To Love, Honor, and Frame

by OyHumbug

It took Beth six hours to start having doubts about her brand new marriage, six days to realize she had made a mistake, six weeks to figure out that her husband was already cheating on her, six months to give up on her marriage, and six years to finally and definitely do something about it.

2. August

August

There was a kid who used to help Rio.

God, she sounded old… even in her own head. Beth wasn't even thirty yet. Oh, she was knocking loudly on that door, seeing as how she was just a year shy, but that didn't mean she needed to consider anyone younger than her a child either. Spending so much time with Rio, though, made Beth feel her age… and more - not because, in comparison, he seemed so much more fresh-faced and youthful - the opposite, in fact - but because he was several years younger than her but far more accomplished, much more rooted in adulthood, and certainly had not wasted the last six years - no, make that more than a decade - of his life.

Her regrets, of which there were many, weren't the point, though. Beth's point was that, before she approached Rio with her… business proposal, there had been somebody who worked for him. Now, there was not. Beth had taken his place, Rio paying her ten dollars an hour under the table to work for, work with, him, and she could put in as many hours a day as she wanted, as she could. Already, Beth had saved over a thousand dollars, the cash hidden around the house in places that Dean would never think to look… let alone actually touch - like inside her boxes of tampons, taped on the underside of the carpet scrubber, packed around her sewing machine in its case, and pressed between the pages of her books. Beth's good fortune, however, only came at the misfortune of someone else.

She was feeling a little guilty.

And slightly amused… at her own expense. Because there she was, planning on stealing from her neighbors and setting up her husband to take the fall, but what Beth felt guilty about was playing a part in putting some eighteen year old out of work.

She and Rio were working side by side, trimming off the lower branches of Mrs. Abbott's gigantic rhododendrons, when Beth decided to ask, "there was a kid who used to help you. What happened to him?"

Rio didn't pause in his work to look at her, but she heard him snort in amusement. Whether that was at her for referring to someone closer to her own age than an actual child as a 'kid' or for Beth just now - after almost two weeks of mowing lawns, and weeding flower beds, and putting down mulch - expressing concern that she had cost someone else their job. "Don't worry about him. I put Eddie on somethin'... a little more suited to his particular set of skills."

That made Beth stop mid-snip. Turning to face a smirking Rio, she stared, mouth open in shock, as he challenged her, "what, you didn't think this - beautifyin' Pleasantville for a bunch of middle class white dudes - was the only game I had goin,' did you? Nah," he laughed, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Detroit's a big place, Sweetheart - lots of opportunities for… entrepreneurial minds like my own."

Beth immediately wanted a list of every scam, every business, every deal Rio was running, because maybe she could be a part of them, too; maybe she could make them better… just like she was his lawn care cover and his eventual burglary ring - not that Rio had actually confirmed that Beth was right in her assumptions or accepted her offer of partnership. In fact, since that afternoon in her kitchen, he swiftly changed the topic as soon as she even hinted towards security codes or thievery. Instead, when the equipment wasn't running and they could actually talk, he seemed more interested in getting to know her. A little part of Beth liked to think that maybe her ever-growing attraction towards him wasn't entirely unreciprocated, but she knew it was more realistic to think that he was studying her, analyzing her, trying to figure out if she could be trusted.

Maybe it was time for Beth to follow his lead. "Oh?" She tried to make her tone sound casual, sound curious… but just in a cursory way, not like she wasn't practically salivating to crawl inside of that entrepreneurial mind of his. "What else do you… dabble in?"

He snorted - obviously not appreciating her word choice - but turned back to the task at hand without comment. Instead of providing Beth with an answer, Rio posed his own question. "So, how'd you get into all of this flower shit anyway? You help your mom or your grandma growin' up?"

It was so similar to her own speculation about his gardening knowledge that it dulled Beth's disappointment in his refusal to let her further into his life, his world, his business. "That would have been nice - to share something like that with someone in my family, but no. My childhood wasn't...," Beth found herself admitting as she looked up and out into the picture-perfect cul-de-sac, "... this."

"Yeah, what was it then?"

It was only his genuine curiosity - concern with absolutely no hint of derision - that made Beth divulge, "it was grandparents I never met; a dad who took off when the realities of being a husband and a father became too much… or maybe not enough, I never did quite figure that out; a clinically depressed mother; and eventually, a pregnant, teenage sister. It was bill collectors calling… when the phone wasn't shut off; constantly dodging concerned neighbors and teachers; cooking, and cleaning, and sewing, and mothering all three of us - my mom, my sister, and myself - just enough to get by. It was after school and weekend shifts at the Dairy Queen that was within walking distance of my house and endless worry and dread about Annie, about my mom, about what would happen to them when I left, if I left, and what would happen to me if I didn't."

