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The Ex-Lovers Ch. 01

By: thesidelongview



"Sure," said Hannah, and my heart leapt into my throat. She reached across to my table and picked up a notebook from beside my laptop. She tore off a corner of paper from one of the sheets in the back and said, "Give me your number."

It taken a little more than two weeks of 'casually' bumping into her at the local coffee shop, gradually testing the waters, to work up the courage to finally ask her out. I sat by her even when there were plenty of open seats. We made desultory conversation about what we'd done in college. She asked me to watch her things when she got a refill, instead of the girl two tables away. And finally, on a blustery spring day in late April, she'd chosen to sit by me, and I took my chances.

We agreed to go out for dinner the next night, Tuesday. Saturday might have been more customary, but Hannah was going out of town all weekend, and more importantly I didn't want her to change her mind. Plus, I suspected Hannah didn't want me building up The Big Date too much in my head.

She may have had a point. Apart from a single drunken one-night stand, I hadn't had any kind of love life since getting dumped the semester after graduation, and I couldn't even remember the last time I'd gone on a proper date. Work just ate up too much time. So I was nervous to begin with, and her tacit refusal to give me her phone number or her address (so I could pick her up from her apartment) looked to me like I already had two strikes against me.

Work, as usual, kept me occupied until the next evening, but I made sure I left myself time to drop everything off at home and get ready.

As it happened, I was almost ten minutes late meeting her at the coffee shop—'our' coffee shop, I guess. She was waiting for me, and didn't notice me at first. Hannah's style was understated and modestly casual, but I could tell her outfit was carefully chosen. Her sandy blonde hair was braided on either side, framing her face cutely. She had traded her glasses for contacts, with eyeliner only slightly darker than usual around her glowing hazel eyes, and just a trace more lipstick. Although her clothes were just slightly out of fashion—deliberately, I suspected—they were quite neatly pressed and gave her figure a beautiful line.

Hannah turned her head, scanning the room, and when her eyes landed on me, she brightened visibly, with a warm, happy smile. My nerves melted away, and I said, "Hannah, you're looking beautiful."

"Why, thank you," she said. "And you're looking quite handsome yourself, Ben." Before I knew it, she pulled a bright green yarn cap over her head and wrapped her arm around mine. We walked out into the cool air together, strolling down the hill into the old market toward the restaurant I'd suggested. She rested her head against my shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and from that moment it was definitely a date.

After the waiter left with our orders, Hannah took a sip of wine and smiled nervously. "Look, Ben," she said. "I'm sorry that I'm so guarded. It's just I actually need to tell you something."

"No, no," I said. "Not at all. You're really nice. I think—" I stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't explain your feelings to you. Go ahead and tell me what you want to say."

She cocked an eyebrow slightly—and a beautiful eyebrow it was, too, her eyes twinkling curiously in our table's candlelight. "It's just a ground rule I have. You seem like a nice guy. But you should know I don't want to be in a relationship right now. I'm okay with actual dating, like going on dates. Taking it slow. I just don't want to rush into anything. I'm sorry."

Then Hannah briefly—very briefly; I could tell she just wanted it off her chest—explained that her previous boyfriend of a little more than two years had dumped her by basically telling her he had other plans on Valentine's Day. Hannah felt as if her life had crashed and burned, and she had to start over again. She was only eleven months out of college with a degree in art history, working two part-time jobs, and trying to freelance as a designer.

The conversation went from there. I had similar problems putting together work as a web developer after I graduated three years ago, and the job market hadn't been a friendly place in a long time. We discovered our views on aesthetics in design were quite compatible. Hannah spoke with passion and authority about the hidden language of imagery, media and form. Her razor-sharp mind followed my ideas toward implications I had never considered, and made even the most arcane notions seem vibrant and relevant.

When the waiter asked us the second time if we wanted any dessert or another bottle of wine, I glanced at my watch and realized we had been talking non-stop for well over an hour.

"Oh—we're going to miss the movie," she said.

"That's okay—I don't need to see another sequel," I said. "What do you think about another drink?"

"I'm a little light headed," said Hannah. "How about a walk?"

Outside the restaurant, we wandered through the brick-paved streets where the last snows of spring had shrunk into corners not touched by sunlight. It was brisk, and cool. Hannah had her arm around my other arm now, and as our conversation resumed I paid no attention to the lefts and rights we took. Talking to her was wonderful.

About halfway down one block, outside a small brownstone, Hannah stopped and turned to face me. "Well," she said. "This is me."

I felt my face drop. I realized I didn't have any friends like her, and I desperately wanted to spend more time with her. "Oh," I said. "Well..."

I leaned down to her awkwardly, and she seemed surprised. Hannah pulled back for a moment, and then stretched up to give me a quick peck on the lips. We stood looking into each other's eyes. She was waiting for me to speak.

"I had a lot of fun," I said. "I really love talking with you. So, I guess, good night—"

"Hey," she interrupted. She put her arms around my waist and hugged me toward her. "I said this is my place. I was hoping we could have another drink, look at some art folios and maybe kiss a little more."

Hannah's apartment was smallish but comfortable, filled with books on every available surface. The walls were covered in prints of Impressionist watercolors and semi-erotic studies of nymphs dancing around water. There was a very expensive tripod in the corner, looking out of place next to the second-hand furniture.

"Do you do photography?" I asked. "That's quite a tripod."

She nodded. "Some, but I'm just borrowing it. Whiskey's on the table there."

I cracked open the twist-top and Hannah produced a few coffee mugs with ice.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't have any short glasses and I don't have any soft drinks."

"This is just fine."

"Come in here. I want to play you some music."

I followed her into the bedroom. We sat on the bed and talked for another hour, sipping liquor, talking about Surrealism and listening to slow guitar jazz. My thoughts were swimming after a full day of work and worrying about the date, and it was a relief just to be sitting so sedately. Gradually it dawned on me that I was alone with a woman, in her bedroom, for the first time in a very long time.

I took her drink and set it on the nightstand alongside mine. I simply said, "I want to kiss you."

"Oh yeah?" she said. Hannah rolled over and lay on her back. "What makes you think I want you to?"

She had changed into blue jeans and a heathered green t-shirt with a deep V-neck collar. I had tried not to steal glimpses of her cleavage as we talked, but now her breasts fell to her sides. She was braless. Her nipples crinkled happily under the shirt.

I just leaned back over and lay beside her. I stroked a strand of hair away from her hazel eyes, and she looked up at me. Her hand reached under my arm and rested on my back, beneath my button-up shirt, caressing my skin.

Hannah was quivering as our eyes locked. In the next moment, she moistened her lips with her tongue and dove upward toward my mouth. Our kissing was long and full and deep.

Her hair and skin had a gentle, welcoming scent of vanilla and cocoa butter. As she caressed my cheek, I became self-conscious about my stubble; I hadn't shaved since morning. "Sorry," I said.

"No," she said. "I love your stubble. It feels...manly."

Now my hand had found its way from her hips to the small of her back, and I pressed her toward me, to feel her firm tummy up against me.

"Slowly," she said. Then, as we kissed and nuzzled, she began opening my shirt, button by button. When my shirt hung open, Hannah pulled up my white undershirt, and her nimble little fingers played across my abdomen.

"Nice abs," said Hannah.

We lay side by side, our t-shirts raised so that our skin touched. Her eyes were full and glistening in the low lamp light, devouring me. She wasn't tired at all—she felt full of hot life as she kissed me, caressed me and watched me do the same to her.

"Now," she whispered. "I unbuttoned you. You unbutton me."

I slid my hand away from her warm back, along her side—she flinched slightly as my fingertips grazed a ticklish spot—and caressed her right breast and nipple outside her shirt. My thumb traced lazily along the crease of her areola.

"Is this slow enough?" I asked, whispering.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Lower."

With the same leisure, I caressed her side again, worked my fingers beneath her thin cotton shirt, and traced upward again. I held her breast in my hand. Her nipple was taut, but her body was on fire and I could feel her heart thundering in her chest as we kissed.

She moaned as I touched her and kissed her. She broke our embrace, nuzzling my neck, and took my hand in hers. "Lower," she whispered, pulling my hand away from her breast. "Lower. Unbutton me."

A bit faster than she had opened my shirt, I worked open each button on the fly of her tight denim trousers. I reached beneath and felt along the soft cotton down to the furnace-like heat beneath.

Hannah sighed in pleasure. Then she said, "We can't go much farther."

"Let me touch you," I whispered.

"Touch me."

Her abdomen was toned and athletic, with a feminine softness. I traced from her navel toward a tuft of hair at the top of her underwear. I opened my eyes to take in what she looked like. Her underwear were ordinary cotton, with thick alternating bands of lighter and darker pink.

Hannah sat up, smiling. "Okay," she said, and kissed my cheek. "Take a look." She pulled off her t-shirt and cast it over the side of the bed.

I put my hand around her waist and pulled her to me again. Her breasts heaved up against my chest, and we kissed more deeply than we had all night. My fingertips worked their way down into her underwear. Her neat landing strip of pubic hair bristled against my digits, and parting her vulva I found her soaked to the core.

Hannah wrapped my white shirt collar around her fist and pulled me toward her, tying me into her embrace. "God yes," she whispered. "Do it."

Though it had been ages since I'd had a woman in my arms, I kissed her cheek and touched her gently, and as I explored her body I found I knew the way instinctively. Her clit was engorged and it was making her whole body ache. Slowly and carefully I worked my fingers toward her clit, approaching her in gyrations.

"There—there—oh, fuck, kiss me—"

We lay in silence. I listened to her gasp and pant as I worked her clit faster and faster until my forearm burned. Hannah's eyes were closed tight, and she had a death-grip around my biceps, her body undulating against mine.

I could tell Hannah was fighting not to make noise, biting her lip and making strangled little moans. She rocked against my hand, doubling the pace, and her pussy tensed around me as her body went rigid. Her arms were now clenched around my back, clawing at me, and her hips rocked just slightly beneath my slowed touch. "Oh Ben, Ben," she stuttered, then opened her eyes.

They were bright, glowing hazel in the soft amber light. Her mouth was hanging open. She was just about to say something, as if she needed to say something, when she inhaled two or three short breaths. Every muscle in her body seemed to release. Her pussy flooded, and let go an indescribably orgasmic moan at the top of her lungs. Her voice fell again into unending kisses on my lips, consuming me with her eyes, murmuring a stream of words I couldn't quite hear.

Eventually we settled into stillness, lying on our sides facing each other, on top of her quilted bedcover. I realized a book of Dalí paintings was jabbing me in the back.

"That was wonderful," she said. "So wonderful. God, I need you inside me."

Just as soon as she said it, her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not like that. I hope you don't think—"

I grinned like an idiot and kneeled up on the bed. "Don't worry," I said, pushing the art book aside and pulling off my button-up shirt. She lay on her back, looking up at me. Her breasts were amazing; her nipples had released and seemed warm and glowing. I leaned down and kissed each one, tonguing it slightly. "It's okay," I said, and I lifted my mouth to hers and kissed her. She responded with tongue.

As our lips parted, she squeezed her eyes shut, put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I can't. Not so fast." She opened her eyes, kissed me again and traced her fingertips across my stubbly jaw.

I nodded.

"And so," she continued, peering for my reaction, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay the night."

I lay back on the bed beside her. "I understand," I said, wishing I didn't. "It's been a great night. We can take it slow."

"Well," she said, "don't pull on your boots just yet."

She grabbed the book off the bed, slid down and padded across the room to set the book on a teetering pile of a dozen others on a chair across the room. Her breasts were medium-full, moving slightly as she moved, and the soft downy hairs on her flat belly were raised on end. I could see the thin strip of pubic hair peeking out from her pink underwear, in a triangular frame with the open flaps of her blue jeans.

