by Rose Hudson
Expecting him to lay me on the bed, I’m surprised when he stops short, setting my feet on the floor and holding my face to look at him. For seconds that feel like eternities, he looks at me, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks, my chin, my lips. Right away I see that, for once, his silence isn’t by choice as he seemingly fights a battle with himself, emotions and flashes of his thoughts play on his features. The epitome of strength and fearlessness, suddenly fragile and afraid. I want to take it away, pull it out of him, make it disappear. Stepping out of his space, I edge back until I meet the bed, reaching down to grasp the hem of my tank and pulling it over my head before pushing my shorts down my legs. Stepping out of them and standing bare, I see his battle wane, its intensity dimming as his face goes tender, perusing my body appreciatively. Need churning inside me, I sit on the edge of the bed and reach out to run my fingers inside the band of his underwear, watching the sculpted muscles of his abdomen flex at my contact. His chest rises and falls heavily as I peer up at him, leaning forward just close enough to run the tip of my tongue up the short smattering of hair stretching up to his navel. I’m rewarded with a deep pleasured moan and his hand cupping the back of my head. Grasping the band at each of his chiseled hips, I tease the v-cut lines at his sides, running my tongue up their length as I slowly pull the cotton fabric down to uncover his rigid cock. Face-to-face with the hard steel of him, I want the pleasure of him in my mouth, needing to both taste him and know that I can pay my respects to this work of art. The muscles of my sex clench remembering the feel of this inside me just hours ago, but wanting it in a way that seemed as though I’d never experienced it before. Running my tongue from base to tip, thrill and seduction laced with boldness, I moan unabashedly as I suck the wetness from the head of his shaft.
“Fuck yes,” Patrick grounds out through gritted teeth, sucking in a sharp breath “That smart mouth around my dick…” I’ve never known that pleasing a man, this man, could be so satisfyingly intoxicating, but the deep growl he makes as I take him completely makes my clit throb in awareness of it. Pushing him further into my mouth, gripping the firm skin of his ass to pull him into me, his fingers wind tight in my hair as his breaths land heavy around me. The bright sense of pride spreading throughout me at what I’m doing to him turns to pure seduction when I look up and take in the sight of his face as he watches himself slide in and out of my mouth. He’s close, and even though I know I could finish him this way, the need to shatter him pushes its way in. Sitting up taller on the bed until my breasts are level with his cock, I push them together on either side of him until he’s fully encapsulated by them. Fierce silver fading to the darkest of blacks, he watches, completely captivated as a stream of saliva falls from my lips and onto his cock between my breasts. Eyes narrowing, whatever plans he’d had for my body derailed by my overtaking, he wraps my hair around his wrist and begins to thrust vigorously. Watching him watch me, using my body for his pleasure, muscles taut and sounds deep and unreserved, I know this vision of him will not soon leave my memory. He releases my hair and tilts my head down slightly so that I can once again see him moving. With one last thrust, his release comes thick and warm on my chest, marking me in more ways than one. Standing before me, bare in every sense of the word, giving himself over to me in all his glory. Claiming me as his own.
“No, don’t eat that. I’ll make some fresh.” Patrick tries to grab the plate of French toast away from me, but I pull it out of his reach. Shoving it in my mouth like a bear coming out of hibernation, I grin at him with my eyes since my mouth is stuffed to the brim and my lips can’t possibly cooperate. Palms flat on the bar and eyes scrunched as he takes me in, he shakes his head and chuckles, amused at how sophisticated I look, I’m sure. But I couldn’t care less. Jumping into the shower after his gloriously erotic release earlier, he had demanded on joining me. Promising no funny business, but lying through his teeth. Hands roaming my body under the hot spray of the water, easily priming my body before picking me up and fucking me against the shower wall. Lies. All lies, I tell you. If he keeps these sexcapades up he’ll just have to quit working on boats and become my personal chef because I walked downstairs feeling as if I’d just returned from being stranded on an island for a month.
“How about something to wash all that down with,” he teases, opening the refrigerator door and bending to access the bare contents. I chew faster, trying to choke down the wad of carbs in my mouth so that I can make excuses for my empty kitchen when my phone rings. Ruth.
“Hey. Good morning…err…afternoon,” I answer as bubbly as I can around the remnants of food in my mouth.
“Good afternoon, Mom,” she giggles. “We just got out of a movie and Eleese is bringing me home.” I’m trying not to be distracted as I listen to her and all the girls in the background, but my attention is focused on Patrick and the three oranges he is juicing into a glass. Seriously? This man cannot be real. “Mom?”
“Ugh…yeah honey. That’s fine.” I shake my head and clear my throat. “Now when did you say you’re going to be home? Sorry.” She asks Eleese in the background.
“In about thirty, forty minutes.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.” I end the call and lean back in the chair, bring my knees up to my chest, and examine Patrick as he squeezes the last orange into the glass. Picking at my cuticles, I’m suddenly anxious about the fact that my daughter is going to be in the same house in half an hour as my…hookup? Boyfriend? Expecting some sort of change in his demeanor, I try not to let my eyes cross as they follow the path of the glass he sits down in front of me through my squinted eyes.
