Hands on the Wheel Ch. 03

She noticed that he was paying close attention to the scoop neck of her crop top. Her breasts were smallish, nipples poking against her top. She shook her head. "Nope, breakfast is oatmeal and toast. Drink your smoothie first." She sprinkled some brown sugar on her oatmeal, added several spoonsful of berries, and dug in. "Pour yourself a glass of milk, too. We'll have tea after."

And so they ate their second breakfast. She told him that meals would be pretty bland for the first week or 10 days. Before he could ask her why, he leaped up and ran to the bathroom. She followed and found him retching into the toilet, his hands shaking and tears streaking down his face. When the spasms subsided, she helped him a couple of steps to the wash basin and had him rinse his mouth and gargle with mouthwash three times, making soothing sounds that weren't words.

After he finished detoxing his mouth, she led him into the bedroom and guided him onto the bed. Shedding her top and panties, she lay beside him and started caressing his face, then his chest, then his stomach, still crooning to him. She moved her leg over his and rubbed her dampening pussy against his thigh, then took his growing cock and began stroking it gently. When it was rampant, she rolled him on top of her and raised her legs onto his shoulders.

He needed no further guidance to enter her and begin thrusting, but after just a few pushes he sighed, pulled out, and rolled back beside her, weeping. Again she cradled his head against her breast, silently cursing the bitch who broke this wonderful man. After he fell asleep, she got out of bed, put her top and panties back on, and went back to the kitchen to start cleaning up. He slept until almost noon.

She had to administer her unorthodox therapy twice more that day, a near-violent fucking because she caught him searching the kitchen cupboards when he thought she was taking a shower, and a melancholy love-making after he had sat at the kitchen table staring at nothing for almost an hour.

The next day she added two 45-minute sessions on the elliptical trainer and weight bench. They settled into a routine of healthy meals, exercise, morning and afternoon naps for him, punctuated by bouts of anger or whining and consequent sex. They slept together, but only had sex when withdrawal brought him nightmares or cramps or alternate chills and hot flashes or all the above. They always woke up spooned, which resulted in occasional non-punitive sex.

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Friday night, day 20, Ivan was getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang. He poked his head out of the bathroom just as Woodley opened the front door, dressed in her usual white bikini panties and crop top. He couldn't see who was there, but had no problem recognizing the voice that dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, I came to talk with our wayward hero, but it looks like you're taking good care of him."

Woodley answered in an equally sarcastic scary-sweet, singsong welcome. "Why Lakshmi Jeanne Maureen FitzHenry, how good of you to drop by." Jean hated to be called Lakshmi. He tiptoed to where he could see the action without calling attention to himself.

Woodley grabbed Ivan's ex-wife's arm, yanked her in, slammed the door, and dragged her over to the sofa. "Do come in and sit down." Despite Jean's protests, Woodley shoved her down. She tried to get up but Woodley shoved her back down. Jean was majorly pissed.

"What the fuck is this all about? What are you doing here in Ivan's apartment half dressed? For that matter, what are you doing here at all? And stop pushing me around!"

"I'm doing my best to undo the damage you did to a decent man dumb enough to love you and trust you, you miserable twat. Don't like me pushing you around? Shit, consider yourself lucky I didn't drag you out to the curb and throw you under a street sweeper."

"I didn't do anything to him, he just—"

The slap sounded like a gunshot. "Shut the fuck up! You just damn near killed one of the world's few Good Guys, that's all you did."

He could hear both capital Gs. What was up with that? He rubbed his cheek where Woodley had let him have it the first day. Lordy, that woman sure could slap.

"You knew damn good and well what Ivan expected when you married him. He's a one-woman man and had the crazy notion that you were a one-man woman. You got away with cheating time after time because it never occurred to him that you'd be unfaithful, even though some of us tried to warn him. Unfortunately, love really can be blind." She leaned down and stared fiercely into Jean's eyes.

"He loved, honored, respected, and all-around worshiped you, you heartless bitch. You paid him back by pissing all over his love, honor, respect, and worship. You never intended to keep your wedding vows. Why the fuck did you marry him in the first place?" Jean shrank back, afraid Woodley was going to slap her again.

