Cimmy’s Notes: This chapter, chapter 4, 11 and 12 should be considered as NC-17 chapters as they contain sex and smut, so if you have a problem with that, don't read ‘em.
Special thanks to Kristine for putting up with my obsessions and for letting me force her to read all the finished chapters. Also, huge, huge thanks to Samantha for being so encouraging and to Mpolaher for the feedback. All reviews are highly appreciated!
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Chapter 3. Occasional Closeness
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My thoughts are never really gathered. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, if it’s calling a client or making dinner for Bailey. I always have thousands of different things going around in my brain.
People assume, since I work in an office where my name is nicely put after the title ‘Vice President’, that I’m just as every other rich bastard. That I look down on people with a low-paid job, cheat on my wife and only care about making money. They see me as some sort of asshole, either beating up my children or sleeping with lots of different women.
I’m nothing like that. The person I am at work, my father’s son, is nothing like the person I am at home. I’m grumpy at work, because I hate working there. I let out my frustrations on people over the phone, yelling a lot until Gale comes in and tells me that my co-workers are complaining again.
Gale, being a reasonable young woman and all, always knows when to step in and when to leave me alone. Once I start cursing, ripping folders apart and just generally loose my temper, she buzzes me on the intercom instead, telling me to ‘keep it down’. I guess she had to deal with a lot of guys like me in college. If I’d been attending college, I’d be one of those who graduated this year. Like Catalina did.
“I thought you were going to work,” Catalina says, crawled up under the cover. She’s changed out of her clothes, flipping through the channels of the small TV over by the wall. Our bedroom really isn’t all that big, compared to the rest of the apartment. At first I intended our room to be Bailey’s room, but he got the bigger room upstairs.
“I thought I’d better make an appearance,” I smile, taking off my stupid tie. I hate wearing a suit, it makes me feel sissy. “We are after all married. I have commitments to take care of.”
Catalina snorts, walking over to me across the bed on her knees. “Your commitments? You mean getting laid?”
“Well, we’re married, so I can’t actually use that phrase,” I explain, kicking off my shoe. Catalina leans up to me, working on the buttons of my shirt. “I told you I was going to take care of you, once we got married.”
“Since when is sex considered as an obligation?” she wants to know.
“When it’s just that good,” I point out, making her laugh. “I’m just kidding, of course.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” she teases me. I move my hands down her slim body, feeling her tense up. Then she shudders when I place my hands on her shoulders, slowly brushing my fingers against her skin. “Did you pick up the papers?”
I wince automatically, pulling her into my embrace. “Don’t mention work, Catalina. I won’t be able to...”
“Perform?” she snickers, kissing my ear.
“Concentrate,” I mutter, muffled by her hair.
Instead of getting into a conversation about what to talk about during foreplay, believe me, it’s come up once or twice, Catalina moves on to my pants. Over the years, I’ve learnt to memorize her features. Not just because I love her and see her every day of my life, but because I need to be able to feel her, see her, just using my hands.
Catalina brings me down on the bed, scooting over to make room for me. “When do you have to leave?”
“Please,” I beg. “Not now.”
While I’m trying to be responsible, doing my job properly even though I loathe what I’m doing, I can’t help but feel how pointless it really is. I won’t get any credit for it. I won’t even be thanked. The only thing I get is my wife’s betrayed look, whenever I have to leave the bed at 6.30 in the morning.
I settle myself on top of her, trying to slip the straps of her negligee down her shoulders. She shivers slightly, mostly because it’s damn cold in the room. “I’d prefer if you wore something warmer when it’s this cold,” I tell her. She shrugs, placing her lips against my chest. This is another problem. She always thinks that she has to be so perfect all the time. Like I won’t love her as much if she doesn’t look or wear her best.
“It’s not that cold,” she speaks up, her voice trembling from the effort she’s making at pleasing me. I wish she didn’t have to feel like she has to be so damn perfect. I don’t need a perfect wife, or a perfect marriage. I just need her.
Within the next few moments, our clothes are shed all over the floor. I lean down to get my other shoe off, while Catalina crawls back down under the covers. I place myself in her arms, trying to find a comfortable spot to lie on. I place my hand on her thigh, pushing her legs apart. I feel her shudder when I place her legs over my arms, pushing her backwards to get into position.
“I have to turn off the TV,” I finally realize, fumbling around for the remote. Catalina moves around under me, breathing hard. “Sorry.”
She doesn’t answer, used to my strange behavior by now.
For being married, our sex life is pretty good. Very good. That’s another thing that makes me nervous, because I figured once we got married, we wouldn’t have as much sex. That’s the basics of being married. But we never really ended up as the stereotyped married couple, did we?
Perfect or not, I like being married. I love the person I’m married to, a strange phenomenon, and she satisfies my needs, in every way possible.
“I have news,” she whispers into my ear, making me forget about the TV for a second.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I ask, closing my eyes hard once I’ve said it. I put my head against her shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t plan to say that.”