Hannah turned to me and posed slightly, giving me a three-quarters look at her in contrapposto. She cupped her breasts in her hands, raised them and teased her nipples for me. Then she slid her hands slowly down her torso and hooked her thumbs underneath the waist of her jeans.

She leaned down toward me, arching her back like a dancer as she pulled down the jeans to reveal her athletic thighs and shapely calves. Hannah kicked off the jeans, picked up her heather green t-shirt and came up onto the bed on all fours, looking like a cat ready to pounce.

"Hm," I said. "I thought you didn't—"

"Oh, I know," she said, smiling. "But there's slow, and then there's selfish. I don't want to go any farther tonight, but fair's fair. Just lay back."

Hannah opened her nightstand drawer, brought out a bottle of massage lubricant and rested it against my chest. Then she lay down on the other side of me, kissed my cheek, kissed my nipples and ran her fingers across my chest. Her breath was hot on my neck.

Hannah looked me in the eyes as her left hand found its way to my khakis, and she didn't break eye contact as she unbuttoned, unzipped and teased her little fingers into my boxers to caress my rapidly hardening cock. She grasped it tenderly, and smiled devilishly as I groaned and slowly closed my eyes.

In another moment, I felt cool air around my manhood as she pulled my boxers and trousers down, and then her breasts pressed full against my chest as she took the lotion with her off hand and poured it over her hand and my cock together.

The lotion was room-temperature cool and I took a sharp breath. Hannah smiled and looked back at me, twisted her body perpendicular to mine and exhaled warm breath over me just a centimeter from my manhood.

Then she began to stroke, working the lotion all over my shaft. She lay beside me again, working faster and faster, whispering sexual encouragement in my ear. My cock was beautiful, she said, and warm, and she wanted me to come for her.

I gave her a word of warning, and Hannah moaned, "Do it, do it—yes, do it just like that"—as a volcanically hot spurt of thick white come shot out of me, up over my stomach, across her forearm and onto her breast.

"Good boy," Hannah said, scraping the sticky come off her tit with her come-covered fingers. "A very good boy." She picked up the heathered green t-shirt and used it to wipe our bodies off.

"Stay there," she said, as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, pulled my undershirt down and reached for my things.

Hannah stood up, stretched—and twirled around for me as she did so, lifting her arms over her head—and put the lube back in the nightstand alongside a sleek silver vibrator that caught my eye.

She quickly pulled out a box of wet wipes and closed the drawer. Then she wiped herself down in front of me, grabbed a new wipe knelt down in front of me to clean me off.

As she stroked the come off of my shaft, it twitched involuntarily back to life. Hannah smirked at it and said, "Enough for now, tiger. Go back to sleep."

She finished off by running the tissue off the very tip of my cock. Hannah looked up into my eyes, smiled and said, "There we are. All done." As a finishing flourish, she gave the tip a dainty little kiss and pulled my boxers back up.

Once I had dressed she escorted me to the door. "What about this weekend?" I asked. "When can we go out again?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd really love to, but I already have plans. Soon, though. I'll call you soon."

"Maybe we'll run into each other in the coffee shop," I offered hopefully.

She smiled. "I'd like that." Hannah closed the door and I found my way out into the cool night air, feeling happier than I had in years.

The Ex-Lovers Ch. 02



I'm not sure if I wanted Ben to talk me out of what I was about to do or not.

All I wanted to do was hear his voice and tell him I looked forward to going out again. I'd avoided the café all week—pretending nothing had happened would be too cold, while talking about it might push us along too fast. But it was Saturday, and it had been long enough. I was already out of town. So I called him. Even doing that made my stomach explode into a thousand butterflies.

When it went to voicemail, I went entirely blank. I don't even remember what I said; it all just came tumbling out of me. The next thing I knew, I was hanging up and throwing my phone back in my purse. Down the hill, Taylor was laying out gear by the camp site.

It was the second of May and the nights were still too cold in Devil Rock State Park for anyone to want to go camping, so it was perfect for Taylor. In fact, it was a kind of trifecta for both of us.

I pulled Taylor's fancy tripod out of the back of his SUV and lugged it down a short dirt path, well off the road, and handed it to him.

"You don't have the tent up yet?" I asked.

He just flashed me his stupid thousand-watt smile and held out his hand. "Excellent! Hand me the tripod."

Taylor was on his way to becoming a professional wilderness photographer, but he was much more obsessed with photography than the wilderness as such. His priorities in setting up camp proved it.

Stacked neatly beside the tent pad were our backpacks, a rolled-up tent, firewood and a cooler of beer and food. Strewn about everywhere else were the exploded contents of his photography bag.

Taylor snapped the tripod into place and looked around admiringly at the scenery. "This afternoon light is perfect," he said. "We have to get shooting as soon as possible."

"What about all the other stuff?" I asked.

He winked, walked over and moved the firewood off a small valise. "All right here," he said, handing it to me. Then he leaned over and kissed me, not for the first time that day.

As a man, he was tall, clean-shaven and impossibly, I mean impossibly, handsome, with perfect black hair and crystal blue eyes. He attracted women left and right, along with plenty of other men. But he always struck me as more of a loner, doing things his own way, not particularly attached to anyone else.

I'd run into him two weeks after my asshole ex-boyfriend dumped me on Valentine's Day, and he was exactly what I needed. He was both butch and pretty, as well as adventurous, artistic, and down to fuck with no strings attached.

He'd promised to take me along to watch him work, but it was the other little part of our arrangement that I suspected was on his mind.

"Don't you want to put up the tent so I can change?" I asked.

"Nobody here but me," he said. "Forget the tent. Easier to get dressed out in the open, anyway."

Taylor mainly did wilderness stuff, but he wanted to "expand his portfolio." So that meant his mission this weekend had two parts: scenery/wildlife shots he could publish, and artistic portrait/figure stuff to show prospective clients.

He put aside his light bounce and picked up his camera. The lens cap was off in a heartbeat and he clicked a photo of me smiling at him. "Let me get a portrait of you in the hat," he said. He adjusted his lens and the shutter began to click.

I threw the hat at him and he laughed, stepping out of the way as he continued to click photos.

My hair loose around my neck, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head in one swift motion. The camera kept going as I threw it on top of the gear and began unsnapping my form-fitting plaid cowgirl shirt. Finally it hung open to reveal my demi-cup blue gingham pushup bra. It was just a little small, and my cleavage was smoking.

I put my arms up behind my head, shaking out my hair, and closed my eyes and smiled for the camera.

"You're going to run out of space on that card," I warned.

Taylor lowered the camera. "It will be worth it. Leave on the shirt and lose the jeans."

"Let me get my hiking boots off before you start again." My bare feet, toenails freshly painted a nice bright red, stepped out onto the cold, damp leaves from last autumn. The camera began to click again. I turned my ass to Taylor and took down my jeans, just exactly the same way I'd done for Ben last Tuesday.

None of this was part of Taylor's official shoot. My conditions for modelling were that he would use my memory card, everything would stay on my laptop, I'd get to check his camera's memory and I had final say over which photos he could keep—and he got twenty-four. He could design the costume and I'd do my own makeup, but there wouldn't be any nudity.

That was because, when I'd brought up the idea of going out on a shoot with him, we'd been in bed and he mentioned he always wanted to photograph what he called 'vivid erotica.' My conditions let Taylor snap all the photos he wanted. He got a model, I got to watch him work, and we both got to have fun.

I pulled my gingham panties down with my jeans and stood in front of Taylor in the open air, modelling my vulva for him. Per his request, I had shaved my treasure trail for him, and I felt goose-pimples begin to rise down my abs and around my labia.

Next, off came the shirt, and then the bra. I modelled a hand-bra for Taylor, standing totally nude with my jeans and panties down around my ankles. Throughout it, the shutter clicked non-stop.

"Now," I said. "Put that thing down and let me get in costume, before you use up all the daylight and the memory card too."

Given the circumstances, the modelling session was surprisingly sedate. The "woodland nymph" outfit was way too small, so we had a bit of fun with a surprisingly chic Jazz Age Gangster look he'd put together out of a second-hand suit and fedora and the cunning use of safety pins. It was risqué, but only just—I left the top few buttons undone, and between the tight pinning and the cool spring air, it was pretty obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra.

Taylor had also managed to get a flapper dress from somewhere, but we didn't do much with it before Taylor looked around and decided to try for some wilderness shots before he lost the light entirely. I got back into my sweatshirt and jeans.

The tent didn't go up until well after sunset. By then we were starved, but the fire caught quickly and Taylor had brought some simple stuff from the grocery store. We were both famished and tired from traipsing over the site, but the heat of the fire and the quick food had us laughing together over beers, snuggled up next to each other as the stars came out and pitch darkness descended.

As Taylor had predicted, there were no other campers this early in the season.

Wearing my fuzzy green knit hat, I nuzzled my head up to Taylor's shoulder. He took a sip of his beer. He stared at the fire and said to me, "So, who's this guy you stood me up for Tuesday?"

"Just a guy. He's nice."

"Boyfriend nice?"

"I guess. I don't know. I'm still not ready to get into anything serious."

"I don't mind, Hannah. Did you have fun? What did you do?"

"Went out to eat at that new place you and I were talking about, the fusion place. It was pretty good."

Taylor turned to me and put his arm around me, warming me up a bit. "Couldn't have been that good if you're here with me," he teased.

"No, I like him," I said. "I think I'm going to see him again."

"Well, Hannah, I like you too," said Taylor. "And I'm glad you're here with me." Then he leaned toward me and kissed me in the firelight. It was one of the most romantic moments we'd had in the two months we'd been sleeping together.

At the same time, I couldn't stop thinking of Ben.

But Taylor was here, and we'd been planning this trip for weeks. Taylor's kiss was warm and his hands held me so close. He comforted me in exactly the way I needed when I needed it most.

"So," I said, pulling away a little. Then I kissed his lips quickly again, and slid his free hand up under my shirt onto the bare skin of my back. "Are we going to sit here kissing, or are we going to do some flash photography?"

Taylor grinned his thousand-watt grin, and I felt—not butterflies—but that warm, naughty thrill I always got when I knew exactly what he wanted.

I leapt up and grabbed the camera before he could get it. The lens cap was already off. Taylor and I were laughing and wrestling to possess the camera. He pulled the sweatshirt over my head, and my blouse went with it. I shot a picture and the flash went off, dazing him for half a second while I pulled the camera through the neck opening and threw my tops to the ground. Taylor made a second half-hearted attempt to snatch the camera back before he changed tactics.

I photographed him stripping me naked outside—all but my socks and blue gingham bra—taking pictures down my cleavage of my jeans and panties coming off, my legs in the air as he pulled off my boots, finally Taylor grappling me around my waist, nuzzling my vulva and squeezing my hips. We were panting in the chilly night air and hot clouds of his breath swirled around my most intimate parts.

Taylor chased me inside the tent, where I fell back on a haphazard mess of pillows and sleeping bags over a sleeping pad that covered the tent's floor from wall to wall. The flash flickered like a strobe light as Taylor backed me into the tent and I photographed him pulling off his shirt, loosening his belt and pulling his jeans open.

I took a close-up of the glistening tip of his dick, and let him relieve me of the camera. The next shot in sequence is tight on my face, my eyes wide, looking directly into the camera, mouth open and tongue emerging, with only my naked shoulders visible behind the frame of my auburn hair. At the bottom of the frame you can just see the ends of my fingers, pulling his hard dick toward my mouth.