There had been Ruby and eventually Dean as well, but those relationships - one so simple and pure but rich and right, while the other was seemingly more complicated and corrosive by the day - Beth wasn't ready to share with Rio. Dating, then marrying, and now hopefully soon divorcing Dean was too fraught for… whatever it was that she and Rio were building between them. Despite the fact that it was in part Dean's actions which pushed Beth towards Rio and Dean who she planned to make their patsy, he mattered and factored into her future so little that Beth simply couldn't be bothered. Ruby on the other hand? Well, Beth wasn't ready yet to bring Ruby into the place that Rio occupied in her life, because Beth feared what her best friend's reaction would be to everything Beth was thinking about, feeling for, and doing with Rio, and she wanted to continue with him more than she wanted Ruby's approval. Telling Rio about her best friend just seemed like a slippery slope for Ruby to find out about her… business partner (in crime).

After allowing her words to sit between them for several minutes while they worked in companionable silence once more - the break from talking a way to acknowledge the gravity and weight of what she had just confessed, Rio eventually asked, "so, where'd the green thumb come from?"

"Necessity," Beth answered succinctly. Rio didn't press for more information, but she felt the need to elaborate anyway. "My in-laws insisted upon a house in the suburbs, upon bedrooms to fill, and a yard with trees to climb, and a lawn big enough to toss around the old pigskin, play catch, and set up a rink in the winter for the all Boland hockey team I'm supposed to just pop out and give them like its nothing. But then no one insisted upon paying for someone to take care of that house, that yard, that lawn, and they certainly weren't interested in doing the work themselves, so I figured it out. I checked out some books from the library, and I used my allowance money to buy some second-hand gardening tools and equipment from my neighbors when they cleaned out their garages for the annual community rummage sale."

"Self taught, huh? I can respect that."

And why did that - his respect - hit her so squarely in the chest? It made Beth's breath catch, and heat flare outwards, starting low in her belly and then blooming, bright and bold, until even her fingertips were sizzling with awareness and pleasure. To temper the warm rush of pride, she confessed, "it took me a few years to really figure out what I was doing, and I made plenty of mistakes along the way."

"Like what?"

Grimacing at the very memory, Beth irritably said, "trumpet vine."

Rio laughed, obviously understanding exactly why those two words, that one plant, was so very frustrating, and in that moment, Beth felt… connected to him in a way that was new and exciting, scary yet exhilarating, too. "That's why I live downtown. In a loft with exposed brick and high ceilings. My greenspace is a few succulents on the table and the trees I can see far off in the distance out my windows."

Trumpet vine really was that awful. More importantly, though, in those few sentences, Rio had shared with Beth something about himself, something personal. It wasn't his address, and it wasn't a listing of his investments… as she had wanted, but it wasn't insignificant either. Their burgeoning relationship - whatever it was - was so imbalanced, partly because he was observant, and she was so wanting to be seen. But it was also because of circumstances. Rio, unprompted and voluntarily, giving Beth enough about his home for her to picture it in her mind was more reassuring to her than if he had put his hand out to her, shaking on their unspoken deal.

Smiling softly, gently, to herself, Beth commented, "it sounds nice… your place."

"It's a'ight."

It was also exactly what Beth, years before, had pictured for herself, exactly what she had wanted, when Kenneth and Judith had offered to buy her and Dean their first home as a wedding gift… only Beth had never quite been able to picture Dean in such a place. Rio on the other hand? Not only could Beth see him living in such a loft, but she could see herself there, too.

With him.

Why was that thought scarier, not to mention far more risky, than the laundry list of crimes she was fully prepared and pledged to commit?

!

"You've seen Missy Myers, right?" It was a rhetorical question, because Beth already knew, for the heist, Rio had eyes on everyone. Plus, she really didn't want to hear his emphatic confirmation… for reasons better left unexplored. So, she didn't even pause for breath before continuing, "would you say that she's a 36D?"

Really, Missy was the only woman left who fit Harlo… or who Harlo would fit. But Beth didn't know her, just of her. She'd seen her around, but Missy was relatively new to the street, and Beth wasn't exactly everyone's favorite neighbor. She used to think it was because the other women could tell that she didn't really belong there, that she really wasn't one of them, but she was starting to suspect their cold shoulders and side glances were more because of Dean than Beth herself. She hadn't minded their standoffish approach… until now.

Rio flickered a strange look in Beth's direction. It was a cross between exasperation, confusion, and curiosity. They were standing side by side, pruning Mrs. Karpinsky's prized rose bushes, and Beth was never more glad of her fastidiousness when it came to protection against the sun. The wide brimmed, straw hat she wore obscured her face and prevented Rio from getting a good look at her. Or her expression. Because a poker face she did not have… at least, not around him. With a snort, he challenged, "what's up with you suburban ladies and your alliterative names?"

Of course, he couldn't just give her a straight answer for once. And two. Missy Myers made two names with alliteration. Total. "Is that why you insist upon calling me Elizabeth?"

He ignored her. "Even if Missy is short for somethin' - and, damn, I hope it is, it's probably just short for Melissa… which isn't any better."

Beth realized something. "You know, I don't even know what your last name is."

