Devil In The Waters, Book 5, Chapter 9 (complete)

In the foyer of their apartment, she steadied Josh against the wall so he could heel off his shoes. He’d dozed in her car on the ride back home, but he was awake and talking now, saying, “Yeah, you definitely threw me for a loop.”

She said, “I know I did. That was the point.”

He chuckled, swaying and watching her warmly. “You know how crazy you made me, canceling coming home so you could stay out late again.”

She smiled warmly in return. “I’m very mean.”

“You ruined my day.”

She laughed, kicking off her own shoes, going to him barefoot and smoothing her hands on his chest. “I hope I made it up to you.”

He cocked his head, still full of ardor. “You absolutely did.”

“Good.”

“I can’t tell you how bad I felt all day . . .”

“That wasn’t what I wanted, baby.”

“It was kind of what you wanted.”

“Maybe a little,” she said, patting his chest. “That’s what made it so much fun.”

“It was fun.”

“How surprised were you?”

“On a scale of ten? Like, ship my pants surprised,” he said, laughing.

She kissed his chin. “Did you really shit your pants?”

He blurted out laughing, his lips blowing a raspberry as he hugged her and the sound he made got her laughing too, both of them chuckling and swaying with each other, him with his arms around her, her hands tucked over his collar and thumbing his neck.

He said, “I’ve been a real dick lately.”

“You haven’t. You know you haven’t. We just need to remember each other.”

“I definitely remember you,” he said.

“And I remember you,” she said, playing with his lower lip.

“You did that all today? Meyer said you picked up Sophie.”

“I did,” she said.

“Really?” he said, slurring, his eyes narrowing.

“Sophie and I had a grown-up girls breakfast together.”

He groaned and laughed. “What did she have?”

“French toast.”

“Figures.”

“I dropped her off at Hyun’s so Meyer didn’t have to get a sitter.”

“God,” he said, “what a night,” palming his own forehead now, and wincing.

“Headache?”

“A little . . . damn,” he said, “I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“Maybe I should’ve planned it for the weekend.”

“No,” he said, “it was perfect,” and she stepped back now, patting his chest.

“Let’s get you taken care of then,” she said.

He hunched forward, rubbing his cheeks, saying into his hands, “I don’t think I even drank that much. We paced ourselves.”

“Come on, let’s get you on the couch,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him into the family room. She told him to sit, got him slumped on the sofa. While she was in the kitchen, he turned on the TV, fired up Red Dead Redemption. She got him Tylenol, Aleve, a Coca-Cola, and an ice pack from the freezer, returning to the family room to sit on the couch next to him. The game was awake on the menu, but he wasn’t playing, eyes closed, eyebrows high. She put the soft ice-pack wrapped in a tea towel on the top of his head, and he smiled, taking over for her and putting his hand to hold it in place. She put a pill in his mouth, passed him the Coke. He asked what it was, and she said, “Front-loading some ibuprofen and some anti-inflammatory. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I’m always thanking you,” he said, gulping the pill back, taking the others she held in the cup of her palm and swigging them down as well before lurching forward to clunk his empty glass on the coffee table. She took the controller from his lap, turned off the Xbox and the TV.

“Mm, I was going to play,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to thank me,” she said, “for getting you to bed.”

“I know,” he said, “that’s what I was saying, always thanking you.”

She eyed him, her sleepy Josh, eyes in slits, face happy. She said, “Now you have to put your money where your mouth is.”

He open one eye wider and regarded her.

“I think you said you were going to do something tonight . . .”

“Mm, yeah?” he said, lips stuck together.

“You got me horny, Josh,” she said, stroking his forearm, circling his wrist with both hands, standing and helping him out of the couch.

“Okay,” he murmured, hand on her back, her still leading him by the hand, going down the hall to their bedroom. And it was true, being with Devlin tonight had fired her up. It was dirty and awful and illicit. But still incomplete. Even though Devlin’d made her come, or she’d done it, using his big cock as a device, she wanted sex. Probably could not have done it with Devlin, but Josh’s size would do the trick.

She guided him to sit on their bed, Josh saying, “Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“Who?” she asked, knowing exactly who he meant.

“Devlin.”

She kissed his forehead, said playfully, “Who is he?”