I remember his taste and the cold air swirling in from the open tent flaps, and the camera flash firing as I pulled him deep into my throat. The heat of him burned my face and mouth like forged iron and I wanted to quench him as deeply as I could. Nearly naked on all fours, I slacked my jaw and let him take control of me. My lips felt thick, sealed around him. He was thrusting, caressing my scalp and—best of all—moaning my name.

The tent was dark now, the camera set aside. I lay back beneath him as he pulled off the rest of his clothing and knelt between my legs. The fire had gone most of the way down, so only a little light flickered against the wall of the tent. I couldn't see Taylor.

I heard him zip open my purse and fumble around inside it. My keys and a few other things fell out, and moments later I heard the crackle of plastic packaging being ripped open. I spread my legs as wide as I could, and pressed him forward with my shin.

We made love twice.

When I awoke the next morning, bright warm sunlight filled the tent. I opened my eyes to find Taylor looking back at me, smiling. His hair was mussed.

We had unzipped our sleeping bags and slept between them. Taylor's was pulled over us and we lay beside each other, naked. It was still a bit cold. I cuddled up to Taylor, pressing my breasts and hard nipples up against his chest, and he pulled me toward him with his hand on the bare slope of my hip.

"Good morning," he said, and kissed me.

"Good morning."

I found myself putting my hand between his legs. His dick began to harden as I caressed him with the tips of my fingers, from just below his cut foreskin, down along the shaft to the root and back up again. Touching him like this, sensing him get excited, made me excited in turn, knowing he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

Taylor moved his hand up and teased my nipples. He kissed me again. I could see where this was going—but unfortunately...

"I have to pee," I said.

"Come on," said Taylor. "Let's just mess around for a few minutes first."

"It's your tent," I replied, "so if that's what you're really into..."

I pushed him over on his back and nibbled his neck.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Go on."

I laughed and strode outside into the unseasonably warm May morning air without bothering to put on anything. When I came back, Taylor had emerged from the tent and was messing with his camera bag.

He looked mildly ridiculous wearing only his boots, but he had made me come so deeply when he fucked me the night before, I wanted to reward him. I went into the tent and grabbed his sleeping bag, then dragged it over to the picnic bench and draped it over the table, bench and ground—to give myself a comfortable place to kneel.

"Whatcha doing?" Taylor asked.

"Have a seat," I said.

"Oh...kay," he replied. He made himself comfortable on the sleeping bag and I stood naked in front of him, contrapposto. Taylor lifted the camera and took a full frontal shot of me.

"Camera down," I said, smiling. He did as he was told.

The synthetic fabric wheezed as I knelt down on the sleeping bag, pushing Taylor's knees apart with the palms of my hands. I ran my fingers along his thighs up to his waist, and pulled myself closer with a shimmy.

Cupping my breasts, I cuddled in close to him and gave him a kiss on his chest. "Do you like what you see?" I said, spreading my fingers out.

"Oh yes," he said. He was getting aroused. I took his dick in my right hand and began to caress it, wrapping my fingers around it and working it up and down as it hardened in my grasp. Once his dick was standing on its own, I put my other hand around it and leaned forward, tickling his legs with my nipples and kissed his abs.

I let go and wrapped his dick with my cleavage, pushing my tits together with my upper hands and undulating my torso to massage him. I kissed his abs again. I remember being surprised at how hot my breath was, and how I was trembling just a little.

It was so intimate and spontaneous. None of it was planned, and neither of us had looked around to make sure we were still alone. Anyone could have been watching. I felt little flutters in my stomach. I had to have him.

The tip of his penis was straining for me, hard and smooth. I quickly flicked it with the tip of my tongue and then swallowed it whole, tasting him, letting him enter me. I put my hands on his hips and swerved my hips as I bobbed down as far as I could, closing my eyes and now twisting my tongue.

Again and again his cock slid into my mouth. I was distantly aware of him moaning my name, and the tension shooting through his abs and thighs beneath my domination of his body. He was totally mine. My lips were trembling.

His hands moved from my shoulders and breasts to the back of my head, intertwining his fingers with my shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. I grabbed as his hips and pulled him up toward me. Without a word he obeyed me, and stood up in front of me.

"Now," he whispered, still cradling the nape of my neck in his palm.

In the same moment, I pulled my head back slowly across all eight inches of him, wrapping my fingers around him as I did so. As the head of his cock crossed my lips with a pop, his sex was aimed upward and a jet of cloudy white come splashed across my right cheek, from my lips to my ear.

I aimed him downward, jerking him off, and three more pulses of come covered my shoulder, my boobs and my nipples.

Taylor seemed to buckle at the knees and fell back on the sleeping bag. "Oh fuck," he gasped. "Holy fuck." Before he even had his eyes open, he was feeling around for his camera. He got just one picture of me covered in his seed before I leapt up, kissed him on the mouth, and ran off downhill to the lake.

I plunged into the frigid water, caressed my whole body, scraping his come off of me. I bobbed in the water a few times, scrubbing off. Finally I turned and opened my eyes. Taylor had followed me to the shore, camera in hand. I could see the mist rising over the surface of the lake.

"Just one," I said. I went under again, and as I pushed off from the sand I slicked my hair back. Standing barely more than head and shoulders out of the water, I blinked my eyes, smiled wide, and looked into the camera.

Five hours later, I was sitting in Taylor's truck, back outside my apartment. The entire drive back, all I could think of was Ben's voicemail. Wondering what he said and wondering what I should say to him. I had told Ben I wanted to take it slow and not be exclusive, but now that I'd slept with someone else...

I kissed Taylor good-bye, and then, out of politeness and habit, asked, "Do you want to come in to get cleaned up?"

Taylor knew I didn't mean it. "Hannah," he said, "This has been an amazing weekend. But I know you don't want to get serious yet. Maybe we should cool off for a while."

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for everything."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said. "And I do want you to call me - when you're ready to get serious. Or maybe if you want to do a little more modelling."

I gave a little laugh, then pecked his cheek. I tried to hold back my tears.

Inside, I downloaded the memory card onto my laptop and began sorting through pictures. I had given Taylor everything he asked of me. And still, the only one I could think of was Ben. So I closed the computer, and picked up the phone—but what could I say after spending the weekend sleeping with someone else?

I didn't have the courage to call Ben back for another week.



The Ex-Lovers Ch. 03



Note: This continues the narrative from the previous chapters and is not intended to stand on its own. Where Chapter One is in Ben's POV and Chapter Two is in Hannah's, from here the story shifts to third-person. Feedback welcome.

At the beginning, Hannah and Ben have been dating seriously for awhile. Then there's an extended flashback finishing off Hannah's FWB relationship with Taylor as she realizes that she trusts Ben and wants to be with him.

***

"Five—oh! Five."

"Including me?"

Hannah lifted her arms over her head and pulled against the handcuffs a little. Her breasts heaved. She twisted toward Ben to kiss his cheek. "You're jealous. Lower."

"Answer the question." Ben curled his fingers around the waist of Hannah's black lace thong. His lips pecked down to Hannah's hips, then grazed a ticklish spot on her lower back. As she flinched, Ben pulled the panties away.

After six months of dating, Hannah's shaving had become a little irregular, but the tuft of hair above her pussy still resembled a wide stripe rather than a delta. She preferred it that way. Ben nuzzled his face against her vulva and flicked outward with his tongue. For a moment, he tasted the coppery warmth of her quim.

"Oh—more," she begged.

"Not until you tell me."

"Okay," she sighed, grabbing onto the headboard. She spread her legs, tucked her calf behind Ben's thigh and pulled his cock toward her. "Including you..." She smiled.

"Yes?"

"At least five."

This was Hannah's game: interrogated in handcuffs. Teasing answers. Pleasurable threats. Ben lifted himself up between her legs, the white sheets curled around his waist, and pressed his steel-stiff cock to the hood of her clit. Stroking along her clit with the full length of his shaft, he pushed forward.

"At least three guys, then your ex, then me," said Ben.

"I didn't say that," said Hannah. She undulated beneath him, trying to get Ben's cock inside her. Her breathing had picked up.

"Oh yeah?" said Ben. Hannah was wearing one of Ben's ribbed white A-shirts. He lifted it over her breast and sucked on her nipple. His cock throbbed between them. "So your boyfriend, was he your first?"

Hannah bit her lip, shook her head and flexed her arms. Ben continued his gyrations.

"Second?"

She teased him with her eyes. "Hmm," she said.

"Better tell me or I'm going to lick your pussy."

Hannah laughed. Ben took her hips and turned her over. Hannah's arms crossed one atop the other beside the bedpost, and the slender curve of her spine was revealed. Her breasts were pressed up against the pillows. The shaft of Ben's cock slid along the slick length of her slit.

"Second," agreed Hannah.

"After him, you played the field," said Ben.

Hannah nodded and smirked. "A little."

"Hot," said Ben. "How many?"

Hannah shrugged. Her shoulders rose and fell, and her hips wriggled on his cock. 

"Fuck me," she said.

"Not yet."

"Okay," she said. Her voice halted as she moved her hips, trying to get Ben's cock inside her. "Give me one of yours first."

Ben kissed three little beauty spots in a line on Hannah's back, then cupped her breast and caressed her. "I want to fuck you."

"Tell me."

"One night stand," he said.

"Stranger?"

"Ex-girlfriend's ex-friend. My ex talked shit about both of us behind our backs. After the break-up, we had a few drinks, shared notes and..."

"And swapped fluids. Nice girl?"

"Very sweet—strict background, but she had a bit of a naughty streak."

"Let me guess. Blue eyes, blonde hair."

"No and no. Now tell me yours."

"Friend with benefits."

"Do I have to ask?"

"Not my ex's friend, but I met him through my ex. Not big on relationships. Let me kind of come and go as I pleased."

"I bet he did." The head of Ben's cock parted Hannah's lips and began sliding into her pussy. "Nice guy?"

Hannah moaned and pulled him inside her, pulling back with her legs, widening her hips. She felt like a warm shroud. A sheen of sweat, he noticed, was covering her back and his chest. She started nodding. "Yeah."

"Hm. Probably not as nice as my girl."

"Maybe not."

"So what happened?"

"You did." Hannah laced her fingers, pursed her lips and writhed with her whole body. "God, Ben—I love the way you fuck me," she sighed.

"I love you," he said, and he kissed the back of her neck. His cock eased inside her at full length. Ben fell silent as he placed his hands on her hips and drew Hannah up onto her knees. Hannah's arms stretched out in front of her as she lay prone, her dirty blonde hair mussed around the nape of her neck.

"Come on, one more question," she said. "Just one. Then fuck me."

"You little perv," said Ben. "Okay. This nice guy. Was he the one who—the, uh—?"

"Yeah," said Hannah. "Him."

Ben looked to his left, where a framed portrait of Hannah hung on the wall. He told her he wanted it and she'd given it to him for his birthday. It was Hannah, rising up out of a placid lake, her hair pulled back, her mischievous eyes trained directly at the camera. She looked flushed, warm. Beads of water clung to her cheek. Her body was glowing, and if she was wearing a swimsuit, you couldn't tell it from the way the water concealed the curve of her full, beautiful breasts. 

Beneath him, Hannah rolled over to face him. He kissed her lips. They were both covered in perspiration. She kissed his ear and whispered, "Hey...take off the condom."

Ben fucked her slowly and whispered back, "Are you sure?"

"It's been months. I'm on the pill. I'm ready if you are."

Ben withdrew, pulled off the condom and Hannah watched as he flung it into the waste basket. Handcuffed but not tied down—not this time, anyway—Hannah put her arms around Ben's waist and pulled her back into him. Her warmth became fire, and her body responded to his. He could feel delicious curves and texture, and she accepted him completely.

