush my teeth and, because Betsy is now a completely unpredictable quantity, slip on long pants before sliding into bed. Reluctantly, I pick up the book for the next IPDIESAC meeting, but I can’t concentrate. I’m too busy thinking about my girl reading the smutty book I gave her with the intent of shocking her into good behavior.
I spend the night restlessly — periodically waking and wondering if I should be handling Betsy in a completely different fashion. Go in and take that book back, for instance.
In the morning, I’m convinced I was worried about nothing. Betsy is back to her usual cheerful self and doesn’t say a word about books or feelings when I set a bowl of oatmeal down in front of her.
“Oh, going fancy I see,” she teases me with a warm smile since I went out of my way to add dried apple chunks and cinnamon.
“ItisChristmas,” I point out.
She nods cheerfully, her mouth already closing around the spoon. Time stills while I focus on those soft lips as she slowly slides the utensil away. When I finally break my gaze, her eyes are laughing at me. They’re a little too knowing for a woman as young and innocent as she is. She says nothing, but her smirk is more than enough. My very own untouched wife is attempting to seduce me. I’m torn between being scared as fuck and flattered beyond belief.
“So what’s on the agenda for the day, boss?” she asks cheerfully as she carries her empty bowl to the sink.
I blink, having completely lost my sense of time and place while panicking about relationships. “I thought we’d get some of the cooking out of the way this morning and then drive around for the lights like always,” I say slowly, wondering if she’s going to attempt a break with tradition. It might only be a few years old, but both things I introduced our first Christmas together as a way to make things more normal for her. It would have been easier to go to a restaurant or buy a pre-packaged meal, but that would have had Betsy hiding in her room, afraid to make a mess in her new home where she barely ever stayed. Watching me fail through recipes kept her laughing and in the kitchen. We cook, that’s it.
“What are you attempting this year?” Her eyes widen in anticipation.
“Orange rolls for breakfast, and I thought we’d branch out to a French fruit tart for dessert.”
Betsy bites her lip, her eyes twinkling. “You’re a brave man, Heath,” she says solemnly, like I’m about to head out on a suicide mission to capture enemy territory.
“Brat.” I swat her flannel-covered rear gently like I have a hundred times before. But this time she stills.
“Heath? Do you really only think of me as a kid?” Her voice is strong, but her eyes are anxious. She’s not asking it with defensiveness, like she’s ready to argue for her place at the adult table. She’s genuinely worried that I only see her as the baby sister of my best friend and that won’t ever change.
But something has shifted. I groan as I pull her to me and seal my mouth over hers. Giving into the temptation that’s been tugging at me since last night.
When her mouth finally opens to the insistent press of my tongue against her lips, I lose all conscious thought. I dive in. She tastes of cinnamon and sweetness. I crave more, so I take it. It’s only when her fingers clutching at my shoulders spasm that I pull back to let her breathe. Her mouth stays open, her small tongue running laps over her lips, her eyes dazed with awareness and confusion.
“No,” I answer her simply and slide her gently to the side so I can open the refrigerator.
Betsy
He’s new to this, I remind myself as I take a shaky seat on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island.But he’s not running away. That describes my relationship with Heath to a T. Ever since he showed up at my parents’ house six months after my folks were killed in a car accident and a week after I lost my brother on some distant battlefield. My world was shattered and Heath certainly hadn’t expected to have a teenager to look after. Even if I was legally an adult. We all know I wasn’t ready to take the world on all by myself. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t run away and he didn’t pretend to have all the answers, either.
Anyone would have fallen in love with him. I’m just the lucky girl that got to see him step up to my mess first hand. I knew I wanted to be with him since our first Christmas together. I also knew it was too soon. For both of us. But I had no idea he could kiss like that.
Heath shoots me a few concerned glances as he lays out ingredients on the counter. Sliding the open cook book in front of me before slinging a Santa-themed apron over his head. It’s my job to read the recipe. In the beginning, it was all I could handle and I’m pretty sure I messed it up more than I got it right, but now it just feels right. Heath pours me another cup of coffee and we’re off.
“Grate the rind of three oranges into a small bowl,” I read off and snicker while Heath frowns at his industrial-sized grater for cheese. “I think they mean the tiny gauge one, Heath. Look in the back of the drawer.”
He does and pulls out the smaller grater with a triumphant wave before casting a questioning glance my way. “How did you know it was in there?”
“Same way I knew about your kitchen book stash. I looked.” I shrug with a small smirk before daring it all. “And later today, when we’re done here, I’d like to see what’s in your other drawers. With you there, of course.” I wait breathlessly for his reaction.
Heath stills at the sink, his back to me. He turns and scans my face, his expression tight. “Are you sure you want to rock this boat, Bets? You’re going to end up disappointed. And I’m worried you’ll get hurt because of it.”
I shake my head at his stubbornness. “I’m sure that I won’t. And yes I do. Even more now that I know you can kiss.” I grin at him, practically daring him to do it again. But he’s on to me and simply pats his oranges dry with a paper towel and a frown.
