The Tenant

He stopped beside my bed. I closed my eyes and heard him set his glass on my nightstand. For the longest moment, nothing happened. My eyelids finally lifted to see him just standing there. Raising up on my knees, I was just about to get off the bed when he grasped my arm with the lightest touch. I stilled. With his other hand, he stroked my left butt cheek.

As he gently caressed my sensitive skin, my fingers curled and flexed on the pillow I still clutched to my chest. The more he did it, the sharper my breaths became. I dropped the pillow and leaned over, spreading my knees wider. I waited for him to make contact with my clit, but he avoided it. Instead, I felt his finger dip inside me and then continue moving toward the rear.

The moment he touched my asshole, drawing circles around the tight opening, a deep shudder had my body undulating. With his other hand on my tailbone, my body sunk further into the rolled-up comforter when it couldn't rise up. And then I was gripping the pillows that remained there.

The feeling of his finger touching and pressing where I'd only let one other guy venture before blew my world away. I didn't think how he hadn't asked if this was allowed. A soft groan was all I could get out when he moved his finger away. Gathering more of my arousal, he rubbed it all over my asshole before gently pressing inward and then stroking in and out of me there. When I was loosened up, I felt him slowly add a second finger and then resume stroking. All the while, his thumb caressed the delicate skin between my cheeks.

At some point, I realized my body was rocking. Humping the bed and his fingers. His hand felt warm as it lay splayed on my back. I wanted to feel it other places. I just didn't want to break the mood to ask him to touch the rest of my body. I was afraid to move in any other way, lest I disrupt him. I could feel that he was very focused on what he was doing.

I admit, it felt good. Really good. But I needed more. I was trying to form the right words when he finally spoke.

"I have never seen a more beautiful ass in my life, Jemma. You and I don't usually take the time to talk about how we appreciate each other's bodies. You have no idea what it does to me...that you trust me enough to pleasure you in this way. You are exquisite."

"Mmm," was all I could manage in response. What else could I say in a position like this? If I were to mention I needed him to touch my pussy again or stroke his fingers across my hips, would he think that I wasn't enjoying this? Would he cease touching me altogether?

"Would you ever do anal?"

Oh, God! I was so glad he couldn't see my face because it had burst into flames. I'd never felt more embarrassed than at that moment, his fingers already in my ass while he not-so-subtly asked if I wanted his cock there instead. What should I say? What should I do?

Warm breath caressed my ear. "I'd understand if you say no."

I don't know what came over me. The one other time I'd tried it, the guy had been too big. He'd gotten just the head in before I was crying in pain. But Lachlan...

"I'd go slow, Jemma."

A deep shudder shook my shoulders. My randy state at the current moment overshadowed any rational thoughts.

After a deep swallow, I found my voice to say, "Yes."

He kissed me on the right shoulder, his hand finally moving from where it had rested on my back to brushing my hair over my left shoulder. To my surprise, he continued kissing down my back, running his tongue along my spine.

"God, that's driving me crazy!" I gasped, biting a pillow now.

Lachlan chuckled then hummed against my skin. Once he reached my ass, he dusted kisses along both butt cheeks. Then he removed his fingers from inside me. Only to replace them with his tongue.

Holy shit! No one had ever done that!

Despite my surprise, my ass rose up toward him when he pulled away. Another chuckle from him, and then he was licking a path back and forth from my pussy to my ass until I was whimpering. My pussy was pulsating so hard, I thought I was coming.

"You don't have any lube, do you, sweetie?"

"What? Huh? No." We hadn't needed it before. Then again, he wasn't trying to fuck my ass then. "But if you stop, I swear..."

"Okay, sweetie. Okay." His tongue continued to run circles around my asshole, dipping down occasionally to lick at my damp pussy lips. After several minutes, he whispered, "Hold tight."

I groaned at the feeling of him moving away from me. But then I heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. The nightstand drawer opened then closed.

The bed shifted. A moment later, he was back. This time, the heat of his skin was palpable against mine. He was kneeling behind me. And his hands were massaging my ass cheeks again.

"Tell me if I hurt you."

I nodded and mumbled I understood.