Hannah's arms went over her head again, lifting her breasts up. Ben's A-shirt was completely up around her shoulders, resting across her neck. Her eyes closed and her mouth hung open, gasping in time with the rhythm. Ben reached up with his left hand and looped his thumb around the chain between her handcuffs, and with his right hand grasped her wrist. Her ankles looped around his back, rocking him into her.

As he came, Ben pulled out and shot his come all over her tight little abs. His shaft dripped with her juices, and he could feel the slick of her slit up against his scrotum. Hannah kissed him eagerly, and their tongues met. His strength gave out and his arms collapsed. Ben rolled to the side with her arms around him, hugging him closely.

"I love you," she whispered, pecking his cheek with kisses. "I love you, I love you."

"Six month anniversary," said Ben. "Let me see those photos again."

* * *

Besides Taylor, Ben was the only other person in the world who knew had seen all of the pictures. Even Taylor, before Hannah got serious with Ben, had only seen them once, not long after they'd been taken.

After the camping trip, Taylor and Hannah arranged a time for him to come over to get his copies of the landscape work. All of those were his to publish, no problem. In another folder, she had all the modelling shots. Taylor, per their agreement, picked out twenty-four of those for his portfolio, absolutely no nudity.

But then came the moment Hannah had been dreading and resisting. Taylor used all the sweetheart voice and puppy-dog eyes he could muster until Hannah let him see what was in Folder Number Three. The stripping. The fucking. The photos Taylor absolutely could not have.

"Fine," she said, hoping she wouldn't regret it. "Just this once."

Hannah opened the secret folder and let Taylor sit down at the table in front of the computer. He started lingering over each photo, burning them into the back of his eyeballs. Finally Hannah insisted on taking over.

Hannah could tell Taylor was getting hard just by looking at the pictures they'd taken. It was exactly his kind of thing. A sidelong glance at the bulge in his blue jeans proved she was right. No matter what else he wanted, though, giving him one look at the photos was as far as he was going to go. Or, at least, not much farther than that.

The next thing she knew, though, she got tired of standing and sat down on his lap. Taylor got his arm around her waist, and then moved up to cup her breasts over her thin t-shirt. As she clicked through the images, he started getting harder.

So she describing them to him. It didn't seem to matter what kind of nonsense she said; Taylor liked hearing her say things like, "Look at that big dick. Do you like my tits in this one? I remember exactly when you took this."

His other hand left Hannah's waist and began opening his belt. It was the photo of Hannah smiling, looking up at Taylor's dick with her boobs covered with come. She could hardly believe it had happened less than two weeks previously. And instantly, Ben filled her mind.

Taylor had to go. Right away. Hannah didn't know how she was going to tell him, but picture time was over. Ben wasn't her boyfriend yet, but in this moment she realized how much she wanted him to be.

Just to get the cum-shot off the screen, Hannah quickly clicked ahead to the next photograph. It was the one of her in the lake.

Everything changed the moment Taylor saw it. "Oh my God," said Taylor. "I have to have this for my portfolio."

"Taylor, I think...I mean I know we're friends, but I can't do this."

Hannah stood up, as all the blood left her face. She refused immediately, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Taylor kept staring at it and talking about the composition, the light, the palette, and the reflections. He just looked at Hannah and said, with total earnestness, "I take thousands of photographs to get one as perfect as this. I know you're against it but please, please, take another look. Please. Just sit here and look. It's fucking art."

Taylor kept talking. Hannah could barely hear him as her eyes hunted determinedly across the frame, looking for the slightest hint of nudity or sex. Her instincts were howling, but she couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was sexy, absolutely—but there was nothing specifically sexual about it. And the longer Taylor talked, the more she began to want to agree. It made her look good. It made her feel good. Against all her better judgment, it made her feel amazing.

Her voice trembled as she agreed. "Okay," she said. "Okay." The butterflies in her stomach were taking her into unknown territory, but her instinct for self-protection was right behind them. "You can have this one. But if you really want it, you have to give up some of the others. We said twenty-four. You can have—twelve."

"Done."

Hannah was shocked at how quickly Taylor agreed. She pushed on. "And we're going to have some kind of written agreement. I don't want it going anywhere I don't know about. I don't want it published. The nude photos belong to me; that was the deal."

"Well, but—but it's—" He was scratched his stubble, fumbling for words.

"I don't care if you put it in your portfolio; of course you can have credit. I just don't want—fuck sakes, Taylor, I'm naked in this. I just want a say in what you do with this picture."

"Okay. Okay. Deal." He stuck out his hand to shake her hand.

Hannah did a facepalm. "Damn it, Taylor, come on."

Taylor looked down. His belt was still open, his fly down and the head of his dick was peeking out from his boxers. "Oh," he laughed. "Sorry."

* * *

Hannah didn't show anyone or tell anyone until a few months later, when she asked Ben what he wanted for his birthday.

Ben named off some typical stuff he'd had on his mind and added, just as an afterthought, "And maybe a framed picture of you, looking beautiful and sexy, so I can hang it up in my bedroom." Ben's empty bedroom walls were something Hannah teased him about.

Hannah bit her lip and told Ben to wait a minute while she went to get something. She came back with her laptop, with the lake picture on the screen, and said, "Something like this?"

"Holy shit," said Ben. "Tell me there are more like this."

Ben scarcely got through half of them before he had Hannah's clothes off. Afterwards, they lay together naked, flipping through the images.

"When were these?"

"Not too long after I broke up with Steve," said Hannah. "I met this guy, this photographer. Actually, I met him through my ex. Anyway—I liked his work, he wanted a model for his portfolio, and you and I weren't dating yet and I just—I just said yes."

"I'm glad you did. Hannah, seriously. You're gorgeous, and these are intense."

"So you like... all of these?"

"Absolutely."

"Even though it was taken by another guy?"

Ben shrugged. "It was before we met," I said. "The important thing is that we're together now. I love you, and these pictures make me want to fuck you like crazy."

"Fuck yeah," said Hannah. She brought up the lake photo again. "So... this one?"

"Nothing else will do."

"And you're totally good with it?"

"Well," said Ben. "And I want us to make some more. With a better looking cock." Ben moved Hannah's hand down to touch his member, swollen and still hard. "But yeah, this one is art. It's all you, and that's all I want."

Hannah kissed Ben, and as soon as she set the computer aside, they made love again.

That night, she lay cuddling beside him, feeling wonderful, wondering what kind of frame she would get. Then it hit her: the best way to get a fantastic print would be to talk to Taylor. He already had the photo, he could be trusted, and his landscape prints were excellent.

Then again, the last time she'd seen him, she ended up sitting in his lap being felt up.

To Hannah's surprise, Taylor responded like a complete gentleman and a total professional. His reply stayed to the point. He was glad she liked the photo, and given that she was the model she only had to pay for the materials "if that's alright." The last line asked her if she still had the same address.

Nothing wrong with a little bit of curiosity, thought Hannah. She emailed Taylor back that he didn't have to go to any trouble—it would be faster, cheaper and less chance of damage if they just met somewhere. They could go to Sean's Bar and catch up over a beer.

Taylor agreed.

As they sat drinking their pints, Hannah got Taylor to open up a bit. He was still as single and handsome as ever, working hard at freelancing. He hinted that the end of 'friends with benefits' hadn't slowed him down.

In turn, Hannah was surprised that Taylor remembered Ben's name and asked how he was doing. When Hannah mentioned Ben's upcoming birthday, Taylor said he was flattered Ben had such excellent taste in photographs.

Taylor looked around, and quietly asked, "Has he seen the others?"

Hannah nodded. And smiled.

"You perv," said Taylor.

When their beers were empty, Hannah passed Taylor some cash and he brought out the photo, wrapped in butcher paper. It was a sturdy, heavy parcel.

"Taylor!" Hannah exclaimed, holding it up. "You framed it? Oh my goodness!"

"No doubt," he said. "I wanted it to look perfect."

"Holy shit—thank you!"

"You haven't seen the frame yet."

"Taylor," she said, looking at him sideways, "you've got a good eye. I'm sure however you did it, it looks great." She put the package down on the table and got up to hug him. He stood and put his arms around me. "Thank you so much, Taylor. You're the best."

"Anything for you." He pecked Hannah's cheek.

And then, not meaning to, she kissed him back.

She pulled away, nervous. "Sorry."

He shook his head.

"Well. I should go. Thanks. Call me sometime," he said. "We can all hang out."

"I'll do that."

They both knew he wasn't planning on it.

With Ben's framed photo in her hands, Hannah smiled, pecked Taylor's cheek again, and turned to leave. Hannah was so elated about both the frame and the photo, she could hardly stop from skipping as she stepped out on the sidewalk.

Outside, Hannah nearly ran into an Indian girl in a hoodie and jean shorts, wearing a backpack. She looked familiar, but Hannah couldn't place her face. They exchanged pleasantries and kept walking. There was nothing remarkable about the event at the time.



The Ex-Lovers Ch. 04



Note: This chapter relies on previous events so it is definitely not meant to stand on its own. Feedback welcome.

*****

"So I was thinking," said Ben, "about last night."

It was windy and overcast on the first of November, and as Ben glanced at his girlfriend (for just over six months), he noticed a stubborn trace of black eyeliner around her hazel eyes, left over from the party the night before.

Hannah didn't say anything. She wasn't smiling, but she had her arm around his and they were walking shoulder to shoulder down the autumn street.

"Last night," Ben said again. "I'm sorry we fought."

Hannah turned away and scanned the street, looking idly at the world around her. Finally, about ten steps later, she nodded. "Me too."

"No, really—I shouldn't have stormed off—"

"Forget it. Let's just forget it happened. We were both pretty drunk."

They stopped and kissed, put their arms around each other and kissed again. Pedestrians passed on the sidewalks bundled up in coats, coming in and out of shops and restaurants. Ben scanned the street and an idea came to him.

"Sean's Bar," he said. "We haven't been there in ages. What do you think, Hannah? Hair of the dog?"

"You know," said Hannah, "I think you can read my mind."

Even this early in the afternoon, the bar was filling with people in gold and blue team gear ordering pitchers and talking football over loud music. Ben and Hannah sighed and gave each other a sideways glance.

"How could we forget?"

"I'm still a little hung over."

"Ugh, me too."

"Just one beer and let's go."

They nodded and crossed toward the bar, picking their way through people. At the back of the line, Hannah saw a man in a light grey button-down dress shirt, slightly taller than Ben, with neatly trimmed black hair in a classic tapered cut. He was tapping his foot and holding an empty pitcher, and the next second, he turned his head slightly to look up at the clock on the wall.

Hannah seized Ben's arm and held him back. "Oh my God," she said in a loud whisper. "Let's wait a minute." Ben turned and Hannah tilted her head at the man in line. "It's my ex."

Ben blurted, a little louder than he intended, "Who—the asshole?"

"No, the—" Hannah looked at the man and as if trying to decide what to say. "The photographer."

"It's okay," said Ben, studying the man. "You know, it's no big deal."

"Let's go sit down. There's wait staff."

Ben hesitated for a moment then allowed Hannah to pull him away. Inwardly, though he'd never admit it aloud, Ben felt oddly approving of the photographer; the man was well-dressed and obviously handsome. So the woman he loved had high standards and good taste, in men and everything else. If it has to be anyone, he thought, at least he isn't a loser.

"Well, well, well," he teased Hannah. "Maybe I should go laugh in his face."

"Hey!" she laughed. "You said it was fine. Let's go see if we know anyone."

