“Don't cover them, they're so sexy.” He protested, restraining my arms either side of my head as he took in my body. He kneeled at the edge of my bed, parting one leg and placing the other over his shoulder. He was face to face with my sex. He gently blew on my opening. I gasped, thrusting at the sheets, I grabbed a handful of pink and blue floral duvet and clenched my body as he began to lick my opening.
“Oh my lord.” I gasped, groaning loudly. He held my legs in his firm grip, my squirming getting me nowhere. His tongue moved in circles, hitting the right notes, like he was a musician in an orchestra. Occasionally he'd nibble gently sending ripples of ecstasy through my body.
“Holy fuck!” I groaned. In the distance I heard the faintest of voices respond to my calls.
“Emma? Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” That was so not the voice I wanted to hear while my boyfriend was going down on me.
Ever.
I sat bolt upright, my eyes wide. Simon noticed my panic and let go of my legs.
“It's my fucking mother.” I gritted my teeth. I stumbled around the bed looking for my dress. My sex ached for Simon's tongue to finish me off. So, so close. I was throbbing. Throbbing!
I finally spotted my dress and threw it on, just as mom walked into the bedroom. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, he at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Mom, hi.” I said breathless. I prayed my dress was not inside out or back to front. Mom looked back and forth suspiciously. I managed a smile and glanced at Simon, who was eyeing the floor sheepishly. “What a surprise.”
“I'll put coffee on, shall I?” She said with a raised eyebrow. She knew, oh god she knew. I glanced over at Simon. His shoulders shook uncontrollably with silent laughter as she left the room. I glared at him, failing to see how this was in any way funny. That just made things worse. He covered his mouth, trying to disguise the odd choke of laughter as a cough. He was not a convincing liar.
“I haven't been caught with a girlfriend by her mother since I was sixteen.” He gasped, still laughing. I shot him a look.
Still not funny.
Mom set the coffee in front of me. After a quick introduction, Simon had made excuses about having to leave. I took the cup, paying too much attention to the ribbons circling the cup. Anything to avoid the conversation I knew mom and I were about to have.
“How's Tom?” Mom asked pointedly. There it was. Mom's subtle way of prying into my love life.
“Tom and I are just friends. We have always been just friends.” I steadied myself for the usual barrage of unwanted love advice.
“Well that's not true. You two used to be joined at the hip.” Mom argued, her frown firmly in place with no intention of leaving. I sighed. This was going to be much harder than I thought. Mom loved Tom. Everyone loved Tom it seemed.
“Tom and I have only ever been friends.” I repeated. Slower this time. I don't know if mom noted the frustration in my voice, but she moved on.
“And your new friend? Simon?” I hated the way she said his name, like she'd just eaten a bad olive. “How does he fit into the picture?”
Oh god.
“He is a friend.” My palms lay flat on the couch. I pressed my hands down, as if trying to keep my composure. “A good friend, mom.”
“Right.” Mom nodded, pursing her lips. Finally, she got it. She looked stared hard at the window, as if taking great interest in the blue grey curtains that hung on either side. I hoped they weren't dusty.
She looked at me. She had the same expression Carol always gave me. Disapproval.
“I think I see what's going on here. How old is your new friend, exactly?” I took a breath. Here we go. I knew the age difference was going to be a problem for my mother. More of a problem than him being my teacher, not that she'd admit that.
“He’s thirty-eight, mom.” I said, shifting my feet under the chair. I hadn't realised how uncomfortable these chairs were. I thought about lying. He could pass for late thirties quite easily. Mom let out a horrified gasp.
“Emma, he is eighteen years older than you!” Mom was shouting by this point. I resisted the urge to cover my ears. Her voice was grating on my nerves. I could feel a headache forming in my temporal lobe. I gently rubbed at it, wishing I could somehow stop this entire conversation.
Why should I have to apologise for his age? I am an adult, capable of making my own decisions. “Did I mention he has a four year old daughter?” I said sweetly. I was viciously rubbing salt into the wound, but at this point I didn't care.
