by Lisa Lace
I dive into her, tasting her juices swirling with the sweet chocolate and lick her clean. She grows wet for me, and it only sharpens my arousal. I pull her pants off her legs, yank mine down to my knees, and I enter her. I love watching her face as I push into her, her reaction only heightening my libido and hardening me.
I grab a handful of the pumpkin from the middle of the pie and dollop it along her stomach, reaching up and cupping her breasts while I slide in and out of her and lap up the pie. She takes a strawberry and slides it into her mouth, her tongue twirling around it hungrily. She pops it out of her mouth, toying with it and sucking on it in front of me.
“Taunting me, eh?” I say, sliding my hand up her stomach to her mouth. I try to pluck the berry from her mouth, but it disappears.
She smiles deviously and slides her fingertips into the spicy orange custard decorating her pale breasts.
“Fucking you like this, in my kitchen, on my counter, where I eat—is the most erotic—” I grunt and push into her harder, grabbing her hips and fucking her faster. A spasm threatens to take over. I lean toward her and press my lips to hers, sucking the strawberry from her mouth. I push it into her lips and squash it until the juice runs down her face. We kiss around it, the berry bursting in a succulent explosion. It’s almost as sweet as Lissy.
Her mouth opens, and her eyes slam shut. I feel her tighten her legs around me, a moan escaping her lips. She thrashes against my groin, moving against me faster and faster, until her tense body goes limp, her breathing erratic and heavy.
“You’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.” My heart swells, and I stop as I watch her come down from her orgasm, her perfect body still covered with half a patisserie.
“Oh, my. Did that just happen?” Her chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. She looks shocked and a little scandalized—and as though she liked it.
“It did, and it was delicious.”
She looks down and laughs. “I’m a mess.”
“I’m more than willing to help you out with that.” I push her back down and lower my mouth. My tongue trails along her stomach, up to her breast, and the taste of pumpkin and spices on her skin entice me.
She climbs down off the counter and slides her arms up around my neck. Pressing against me, she rubs her breasts against my chest, then lowers herself to indulge.
She wraps her hand around the chocolate bottle and squeezes it over my shaft until it’s dripping with syrup. A flourish of whipped cream completes her artistic creation. My stomach flutters, and I take a big breath. It seems I’m not the only one with an eye for—creativity.
Her eyes meet mine as she presses her lips to the tip of my cock and pushes me into her mouth. Pleasure wafts over me, and I close my eyes. I can feel her tongue swirl around my head, her throat swallowing, her mouth licking the chocolate and sex from my cock.
I bury my fingers in her hair and feel her head moving back and forth as she devours me, sucking me until I feel my cock lurch with a spasm. I breathe harder, the pressure building at the feeling of her tongue flicking the tip of my cock.
I cry out wordlessly, and loud, when I come hard in her mouth. I lift my head, washed away by the sensation of my orgasm as she swallows me.
Melissa
I turn the key in the lock and step inside.
I fear the worst—a trashed apartment, a group of drugged-up strangers, Connor passed out or worse.
It’s a relief to find no signs of damage or disaster when I look around. Everything is as it was when I left. Connor sits with his legs spread and expression dark on the sofa, a beer in his hand and several empties on the table. I hate that he drinks when he’s underage, but at least he’s indoors instead of downing beers on a street corner somewhere. The TV is on, but he’s not watching it.
He looks up when I enter and scowls. “You finally waltz back in. Have a nice Thanksgiving?” He spits the cruel, bitter words at me.
I walk in slowly, closing the door behind me. I go to the kitchen counter and lay down my purse. I turn around slowly and fold my arms across my chest.
Connor is a mess. I doubt he’s washed since the day before. The fact the place is clean suggests he hasn’t eaten, either. It looks like he’s done nothing but sit and drink since I left him the day before.
“I did have a nice time, thank you.”
“With your British fuckboy?”
I frown. “Henry and I are dating. We’re a couple.”
“Oh. I see.” He sits up, placing his bottle down loudly on the coffee table. He twists in his seat and fixes me with an evil glare. “I guess that’s it, then?”
“What do you mean?”
Connor lifts his hands up in an exaggerated gesture. “It means you’re done with me. You’d rather spend your Thanksgiving fucking some exchange student than with your own flesh and blood.”
“That’s not fair,” I retort. “I asked if you wanted to spend Thanksgiving with me, and you damn near bit my head off. You can’t have it both ways, Connor.”
“You should have been here. I’m the only family you have in this world, and Thanksgiving is for family.”
“As a matter of fact, you were invited, but I decided it was better you stayed here.”
Connor narrows his eyes. “Afraid I’d embarrass you in front of the guy you’re screwing?”
“Exactly.”
I see Connor suck in the air through his teeth. I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my brother, but Connor makes it near impossible to have any kind of quality time with him. Everything’s a battle.
He’s not used to me talking straight with him, but I’ve had enough.
“You could have joined in this holiday, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. That’s fine if that’s what you want to do, but I’m done sitting around sharing the pity party.”