"I...I.really did love him, I still—"

Jean was right to have been afraid. If the first slap sounded like a .38, this one was more like a .30/06. Jean whimpered this time as her head twisted back. That one was going to bruise. Woodley grabbed a handful of hair on each side of Jean's head, leaned down, and hissed so quietly he had to strain to hear. "Don't you ever again use the word 'love' unless it's immediately followed by the word 'myself,' you cunt. You don't have the faintest fucking idea how to love somebody else.

"You might have liked Ivan, you might even have liked him a lot, but if you love a man you don't betray his trust, you don't break a promise to forsake all others, and you sure as fuck don't lie about wanting children while you're aborting every fertilized egg in your swampy snatch. Jesus H Christ you're one sorry bitch. You make me sick!

"Get up!" She grabbed Jean's shirt with both hands, yanked her up, and shoved her to the front door. "Never come near him again. If you try to talk him into letting you come back, I'll slap the shit out of you. If you try again I'll cut off your hair and tattoo SLUT across your tits. Do it just once more and I'll hunt you down, pump your asshole full of pepper spray and super glue in a butt plug, then cut off your nipples and feed 'em to the ravens."

She opened the door and shoved Jean out. "I mean every fucking word of it. Stay out of his life." Ivan was still shuddering as she slammed the door and collapsed against the wall, panting as if she'd sprinted a mile.

He tried to sneak across the hall into the bedroom, but she saw him and followed. "I can't believe she came here! What the fuck was she thinking of?" She sat next to him on the bed and started crying softly, then started shaking and burst into a torrent of raw sobs that sounded as if they were ripped from her lungs and heart. For the first time he hugged her instead of her hugging him. He held her and made soothing sounds that weren't words and stroked her hair until she finally pulled away and spoke in a shaky, quiet voice.

"I was so angry, I was afraid I would hurt her, I wanted to hurt her, so help me I wanted to kill her. I've never felt that way before. It frightened me. I don't ever want to feel that way again."

He chuckled at a thought that struck him as funny. She pulled back and gave him The Look. He just grinned. "Woodley, I think you like me, you really like me." The Look turned into a frown, then she giggled. Woodley actually giggled. Giggled! He hugged her again.

After a moment she leaned back, play-slapped him and growled, "Don't get your hopes up, Wolfe. I never did like the bitch and I couldn't pass up a chance to rip her a new one." But her growl was betrayed by eyes that twinkled and lips that twitched at the corners.

For the first time since she blazed into his apartment he kissed those lips, softly. "Thanks, Woodley. Remind me to stay on your good side." She stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. God, she's beautiful.

"Kissing wasn't part of the therapy, Ivan. But maybe I'll make an exception just for tonight." She tried to sound stern. "Don't think this changes anything, though. You're still—"

She called me Ivan, not Wolfe! He put his index finger on her lips. "Woodley, tonight the only words you're allowed to say are oh, yes, there, more, please, and again. Grunts, shrieks, and screams are free."

She tensed and frowned. He's telling me what to do? Then she relaxed. And smiled. Again he marveled at how beautiful she was. "My name's Sarah," she said quietly, almost a whisper, and kissed him back as softly as he had kissed her.

"My God, you're beautiful Sarah, you should smile more often." It was a night for firsts, so he lay her back on the bed and stroked her hair, then her cheek. "You can fuck me tomorrow if you still don't think I'm sober enough or smart enough, but tonight I'm going to make love to you." Then he kissed her not so softly and asked for admission with his tongue; she parted her lips and they set off on a breathtaking journey of discovery.

Lips are wonderful to kiss, but they're just the start of a wondrous journey. Her neck was soft and sensitive; when he exhaled in her ear then slowly traced nibbly kisses down to her collar bone, she inhaled sharply and arched her back, thrusting her breasts up.

This had the delightful effect of her now-hard nipples trying to puncture the thin cotton of her crop top. He continued trailing light kisses down her chest; when she started to relax he moved to her right nipple and started sucking through the material.

"Oh yes, there." Suddenly she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it off. He had to jerk his head back to avoid damage to his lips and nose. She giggled—again!—and pulled his head back down on her breast. "More. Please." He moved his hand to her other breast and rubbed the open palm gently against her nipple, which got even harder. She tensed, shuddered just a little, then sighed. "Oh, yes, oh, oh." La petit mort.

