by Lori L. Otto
“What?” I ask, pushing up slightly on my elbows and turning my head to look at him. I watch as his lips move down further, over my rear, his kisses close together. He stops at a spot right where my outer hamstring begins. I feel his teeth again, and jump slightly at the ticklish sensation, falling into my pillow and burying my head in it.
“Then I found this little guy one day when you were sleeping.” He presses his lips against it a few more times.
Smiling, I lift my head to speak again. “So are all the freckles good?”
“One more,” he says as he wedges one knee in between my thighs, and then the other. I watch him, curious. He starts to nudge my right leg, forcing me onto my side. He holds my leg at an angle in front of him and kisses a patch of skin just above the back of my knee. He helps me onto my back and places my leg onto the bed gently before he reaches for his wallet on the nightstand. He tosses it carelessly on the bed, but within reach. “Not yet,” he says when he sees my eager expression.
“But–” And then I shut up. His thumb has returned. His fingers, too. They’re long and strong and find their destination immediately. One hand busy conducting its own symphony with my body as its sole instrument, his other arm tucks beneath my shoulders and brings my mouth to his.
His chaotic kisses return as I feel my arousal ascending to heights I’m not familiar with. I claw at his back and whimper with desire and pleasure until I finally turn away from him, letting out frenzied cries as he nips at my neck and ear. After the repressed tension is finally released, he removes his hand and puts one of his legs over mine and starts to move it against me, and the excitement immediately begins to build again. Jon puts his hand on my rear and holds my body close to his so I can’t escape the building friction. I’m grateful, but I want him. All of him. My hand touches the leather of his old wallet, and my fingers fumble around until I find the condoms. I grip them tightly, with the fitted sheet, too, as a swelling high overtakes my senses again.
Then I let go of everything–the condoms, the sheet, my inhibitions–falling into my own Jon-induced nirvana, hoping to stay there forever.
In addition to a never-ending string of expletives, cries and gasps, I think I tell Jon it’s the best orgasm I’ve ever had. I’m hoarse by the time I attempt to express my appreciation verbally, and decide it’s not enough.
By touch, my fingers find the condoms again. Jon shifts, putting his hand on top of mine. I open my heavy eyelids and try to focus on him. He has the most self-satisfied smile on his face that I have ever seen.
“Ever?” he asks, squeezing my hand.
I simply nod, trying to moisten my lips with my tongue, but my mouth is totally dry.
“Let me help you with that,” he says, first taking my top lip between his, and then repeating with my bottom lip, wetting them lightly. Still parched, I hold his head to mine and kiss him fully in an effort to rehydrate. Eventually, he reaches to the night stand, producing a small glass of water.
“Where’d that come from?” I ask with a raspy voice before taking a sip, wondering if he wants any.
“I planned. I know your needs. You should know that.”
“Yeah, you do,” I agree, blushing. After he declines my offer to share the water, I drink the rest of it, feeling refreshed. He puts the glass back.
“So, where were we?” he asks.
“You were about to join me in carnal and spiritual bliss,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” I help him open the foil packet.
“Yeah,” I say. “Take me there again.”
“My pleasure,” he responds just before his next kiss, which seems to fluctuate between gentle and intense, continuing well into the early morning hours.
I can feel the warmth of the sun as I lie in bed, and its color burns brightly behind my eyelids. It seems to have stolen our night too soon, as I’m sure I saw dawn just before my exhausted body forced me to sleep. I roll over, away from the windows and into Jon’s chest. I burrow under the covers to create the darkness I want back. I’m not sure if he’s awake, but his arms envelop me and hold me tightly.
Our bare legs tangle together, and I feel his warm feet with mine. He jumps suddenly. “What is wrong with your feet?!” he asks as he tries to maneuver his toes away from mine. “Did they lose all circulation?” he laughs.
“It’s quite possible,” I mumble against him, wondering if he can understand me. As I remember bits and pieces of last night, I kiss his chest and lightly run my fingernails up the backs of his thigh. With no warning, he lets go of me and throws the covers off of us. I sit up hurriedly, pulling my knees to my chin to hide my naked body. Jon isn’t quite as modest as he saunters down the bed, stopping at the edge. On his knees, he pulls the sheet back over himself as he takes my cold feet into his hands and starts rubbing them slowly. “That feels nice,” I tell him.
“I’m doing it for my own benefit,” he informs me.
“I could get some socks,” I suggest.
He shakes his head slowly and stares at me with a slight grin. “Socks are just the beginning of ‘getting dressed,’ and I’m not remotely ready for that yet.”
“No?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s just a little after nine.
“Not a chance.” I loosen my arms as he tugs at my legs, eventually putting my feet between his thighs. His skin is still so warm against mine that I have no doubt he’s uncomfortable. I try to pull my feet away, but he holds me still by my shins.
“I know they’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” he says.
“I’m cold,” I tell him, hoping he can recognize this on his own by the goosebumps that spread across my skin in the apartment that didn’t seem this cool last night. In fact, I was hot. We were both sticky with sweat, and the only time I felt the slightest chill was when his body left mine, even for a brief second. Fortunately, he was never gone longer than that.