Josh sighed, shrugged himself out of his suit jacket. She took it from him, lay it over the arm of the chair across from the bed.

He said, “I don’t need any help from him or any of his asshole business friends to get ahead at Swanson, I hope he doesn’t start poking around my fucking business . . .”

“He won’t, Josh,” she said, “he’ll have forgotten the whole thing by tomorrow.”

Josh, surly: “What whole thing?”

“You guys being testy with each other.”

Josh groaned and his shoulders sagged. He began trying to work out the knot in his tie, then quit, letting his hands drop, saying, “That guy really loves giving out his card, huh? Slipping it in drawers, making sure tonight I got one just for me. So proud it says Stone Brokerage and his name in big letters: S-T-O-N-E. Like he built the business. So proud of something he didn’t build. Such a faker. What does he even do there?”

Kimmy chuckled, began working his tie knot for him. This makes Kimmy laugh.

Josh let her untie it, then pushed her hands away so he could finish. “Fucking guy,” he complained, “it’s companies like his with their fucking tax avoidance that are the problem, you know? Like he won’t pay you more because he’s trying to save it from going to the government?—this is how he thinks . . .?”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Josh, it’s just . . . not a bonus if it puts me over a threshold and the bonus goes to the government. It’s not really tax avoidance.”

“Right,” he grumbled, trying to snake his tie out from his collar, “pragmatism and all . . . but you know what I’m saying, right? Maybe not here with you it’s tax avoidance, but I can guarantee that’s the way he thinks—afraid to pay his fair share in case someone needy and therefore not as good as him might need it . . .”

“Would you just get undressed, please,” she laughed, pushing his shirt over his shoulders, getting him topless.

Right near her face, he exhaled this question: “At Stone, does he do anything?”

She laughed, threading his belt away, snapping it through his pant loops. She unbuttoned his pants, and he took over, and she ran down his zipper, making him gulp when she squeezed his soft bulge. A real disappointment not finding it hard.

“Does he?”

“He works,” she said, pulling his pants down. He fell back, dug his heels into the floor, pushing his hips up, and she grabbed his pants and underwear, pulled them down to his knees and shoved them to his ankles. His penis and testicles lay in a small shriveled clump between his legs, and she winced at the instant thought, Devlin’s voice whispered in her ear: Double-A.

She slunk up Josh’s body like a cat, putting her knee between his naked thighs, trying to turn him on. His eyelashes fluttered, and she said, “Don’t you fall asleep on me, Josh.”

“I’m not,” he said, indignant, “I’m not.”

“You better not, I’m warning you.”

“Never,” he said, circling his arms around her back. “Does he do anything, Kimmy? Seriously. It’s his dad’s company. He’s just a spoiled figurehead.”

She kissed his cheek, ran her fingers from his hairline to the crown of his head, scratching his scalp with her nails. “He works.”

“Probably comes in at lunchtime, flirts, and then dips out for a late afternoon lunch or something, him and his fucking dumb asshole friends . . .”

“When I see him, he’s working. But I don’t see him all the time . . .”

“Fucking asshole,” he mumbled, and she smiled. Watched him with his eyes closed, his breath deepening.

“You’re falling asleep,” she said, and he didn’t answer.

She rolled to his side, lay by him, scratched her nails up and down his naked chest and stomach. Going down and taking his penis between two fingers and wagging it back and forth. A short flaccid thing that jiggled. Whereas Devlin’s penis hung heavy and slapped between his thighs when he walked. She could picture it now in the suite at the Royal York last night. Their fucking over with, her sitting on the chair all freaked out about being out so late with her husband at home, Devlin walking her way, that thing of his so much different from her husband’s, bouncing between his legs . . . 

