CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revised // Cherry Blossoms // 1.8

The meeting with Jenny went well, like he thought it would. He had a grasp on the trains they wanted and the success of the first book made them pander to him this time around, which he was unaccustomed to, but he was liking. She loved what he had so far, of course. It was more of the same, just some funnier situations, and he was on track. Sort of a waste of a half-day, but Jenny had to justify her job, and he didn’t mind since they were paying so well this time around. Jenny had to come up with something, she couldn’t just let him go without some input—he was okay with that, knew the job as an editor came with its stresses. She told him he should ‘brighten up’ a few of the faces on the trains. They were bright, but if she wanted the corners of their mouths turned up a fraction of an inch more, he could do it with no bother.

He checked his watch for the fifteenth time. No Nia. He was wondering if he should just text her he’d subway it home. She hadn’t responded to his previous texts yet, but he could let her know she didn’t need to come right into the city. They could do lunch together another time.

How would it be to have her out of the house during the days—out in the workforce again? He’d got used to having her around all the time, helping out with his administrative stuff, running an errand for him, sitting with him, helping, or just puttering around the house while he was in the studio. It would be so weird now for her to be away from him during the day, off having her own experiences, living a life with other people, her life entwined with the lives of strangers. It made him feel possessive, like he maybe wanted her locked up and kept in the house where she was his and his alone. But he was never like that—that was something base and primal, afraid. He wasn’t afraid, and he wanted her to do whatever would please her. And there was that tickle again: that strange little feeling that made his heart pump a few beats stronger than the others. The idea that she would be engaged with other men, that they would see and measure her value, that her feminine wiles would come once again to the surface and she would flirt and her eyes would dance and she would smile and feel alive. Men would make advances. How could they not? She was stunning and sexy. He wanted that for her. He did. There was something about it that brought a maleness from his core and his testosterone licked at the underside of his skin. The dark notion of his mate being enjoyed by another man challenged him, made him alive and angry and wide-eyed. Prepared, viable, looking to be better. Looking to keep her. And there was a value he felt when other men enjoyed her attractiveness, like his measurement as a man was increased by the incredible and obvious value of Nia.

Right now, sitting on a planter at the edge of a busy King Street in the middle of a bright, spring Toronto day, he could feel himself so different from the man he was last week. He was awake. Alive. His heart pounded, his fingers tingled with worry. Where was she? What was she doing? Why wasn’t she responding to his texts? Who was Rocco?

This guy was an unknown to him, but Nia knew him. She was joking—but she said he was handsome. Probably not really joking, though. A brief horrible flash came to him—a man in his office chair, pants undone, legs parted, his Nia on her knees between them, her head bobbing on his cock, wanting that job. A horrible vision, one that would anger a normal man. Somehow, while angry, he also felt an intense arousal from it. A sudden, and real swelling in his Jockeys. Brief but pronounced. He pushed it away, afraid of it.

What would arouse him by being an outsider in his wife’s sex life? What would make a man want to be on the sidelines and watch another man take his wife, give her pleasure and make her face twist, make her gasp and moan?

His relationship with Nia was forged that way. That was how he came to know her. He was her friend and confidante. He got to learn what she liked a man to do and what she liked for him not to do. He knew what she was really like—she would tell him—and maybe deep down, he always thought he wasn’t enough for her. Still wasn’t enough for her. She was of a higher sexual caliber than him. His bullets didn’t fit in her magazine. She had been with men, like, gorilla-men. Big, ultra-masculine studs. That was what she used to pull. And he got it, he guessed. If you were a girl, wouldn’t that be what you sought? Did she ever long for men like that? His difference to them was pronounced. Did she ever wish, every once in a while, to just throw down and go toe-to-toe with the kind of man she was used to?

A double-honk.

He shook his head, shook himself out of that rabbit hole he’d tumbled down. It was Nia.

The silver Volvo, the shape of his wife in the driver seat, her crazy black hair, her long bright hands on the steering wheel, her wedding ring. And then all those sexy thoughts gone, replaced by irritation. Her leaving him to sit in the cold and wait for her while she did her new things. Was this what it was going to be like? It better not be.