He chose to run the tip of his cock through my swollen lips then. Back and forth several times. I wanted to yell at him to forget my ass and fuck my pussy, but I couldn't find my voice.

Just when I thought he was going to continue to tease me, he pressed his cock at my anus. My body resisted. I whimpered again, and his free hand caressed my ass and hip.

"Breathe, Jemma. Relax."

I tried. But all I could think about was the last time. I didn't want to remember. I wanted it to feel good, like when Lachlan had his fingers inside me. Like when he fucked me. I wanted—

I let out a cry when he slid his cock against my pussy again, rubbing it against my clit. He dragged it back slowly. I gulped down air and reached my right hand back. I felt the tip of his cock—smooth, slick, and warm—before he slid it down then back up again. His thumb was playing at my asshole now, and it did help ease the tension in my muscles.

When he must have felt I was ready, he tried again. This time, the tip of his cock slipped inside. Then he rubbed my clit with his fingertips. It wasn't enough pressure to make me orgasm, but it distracted my thoughts from what he was doing at my rear end.

I bit my lower lip while he worked his way into my ass. As promised, he was slow and probably as gentle as one could be. There was pressure and some discomfort at first, but I wouldn't really describe it as pain. And the more he rocked, the easier it became. The better it felt.

Several minutes passed while he entered me in short thrusts. When I felt him bottom out—his groin against my ass—I dragged in deep breaths like I'd been swimming toward the surface from a deep pool. Then he was gripping my hips and holding me still while he eased his cock slowly in and out of my ass. I heard and felt him spit a couple of times to add natural lube. The one time he removed his cock completely and I felt him gather more moisture from my pussy with this fingers before smearing it on my asshole, I cried. I had been so close to an orgasm.

We rocked together. Grunting. Moaning. His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me back onto him. When I rose up to my hands and knees, he pressed down on my shoulders to keep my ass raised to him. With his hands holding me in place, all I could do was clutch the comforter and mewl like a kitten. It felt so fucking good!

Some time later, he eased up on my back and pulled his cock free. I'd had a couple of small orgasms, and I whimpered at his grunts and his wet release on my ass. I was exhausted but still wanting something more. I was trying to rationalize what that was when Lachlan moved my legs out from under me so I was lying flat on my stomach. Then he slid his fingers into my pussy. His other hand reached around my hip, his palm flat against my pubic bone and his middle finger strumming my clit from the front. I cried out again and again from the intense pleasure. My body convulsed while he stroked hard and fast. I muffled my scream in the pillow and squeezed my thighs around his hand when he brought me one of the most monumental orgasms I'd ever experienced.

I felt hot and sweaty. A little sticky. But overall, a strange and enjoyable numbness filled me.

We were still panting on the bed, his body half covering mine, when something occurred to me.

"Uh, Lachlan, did you use a condom?"

"No, you were out."

Images of him with other women raced into my head. Someone back home. The redhead at the party. Had he had sex with her, too? Tonight? In the ass?

A resurgence of strength had me rolling him off my back. I grabbed a pillow and held it around my breasts with one arm as I jumped off the bed and pointed at the door. "Get out!"

He was on his feet in a second, his eyes wide. He took a step toward me. "Jemma?"

I thrust my finger at the door again, his nakedness not even registering behind the red I was seeing. "Get out of my room!"

He hadn't moved except to put his hands on his hips. "Not until you tell me why."

Abandoning my makeshift cover, I stomped back over to the bed, gathered his clothes, and tossed them out into the hall. Then I went back for him, shoving on his arms until he walked backwards toward the door.

Lachlan planted his feet in the doorway. "Goddammit! What the fuck did I do?"

"Get. Out." I gave him a final push with just my fingertips—enough to get him out of the room—and then slammed the door in his face, turning the lock.

"Jemma!" The doorknob rattled. Then there was a loud thump followed by repeated softer ones on the other side of the door, the time between them lengthening. As though maybe he was hitting his fist on the door and was running out of steam. It was even evident in his voice when he softly begged, "Just tell me what's wrong. Please."

My head hurt from clenching my jaw so hard. My body wouldn't stop shaking. I stared at the glass he'd left on my nightstand. At the rumpled sheets on the bed. Both my asshole and pussy spasmed, reminding me of the heaven I'd been in just moments ago.