“I guess I should just forget about Mom, should I? I should pick up a pile of books and strut around college like my life is fan-fucking-tastic as well? Let’s pretend everything is rosy. I’m sorry I’m not quite so talented at burying my head in the sand.”
“You think I’m burying my head in the sand? I’m the one who’s getting on with life. You’re the one who gets high and lets life pass you by. It’s not what Mom would have wanted for you.”
Connor’s lips twist into a sneer. “You’re great at telling me what Mom would have wanted, aren’t you? It’s like I was never there when she was dying. It was all poor little Lissy stepping up, while her fuck-up brother dragged her down and held her back. Poor little Lissy. I know the story you tell everyone.”
“You could do anything you wanted,” I reply. I cross the room to stand in front of Connor and slowly sink down onto the coffee table opposite him, pushing aside half a dozen empty bottles to make space. “If you want to go to college, I’ll help you write your applications. If you want to get a job, I’ll help you write your resume. Whatever you want, Connor, I’ll support you. But I won’t feel guilty for going on with my life while you want to throw yours away.”
“How am I supposed to have a life? Ever since Mom died, you’ve been picking me up and moving me around wherever you want. You let everyone pat you on the back for being such a hero, while everyone sees me as the ungrateful prick you’re burdened with. You should have been here yesterday. If you’re going to take all the credit for stepping up, then you better fucking be there.”
I see red.
“Are you kidding me? I’ve stepped up. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve clothed you, fed you, had patience with you no matter what shit you’re pulling and bailed you out of trouble more times than I can count. I fought to keep you with me. I wanted us to stay together—and you’ve thrown it back in my face every day since like I’ve stolen something from you by trying to support you.”
I hold my hands up helplessly. “Tell me what you want. What can I do to make you happy? What do you want?”
“I want you to stop acting like I’m some burden. I�
��m a grown man.”
“Then act like it,” I snap. “I understand how much losing Mom hurt you. I’ve tried to be patient and understanding and give you the space to grieve in your own way. But at some point, you’ve got to take responsibility for your own life, and start making an effort to make something of yourself.”
Connor stamps his foot on the ground and rises to his feet, his hands curled into fists. “You’ve had this guy in your life for five minutes, and suddenly, you’re talking down to me like I’m nothing. Is that what you call loyalty?”
I can feel hot, angry tears building behind my eyes, but I don’t let them spill.
As hurtful as Connor’s words are, I also know I need to be stronger. Stop enabling him, Lissy.
“Is whether or not you make something of yourself dependent on how tightly I’m holding your hand?” I retort. “Who was there for me after Mom died? Who helped me write my applications for college? Who helped me write my resume? Nobody, that’s who. But I did it while making sure you had everything you needed as well.
“I know you’ve had a hard life, Connor, but it’s time to stop making excuses. You’ve got to stop blaming me for everything wrong in your life. If you want more money, earn it. If you want to live somewhere else, get a job and pay for an apartment. If you want a nice Thanksgiving with family, then behave like someone I want to be around.”
I haven’t seen Connor cry since he was sixteen, but there are tears in his eyes now. Don’t back down, Lissy. This is what tough love looks like.
“Fuck you,” he spits. He picks up his wallet from the coffee table and storms out of the apartment. I can hear his feet pounding down the metal stairway out of the apartment building.
I sink down onto the sofa after he’s left, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I feel awful and validated at the same time. I’m sorry the things I said hurt Connor, but I know it was time they were said.
Alone in the apartment, I sit silently on the sofa, playing over my argument with Connor in my head. I think about everything Henry and Lucy have said to me, and know that their advice is right, even if it’s easier said than done.
It’s done now.
I start to worry as the hours tick by and Connor doesn’t return. The afternoon turns into evening, and he still doesn’t come home. My mind starts to imagine all the places he could be. A jail cell. A drug den. Face down in the gutters.
As my worry takes over, I start to wonder whether I took things too far; whether I said things that shouldn’t have been said. If anything happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I pick up my books and try to study, although my mind is a million miles away. I refuse to go to bed until Connor is home safe.
It’s three in the morning when he finally rolls in. Straight away, I can tell that he’s out of his mind on something hard, although I don’t know enough about drugs to guess what’s running through his system.
He steps in and looks at me coldly. His eyes are two points of ice and resentment.
Connor watches me as my eyes travel over his dirtied face, his torn shirt, and finally, down to his bruised and bloodied knuckles. There are specks of blood on his gray T-shirt and on his jeans.
The victim or the aggressor? Deep down, I know the answer to that question. I don’t want to face it, so I turn away.
Connor says nothing. He walks through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. I hear the shower running, and shortly after, the sound of Connor stamping down to his bedroom and slamming the door.
I go into the bathroom once he’s left and feel despair at what I see. The last of the blood-stained water is still swirling down the drain. I sit down on the edge of the tub and put my head in my hands.
What am I going to do with Connor?
Henry
“Your papers on capital market theory are due in by the end of the week. I want to see references to the Markowitz portfolio model. Any questions, come see me in my office.”
