Chloe And Cy Pt 04

Chloe

I awoke in the master bedroom as the grey drizzling morning light crept through the blinds.

It was a gentle rain that made the morning atmosphere feel relaxed and the light drowsy.

I ached. But it was that good kind of ache. An ache that, once I curled and stretched like a cat, spread through my entire body. Muscles ached in my belly and thighs, and I was wholesale satisfied.

Behold the field wherein I grow my fucks, and see that it is barren.

I reached over to find cold sheets on his side of the bed.

Barren indeed.

I realized his robe, the robe I had come to bed in, was gone. In the night, I was vaguely aware of shrugging out of it, pressing my flesh to his, feeling his breathing in the night.

Now, alone in a cold bed, I felt the growl in my belly rumble up within me.

How dare he not be here!?

I smelled coffee. Then, bacon. Then...

Oh, he wasn't---

I slid off the bed, going to the closet to find a warm sweatshirt that smelled like fresh laundry and vaguely of his aftershave lotion. The sleeves were too long, but the aromas of him had me swaying dreamy-eyed a moment before heading to my room to find a fresh pair of underwear.

I could hear him doing his best to maneuver downstairs quietly. The smell was unmistakable.

"Mmm," I growled. "Pancakes."

Fan-fucking-tabulous!

A thought drew me back to my bookbag. I dug in a pocket for the little round pill case. I popped out my daily pill and palmed it, dancing out the door and down the stairs.

Cy

I'm going to hell.

I flipped the sixth pancake over on the griddle, wondering which of the nine circles of Dante's Inferno God would throw me.

The second level was for "Lust."

An unceasing wind blowing the spirits of the horny and damned asunder, so fierce that they could scarcely touch, let alone grip and grind and grope. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy were supposedly there, never getting the nookie they so desperately craved.

Then there was level nine: Betrayers of all decency--corruptors of the pure. A frozen waste where a three-headed dragon devoured Judases and Benedict Arnolds and then vomited them up again after gnawing their bones only to re-eat them once they regenerated. Basically, Washington D.C. in an election year.

Dear God, what have I done?

The images of her alabaster legs wrapped around me. The sound of her moaning beneath me, her breath rushing out as I thrust into her. My cum pumping into her as our hands clasp together at the edge of the mattress.

And then afterward, her sleeping eyelids and angelic mouth as she nestled into me.

I hadn't done this. I couldn't have done this.

"Morning."

I turned to find her in one of my Army sweatshirts. The panties were black and lacy at the edge, riding up high on her hips, making me hunger with gluttony and crave with greed.

She went to the cupboard and took down a glass, running some cold water from the tap and taking a pill to show it held between her teeth.

I realized she was making a show of taking her birth control and scowled at her as she laughed. She downed the pill with a hearty sip from the glass.

"Didn't you pack pants?" I asked.

"I am an emancipated woman," she said. "Deal with it." She eyed my pajama bottoms, t-shirt, and my open robe. She cocked her head, reading my t-shirt. "Who or what are Butthole Surfers?"

"A 90s band," I said. "They were all in love with dyin'; they were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain."

She found my phone and opened my Spotify. As she began searching, I shook my head at what was apparently becoming a game between us. "That song is called Pepper, by the way."

She hit play, and the song began. She nodded her head a moment, along with the opening baseline.

"Groovy," she said.

"We didn't say 'Groovy' in 1996," I said. "That started in '97 with the Austin Powers craze. And it was said with ironic ennui by anyone over 20."

"Thank you, Gen X," she said, grabbing a slice of bacon. You could have nudged me," she said. "I could have squeezed orange juice or brewed the coffee or--

Chloe

Blown you.

"--been otherwise useful," I said.

I sat at the kitchen table, crossing my bare legs and picking up the still folded morning paper.

"What were the terms you used?" I asked. "Cool? Radical? Gnarly?"

"I remember vaguely saying something was 'bad' when it was actually 'good.' Still scrambled?" he asked.

"Over-easy," I said.

He turned. "Since when?"

"Emancipated," I shrugged. "I don't have to tell you everything that's changed in my life since I went off to college, do I?"

He shook his head, turning back to the stove and cracking two fresh eggs with one hand.

With his back to me, I could watch him clandestinely as he tended the eggs, flipped the pancakes, and blotted the bacon. He poured a cup of coffee and went to the fridge, holding up the milk in a silent question.

I nodded.

He brought the coffee and milk over to the table and poured them as I looked up at him, his eyes refusing to meet mine. He left the milk bottle on the table before returning to take the last pancake off the griddle before it burned and flipped my eggs over.