She sighed, slunk off the bed, went to the closet and flicked the light on. She removed her suit, poked her head out to make sure Josh was still asleep. Peeled off her panties now, didn’t see the mess that she felt. Held it under the closet’s overhead light, then seeing the dark staining of Devlin’s semen. She bundled the panties into a ball, put on her shorts and sweatshirt, went barefoot to the bathroom, tucked her dirty panties halfway down the hamper. Then she brushed her teeth, avoiding the mirror at first, but then looking in her own eyes and not punishing herself. Spat in the sink, flicked off the light, returned to bed with her hands tucked up inside one of the sweatshirts she wore at Queens when she was just dating Josh. That got her smiling again, thinking of their long time together, thinking how she crushed on him so bad at high school, kissed him, then missed him when she went to Taiwan. Then seeing him again at Queens, just hanging out with a bunch of other people they knew from Kingston. Gradually that crush returned, and she got thinking more and more about the kiss they’d shared. Wondered if Josh ever thought about it, too. And he had. And how glad she was when she found out that he had been thinking about it. Then they dated, and the rest was history. She lay beside him again, both of them with knees bent and hanging over the edge of the bed. She stared at him laying on his back practically unconscious. Mouth lightly agape, breaths slow and steady. She combed his hair with her fingers, traced her fingertip along the nice angle of his nose, curved down and tracing the edges of his lips. He stirred, licked his lips, then returned to Neverland. She used her nails to draw circles on his naked chest, running her hand down to his penis again. Yeah, it was a lot smaller, but it had serviced her well. Nothing wrong at all with it, no matter what the other boys teased him about. It was only small if you put it next to Devlin’s. She played with it while her husband slept, running a finger and thumb up and down its sides, wishing it was hard. Smiling again, watching him sleep. But not wanting him to sleep. Kissing his shoulder, running her hands down his forearm, putting her fingers between his. And taking his sleeping hand, with her other hand pushing open the waistband of her sleeping shorts, tucking his hand underneath there. She watched his face while she manipulated his middle finger to stroke between her creases, touching her labia, knowing how dirty she was. Laying on her side, legs spread, one foot curved over the inside of the other knee with her husband’s hand touching where her boss had ejaculated on her. Unclean. Spoiled. Smiling, thinking this was so fucking crazy. Loving him, loving Josh, doing this terrible thing.

She guided his finger inside her a little, imagining the easy penetration was aided by Devlin’s ejaculate, biting on her lower lip, wanting Josh to wake feeling her wet heat on his finger.

When he didn’t stir, her smile faltered. She shimmied a little closer, studying his face, got near to his ear and whispered, “I’ve been thinking about how big Devlin’s cock is . . .”

Alarm bells rang in his head and his heart jumped in his chest then thundered a drum roll, washing through his eardrums. He blinked and stared up at the bedroom ceiling, every nerve on fire. What he feared most was it was him who’d said it. His eyes darted to Kimmy, curled right up against him. But she wasn’t angry, perturbed, or bothered. She watched him smilingly, lovingly. He said, “What?”

Still smiling: “You heard me.”

He swallowed, licked his lips, took stock. He was naked, he remembered that. Kimmy was out of her suit, into her pajamas, ponytail gone, hair hanging in a shaggy frame around her beautiful face. His heart still hammered. Her skinny knee pointed to the ceiling, she gripped his wrist and hand. His finger was hot and wet. It was inside her.

“What is . . . what’s . . .?”

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” she said.

“I’m not. What did you say?”

She kissed his nipple, then bit it. He wiggled the finger inside her, felt her pussy grip him in response.

He asked again, “What did you say?”

“Did you hear me say something?”

“I . . . thought I did.”

“What did it sound like?”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her, becoming more sure that he’d heard it in her voice. “What did you say, Kimmy?”

“Did it sound something like maybe . . .” Now she was smiling, looking up toward the ceiling as if she was trying to recall, her pussy milking on his finger. She turned back to him, met his eyes, but then looked downward to his chest. “I was . . . thinking about Devlin’s . . .”—she paused before whispering: “cock.”

There was an instant swelling between his legs. The drum beat of his heart kicked up again. He stuttered, “D-did you really . . . think . . .”

She broke into a small nervous chuckle, said, “I had to resort to dirty tactics because you keep falling asleep on me.”

“I didn’t fall . . . oh, maybe I did.”

“So I had to bring out the big guns,” she said, her hand slipping down his stomach, soft and warm and so amazing, the V of her fingers going through his pubic hair then scissoring on his penis. “Had to tell you,” she said, “that I was thinking about Devlin’s big cock.” Now she looked toward him, biting on her lower lip, trying to gauge his reaction.

“I’m not falling asleep now,” he said.