"And you don't need to."

"For all I know, Rio might not even be your real first name."

"You think if I was going to have an alias for this job, I wouldn't choose something a little more… white?"

Beth just decided to let the topic of Rio's name drop. For now. After all, it wasn't the point of their conversation, and there were only so many spent blooms for them to prune. "Well, my maiden name is Marks. It's not like women choose who to marry based upon their future husband's last name. I'm sure Missy was the same."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should." He must have read the bewilderment in her head tilt, because Rio actually clarified, "pick husbands based on their names. It would've saved you from Boland."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't be here, talking to you and contemplating what would be more productive: having this conversation with you or driving rose thorns underneath my fingernails."

Sounding resigned, Rio told her, "ask your question."

"Missy Myers: 36D?"

He then smirked, and Beth just knew that his response wasn't actually going to answer anything. "Never heard of her."

Okay, she could work with that. Maybe Rio didn't know her name. He knew the names of his customers, and the names of everyone Mrs. Karpinsky gossiped about, but maybe the old battleaxe was slow to get the dirt on Missy and her family. But surely, even if Rio didn't know Missy, he'd laid eyes on her. "She lives down the block in the yellow house with the gray shutters?" When Rio showed no recollection, she continued, "paved driveway but blacktop, not concrete. And there's not much of a garden - mainly just boxwoods. I'm not sure if Missy doesn't have an interest or hasn't had the chance to put her stamp on the place yet. They just moved in this past spring, and…."

"And you can tell me everything about her and her crib, but I'm still not gonna know her or how big her tits are."

But that didn't… make sense? Rio might not have said as much - he never did, but he made it clear that, just as Beth had been watching him, observing him, he had his eyes on her, too, before they actually met. She thought it was because of the job, because even if she wasn't a target, she could still be a problem. But if that was the case, then Rio would know who Missy Myers was. The fact that he didn't meant that… Beth wasn't the rule; she was the exception. It was that realization that left her vulnerable enough that, when he posed his next query, she responded without thought.

"Why you worried about some other woman's bra size, anyway? Settin' the hubby up to take the fall for us isn't enough? You want to screw him over further by screwin' one of his side pieces?"

Beth scoffed. "God no! Even if I wasn't straight, I'd have absolutely no interest in Dean's sloppy seconds. No, it's just Harlo 36D is the last code I need to figure out."

"Wait, I thought we were talkin' about Missy? Who the hell is Harlo?"

"I think Missy is Harlo." Injecting more confidence into her voice, Beth rephrased her statement. "No, I know that Missy is Harlo. She's the only person who makes sense for Harlo 36D. I just wanted confirmation before I…."

Rio stopped working. With a calm that belied his sudden agitation, he turned to face her, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm gonna need you to reassure me, Elizabeth, that our entire plan - your entire plan that you sold me on so that I'd let you in for a small cut - isn't based upon a bunch of lingerie styles and cup sizes?"

"Well, it isn't now," she denied, rolling her eyes in an attempt to come across as nonchalant and relaxed, in control. "I figured it out."

"You figured it out," he parrotted, slightly mocking her.

"Women just know these things, Rio. And we talk about them, too. We know ourselves and our own bodies, and when women get together we complain and we compare. So, yes, I figured it out. It wasn't difficult at all."

And it hadn't been. Depending upon the other woman's chest size, Beth either used the excuse that her younger and much smaller cupped sister couldn't afford a good bra, and Beth wanted to buy her some for her birthday; or that she herself was tired of the back pain, the challenge of finding clothes that actually fit, and just the general discomfort and inconvenience of her breasts, so she was looking into a reduction and admired her neighbor's proportions. The women on her street were more than willing to brag about their expensive lingerie - some of which Beth's own husband had purchased for them - or accept her compliments… even if Beth herself wasn't actually accepted.

"Missy is just new, and I haven't spent much time with her. I thought you could verify my judgement, but if that's not something you're capable of, I'll confirm some other way."

"Look, for me, tits are either too small or just right," Rio admitted with a leering smirk.

"What about too big," Beth wanted to know.

"There's no such thing, Sweetheart," he denied, eyes glued pointedly and appreciatively on her chest. The moment of blatant attraction didn't last long, though, before Rio wiped his face of any warmth, humor, and patience. When he next spoke to her, he was downright raw and biting. "There's also no such thing as you failin' to live up to your end of our deal. You said you could get me and my guys into a dozen houses, and if anyone would take the fall for it, it'd be your husband. Now, I'm findin' out that your security codes ain't nothin' but a fuckboy's shopping list. You overplayed your hand, Elizabeth, and you made promises I ain't sure you gonna be able to keep. And if you can't keep your promises, then we're gonna have problems, yeah?"

Putting down her pruning shears and taking off her hat, Beth turned so that she was facing Rio. Looking him in the eye, she said, "fine. Then I'll do the job with you. How's that for reassurance?"

