Apologies & Schemes

In my attempt not to be the harpy Jet accused me of being, I sought what I hoped would be an appreciated gesture of repentance for Dmitri. There wasn't much time to prepare... Dmitri would be home from work at about six-fifteen... and here it was almost quarter to five.

My pillar candle stash got raided. Halloween, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Smelly-Good and Oh-Pretty! Designs were all made into romantic gesture fodder. Tealights, too. I aligned the candles to form a pathway which illuminated the way from the front door to the bedroom door... and to the stage of my apology for flying off the handle the way I did. It wasn't appropriate. I felt especially bad upon reflection. As Jet pointed out in the wonderful way she understates things, I embarrassed not only myself but him as well during the proposal... then to take it to the next level when he sought to further my writing ambitions... I yelled like a Jerry Springer guest. It wasn't cool. Not at all. I felt foolish that Jet had to point out my waspish mood. She, Queen of the Tart Words, scolded me for sharpening my tongue on his hide. That was a statement of some magnitude.

Jet requisitioned herself as my accomplice in accomplishing what I hoped was a romantic moment that made up for my weak stomach and short fuse. There were no guarantees. After all, last night was the first time Dmitri slept apart from me ever since we moved in together. I slept little in our bed that seemed vast without his comforting bulk.

A part of me wanted to go and sit on the couch and explain myself. The other part stewed that both he and Jet conspired behind my back and not only took a novel, but raided that particular story and get me to the church before the end of the decade. However, her wanting to help with both the novel, and me mending my fences with Dmitri meant a lot. Her abrasive nature was totally nullified by the secret sweetheart she happened to be. I could count on Jet to pull off her part of my romantic shenanigan with her usual flair.

At a quarter after five, she was going to call Dmitri on his cell. He'd still be out at his shop, or driving to it from a job site, so he could prepare for tomorrow's agenda. His business as a building contractor kept him busy on most days. Yet he kept a strict schedule of starting early to finish early and by five-thirty, he'd be ready to leave the shop. Here would be Jet's moment to shine. She outlined her plan, and with the glee in which she spoke made me seriously wonder about her sanity and what exactly it is she does in her spare time. That woman is diabolical.

A five-gallon bucket would serve as her cauldron of ice water, three pounds-worth of bacon drippings, masses of fur from Master Humperdink P. MacFuzzlekins' fuzz brush (Jet's huge Maine Coon Cat & Manx mix that lays across her lap so she can read aloud to him. A walking, shedding, meowing nubby-butted-mini-Chewbacca that purrs insanely to Poe and Palahniuk) the content of her cigar ashtray and mold specimens from the back of her fridge. That witch's brew would prove to be a bad influence on her kitchen sink. Dmitri, the sweet guy that he was, would gladly stop by to take a look and see what could be done. While he was occupied with that god-forsaken horrific nightmare, I'd have time enough to complete my preparations.

Dinner was a foolproof dish that could roast for hours in an oven and still be perfect. It was cooking already. I rigged up a canopy above the bed using a huge wooden embroidery hoop, several yards of red and purple silks, some length of delicate chain, a picture hanging kit and a hook screwed into the ceiling. A string of clear tube lights outlined the bottom of our king size bed. The platform bed of aspen was topped with a silk quilt I painted. The gold and red Chinese dragon writhed upon a purple background complimented my exotic endeavor. Plants from the living room, kitchen, and bathroom were gathered about the bedroom, giving it an enticing oasis feel. Nag Champa incense burned in a brass censor upon the dresser.

When I heard the front door open and his heavy footsteps, my heart pounded with excitement. Then a pause that seemed a year long. Then a hurried thumping my way. Then another pause. I hurried and took my position upon the center of the tented bed. A glance to the alarm clock told me it was two minutes to seven. What was he doing? Second thoughts? Did he want me to come to him? Or did I piss him off that much? What the hell was he doing?

I could still hear him walking around. Excitement and anxiety rode high. What was keeping him? He should be here, kissing me stupid by now. His footsteps drifted away for a moment and then started again towards the bedroom. I took the opportunity to make sure I looked perfect. My hair fell down my back in waves. Cosmetics were kept understated, but emphasis was definitely on my eyes. They were smoky and sultry in a manner I was unused to, but thanks to YouTube, I mastered the technique within minutes.

