My Storm

by Tiffany Patterson

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please,” I plead, tugging his hand.

  Finally, he nods. As soon as we enter the front door Jeremy heads to the couch, collapsing on it and covering his face with his hand. I go into the kitchen to grab two bottles of water. I return to the living room and perch myself on the coffee table directly across from him. After unscrewing both bottles of water, I set them aside on coasters and then bend down. I lift one of his legs. Carefully, I remove his loafers and then massage one foot and then the other. I move my hands up his legs to his thighs. I feel the tension in his body relax little by little until I feel it turn into something else. Making my way up his thighs, I press firmly into his strong muscles, silently encouraging him to release. He removes his hand from his face, his eyes piercing me. I see the worn look on his face and want nothing more than to take it away.

  I move up to his belt buckle and undo it along with the button and zipper of his pants.

  “LaTasha,” he whispers, hoarsely.

  Goosebumps spring up all over my body as I move closer, coming to my knees in front of him. After some maneuvering, I’m able to pull his pants and boxers down far enough that his semi-erect penis is exposed. Tentatively, I extend my tongue, licking the entire underside of his shaft. The reaction is immediate, as it stiffens in my hand. I smile at the power I feel because I’m able to turn him on in this way.

  “You’re not the only one who knows how to relieve tension,” I state saucily right before I cover his entire cock with my warm mouth.

  The gasp and groan of pleasure he releases causes me to feel a sense of power I’ve rarely felt before. Up and down I bob my head, setting a slow pace to moisten him. Releasing him, I twirl my tongue at his tip, savoring the taste of his precum before I take him all the way in. I lower my head down, pausing to adjust to the sheer girth of him. I close my eyes trying to pull it together. This is my first blowjob.

  “Relax your jaw. Breathe out through your nose,” he coaxes from above me.

  I feel his hand cover the back of my head, urging me to go deeper. I do as instructed and soon I’m able to take him all the way in. He’s in so deep that he’s hitting the back of my throat. I pause, trying to stave off my gag reflex. When he tightens his grip on the back of my head, I begin moving up and down, sucking and slurping. Once comfortable, I use my tongue to stroke the vein at the underside of him while hollowing my cheeks as I move up and down. I can feel him grow incredibly hard as I continue sucking him. The pressure at the back of my head grows also, telling me he is enjoying this. I’m even surprised to realize that I’m feeling wetness between my thighs from this. My knowledge of this actually encourages me to move quicker, and before I know it, I’m using my hands to reach the parts of his shaft that won’t fit in my mouth.

  “Shit! I’m going to cum. Swallow it!” he barks, and I brace myself for his eruption.

  Seconds later, I feel the first squirt of his warm liquid on my tongue as he thrusts his hips into my face, yelling out. I try to take every drop but his essence spills out of my mouth. Still, I wait for him to completely empty and his body to go still before I release him. I hear a popping sound as he exits my mouth. I sit back on my heels, looking up at him between my lashes, wiping my mouth.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever done that,” I admit.

  His head pops up from the back of the couch and a half-cocked smile emerges. He stuffs himself back in his pants before pulling me onto his lap. “You’re shitting me.” He chuckles.

  I shake my head. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Right now you can tell me anything, doll.”

  “I’ve been watching how-to videos of doing that.”

  “How-to videos to give a blow job? Doll, you know I’d give you all the practice you need.” He chuckles.

  “I know but I wanted my first time with you to be…special, not instructional.” I give him a one shoulder shrug, my eyes lowered to the floor.

  He bends over, using his finger to tip my chin up to look at him. “I appreciate your effort. Best blow job ever,” he states, before taking my lips with his.

  I snuggle into his embrace, laying my head on his shoulder. “That woman was your mother?” I ask after a few moments of silence. At first, I regret the question, feeling his body go rigid underneath me. But I won’t take it back. I want to know more about him and this woman who obviously has an effect on him. I caress his jaw, trailing down to his neck, shoulder, and arm. I massage it to release the tension again. Slowly, his body relaxes and he sighs.