They went into the other room, further away from the televisions. Wood tables lined the red brick walls with black vinyl barstools beside them. The pool table had been covered over and people were standing around it chatting happily. Empty glasses were scattered around the room; a cute ginger waitress shuttled about collecting them and taking about a dozen drink orders in the process.

Hannah scanned the room. Most of the tables were occupied, except for a six-person table in the back that only had one person at it. She was an Indian woman in her 20s in a tight teal kurti with three-quarter sleeves. The waitress stopped at the table and tried to take two empty pint glasses—but the woman stopped her and went back to leafing through a spiral notebook in front of her.

"I don't think there's a table," said Hannah.

"Hold up," said Ben, looking from the waitress back to the woman at the table. "Come on."

Ben flagged the waitress down, ordered drinks and headed deeper into the room.

"I don't feel like standing," said Hannah. "You think she'll let us share the table?"

Ben laughed. "Totally. Hey, Esha!" he exclaimed.

The Indian woman looked up and her face brightened as she smiled back. "Ben! Oh my God! How are you?"

Hannah did a double take. Ben walked up to the table, where the woman stood and gave him a quick hug. "I haven't seen you in forever," said Ben.

"Longer for me than you," Esha replied, her voice lilting almost acrobatically.

"You know each other?" asked Hannah.

Ben waved her closer to him. "Esha, this is my girlfriend Hannah. Hannah, this is Esha. Esha's a grad student; she works on—what's it called again—"

"I don't even want to think about it," Esha said, lightly tossing the notebook aside. "Pleased to meet you, Hannah." Esha held out her hand.

Hannah checked her surprise and the women shook hands. A row of delicate silvery bangles chimed on Esha's slender wrist.

Her long black hair fell around her in neat strands and wreathed her face—along with a single thin braid pushed behind her ear and half a dozen silver piercings. She wore no makeup, apart from a hint of lip gloss and a little bit of dark eyeliner that brought out the contrast of white and black in her eyes. Her skin was moderately fair, like milk and sugar poured into black chai.

"Pleased to meet you," Hannah echoed, still taken aback. "Esha—what a beautiful name!"

"Thanks," Esha said politely, but her eyes flickered over to Ben with a subtle smirk.

Hannah pressed on. "So, tell me, how do you two know each other?"

Ben shook his head at the old memory, while Esha's smile broke into fond laughter. "Oh, a very long story...but simply put, Ben's ex-girlfriend, Jane, was my flatmate."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Hannah, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, excuse me—I didn't mean to say—"

"Oh, Hannah—don't worry!" laughed Esha, in her posh accent. "Jane was quite an impossible person to live with. She rusticated poor Ben here and gossiped to everyone about me. That's why Ben and I are still friends."

"Damn, Ben, how come we've never had Esha over for dinner? I don't even think you've mentioned Esha before."

"Of course I did," said Ben. "Last week. I just don't think I've even hung out with Esha since I met you."

"Typical boy," said Esha.

"Last week? When?"

"Yeah, you were talking about, you know—your ex? You asked me...?"

Hannah's eyes went wide the moment she understood, but she quickly changed the subject. "We're running into everyone today. I just saw an old boyfriend. I didn't want Ben to get jealous and start throwing punches so we ducked in here."

"Well, you're welcome to take refuge here. Not a bad breakup, I hope. Please—" Esha said, gesturing to the chairs to invite Hannah and Ben to sit.

Hannah sat by the wall, catercorner to Esha, and shook her head. "It was a pretty casual thing, you know? I only broke it off because I wanted to get serious with Ben—six months, last week."

"Really? Congratulations," said Esha, smiling. She nudged Ben with her elbow. "Six months—Ben, no wonder you disappeared on me." Esha took a sip of her beer and looked back to Hannah. "I, er, met someone too. I don't know how official we are, but my fellow has been with me for a few months now. I'm not very used to dating, I suppose."

"I don't remember you ever having a boyfriend," said Ben.

"I want to see how long I can hold out," said Esha.

"Seriously?" asked Hannah. "You're not exclusive?"

"Well," replied Esha, fidgeting in her seat, "I mean, we don't see other people, but—I have my work, and he works a lot, so—we keep it simple."

As Hannah congratulated her, Ben looked across the room. The man in the grey shirt was crossing the floor carrying a pitcher of beer. "Hey—Hannah. Look who's coming. I think he's coming to say hi."

"Actually," said Esha in her polished, even accent. "Taylor's with me."

"Oh...my," said Hannah. "Where the hell are our drinks?"

* * *

As Esha's story ended, a chorus of laughter went up around the table. Her skin was fair enough to flush with a tinge of embarrassment, but she was smiling wickedly. "It was not funny then, I'll tell you," she said, gulping down the end of her beer.

Taylor wiped his eyes, took her glass and poured out what was left of their third pitcher. "Well, priya," he said, "It is hilarious now."

"Jesus, Ben, what were you thinking?" asked Hannah.

"It wasn't Ben's fault," said Esha. "Ben kind of had to tell Jane. It was Jane, not him, who bloody spread it around to everyone. And anyway I should have been more discreet in the first place."

"What?" Hannah protested. Sisterly solidarity, mixed with a few pints of beer, had drawn sympathy. "It's your house, you have every right—" Hannah reached across the table and slapped Ben's hand.

"No, really. I kind of left it out of the story, but when Ben walked in, you know, he saw a lot."

"Say the fuck what?" said Taylor. "How much 'a lot'?"

Esha smiled to herself, and covered her eyes. Across the table, Hannah and Taylor both oohed scandalously, and before Esha could protest, Ben replied, "Hey, Esha, you've got something just here—" and he tickled her cheek with his forefinger.

"Oh. My. God," gasped Hannah. "NO."

"Ben!" Esha cried, and slapped the back of his hand. "He did not—!" She lowered her voice and hissed, "It was not on my face."

Ben shrugged and began to reach toward Esha's breasts; she slapped his hand. "Anyway," he said, "it was fucking hilarious. And I scrambled out of there so fucking fast."

Esha jabbed Ben's shoulder playfully. "Hilarious for you, maybe."

"Hmm," said Taylor. "So let me get this straight, Ben. You mean we've both seen both of these beautiful women—"

Esha and Hannah shouted him down, but Ben got halfway out of his chair. He laughed and his voice rose over the girls' and the steadily increasing noise of the bar. "Indeed, my friend, yes indeed!"

Taylor threw out a fist over the table, and Ben nodded and slowly put out his own fist. Hannah grabbed Taylor's hand, Esha grabbed Ben's, but the two boys resisted, pulled their hands away and managed to bump fists.

"Oh no," said Hannah, pushing strands of blonde hair away from her eyes. "No way. I will not have two men I slept with bumping fists."

"Neither will I!" agreed Esha.

The two women broke out in laughter again. Taylor's eyes were huge. "Really?"

Hannah broke in quickly. "Really! Didn't you know? Benjamin and Miss Esha here had a little scandal of their own."

"How could I have known?"

"Ben told me last week."

"What, just in conversation?"

She looked Taylor straight in the eyes and shook her head coyly. "Huh-uh."

"Oh, come on," Taylor replied. "Now you've got to spill."

"Okay..." she said. "I, uh, make him talk dirty to me." Following her declaration, she arched her shoulders and drank her beer. "He talks dirty while he fucks me."

"Now that," said Taylor, "I'd like to see."

And it was then, at their most perfect awkward moment together, that the football pregame on TV went to commercial and Esha, Taylor, Ben and Hannah found themselves staring at each other in total quiet.

"Let's..." said Esha, "let's do something fun. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Taylor detoured to pick up beer at the Beverage Depot on 7th, while Esha went with Hannah back to Ben's apartment. While they waited, Ben tried to give Esha a tour.

"I love what you've done with the place, Hannah," Esha said with a laugh. "The last time I visited—let's just say this was quite the bachelor pad."

Hannah smiled. "The bare walls?"

"In every room," agreed Esha. "Ben needed some serious help."

"Hey!"

"I'm glad he was able to find you," said Esha. Following Hannah, she turned the corner into the bedroom. The bed was covered in a fresh, inviting off-white duvet. Hannah's old nightstand had joined the décor, and above it hung the portrait of Hannah, nude in the water.

"You really have been decorating," said Esha. "Hannah, that's a nice portrait."

"I gave it to Ben for his birthday," Hannah said. She instantly wondered if this made her look like a narcissist, and added, "I mean, he asked for it. I didn't just make him put it up." Then she confessed, "Actually, this is one of Taylor's."

"Really?" Esha shifted her weight uncomfortably and searched for something to say. "He's been trying to get me to pose for him. You know, his art photography. I wasn't sure if he was serious or just wanted naughty pictures."

"Taylor is a great photographer. We went out to Devil Rock and I got to help him with his landscape stuff. And I agreed to model a little bit too."

Ben stifled a laugh, but not quickly enough to stop Esha and Hannah from hearing. Hannah shushed him theatrically, and Esha tutted. "Ben, be fair. Taylor was lucky to get such a pretty model."

"Thank you, Esha. You want to see some more?"

* * *

Despite Ben's secret hopes, Hannah didn't show or mention her nude photos, and the laptop got put away as soon as Taylor arrived. He'd brought back pizza along with more beer and the four of them spent a few hours playing video games, chatting, drinking and laughing. The evening wore on and drew to a close. After the door closed behind Taylor and Esha, Hannah bolted it, lowered the lights and guided Ben to the overstuffed red chair and sat him down in it with a slow kiss.

"What a night. I mean, what a fucking coincidence," said Ben. Hannah padded off down the hallway to their bedroom to change. Ben spoke a little louder, his voice following her. "I can't believe the two of them are together. It was so cool to run into them like that. It wasn't even awkward. Well, yeah, a little. But what a night, hanging out like that."

Behind him came the small sound of Hannah's dainty bare feet stepping along the plush pile carpet.

"Taylor's a great guy," said Ben. "I actually like him a lot. The four of us should definitely—"

Hannah walked around in front of the chair. She had changed into one of Ben's A-shirts and gold plaid pajamas that hugged her hips and came down just above her shapely calves. She'd taken off her bra and now her nipples showed through the tight white shirt. Ben glanced at the hem of her panties rise over the top of her pajama bottoms and noticed how incredibly flat and tight Hannah's stomach was.

"Gorgeous," said Ben, interrupting himself. "You're totally beautiful." Then he paused and cautiously added, "What did you feel when Esha saw Taylor's photo?"

Hannah didn't make much of a reply. She simply smiled cryptically and shook her head. Then she knelt down, and her hands slid upward along Ben's khakis to take hold of his leather belt. "I'm trying not to think about her at all." Hannah sighed. "I don't know if she's jealous that I got Taylor first or you last."

"She's not a jealous person. Esha's nice."

"That's what I love about you, Ben," smiled Hannah. "You always see the best."

"That's a choice. I'm not blind. Like Taylor. I just said I like him, and I do. But I also see the way he looks at you. I see the way a lot of guys look at you."

"I know," said Hannah. She tucked her hands behind Ben's back and leaned up to kiss him. "He wouldn't do anything though, really. He knows how I feel about you. And—looking at the pictures, tonight. We haven't really talked about them. I think that I never really wanted to be direct about them with you."

"What about them?"

"Well, like, you've always been okay with them, kind of like no big deal."

"They were before we were together."

"That's just it," Hannah sighed. "I need to tell you something." Her voice became a soft tremble. Behind his back, Ben felt her hands gather the material of his shirt as Hannah clutched onto him for reassurance. "It's about last night at the Halloween party...I just want to tell you in case you hear anything."

A lump began to swell in Ben's throat. "You're scaring me."