What I wore was both sentimental and naughty. I first wore it on the date when Dmitri and I finally had sex. At the time, it had been about four years since he and I had seen each other. It conjured the memory of getting nailed on the hood of my Grand Cherokee out in a remote spot on the family ranch... Black lingerie was his Kryptonite... and I played to win. A black lace push-up bra, matching boycut panties, a garter belt with back-seamed thigh-highs and pumps... the result of that combination is forever engrained into my spank bank. The best sex I ever had. Hands down, no contest. This hussywear forever makes me feel like a saucy pinup girl. I wanted to recreate that magical memory with a twist. I just hoped he'd notice.

I lay on my side, head propped on one elbow with the other arm draped over my hip, my legs to show them their best angle. For a single moment my heart stopped beating as the door slowly eased open. I readied what I hoped was a sultry look upon my face. Dmitri took up most of the doorframe, and beyond him I could see that he extinguished all the candles. When he served in the Marines, he was a firefighter. Sigh. I should have realized he'd do that.

A glance to his face revealed a look of intense lust. After a long moment of locking eyes, I arose from my position and sauntered his way with a determined step. I grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the bathroom. We said nothing as I turned on the shower and undressed him. I gestured with a pointed finger for him to enter the huge stall and stand beneath the huge rain showerhead. He grabbed for my arm and I maneuvered out of his reach with a wink. Then with a smile, I removed a towel from the rack and sat on the counter. Three minutes tops he was out and I was ready with the unfolded towel to dry.

Rubbing him dry turned into him removing my lingerie except for the garter belt, stockings and heels. My arms were entwined around his neck as we stared into each others eyes, while I chewed my bottom lip amidst a smile. His hand reached up to caress my cheek. Dmitri kissed me with a hunger that stoked excitement in my very core. His lips traveled from my jawline to behind my ear. I wove my fingers through his chestnut hair and guided his lips back to mine.

Dmitri's thumbs rubbed my nipples into hard points that ached for his tongue. I adored the way he seemed to know what I craved. He was hard for me and I was equally wet for him. I broke away from his embrace and walked back to the bedroom. When I crossed the threshold, I looked over my shoulder at him and winked. He followed. I'm sure he could see in my eyes that I was feeling very frisky.

The bed beckoned in its alluring way and I knelt upon the edge like a cat being stroked. Red hair fell in disarray over my forearms as my head rested upon them. I closed my eyes and waited. His calloused hands slid over my bottom to grab at my hips. He held me captive and pressed forward. I could feel him probing my slit but not thrusting home where I wanted him most. Instead he rubbed the tip of his cock against my throbbing clit. I backed into him, urging him to take me. Dmitri must have anticipated such a move and swerved away. My ass cooled from lack of his body heat. I growled in frustration. A sound I hope threatened dire consequences if he failed to enter me then and there. He chuckled and resumed his delicious caressing.

"Just enjoy it, Kaylis. You get greedy and forget the simpler things in life," he said with a smirk in his voice.

My hips were moving in sync with his. Oh, I was enjoying it make no mistake. But I knew what I wanted. Much to his frustration, my hips began to weave a rhythm counter-productive to his stroke. Dmitri's calloused hold on my hips firmed.

"I know what you want..." My sing-song voice taunted him.

He bent and gently nipped the back of my neck at the hairline. Tingles engulfed my body like a wildfire. His deep voice replied with hot breath. tickling my ear, "I know what you want."

He gave me what I wanted...

And then some.

Sweat covered and panting, we lay within each other's arms with fingers entwined. "I'm sorry I screeched at you like an ill-bred cave dweller." I almost let 'harpy' slip through, but him laughing at the moment would border the Land of Awkward. "Writing has always been my escape when I felt I had no control on what was happening in my life. It was mine. What I wrote, I controlled. To have my sanctuary violated by Jet when I expressly forbade her from reading anything of mine felt like a violation. She was right though. I underestimated her and her literature-based superpowers."

"Apology accepted. I didn't know that's how you felt. If I had known writing was your therapy, I wouldn't have intruded. Thought it was more of a hobby for you. I'm sorry."

Gently I kissed him. His arm held me tight for a moment, pressing my length against his side as his hand slid down from the side of my breast to derriere and back again. Each time the length and pressure of his stroke increased. I caressed his hardness with my hand and absorbed his moans into my mouth. When I knew that we both could stand no more sweet torment, I slid across him and straddled his body, easing his length inside. I clenched as he pulsed, our fingers still entwined. His hands were alongside his head on the down pillow and although I was in the position of dominance, it was I who was being dominated. His hands kept me bent over and kissing him as he thrust up into my welcoming warmth. It was he absorbing my moans into his mouth now. I felt deliciously feminine and alive, soaring with falcons then up through the clouds in the sky above to float amid the stars.