  “Yes. That was her.”

  “She’s sick.”

  “Lung cancer, courtesy of her two-pack-a-day, thirty-year habit.”

  “How long does she have to live?”

  “Doctors said six months.” He sighs. “That was three months ago.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “A few weeks ago. The first time I saw her in more than twenty years was the night of our second date when I had to leave early. That was the day she stormed into my office to tell me she was broke and dying. I set her up in a hospice and I talk to Ms. Watson a few times a week to check up on her condition.”

  “But you don’t visit her regularly.” It was a statement, not a question or condemnation of guilt.

  “No.”

  I let his answer hang in the air for a while. “My mom left me too,” I admit. His grip around my waist tightens. “She’d never really wanted me. She didn’t say as much, but I could tell. She only paid me a little bit attention whenever my father came around. She would dress me up like a little doll to try and please him. It never worked. He didn’t want me either. Aside from that, she only cared for me enough to chastise me about being too dark or too fat or not enough of this or that. My grandmother shielded me from the worst of it, but when she died when I was ten, there was no one to shield me. We moved from New York to Virginia a few months later. My mother’s new boyfriend got her mixed up with drugs or maybe she started doing drugs before then. I’m not really sure. She’d leave for days at a time until one day she never came back. I was almost twelve and alone,” I recall those scary and lonely days. Blinking to hold back unshed tears, I let out a deep sigh. “Anyway, I never saw her after that. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I learned that she’d died of a drug overdose back in New York. She’d been buried in an unmarked grave. I never got to say goodbye or ask her why she hated me so much.”

  I sit up and look at Jeremy. I frame his face between my palms. “She’s your mother. She was obviously terrible at it, but at least you have a chance to talk to her. Ask her why she threw you away.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I can tell that admission is hard for him.

  “You’ll find the words. I never thought I’d be able to forgive my mother either. It took a while, but I no longer hate her. You can start by simply making time to visit her.”

  He sighs, pulling me in even closer. “I’ll think about it. Right now,” he says, sitting up, and pulling me with him. “I need to take a nap. It’s been a long night.”

  I gasp as he raises us both and carries me effortlessly to the bedroom. Soon enough we’re both cloaked in the weariness of the past twelve hours, surrendering to the sleep we both desire.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tasha

  Standing over the stove, I relish the aroma wafting in the air. It’s Friday evening and I’m at Jeremy’s cooking chicken Marsala with risotto. He gave me a key to his house a few weeks ago and told me to use it whenever I wanted to. Since then, there have been a couple of times since then that I’ve received a text message in the middle of the day, demanding I meet him in his playroom dressed in a pair of handcuffs and blindfolded. Those times resulted in me emitting ear-splitting screams from orgasms. I see my reflection in the mirrored finish of the stove and blush at the heated look on my face. I seem to have that look whenever Jeremy crosses my mind, which happens to be a hell of a lot these days
.

  Returning to the present moment, I hear the front door open and close. Butterflies immediately start fluttering in my belly. That happens whenever he’s near. I hear him making his way to the kitchen. I take out a spoon from the drawer, wanting him to taste a sample of tonight’s dinner before he goes up to take a shower and get out of his work clothes. However, as soon as I look up from the stove and into those dark green eyes, I know he is not thinking about dinner; at least not the dinner on the stove. He leans his long, solid body against the edge of the doorjamb, staring at me. I know that look.

  “Hi.” My voice is already breathless.

  “Hello,” he returns, looking me up and down. He pauses to take in the outline of my ass in the long skirt I’m wearing. I know he’s assessing whether or not I have on panties, which would be breaking one of his rules. No panties while in my home. His words echo in my mind. Realizing I’m panty-less indeed under the skirt, he raises his gaze to look me in the eye at the same time his hands reach for his shirt collar. Deftly, he removes his dark blue silk tie. That move alone causes my insides to hum in anticipation, but I try to keep it under control.