"It's nothing—it's okay—I mean, I hope it'll be okay. It just might sound worse if you heard it from someone else."

"Okay. I'm listening."

"So you went out all angry and I was standing there alone in the corner, fuming. Getting really worked up, like I was clenching my fist and muttering to myself."

"Yeah, I shouldn't have left you like that. But I needed to clear my head."

"Well, one of the housemates came over and said he liked my costume. We started talking about Journey of the Everlore, and before long he says he's got some replica props in his room he wants to show me."

"You didn't."

"I didn't do anything, I just went upstairs with him."

"Damn it, Hannah."

"Ben, I promise, I wouldn't do that to you. I could tell he was hitting on me, but I only went with him because it was either that and talk about something Journey of the Everlore or stand downstairs by myself being angry at you and talking to myself."

"So, what happened?"

"When I came out of his room, Rachael saw me and kind of gave me a look. I didn't want it getting back to you like I did something and didn't tell you."

"I mean, what happened in the room?"

Hannah looked up at Ben and bit her lip a little. After a few false starts, she chose her words and said, "I'm not going to lie, so I'm just going to spit it out and you can be mad if you want to. We kissed a little and he touched my boob. That was all. I started feeling guilty right away, so I came downstairs to see if you'd come back yet."

"Shit, how long was I gone?"

"Really?" said Hannah, her eyes wide in disbelief. "I tell you I let a guy feel me up and your first question is about the time?" She sighed loudly. "You were gone for like forty-five minutes, Ben. I was alone at that party for a long time. Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did it, but that's all I did. Now are you going to—" Hannah checked her voice and brought it down. "I'm sorry. I'm just really sorry. Please forgive me."

"Look," said Ben. "They're your boobs."

"I know that," snapped Hannah. "They're my boobs and you're my boyfriend."

"We both know I was a fucking jerk yesterday. I acted like an asshole."

"That doesn't mean—"

"No, I'm not saying it gives you the right to cheat on me, but it does mean I'm glad you didn't just break up with me. I'm glad you stopped at all. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, but you're not angry? What the hell?"

"Your body, your choice. We fought all day yesterday and I can't do it anymore. I know what this is down to. I either keep my temper or I keep my girlfriend. None of this would have happened if I'd kept a lid on it in the first place."

"Jesus, Benji, you didn't make me do it. Wait...you are angry."

"I'm fucking stupid. I've got this hot, amazing girlfriend, so I yell at her and leave her at a party. I'm angry at myself."

"I'm sorry, Ben," said Hannah. She kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry it happened. I'll never do it again. I love you."

"I love you, too, and I'm sorry I lost my temper." Ben brushed a blonde curl back over Hannah's ear. She kissed him again, and again, and though they'd kissed a dozen times or more that day, Hannah felt like Ben was kissing her for the first time all over again.

She tugged Ben out of the chair and pushed his shoulders gently to the carpet. Ben caressed her breasts, emphasized by hanging over his chest, through the ribbed undershirt and felt her crinkled nipples. Hannah moaned slightly as she straddled him, but forced herself to sit up on his legs and begin opening his belt.

Without wanting to, Ben found himself wondering about Hannah and the stranger from the party. "We talk about other people, sometimes, when we fuck," he said quickly.

Hannah murmured agreement as she opened Ben's jeans and began to rub his stiffening member.

"I know we talk about them," Ben continued, "but do you ever, you know...think about them? During? Do you ever want someone else?"




The Ex-Lovers Ch. 05



Comments are welcome. All characters are fictional and cannot help themselves from being what they are. This chapter is heavier on exposition and not as explicit. Along with the previous chapter, all the dominoes are finally in line. The next installment begins knocking them down.

*****

Hannah's secret did not stay quiet. One of her more conservative friends, a brunette named Rebecca, cornered Ben with what had happened at the party. Apparently, she had no hesitation to pass judgment on Hannah to his face. Ben made it clear he already knew, hoping Rebecca would catch the hint that it wasn't her business. She didn't.

"Ben," Rebecca said earnestly, "you can't let her do this to you. Hannah told you whatever she needed to feel better about herself, but just admitting something doesn't excuse it. It isn't even an apology."

"She apologized."

"So?" Rebecca snapped, with a bit of an edge in her voice. She gave an exasperated sigh, seeming to realize she was being pretty hard on the man she was ostensibly trying to help. Tucking a long brunette strand behind her ear, she looked around to see if her voice had carried.

Ben had been watching the other customers ever since Rebecca ambushed him with "something important" right there in the coffee shop. The ambient noise didn't quite cover her voice, particularly two tables away where his friend Esha sat, locked into her work and feigning total concentration.

Esha really couldn't help overhearing. But when it got awkward—when Rebecca started spilling details about Hannah coming out of a man's room at the party, Esha considerately put on headphones and focused on her laptop.

For a moment, Ben imagined Rebecca dressed up like a severe puritan, with a long black dress with a high waist, a white cap and a long white apron, and just a hint of a vindictive smirk hidden behind a flinty scowl of moral judgment. A puritan with a pretty healthy bust, actually.

"Look, Rebecca," Ben said, leaning forward and keeping his voice down. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me. This is a really tough situation Hannah's in, but it's something we want to put behind us."

"She should have thought about that before."

"Maybe. Anyway I'm—" Words weren't coming. He said the first diplomatic thing he could think of. "I'm glad you were honest with me. It's good to know you have my back."

"Any time, Ben. You're a good guy," said Rebecca. She glanced at her phone. "Shit—I've got to go. Seriously, if you want to talk—"

"Thanks," Ben said. "I might take you up on that."

Rebecca smiled. "Message me." She took her empty mug and headed out.

When the coast was clear, Esha took off the earbuds, ran a hand through her long black hair and looked over at Ben with a sad, sympathetic smile. She kept quiet, politely. Ben shrugged, gathered his now-cold coffee and took the last couple of steps over to Esha's table.

"Drama," he said.

"Need to talk about it?"

Ben cocked his head toward where Rebecca had gone away. "No, it was just...one of Hannah's friends."

"Hmm. Your girlfriend's friend...where have I heard that before?"

"It's not like that. Rebecca's very...I don't know, straight laced. Good girl from a strict family."

Esha raised an eyebrow, reminding Ben of who he was talking to.

"Chalo," she said in Hindi, then repeated in English, "Let's go where we can talk."

* * *

Ben slipped off his shoes and put them next to Esha's on the rack beside the door.

Esha had a studio apartment unlike any other Ben had seen, brimming with bright colors. Living alone had so brought out the desi girl's vibrant personality that Ben could have picked her apartment from a photo lineup. Any part of the wall not hidden by bookshelves were covered in prints: Erotic temple art, yakshinis, gopis dancing with Krishna. In front of one window stood a desk cluttered with notebooks, painted ceramic figurines of dancing elephants and half a dozen pairs of silver hoop earrings. All the shelf space was so full with novels, non-fiction and textbooks that the books sat two rows deep, and stacked horizontally on top of each other. 

The corner kitchenette was crammed full of cooking implements, fresh produce in hanging baskets and dishes on display in glass-door cabinets. An electric kettle sat to one side of the sink, and a steel karahi rested on the stove top.

There was no couch. Instead, her bed (covered with an embroidered teal duvet) rested on the floor with a long body pillow resting up against the wall. Between the bed and the flat-screen tv on the wall, the wood floor was covered in thick carpets, a few cushions and several cylindrical decorative pillows.

A nightstand beside the bed was covered in yet more books, candleholders and an incense burner—the source of the luxurious perfumed scent in the air. A full-length mirror across from one of the window reflected more light into the room, even though the window itself was draped with a translucent yellow and orange tapestry.

When the kettle began to boil, Esha filled two small tea cups and offered one to Ben with some imported biscuits. "So, I don't want to pry, but are you and Hannah alright? It sounded like..."

"Yeah," said Ben. "It's been tough."

"So, Hannah came out of this chap's room at a party. Nothing serious went on?"

"Yes—yes and no. I mean, yeah, it was a bad time to get caught, but she literally got caught walking away from the situation, and she was honest about it."

"Do you think it was okay for her to go into his room in the first place?"

"Yeah, I mean...it wasn't like I was there to stop her. It was just a party. People were hanging out in the bathroom and all over the place."

"Be honest, Ben. Tell me what's bothering you."

Ben sighed. "Okay. No, I don't think it was okay for her to go to his room. I think she should have known what was on this guy's mind."

"Go on."

"I don't know. I feel conflicted. In the back of my mind I wonder if she did know, and just went along with it to get back at me for ditching her. Maybe she wanted to cheat on me to begin with. Maybe she just got enough of a thrill after she teased this guy, and it made her feel better."

"You wonder if you can trust her."

"Sure. I mean, what if Hannah hadn't gotten caught? Would she have told me at all?"

"What do you think?"

"I wish she'd never gone to that fucking room."

"But do you think you can trust her?"

"I...I don't know. She made the right choice—she walked away. But how does that balance with letting him kiss her to begin with? You know, she even says he felt her up. I mean, I feel like she'll never do it again, not as long as she's with me, but...I mean, what if she wants to, but she's afraid to say anything? What if she decides she has to choose between me and, y'know, some other guy, and the first I find out about it is when she dumps me? I can't live like that."

"She trusts you, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you told her you were going out to lunch with me, and now you're here. We're alone in my room. She knows about me."

"Well...she knows part of it."

"She knows you cheated on Jane with me, though?"

Ben sat quietly, looking into his empty tea cup.

"Fucking hell, Ben."

"She knows about the time after Jane dumped me. She doesn't know about the first time. Anyway, it's different between you and me now. You have a boyfriend."

Esha scoffed. "You know Taylor and I aren't exclusive."

"Maybe so, but I'm not going to do anything."

"What, and Taylor is?"

"No! I meant—ugh. I meant you and I are friends and I need someone to talk to. I'm not here to hook up or anything. Obviously I can't talk to Taylor. No way. Taylor's the last guy Hannah was with before she got serious with me, and that was after our first date."

"I don't know, Ben. How does Hannah know you're just here to talk? An upset boyfriend, going alone to the apartment of a woman he has a history with, to 'talk' about his love problems. Sounds like you need her trust as much as she needs yours. Anyway, why can't you talk to Taylor? He knows I've slept with someone else while he and I were dating."

"Seriously?"

"Just once. And I'd do it again."

"Has he?"

Esha smiled and shook her head. "He doesn't get very far. I mean, we work all the time anyway, so he doesn't get much of a chance. But the big problem is our number one rule. Rule number one is that we always have to be honest and up front about being in a relationship. That's the problem. Girls tend to assume Taylor's lying about having an open relationship. When it comes to me, guys don't give a shit. I actually feel kind of bad for him; the non-exclusive thing was his idea."

Esha paused for a moment, taking in Ben's face, so handsome despite the pained look in his eyes. He was so casual about things, such a gentleman and so bright. He obviously loved Hannah, but he just wasn't a jealous person. The conflict he felt wasn't whether Hannah had betrayed him, but whether Hannah would dump him for someone else.

Ben was a strong-willed fellow. What he needed, thought Esha, was a little push.

"Honestly, Ben," she said, "drama like this is exactly why I've never had a steady boyfriend."

Ben laughed.

"I'm serious. I like Hannah a lot. I don't know her all that well, but she seems perfect for you. She dotes on you. You two are wonderful together. So...is it okay if I say something impulsive?"

"Said no impulsive person ever."

"Hannah's good looking. She is literally a model in my boyfriend's portfolio. After this, you either have to let her go, or trust her with other men."

"What do you mean, 'trust her with other men'?"

"Well," smiled Esha, "let's find out."