I plucked a packet of Splenda from the table and made a show of flicking it, so the granules of sweetener accumulated at the bottom, and I tore it open and added it to my coffee.

"You don't do iced macchiatos?"

"Unlike most of the guys in your dating pool, I was in the Army and then in construction as I worked my way through college. Barista skills didn't come into play."

"You never talked about the Army," I said. "Where did you serve?"

"I was an M.P.," he said. "Fort Collins, Colorado. Northern Ireland. Then a year in Chad."

"Oh, you experimented in the army?"

"It's a country in Africa, smart-aleck."

Cy

Now, if you were to ask me four years ago how to pull off a post-coital pancake breakfast that won you five stars as both a husband and a father, I'd tell you this:

Divide the batter into two bowls. Crumble bacon into one bowl of batter. Chop bananas and sprinkle chocolate chips into the other bowl.

Your lover gets bacon. Her kid gets chocolate chips and bananas.

This particular Saturday morning, I had started with two separate bowls of pancake batter.

After my second cup of French roast, I realized my dilemma.

What if the woman... is also the kid, Cy?

"Ever kill anyone?"

I scowled at her.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry. Probably not something you would want to talk about over breakfast if you had, huh?"

"No," I said. "I never did. As an M.P., my job was keeping soldiers from getting drunk and acting up on base. Any conflict I saw was on CNN or during a traffic stop."

She nodded. "Boring, huh?"

"That's why I never talk about it. I was shot, though."

Her eyes widened. "Really? Where?"

"Northern Ireland," I said.

"Har har. I mean, do you have a scar?"

"Not at breakfast," I said.

She pouted, stomping her feet.

"Don't do that, please!"

"I'll stop if you show me."

I turned, lifting my shirt and pulling down my PJ-bottoms to show a scar on my hip.

"Who shot you?"

"Second Lieutenant Harriet Sommers, Royal Army," I said. "Friendly fire. She got drunk at a pub and came back to base. She grappled with my partner, got hold of his gun, and I spent a year in traction with a shattered hip."

"A woman? A woman shot you?"

"One of the first women to train with the S.A.S.," I corrected. "Her boyfriend had dumped her in a pretty brutal way. I didn't even press charges. I just took the honorable discharge and got sent home. In Chad, I was only there for 3-months as an administrator. My first Police Chief experience."

I placed the bacon on the table. She put two fingers in the hem of my bottoms and eyed the angry scar. "Never noticed it," she said. "And last night is definitely going down in my diary as my first Police Chief experience."

"It's not a part of my body I tend to display often," I said, slapping her hand away. "Don't be cute, or you can pour your own orange juice."

Chloe

"It's kinda in the same spot as my rose tattoo," I said.

He took a dish from the cabinet and brought it over to me, setting the two stacks of pancakes in the middle of the table along with the bacon. He stood, peeling an orange and placing the slices delicately on the plate.

I could tell I'd tripped a wire.

"So, you got laid last night?" I asked.

He tossed the orange rind in the trash beneath the sink. "What gave that away?" he asked.

"Bacon in the batter for her. Banana and Chocolate Chip for the kid," I said, flicking the newspaper up. "Am I 'her' today? Or 'the kid?'"

He turned off the heat on the griddle and brought his own cup of black coffee to the table.

"You decide," he said.

I took a slice of bacon and smiled at him. "Clocked your morning-after moves when I was twelve. I didn't realize what they were until I was 16, but I definitely clocked them."

I wiggled my eyebrows.

"What is that look for?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," I said. "You just forgot the silverware... for both of us. Somewhere between me eyeing your Johnson or getting you thinking about my rose."

Cy

You're a grown-ass man. You've had sex before, and you've made hundreds of morning-after breakfasts.

You've done this before.

I put a fork and knife by her plate, and she speared one of the banana chocolate chip cakes, then one of the bacon crumble cakes, then another banana chocolate chip.

"Syrup?" she asked.

I went and brought two ramekins of warm maple syrup I'd forgotten in the microwave.

"And Mom always asks for Tabasco," she said.

I sighed, moving toward the pantry.

"But I'm not Mom," she said. "Cholula, please?"

I exhaled heavily and continued to the pantry. I returned with her preferred hot sauce. "Happy?"

Chloe

"Annoyed, actually," I said.

"What?" he said. "Eggs to order. First crack at the morning paper. Cholula instead of Tabasco. What's wrong?"

I smiled. "Nothing," I said. "Everything is diamond perfect, Mr. Encyclopedia. And it irks me to no end."