“No, I’m not,” she snorts, slipping her fingers through my hair. “Other types of news.”
We can’t have any more children. We just can’t. Even if we could, she wouldn’t survive another delivery. Now I feel bad for bringing that up. How nice is it to be reminded that you can’t conceive children anymore?
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m the one being damaged goods here, not you,” she says with a bitter smile. “Bailey got into that school.”
“You’re not damaged goods,” I exclaim, lifting my head up. “What school?”
“That preppy school you so desperately needed to get him into,” she rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, Mellers, Mirevicks, Materix? I don’t know.”
“Maverton?” I ask, forgetting all about what I’m really doing. “He got into Maverton?”
“Yeah. The school called and said that they wanted him to go there. I thought you had to sign the baby up while it was still a fetus?”
I don’t have to explain to her how I managed to sneak past the admission list. We were at the bottom of the list, so I happened to get us a better position by using my name, rank and money. I usually don’t do things like that, but when it comes to my son, I just have to push it. He deserves a good upbringing, and the best education I can get him. I don’t want him to end up like me.
Catalina shrugs again. “I just had to tell you, since you were so eager about it a few weeks ago.”
Maverton is a well-known private school, only for the really rich people. My car cost less then one term at that school. Everyone wants to get their children into that school, and so do I. Even though I hated that preppy high school I went to in Los Angeles, I still feel the need to give Bailey the best. He’s only 3 yet, so he won’t have to go there for another couple of years.
Catalina nuzzles her face into my shoulder, inhaling slowly. The puff of air she lets out a second later, meets my neck, and I snap out of my thoughts.
“Did they fix the radiator?” I ask. I always come up with lots of things to ask when we’re lying in bed like this. Catalina looks confused. “I told you that you had to call the janitor so they can fix that! It’s too cold to be in this room otherwise!”
“Don’t be mad,” she whimpers. “I just forgot.”
I kiss her while stroking her arm. “I’ll call tomorrow.” Now I’m out of things to say. I hate when that happens. Silence makes me nervous. A lot of things make me nervous.
Her lips still tastes so sweet whenever I kiss her. She makes that short gasp once I’ve entered her. She always does that. I don’t know if that’s normal or not, she’s the only one I’ve ever slept with.
She places her arms around my shoulders, pressing her fingers deep into my skin. Lucky for me, she doesn’t have those long, hazardous nails some girls have. I wince anyway, letting the heat get to me.
After a while, I let go of her, realizing that I might be holding her too hard. She takes that as an opportunity to shove me over onto my back. I hate when she does that, it makes my head spin. And she knows that, it’s why she does it.
“Still cold?” she asks me, leaning down to kiss me again. My lips brush against hers, and I force her lips apart using my tongue. She just snickers at my ambitious attempt to get back to business. Hungry kisses are my specialty, even though she always knows how to manipulate me until I can’t take it no more.
I shake my head, knowing that I’m sweating quite harsh. She sinks down over me, placing one arm around my neck to bring me closer, while she lets her other hand run over my shoulder and down on my back.
She’s quickly able to get back into that rhythm we shared just a moment ago. I gaze up into the ceiling, suddenly nervous again. Nothing makes me as guilty and nervous as sex does. Even though I’m allowed to sleep with her, she is after all my wife, I still get my moments of insanity.
The first chance I get, I drop her back over, so I can get the advantage of being on top. Being all frustrated and everything, since I haven’t had the chance to yell at any clients today, I need the upper edge this time. It doesn’t last very long. I decide to wrap my arms around her and pick her up from the lying-down position.
I like this. It’s much more passionate, even though I feel slightly trapped by my own feelings. I don’t know why I like this, I just want to hold her in my arms without having to be on top. Catalina nestles into my arms, kissing me roughly. I really try to stay upright, but when she leans too much into me, I fall over.
“Ouch,” I wince, my head hitting the board by the foot of the bed. Catalina gasps, putting her hands on my face.
“Oh my God, did it hurt?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I whimper, trying to not sound too pathetic. She leans closer, rubbing the back of my head. I take the chance to whine some more. “Ouch, that hurt!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she smiles, kissing my forehead. Then she moves away from me, back to the other side of the bed. I get up too, rolling back to my own side of the bed. Once she’s soothed me enough, she straddles me again, taking my face in her hands. “You wanna stop?”
“No,” I laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”
She still looks concerned, and I just know that this will make me get an even better time in just a short while. Her trying to make me feel better while we’re in bed can only result in amazing results. At least for me.
I’m still awake once we’re done. Catalina is sleeping tight next to me, breathing calm. I can’t go to sleep, I feel too worked up. Sex makes me hyper, even though it should make me tired. I get a kick out of hit, a restless sort of feeling I have to get rid of before I can calm down.
Back in school, they diagnosed me with ADD, but I don’t know if that’s what’s wrong with me. I guess they just had to label me with something, anything to keep me from being normal.
I leave the warm bed, put on some clothes and walk back to the kitchen. If I can’t sleep, I could just as well work, right?