As he licked his lips, running his teeth over the bottom one, Rio nodded slowly. "A'ight, Ma. You wanna play Bonnie, I ain't stoppin' you."

"Now who's giving me an alliterative name," Beth challenged, returning them to safer, calmer, more friendly waters. "Bonnie Boland."

"You keepin' that prick's name after you divorce his ass?"

Picking up her shears and hat in the same motion, Beth returned to her work. "Absolutely not."

"Back to Elizabeth Marks, then?"

"Well, I mean, what else would I use," Beth wondered, slightly baffled by why that was even in question. "Even when we pull off this job, the idea is to remain completely anonymous, not become infamous. I don't think I'll have reason to just go by my first name anytime soon."

"You could remarry," Rio suggested.

And wasn't that a thought. Beth wasn't even divorced yet. Hell, she still needed to hire a lawyer, leave Dean, and slap together some semblance of a life for herself for when she was finally on her own for the first time. The last thing on her mind was dating… let alone getting married again. And yet here was this unbelievably attractive, younger man - a career criminal who, in all likelihood, had no intention of ever settling down himself - insinuating that she'd be someone else's wife before the ink was even dry on the divorce papers from her first marriage. Even with Beth stepping up and taking an active role in the heist, he still didn't see her as capable or secure enough to stand on her own. That stung.

"I can finish this by myself," Beth avoided Rio's idea and his judgement, dismissing him. "You should go start on Mr. Ackerman's lawn."

Rio left without another word, without even a glance in Beth's direction.

!

They were lingering.

Any uncomfortable or awkward energy that had existed between them after Rio found out about Beth needing to match lingerie sets to Dean's mistresses before she could match actual houses to their security codes was completely gone, and Rio seemed to trust her once more. He still refused to tell her about what would happen after they robbed her neighbors. Would they simply divvy up the loot according to cut percentages, or would he sell the items first, paying Beth her share afterwards? Who were the other men they were working with? Did he have a go-to guy to unload household goods and fine jewelry? What other irons did he have in the fire, and why did he need money so badly that he was willing to play a role that was beneath him just so he could knock off a dozen suburban McMansions?

Despite all of her questions, though, Beth somehow trusted Rio to not only pull the job off but to also see her through it unscathed. He just… he had this air of supreme confidence and competence - like, no matter what he tried his hand at, he would always, ultimately, succeed. If that wasn't currently to her advantage, she might have found it irksome. It was certainly a daunting standard to live up to, to try and emulate.

But with every day she spent working for and with him, Beth's own assertiveness started to come back to her. Or maybe she was just now finding it for the first time. After all, a childhood spent living in her parents' shadows and then an adolescence purposefully hiding from the world's curious and judgemental gaze meant that, before marriage to Dean completely stripped Beth of any agency, she'd been too scared of anyone learning her truths to allow any real poise or mettle to take root within her.

Now, though? Now, she had a plan - not just to work with Rio and steal from her neighbors in order to fund her divorce but beyond that. Beth had a list of things she needed to do, and then she had another list of the things she wanted. Some things were big and obvious like a job and a place to live, but others were smaller, personal, and even a little obscure. She was going to buy the cleaning brands she liked and not those that Judith had always used and that Dean expected. She planned to grow her hair back out again from its current shoulder length, and she thought it'd be nice to get a pet - maybe a dog. But most of all, Beth craved purpose - something that she could be good at; no, not just good, but better at than anybody else.

"Who's that dumbass fool puttin' sweatpants on over his suit in your driveway? Your husband have a weird brother?"

Redirecting her gaze - she had quietly, contentedly been observing the sky deepen from the violet of twilight into the navy of night from where she and Rio were leaned up against a particularly large maple tree, Beth watched as Dean hopped around on one foot as he changed from his dress shoes into sneakers. It wasn't that she didn't know who Rio was talking about. She didn't need to see Dean to confirm his identity. After all, he was an only child, and it wasn't like he was particularly close with any of his cousins… except for when he suddenly wanted something from them. But she was curious to know what Dean looked like through someone else's eyes. Did they see him the way she did? If not, was he more, or was he less?

"No, that's Dean."

"That's the guy screwin' half this street?"

Before responding, Beth took a hearty drink from her glass of lemonade. After they finished working for the day, she had suggested Rio stay for the refreshment, not ready to leave behind who she was when she was near him for the Beth she became once more the moment she stepped over the threshold of her home and resumed the mantle of Mrs. Dean Boland. Shrugging, she nonchalantly stated, "apparently."

"I don't see it."

Beth watched as Dean glanced around him, looking to see if anyone had caught sight of him yet, at the same time, also somehow completely oblivious to his surroundings. Because he didn't even notice her or Rio. Once he was satisfied that he was in the clear, he took off down the street at a loping pace. He didn't go far - less than even a quarter of a mile - before he was darting towards Sally Hepowitz's side door. Arnold Hepowitz, Sally's husband, was an ER doctor. He worked long, overnight hours, and the couple's small children had a set schedule that Sally never deviated from, making it all too easy for Dean to enter their security code and slip inside of both the Hepowitz's house… and inside of Mrs. Hepowitz.