She giggled, waggled his penis, kissed his nipple, then cozied up to him, and now, even with his arm bent around awkwardly, the palm of his hand a hundred-and-eight degrees away from its natural, he fingered her as best he could while he watched her play with his penis.

“I think it’s working,” she said, fiddling with it, stroking it and flipping it around. “Devlin’s looked really big . . .” Her eyes flicked toward his.

He couldn’t help groaning and writhing on the bed, arching his back . . . The act of arching his back making his penis tuck into his body and look even less impressive. He instantly flattened, thrust out his hips.

“It’s definitely working,” she laughed, appreciating the growing plumpness.

And it really was working. He had all these reservations flittering up from his forest floor right now, wanting to apologize saying Gosh, I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to make you say things you don’t want to say, is it all right that this turns me on? . . . But it was obvious that Kimmy was unbothered. She was the one who started it. She was the one who’d engaged in this. She knew—because he’d told her–the weird and dark thing that had been turning him on recently. She wasn’t afraid of it. The only problem he could see was that she actually knew Devlin Stone. This wasn’t some fictional person in their life who had a big dick. It was someone they knew. Someone she saw every day. Someone who was her boss . . . Only, as frightening and wrong as it was to engage in this taboo talk about Devlin, part of the excitement was that exact fact. The taboo. The closeness. That’s what was turning him on. The real live danger.

He humped his hips, felt her hand riding on his hipbone, fingered her, could feel she was wet. She was turned on. Turned on because she wanted to have sex—but he also liked to think she was turned on talking about Devlin’s cock. “Tell me more,” he ventured, his voice soft and tentative, the meaning earnest, the words timid.

“I wonder if he’s circumcised.”

His eyes widened, his head pushed back in the bed sheets, looking at the ceiling. It was unexpected and dirty and weird. He chuckled, but then his free hand pushed down on his belly like he had a stomachache—his stomach turning over at the terrible nature of Kimmy’s words. “That’s what you think about?”

“Is that no good?”

“No-no,” he said quickly, turning his face to hers. “Anything is good. Go on . . .”

“Wow, Josh, you’re getting hard so fast.”

“Go on,” he urged her again, pumping his growing dick through the loose grip of her fist.

She bit on her lower lip again, said, “I wonder if it’s circumcised. Like, I wonder what it looks like . . .”

His stomach tightened awfully at the disgusting words. How on earth would something so lurid ever occur to her? . . . “Are you fucking with me right now?”

She giggled, hid her face. “Of course,” she said into his armpit, then kissed his shoulder.

“Okay, keep going . . .”

“Josh, your dick is throbbing now—this really works.”

“Well, now you know my kryptonite,” he said.

She paused, eyes on his, gauging him, then smiling again. “Okay, Superman,” she said, “how many inches do you think he is?”

“Jesus, Kimmy . . .”

“I don’t know,” she said, wincing, “do you think he’s . . . twelve inches?”

“No,” he said, “that’s too big. Nobody’s that big.”

“I thought that was big. No?” Now she wagged his, said, “How big is yours?”

“Never mind,” he said, laughing, full throbbing iron in her grip now. He was happily erect and alert. He tucked his chin to his chest, looked down his body to see his wife’s grip on his normal-sized penis. Then felt a sudden strange shame. They were laying in bed together talking about her boss who by all accounts had a huge dick—Josh was the only one of them who’d really seen it, though not hard. Kimmy’d seen its bulge in his pants when he was hard. But what was Kimmy thinking? . . . Twelve inches? That was impossible. But he wasn’t going to tell her how many inches he was if she thought twelve was how big Devlin was.

She looked down now too, both of them seeing her grip on his super-hard erection. She stroked him lovingly, rolling her grip around on his shaft and circling the head of his cock. “How much bigger than yours is it?”

“Sheezus, Kimmy,” he said, bringing his knees up. Once he’d given her a glimpse of what turned him on, she certainly knew how to press his buttons. It was almost too much for him to bear. She giggled and kissed his chest again, soothing him. “Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?” she asked, a little worry in her voice like she’d done something wrong, her stroking stopping.

“Looking at mine and thinking about his.”

“I’m not really,” she said.

Now with her hand stopped, he felt the urgent need of her dirty talk’s return. “You saw it, though.”