“It’s probably not the best in the world, but I figured it was better than sour milk or wine.” His grin fades as he sets it down, matching me scrunched brow for scrunched brow. “What? Allergic to oranges?” He turns to head back to the fridge and I grab his hand to stop him.
“No, lord, this is amazing. Thank you for going through the trouble.” He appraises me, walking slowly around the bar before landing in the chair beside me and turning me to face him.
“Then why the sour face, beauty?” His voice is smooth, and I manage to swoon a little amidst all my inner freak-outs. I chew my lip, and chew some more, sure I’m overthinking things, as usual, but worried all the same. He grabs my ankles and pulls my legs over his thighs, scooting my chair into his with the gentle force.
“That was my daughter, Ruth. She’ll be home in about thirty minutes.” His hands run up and down my legs, the uneven texture of his palms, rough and soft, gentle and demanding, deliciously calming and never faltering at my words.
“Yeah, I got that much,” he chuckles softly and looks at me like the crazy woman I feel like right now.
“And you’re okay with that? I don’t even know if I’m okay with that.” I move my legs from his lap and stand to pace. Pacing is good. It lets some of the crazy out without me having to open my mouth and let it out that way. He’s up immediately, but slowly, walking up behind me and wrapping his arms tightly around me. Now… dammit, I need to pace…but wait, this is…yeah, this is good too. I feel my anxiety start to ebb. He turns me slowly to face him.
“First of all, breathe.” He leads me over to the couch in the living room and sits us down, never letting go of my hand as we do. Yeah, this is good. He looks down for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling visibly, but not heavily. Oh god, anxiety not ebbing. Ebb, damn you. He looks up, meeting my eyes, his face a soft slate. Okay, yes, there we go. That’s gooder. Gooder? That’s not even a word. Focus Erin! “I know you said it’s in the past, and it is, but I need to say this. When I brought you home that night, I saw the pictures of you and Ruth when I came downstairs to get you ibuprofen. Yes, it freaked me out, and yes, that’s why I left without a word or a note or anything. But it’s not what you think.” His stare is deep and his words unwavering. My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest. People aren’t usually this honest and it’s scary that he is. Not scary bad, just scary. Breathing in d
eeply, he continues. “There is a lot about me that I’m not proud of and now that decision is just something to add to the list. I don’t know when or how, but there are things, parts of my life that have made me the way I am, that I will tell you about. Someday. I know this because you’ve already changed me.” He caresses my cheek with his thumb, battling with his own seriousness. “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m asking you to trust me. And I’m telling you that I know you deserve better.”
Explosion. My heart willingly shatters into a million pieces. I couldn’t have been more wrong about this man, and it’s the most beautiful feeling in the world.
“Mom! I’m home!” The front door clicks shut and I hear her steps coming toward us. The widest smile spreads across Patrick’s face as he looks over my shoulder and I don’t have to turn to know she’s there, but I do just so I can see the look on her face. “Oh, hi. Hello.” Her smile is just as grand.
Nevermind. This is the most beautiful feeling in the world. There’s always room for more beauty in the world, right?
“FRESH ORANGE JUICE!” MEL sits on the edge of her chair as we take a break from cleaning the warehouse, like I’m telling her a survival story or something. I swore I wouldn’t kiss and tell, and mostly, I haven’t, but she is so damn good at getting details out of me. Plus, Patrick makes it damn hard not to brag on him. I haven’t had Mel at the store all week, so I’ve been chomping at the bit to scream the details at someone. Thankfully my lonely week gave me some time to cool my ovaries and think better of it, so all she got was the cooking and fresh juice short story.
The air coming off of the water in front of the warehouse is crisp and cool, smelling of salt and reminding me that the season is changing. it's moderately warmer than usual for the second week in November, but regardless, the holidays are quickly approaching. It doesn’t matter that we are a family of two, I always make it a point to go all out. Making both our favorites, traditional or not, and feasting all day in our pajamas, taking turns picking movies or reading books aloud to each other. Our first Thanksgiving in our home is only two weeks from now and I can almost smell the food and see the memories being made. I smile widely at the thought, which Mel perceives as a smile meant for Patrick and the story, which is okay since he is kind of becoming a part of everything. I finish up my bottle of water and stand to get back to work since we’ve only been here an hour and it’s kind of ridiculous that we are already taking a break.
“Truth. I was on the phone with Ruth and tried to play it off, but it was impossible and I’m pretty sure she caught on.” I hand her a large black trash bag and take one for myself to finish gathering up the few remains of the last owner. My heart squeezes thinking about his truth; his smile when Ruth walked into the room, their easy way with one another over dinner. It was far more magical and consuming than I could’ve ever imagined it would be and I’ve spent all week trying to recover from it. Ruth has asked twice since we’ve been here if she could walk down the way to his boat shop, but I told her he does sometimes have things to do. Yes, he is very work-driven and usually busy, but was that really the truth? No. But I can already see her feelings for him sprouting to life and I’m just not willing for her to dive in headfirst when the possibility of getting hurt is still so blaring. I move to look out on the dock, catching sight of her still reading her book in the mid-morning sun.