Once he was out of sight, Beth explained, "it's not actually about Dean. He's just filling a role in a fantasy. It's the risk, the illicitness of an affair, the forbidden. And I'm sure the expensive lingerie he gives all of them helps, too."

Rio snorted in derision. "The price of his admission."

Well, that was certainly one way of putting it.

"But, nah, that's not what I meant," Rio continued before Beth could respond. "I don't get why any man… but especially one like that… would screw around when he has someone like you at home."

And then Beth found herself telling Rio things about her marriage that not even Ruby knew. A part of it was that she didn't want Rio to feel sorry for her - the poor, unloved wife forced to endure her husband's wandering eye and dick as he slept with every woman but her. But another part of Beth just… didn't care anymore. If she could admit that her marriage had been a mistake and that it was over, then she needed to face why without shame.

"Our relationship has never been very… sexual."

"Yeah right," Rio denied, scoffing. "You're hot as fuck, and he obviously has no problem getting it up."

"I'm not attracted to him - never have been… at least, not in that way," Beth confessed. "I married Dean because I thought he'd be able to give me the security that my own family never could and because he was the complete opposite of my own father. Dean Boland doesn't have a creative, romantic, or idealistic bone in his body, and, at the time, I found that reassuring about him."

"Trust me, I don't need convincin' as to why that idiot we just saw jog by with running clothes over top of his work clothes has never been able to get you wet. But how he's not walkin' around that big, ol' house with a permanent stiffy for you is beyond me."

"Before we were married, I played hard to get. I told Dean I wanted to wait until marriage. At the time, the fact that he agreed and didn't pressure me made me think that he actually loved me. Now, I just know that he has screwed around for our entire relationship." Pausing in her explanation to take another sip, Beth felt the sour notes of the lemonade hit the back of her tongue. She salivated. But it was only in part due to the tartness of her drink. "Dean married me, because he wanted a mother - someone to take care of him and his home, his future children, someone to replace his own mother… now that he was leaving the nest, not a wife or a partner. Whatever attraction he might have felt for me before we said 'I do' faded away completely as soon as I was the woman doing his laundry and cooking his meals."

Beth didn't know what she expected from Rio after she finished describing her marriage to him as she saw it, but it certainly wasn't complete silence. For several minutes, they just sat there. Beth didn't even move - the courage she had found to share her personal history quickly morphing into regret and mortification. Rio must have just been indulging her, thinking they'd share a few laughs together at Dean's expense while throwing some compliments her way to make her feel better about herself. He didn't actually want or need to know the sob and/or cringeworthy story that was her marriage.

When he finally spoke, Rio's voice pulled Beth from her self-recriminations and humiliation with a start. "You mentioned babies." His voice was timid, not accusatory, cold instead of challenging. "What'll happen to me and my guys if, before the job goes down, you find yourself pregnant?"

He stood then, looming over Beth and forcing her to tip her head back so as to maintain eye contact with him. It was full night outside - the moon new and obscured by clouds, the streetlamps dimmed by the thick canopy of leaves above them, and his gaze was nearly as endless and dense as the dark, but Beth still found it with ease. "That would be impossible."

She and Dean had stopped sharing a bed just half a year into their marriage. At first, Beth offered him excuses. 'You work so hard, Dean, and I don't want to disturb your rest; I guess I fell asleep on the couch while waiting for the dryer to finish; this recipe is too temperamental for me to leave it overnight.' Plus, there was always the tried-and-true, cliched lady issues. All Beth had to do was cringe while holding her lower abdomen, and Dean was more than happy to not see her at all for a week, forget about sleeping next to or even with her. It didn't take long, though, for Dean to stop asking why she didn't come to bed, to stop caring where or if she slept at all.

"Right," Rio said tightly with a single, concise nod. Beth couldn't tell if he was accepting what she had told him or simply acknowledging it. Handing her his empty glass, Rio whispered, "goodnight, Elizabeth," before disappearing into the shadows.

Even after he was gone, though, the purr of his car signaling his departure, Beth remained under the tree. Slowly, she finished her own lemonade, hoping that, if Dean was actually going to be good at anything, it would be cheating on her, so he and Sally Hepowitz could manage to keep him away from home until Beth was fast asleep.

!

She should have been taking a bath or just standing under the hot, pounding spray of the showerhead, letting the heat and the pressure work some of the tightness from her muscles that were always exhausted and sore these days. And how was that fair? Beth was more physically active now, working for Rio, than she'd ever been in her life, yet she'd never felt so out of shape. She and formal, structured exercise were not friends. Even if she had been so inclined - and that's not saying she would be, she had never really had a chance to find out, her chest making anything involving running, or jumping, or even balance more difficult than the effort was worth. Even when she attempted to lose weight, thinking that maybe it would shrink her chest and make regular, routine exercise easier… amongst other things, the pounds came off elsewhere, and her breasts remained just as large, just as cumbersome, as always.

