Unexpected Top(16)

Len swerved, nearly taking out a parked car when the answer came to him. He’d been in control, much like most of their other sexual encounters before the past couple of weeks, and that was the problem. What the fuck? Did it really mean that much to give up control to Cissy? Wasn’t he the man, the one who was supposed to fuck the woman?





Chapter Four



Len slogged through work that day, weighed down by that morning’s events. As five o’clock approached he sent a text to Cissy that he was going out for drinks with some clients and not to expect him until later. He knew it was cowardly, but he just couldn’t face her right now.

He didn’t have drinks with clients, of course. No, like a loser he went to a sports bar alone and sat there watching a baseball game while he nursed a beer. His mood got darker and darker, and he caught the bartender’s eye.

“Shot of JD, please.” Without a word, the bartender poured the shot. Len downed it. “Another.”

Now the man glanced at him with that patented “sympathetic bartender” look. “Bad day, bud?”

“You could say that.” He pounded the second shot and reached for his beer to chase it down. While the guy probably would be sympathetic—it was practically in his job description—Len wasn’t about to go telling some stranger he hadn’t been able to perform. And maybe it was a one-time deal. He’d been telling himself that very thing all day, but his stupid brain kept arguing it wasn’t.

The other man nodded and gestured with the bottle in his hand. “Want another one?”

“Nah, I’m good for now.”

“Might wanna eat something.”

Len grunted and the man replaced the bottle on the shelf behind the bar before moving away to take care of other customers. Eating would defeat the purpose of slamming two shots in a row. He was in the mood to get a good drunk on and he wasn’t about to let food destroy that.

He had one more beer and two more shots and knew he shouldn’t be driving home. Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost eleven. Too late to call Cissy to come pick him up.

“Hey, man,” he addressed the bartender with the universal greeting for dudes he didn’t know, “could you call me a cab?”

“Sure thing.” The guy made the call and then cashed Len out. “Cab’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“Sorry you had a bad day. That sucks. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.” Len snorted and the bartender gave him a small smile. “Well, if not, I’ll be here then too.”

The cabbie honked his horn outside and Len sent the bartender a brief salute as he left. On his way home, he debated what to say to Cissy. He could hardly tell her the truth he wasn’t even willing to admit to himself.

By the time the cab pulled into his driveway, Len was no closer to figuring out a good way to approach his wife. When Cissy opened the door before he even reached the porch, a strange look playing across her features, he stumbled and she darted out to grab him.

“You took a cab home?”

“Yeah.”

She studied his face and Len resisted the urge to squirm. “How much did you guys have to drink?”

Len jerked away from her. “Does it matter? I was a good boy. I didn’t drive.”

“What’s going on? Are you angry about something?”

He’d made it halfway across the room and was about to mount the stairs, but he pivoted, grabbing the railing for support. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I’m the man of this house and I can do what I want.” Len knew he sounded like a petulant child, but between the alcohol and his general state of mind, he wasn’t in the mood to be quizzed.

“Where is this coming from?”

“You wanna control me.” When Cissy’s face went blank he plowed on. “Yeah, I found those websites you’ve been looking at. Giving me all those sexual favors is your way of controlling me, your way of getting me to do what you want. Well, fuck that. I’m the man, not you.”

“Oh you’re the man all right,” she answered with deadly calm. An alarm went off in the back of his head but he was too fuzzy to pay it much heed. “You’re the man, and you do what you want. That’s true enough. But there are two of us here, Len. Two of us in this marriage, and I’m tired of being the one who’s expected to not only work full-time but also to do most of the housework, the grocery shopping and the laundry. I’m not your maid, I’m your wife, and it’s time I got the respect I deserve. So yeah, I was trying to reward you for doing stuff for me in order to encourage you. How is that a bad thing? We both get something we want.”