by Eva Charles
I buried my head in his shoulder and laughed. “That was the worst analogy I have ever heard anyone make.”
“I’ll try to come up with something better later. I’m busy right now.” He ran his fingertips over my jaw, tracing the contours with his thumb. “All underwear stays on tonight. It’s a hard rule. You are not allowed to have your wicked way with me on the first date. I’m not that easy.”
He touched his mouth to mine, in a million soft kisses, like stars electrifying the nighttime sky. It was dizzying and I could barely stand upright. He slid his fingers through my hair, and traced my lips with the tip of his tongue. When he grasped my bottom lip between his teeth, I arched into him, and he slid his hand to my backside, expertly molding me into the contours of his body. I was lost, and when I gasped, he slipped his tongue inside and caressed the roof of my mouth.
He lit every nerve, and my core throbbed with excruciating need. I wanted this man, wanted everything he offered. Twining my arms around his neck, I rolled my hips forward, rubbing against his erection. He pulled me tighter, and I let his body seduce me, surrendering all good sense to him.
He released my mouth and kissed my forehead, at the bridge, right where it meets my nose. He panted softly. “I didn’t mean for you to stop,” he murmured, canting my hips forward, his chin resting on my head.
I felt his heart pounding. Heard his jagged breath. Tasted the salty ocean on his skin. The combination was intoxicating, and I’d lost the ability to think straight.
“I should get you home.” He kissed the top of my head, his hands cupping my bottom, molding me to him one last time.
I nodded. Not because I wanted to go home, but because I should. “I’d like to use the ladies room before we leave.”
He reached for his wallet and pulled out a keycard. “Room 204. It’ll give you more privacy, and you can rinse the sand off your feet, if you want.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiled, almost shyly, and sparks of light twinkled in his eyes, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He was breathtaking bathed in moonlight. “They only serve dinner on the beach for hotel guests.”
“So you got a room?” I whispered.
He lifted his right shoulder.
“Mark, you didn’t need to do all this. Not for me. I’m not hard to impress.”
“I wasn’t trying to impress you, Emmie. I just wanted a smile.”
How could I possibly ever resist this man? “Why didn’t you say something about the room?”
“You would have wanted to spend some time, with me, upstairs in the room?” He swept the hair from my face. My skin burned under his fingers.
When I didn’t respond, the corners of his mouth eased, and he tucked a few curls behind my ear. “I didn’t want you to spend all evening thinking about the room. Wondering if I was going to pressure you into having sex tonight. It would have ruined dinner. I didn’t want that. I wanted tonight to be fun. I wanted you to relax. No worries. I wanted to see you smile all night. I would have rented out the whole place for that.”
I was trembling, struggling with emotion, when I stood on my toes to kiss him. “Thank you.” It sounded dumb and ridiculous, completely inadequate, but I couldn’t find any other words to tell him how he made me feel.
“Why are you crying, Sunshine?” He swiped an errant tear with his thumb.
I held my hand to his face and felt the prickle of his beard. “You touched my heart, and a few drops dripped out. It seems like you’re always doing it.”
He brought my fingers to his mouth, his thumb massaging my palm lightly, while his lips found each tip. “Room 204.”
“Are…are you coming?”
“Not if we want to get you home before eleven.”
16
Mark
“Ten forty-five. Phew, we made curfew. Now you won’t be grounded.”
“Stop.”
“Let’s go see the warden.”
“You don’t need to walk me inside.”
I took her hand. “Ruth made it crystal-clear she didn’t want you to go out tonight. I doubt she wants you to go out any night. If there’s music to face, we’ll face it together.”
There was a light on in the kitchen, where Ruth probably stewed for most of the night. No, she didn’t ask how the evening went. She didn’t ask about dinner, traffic, or comment on the Vineyard Vines shirt I was rockin’. But she did bust Emmie’s balls.
“How did Teddy do?”
“He missed you. Got a little teary-eyed at bedtime, because he wasn’t sure you were coming home.”
Emmie recoiled. A slap across the face would have stung less, and I’m sure she would have preferred it.
Sonofabitch. The woman was a miserable excuse for a human being. I hung around, waiting to see whether she would go upstairs and watch the goddamn news from bed. But so much for that.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” she asked me.
I nodded, and glanced at my watch. “You’re going to miss the news.”
“I watched the ten o’clock news. Nothing much going on in the world. I need to catch up with Emmie about a few things.” The old lady was as much of a baby as I was, but she was winning this round.
Emmie touched my arm. “Thank you for tonight. I loved every single thing about it.”
A good-night kiss was not happening. I didn’t want to make the situation with Ruth any uglier for her. But I wanted her motherin-law to understand I wasn’t going away. This was not one-and-done. I planned to hang around for a long time. “We’ll do it again, every Thursday, if you want.”
She looked up at me through long, thick lashes and smiled. It was a smile just for me. And right then, I realized there was nothing else in life I needed to make me happy. Not a thing.
“Good-night,” I murmured, but I didn’t budge.
“We need more milk, and you’re almost out of bread.” Ruth’s cackle interrupted the quiet intimacy between Emmie and me. It was her way of making me irrelevant, of sending me packing into the night.