Maybe it was the varying work. Just when Beth and her body would get used to a certain task, she and Rio would be onto something different. The mowing remained constant, but everything else - the trimming, the pruning, the weeding, the raking, the planting - came and went. Her muscles couldn't settle into a routine. So, Beth seemed to live in a continual state of aches and pains. And maybe she would have cared more about her near constant discomfort if she wasn't also dealing with an overwhelming, incessant throbbing of a different sort as well.

Uncaring of the mess she would make of the floor - Beth cleaned it anyway, so she could very well dirty it up again if she wanted, she sat down directly in the center of the tub's exterior ledge. With the detachable showerhead already in hand, she spread her legs as wide as the bath would allow - her right foot braced against the porcelain base, while her left she lifted, angling it upwards and resting it against the interior, back corner of the lip that ran along the tiled wall. Beth wrapped her left hand around the ledge beside her thighs, scooted forward so that she was more dangling off the edge than sitting, and brought her right hand with the showerhead down between her ready, needy legs.

As soon as the water made contact with her center, Beth jerked - her hips rolling forward and her ass dropping into what could only be described as a squat. It took only a few moments before she felt the burning start up in her quads, but the discomfort from holding her body up in such a precarious, unnatural manner was distant, usurped by the pleasure that was rapidly building in her core.

The showerhead had four settings. The first was just a gentle rain, while the next three progressed until it became just one blunt, bruising burst by the fourth setting. Beth liked the third. It directed enough pressure against her clit that she didn't require a lot of warming up, which these days she didn't need anyway - what, with spending so much time with Rio who she found herself more and more attracted to with every day that went by and every new nuance she observed about him. But the third setting also didn't overstimulate her either. It was just right, which made her feel like Goldilocks… if Goldilocks was a redhead who went around looking for the best way to get herself off rather than a bowl of oatmeal.

Her arousal building, Beth could feel her climax approaching, but she just… couldn't get there. While pleasuring herself with the detachable showerhead was the quickest way for her to climax, it was also trickier than just laying back, spreading her legs, and rubbing her clit until that wave of warmth and tingly awareness swept through her body. She had to hold her right hand completely still, hitting her clit at just the exact angle. But it just felt so good, and her hips would start moving - thrusting, and rocking, and rolling as she sought more, her hungry cunt squeezing on nothing, and she would lose position, her orgasm slipping away from her. It would still be there, teasing her, beckoning her, but Beth would have to start again, hoping to find that perfect balance between enjoying the sensations the showerhead was giving her body but not faltering in her rhythm and balance.

It had taken a while for Beth to find her sexuality at all. As a teenager, when books, television shows, and movies told her that she should have been practically rabid with hormones, Beth had been too busy taking care of her family, working as many hours as she could at her part-time job, and going to school to worry about discovering what turned her on and what her body liked. Then, the next thing she knew, she was married to Dean, and it was quickly obvious that sex with her husband was not what turned her on or what she liked. Thankfully, Dean had little interest in what her body could do for him in the bedroom, instead more concerned about what she could make for him in the kitchen. And Beth would have thought that was it - that the disappointment that was sex with Dean was all that women experienced. It fit with what little her own mother had told her, and everyone knew that Hollywood exaggerated, that books were just fiction. The point was to sell a story, and what better way to incentivize women to buy than to make them think they could have the impossible?

But then Beth discovered smut.

Cooking for Dean, cleaning Dean's house, and washing Dean's clothes only took up so many hours in Beth's seemingly endless, boring days, and she could only watch so much daytime TV before she found herself even more bored than she had been before she turned on the television. It would have been nice if she could go somewhere, do something besides haunt the home that felt more like a prison. But her allowance didn't allow for any extras, for any indulgences, for any treats. And, besides, going somewhere would have required a car - either Beth driving herself somewhere or her paying someone else to take her where she wanted to go, and neither was really an option.

But books were free. When she was granted the use of Dean's car in order to run errands - to buy him food, to buy cleaning supplies for his house, to pick up his dry cleaning, Beth started to drop by the public library as well. Without time to really browse, to find books that interested her, Beth would just pick up whatever caught her eye. She would check out enough books so that, if she started one and she didn't like it, she could put it down again but still have plenty of other reading options. She knew that you weren't supposed to judge a book by its cover, but she only had time for visual appeal.

Books became her escape. She wasn't picky. As long as the story could take her away from her house, from her marriage, from Detroit, and from her life, then Beth would fall into the novel and not resurface until the oven timer or the front door opening forced her back into the real world. They helped - those moments when she could forget everything but what was on the page before her, and then one day the book she was reading really helped, and Beth never looked back.