"I like make-up sex. Maybe you should be a bitch more often." We lay side by side as our bodies tingled with a healthy afterglow, I on my belly, Dmitri on his back.

"Shut up, Dmitri. Are you hungry yet?" My head turned in his direction, but my eyes closed with the wonderful feeling of fuzzy satisfaction.

"Yeah, I think I earned some bacon and pancakes. Get crackin', woman." He smacked my ass, then caressed the spot with a lingering touch.

I sat up and enjoyed the brief head-rush I got. "Hopeful wishing. You can hit IHOP by yourself, or you can enjoy the divine repast I planned and prepared for my groveling repentance."

"Groveling? Is that what you call it these days? "

A pillow somehow got chucked at his head.

"Come on, beefcake. I need you to wield your tool for me."

He sighed. "Two times not good enough for you? See, this is that greedy thing I spoke about."

"I meant put on your pants and get a hammer. Meet me in the kitchen. I need your manly-man thing to kick in and help me with this. Please?" A black silk kimono now covered my stocking-clad body. He watched with a roguish gleam as I cinched it shut.

With a cheeky grin, I turned about and went into the kitchen. A flick of a switch and the room lit up. Green-tinted cement counter tops, frosted glass-fronted cabinets and a massive island that housed a sink, stove top, and built-in microwave. The oven was on the wall, a huge, glistening beast that seemed capable of belonging to the updated kitchen of Hansel and Gretel's witch.

Hands clad in silicone oven mitts pulled out the heavy jelly roll pan with a white and brown mottled mound from the oven. I set it upon the stove. From the refrigerator's veggie bin, I removed plastic bag containing the Greek salad I threw together earlier. Red onion, romaine lettuce, tomato quarters, feta and chopped Kalamata olives awaited the dressing of lemon juice and olive oil. I tossed everything into a wooden salad bowl and mixed it to perfection. Thirty seconds later, I hit the start button on the microwave. In five minutes, wild mushroom couscous would be ready.

Dmitri walked past me clad in purple shorts emblazoned with the Sacramento Kings logo on his way to the garage. "Any particular kind of hammer?" He opened the garage door and left it open as he called out, "Ball peen, framing, sledge, rock or a mallet?"

"Something big and impressive. But not too big or ungainly... that would be overkill."

"Gotcha."

He came in carrying what looked like a weapon. It fit the bill as something big and impressive. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a thirty-two ounce steel straight-claw hammer. Hickory handle." He held it up and kissed the shiny hammerhead. "I love this thing."

"Good to know. Now whack that, pretty please." I gestured to the mound awaiting its beating on the stove. I was trying out one of Jet's suggestions: appeal to Dmitri's masculine need to wield something heavy and use force to help and/or impress a female.

He plagiarized my earlier statement. "What the hell is that?" Dmitri stood before the stove, hammer in hand as he gazed upon my culinary masterpiece with a quizzical look.

"Dinner."

He lifted the hammer and with a thud, shattered the salt-crusted armor covering the chicken. Wisps of steam escaped into the air. The scent of roasted bird, garlic, thyme and black pepper perfumed the room. Dmitri peeled off the solid chunks of salt, revealing a tender and succulent fowl reminiscent of simple French cuisine.

"Can you carve it up for us?" I asked as I removed the white Corningware casserole dish of couscous from the microwave.

"I can do anything, but I might want a knife. The hammer would just make a mess of things. Smells good. My woman did well."

"You had a hard day at work, then a hard time at home... I'm sure a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich would smell good to you." Dmitri staunchly believed sandwiches should be made with meat. Peanut butter is an abomination against God in his view, and thus banned from the house.

He laughed. "I like your definition of a hard time at home." Dmitri's demeanor sobered. "But yeah, it sucked today, but not until after I left the shop. Your BFF called me after work... something about her sink disposal not working." He grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye. His face went white as the haunted look in his eyes recalled the horror. "Dealing with her sink made me so fucking sick. so I had to clear the clog to just to clean up the Taco Bell fueled mess. I swear, Kaylis, it's like she shoved a family of fat weasels down the disposal and the weasels won. That thing was fubar'd. You aren't perfect, Kaylis, not by a long shot. But you puking on me wasn't nearly as gnarly as the beast that took over that sink. Thank you for not being crazy like your friend. She's cool and all... but she has some issues."

If he only knew.