He walked over with his art bag, not smiling, got into the car, dumped himself into the passenger seat. “Why wouldn’t you just text me back? I could have been home already. I was sitting out there for—”

“Oh, it went great, Geoff, thanks for asking.”

“Fuck. It’s just that it’s cold out there, you know?”

“You could have waited in the building, Geoff.”

“So it went well?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He nodded and humphed.

She drove in silence for a while, heading out of the city. He watched out the window, shaking his head. This was going to be a big change and as exciting as it was and despite all the fun he was having with some dirty thoughts, he didn’t like it now. This was real.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“Home,” she said.

“I thought we were going out for lunch.”

“I’ll just make something at home. Why are you in such a mood?”

“You left me out there.”

“So?”

“You didn’t respond to my texts.”

“I was driving.”

He let it go again. Watched people on the street, admired their apparent happiness while they inched through traffic, headed back home when he’d been looking forward to getting lunch out.

“I’m really going to miss you.”

“I know, Geoff.”

“You spend all day with me. Every day. Now you’re going to be out.”

“It’s big, Geoff, I know.”

He shook his head, feeling overwhelming sadness. He looked at her finally, her sexy profile while she watched the road. She was too good for him. It was nice when she was locked up and home. If she was out of the house, she could be taken, she could be lost to him. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I guess I’m sad.”

She nodded, kept her eyes on the road, flashed a look over and he could see her eyes were wet too. She had to be a bit scared. At home for eight years, now out and back at it. It had to be hard for her, too. He leaned over and kissed the shoulder of her jacket and squeezed her arm.

He said, “Who’s going to do my website, respond to fan mail? Who’s going to make me a sandwich and rub my neck?”

She said, “You really want me to stay and do those things?”

“No. I’m really going to miss you though. I mean it. It’s going to make me crazy.”

“You can get an assistant.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s really good money, Geoff.”

“Really?”

“Almost as much as you made last year. No, sorry, two years ago.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That is good news.”

They were pulling on to Garden Street, heading to the alley to park at their garage. He said, “We can walk down to the bakery together, get a sandwich, we—”

“We need to talk, Geoff.”

“Yeah?”

He felt his hands go cold, and he looked at her. Something in her tone. She was serious. This wasn’t simple. “Baby, what is it?”

“Let’s get in the house,” she said as she pulled off the edge of the alley and nosed the Volvo up against the wall of his studio.

“Nia, seriously. What is it? Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer him, she didn’t even look at him. She got out of the car and left him with her beautiful perfume. He couldn’t even see her face, her black hair swinging to block it. What the fuck?

He got out, left his stuff in the car and he followed her up the walk between his garage-studio and the wall of the house. She walked up the stairs, and he called up after her, “Nia.”

“Inside, Geoff,” she said out to the air, not turning around. He watched her fiddle with her key in the lock. She looked so different, all made up during the day, her professional outfit on, her long sexy legs, standing in heels at the door to their home.

“Nia, please, talk to me.”

She got the door open, and walked through, left it open behind her for him to follow.

“Nia,” he said. She kept walking, heels clicking over the linoleum in the kitchen and then out through the wood of the family room. She was going upstairs. His heart pounded. She was serious. This was something big.

“Nia, come on,” he said and he ran through to catch up to her, trotting up the stairs behind her. Her steps went quicker too. She seemed a little upset. When they got to the bedroom, she went in and looked out the window, kept her back to him.

“Nia, please. What is it? You’re killing me.”

She turned finally, and still hid her face, kept it tucked in her black hair. She leaned forward, sat on the window ledge and clutched her beautiful hands to her thin knees. “Oh fuck, Geoff. I made a big mistake,” she said down to the maple parquet.

“Nia? What?”

She looked up, and he saw her eyes wide and scared. Her chin trembled. She took her jacket off, whiffled herself out of it. She unbuttoned her shirt, looking at him. She whispered, “Geoff, please . . . fuck me.”

“Nia,” he said, hearing the fear in his voice, hearing the edge of panic tighten its grip on the weak sound coming from him. “Nia?”

“Just fuck me, okay, baby, please?” she was pushing her skirt and panties down.

“What is it, Nia? What happened?”