“Emma!” Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears sprung in her eyes. “You're turning into your grandmother!” I stared at her shocked, then I began to laugh. Soon I was laughing hysterically, then I was crying. Or laughing. I'm not sure. Mom sat, shell shocked by my behaviour. She was not the least bit amused.
She was speechless.
She stood up abruptly, gathering her bag and jacket. “I will talk to you when you have some more sense.” She spoke harshly, then marched to the door.
“Okay, but bring gran next time!” I called out to the slamming door. I couldn't resist. Gran would be on my side. I'd have to keep Simon away from her though. I wouldn't put it past her to try something. I texted Simon. We had unfinished business to attend to.
Chapter Eighteen
Two hundred and fifty seven. That was the number of little roses that ran around the trim on the ceiling of my bedroom. I knew this because I'd spent the past two hours counting them. I hadn't slept well. Too many thoughts racing through my mind. Too many thoughts to try and process. Today was the parole hearing.
I glanced at Simon, asleep next to me. The cream sheet was draped over his lower back, his leg exposed. The blankets were pooled at the foot of the bed, a sea of blue and green.
Sex with Simon was just wonderful. Simon was wonderful. He rolled over beside me. I watched his chest rise and fall in rhythm with his breathing. Even sleeping, this man was amazing. His face looked much younger in the morning light, his chiselled jaw covered in stubble. He hadn't shaved in a few days. I'd kept him too busy for that. He was biting his lip in his sleep. I leaned in to kiss him. He kissed back me, surprised.
“What was that for?” He asked, half awake, amused by my spontaneity. I shrugged, and kissed him again. This time I didn't pull away. His mouth met mine in a long intense kiss. I snuggled up next to him, running my fingers over his ribbed stomach, over his dark chest hair. God I loved his chest hair. I put my nose to his chest and breathed deeply.
“What are you doing, you freak.” He mumbled laughing. His eyes twinkled.
“Smelling you.” I answered matter of factly. “I love the way you smell.” I breathed him in again, loving the scent of his sweat mixed with aftershave and fresh sex.
“You are a strange girl.”
“A strange girl in love with a wonderful man.” I responded. We kissed again. This time, his arm reached behind my back, pulling the covers down.
“So, do you want kids of your own?” Simon raised an eyebrow at my surprised expression. We were lying in each overs arms. We should have gotten up hours ago. Lying like this together was too wonderful for either of us to ruin. Now he had gone asking this. If the moment wasn't already ruined, it would be in a minute. “Not now. I mean someday.” He added hurriedly.
My heart began to pound. I'd been waiting for this conversation. In my head I'd gone over approach after approach. What to say, how to say it.
Do I be completely honest, or answer vaguely, and work the rest out later? I mean, this, whatever it was, was still so new. Who knew if we'd still be together in a year, much less ten? What if he couldn't get past this?
My life was so complicated, and he had been amazing through everything. How much could I expect him to take?
Honesty.
I'd want that from him, so I owed him the same in return at least.
“I can't have kids.” There. It was said. It was out there, floating above me like a bad smell.
Si
mon looked confused. Then he seemed to get it. “The attack.” He said softly. I couldn't help but notice the pained look on his face. “My god the injuries you must have suffered.” He whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, the attack. I had some really severe internal injuries which messed up much of my reproductive system. Even with fertility assistance, there is next to no chance.”
“Are you okay, with that?”
“What's the difference?” I said. “Nothing I do will change it. No matter how badly I want kids of my own, biologically, anyway, it's just not going to happen. So no, I'm not okay with it, but what's the point?” I repeated.
People were so quick to feel sorry for me, but that wasn't going to change shit about the situation. It had taken me a long time to accept I wouldn't have kids, but I'd never be okay with it. The best part was when people tried to point out the positives, like 'oh well there's always adoption, or surrogacy'.
