Sweet Dreams
Page 160
They took off and weren’t gone a minute when Wendy phoned on her break at Bubba’s and talked the whole way through it. When she was off break, she handed the phone to Twyla, who I was surprised to discover could jabber on the phone like a total girl and she only handed the phone off to Jim-Billy when I informed her of that fact. Jim-Billy had left the funeral bash earlier to go to Bubba’s. Since Neeta, I’d noticed that Jim-Billy drank less and stayed a lot more alert. He also walked the waitresses to their cars after shift and had taken to following Amber, Krystal or Jonelle home, even if it was three thirty in the morning.
By the time I got off the phone with Jim-Billy, Tate had long since taken Jonas downstairs to watch TV with him in his bed. I was still in my funeral black and I decided it was time to take off the black at the same time I decided I might never wear black again.
I was in the closet, having taken off my black blouse and thrown it in the direction of my wicker hamper when Tate came in. I was wearing nothing but my skirt, a lacy black demi-bra and the black, lace-topped thigh highs.
“Hey,” I said softly and pulled down the zip at the back of my skirt then bent to shimmy out of it. I stepped clear, twisted my torso and tossed it toward the hamper.
My hands were at one of my thigh highs when Tate’s finger wrapped around one of my wrists and I heard him mutter, “Unh-unh.”
My head came up so I could look at him and I saw he had his suit pants on but he’d taken off his shirt.
“Sorry?” I asked.
His hand slid to fold around mine and then he tugged it, and me, out of the closet.
“Tate –”
He flipped off the switch in the closet and headed to the bed.
“Honey, Jonas –”
“He’s out,” Tate said, sat on the bed, his hands went to my h*ps and he pulled me toward him in a way I had no choice but to straddle him so I did.
“He’s not sleeping too well,” I reminded Tate as my bottom came to rest on his thighs and my hands went to rest on his shoulders.
“He comes up, I’ll hear him,” Tate muttered and his hands didn’t rest, they slid up the sides of my back.
I looked down at his face which I couldn’t really see since he was looking at my br**sts in my bra, watching his hands move forward along my bra line and cup them.
One could say Tate and my sex life was regular, healthy and active but since Neeta died Tate gave new meaning to regular, healthy and active. If we weren’t looking after Jonas or I wasn’t working, Tate had me as close as he could get me, literally.
I didn’t know if he was proving to himself I was alive, he was alive or he was determined to suck as much out of life in general as he could get but I didn’t question it or him. If that was what he needed, which it obviously was, that was what I’d give to him.
Therefore, I whispered, “Okay,” but I did it beginning to get worried about his state of mind. He’d stayed strong for Jonas and he seemed okay but this behavior concerned me. I didn’t mind the intimacy; I was just troubled at his driving need for it.
His hands moved back, pushed in so my back arched and his lips trailed the lace at the cup of my bra.
One of my hands slid into his hair while the other one glided down his neck.
“Mom and Dad are staying a week,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he said against my skin, his lips moving between my cle**age then mounting the swell of my other breast.
“Carrie and Mack have to leave Sunday,” I went on.
“Yeah,” Tate repeated, one hand moving down my back so his fingers could trail the lace that rode high on the cheek of my bottom, the other hand slid forward, his thumb under his lips gliding across my nipple.
This felt good so I sucked in breath and fidgeted in his lap.
“Tate, baby, you okay?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said yet again, his thumb catching the lace at my breast and pulling it down.
“Baby –” I started and stopped, my breath hitching when he drew my nipple in deep. My h*ps rolled against his lap and my head fell back.
His mouth detached from my nipple and traced up my chest, his hand at my bottom drifting up to glide into my hair and pull my head down so he could kiss me, wet, slow and sweet, while the pad of his thumb tormented my hard nipple.
When his mouth detached from mine, my lips moved along his cheek to his ear, I tried to pull it together and asked softly, “What’s on your mind?”
“Tryin’ to figure out how to f**k you while you’re wearin’ these panties,” he answered.
I was pretty certain that was what was actually on his mind but still, my head came up, both my hands went to his jaws and I whispered, “Baby, talk to me.”
His eyes looked into mine and his hand in my hair pulled me down to touch his lips to mine then he let me move away half an inch before he said, “Laurie, I’m good.”
“I’m worried about you,” I was still whispering.
“Baby, I’m good,” he repeated.
“You’ve changed,” I told him and quickly went on. “It isn’t a bad change, I’m just… concerned.”
“Yeah, babe, I’ve changed,” he surprisingly agreed.
I dropped my forehead to his. “Talk to me about it.”
He sighed and fell to his back. I followed him down, planting my forearms in his chest, my hands flattening there as his hands cupped my behind.
His eyes caught mine and he announced, “I’m over it.”
My head tipped to the side. “Sorry?”
“I’m over it,” he repeated.
“But –”
“This sucks, all of it. But I was way over her when I started it with you. I don’t like Pop, Stell, Wood and definitely Jonas bein’ on their path but, Ace, I ain’t suffering.”
“But earlier –”
“Today was shit, babe, and I can’t say it doesn’t hit me, that ugly end to her livin’ an ugly life but, outside of keepin’ an eye on Jonas and my Mom actin’ whacked, today, mostly I was struggling with the fact that I’m not suffering.”
