(Now) Kinsley: Bullshit

We need to hear from Lauren, but I want to wrap up Kinsley's current storyline before that happens.  There are a few posts to go, which means you guys will be getting some Kinsley bonus posts, including this one.  I love being able to post bonuses again!  Check back for a regular storyline post on Sunday, and if you didn't see the regular storyline post I put up last night, don't miss it.  Fast forwarding through Kinsley's story with the bonuses means that her timeline is a little ahead of Liv and Brody's, but it shouldn't make a difference.  
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After the almost-threesome incident, I stopped checking Tinder.  I took a sick day on Friday, and I didn't even feel bad about it.  My eyes were so red and puffy that there was no way a single thing I did would make me look like a reasonable human being before lunch time.  I didn't even wait until an appropriate booty-call hour (aka after 9 pm), and I texted Cole as soon as I had manipulated my face into some semblance of normal.  "Day from hell, need to blow off some steam...free tonight?"

"Plans with friends, but not until later.  Right after work?"  I agreed and we decided on my house again.  I spent the entire rest of the afternoon distracted, anticipating that evening.

When Cole got there, he presented me with a bag from one of the places we used to get lunch from when he still worked at my job.  "What is this?" I asked.

"Food," Cole responded, nudging me aside so he could come in.

"But why?  I asked, completely suspicious of his intentions.  One does not typically buy food for their fuck buddy, and now he'd done it twice.

Reading my mind, he rolled his eyes and opened the bag.  "Two reasons.  One: I have three hours and no intention of leaving here until you've blown everything you need to blow...I mean, blown off everything you need to."  I glared at him.  "See? You're bitchy enough on your own, I don't need you even crabbier from low blood sugar," he continued, unfazed by my dirty look. "And two: I'm meeting my friends relatively close to here and have no intentions of going home, so eating before I go is a good plan."

He handed me my food, and I was even more skeptical when I saw that he'd ordered me exactly what I'd order for lunch...which meant he paid attention and remembered it.  "Relax, for fuck's sake," he said, wandering into my kitchen and opening drawers, looking for silverware.  "I don't want any more out of this little arrangement than you do.  I just happen to be completely unable to stifle my gentlemanly ways from time to time.  Enjoy it while you can."

Reassured a little bit, I took my food, pulled open the proper drawer, and handed utensils to Cole.  He made himself at home at my kitchen table.  "Is your house always so clean?" he asked, looking around.  "Every time I've been here.  It's kind of amazing."

"Not always," I admitted.  "Only when I need a constant distraction."

"Ah," he said, nodding.  He clearly understood my insinuation.

Eager to get away from that topic, I grinned at him.  "Want to hear a ridiculous story?"

"Of course," he replied.   So I told him about my Tinder date the night before.  He seemed to not care one bit that I was going out with other guys and meeting them on Tinder.  He didn't say a word about it.  He about died laughing when I got to the good stuff.   "So did you do it?" he asked, once he'd caught his breath.

"Are you fucking kidding?" I shrieked.  "Of course not!"

He shrugged.  "You never know.  It wouldn't be the first time you surprised me."

I balled up my napkin and threw it at him, and I laughed as it bounced off his forehead.  "Oh, now you've done it," he said, shaking his head and trying to keep a straight face.

"Yeah?  So what?"

"Just wait.  I'll get you back.  But first, I'm going to finish my dinner."

I rolled my eyes, not at all concerned.  We finished eating, and he grabbed both our trash and utensils.  I watched him put the trash in the garbage can, slightly wary after his threat.  As he walked to the sink with our silverware, his phone vibrated on the other side of the table, drawing my attention.  I turned to look at it, and was rewarded with a blast of cold water to the back of my head.

"You motherfucker!" I yelped, spinning around.

Cole was leaning casually against the sink, the sprayer in hand.  "Whoops," he said, smirking.

"I swear to God I will kill you," I threatened, standing up.

"Will you?" he asked.  I took a step towards him and got another blast of cold water, this one to the front of my shirt.  Already soaked, I lunged at him, knocking the sprayer out of his hand.  I somehow ended up between him and the counter.  He held me there with his hips while his hands pinned my arms to my side, effectively subduing me.  "Told you I'd get you back," he said, raising and lowering his eyebrows.  "And damn, you are hot when you're all wet."

I glared at him, then relaxed my face.  "I guess we'd better get me out of these wet clothes then, huh?" I asked.  He looked at me suspiciously, then shifted us so he was between me and the sink, cutting off my path to the sprayer for revenge.  I shivered (not even for show, the central air was kicking out cold air right at me, and I was drenched with cold water).  "Seriously," I said, pouting at him.  "It's cold."

