With This Ring, I Thee Bed

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“He’d probably throw me out.”

With both hands, Jake smoothed back my hair. “Because we’re rehearsing a sex scene?” I nodded, smitten. “Can’t say I blame him.” His words smelled of almonds. “If you were mine, I’d be just as possessive.”

I wanted to tell him what life with Keith was like—how the sex made me feel cheap, how we rarely shared affection—but the scent of the liqueur on Jake’s warm breath made me lose my thread. It seemed like years since I’d kissed a man, like decades since I’d felt this way for anyone. All I could think of was his mouth on mine. “Why don’t we start?” I asked.

“What? You mean, now?” “Why not? We’re in position.”

With a boyish laugh, he began to walk me backward. “We need something to lean against, remember?” I felt the countertop behind me, felt him pressing up against me.

“That’s better,” I sighed.

“No warm-ups needed.”

His thigh touched mine. His scent drowned my senses. His hands slid down my sides. “So I pull your veil off—” he said, miming just that “—and throw it on the ground … like this … and now.” But all the while, he held my gaze, and I pulled him up against me so I was sandwiched there. He cupped my face.

“Just a stage kiss,” I told him. “Sure,” he said, and he kissed me.

His mouth was wet and sweet with amaretto. I leaned into him, sensing him there, firm beneath his sweater, warm against my chest, and when I felt his tongue I wasn’t surprised, just grateful. Our kiss was seamless, and he moved with ease, raising my thigh, pressing against me. The sudden feel of him between my legs made my body jolt, and I gasped a little, astonished at my need. His hand slipped higher till he found my stocking tops, and then I felt him lunge against my core. The shape of his hard-on dug against my clit and I felt a sudden desperation. “I want you,” I whispered, as he kissed along my neck. “Let’s get it out of the way.”

Suddenly, he stepped back, eyes jerking open. His hair was tousled, his cheeks red. “What does that mean, baby?”

I caught my breath.

“Are you saying once we’ve fucked, you won’t want me anymore?”

“It’s just there’s all this heat between us! Keith need never know…. Once you and I have … done it … this won’t be such an issue.”

He held his head, turning from me. “Dan told me about your man,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve you. But I won’t be a one-time screw. It’s not the way I work.”

“You’re saying you want to date me?”

He spun around. “Of course I do. Why does that surprise you?”

I must have looked astonished, but he still strode up, pushing against me, his hands on the countertop behind. “Is this just an act for you? Being with me like this? Are you faking, like you do with that man of yours at home?”

I told him no. This was genuine. I wanted him.

“How genuine?” he said. “You wanna go to dinner?”

“Maybe,” I said, but I was so damn wet that I foolishly added, “afterward, perhaps.”

“You mean after you’ve used me.”

“That came out wrong.”

He lurched away from me, turning on his heels, walked to the kitchen door and pulled it wide. “Tell you what,” he said coolly. “Think on it. You want to date me, let me know.”

I was floored. “But … our rehearsal?”

“This was never a rehearsal.” The righteous anger in his eyes made me feel ashamed. Still hopelessly in lust, I walked from the room.

“I really am sorry,” I said.

The following weeks, our rehearsals were steamy, not the least because of the tension that sparked between us. Returning to the drawing board, Dan marched us through the sex scene, directing each movement in detail. He’d tell Jake he was throwing the veil too far. “If it falls from the stage we’re stuffed.” And he’d urge him to be more tender. “Frankly, you look angry, hon … is there something wrong?” I was forced to endure Jake’s body on mine, his fingers creeping up my thigh. My skirt would ruche when he raised my leg and pressed himself close. I’d sigh, eyelids heavy, as our bodies fell together, a stiletto dangling from my foot; and through my shirt I’d feel his free hand, clutching, slipping lower, gripping firmly….

“Dollface, that’s perfect,” praised Dan from down below. “But moan a little louder. Project!“ And I’d suddenly realize I’d been trying to keep things quiet, worried that the others would guess I was aroused.

Worst of all was the thrusting. Jake would lunge between my thighs, both of us groaning, and I’d push against his hardness. I’d grow ever wetter, my sex burning up, the scent of him making me drowsy. The contortions I tried for just a moment of his hardness seem crazy to me now; and every time I felt his sex on mine, I’d gasp and slam the wall.