Esha set her tea down gently on a nearby coaster and looked Ben in the eyes. "Here goes," she said.

With only a slight hesitation, she put her fingers to the collar of her teal kurti and began to unbutton the top few buttons. As she worked toward the bottom, the material parted at the neck and revealed her fair brown skin below. She sat up on her knees. Once the buttons were undone, she pulled the whole garment off over her head.

Ben broke out of his silence. "Esha, what are you—?"

Esha folded the blouse lightly and laid it neatly beside her. "Levelling the waters. Trust me, Ben." Esha's full breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath, and her heart was pounding in her chest. Ben's eyes went wide as he saw her nipples through the sheer material of her black lace demi-cup, and he quickly averted his gaze. Esha liked to think of herself as sex-positive, but being this forward was unfamiliar territory.

"Men aren't going to stop hitting on Hannah, but you want to draw the line somewhere. You could draw it at look but don't touch, but she crossed that line. So you either don't trust her, and dump her, or you trust her. If you do, then now the rules have to change. Where you draw the line is up to you."

Esha continued: "You can decide you're going to break up with Hannah. In that case, I think you'd better call that girl Rebecca, because I happen to think Hannah's wonderful."

Ben's face had gone beet red, and his eyes were locked on the far wall. "Esha, please..." he said, but his voice trailed off.

"Or..." said Esha, her voice trembling just a little.

"Or?"

"Or...now, you have to promise me that you'll stop blaming her and give her another chance. A real chance."

"And then?"

"Promise me."

He licked his lips. "I promise. I'll forgive her."

"No," said Esha. "You don't blame her. In other words...you would have done the same thing."

"Yeah."

Esha smiled, and crossed over to Ben on her hands and knees. Her breasts hung restrained in the demi cup bra, a little black bow tucked at the center. Her back arched as she approached him, with her strait black hair splaying over her neck and around her ears. Esha stopped a centimeter from his lips, and asked, "Promise?"

Ben whispered, "Promise." Then he pushed himself forward, kissing her, tasting her lips and instantly cupping her breasts in his hand.

After a long, slow kiss, Esha pulled back from him and opened her deep black eyes. She smiled lazily and licked her lips. "There...not so bad, was it?"

Ben shuddered a sigh. "Yeah. I mean..." A stupid grin broke out on his face.

Esha smiled. "And do you still love Hannah?"

Ben's mood sobered quickly, and he said, "I should—go."

Esha stroked along the front of Ben's khakis. The outline of his erection was unmistakable. "Not so fast! I don't take my shirt off for just anybody. Answer honestly: do you feel like you can go this far with me and still be in love with Hannah?"

Ben was quiet. Esha pushed a bit forward, feeling Ben's cock in his trousers getting harder. She kissed him again, and with no hesitation he returned the kiss with warmth. "Yeah," he said. "I love her."

"I thought you might say that."

Esha stood up, reminding Ben how short she was. 

"So...in return, you can be comfortable going this far with another man?"

"Well..."

Esha unbuckled her belt and unzipped her pants. She was wearing simple gray and blue cotton underwear. She began to slide the jeans over her hips, saying, "Fair's fair, Ben. You should be comfortable with her going as far as you do with me."

"Yeah, I am, but—"

Esha paused, her jeans down to her delicious thighs. Ben couldn't help but stare at the gap between her legs, below the delta of her pubis. He ached to see more, but a lump was forming in his throat imagining Hannah with some faceless stranger.

He grimaced. "Esha, I shouldn't be doing this. I'm okay with you—somehow, I'm comfortable. We know each other. You're special to me; what we had between us is special to me. But if Hannah was here, she'd fucking kill me. I love her and I don't want to do anything to hurt her."

Esha kissed him again. On the cheek this time; it was a gentle kiss of appreciation. "So now you know," she said. "You're going to stay with her."

Ben nodded, and kissed Esha on the lips. She patted his cheek.

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know. Right now, nothing. But tomorrow—soon—I'll tell her, you know, I don't blame her. Maybe—"

"Yeah?"

Ben found himself holding Esha's hand. "I don't want things to change between us. Any of us."

"Well," said Esha, sitting back on her calves, her bare arms at her sides. "It doesn't have to change anything, between any of us. It doesn't have to."

"All I want," she continued, "is that you and Hannah can be all right. And you can. You're both desirable people and you love each other. And now, you're even, if you want to look at it that way."

"It's not about revenge," Ben insisted.

"Trust me," said Esha, "I know." She kissed him again, and Ben reciprocated. "Look, you and I are good friends. We've been through a lot. I want us to be in each other's lives again, whether it involves sex or not."

"You say that like we have a choice!"

"We do. We all do. But you're right. You have to talk to Hannah first."

* * *

The costume Hannah had worked so hard on hung unhappily in her closet for a few weeks: pleated skirt, bandeau, vest and knee boots, blue wig and a dozen accessories for her favorite Journey of the Everlore character. Hannah had been meticulous about putting it together, eager to have it ready for the midnight premier of the new Everlore film. Wearing it to the costume party on the last night of October was supposed to be a test drive, but the argument, Ben storming off, and Hannah going up to the stranger's room had given it a sad second meaning.

By the end of November, Ben and Hannah's sex life had still not returned to normal—even their version of normal—and as Journey of the Everlore's opening night approached, Ben realized that the movie would be a defining moment. If Hannah couldn't take pride in wearing the costume she'd worked so hard on, she would get over it—but Ben would be on his way out of her life.

But it wasn't the costume that mattered, or the pass, or the fact that she'd been tempted. He wanted to have sex with new people every day; why should she be different? But he hadn't been forced to look her in the eye and admit it, and she had.

Now, the ice had to break. Esha was right: the lines had to be redrawn.

* * *

"It's just a fantasy," said Ben. "Role play."

"It's stupid," said Hannah. "I don't understand why you want to think about it."

"We already think about it, both of us. So let's think about it together. Let's do something. Trust me."

"Do you trust me?"

"If I didn't, I'd never be able to do this."



The Ex-Lovers Ch. 06



Comments are welcome. All characters are fictional and cannot help themselves from being what they are.

* * *

The bottle of beer Hannah had been nursing was resting on her lap, on the hem of her short pleated skirt. The beer was warm by now and still only half-empty. Long blue swirls of hair, a wig, fell over her shoulders, reminding her that she was still in costume.

Andrew had on an olive green cardigan over a white V-neck tee, half ironic and half preening his intellectual plumage. He didn't know art or books nearly as well as he pretended, but he kept up well enough. Anyway, he obviously liked pop culture and was probably better with electronic devices than he realized.

He was cute, with a strong, stubbly jaw, wavy golden blond hair and a hint of old school cologne over a lean, hard frame. Picking the label off the beer and nodding absently at whatever he was talking about, Hannah found herself thinking: He's nice.

She noticed she wasn't angry anymore.

The conversation had drifted far away from her costume and the soon-to-be-a-major-motion-picture science-fantasy series she'd taken it from. That had been Andrew's pretext to get her up to his room: to look at his complete collection of first editions, and see the trailer in HD. Then they talked about films, books, and books turned into films. And music, and technology.

He'd played a mellow after-party mix on his speakers across the room using a connection from his phone. Then he showed off an app that could turn on and off the bright overhead light, and the soft, low key light on his crowded bedside table. Naturally...the overhead light went off, and the warm golden glow of the light on the bedside table picked out golden flecks in his dark stubble.

They were sitting on his bed (where else, the floor?), just talking, and a smirk played at Hannah's lips as she realized she wasn't angry anymore. Her beer was warm and her boyfriend had ditched her, but she was with a cute guy who was kind of interesting, and she felt all right.

When the cute girl beside him on his bed smiled at his stupid joke, he didn't hesitate. He kissed her quickly, a peck on the lips, and got up before she could protest. "I'm going to grab a couple more beers for us, yeah? Back in a minute."

Hannah pulled her phone off a hook on her utility belt. (Perfect costume, right? She was strongly considering just wearing the utility belt from now on.) Ben hadn't called or texted. He'd been a fucking bastard, and she wasn't going to contact him first. He could figure out what he wanted on his own.

She held the phone up and took a selfie, smirking up at the camera. No fake looks, no stupid pose; like looking in the mirror, it was face she kept back for pictures only she would see.

Ben was making her wait and she was tired of it.

Either way, she'd need to get out of here-just leave—soon. Hannah suspected she should have left already, but another beer sounded nice, and she liked talking to Andrew. Then again, she could leave, go downstairs, talk to Andrew and have another beer, but...

But what? she asked herself.

But: she was enjoying the quiet. The party was a distant thrum of muted bass beneath the streaming music, the cracked door and all the creaky wood architecture between Hannah and the party below.

But: Ben hadn't bothered to apologize yet. Either he would or he wouldn't, and it wasn't fair for him to abandon her at a party and expect her to sit in a corner and be miserable.

But: Andrew's room was warm and comfortable, filled with books on shelves and prints on the walls, with a laptop glowing in the corner, music playing, soft ambient light and another beer on its way.

Hannah unbuckled her utility belt and slung it over a bedpost beside her, then took off her blue wig and put it on top of the same bed post. She shook out her dirty blonde hair with her fingers, unbuttoned her vest and crawled up onto the bed to lay back on the pillow—knee high leather boots and all.

Andrew tapped on the door with an unopened bottle of beer. "Here we are—"

His voice stopped short as he took a moment to appreciate what he saw: a cute woman laying on his bed in knee high leather boots, her ankles crossed. While her pleated skirt rode up high on his comforter, revealing a fair amount of thigh below, the hip still slung so low that he could still see a lot of midriff between the skirt and the lower part of the white A-shirt she had on underneath the now-open vest.

"Beer?" Andrew asked, offering it to her with a bottle opener. He came around to the side of the bed as he opened one for himself.

"Thanks. Would you mind opening it for me?" Hannah said, propping herself up on one elbow. She turned onto her side, and her skirt draped itself over her hips. Andrew couldn't help but realize he could have seen up her skirt if she'd done that when he was standing by the door.

Andrew gave her the open beer, then put the other one on the floor beside the bed.

Hannah's pouty lips circled around the neck of the bottle. Looking him in the eye, she took a swig. "Ah, thanks. Drink?"

"Thanks." He took a drink. "So. Where were we?"

Hannah smiled. "Something about your favorite comic book action movie."

"No..." Andrew said. "I mean, yes, obviously three perfect movies is a hell of a lot more important than cranking out as many product placements as you can, but I meant—"

He didn't hesitate. He moved in, and found her soft lips, with a light scent of cocoa butter just lingering behind the taste of the import beer, meeting his own. She gasped slightly as she committed, surprised as much at her reciprocation as at his sudden kiss.

Then came a second kiss and a third. Her lips parted and he cocked his head to let his tongue dart in.

Hannah was the first to break the embrace. Andrew opened his eyes and saw hers closed in front of him. She touched her forehead to his and put her hand on his shoulder. "Andrew," she said. "Thanks for waiting with me but...I should go."

Admiring her lying beside him, Andrew kissed her again. His hand moved up to cup her left breast beneath her costume vest. Her eyes fluttered, but she still kissed him back. Then, very naturally, her hand fell to his waist. They kissed again. Hannah's hand slid to his crotch, putting her palm up against the front of his jeans. He was hard already.

An electromagnetic pulse burned out every system in Andrew's head. All he could do was crane his neck to kiss her again and again as she pulled away, and her palm pushed back against his chest.

"I'm sorry," said Hannah. "I can't do this. I'm with someone."

In the distant real world, she took a swig of beer, gathered her things and walked out the door.