I let one edge of the paper fall and ran the back of my fingers over his light morning stubble. "Even the stubble feels soft," I shook my head. "Lower the bar, man. A pop-tart and a boot up the ass is the 'morning after' status quo for my generation. This Ward-Fucking-Clever shit looks exhausting."

He snatched the paper away.

I laughed. "Fine, I already read the headlines on my phone, anyway."

"You're a brat," he said, popping his paper up.

"And you're old," I replied.

I slinked down under the table, putting my hands on his knees. "Some days, it pays to just stay in bed," I said.

"Eat your breakfast, Kid."

"You're not the boss of me," I said.

"But I am the boss of my dick. And you can eat a few pancakes at least before demanding 25-year-old stamina from a 45-year-old--"

"You can say 'cock' in front of me," I said.

"Ass in that chair, Missy. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

I crawled out from beneath the table and poured a ramekin of syrup over my pancakes. "I suppose I can console myself with bacon, chocolate, and banana fluffiness for now."

Cy

Spunk. Why the hell did she have to have spunk?

I smirked, taking in the headlines.

She shoveled forkfuls of pancake into her pie-hole.

...with double-fisted abandon.

"You're not having any?" She asked.

"Us decrepit old men have to watch our cholesterol and blood pressure."

She smirked. "I never said 'decrepit.' She sliced off a chunk of pancake. "Here."

"No thanks. I'm fine with coffee. I had fruit and yogurt when I got up."

Chloe

I stood and slid into his lap. "I want to hear it," I said.

"Hear it?" he asked.

"Wizard of Id can wait," I said. "Open up. one bite, and I'll leave you alone through breakfast."

He blew a haughty breath from his nostrils but opened. I popped the pancakes in his mouth.

"Close," I said.

His lips came down, and I slid the fork out clean, leaning in to listen.

"I don't get it," he said, with his mouth full.

"Chew, numbnuts."

He chewed. Once, twice, then... "Mmmph," he said.

It wasn't a moan, and it wasn't an exhale. But it was "the sound."

"That," I said softly in his ear. "That's the sound you make."

He finished chewing and swallowed. "The sound I make?"

"Like you've just had something you know you shouldn't, but you had it nonetheless, and boy did you enjoy it."

I felt it then--the static charge. I could feel it in his posture and how suddenly his muscles eased.

Come on, morning after sex. Come on, come on.

"I'm more of a Get Fuzzy guy," he said.

Damn. I thought I nailed that seduction tactic.

"Well then," I said, sliding off his lap and going to pour another cup of coffee from the pot. "I guess we're doomed as a couple. I'm Pearls Before Swine and Dilbert, hardcore."

Cy

This was not normal.

It wasn't the "young" thing. Or the "perfect body" thing. It definitely wasn't the "incest" thing.

It's not technically...

You've attended ballet recitals and managed pledge drives for band uniforms. It's incest.

Still, she was good. Better than good. Nobody could play this game as well as this.

She'd been in the room, what, eight minutes? I was already itching to hump like a 20-year-old on Ketamine.

You've never done Ketamine, not even when you were 20.

Just read the goddamned paper, Cy.

Oh, God, her ass in that sweatshirt creeping up half an inch as she pours the coffee.

"So," I said. "What are your plans for today?"

Chloe

Maybe If I wrote "fuck me" across my butt with lipstick?

I blew on my coffee.

"I've got no wheels," I said. "My 'stang is back in Boston. I assume you're working?"

Call in sick--family emergency. Your step-daughter needs you.

Cy

I'd taken the day off. The whole week, in fact.

For some reason, I really did not want to tell her that.

"I need to swing by the station," I said. "You can take K.G. as long as you promise not to run the lights or pull anyone over."

"Ooh," she smirked. "Whom might I pull over?"

"Nobody who'd take you seriously."

She pouted.

Oh, Kid. Don't pout. I know you're not eight anymore, but that pout sure as hell still is.

I lifted my paper and tried for the third time to remember how English worked.

Chloe

Well, if the mountain isn't coming to Mohammed...

I ripped the paper out of his hands. "Damn it, Cy! You're driving me crazy."

He closed his eyes. "And you're doing the same to me plus 12 multiplied by 10," he said. "It's not the tactics, Chloe. The force is strong with you in that regard."

"Then what's the holdup?"

Cy

If I did it to her now, in the daylight, one of two things would happen.

"It wouldn't be...." I struggled. "Gentle like last night."

"That was gentle?"