He released my hands and I backed away from the sink and his body, pulling my shirt off over my head.  Then I shimmied out of my yoga pants, turning away from him and bending down as I took them off, putting on a show for him.  I stood up straight, back still to him, now clad in just my bra, thong, and socks.  Then I bent again, and slowly took my socks off.  I'd just set my second foot back down when he smacked my ass just hard enough to make me jump and said, "You're a wicked tease."  I turned back towards him and smiled as he backed me up to the table and lifted me onto it.  He was walking right into my trap.  I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and spread my knees apart, pulling him between them.

He finally kissed me, and I kept one hand balled around a handful of his shirt, while I let the other one roam for awhile.  He didn't even seem to notice when that hand left him, because he was too busy pulling my breasts from my bra.  He did notice, however, when I dumped the glass of water on his head that had been on the table just behind me.

"You manipulative, sneaky little--"

"Careful, Cole," I warned him with a smirk, cutting him off before the rest of whatever he was going to say came out.  "Now we're both wet."

He laughed and took the now-empty glass out of my hand and set it in the sink.  Then he came back, unhooked my bra and yanked it off, and kissed me hard.  After several seconds, he tugged me off the table, turned me around, and bent me over the top of the table.  He kept me there with one hand resting lightly between my shoulder blades.  A signal to stay, but not enough pressure to keep me there if I didn't want to be.  This wasn't some weird 50 Shades of Grey bullshit, just some enthusiastic, hair-pulling (I hoped), slightly rough sex.  His other hand yanked my underwear down, then quickly busied itself between my thighs.  It wasn't long at all before I was squirming against the top of the table.

He moved both hands from me, leaving me breathlessly sprawled over the table, and I heard his zipper, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper.  Then his hand was on my hip, lightly caressing it, and he was pressing into me.  I groaned as he sunk into me excruciatingly slowly, then pulled out, just as slowly.  He kept going like that until I was writhing against the table and begging him to just fuck me.  Then he leaned forward, grabbed my hair hard enough that my back arched and my upper body lifted slightly off the table, and slammed hard into me.  5 seconds of that was enough to send me rocketing over the edge again, and I sunk back against him as my legs gave out, refusing to hold me up a second longer.  He picked me up and sat me back down on the table and we finished off that way at a much easier, gentler pace.

I dropped my head onto his shoulder (the closest he was going to get to post-sex cuddling from me) and he stroked my back, sliding his thumb up and down along my spine.  "Would you have a threesome with me?" he asked.

My head popped up and I glared at him.  He was, of course, smirking at me.  "No," I snapped.  "I'm going to regret telling you that story, aren't I?"  I pushed him away from me, and he laughed as he bent to retrieve his jeans from the floor.

"Can't blame me for asking, can you?"  He held out a hand to help me off the table and I just stared at him and hopped down on my own.  He shook his head and chuckled as I collected my clothes and got dressed again.


It took almost another week, but the next Thursday, I suddenly realized that I was okay.  Really, truly okay--not just telling myself that I was.  For the first time in three weeks (longer actually, if you counted the week that we were in limbo) I didn't feel empty.  I didn't feel like I was going to throw up every time Damien popped into my head.  Don't get me wrong...I still missed him and I still loved him, but I finally felt like I was starting to move forward instead of just dragging myself hopelessly through each day.  I felt so okay, in fact, that I deleted Tinder completely.

On Friday, I went to the gym with Liv.  I missed having a workout buddy.  I stayed for an hour instead of two or more, as I had been.  I even let her drag me to the grocery store with her afterwards, and I realized that she was right--grocery shopping on Friday evenings was kind of awesome.

When I got home, I put my groceries away and took a shower.  When I got out, I had a text waiting for me from Cole, and I realized with surprise that I didn't have a strong desire to see him.  I kind of just wanted to relax.  I texted him back, requesting a rain check, then pulled on some comfortable clothes.  Minutes later, my phone rang, and I grabbed it, figuring I'd have to deny Cole's booty call again.

I did a double-take when I saw that the person calling was Damien.  I hesitated a second, and then I answered.  "Hello?"

"Kinsley," he said.  "I need to see you."

"Why?" I asked.  It came out sounding a lot more hostile than I meant it to.

"Because I fucked up, and I'm sorry, and I miss you."  I was silent.  I didn't know what to say.  Up until--quite literally--36 hours ago, I would have been thrilled.  But I had spent 3 weeks getting past the point where every time my phone vibrated, I hoped it was him.  I'd finally gotten there, and this motherfucker is going to come out of nowhere?  "Kinsley?" I'd been silent for too long, and now he was nervous.