I got in the car and drove about a mile when I realized I really wanted a good-night kiss. I needed it. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. By mile two, I had convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to go on and live a full life without it. So I was being a drama queen. So what?
I made an illegal U-turn and headed back to Emmie’s. When I drove past the house to scope it out, I saw the light on in Ruth’s apartment. She’d been waiting me out. I’m sure as soon as the car door shut, she bolted for the stairs. I chuckled to myself. Amateur. She’d have to step up her game if she wanted to out-sneak me.
I parked a few houses away, and texted Emmie from the shadows on the front porch.
Mark: I didn’t want to wake your upstairs neighbor but I really need the good-night kiss we talked about
The folly of a grown man sneaking around for a kiss from a grown woman was not lost on me. And for a few seconds, while I waited for Emmie to respond to my text, I wondered what the hell I was doing.
Emily: Where are you?
Mark: Front stoop
The lock clicked, and the screen door creaked open. Emmie put a finger to her lips, and motioned me inside. I planted one hand on each of her hips and followed her into the kitchen. When we got there, I pinned her between my aching dick and the pantry door. “I need a kiss. A long, drawn-out, take no prisoners kind of kiss. From you, Sunshine.”
I explored her mouth until we were both gasping for air. My hands slipped under her shirt, over silky skin, to her breasts. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this was moving too fast. I was moving too fast. But she didn’t stop me, and I let it spin out of control.
She moaned when my thumb stroked her hard nipple. Blind with need, I skimmed my hand up her thigh and into her panties. She was wet, and the very second my fingers found her clit, she arched her back and purred like a kitten. That’s the moment I lost all control.
I took a few steps back, taking her with me, and hooked my foot a
round a kitchen chair. I dragged it closer, loosened my belt, and pulled her onto my lap, facing me. Her legs dangled over mine. The cute little skirt that taunted me all night was a non-factor now. I yanked her shirt over her head, and tossed it to the floor, then made quick work of her bra. I took a beautiful, round breast in each hand, strumming one nipple while I laved the other.
She squirmed all over my lap, looking for friction. She was so hot and wet, and I needed more of those purrs. Before I knew it, my pants were below my hips and my fingers were snaked through her lace panties, shredding them, so we could both have what we needed. Seconds later, I lowered her onto my throbbing cock.
Oh fuck! Oh, God, yes.
She was needy. Her moans desperate. I grabbed her hips and pulled her against me, grinding her clit with each upward thrust. My hands and mouth tasted every inch of skin they could reach. But I needed more. And I needed both my hands to make it work.
Her fingers were digging into my back. I unwound her arm from my neck. “I want you to help me, Emmie,” I murmured, pressing her fingers to her swollen clit.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, and I rocked my hips in response. Her body started to tremble.
“You’re so sexy when you touch yourself, baby. So beautiful. Does it feel good?”
She nodded. Eyes shut tight, head tipped back. My tongue skated over her throat, while her fingers found a familiar rhythm. Her face and neck were bathed in a light sheen, and her chest flushed with arousal.
“That’s it, baby. Don’t stop.”
She nodded, and only then did I pull my hand away, but not before pressing into hers, increasing the pressure on the sensitive nub.
She was close. Thank you, God. I could already feel the tug of release—the telltale prickle in my spine. I shifted her slightly, to get deeper. Her hand was wedged between my groin and her throbbing center. I held her hips firmly, and every thrust was deeper than the last, the friction on her clit unrelenting. “Don’t take your hand away, baby. You’re almost there.”
She whimpered into my chest. Her nails dug into my back. She tightened and moaned, grinding her release, and squeezing my cock like a vise. She shook in my arms. Two more thrusts and I growled my own release.
“Mmmm.” She pulsed around me, sending aftershocks through us both. I stroked her back and held her for what amounted to about ten seconds before she pulled back, horrified. I’ll never forget the look on her face.
I reached down to secure the condom. No condom. Oh shit. The panic was small, but real.
She jumped off my lap, nearly taking my half-limp, satisfied dick with her.
“Careful,” I cautioned, hoping to mitigate the damage.
“We had…in my kitchen. Teddy’s on the other side of the house. We didn’t use any protection. Oh my God.”
She picked up her clothes from the floor. Covered herself with them. Still trembling, with the visible signs of what we just did on her inner thighs. “You need to go.”
“Emmie, please. Let me stay with you for a little while. Let me hold you for a few minutes.”
“Go. Now. Please, go.”
“Emmie.”
“Mark, if you care one iota about me, you’ll leave right now, please.”
I adjusted my clothes and stared at her ripped panties on the floor. Fuckohfuckohfuck. What had I been thinking? “I’m sorry. I didn’t want—I didn’t want the first time to be like this. Let’s go find your bed. I can make it so much better for you.” I reached for her, but she jerked away, as if my touch were poisonous.
“That’s what you think? You think I’m upset,” she waved her hand around, “because of bad sex? That pretty much sums it all up. Go. Please. Just go.”