The professor brings the lecture to an end and leaves the hall. I shut my notebook and turn to Melissa. Her head is still bowed as she scribbles her last few notes. Her page is entirely filled with line after line of meticulous cursive, each key phrase highlighted in pink.
A moment later, she lets out a long breath and shuts her notebook. She lifts her glasses to rub her eyes, then turns to me and smiles. “Phew. I feel like I have market theory coming out my ears.”
“The course is definitely gathering speed.”
She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Doesn’t mean you’re actually going to have to study, does it?”
“I think it might. My father wants me to get a 3.5 GPA, but you know what? I think I want to get a 3.8.”
Melissa’s smile softens, and she threads her fingers through mine. “I love the change I’m seeing in you. You’re capable of so much.”
“I think it’s time I found my own direction,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. If I want to be in control of my own life, then I have to stop relying on my father for my basic needs. I want to be my own man.”
“And so you should be.” Melissa looks up at me and smiles.
We stand and edge our way out of the back row, joining the throng of students filing out of the auditorium. I check my watch.
“Got time for a coffee before your next class?”
Melissa glances up at the clock above the lecture hall doors. “I think so.”
I circle my arm around her waist, and we walk together to the Spangler Center. We order some coffees from the hole-in-the-wall coffee joint and sit together at a small round table among the bustle.
Looking at Melissa, I can see she’s tired. There are dark circles under her eyes, and although she’s smiling, it looks like her mind is somewhere else.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She flicks her gaze up to me and curls her fingers around her coffee mug. “Same old, same old.”
“Connor?”
She lets out a little sigh. “He’s driving me up the wall.”
“How so?”
“We had an argument the other day.”
“Because of Thanksgiving?”
Melissa looks away. “He was angry I went out. I was angry he was trying to guilt-trip me after I offered to stay home with him for Thanksgiving. I told him the truth. Said he needed to grow up.”
I grimace. “Bet he loved that.”
“He’s hardly spoken to me since. He storms in with a face like thunder, then storms out again. He’s been getting into more fights lately—at least, he comes home looking like he’s been throwing punches. I don’t know what there is to fight about. I think maybe he’s just drinking too much and picking fights, but then I wonder if it’s something worse. I don’t know anything about drug culture; the type of people he spends his time with. I don’t know how he keeps affording to get high. What if he’s getting into the bad books of dangerous people?”
I hate to see Melissa looking so defeated. Her shoulders are hunched over, and she stares down into her coffee with a morose expression. “The worst of it is, I’m too scared to ask him about it. Every time I suggest he make some changes in his life, he jumps down my throat. I don’t want to push him so far away I lose all idea of what he’s getting up to. At least while he’s living under my roof, I can account for him some of the time.”
“Telling him those home truths didn’t make anything better, then?”
Melissa shakes her head solemnly. “I thought maybe tough love would do the trick, but nothing ever gets through to Connor.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head again. Her fingers tighten around her now-empty coffee mug. “Christmas is coming, and I can’t stand the thought of spending it with him. The holidays used to be so much fun with Mom around, and now they’re just a reminder she’s gone. Connor’s always at his worst at Christmas. I know I’m going to spend the whole holiday walking on eggshells around him.” She shudders. “I miss normal Christmases.”
&nbs
p; I don’t think twice before I make Melissa an offer. I lean forward, and the words spill instinctively out my mouth. “Come to England with me.”
Her eyebrows rise in surprise, and she titters breathlessly. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not kidding. Christmases at my house suck, too, but at least the food’s good. We could make an adventure out of it. I’ll show you England. You could see a little of my world. I think it would be a lot of fun. An American Thanksgiving and a British Christmas.”
Melissa smiles gratefully but shakes her head. “That sounds lovely, but I just don’t think I can.”
My shoulders fall in disappointment. For a moment, I’d had a vision of taking Melissa home. I’d imagined taking her to Oxford Street when all the lights were shining or taking her ice skating at Hyde Park. I’d pictured her sitting beside me at Christmas dinner; someone radiant among the tired, dull, expressionless people without a shred of Christmas spirit between them.
“No way at all?”
“I couldn’t afford it, first of all,” Melissa says. “Then there’s Connor.”
“He survived Thanksgiving without you. He’d survive Christmas, too.”
Melissa lays her hand over mine gently. “I felt bad enough that I left him on Thanksgiving. As much as he put on that rebellious act, I think he was hurt spending it alone. Plus, even if I wasn’t worried about how he’d feel about it, I can’t trust him in the apartment alone. If he knew I was going to be away for more than a few hours, who knows what he’d get up to? He could end up doing drugs in there; dealing them, even. Think of the damage he could do.”
She trails off, then picks up her train of thought once more. “Plus, I’ve got work at the diner, and papers to complete, exams to study for. As much as I want to, I can’t simply disappear.”
I swallow back my disappointment. “I understand.”
I knock on Melissa’s door with a gift in my hands and my heart on my sleeve.
She answers, and I see her mouth quickly lift in a happy smile. “Henry! What are you doing here?”