"Jesus, Damien, what the fuck?" I snapped.  "This is bullshit."

"I know," he replied, even though he couldn't possibly know exactly what I was referring to.  "I know it is.  You're right.  But I've had too much time to think, and I was wrong and I really, really want to see you."  Again, I was silent.  I considered this.  What if we could make this work?  What if he was willing to cut down time with his family?  Did I even want him to do that?  What did I want?  "Kinsley?"

"I just need a fucking minute to think," I growled.   I was surprised how angry I was.  I was pissed.  But I almost couldn't believe he was putting up with the way I was talking to him.  Back to thinking.  If I went and saw him, and it turned out that he couldn't actually give me what I wanted, I was setting myself up for another disastrous few weeks.  I mean, I had just deleted Tinder, I didn't want to have to download it again.  But if I didn't go...would I always wonder?  I missed him.  I missed him more than I realized I was capable of missing anyone, and as amazing as fucking Cole had been, it couldn't compare to having sex with someone I loved.  Because I did love Damien.  Ugh.  "I'll be there in a half hour," I said.  I hung up without waiting for him to answer.

I decided not to change out of my short cotton shorts and tight tank top, but I did put a bra on at least.  I brushed my teeth and my hair and put on eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss.  And then I left.

The whole drive there, I was nervous.  My hands were sweating and my stomach was flipping.  I still wasn't sure what I wanted out of this.  Closure?  Reunification?  Sex with him one last time?  I also kind of just wanted to fucking yell at him.

He opened the door before I even made it all the way up the walk.  I stopped on his front porch and we stared at each other for a few seconds.  "How are you?" he asked, and I thought it was the stupidest question.

"I'm fucking pissed at you," I replied.  "I was finally starting to feel normal again.  Finally!  And then you had to call me and interrupt my normal and make me feel all sorts of feelings that I never wanted to feel, but you made me feel anyway.  And for a little while, I even liked it!  But then we fucked it all up.  I fucked up, you fucked up, we both fucked up.  We fucked it up, and then I didn't want to feel those goddamn feelings anymore, and I was finally getting them to go away, and now I'm here and I still fucking feel them, and I hate you for it."

"Do you want to come in?"

I blinked at him.  "Are you kidding?"

"No.  You have every right to be angry at me.  But why stand on my front porch and yell at me when you could come in and yell at me?"

"You are infuriating," I huffed, pushing past him.

"Why?"

"I just stood on your goddamn front porch and yelled at you.  I swore at you.  I told you I was pissed at you, and I told you I hate you, and you're calm and reasonable and I fucking hate it!  I fucking hate that I am so worked up about you that I'm making a goddamn scene like an idiotic high schooler, and you are calm as can be.  Do you feel anything?  Ever?"

"I feel a lot of things," he said evenly.  "I feel all the same things you're feeling, actually.  I also miss you a lot, and I love you, and I feel like an idiot and a shitty person for the way I handled things, especially at the end.  And I don't want it to be the end.  But I don't get worked up, and you know that.  That's not me, that's not how I operate.  Is that what you want?  For me to stand here and yell at you?"

"No," I admitted.  The idea of Damien getting angry and yelling was actually terrifying, and I started feeling ashamed for the way I was acting.  But then I raised my eyes back to him.  "So what, is that just another thing you 'won't change'?"

He took a step towards me, and when I didn't move, he took another step.  "Maybe you need an outlet for your anger," he suggested.  I narrowed my eyes.  "And I can show you my feelings."  Then he kissed me.  And let me tell you, he kissed me like he'd never fucking kissed me before.  His tongue sought mine aggressively, and when I reached for him and gripped his arms tightly, he pushed a hand into my hair, and then took hold of a handful, tightly.

"Mmmm," I groaned, as he pulled my head to the side and nipped at my earlobe.  This was usually as as rough as he would push it--a little bit of hair pulling.  Nothing crazy, just a good grip on a handful of my hair.  He knew I loved it, and he wasn't worried about hurting me, so he was perfectly comfortable with it.   He moved his mouth down my neck, sucking and biting as the fingers of his other hand dug hard into my hip.  "Jesus, Damien," I hissed, pressing my hips against his as his teeth raked my collarbone.