  “How was your day?” I play coy, pretending not to realize what type of mood he’s in. Something has triggered his need to release some extra energy. And that knowledge alone makes my pussy pulsate in anticipation.

  “Hands behind your back.” He gets straight to the point.

  I smirk, turn off the stove, and cover the pots. “No answer to my question?”

  He stalks toward me with narrowed eyes and growls lowly in his throat. “Love,” he scolds.

  “I just want to know how your day was.”

  “Mine is about to get a lot better. Yours may worsen if I have to repeat myself.”

  Biting my lower lip to keep from grinning, I slowly move my hands to my lower back. Quickly, I feel Jeremy’s strong hands take hold of mine, twining the silk tie around my wrists securely. But it’s not tight enough to cut off my circulation or cause pain. He begins to gather my skirt at my waist, groaning when he makes contact with the skin of my backside.

  “No panties.” I hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Spread your legs,” he orders, but in his impatience doesn’t wait for me to do so. He uses his foot to separate my legs. “You want to know how my day was?” he whispers in my ear while his fingers outline my pussy lips.

  I moan at the intimate touch.

  “Quiet!” he growls, smacking my ass for emphasis.

  That move prompts me to poke my ass out for more, which is exactly what he wanted. Gripping a handful of my hair, he pushes me down on the countertop and separates my legs even more, leaving me completely exposed to him to do whatever he wishes. That thought sends even more liquid to my already wet pussy.

  “My day was shit!” he grunts, pushing his way into me forcefully.

  I gasp at the sudden fullness, but do my best to keep quiet. Without warning, Jeremy starts pounding into me, angling his hips to penetrate me as deeply as possible in this position. One hand remains on my hair while the other grips my ass, squeezing painfully. His strokes are relentless as he tunnels into me for dear life. When he eases up for a second, I think he’s going to pull out, but instead I hear one of the kitchen stools scraping across the floor until it’s right next to me.

  “Leg up,” he commands, lifting my right leg, placing it onto the stool. This allows him even deeper penetration, which I was sure was impossible before now.

  Ohhhh Goood! My brain screams over and over as he pushes my head down onto the counter and takes what he wants. I feel wetness sliding down from my pussy to my upper thighs. The slapping of my ass against his hard body mixed with his grunts are all that can be heard. But it’s enough to arouse me even more and soon my pussy is fluttering. I need to cum.

  “Sir, can I please cum,” I manage to ask, my voice hoarse.

  “No!”

  I want to whine and turn around and smack him at the same time for denying my orgasm. I decide to punish him as he is punishing me. I continue to take his unwavering strokes, gripping my pussy muscles on each of his down strokes. When I hear him gasp and smack my ass, I grin, knowing I’m able to make him lose control too. He picks up the pace of his strokes, hammering into me, moving his hand around to my front to stroke my clit. My toes curl from the pleasure coursing through my body mixed with the pain from the way he continues to grip my hair. Soon, I can’t take it anymore. My body can’t possibly get any higher on this cloud of pleasure. I need a release.

  “Cum with me!” he yells, his voice hoarse.

  Thank you, God, I think right before my body takes over and my orgasm crests, causing every inch of my body to feel suspended off the ground. I strain and shake uncontrollably until the last moments of pleasure leave my body. When I come back to reality, my throat is dry and hurting from the screams I emitted and I feel Jeremy’s heavy body folded over me on the counter. I love the way he lays on top of me, protectively after he cums. It’s as if he’s protecting me from the gravity of what we’ve just shared. He’s letting me know he’s all in it with me. These are the moments I feel the safest I’ve ever felt in my life. Much too soon, I feel his weight let up and he pulls himself from me. The feeling of loss is quickly replaced when he pulls me up from the counter, releases the tie, and then tugs me down to sit down on the kitchen floor with him. Still panting, we remain quiet for some time as we come down from our high. Jeremy continues to absentmindedly rub my wrists, massaging any hurt away. I don’t bother to tell him that he doesn’t need to do that since he didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t stop anyway. I smile at that knowledge, snuggling even closer to him.