“Lovely, Terri!” Dan would shout. “Sweet Jesus, this is hot!”

When Dan first praised us like that, I realized Jake was laughing. “What is it?” I whispered.

“I’ve never received such kudos for a bit of dry humping.”

Embarrassed, I said I was sorry. He winked. “I’m not.”

Then came dress rehearsals. Which meant undressing. The crowded little room behind the stage was dusty and lined with benches. We could hardly fit all four of us in, and there was no separate place for the women to undress. Plus we had several costume changes—from party clothes to wedding gear to party clothes again. “We’ll act like pros” was Tina’s mantra, as she ripped open her blouse and stepped into her dress. Lee would turn his back and change discreetly, while Jake and I pretended not to watch each other. Truth was, Jake smelled of this heavenly aroma, which flooded the room when he took off his shirt. He knew it, too, and would glimpse me sideways, watching as I tried to stop my tongue from hanging out. To make things worse, he’d strip off yet another layer—a smaller, tighter T-shirt that clung around his pecs—and beneath this, scented and bronzed, he’d linger as I stared.

But two could play at that game.

Hardly noticing Lee, who was changing behind me—and not worried about Tina as she struggled with her outfit—I’d strip right down so I was standing in my bra. Sure enough, as I stepped into my bridal dress, layers of net and satin pooling round my feet, I’d sense Jake’s stare hot on my skin.

One night, he snapped, “Must you always stand there naked?”

“So you noticed?” I said. “I thought you averted your eyes.”

Seeing his mistake, he flushed and said nothing, but unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down. As he straightened, I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling open. There he stood, proud and tall, wearing no shorts whatsoever, his cock long and perfect, his buttocks bronzed and tight. Oh, what I wouldn’t have done to feel him inside me, to have him thrust like crazy as I fondled that ass! When he pulled up his trousers, a smile on his lips, I began to wonder who was really winning here. He sent me a sly grin as he fastened his belt. It was I who was blushing now.

My home life was nothing like the play. Keith slaved away until two in the morning, scribbling notes at the desk in our room, scratching his head so his hair was messed up, groaning, “Anatomy’s hell.” I’d bring him mugs of coffee, massage his shoulders, tell him he was going to be a wonderful doctor; but he hardly said a thing, just sighed and carried on as if I wasn’t there. My own course was in French lit, and I’d sit in the kitchen, reading alone, turned on by the sensual language. Je t’adore. Mon plaisir. Oh, je t’aime, je t’aime. And I’d dream of Jake—his hands, his mouth, his body firm on mine. At other times, I’d reach for my script, testing myself on the lines: Of course I’ll marry you. I feel you in my bones.

When at last Keith and I would get to bed, I’d want to make love, but he’d turn away. I’d ask if he was sleeping with Ella. After all, he came home stinking of the pub. If his nights out were innocent, why wasn’t I invited?

“Look, I love you,” he’d moan, pulling the pillow over his head.

“Then why don’t we kiss?” I’d ask, but he’d already be snoring.

He’s coming to the play, I’d tell myself. That’s the important thing. And when he reminded me to get him a ticket, I booked a front-row seat.

The final dress rehearsal was the toughest yet. Dan had decided our kisses were too quick. He made us practice the wedding scene over and over: Jake pushing back my veil, kissing me fiercely, his scent in my head, his hands sinking…. Then later, while the others performed their fight, we had to mimic sex. Jake smelled better than ever, was fiery when he held me, slamming me hard against the stage wall. The background music built in a rapid crescendo as I ran my hands across his chest. Just before he kissed me, with his fingers on my waist, he whispered, “See how well we’d work?”

And as he leaned in close, I said, “Oh, yes.”

I was so wet I kept forgetting my lines. When we were meant to be romancing or arguing on stage, I was just dreaming of Jake’s firm thighs, and the way I felt him harden as our bodies pressed together. Dan kept getting snippy. “Terri, act for heaven’s sake! We’ve been through this often enough.” And I’d try to focus, not only to save the play, but also to make Keith proud.

On opening night, we were nervous as hell. According to Dan, all tickets had sold. “Full house, darlings,” he said as we waited on the stage. “Now come on, hold hands and gather in a circle.” Dan told us to close our eyes, then guided us through deep breathing. “Let yourselves relax,” he chanted. “We’re all in this together.”