“I was about her age when I really started wishing I had a father figure around,” Mel speaks from behind me as I look out upon Ruth, watching her strawberry curls wrap around the dock post she leans against, smiling at whatever it is she’s reading and stealing my heart a little more. I turn abruptly at Mel’s voice, curious as to what she is talking about.
“Father figure? You didn’t have a…father,” my voice weakens on the word and I struggle to say it, fearful of her emotional connection to the topic and beyond surprised that she is talking to me about this. Mel may be over the top with a lot of things, but you won’t catch her telling her deepest darkest secrets. Shaking her head, she continues shoving stacks of paper into the trash bag and keeping herself busy as she speaks.
“I never really knew what happened to him. My mother says he was killed in a car accident, but I overheard a conversation with her sister when I was little that he had run off. At least that’s what I think I heard, but I was never brave enough to breech the subject with her. Plus, it really doesn’t matter. He was gone either which way.” I see her dark chocolate eyes twinkle with unshed tears and I know this is hard for her, so I don’t push. I let her keep going at her own pace, telling me whatever she is comfortable with because I have no idea where it’s even coming from and I don’t want to shut her down.
“When you and I first met, I saw a lot of my mother in you.” She raises a hand in the air to cut off my smart-ass comment about only being a few years older than her that she knows is coming before I even open my mouth. “I don’t mean in age obviously. I just mean in your…,” she bites her lip in thought, looking from me to the floor. “I could just see that you were very driven and focused, with both this and her,” she motions around us then towards Ruth on the docks.
“You haven’t ever spoken to me about your mother. What did she do,” I gently push, my heart strings feeling pulled tight at the knowledge of why she is telling me this.
“Well, she didn’t have a career like you do, but she could wait the hell out of tables and bartend on the weekends. She did that my entire life, and believe it or not, she still does it. I’ve always wanted to ask her why, but my mother is just one of those people who you don’t question, so I don’t.” She forcefully opens and closes the drawers on the rows of metal file cabinets along the wall of the office. Harder and harder. Louder and louder. Causing the sound to echo throughout the empty warehouse like a jackhammer. I move toward her, placing my hand on her back, trying my best to relieve some of the hurt. She leans her arms against the tall strength of the file cabinet, pushing off after a moment of reprieve from her thoughts and walking to the freshly cleaned wooden desk sitting in the middle of the mostly empty room. “I won’t go into my shit-show of a childhood, but I will tell you how I watched my mom draw further and further into seclusion. I kept expecting that one day she would bring someone home or say ‘hey Mel, I’m going on a date tonight’, but she never did. I remember being scared to death to ask her about going out on my first date when I was sixteen. The thought of asking your mother if you can go on a date when she herself wasn’t dating, was mortifying. I became obsessed with making myself available for her; sticking around on the weekends, missing out on all kinds of shit that other kids my age got to experience. She never asked me once to stay. She didn’t have to because I felt like I was being a horrible daughter if I didn’t.” Mel reaches up to wipe a lone tear from her cheek, sniffling and clearing her throat, hopping off the desk and walking to the window of the office, peering out to the docks. I watch from across the room as a smile creeps up the corner of her lips, the bright fall sun reflecting off the bay water and lighting up her breathtaking olive skin. She thumbs over toward the window. “It looks like he’s going to make it difficult for you to keep him away though.” I look at her through lowered brows.
“He?” I drop my trash bag and nearly gallop across the room to the window, mouth falling open as I catch sight of Patrick sitting on the dock next to Ruth and my heart sings. I toss the disposable gloves off my hands and take my hair and swirl it into a topknot, smoothing the fly-aways as well as my jeans and long sleeve t-shirt. Of course he would come when I don’t have a stitch of makeup on and smell like mildew from this rank office. I guess it was bound to happen eventually. As I walk toward the exterior door, Mel hollers after me.
“Hey! Try not to look at everything through protective wear. Cut him some slack, okay?” I shake my head and give her a smile filled with the love and respect that seems to grow by the minute for her.
The now late morning air has grown warmer in the hour or so it’s been since I was out here. I quietly step
toward Patrick and Ruth, trying hard not to giggle and sneak up on them from behind. The closer I get, the clearer their voices and I can make out Ruth saying something about her grandparents. It stops me dead in my tracks. Her grandparents? She hasn’t mentioned them in forever! She never talks to me about them, so I guess I just assumed that she was okay not really having involvement with them. Don’t get me wrong, I know kids love their grandparents, but even before Glendon’s death neither set of hers would’ve been nominated for any awards. Of course his parents increased the frequency of calls and emails since his death. But after Glendon’s dad, Fenton retired, he and Abigale had a spur of the moment idea to move to Alaska, making face-to-face contact near impossible. As for my family, there isn’t a lot to be said. I left home at seventeen and never really looked back. My father continued his rock star lifestyle long after his rock star status was nothing but a memory, and my mother had always been along for the ride. I’ve never focused on the fact that they’ve been mostly absent throughout my life, but I have considered their absence in Ruth’s. For years I hoped they would clean up and be a part of the family that I wanted for her, but they have yet to do so. Acceptance and forgiveness has proven to be most realistic in helping me move forward.
