Chapter 3
Lainie
What just happened? Oh, I know. I, Lainie Palmer-Bottoms, just gawked at a man’s erection. A man I only just met. A man with a very impressive penis. I should feel terrible, scandalized, guilty even, but I don’t. I feel exhilarated. It’s exactly the kind of experiences I need for my book. I mean, I’ve got none of my own to write about.
I guess now’s the time to tell you that you’re talking to the world’s one and only divorced virgin. Are you confused? The truth is, I’m a thirty-one-year-old divorced woman who never had sex with her husband. My gay husband. Okay, I’m probably nottechnicallya virgin anymore thanks to several BOBs (battery operated boyfriends) in my nightstand drawer. BOB number one took care of my pesky hymen my first year of marriage. I’ve added new BOBs along the way because, well, I’veneededthem.
Before you pity me, you should know I was well-aware of his preferences before I married him. Honestly? I was thrilled to be the first of my friends to marry at the ripe old age of twenty. It meant that I was no longer the single, fat friend who people felt sorry for; I was part of a couple. Something I’d never been before. Which meant I never had to go to a wedding or party alone again. Well, at least that’s what I thought. It turns out Lewis only went to parties and events that helped his career along. You see, he works for a very conservative bank. A bank that wouldn’t appreciate the fact that he likes other men. I, for one, think it’s ridiculous. He’s a grown man. He should be able to love who he wants to but that’s not how the world works, I guess.
The thing about Lewis Bottoms, though, is that not only was he gay, he was also a controlling, elitist snob who did everything he could to micro-manage every aspect of our life.Mylife. He wanted me to be the perfect wife. That included everything from my body and what I wore and ate to how I cleaned the bathroom. At first I thought that’s what marriage was––two people trying to make each other better, but it turns out that it was only one person dictating how to make the other one better. Better according to him. By about the third year, I started to become resentful. I didn’t want Lewis to know how I was feeling because making him angry was not what I wanted. Lew could be a real a-hole. Instead, I became rather passive-aggressive. I did things like playing the opposites game with him. For example, if he told me to wear black to a party, I’d wear red or white. If, while we were out to eat with clients or business associates and he tried to order for me, I’d raise my little finger to the waiter or waitress and tell them, “Excuse me. I changed my mind. I’d like the deep friedwhateveris on the menu.” His jaw would clench, and his teeth would grind, but I’d just smile and play the obedient wife. He always had a meltdown once we got home. At first, I’d listen. Occasionally he’d make me cry saying mean things about my body but after too many times of that happening, I’d just ignore him, walk into my bedroom and shut the door on him and his wrath.
Strangely, it was Lewis who wanted the divorce. I don’t know if he decided to come out to people at his job or what. The catalyst that caused him to file for divorce is a mystery and since I haven’t talked to him since before his lawyer served me with papers, I may never know. I signed the papers lickety-split without even reading them, which was a terrible mistake. I got essentially nothing in the divorce. I kept my clothes and the gifts he gave me, what there were of those. I didn’t even have a car in my name, hence me driving Keely’s beater.
Honestly, I was relieved to get the papers. I hadn’t the courage to do it myself. A big reason for that related to money and my lack thereof. Lewis controlled the money. He insisted upon it. But once, in about year four, I told him I wanted to get a part-time job. He flew into such a dramatic rage I nearly caved. See? Control. But this time I told him I needed to earn my own money. After that, he started giving me a generous allowance, an allowance I used to finish an English degree, online, that I’d started before we were married. He doesn’t know about that. I also invested some of the money. I learned about investments from listening to Lewis and his colleagues. I’d make little notes to myself after dinners and cocktail parties about companies and investments that were hot or showed promise. It’s thanks to those men thinking I was too daft to take advantage of the tips that helped me make some smart moves, giving me some cushion right now. Not enough cushion to buy my own house or a brand new car but enough to pay half the rent at my sister’s apartment and, when I get the chance, buy a used car. I know what you’re thinking––you’re probably wondering why I stayed, right? The answer is simple. I was raised to believe that marriage was a commitment, even if there was no sex. I cared about Lewis, mostly, warts and all, but it was never romantic love, obviously. No, I got all the sexy romantic love I wanted from books (and porn).
I must have been lost in my head because I’m brought back to the scene before me when he touches me. His finger just brushes across my cheek, his thumb swipes, gently, over my bottom lip. “You’re a fucking wet dream, Lainie Palmer-Bottoms.”
“M-me?” He can’t be serious.
“Why does that surprise you? You were married, right? And what? He didn’t worship you? Is that why you left him?”
Where do I start with all of that? “Heleftme.” I guess there’s that.
“What a fucking idiot.” He’s moved even closer to me. I feel his breath on my face. His, how shall I say, penis, is still hard. I can feel it pressed against me. I should probably skedaddle, but I can’t. This is great material for my book. I need to go with it.
“It wasn’t a con-conventional marriage.” I’m shivering so much I can’t get the words out.
“How so, baby?”
Baby?OMG! I love it when the hero calls the heroine, baby. L-o-v-e, love it.
His hands are sort of everywhere. The one that was touching my face is now behind my head, on the back of my neck. His other one is rubbing circles on my waist and hip. Ordinarily I’d flinch at anyone touching my love-handles but for some reason, it doesn’t bother me this time. Clearing my throat, I confess, “He was gay. My husband was gay.”
“What?!” he steps back, away from me and I feel the loss. “He fucking married you, then he told you he was gay?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
This is so embarrassing. “Look. I don’t want to talk about it, okay. It’s not really any of your…” Before I can finish he’s back, but closer––so close his lips are on mine in a hungry, possessive kind of kiss. The kind of kiss I’ve only read about.
I must be stiff as a board because he pulls back, whispering in a deep, husky voice. It’s sexy as all get-out. “Open your mouth for me, sweet girl.”
“Oh,” is all I get out before his mouth is on mine again. His tongue sweeps inside so sensually. It brushes against mine quickly, then deeper and more ravenous. I should probably stop it. This kiss, I mean. It’s inappropriate. Probably. But, in all my thirty-one years, no one has ever felt compelled to just kiss me. It’s like a scene from a book. For the first time in my life, I’m not going to let propriety get in the way of this experience, because trust me when I say, this man can kiss.
His palm moves from my hip to my ass, pressing me closer to him. It seems impossible that there was any room at all. What also seems impossible is the fact that his giant penis feels like it’s getting bigger. But, that can’t be. Right? Keeton slows the kiss down until he’s giving me soft, sweet kisses on the corner of my mouth, my cheek, forehead, below my ear. Oh, now that one gave me tingles all the way down. If you know what I mean. “So fucking sweet,” he mumbles to himself. “Too damn sweet for me.” Stepping away from me, Keeton winces as he adjusts himself. “Wish I had some sweatpants,” he chuckles.
“Why did you do that?” I ask absently. I’m still trying to figure out what he meant by ‘too sweet for him.’
“Do what?”
“Kiss me. Why’d you kiss me?” It was so out-of-the-blue.
He’s looking me in the eye and it’s a tad unnerving. “I couldn’t help myself. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I had to know.”
“Know?” What is he talking about?The most beautiful thing?“What did you have to know?
“I had to know if your lips were as sweet as I imagined.”