I swung back to the door and reached for the doorknob.

There was a dull smack from the hall side—his open palm on the door now?—a deep sigh, and then the sounds of departing footsteps.

Oh, God, what had I done?

###

The next day was Monday, but we had previously agreed to have our regular Sunday dinner since it was a holiday. I wasn't surprised, though, when Lachlan made himself scarce. My chest felt tight when I opened the fridge and saw the ingredients for the lasagna I was supposed to make. I settled on leftover pizza. After eating my nuked lunch as I stood at the counter—the same counter where this had all started—I curled up under a blanket in my father's chair in the den. I wanted so badly to cry, but no tears would come.

I had imagined my ass would be sore. Instead, it ached in a different way, along with my pussy every time I thought back on what had happened last night. How careful Lachlan had been. How incredibly kind.

The little voice in my head sneered that he was probably that way with all the women he'd bedded.

I screamed and punched my fist into the padded leather of the armrest.

Why had I allowed him to live here? Why had I let down my guard for him? And why did I care so much?

---

Somehow, I got through the next couple of days, although most of them were spent holed up in my bed. Business was always slow at the beginning of the year. Everyone was partied out. But there would soon be plenty of events starting again. I should enjoy the downtime while I could, yet the lack of activity only allowed me to ruminate on my thoughts.

I was thankful for a distraction at the end of the week when an old client of mine brought over a chair she'd acquired. Her intent was to have me do my magic and refurbish it for resale. I told her not to get her hopes up, but I'd give it a go.

It had a 50s space-age look with its metal, spindle legs, and the seat and back cushions secured in the metal frame at an angle so one felt like they were tipped back slightly while sitting. The armrests were separate, oversized boards affixed to another frame in the shape of a trapezoid that bolted at the front and back of the seat frame on each side. The most interesting feature, though, was a lever between the seat and the left armrest that was supposed to recline the chair even further until the seat cushion raised to meet the taller back one to create a horizontal surface.

My client had told me it had once been used as a lounge chair for sunbathing or relaxing by the pool. The original owner no longer had the matching chair and ottomans. Therefore, my client had no idea why this one had been saved.

I wondered why, indeed.

One of the four legs was missing. Of the three that remained, only one was still straight and in one piece. The vinyl material on the bright-orange cushions had rips, and the piped-trim pieces were cracked and pulling away at the seams in several places. The metal-framed armrests were Formica with faded boomerangs that matched the cushion pattern. However, one was missing, and the remaining armrest had heavy coffee rings plus a couple of burn marks where someone had used it as an ashtray.

Then there was the rest of the frame. Overall, the metal had probably gleamed a sparkling chrome at one time, but it now looked like it had been badly spray-painted red. And the lever was so bent out of shape that the reclining feature no longer worked. As a result, the cushions were stuck in a perpetual 140° angle.

In truth, with its curling, rust-mottled bars, the piece resembled something off the Titanic's wreckage more than a vintage piece of home décor.

It needed a lot of love. I just didn't know if I had enough to save this one.

I grabbed my phone and took several photos from different angles, as I did with all my projects. I didn't have much hope for the "after" shots, though. The only step when I was done may be sending it where it should have gone decades ago. But it gave me something to do in the meantime.

My music turned up on my iPod, I dismantled the chair down to just the seat and back frame, which were hinged together. The wooden backer boards and the legs were a total loss. But I surmised it wouldn't be hard to find replacements with the latter since retro designs were coming back into style. After a couple of quick measurements and a few clicks on the Internet, four shiny-new legs were on their way. And a call into an old connection to fabricate new wood bases for both cushions had two items checked off the To-Do list.

Now for the hard part. Or rather, the time-consuming part.

I rolled my comfortable work chair up to the table of prepared supplies and the pile of deconstructed metal that was supposed to be a throwback to when my parents were kids. A thorough wipe of the entire surface with a damp cloth hopefully cleaned off any dirt on top of the surface. Like it would matter.

My box of pre-cut aluminum foil strips by my side, I started working on the square frame of the seat, dipping a strip in a bowl of water and rubbing at the first section of rust until I could see it start to loosen up and turn into a brownish paste. I wiped off the rust remnants, discarded the foil, and picked up another piece to go back over the spot until it was shiny.