She was in just her bra. Bare foot, she crossed the room to him and buried her face in his chest. He could feel her trembling. She unbuttoned his shirt and opened it.

“Geoff, just fuck me,” she said into his shoulder as her hands worked his pants open.

She shoved them down and his cock strained against the front of his white jockey briefs. She pulled him to bed, and he stumbled along with her, his shoes on, his pants bunched up around his ankles.

“Jesus, Nia, what the fuck is going on?”

“Geoff,” she whimpered, and pulled him down on top of her, wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thumbs hooked into the sides of his waistband, and she forced his underpants down enough that his cock sprang free and slipped right along her mound. He could feel her heat, feel her wet and slippery.

“Did something happen, Nia?” he whispered, so afraid of the answer.

She nodded into his chest. Her hand gripped his cock, and she pointed it into her silky folds and he thought for a moment of pulling back and shaking her, shaking the truth out of her. “I was bad,” she whispered as he plunged himself inside her.

Her words cut him deep. Paired with his own darkness and the feel of his wife’s sucking wet heat on his throbbing erection, a thrill shot through his brain and he cried out. Cried out in pain and sadness and fear and death, “No, Nia, oh no.”

“I was bad, Geoff,” she whispered again and her claws went under his shirt and across his back. “Take me back, baby, make me yours, Geoff.”

He thrust himself into her, hating her again, hating her and loving her and wanting every bit of her to be destroyed. “You didn’t,” he hissed.

“I had to,” she said. “Oh God, Geoff, fuck me, God, I made such a big mistake, ohhh,” she moaned and cried.

“Nia,” he cried too, his eyes went wet, and he clutched her shoulders as he fucked her, stabbed every inch of shaft inside her like it was a butcher knife and wanted her to hurt, wanted her to know pain like he knew pain. “Oh, Nia, why, why?”

“I had to, Geoff,” she murmured, “I had to.”

“You didn’t have to, Nia, you fucking wanted to.”

“No, Geoff, no.”

He pounded her hard, felt his balls sticking to her damp mound, felt something rising in him, felt something building. He was going to fill her up with his love, fill her up with his seed, and let her know she was his. She was meant to be his.

“Fuck me, Geoff, ah, that’s it, God, you feel good.”

“What did you do?” he hissed.

“I’m a whore.”

“You fucking . . . Nia, what. Did. You. Do?”

He pulled his gaze back to look at her, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. She pulled away, twisted her face and hid it from him, hid it in that crazy mane of hair. “I . . . I sucked his cock,” she whispered.

“Nia,” he gasped, horrified. He shuddered, and clutched her to him. He gave her what she wanted. He fucked her, fucked her shame away. “It’s okay, Nia. Baby, it’s okay.” He felt the tears come, felt them fill his eyes, felt them stream on his cheeks, cross the bridge of his nose and trickle through his beard.

“I had to, Geoff, I wanted that job.”

“No, Nia, you didn’t.” She didn’t want that. She wanted other men. He knew it. He could feel it. Maybe he always knew it.

“Call me your whore,” she whispered.

“No, Nia, I love you.”

“Geoff, call me it.”

She bucked against him, fucked him harder than he fucked her, thrashing underneath him and pounding her sex against his. Her pussy gripped his cock like her fist.

“Oh fuck, Nia, you—”

“Whore,” she hissed.

“Fucking whore,” he whispered into her ear and he put the palm of his hand over her mouth and felt the hot breath snort from her nose against him. His other hand went around her throat and squeezed. “Cunt whore,” he said, pounding, each word a deep stab up inside her hot pussy.

She squeaked and bounced underneath him, her hips crashed against his in perfect rhythm. She was going to come. He was going to make her come. She sucked some guy off, but she needed Geoff. He could be here for her. Help her when she was bad, “I love you, Nia,” he said and he let her mouth go just at the lip of her orgasm. She clutched herself to him, dug nails into him as her head thrust back into the mattress. Her eyes shut, her face contorted as if in pain. Her whole body tightened and clamped, her pussy squeezed the cum out of his cock. He exploded inside her. He came watching her come, knowing she was bad, knowing she was in love with him still and needed him. He shot his semen inside her and he felt a wave of warm love for his bad girl wash up over him and crash around her shoulders and the water was warm and nice and if he was in it with her, everything was going to be okay. Her teeth clenched, and she snorted for breaths, lips peeled back in a snarl and she growled and coughed and struggled to breathe all at the same time. It was the craziest hugest orgasm he’d ever seen. Her nails shredded his back, her heels dug into his thighs and kicked him, her pussy tried to suck every bit of him in and he thrust his hips forward to give her every bit he had, wished he had more. His heart pounded out of control.