Jake leaned in close and breathed at my ear, “I want your answer tonight. Are you my girl or not?”

“I wish I was,” I whispered, my insides twisting up, “but Keith …”

“Fine,” Jake muttered, letting go of my hand. His rage flared and he was beautiful; with his jaw raised and the pain in his eyes, I longed to be close to him again. But when I curled my fingers around his, he quickly shook me off.

I tried to tell myself this was for the best. Keith would be watching and I shouldn’t get aroused. But in truth, I knew I longed for Jake and loathed that I’d hurt him.

An hour later, I was in the wings with Jake, who was straightening the cuffs of his dress shirt. Our first scene was a dinner party, and standing tall in a paisley bow tie, he was every inch the gent. Nervy, I asked for a hug, but he sighed and shook his head. “It’s hard enough we have to fake sex when you’ve just turned me down.”

Heart thumping, I glanced beyond the stage to the noisy audience. The seats were filled with students chattering and laughing, but where was Keith? When I’d bought him his ticket, I’d checked where he’d be sitting—front row, next to the aisle—and though we were late starting, the seat was still empty. “Where is he?” I said.

“Who?” asked Jake.

I bit my lip.

But Jake grabbed my elbow, twisting me toward him. “See?” he said. “He isn’t gonna come. Terri, he’s not worth it.”

“He’ll be here,” I said, turning back toward the audience. “He knows it’s important.” But no—the lights were dimming and still no Keith.

Throughout the opening scene, I kept checking the empty seat. I even lost a line and had to be prompted. There was a moment between scenes three and four where I needed to rush backstage and change into my dress for my next grand entrance. Pausing by the mirror, I saw myself in white: pearls gleaming on my satin bodice, my skirts shimmering, my veil floaty … If Keith asked me to marry him, I knew I’d never say yes. Snapping from the dream, I grabbed my phone and quickly checked the messages. Keith had texted: Sorry, something came up.

Something came up?

Livid, I ran to position and entered the stage in my wedding dress, approaching gorgeous Jake with the carnation in his buttonhole. This was our marriage scene and I was the blushing bride, but my cheeks were flushed out of rage, not modesty. Dan, who was playing the vicar—his one and only role—gave me a warning look when Jake slid the ring on my finger. Dan was trying to remind me that our kiss was meant to be subtle, but when he said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Jake pushed back my veil, it was I who dived in to kiss my groom. What was meant to be a gentle peck became a fiery clasp, and the audience whooped as Jake kissed me back. Our tongues slid together and he clutched my waist, as I ran my hands down his chest. He pulled away, eyes wide, and whispered, “Had a change of heart?”

Knowing that I had, I gave a nod.

In that moment, I’d worked it all out. Tonight I would pack my things and run to Jake. I had a vision of riding him in this white dress, our hips thudding as the netting crinkled around us. His smooth body arching, our rhythm growing quicker, the bedsprings squeaking in a building crescendo … He would rip off my veil, grab my breasts through the bodice, and I’d tear his shirt open, run my hands down his chest. All that muscle, just waiting to be felt! This dream made me so wet that I started rushing my lines. See, I needed our sex scene.

Now.

By the time Jake was pushing me up against the wall, and Lee and Tina were acting downstage, and the music was starting to build, I’d stopped feeling nervous and was enjoying Jake’s touch. His mouth on mine was violent, his kiss wet and deep. He raised my thigh and I hooked my leg around him, pulling him onto me like never before. He groaned loudly and I felt him growing hard—a fact that made me gasp. As he rubbed himself against me, I reached between us and unzipped. I saw his eyes jerk open, saw him catch his breath; felt my sex burning, so thirsty for his. Then he leaned into my ear, breathy and wet, and whispered, “God, let’s do it.”

I glanced toward the audience, and though I couldn’t see them—just a hundred silhouettes in a long, dark hall—I could feel their stares, could sense their growing pleasure, as we moved against each other. It was as if the whole room was holding its breath, swallowing, readying, leaning forward.

“Screw her!” someone murmured from a seat near the front.

“Is it real?” hissed someone else.

“Jesus,” said a female voice from just below the stage. “This is really hot.”