  “You know most people would say doing that in the kitchen is inappropriate.”

  He grunts. “It’s my house. I do what the fuck I want,” he retorts.

  “You want to talk about it?” I feel his chest rise as he inhales deeply. He releases but remains quiet. For a while I think he’s not going to answer my question.

  “I went to see her today,” he finally answers. Without him saying I know who she is.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s dying,” he states, not bothering to sugarcoat the situation.

  I remain quiet, stroking his back. I decide not to push him. Jeremy will open up in his own time and I’ll sit right here until he’s ready.

  “I asked her why she came to me only once she knew she was dying. She said it was because she had nowhere else to go.” He snorts. “Imagine giving a child up and then only contacting them when you’re dying because you’ve lived such a fruitless life that no one else cares about you.”

  I pull him in tighter, wanting somehow to shield him from the jarring pain of rejection. I know that pain all too well.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Maybe what? She didn’t mean it? Nope, she meant exactly what the fuck she said,” he spits bitterly.

  “I’m sorry.” That’s all I know to say right now.

  “For what? Did you abandon me and come back in my life twenty years later sick and dying of lung cancer?”

  I don’t take issue or get defensive at the tone in his voice. I know it’s not me he’s angry with.

  He sighs heavily. “Then after saying all that, she apologizes.”

  My hand pauses.

  “I know, right? She’s a regular Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde.”

  “What did she say? Her exact words.”

  “She said, ‘I’m sorry for leaving you like that.’ It probably was her pain meds talking anyway.” He shrugs.

  “When are you going to see her again?”

  “I’m not.”

  “What?” I sit up to look him in the eye.

  “I went and saw her. It’s over.” His face hardens, but I see the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

  “You have to go see her again,” I insist.

  Jeremy gives me a hard stare, but I refuse to back down. “I don’t have—”

  “Yes, you do!” I say exasperated although I kno
w I’m breaking one of his rules. But I don’t care. “You need this. And you will never forgive yourself if you don’t. I know it.”

  He just glares at me for a full minute before lowering his lashes and then looking back at me with an impish grin. “Fine. If I have to see her again, then you have to go to the National Book Awards dinner.”

  My face tightens. It’s been months since he found out about it and weeks since we even talked about that stupid dinner. I thought he’d forgotten all about it, but I should’ve known better. Jeremy forgets nothing and he’s always two steps ahead of me. I roll my eyes and wiggle, trying to get off his lap, but he holds me in place.

  “That’s different,” I huff, sounding like a school child.

  “How so? Seems to me like you’re running from something the same way I—”

  I smile at his slip up and pounce. “See! You are running from it. You can’t—”

  “Nice try,” he says, cutting me off. “But right now we’re discussing you.” He points his index finger toward my chest.

  I fold my arms over my breasts, narrowing my eyes giving him my best ‘don’t mess with me’ look, but this big bully remains unfazed.

  “If I go to see her again, you’ll go to the awards dinner. In fact, I’ll go with you.”

  Those last two words loosen something in my chest, making the impossible seem possible. New York City is a big scary place with some ugly memories for me, but it seems less so when I realize I don’t have to take it on alone.

  “You’ll come with me to New York and I’ll go with you to visit your mom.”

  Something in his chest must have softened too because he releases a breath I didn’t realize he was holding, and squeezes my thigh, reassuringly. Silently, we agree to be each other’s strength.

  *****

  “When is Ms. Coral coming back?” Trudy asks me as we continue to clean up the community center. We’ve just finished one of our after-school book club meetings and most of the children have been picked up by their parents or guardians. Trudy, as usual, is one of the last children here. I don’t mind her company at all. Contrarily, I relish our little talks and listening to her theories on Danica or whatever book we’ve chosen for the month. She’s become an avid reader, often bringing new books she’s picked up from the library to my attention. According to the academic counselors here, she’s one of the top in her seventh grade class and her teachers think she has a real chance at attending one of the top high schools in the city if she keeps up.