* * *

"It's just a fantasy," said Ben. "I trust you."

* * *

Hannah opened her eyes, took the bottle between her and Andrew and gulped a healthy swig of beer.

"I have a boyfriend," she said again. "He's probably downstairs."

"He's not," said Andrew. He took a drink of the beer and set it on the night stand. "Remember..." Andrew kissed Hannah again. "I saw him walk out. He wasn't downstairs when I went and got the beer."

Hannah bit her lip. "I should wait for him."

Her lips were wet with drink as Andrew kissed her. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll wait with you, right here." His hand slipped under her vest to cup her breast in the A-shirt. She was wearing a thin underwire bra—blue lace with a cup size on the smaller side of medium. His thumb traced over her shirt, along the bra beneath, until he felt a crinkling nipple.

Hannah gripped Andrew's shoulder tightly as he massaged her breast. "He's been gone so long. What if he thinks I left without him?"

"It might be a long wait. You should get comfortable."

"Oh yeah?" asked Hannah. "You're getting pretty comfortable already." Then Andrew's heart raced as Hannah, very tentatively, kissed him.

"Mmm, yeah," replied Andrew. "I like that." They lay face to face on the bed, heads sunk into the pillows, kissing each other. Hannah's eyes closed slowly, and Andrew explored the curve of her body. His hand wandered around to her shoulder and pulled her closer. 

Hannah's arm was tucked between them. Her left hand—the hand that had held him back—now clutched onto his tee shirt and pressed into his chest muscles.

Andrew's fingertips traced along her triceps, then doubled back across the hemmed edge of her A-shirt and the band of her bra beneath. He felt the warmth of her body under the vest, and the rise of her hip turned toward him. Then his fingers found bare flesh between her shirt and skirt, and spread out over the small of her back.

Hannah's lips parted, and her nimble tongue searched him out. His right hand pulled her toward him, holding her in his arms, and her breath was hot on his cheek.

Her body arched toward him, pressing her stomach up against him, and as she turned, his hand naturally followed the curve of her motion, sweeping over the top of the woolen skirt, feeling her cute ass underneath, and down along her leg. His hand now cradled the back of her thigh, and pulled her knee up onto his hip.

One of her heavy leather boots was resting on his leg, and the pleats of skirt fell open and away from her slightly. He could feel their mutual excitement growing. With her thigh resting on top of him, he was already lying between her open bare legs.

"Andrew," she sighed. "This is so wrong. Ben's probably downstairs right now, looking for me."

"I don't think he'll find us," said Andrew. His hand slid back up the warm, naked flesh of her thigh, and slipped beneath her skirt. He savored the feel of her leg all the way up to her bottom. She had on cotton boy shorts, practically painted onto her body.

He cupped her bottom in his hand and devoured her with kisses. She shuddered and took over, kissing his lips and cheek, her eyes shut tight.

Then, just under the music, there came a small sound. Hannah probably thought it was a normal creak of people moving around in an old house, but Andrew recognized it as one of the floorboards outside his room.

He cracked his eye, and glanced at the door. It was hanging slightly open, having never been latched properly. Through the small crack he saw a woman with short dark hair, standing stock still in the shadows of the dark hallway, half backlit by the light from the stairwell behind her. Her eyes were glittering with discovery.

"What if we get caught?" Andrew asked.

* * *

"What do you mean?" asked Hannah.

"You said the door was open a little, and you ran into Rachael when you were leaving. She would have caught you anyway. Naughty girl."

"Oh, yeah."

"So...?"

"Hm...sounds exciting. But not this time. Not just yet."

* * *

Hannah opened her eyes to look at Andrew and her smile turned wicked. "You think we'll get caught?"

Andrew kept his eyes locked with the woman in the doorway as he moved his hand to the top of Hannah's knee high belt and began to loosen the first buckle, then the second. Hannah rolled onto her back and pulled her vest over her shoulders, exposing her erect nipples through the thin material of her bra and undershirt.

"Yeah, Andrew," she said. "Get them off me."

Andrew slid off the bed, pulling Hannah with him by the heel of her boot. Her undershirt slid backwards, exposing her firm belly up to her ribcage. The pleated blue skirt rode up around her hips, and only just barely stayed in place over Hannah's crotch. Andrew glimpsed a flash of her panties just barely peeking out.

She helped Andrew unbuckle her other boot, and then, with her legs on either side of his body, Andrew pulled down the zippers at the same time and pulled the boots off of her raised calves and outstretched feet.

The woman in the doorway had disappeared into imaginary shadows. Distant footfalls descended the wooden staircase.

Beneath Hannah's boots she wore tall mustard yellow socks. Hannah pulled up the tops, smoothed her skirt in front of her and let her legs fall back to the bed. Andrew stood admiring the muscular line of her bare inner thigh curving down to her flexed calves.

With both hands, Hannah unlooped his canvas belt and pulled him forward by its ends.

Andrew didn't know where to start. His hands shook as he pushed Hannah's shirt and bra over her breasts and kissed her creamy skin. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent as he licked her erect nipple; the warm fragrance of vanilla blossom and cocoa butter intoxicated him.

Hannah's legs hugged his sides and she lifted his shirt with her foot. Her fingers played with a curl of hair behind his ear. Still kissing her breasts and leaning up against the bed, his hands moved down beneath her skirt and found the delta between her legs. There was heat and eager wetness waiting for him.

Hannah looked down at the curly hair on the head of the near perfect stranger kissing her bare breasts and fingering her panties. She cradled his head in her arms, and played with the tangle of locks. He wanted her badly; she could tell he'd chosen her practically from the moment she'd walked in the door.

Her costume had drawn secretive looks all night, but nothing untoward with Ben there beside her. It had only taken Andrew a few minutes to approach her after Ben walked out the door... So was this fate? Was she bound to let Andrew have her? She knew he would, but she could scarcely believe it.

Andrew clutched the waistband of her panties and pulled them toward him with a little bit of force. A sudden cool bellow of air hit her exposed flesh and goose bumps rose up on her nearly naked body. In the next moment, Andrew's fingers began to circle his clitoris.

"Shit," said Andrew. "You shaved your pussy." Only a very small tuft of hair was left, just at the top. She'd waxed the rest.

"Ohh, yeah..." Hannah moaned, feeling the stranger gently caress the intimate triangle between her legs. "You like it?"

Andrew said nothing. Hannah's legs came to rest on his shoulders. Curly hair tickled the inside of her thighs, and his fingers gave way to his warm tongue and soft lips.

His tongue circled her clit, and then dove between her labia, tasting her and curling up beneath the hood of her vulva. He kissed her pussy, moaned and murmured her name. "Hannah, you're beautiful," he said. "I'm going to make you cum."

"Just fuck me," she said. "We don't have long."

Hannah twisted herself away from him and sat upright on the bed. Her shirt and bra rested atop her breasts, and the black vest draped down like a proscenium around her torso, to the skirt splayed around her hips. Her panties were gathered around her knees, just above her socks.

Her prospective new lover was kneeling beside the bed, looking up at her.

She could either fuck him and have fun, or she could get her stuff and go.

"So, Andrew," she asked with a wry smile, "are you sure you're ready to fuck another man's girlfriend?"

Andrew stood up and pulled off his shirt and sweater in one deft motion, revealing a skinny but muscular frame, with just a hint of definition on his abs and the underfed ribs of a college student.

Hannah laughed, and swayed her ankles. Her panties jostled loose and fell to the floor. "Sit down on the bed," she said.

Andrew took her place on the bed, as she kicked her underwear beneath the bed and stood in front of him. "Will you...dance a little?"

"Yeah?" smiled Hannah. "A private dance?"

"Yeah. Just for me."

The music was slow and rhythmic, mellow and perfect for seduction. She took hold of the beat and began to sway, rocking her hips from side to side and tilting her feet and ankles on the floor.

The bulge in Andrew's pants gave an excited throb.

Hannah turned her back to him, still swaying, and slowly dropped her vest behind her, revealing the lifted A-shirt and the small of her back. Her body was still slightly tan; she had no tattoos and her skin was supple.

She glanced back at Andrew, and the side of her breast came into view. Her nipple was silhouetted against his bedroom wall.

"Take it off."

Hannah turned back to him, walked to the side of the bed, and swiveled herself around to rest just over on Andrew's lap. She sat gently on his lap, rocking slowly on his bulge as she crossed her arms over her chest and pulled off her A-shirt. Then, just as rhythmically, she pulled her arms out of the straps of her bra.

"Unhook me," she said. In a quick, practiced move, Andrew opened Hannah's bra, and instantly it fell away. She turned and kissed him, and then caressed his cock through his jeans.

With one arm around his shoulders, stroking his hair, Hannah kept kissing his lips as her breasts pressed against his torso. With her other hand, she unsnapped his jeans, pulled open his zipper, and pushed aside his boxers to get his dick in her hand.

"Oh yeah," Andrew moaned. "Fuck yeah, stroke it."

"You like that?"

Hannah was jerking him off, her breasts jiggling up against his body. She broke their kisses and leaned back on his lap, watching his mouth open in a wide gasp. He was about as hard as he could get, burning hot and a pretty good handful.

If it had been Ben, she would have sucked him off and swallowed his cum.

But this wasn't Ben, was it?

"You like that?" she whispered again.

"Yeah," Andrew gasped.

"You like getting a handjob from a girl you just met?"

"Yeah."

"A girl with a boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to be a slut for you?"

"God, Hannah—"

"Say it."

"You're a good little slut for me."

"Fuck yeah. What do you want your little slut to do?"

"Suck it. Suck my dick."

Hannah's movement slowed to a tight caress, feeling pre-cum leak from the tip of Andrew's hard dick. With her other arm around his shoulder, she pulled Andrew's mouth to hers and kissed him, feeling his tongue in his mouth—the warmth of his chest—their heartbeats pounding in forbidden excitement.

Then she shook her head and whispered in his ear, "I won't. The only cock I'll suck is my boyfriend's." She kissed him again.

Hannah stood up and massaged her breasts, letting her nipples poke between her fingers. Andrew took over, stroking his dick as he watched Hannah touch herself for him.

She dropped her hands to the hem of her skirt and lifted it up, revealing the crease of her neatly waxed vulva below. She pushed her pussy up toward his dick, touching their skin together.

"I won't come," offered Andrew.

Hannah was actually blushing as she shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said. "But don't worry. We're going to have a good time."

With that, Hannah unzipped the back of the skirt and let it fall around her ankles.

All she was wearing was a blue ribbon around her neck, Ben's silver ring, and her yellow knee-high socks. Her dark blonde hair framed her face as she caressed her body.

"You can't cum in me...but I want you to cum...all over me." Her hands stroked over her flat stomach, sweeping up from her pussy.

"That what you want?" growled Andrew. "You want a side piece to cum on your hot body?"

Hannah lifted her breast toward her tongue, though she couldn't quite reach. Andrew kept stroking his dick, watching her. Looking down at herself, she smiled and nodded. "If I have to be a whore to get it, I'll do it...I want to be your whore."

Andrew struggled to push his jeans down. Hannah knelt and grabbed his belt loops, gathering the denim in her hands and pulling it off of him. Her mouth gave a few small kisses to the side of his hard shaft, then kissed his sac, his abdomen, and his bulging tip.

She looked up at him, made eye contact, and swallowed his entire length. Her warm mouth engulfed him, and he felt her tongue swirling around his shaft until he touched the back of her throat. Hannah moaned as her face turned red, and slowly pulled away. 

She wiped her mouth with the heel of her palm, and kissed his dick again. "Hmm," she said, smirking at him with watering eyes. "Bad habit. Now lay back on the bed."