The music grew louder and faster. Jake grabbed my breast through the tight, boned bodice, and I reached down below again, guiding him inside me. He shuddered as he filled me, and the pleasure of his length made me arch, head falling back. How I groaned to feel him thrusting, feel his teeth on my neck, feel the shape of him inside me growing harder every time, feel the wetness of my clutching sex, my fingers in his shirt, as his warm scent rose.

“I’ve wanted you so long,” he groaned.

I said I felt the same.

I saw him glance out at the noisy crowd, who were muttering and gasping at our obvious display. There were excited whispers, ripples of chatter. Somewhere near the front, a man gave a groan. Turning back, Jake grabbed my face and kissed me, while his hips thrust harder and I spread my thighs wide. I pulled his shirt open, laying my palms on his chest, and felt the quick pummel of his heart.

I tried to call him gorgeous, but only managed, “You feel …”

The heat in me grew heavy like a perfect weight, burning, working deeper till I figured it would give—but no, it kept building as we bashed against that wall, our kisses now wet as my sex. The music burst into a growing crescendo, building and building, dramatic and loud. When at last I was so aroused that the nearness of my coming felt like pain, Jake began to fuck me in a beautiful stampede, and we groaned together, long and deep, the pleasure rolling through us. Only when it died did I notice I’d been drooling, with saliva trailing down my chin.

The actors’ voices behind us fell, and the lights grew dim. It was the end of the first act. The audience applauded, but Jake didn’t move.

“That was quite a performance,” I said.

He didn’t return the joke. Instead, I felt him smoothing my hair from my face. “Don’t tease me, angel. Say you’ll come to dinner.”

Gently, I told him I would. “We should go,” I added, “before the lights come up.”

I felt him slide from me, then raise me in his arms so I gave a little gasp of surprise. And humming an aria, he carried me offstage, my wedding dress loose, my cheek pressed against his lapel.

One Last Time

Saskia Walker

Why have you come back, Frank?

The last customer had left and I slid the bolts home, closing the world out. We were alone. Turning my back against the door, I stared across the pub at him. He sat at the bar as he had all evening, brooding and watchful. When I’d gone about my business, serving the other customers, he’d followed me with possessive eyes, making no attempt to hide the fact he wouldn’t be leaving when time was called. I’d requested space and yet here he was, back again—and on a Sunday night when he knew it would be quiet and I’d be locking up alone. Frustration welled in me. Why did he have to make splitting up even harder than it already was?

As I walked back to my post I was unable to stop myself from noticing the breadth of his shoulders through his worn leather jacket, the way his thick, dark hair brushed his collar, and the outline of his buttocks through snug jeans.

“What do you want, Frank?” I stepped behind the bar, picking up the bar cloth as I went. Moving quickly, I rubbed it across the polished wood counter, trying to ignore him, but his hand shot out and closed over my wrist, halting me.

My back stiffened and tension beaded up my spine. His demanding grasp made my heart trip. I silently cursed myself, because this is what he did to me, so easily. I was aroused by this simple action—an action that merely hinted at the immensity of his power and self-control. My resistance faltered, as he knew it would. My hand fisted inside his grip.

“I want you,” he whispered.

I tried to tug free, but couldn’t. “I told you, it’s over.”

I’d told him that the week before, and he’d stared at me for the longest moment, then nodded and left. Not even a goodbye kiss. I’d shoved my emotional armor into place, but deep inside I was hurting, badly. And now, a week later, he was back. Did he want to say goodbye properly, or did he think I’d buckle and give in to him?

“Mel, you also told me that you loved me.” His eyes blazed across the bar at me, so intense that I couldn’t look away.

My chest tightened, my hand slackening inside his grip. I did love him, and I knew that would never change, but Frank’s a long-distance trucker and he loves the road. “I need a man who is there for me at the end of the day,” I responded, as levelly as I could, “not someone who passes through every couple of weeks to show me a good time.”

“One last time, here and now,” he said. It was a statement of intent, not a request.

Our eyes remained locked, and everything that had been between us surfaced in my memory. This man knew me, inside and out. He could tell what I was thinking, and his thumb stroked the side of my hand. Even though I knew it was wrong, heat pooled in my groin, my body anticipating him. I opened my mouth to object but my core clenched, showing me how much I needed him, and I couldn’t deny it. Instead of words, I heard only my own labored breathing.