What they truly didn't get was I'd never get to experience the wonders of pregnancy. Adoption and surrogacy were certainly options I'd look into with the right person, but I didn't need people telling me what the upsides of my situation were. I couldn't bear my own children. There was no upside to that. I glanced at Simon.
“Do you want more kids?” I asked. Only fair he should have to answer too. He hesitated for the briefest of moments.
“I do.” He said honestly. “But it would take much more than that for me to not want to be with you.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. I resisted, annoyed at my body.
At myself.
Most of all I was angry that I would never be able to fully move on from the attack. There was always something to remind me of what I could have had. What was taken from me.
“I've researched your attack.” Simon said quietly. I glanced at him, surprised. I thought I'd been pretty open with everything. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might want to know more. “There were things I needed to know, things you shouldn't have to relive.” I nodded. I could understand his curiosity. I would have been too.
“I have a friend in parole. I know today is the hearing.” I nodded numbly. Of course he knew. I was stupid to think I could hide that from him. “I love you so much, Em. You are such a strong girl. What you've been through-” His voice broke off. I saw tears.
The hearing was set for 11:00am. In fifty minutes I'd know.
“Please don't pity me, Simon.” I begged. “I need your love, and your support. I don't need your pity.” I was crying too now. “I don't want you feeling sorry for me. A bad thing happened. But I can’t move on if people won’t let me get past it.” My voice was rising. Years of anger was beginning to surface, and poor Simon was in the firing line. He hugged me to his chest, resisting my struggles to pull away.
“I fucking hate that cunt for what he did to you. But I don't pity you. I envy you and your strength Emma. I just love you so much.” I relented, allowing him to hug me. In his arms I felt protected, and loved. The oven buzzer went off. I reluctantly removed myself from his arms and went to save my cake. Cooking always made me feel better.
“Simon?” I had a question. I focused on icing my cake as he waited for me to speak. “How long. How long until he is out?” I didn't take my eyes off the cake. If I looked at him, I'd cry. I didn't want to cry right now.
“Possibly a day or two. It usually isn't long until the release. Could be as long as a couple of weeks though.” He came up behind me and hugged me.
He had been the one to call Grant this time. Not me. As soon as I saw his face I knew. I didn’t have to ask. The bastard had been granted parole. It felt as though all of a sudden what happened to me didn't matter. How could that kind of pain inflicted on a ten year old only mean ten years? I'd never move on. And here he was, free to start his life over.
“Em, you can get through this. You know you can.” He held my hands, his eyes steadily staring into mine, as if he was trying will strength into me. Managing a small smile, I pulled him into my arms. Kissing him softly on the neck, I began to believe for the first time that I would get through this
Simon stood gazing out of the window as I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. I loved having a dishwasher. As much as I loved cooking, I'd avoid it a lot more if it meant I would have to wash dishes by hand. We had just finished eating a chicken casserole. Simon had stayed with me the entire day.
“You have such a stunning view.” I looked up and smiled. “Come over here.”
“No thanks. I am fine right here.”
“You don't go out?” He looked surprised. I shook my head.
“Never.” I admitted. I saw the look in his eyes. A challenge. “The whole agoraphobia thing. The furthest I’ve made it is sitting with the door open, on the inside” I added. Simon, now in front of me, grabbed hold of my hands and guided me toward the balcony.
“We will stay right up against the window, and leave the door open.” He promised, inching me toward the open air. My heart began to pound in that familiar way.
“I can't.” I shook my head desperately, glancing around for a way to get out of this. I tried to breathe deeply, knowing that is what my therapist would say.
“Yes you can. Look at me.” I looked into his eyes. Focusing only on him, I let him lead me outside. “You are so sexy Em.” He mumbled, fiddling with my shirt buttons. His eyes didn't leave mine. I let him kiss me, barely noticing my silk shirt glide past my shoulders. I felt the clasp of my bra break free.
“Here?” I asked, alarmed. The touch of his fingers over my breasts forced me to relax. His eyes still had not let my own.