God, she was already there. Eyes clenched shut - like that would somehow help her focus on her impending climax, Beth panted. And then her pant became a moan as her orgasm started to crest. At first, her voice started out low, and deep, and desperate, but the longer she hovered over that razor's edge - feeling hints of her pleasure but never quite falling completely into it, the higher her pitch climbed, until she was whining, nearly crying, in wild agony. It was like a fist of sparking, pulsating energy was clenched tight within her pussy, and she just needed it to let go, to unfurl and send that white hot pleasure-pain shooting throughout her body. But she was caught, stuck, and Beth didn't know what else to do, what else she needed, to get off.

This had never happened to her before.

Once she finally found out what she liked - better late than never, sometimes it felt like she was living in a near constant state of masturbation. Maybe she was just catching up for lost time, for missed orgasms, but Beth barely went a day without at least one release. In all likelihood, she realized that she probably had a really strong libido, the circumstances of her life keeping it dormant and her unaware.

Until she wasn't.

It happened about six months into her marriage… right around the time when Beth gave up on trying to make it work with Dean. He'd been at the dealership… or, at least, that's what Beth had assumed. With what she knew about him now, who knows where Dean ever was or what he was supposedly doing. But the point was that she was blissfully home alone and completely engrossed in a new book, one that took an unexpected but certainly not unwanted sensual turn. Beth was so riveted in the story that it took her an embarrassingly long time to notice the reactions in her own body.

Her breathing was elevated, and her skin was flushed and hot to the touch. She was squeezing and rubbing her legs together, her wet panties caught between them. She felt heavy, full and swollen, and tingly… there. Biting her bottom lip, Beth had switched her book from both of her hands to just her left, propping it up against her pointer, index, and ring fingers, while holding the pages open with her thumb and pinkie. Without taking her eyes from the page, she dropped her right hand down her body, unfastened her pants, and then slipped her hand underneath her jeans. Cupping herself, her palm encountered heat and came away damp. Beth found her own heartbeat… like that life giving organ was located between her legs and not in her chest.

She remembered allowing her body to just… react, to do what it instinctively was meant to do. On her next movement, Beth had dipped first just the tips of her fingers but then quickly her whole hand beneath the barrier of her panties. She split her puffy nether lips with a curious digit, gasping when it came away sticky and absolutely drenched. Rushing her hand down even further, Beth had pushed her middle finger as far as it could go inside of her quivering center, propped her knees up against the coffee table, settled the heel of her hand against her mound, grinding wantonly. As the characters in her book had passionate, fantastic sex, Beth fingered and rubbed herself to her very first orgasm.

"Oh god," she sobbed out, begging. It was starting to hurt - hovering on the edge of her climax for so long. Beth wasn't sure who or what she was imploring - her own body, the showerhead, the universe, but she knew she needed to cum and cum soon or else she might just combust from need and desire, from unobtained pleasure, from the torment of her unsatiated arousal. "Please, I just…," She dropped her hips even lower, and she moved the showerhead even closer to her greedy cunt. Beth bit her bottom lip in anticipation, in distress, but still she couldn't orgasm. "I need…."

"What do you need, Elizabeth," a silky smooth yet somehow still raspy voice - his voice - murmured in her ear. Beth would have thought she had conjured him there in her desperation to cum if it wasn't for the feeling of his lips dragging against the sensitive skin of her neck as he spoke. Immediately, goosebumps erupted along her arms, across her chest, down her legs, and she would have fallen from her perilous position - her left hand slipping and her weary, tender legs giving out beneath her - if it wasn't for the arm snaked around her waist. At the same time, he took the showerhead from her grip, turning it away from between her thighs. "What do you want?"

He either didn't need Beth to reply, because he already knew the answer, or like her, he simply couldn't wait any longer, because the next thing Beth knew, they were standing together in her bathtub - Rio naked and hard behind her, while he positioned her. His own legs kicked out her left, so that she was pressed up against the side of the tub, dropping Beth's height an inch or two, and then Rio wrapped his large, oh-so-capable right hand around her right thigh, picking her leg up and only placing it down once her foot was carefully balanced on the ledge. Rio then ran his touch up her body, deviating briefly to tease the crease of her hip with his long, lean fingers, until he found first her right and then her left hands, making her grip the shower curtain bar and the built-in soap dish, respectively. All of this took only a matter of seconds, and then without warning, or word, or warming up, Rio bent at the knees and then surged into her to the hilt, lifting Beth onto her toes. At the same time, Rio returned the stream of water from the detachable showerhead to her already aroused and abused clit.

Her orgasm was instantaneous, and it was shattering.

Screaming from the release, from the stretch, from the gratification, Beth clenched around Rio's pulsating, thick cock. She felt her juices gush down and out of her pussy, wetting him like he was the one with the showerhead fixated on him. Needing not only to feel Rio inside of her but also wanting to see it, Beth dropped her gaze down to where he was obscenely splitting her open and apart. Beth had never felt, never been, so full - far from it, in fact, and fleetingly she wondered how she was ever going to feel satisfied again with what her tiny fingers, insufficient toys, or a detachable showerhead could do for her.