He trailed his hand down her side, blissful at how soft her skin was, how smoothly she curved in below her ribs then swelled out again to her hips. At the same time he moved his mouth down and paused to enjoy the crease at the bottom of her breast, then continued across her stomach. He took the time to tongue her navel, was rewarded with yet another little giggle. He was becoming very fond of Sarah's very un-Woodley giggles.

By the time his hand reached the top of her thigh his mouth was at the top of her trimmed bush. He stopped there; she held her breath until he resumed moving down. He twisted his head a bit and looked at her face; her eyes were closed and she started breathing faster. When he reached her clitoris he paused just long enough to exhale on it, but didn't touch it; she twitched and stopped breathing again until he moved his mouth down the widening gap between her labia. He nudged her legs apart and continued the slow descent until he reached the rosebud at the far end of her perineum.

He could smell the intoxicating fluids of her desire; the spoor made him eager to taste her body's desire-driven lubrication. It was time for tongue and fingers. As gently as he could, he coaxed her swollen lips further apart with his thumbs and licked from bottom to top, avoiding her clitoris. He moved back down and repeated the trip. After four such lavings she grabbed his head and pulled it into her. "There!"

He had supposed she would speak the words softly, even imploringly, but no: her voice was urgent. He obligingly licked all around her clitoris with the tip of his tongue without touching it. She pulled his head harder into her. "Again! More!" Then more softly, "please." It was time to stop teasing. He sucked her clitoris out of its hood and flicked it twice with his tongue, while quickly slipping two fingers deep into her lubricious quim and twisting a nipple with his other hand.

"Oh! Yes! Oh! Yes! Oh! Yes!" Again she sucked a huge breath and arched her back, then held the breath as her body spasmed over and over. She finally shuddered and slowly collapsed back onto the bed. Her voice went soft again. "Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh." Each "oh" was drawn out longer, until the final one melted her into the bed. This mort wasn't so petit.

Still holding his head, she urged him back up until they were face to face, then reached down and guided him into her. She wasn't inviting energetic coupling, so he put his arms around her and rolled over so she lay on top. She looked into his eyes, then kissed him. "Mmmm." Mmmm wasn't on the approved word list, but he let it go. He didn't care that he didn't climax. They fell asleep.

When they woke up later she was still on top, but he had shrunk and fallen out. She contrived to unshrink him and they proceeded to make love more actively. He managed a couple of orgasms of his own this time and her several were a bit more vocal, but she still didn't need any unapproved words. She never shrieked or screamed, but occasionally grunted in a most charming way. She smiled so much he was afraid she'd hurt her face, and he was as happy as he could ever remember being.

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When he woke it was light and she was in the kitchen fixing breakfast. He showered and put on his usual boxers and T-shirt, but was surprised to find her in jeans, a Steph Curry T-shirt and trainers, her hair in a pony tail. After pouring him a cup of coffee and the usual azure smoothie, she pointed with the spatula to the couch. A pair of his gym shorts was draped over the arm, socks and running shoes on the floor.

He looked at her in question. "It's almost time to go back to work, Wolfe." He was Wolfe again, so he figured she was Woodley. It appeared that as far as she was concerned, last night never happened. He was disappointed, but not really surprised.

Not only was she dressed differently, the breakfast plate she slid across the table was filled with steak and eggs, hash browns, a slice of orange with a strawberry bleeding in the middle, and a toasted English muffin with butter running out of each nook and cranny. He resisted the temptation to ask what the occasion was. "Thank you, Woodley." She started to smile, but shook her head slightly and caught herself.

Picking up her breakfast plate, she sat down across from him and started to eat. They continued in silence for a few minutes, then she put down her fork, took a slug of coffee, and leaned back.

"You're sober and smart enough now to take care of yourself, Wolfe. I worked the poison out of your body, but I can't detox your mind. That's up to you.

"It's Friday. Take a couple of days off. Go get a cheeseburger or whatever you've been craving. See a movie or drive up to The City and take in a show or a concert. But do a favor for yourself and everybody who cares about you: stay away from booze and your fucking ex. Go to work Monday. They need you, 100 percent of you."

As he drank his coffee and sat for a while thinking about life, Woodley went back to the bedroom. He decided to exercise his freedom and go for a short run. Putting on the gym shorts and running shoes, he went out the front door for the first time in almost a month and jogged around the neighborhood for 45 minutes or so. It was pathetic. He walked more than he ran, and sweat poured off him the whole time.

When he got back to his apartment, he was exhausted and she was gone.