I swallowed hard. "It's like watching a toddler playing with a hand grenade," I managed.

Her grip on my wrists loosened a bit.

I sighed, nodding. "While playing Ward-fucking-Cleaver this morning, I fantasized about fucking your throat until you gag, gasping for breath, crying tears of pain as the blood vessels in your corneas burst. I dreamed of taking your ass raw as your knees buckled onto the hard tile of the kitchen floor. I could almost feel your tits in my hands growing bruised black and blue from my groping just looking at you, even in that baggy sweatshirt. So, back off," I said.

I popped my paper back up.

President Vs. Congress... A Billion-Dollar Merger... Vaccination Numbers...

I could still feel her on the other side of the paper.

Chloe

Gasoline or kerosene? The matchbook or the blowtorch?

Poor big, beefy, dopey, sexy man. He thought he was being scary, and it was sweet in a way.

"So when would we get to the rough stuff?" I asked.

That did it. He was up in a flash, grabbing me and driving me against the fridge.

"Just remember," he said. "You asked for this."

"Do I get a safety word?"

"How about 'please, no, that hurts, stop?'"

"I like it. It's subtle."

He tore the sweatshirt up over my head with lightning speed. Then his hand was in my panties. "Are these expensive?" He asked.

"They were," I said. "But I lost the bra that matches."

"Lost the-- Where?" he asked.

"Church," I said. "Last Sunday. A nun needed a tourniquet."

He drew me back, ripping the panties, tossing them to the floor, and then slamming me back against the fridge.

"Was, 'ouch' one of the safe words?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then. Ouch!"

"That's for being a smartass," he said.

"Okay," I said. "It was funny, though."

"Hilarious. You should host a talk show."

"You know, in the 21st Century, we call them podcasts."

"Are we doing one right now? Because there's an awful lot of talking."

"Yeah," I said, dropping to my knees. I lightly ran my lips along the hem of his grey sleep pants. "I believe you mentioned some fun rough stuff when you were trying to scare me with."

He laughed. "Have a lot of rough sex in the dorms, did we?"

"Quit stalling," I said, pulling the drawstring. "I'm beginning to think you're all talk, Chief."

His hand gripped the back of my neck firmly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to cause my eyes to widen and my breath to catch. "You want it? You got it."

He tore his cock free, and my lips parted as he pushed forward.

He allowed me a few playful socks if the tip, using my hand to get him fully hard, and then, keeping a firm grip on the back of my neck, he pushed the entire length down my throat.

My hands went to his hips, bracing myself as I felt my throat forced open--a moan around the girth of him and then trying to suppress the gag reflex.

Oh, shit.

I felt my throat contract and cough as he kept hold of my neck a second longer and then withdrew.

"Ough," I felt myself gasping around a coughing fit, sucking in lungfuls of air.

He bent low, lifting my chin and wiping the tears from my eyes. "Still feeling brave?"

I wriggled my chin free from his hand and gripped his great glistening cock, jacking it and spitting on the head. "Fearless," I said. "You think you can last longer than 30 seconds, old man? I only got a taste last night."

He grabbed me again. This time I had a chance to catch a breath as he fed his cock down my throat. He held it there. Again my throat locked around his thick warm shaft, but when he made to pull away, I gripped him, holding him in my throat a good solid moment before pulling back and sputtering.

"Jesus, kid. Don't kill yourself."

I jumped up, kissing him with my spit-slicked and pre-cummy lips. "Stop calling me a fucking kid, you... cough*... you..."

"Breathe, Chloe."

"You dickbag!" I jumped up and hung off of him. He caught me, and I brought my legs up around his hips. In a moment, he was inside me. The head of his cock slid easily into my hot, hungry cunt.

Cy

"Dickbag?"

"You're provoking me," she said, biting my lip as her tight little pussy adjusted to my penetration.

"Ouch!" I said, feeling my hands cupping her ass, a finger or two probing cautiously.

I had been hard this morning when I awoke. She was wrapped up into me like a small animal, her ass firmly planted against me. And I had fought the impulse just to grab her in her nude glory then.

"How bad do you want it?" She asked, around kisses as she bounced up and down on my cock. My hands, with their probing fingers keeping her from falling to the floor.

"Bad," I said, letting a finger press against her little pucker beneath us.

"Well, now I'm going to make you beg for it, aren't I, Daddy?"

"You really need to stop calling me that."

"I'll call you whatever I like when you're inside me. Now stop acting like I'm just going to let you do whatever your sick depraved mind wants. You've gotta earn that all-access pass, Cy."

Chloe