He watched it ebb from her finally, felt her grip calm, her heels release. She lay on her back, her chest heaving, a vein pulsed in her hairline and he saw just how fast he’d got her heart going. He watched wide-eyed as she came to, as she returned to the land of the living. Her eyes opened, and she looked into him. Her eyes sparkled, a white dazzling spot in those black balls. She smiled.

Then reality kicked his doors down. The enormity of her actions. Forgiven or not. He buckled under the pressure of his emotions.

“Geoff?” she said.

“Oh, Nia.”

“Geoff, I was kidding,” she said.

“Nia . . .”

Her long finger poked his side. “You idiot.”

“Nia . . .” His eyes welled with tears.

“Geoff?”

He cried, buried himself in her shoulder so she couldn’t see his stupid face.

“Geoff, baby, get off me,” she said, but he clutched her tighter.

“Geoff. Geoff! You fucking . . . you think I sucked a guy’s cock for a job?”

He clenched his face shut tight. He breathed her in, inhaled her deeply until his chest couldn’t swell any larger. He was crying, but his exhale turned to a chuckle.

He felt remorse in her. She knew that wasn’t funny. She knew it could seem very real. “You weren’t joking,” he whispered.

“Geoff, look at me.”

He pulled back and saw her face underneath him. She said, “I did not suck a cock for a job, okay?”

“Why would you do that to me?”

“You liked it.”

“Baby, no I didn’t.”

“You thought it was real, and you didn’t stop.”

“No.”

“You were okay with it. When you thought I was serious, you were still okay.”

“I love you.”

“Geoff,” she said, a sadness in her, too. She hugged herself to him. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I thought it was hot, but it was mean.”

“It was hot, I guess.”

“Was it?”

He couldn’t answer. Too ashamed to answer.

“I didn’t even get to the part where I was going to tell you how big he was. You like that.”

“He was big?” he said, and rolled off her, his cock sliding out. He fell to his back and covered his face with a forearm.

“He had a big one, Geoff.”

“Oh, Nia,” he said and laughed.

She kissed his chest, and he opened his eyes and moved his arm to look at her. She was smiling, and she kissed his chest again and let him see her do it, holding his eyes. “I love you, Geoff.”

He held her against him, let her sit in the cradle of his arm and rest her head on his shoulder. She put her hand up on him.

He lay like that for a long while, until he got sleepy. He watched the ceiling and thought about this woman he loved so much and how it felt to hold her and feel her amazing beauty against him.

He’d thought that was real. Thought his wife was so dirty, so stupid, she would suck a cock for a job. And in that perceived reality, he was okay with it. Loved her just the same. Part of him in a way, even liked th—

“Geoff?”

“Yeah?”

“You thought I sucked another man’s cock.”

“You told me th—”

“You were okay with it.”

“I know. I love you.”

“In a way . . . I thought you would.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you—”

“Was that a test?” He was mad now.

“No. Not on purpose. Maybe . . .”

“You want to suck someone’s cock? You wanted to know if I would be okay?”

“I don’t know.” She sat up and leaned over him. She kissed her bunched fingers and touched them to his lips—he kissed them. “I know that if I ever really want to sometime, I can. You’ll be okay with it.”

“Nia,” he said, trying to get her to be serious.

She laughed and stood up in just her bra in front of him, let him see her incredible body.

“Interesting,” she laughed.

“Nia,” he said again, sternly.

She gave him her back, swayed her hips and showed him her perfect woman's ass. She sashayed to the bathroom door, giving him a show and watching him over her shoulder.

“Wow, Geoff, I wonder who it’ll be.”

She closed herself into the bathroom, the tap running and Nia laughing to herself over the rushing water.