And then Rio started moving. Without taking the jet of water away from her engorged, overstimulated clit, Rio dragged his cock down and out of her constricting walls, only stopping when just his head remained. As his left hand came up to play with her breasts, Rio absolutely pounded back into her, making Beth whimper. Fireworks burst behind her vision and inside of her cunt, lingering vestiges from her orgasm startling her or a new, smaller one catching her by surprise. Desiring even more from him, knowing it was greedy but uncaring, Beth turned her head to the side where she found Rio's mouth already parted and waiting for her. His tongue immediately slipped between her lips, fucking into her just as his cock continued to fuck into her drenched cunt.

But his mouth and his cock somehow followed different patterns. While his tongue tangled with her own, taking her mouth over and over again at a steady, drugging pace, Rio continued to slam himself up into her pussy but then dragged himself out so slowly that Beth would swear she could feel every vein, every single millimeter of his dick upon his withdrawal. With Rio claiming her pussy, claiming her mouth, her very breath, as his own and the detachable showerhead still raining constant stimulation down upon her now painful clit, all it took was Rio biting the nail of his thumb into her nipple before twisting and pulling the swollen numb outward as far as it would stretch for Beth to orgasm again. This time, she just groaned through her release - a guttural, agonized wall of sound that only ended when black shadows started to edge her vision.

Beth might have lost consciousness for a second, but it didn't take Rio long to fuck her back to awareness. He was still punishingly hard inside of her sore and raw yet still somehow wet and wanting pussy, and he still refused to take the showerhead away from her mound for even just a moment. The water had long since gone cold, yet her skin was so fevered that, after the water slicked away from her cunt, it felt hot once again, burning her once with its icy bite and then a second time when it steamed off of her inflamed body.

Not understanding where she found the presence of mind to even contemplate, let alone act, on what she wanted… or how, after such mind-shattering, life shattering, orgasms, she was still able to want at all, Beth let go of the built-in soap dish. Briefly, she paused to take hold of, to tease, to torture the breast unattended to by Rio's talented touch. But that wasn't it; that wasn't what she needed to cum one more time and hard enough that she'd be able to pull and drag Rio along with her. So, Beth trailed her fingers away from her chest and down her quivering with already spent pleasure and pooling anew arousal abdomen only to stop when her questing digits landed upon where Rio's plundering cock was ramming into her and breaking her apart over, and over, and over, and over again.

Beth caressed them, learning and memorizing what they felt like when joined together. She felt how tender her pussy lips now were after Rio's continued ravaging. For the slightest of moments, she whispered the pad of just her pinky finger over her poor, overexposed and overstimulated, abraded, yet still craving clit, but it was too much and not enough at the same time, so she returned to where Rio's cock was fucking into her sopping cunt. She could hear them - not their breathing, not their moans, and sobs, and coos of pleasure, but them: his cock taking her pussy.

Splitting her fingers, Beth placed two on either side of Rio's dick. On every stroke, she rubbed against him, and when he was balls deep inside of her, completely rooted inside and refusing to move from where his head pushed up against and stimulated her cervical wall, Beth would massage the exposed undersides of her pussy lips from where Rio's dick had them pressed outwards. She came almost immediately from these new sensations, Rio's own release - the hot surge of cum shooting inside of her and then slowly trickling back out over both of them - making Beth's orgasm just that much more overwhelming and all consuming.

She wasn't sure how long they just stood there - Rio wrapped completely around her and Beth still mostly prone in the position in which he had directed her pliant body. Rio turned off the water at the same time as he slipped his cock from her cunt, making Beth keen and letting the now dry detachable showerhead fall from his grip to clatter noisily against the porcelain walls of the bathtub. Neither of them moved to right it. Instead, he sank them both down to lay in the empty tub - Beth's ass pressed up against his now soft yet still impressive cock, her hips snug between his own.

Laying back against his chest, Beth brought her hands to Rio's legs, running them up and down the outside of his leanly muscled, long thighs. His own hands gravitated towards her pussy and her breasts - the right gently cupping her… like he wanted to hold their cum inside of her or at least catch it when it inevitably dripped out, while the left's grip alternated between playful and possessive. Despite how big his hands were, Rio couldn't hold even one of her breasts in its entirety, and he seemed to take that as a challenge - his touch constantly shifting as he sought out every last freckle and mapped her pale, milky, heavy flesh.

It was only then that Beth realized that, when Rio had first touched her, when he had whispered in her ear, he was already naked. He had slipped inside of her house, inside of her bathroom, without her noticing, and then he had slipped inside of her. The thought of him watching her as she pleasured herself caused a new flame of arousal to spark deep within her center. Frankly, it shocked Beth. After cumming so many times and so intensely, she thought her body would be satisfied for quite some time, but just thinking about Rio wanting her, maybe even fisting himself while she attempted to get off on a detachable showerhead and imagining it was him instead, made Beth wet. And Rio knew it, too. He could feel it.

Now, the question was: what was he going to do about it?