I lie back down on the pillow, stretching my arms over my head to try to get the blood flowing again. My posture must seem like an invitation to Jon. Bringing the blankets with him, he lies on top of me, nudging his legs between mine. He kisses me once, then leans back a bit and smooths down my hair. I can’t even imagine what it looks like after last night, but it must not be too bad.
“How are you?” he asks me before pressing his lips to my cheek.
“Warming up,” I tell him honestly as my feet caress his calf muscles.
“How are you after last night?” he amends his question.
I think about my response, and smile as I answer him. “Happy.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Olivia, but what I’m trying to get at is–”
“You don’t have to tell me, Jon,” I laugh. “You’re lying on top of me. I can feel you.”
“I can’t help myself,” he says almost apologetically. “I think about having to wait another week for this, and I just don’t want to let you out of my grasp. I can’t,” he says, then swallows. “I still need you. I need more of you.”
“I could always stand to be a little happier,” I tell him, reaching my arm to the night stand for his wallet. I find two more condoms inside, and take one of them out, handing it to him.
He raises his eyebrows, looking at me curiously. “Really?” he asks. “Because I can honestly say I’ve never been happier.” I move with purpose beneath him, causing both of us to smile.
“I’m perfectly happy, too,” I tell him. “But something mystical–spiritual–happens when you make love to me. It goes beyond happy. It eclipses anything else I feel when I’m alone... when you’re not a part of me.”
“I feel it, too. The way we move together... it’s perfect syncopation.” After he says this, he starts to move with me. I close my eyes briefly to revel in the feeling, but I want more.
I take the small package back and open it with my teeth. Obviously turned on by my lack of patience, Jon works with me quickly, and doesn’t make me wait any longer.
The phone wakes up both of us in the early afternoon. I t
ry to clear my throat before answering, but my voice is still scratchy as the words come out. “Hello?”
“You’re not still asleep, are you?” my mother asks.
“I answered the phone, didn’t I?” I lie back down into Jon’s awaiting grasp. He keeps me warm by rubbing my arms briskly. His breathing is slow and even, and I can tell he’s still not ready to get up.
“I thought you were coming for lunch,” she says.
“I didn’t say when I was coming, did I? I just said I’d stop by today.”
“It’s two-thirty. The day’s more than half over, and we don’t want you driving back late.”
“Mom...” I whine. “I’ll leave when I’m ready to leave.” At this point, if Jon wanted me to stay in bed with him all day, I’d bypass the visit to Mom and Dad’s and do anything he asked. Although he mentioned that he had homework to do this afternoon, I won’t be the one to remind him. I have homework, too, but I’ll put it off if it means more time with him.
“Livvy, should Dad be worried at all?”
“About?”
“About your biological father. Have you reached out to him?”
“I already told Dad, Mom. No. I haven’t done anything and I don’t intend to at this point. I’d rather forget about him.”
“You can’t, sweetie. You need to face this and make a decision. Every day you put this off is potentially another day wasted with someone you may want to know. I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“You want me to meet him?” I ask.
“I want you to put aside your father’s feelings, my feelings, Jon’s feelings... I want you to think of yourself only when you come to a decision. And I really want you to consider this gift that Donna left you.”
“Quite honestly, it’s the worst gift anyone has ever given me.”
“It seems difficult to accept, Liv, but it’s not a bad gift. It may not be your favorite one, but you have no idea what could come of it. He could have something to offer that you’ve been looking for.”
“Mom, it’s not like that. Please don’t bring Nate into this–”
“I’m not,” she corrects me.
“Or any old artist,” I continue. “It was foolish of me to think I needed that connection to someone... to a father figure, anyway. I have that connection with you. I have that connection with Jon. What Dad and I have is different, but it’s wonderful on its own.”
“And that’s my point, Livvy. He could bring a whole new perspective to your world. You shouldn’t treat this lightly.”
“I know,” I tell her, not wanting to argue anymore. “It’s just too much right now. I’ve got so many other things happening in my life, what with my artwork, and school, and Jon. I don’t have time to split with someone else.”
“You make time if it’s important.”
“I just don’t know that it is,” I whisper to her. She has nothing more to add. “Does Dad know you’re talking to me about this?”
“No. But he hardly slept at all last night, and he’s been pacing around the house all day waiting for you. I wanted to give him a little peace of mind before he gives himself an ulcer.”
“He really shouldn’t worry,” I assure her. “If I ever do decide to meet Isaiah Grate, he’ll never be my Daddy. He may be a man I talk to on some level, but he can never be my father. That role is being perfectly portrayed by Jack Holland, and I’m not looking to recast it.”
She laughs lightly into the phone. “I married a good man,” she says.
“I’m so thankful you did, Mom. I love you both.”
“If you loved us,” she says as I feel the guilt trip coming on, “you’d get out of bed and come spend some time with us before you go back to New Haven.”
“I love you,” I avow, “and I will. Better?”
“Better,” she concedes. “I’ve even got some cupcakes from Kel for you to take back to Katrina and Rachelle.”
“Lemon?”
“Among others.”
“That should have been your opening line, Mom. I’d have been over there by now.”