She nodded, stroked him a little. “In his pants,” she said.

He swallowed. “What did it look like in his pants?”

“Really?” she said timidly. She stopped stroking, put her hand between his thighs and cupped his balls, gently kneading them. “Honestly . . . it was really big.”

“Oh my God,” he said, “I can’t take this . . .”

“Perfect,” she said, “I can’t take it either—all this talking.” Then she was moving, sitting up, his hand slipping out of her pants. He watched her naked back revealed as she tugged off her sweatshirt and threw it on the floor. The movement of her shoulder blades was so arousing, the muscles in her slender tawny back. He rested his pale palm between her shoulder blades, could see how well her pussy had left his middle finger glistening. Then she was up, pushing down her shorts, totally naked now like him. She was smiling at him, sucking on her lower lip, climbing up over his body on all fours. She sat on his lap as he lay on the bed still, her hands resting on his chest, her hair hanging down around her face. “Now it’s my turn,” she said.

“Your reward for the party.”

“Exactly,” she said, “you owe me.”

“I do, indeed,” he said, both of them light and playful, Kimmy scooting down his hips, lifting one knee off the mattress, weight on a hand, searching for his dick behind her, finding it, lining it right before easing it into place. She winced, spearing his tip inside her, then gently sunk her weight on his lap, going very slow and careful. The slithering feel of sliding into her greasy pocket had his balls pulling up high. The trigger of orgasm was frighteningly close, and he bit his own lip in preparation, trying to stave off what was impending.

“Careful,” she said—to herself—then finally settling in place, her butt on his hipbones. “That’s good,” she sighed, “oh, that’s good.” Then, fully seated on him, every inch he had buried inside her, she turned her chin to the ceiling, showing off all the tendons in her long fine neck.

Her hips rolled and humped, going slow at first, but before the first minute was up, he could feel the simmer in his balls become a boil. “Oh shit,” he grunted, “oh my God,” wincing and thrashing, pushing his hips up to stop her movements on him.

“What?”

“You’re too hot,” he said, panicking, not wanting to go off so soon.

Serious as stone, she said, “Don’t you come.”

“I’m not,” he said, chuckling.

“Josh, I’m serious. Don’t come.”

“I’m not,” he said, a little more defiant now.

She stopped moving, and he settled his rump on the bed, let her sit on him. They were looking at each other, both friendly still, but there was that seriousness in Kimmy’s eyes she would sometimes get. She said, “Don’t. Okay? I need this.”

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked, meaning her no-nonsense tone.

“You’re supposed to be fucking with me,” she said. “Don’t. Come.”

“Easier said than done.”

Her brows lowered. “Josh . . .”

“I’m not going to . . .”

She slowly circled her hips, and he slapped his hands on her thighs. “Oh wait, oh, don’t, don’t, no, don’t . . .”

“Jo-osh,” she growled, exasperated.

“Just give me a minute,” he said.

“I don’t have a minute,” she said.

“I’m sorry . . .”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled, as if she realized the harshness of her words. But he was letting her down, and he knew it.

“I just need a minute.”

“I need this so bad right now,” she said to herself.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

She lowered her body over his, her head rolling around, her eyes wandering. She said, “Do I need to tie your balls off?”

That tightened his stomach, and he warned her: “Don’t say things like that.”

“Do I need to do it?”

“Seriously, just saying stuff like that you’re going to make me come . . .”

“Don’t come,” she said, being very stern. It was hard to tell if she was playful or if she was really mad about him not being able to fuck her.

“O-kay,” he said, adding: “Ma’am.”

She wasn’t smiling, sitting now, wriggling on him and getting herself upright. He hissed as the movement sent an electric tickle through his cock, and she made an annoyed sound.

“I don’t think we can do the dirty talk,” he said.

“I had to get you hard.”

“Okay,” he said, “it worked, I just . . . Maybe if . . . What if I go down on your first?”

“I like where your dick is right now.”

“Okay,” he said, “move a little,” feeling like this change in mood had fixed his problem. “All right,” he said, gritting his teeth, prepared to do what he had to do, think about things that would stop him from coming. Marvel movies—except Black Widow, but the Hulk or something—think about his grandma, think about Meyer . . . 

“Okay,” he told her, “go . . .”