After ninety minutes—my entire upper body sore from bending over the table—I took a break. I frowned, noting I'd only accomplished completing a quarter of the seat frame. The polished chrome was such a contrast to the reddish tone of the remaining parts. Love was working so far. But I still had so much more to go.

Refusing to cry, I grabbed a drink, wolfed down a sandwich, and returned to my work room, determined to make more headway before I called it a night. Three hours later, I had the seat portion completely done. Thank God.

My palms were cramped, dyed red from the rust residue, and scratched from trying to work around the mechanics of the busted lever. Stupid me for not replacing my work gloves after my last project. But I was pleased with the progress. I brushed the back of my hand against the sweat on my forehead and tossed my iPod and earbuds onto the table. I could barely keep my eyes open much less stand up.

I was tempted to fall into bed as-is, but common sense said to at least wash up. When my hands were finally their normal color, the hot water felt so good, I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the side of the sink. I sighed while the water filled then spilled over my cupped palms. That's the last thing I remembered.

###

I woke up the next morning in my bed fully-clothed and feeling like I'd been hit by a two-by-four. I rose up on one arm, groaning, and looked around. Bright light shone through a crack in the window curtains, but the rest of the room on that side of the bed was dark.

Heat blossomed in my cheeks when I lay back down and rolled over. Lachlan was in the easy chair in the corner. His head was tilted to the side with his eyes apparently closed, and his hands were clasped on his chest. How long had he been there? Why was he there?

As though I'd spoken the words aloud, he stirred and sat up, scrubbing his hand at his face. It took him a moment before I saw the shine of his eyes when he looked my way. I didn't know if he could see me, but I held my breath. Maybe he'd think I was still sleeping.

"Jemma? Are you awake?"

Shit. My exhale was a little wheezy when I let it out. "Y-yeah."

"How's your head?"

"M-my head?" I reached up and patted my hair.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees but didn't get up. Though I couldn't see most of his face in the shadows, the concern in his voice was undeniable. "I heard a loud thump last night. When I came up to check on you, you had passed out on the bathroom floor. The faucet was still running. I couldn't tell if you'd hit your head or not."

"D-did you bring me to bed?" I didn't move except to tuck the comforter tighter around me, as though I thought hiding my body would change the way his mere presence affected me. God, my nipples were suddenly painful. And I had to suppress a moan at the way my muscles contracted below.

"Of course. I wasn't going to leave you on the floor. I'm not a dick."

I opened my mouth to agree that he wasn't then I clamped it shut. I hadn't called him that the last time we spoke, but it was pretty much implied by the way I treated him. We both knew it.

A part of me wanted to apologize for the angry words I had previously exchanged with him, but a bigger part felt justified. I wanted him to fess up to what had happened with the other chick. Maybe even let him stew in the guilt for a little while. And ultimately, I wanted him to admit that he was wrong to have proceeded to have sex with me without a condom.

He sat back and was quiet for several minutes. I wondered if he had fallen back asleep. Then I heard his deep sigh. The rumble of his voice was so loud in the silence when he spoke.

"Jemma, the other night... I've never seen that side of you. Everything was going so great. And then you went all Mr. Hyde on me. What happened?"

Apparently, I had to spell it out for him. "The redhead."

"Huh? Redhead?"

"You both looked pretty cozy at the bar at the New Year's party. Did you sleep with her, too? Fuck her ass before you came home to claim mine?"

"Wait. Do you mean Haley?"

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the ache growing in my chest. "Is that her name?"

There was another deep sigh in the darkness. "She's my research assistant, Jemma, and she's very clingy. I'm not making excuses for her, just stating the facts. It's too late to get someone new assigned. I've already tried. So, I ignore her advances and concentrate on my work. At the party...she was trying to get revenge on another grad student who was there. I really wasn't paying much attention to her, and I didn't realize how our proximity would come across to others. To you."

I felt the tears well up in my eyes. Was it really that simple? I wanted to believe him.

"There is nothing going on between us, Jemma. It's strictly professional. I promise you, I have not fucked her in any way, shape, or form, though I don't doubt she'd probably like me to if it would help her get attention from the other guy."