“You’ll come for the sweets. I see how it is.”
“Yep,” I tease her. “Give me an hour, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie. We just love you and we miss you and we want to spend a little more time with you, that’s all.”
“Love you, too, Mom. I’ll see you later.” We say goodbye and hang up. I put the phone on the nightstand and enjoy my last few minutes in his warm embrace.
“Olivia,” he says softly, “please don’t use me as an excuse. Don’t think that you have to forfeit your time with me to see your biological father.”
“I’m not,” I argue, looking up at him.
“I’ll go with you,” he says. “If you need support, I’ll be there for you. No one expects this to be easy for you.”
“I just don’t know why it’s so important that I meet him.”
“Maybe it’s not,” he says as he scoots down to kiss me. “What’s important is that you give this decision a lot of thought and consideration. Time is of the essence. You never know–the opportunity may not exist tomorrow... would you be okay with that? Would you be okay if you missed the opportunity to meet the man who gave you life?”
“As far as I’m concerned, my parents gave me life. Like you said, no one else could have given me this life.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he laughs. “Just think about it. Think about any questions you might have about him. Questions about your Mom, maybe? I know you’ve always wanted to know more about her.”
“I’m not sure he’d know. And if he doesn’t, I mean... what does that say about their relationship?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“What if I was a mistake?”
“If you were, your biological mother certainly didn’t think you were. Maybe your conception wasn’t planned... you wouldn’t be the first. And speaking as an Oops-baby, I’d be honored to have you join our club. We still live fulfilling lives,” he says jokingly. “Occasionally, we even find love.”
CHAPTER 12
Nearly a month after the incident with Emmanuel and the photograph, a meeting is set up with him, the dean, my parents and me. Most Thursday nights, Rachelle, Katrina and I order in pizza and study with syndicated comedies playing in the background. We normally leave our dorm room open, taking breaks to talk to other friends and classmates as they stop by.
Tonight, my roommates are studying while I’m at the meeting, and my parents have invited them to have dinner with us after it.
Mom and Dad comment on the temperature as soon as they arrive. “The cold front’s already here,” my dad says.
“I didn’t think it was supposed to come until later tonight,” Mom responds, crossing her arms in front of her to keep warm. Dad doesn’t hesitate, taking off his leather jacket and draping it over my mother’s shoulders. She slips her arms in it and wraps them around Dad as we walk to the dean’s office.
“Our daughter has dressed sensibly tonight,” Dad adds, looking over at me and winking. I hadn’t done laundry in two weeks and was running out of clean clothes, so I’d pulled on my jeans with an old sweater without even knowing about a cold snap.
“You didn’t have to drive all the way out here,” I tell them. “We could have just done this over the phone, you know...”
“Not a chance,” Dad says. “I want him to look me in the eyes and apologize.”
“And I want to see his reaction to what we have to say,” my mom says.
“Can’t we just make this short and sweet and get on with dinner? I’m starving,” I whine. “I didn’t have lunch so I’d be hungry for lobster.”
“I thought we’d just eat at the Yale dining hall,” he teases.
“Lobster,” I reiterate. “I’ve already convinced Katrina to try it–oh, and Daddy, don’t let her pay, okay?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“She’ll insist, but just don’t. She’s been putting money aside for
the last two weeks.”
“Of course I’m treating you girls,” he says. “A man has to show his appreciation for four beautiful women accompanying him to dinner. I consider myself lucky.”
“Gross, Dad.”
“Fine, you can pay for your own,” he teases me.
“Where’s my allowance?” I ask coquettishly. Both of my parents glare at me out of the corners of their eyes. I smile and shrug my shoulders, opening the door for them when we finally get to the building.
“Mr. and Mrs. Holland,” Dean Taylor says. He shakes my father’s hand and kisses the back of my mother’s. It seems old fashioned, but he’s probably twenty years older than Dad, so I just accept it when he does the same to my hand. “Olivia, it’s good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“It could be worse,” I respond.
“Emmanuel is already here. Please follow me into the conference room.” My mom and I take seats across from Emmanuel and another woman. My dad seems to recognize her.
“Mrs. Cortez,” Dad says, stretching across the table to offer his hand to her. My father doesn’t even look at my former friend, choosing to divert his attention to the head of the table where the dean sits when Emmanuel starts to say hello. I guess he isn’t going to make this easy.
“Mr. Holland,” the woman begins, “Mrs. Holland, I am so sorry for Manny’s actions. I don’t know what got into my boy’s head, but he shouldn’t have distributed that picture of your daughter.”
“No, he shouldn’t have,” Dad agrees.
“But I’m sure you’ll agree that your daughter shouldn’t have made such a crass gesture in the first place. In my opinion, she was asking for trouble.”
“I’m sorry?” my mother asks, looking confused.
“That is no way for a proper young lady to act.”
“Mrs. Cortez,” my dad says before my mother can speak. I’m positive what he has to say will be much more tempered and dignified than my mother’s reaction. “Let me assure you that we are proud of Livvy for standing up for herself amidst the brutish behavior of your son. Trust me when I tell you that Emmanuel’s gesture was much more inappropriate.”