One of my hands slid up to curl around his neck and I whispered, “But Tate, you… with me… we –”
“Life hands you lessons, Ace, this one taught me to enjoy what I got. My Dad died and I didn’t learn shit from that at the time, didn’t learn until it was almost too late. This time, Neet dyin’, ‘specially like that, I learned quick.” His hand slid up my spine and into my hair. “I’m happy, Laurie. This is good, what we got, and I’m gonna f**kin’ enjoy it.”
By the time I got off the phone with Jim-Billy, Tate had long since taken Jonas downstairs to watch TV with him in his bed. I was still in my funeral black and I decided it was time to take off the black at the same time I decided I might never wear black again.
I was in the closet, having taken off my black blouse and thrown it in the direction of my wicker hamper when Tate came in. I was wearing nothing but my skirt, a lacy black demi-bra and the black, lace-topped thigh highs.
“Hey,” I said softly and pulled down the zip at the back of my skirt then bent to shimmy out of it. I stepped clear, twisted my torso and tossed it toward the hamper.
My hands were at one of my thigh highs when Tate’s finger wrapped around one of my wrists and I heard him mutter, “Unh-unh.”
My head came up so I could look at him and I saw he had his suit pants on but he’d taken off his shirt.
“Sorry?” I asked.
His hand slid to fold around mine and then he tugged it, and me, out of the closet.
“Tate –”
He flipped off the switch in the closet and headed to the bed.
“Honey, Jonas –”
“He’s out,” Tate said, sat on the bed, his hands went to my h*ps and he pulled me toward him in a way I had no choice but to straddle him so I did.
“He’s not sleeping too well,” I reminded Tate as my bottom came to rest on his thighs and my hands went to rest on his shoulders.
“He comes up, I’ll hear him,” Tate muttered and his hands didn’t rest, they slid up the sides of my back.
I looked down at his face which I couldn’t really see since he was looking at my br**sts in my bra, watching his hands move forward along my bra line and cup them.
One could say Tate and my sex life was regular, healthy and active but since Neeta died Tate gave new meaning to regular, healthy and active. If we weren’t looking after Jonas or I wasn’t working, Tate had me as close as he could get me, literally.
I didn’t know if he was proving to himself I was alive, he was alive or he was determined to suck as much out of life in general as he could get but I didn’t question it or him. If that was what he needed, which it obviously was, that was what I’d give to him.
Therefore, I whispered, “Okay,” but I did it beginning to get worried about his state of mind. He’d stayed strong for Jonas and he seemed okay but this behavior concerned me. I didn’t mind the intimacy; I was just troubled at his driving need for it.
His hands moved back, pushed in so my back arched and his lips trailed the lace at the cup of my bra.
One of my hands slid into his hair while the other one glided down his neck.
“Mom and Dad are staying a week,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he said against my skin, his lips moving between my cle**age then mounting the swell of my other breast.
“Carrie and Mack have to leave Sunday,” I went on.
“Yeah,” Tate repeated, one hand moving down my back so his fingers could trail the lace that rode high on the cheek of my bottom, the other hand slid forward, his thumb under his lips gliding across my nipple.
This felt good so I sucked in breath and fidgeted in his lap.
“Tate, baby, you okay?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said yet again, his thumb catching the lace at my breast and pulling it down.
“Baby –” I started and stopped, my breath hitching when he drew my nipple in deep. My h*ps rolled against his lap and my head fell back.
His mouth detached from my nipple and traced up my chest, his hand at my bottom drifting up to glide into my hair and pull my head down so he could kiss me, wet, slow and sweet, while the pad of his thumb tormented my hard nipple.
When his mouth detached from mine, my lips moved along his cheek to his ear, I tried to pull it together and asked softly, “What’s on your mind?”
“Tryin’ to figure out how to f**k you while you’re wearin’ these panties,” he answered.
I was pretty certain that was what was actually on his mind but still, my head came up, both my hands went to his jaws and I whispered, “Baby, talk to me.”
His eyes looked into mine and his hand in my hair pulled me down to touch his lips to mine then he let me move away half an inch before he said, “Laurie, I’m good.”
“I’m worried about you,” I was still whispering.
“Baby, I’m good,” he repeated.
“You’ve changed,” I told him and quickly went on. “It isn’t a bad change, I’m just… concerned.”
“Yeah, babe, I’ve changed,” he surprisingly agreed.
I dropped my forehead to his. “Talk to me about it.”
He sighed and fell to his back. I followed him down, planting my forearms in his chest, my hands flattening there as his hands cupped my behind.
His eyes caught mine and he announced, “I’m over it.”
My head tipped to the side. “Sorry?”
“I’m over it,” he repeated.
“But –”
“This sucks, all of it. But I was way over her when I started it with you. I don’t like Pop, Stell, Wood and definitely Jonas bein’ on their path but, Ace, I ain’t suffering.”
“But earlier –”
“Today was shit, babe, and I can’t say it doesn’t hit me, that ugly end to her livin’ an ugly life but, outside of keepin’ an eye on Jonas and my Mom actin’ whacked, today, mostly I was struggling with the fact that I’m not suffering.”
One of my hands slid up to curl around his neck and I whispered, “But Tate, you… with me… we –”
“Life hands you lessons, Ace, this one taught me to enjoy what I got. My Dad died and I didn’t learn shit from that at the time, didn’t learn until it was almost too late. This time, Neet dyin’, ‘specially like that, I learned quick.” His hand slid up my spine and into my hair. “I’m happy, Laurie. This is good, what we got, and I’m gonna f**kin’ enjoy it.”