I picked her tattered underwear off the floor, and tucked them into her hand. “I’ll leave so we don’t wake Teddy up arguing. But we are not done here, Sunshine. Not by a long shot.”
Emmie
I stood in my kitchen, clutching my torn panties, wet and a little sore, until the door shut behind him. The evidence of how irresponsible I had been dripped down my legs.
After he left, I locked the door, and turned on the shower.
I examined myself in the mirror while the water heated up. I was a mess. Swollen lips, ratty hair, and beard rash all over my neck and chest. I was just like my mother. A man snaps his fingers and I throw all caution, all responsibility out the window.
I had sex with some guy in my kitchen with my seven-year-old in the house. I had no shame. None.
Yes, I wanted it. Yes, I was an eager participant. No, I couldn’t blame any of it on him. I’d rubbed against him, pressing into his erection like a common tramp. What was next? I go off for a few days and leave my nine-year-old daughter to care for her brothers? Then do it again, and again, until some guy says: I don’t want the kids. Then I just leave them at the bus station and walk away. Was that next? Is this how it started with her?
No matter how hard I tried to be someone different, I was just like my mother.
That’s what one of my foster mothers had said when she caught her husband leering, like he wanted to fuck me. “You’re a whore. White trash, just like your mother.” I was twelve.
No matter how hot I turned up the shower, it didn’t warm me. My skin was blotchy and scalded, but inside, the ice was thick, with no signs of cracking.
I toweled off and dried my hair. But I couldn’t stop shaking. I went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Grand Marnier I kept for desserts. I took a long swig of the orange-flavored liqueur right from the bottle, hoping it would warm me.
This couldn’t happen again. I would never do this again.
17
Mark
“What’s going on?” My brother Cole said when he picked up the phone.
“I need a favor. A medium-size one.”
“I’m listening.”
I didn’t say anything for a minute, trying to figure out the most civilized way to begin the I-stuck-my-dick-in-without-a-raincoat conversation. Or maybe I was just killing time to avoid the shit-ton of grief Cole was going to lay on me. Whatever.
“I had unprotected sex, and I need to make sure I’m clean.”
“You are fucking kidding me. What are you, fifteen?”
I propped an elbow on the desk, and dropped my head into my hand. “I don’t need your shit right now. I’ve been kicking my own ass for the last twenty-four hours.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You think she gave you something?”
“No. She hasn’t been with a guy since her husband died.” You can add that to the long list of things I should have kept my mouth shut about. Now he’d want the whole damn story, and the lecture would be never-ending.
“Please don’t tell me you had unprotected sex with Sophie’s friend, the one who works with Jake. The one with the kid.”
“Yeah, that would be the one.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’ve never forgotten to bag it?”
“Before Alexa? Never. And what I do with my wife isn’t any of your fucking business. What kind of favor do you want from me? I’m a surgeon, not an infectious disease doctor. But I’ll be happy to slice off your dick so you won’t have to worry about protection anymore. I’d take your balls, too, but you don’t have any.”
“I’m clean. But I want proof for her. So she doesn’t have to worry about an STD, or worse.”
“Most people do that before they whip out their dick.”
“Are you going to give me some advice about the labs I need, and how I can get them done quickly, or you just gonna beat on me for the rest of the night?”
Cole grunted, which I took to mean he’d help.
“My doctor doesn’t view this as an emergency, and I didn’t want to go into details.”
“Course not. Wouldn’t want everyone to know what a selfish prick you are.”
I could hear Cole fuming. No, I wasn’t always irresponsible, but he liked to think of himself as a fa
ther figure after our parents died. It annoyed the shit out of the rest of us. But there was something else, too. Maybe not Emmie, but if I had unprotected sex regularly, some woman could pass along a chronic disease, or a child Cole clearly didn’t feel I was ready for. What he’d never believe is, before last night, I’d never had sex without a condom. Not a single time. I’d never wanted a woman so much I couldn’t take a minute to reach in my pants or the nightstand for protection.
“Yeah, I’ll help. I’ll find you a doctor with the biggest swabs I know, and tell her to stick it so far up, it tickles your throat.”
I cringed. He was not above that kind of torture.
“Is there any way she could be pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“No,” I grunted, filled with shame.
“It’s common courtesy to ask. Who raised you?”
“She kicked me out before I could say anything, let alone ask questions.”
There was silence, and I’m sure Cole hadn’t missed the rawness in my voice. “I’ll make a call,” he said after a couple of minutes.
“Thanks.”
“Mark, what are you doing with a widow who has a kid? You don’t think the universe has served her up enough grief? You don’t think she has enough shit on her plate without yours?”
If he only knew the half of it. “I’m not playing her.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m not that guy.”
Cole sighed deeply. “No, you’re the guy who loves them, then pops them in the trophy case. Admires them regularly, makes sure they’re not sliding off the shelf, and dusts them off a few times a year, while inspecting them to make sure there aren’t any loose pieces.”
“It’s a keepsake shelf.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“What happens when she falls for you, or when the kid falls for you? What’s your plan then?”
He sounded just like Sophie, which meant they had discussed this in great detail. Wouldn’t be the first time they were in my business, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