“Em, it's nearly midnight. The only lights are those of the city. I am trying to distract you.” His hand motioned to the sea of lights in the distance behind him. “I want to be inside you. Now.” He rubbed my breasts harder. God it felt good. I let him prop me against the wall. I undid his fly and reached into his pants. He was so hard I could feel the blood throbbing through his hardness. I stroked him, loving the way he looked at me when I had him in such a vulnerable position.
“Not yet.” I whispered. His confusion cleared as I kneeled in front of him.
“Oh god Emma.” He groaned as I took his length in my mouth. I had become quite the little tart where Simon was concerned. I took his length in my mouth, causing him to jolt back. The table scraped forward, causing both of us to jump. I smiled up at him.
“I hope I'm doing it right.” I said innocently, batting my eyelashes.
“Oh god Em. Don't look at me like that.” He gasped.
“Like what?” Again, blinking my eyes innocently, watching him watch me suck on his girth.
“Fuck, oh god!” He yelled. He gripped the back of my head, jamming his length as far down my throat as he could. I felt him convulse, again and again, until my mouth was full of his juice. I flicked his tip until he could take no more.
“Stop.” He begged, pushing me away. He slumped to the ground. “Holy shit. You are such a little tease” He gasped. He wiped the sweat beginning to drip down his temples away.
“So I did okay then.” I was unable to keep the smile off my face. He raised his eyebrows and leaned in to kiss me.
“You know how much I liked that.” He pulled me over to him so I straddled his body. My god he was still hard. He gently lifted me onto his hardness. I gasped as my sex engulfed him. He groaned and rubbed my breasts. He gently rocked me back and forth as I ground myself into him. He felt so good inside me.
“Jesus Emma, what the hell are you doing to me?” He gasped, rocking harder and harder. I felt the pressure inside of me build up with each movement. I could feel he was close to blowing inside me, which made me all the more worked up. “Fuck Em. Shit!” He cried. I gasped, my body spasming in sync with his.
“Simon!” I cried, clenching my sex over his hardness, every move creating a landslide of orgasmic pleasure. I collapsed beside him on the ground, only my skirt still on. Simon still fully dressed.
“Hey, I'm outside.” I whispered in wonder. I
stared up at the twinkling stars. “At least I can cross exhibitionist sex off my list now.” Simon laughed loudly at my joke.
“You have a list?” He asked, amused.
“No.” I replied hotly. “I was joking.” I rolled my eyes, knowing I was indeed not joking. I vowed to find a new hiding place for my little pink notebook.
Maddie sat on the other side of the bench watching me intently. Her eyes followed my every move as I layered the lasagne. Her pretty little features screwed up as she pointed to the eggplant.
“Ew, what's that?”
“Eggplant. It's yummy, especially in lasagne.” I held a little piece out for her to try. She stared at me for a long time, before finally reaching out and grasping the piece in her little hand. Simon looked on from the couch, amused.
“Mmm.” Maddie said, nodding her head.
“I can never get her to try new things.” Commented Simon dryly. Maddie turned around and glared at him.
“That's because you're not pretty like Emma, daddy.” She announced. Both Simon and I burst out laughing. “Emma says if I eat new things it will make me pretty like her.”
How great would it be to be five years old again? I thought back to when I used to stuff my sprouts in my socks during dinner when mom wasn't looking so I didn't have to eat them. To this day, I'd never told her that. I think even now she would freak out. I put the lasagne in the oven and went to sit with Simon. I slid onto the edge of the couch, throwing my legs over his. I put my feet in his face, wiggling my toes. I didn't care if they smelt.
“Hint much?” He smiled, grabbing hold of my left foot. He began to massage it.
“Oh god that is so good.” I groaned, closing my eyes. When I opened them, Maddie was standing in front of me looking at me curiously.
“You look really happy.” She finally commented.
“That's because your daddy has magic fingers.” Maddie giggled and danced around the room, wiggling her fingers. Simon glanced over at me and raised an eyebrow.
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