I pushed against him, backing him up until he bumped against the back of his couch.  He spun us around so that we were both facing the same direction, and I was pressed up against the back of the couch.  His hands were up my shirt, shoving my bra up and out of the way.  I whimpered as he pinched and tugged on my nipples and kissed the back of my neck.  One hand stayed up my shirt while the other slipped down my shorts.  He stroked me twice before slipping a finger inside me.  I wiggled around to face him, disrupting his ministrations.  "This needs to go," I growled, tugging at his shirt.  He let me yank it up and he slipped it the rest of the way off.  I ran my hands from his waistband up over his tightly muscled abs and chest, pausing to dig my fingers into his chest.  He exhaled audibly and shut his eyes briefly.

"Bedroom, now," he commanded.  I smirked.  I loved bossy Damien.  Usually when he got demanding, he didn't have the actions to back it up, but tonight was different.  We made it halfway up the stairs before I turned and pressed him against the wall, kissing him hard.  I ground my hips against his, feeling how turned on he was.  I didn't think I could make it all the way to his bedroom.  Apparently he was having similar thoughts, because all of a sudden he was pulling my shorts over my hips.  He got two fingers inside me and his thumb on my clit, and I moaned and dug my nails into his chest.

The next thing I knew, I was on my knees on the stairs and he was two steps below me, pushing into me from behind.  I had a brief thought of how unsafe this was, but it quickly fled my brain as he sunk all the way into me, pulled out almost all the way, and slammed back in.  I came twice as he thrust furiously into me, but when he finished, I wasn't ready to be done.  I peeled myself off the stairs, grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards his bedroom.

We both laid on the bed and stared at each for several seconds, then I closed my eyes and kissed him.  My fury was gone, and I kissed him slowly, savoring the moment.  He held my face with both hands, one thumb brushing lightly across my cheekbone.  His other hand lifted, and his fingertips traveled my jawline, then down my throat, across my collarbone and lower still.  He cupped my breast and lightly brushed his thumb across my nipple, and in contrast to his rough touch just minutes earlier, this felt tender and somehow even more intense.  I slid my hand down his stomach and was surprised to find him hard again.  He groaned against my lips as I wrapped my hand around him and stroked him lightly.

Without breaking our kiss, he moved between my legs and guided himself into me.  This time, he moved slowly, and his hand in my hair didn't twist or pull.  I gripped his back but didn't dig my nails in.  He thrust slowly in and out of me for what felt like forever.  Sometimes he stopped moving and we just laid there kissing, with him still inside me.  I moaned into our kiss as he picked up his pace slightly and changed his angle so he could grind his pelvis against mine.  I broke our kiss for the first time, pressing my forehead to his and whispering, "fuck...Damien, ohhh...Jesus," and a few other random nonsensical syllables.  I felt the muscles in his back and legs tighten and knowing he was close sent me over the edge.  I moaned and my hips spasmed against his and then he shuddered and we were done.  We laid there silently, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

When he finally rolled off of me, I rolled with him so we both ended up on our sides, still facing each other.  My lips sought his and we shared a soft, lingering kiss.  Then I scooted down the bed a little so I could tuck my head under his chin, and I pressed my body against his.  I slid my leg between his and wrapped it around the bottom one.  I wormed one arm between him and the mattress so I could wrap both arms around him.

"Close enough?" Damien asked, laughing softly.

"No," I replied, my voice muffled by his chest.  He tightened his arms around me, holding me tightly, and finally, for the first time since my phone rang earlier this evening, I relaxed.  I melted against him, my body molding to his, and I breathed deeply.  He smelled like soap, and sweat, and sex.  "I'm still mad at you," I mumbled.

"Okay," he replied, stroking my back lightly with his thumb.  "I'm still mad at you, too."

"Good," I said.  "You should be."

"I don't want to be."

"I know," I responded.  I stayed where I was a few seconds longer, then I rolled away.  Damien rolled onto his back and I shifted so I could put my head on his chest.  I still wrapped my top leg over his right leg, the one closest to me, and stretched my right arm across his torso, wrapping it around him.  I wanted to be touching as much of him as possible.

"Are you staying tonight?" he asked me.

That was a good question.  Was I?  Whether or not I stayed seemed like a big fucking deal right now.  If I stayed, I was acknowledging that I wanted to be with him.  To stay with him.  To fix this.  If I left without acknowledging what just happened, I was leaving it up in the air.  If I left and said goodbye, we were done for good.  What did I want?

I was surprised to realize that not even the smallest part of me wanted to leave things open ended, the way he had done to me.  I could kind of be a vindictive bitch, so that surprised me.  If I stayed, I was opening myself back up to be hurt like that again.  If I left, I was quite possibly closing myself off forever.  I knew myself well enough to know that.  I took a deep, shaky breath.

"Yeah, I'm staying tonight."