by Liz Crowe
He slowed, using external friction against my clit and latching onto one of my nipples, making me shiver and cry out. “Come inside me. I want to feel it. Fuck me, papi. Fuck me hard.”
He let go of my nipple and stared down at me, his expression one of wonder. “I…I need to…” He gasped and pounded fast and hard against me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, as the climax rose in me, bringing a cry of pleasure to my lips. He matched my cry with his own.
We shivered in unison. A drop of his sweat hit my lips. I smiled and licked them. He was still shaking when he pulled out of me and dropped onto his side. “Come here,” he said, pulling me close. “Oh my God, Melody. You gotta stop calling me papi. I come so fucking hard when you do that it’s just sick and wrong.”
I smiled and touched his nose. “Don’t be so anglo. I don’t think you’re my real Papi. It’s just…what comes out of my mouth. You’re only my papi when you make me come so hard I can’t see, all right? It’s a figure of speech.”
He sighed and nodded. “I gotta sleep a little.”
“Me too. Bathroom first.”
I slid out of his arms and headed for his bathroom. I’d been here before. We’d christened his kitchen, his living room and his shower already. But I didn’t have to sneak out tonight before his daughter came home. Tonight I would sleep in his arms, in his house, under his roof. I used a wet cloth to clean up, then grabbed one of his black T-shirts out of a drawer full of them folded so perfectly I giggled. He muttered something and rolled onto his belly, stuffing his hands under the pillow. His muscular ass was awfully tempting. I wanted to bite it.
I shook my head at myself, touched the heavy locket like a talisman then headed for the kitchen, seeking water and maybe a snack even as a tiny tingle of regret over the night’s full round of non-condom sex hit me between the eyes. I hesitated, counting the days in my head, then shrugged, figuring I was in a safe zone but making a mental note to discuss it with him.
His giant, double-door fridge was packed full of yogurt, protein drinks, fruit, veggies, milk, OJ and the usual condiments in the door. I grabbed a handful of grapes and a yogurt, then poked around until I located a spoon. I flipped on the teapot and sat, munching on the grapes while the water heated. I stared around the large combination living and dining room, noting that he used the edge of the big wooden dining table as a home office. It was cluttered with his laptop, piles of papers, files, pens and handwritten notes.
I took a few bites of the yogurt, trying not to be too nosy. I knew he had a big project in downtown Kalamazoo he was trying to get approved. As I studied his neat, tidy, left-leaning handwriting, the teapot dinged.
As the fragrant Earl Grey steeped, I snooped a little more, moving papers aside and checking out income statements for his various businesses. I clutched the mug close to my chest, getting as much out of the aroma as I would the flavor, noting that his most profitable enterprises were, without a doubt, the three liquor stores. He had partial ownership of two restaurants and a coffee shop. Damn guy was loaded, if these P&L sheets were any indication.
A low, insistent buzzing sound hit my ears. I knew it was a phone, but I’d turned mine off hours ago. I set my tea down and went on a seek and find, locating Trent’s phone, deep in his jeans pocket in the bedroom where he was still snoring away. I pulled the duvet up over his naked butt, after giving it a proprietary little pat. I glanced down at the screen. He’d missed three calls and a bunch of texts from Sheila. His ex-wife, Taylor’s mother.
As I was staring at it, trying to figure out what to do, since Taylor wasn’t with her mother this weekend, it buzzed. I almost dropped it in surprise. This time it was Taylor herself. I put the phone to my ear. “Hello, Taylor. It’s Melody.”
“Uh…so…where’s my dad?”
“He’s asleep right now.” I could hear noises behind her—party noises. She sniffled. My trouble radar pinged. “Are you all right?”
“I’m…no. I’m not. Shit.”
“Okay, so is there something I can do?”
“Maybe.” She sniffled again. “I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“Um…that’s kind of the problem.”
“Oh?” I grabbed my tea and took a sip. Maybe I could help her and she’d try to not hate me.
“Yeah. I’m…not where I said I’d be. I’m up north. At the cabin.”
The tea shot down my windpipe, making me splutter and cough. She waited me out. I tiptoed back to make sure Trent was still snoozing, then headed for the kitchen, pulling the sliding door shut behind me. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m up north. At the cabin.” Her tone made me want to reach through the phone and snatch her hair out.
“I heard that part, Taylor. Your dad thinks you’re at a friend’s for the weekend.”
“Yeah, obviously, since you’re answering his phone right now.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from biting her head off, and determined not to be so judgmental when Trent would call her the devil spawn. I was beginning to see his point. “And so, is there something I could do to help you?”
She heaved a sigh. “Well…could you come up here, maybe? My friends got in a big fight and one of them drove off and left me here without a car.”
I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Trent any minute. “That’s kind of a long way. And you don’t sound like you’re alone.”
“You know what, never mind. It’s really none of your business anyway.” Her tone had gone sharp again.
“Your mother has called here a few times.”
“I called her.”
“Well, she’s obviously trying to reach your dad and tell him.”
“Shit.”
“Is everyone there safe? No one’s hurt? No police or anything?”
“No. It’s just me, Tina and a couple of our friends.”
I heard a feminine squeal and some masculine guffaws behind her. I frowned and switched the phone to my other ear. “Taylor, you snuck up to your father’s house after telling him you were at a friend’s and threw a party?”
“Well…”
“Holy shit, chica. You’ve got some cojones. I’ll give you that.”
“Are you coming, or what?”
“Yes. I’ll tell your dad I had to go see my mother, that’s she’s sick or something.” My head was pounding and my inner, much smarter Melody screamed at me that this was a Massively Bad Idea. But I was caught up in it now. I wanted the damn girl to like me. I needed her to like me. Ergo, I was prepared to lie to Trent and save her sorry ass. Apparently.
“It’s a solid three hours so I expect you to clear the house out of partiers before I get there, do you understand?”
“Yes.” She sounded contrite. I should’ve known better. But I didn’t.
I scratched out a quick note to Trent, then called for a ride home, biting my lip so much on the way there it was a bloody, ragged mess by the time I climbed into my car. I plugged in the address of Trent’s cabin—a huge, six-bedroom, six-bath mansion on Lake Michigan, with a gourmet kitchen and a deck stretching across the back. He’d bought it right after his divorce, he’d claimed. A sort of up-yours to his greedy ex who’d always wanted a lake house. But he never used it as much, he claimed. Too busy working.
I didn’t dare stop more than once for gas and a huge cup of crappy coffee. As I approached the house, I saw the tell-tale flashing lights. Praying there was an emergency at the next-door neighbor’s, I sucked in a breath and spat out a string of my best Spanish cuss words at the sight of the police car, the small fire truck, and the ambulance parked in the long drive at Trent’s house.
I parked on the street and jumped out, then ran up the drive, heart in my throat. The medical types were gathered around someone lying on the grass in the back yard. I stopped, hand over my mouth. But I spotted Taylor, standing on the bottom step, talking to a policeman. I ran to her, grabbed and hugged her in relief. She stayed stiff in my arms. I relea
sed her and turned to the cop.
“Thank you, Officer.”
He frowned at me. “Are you this girl’s mother?”
“No,” Taylor and I both said at the same time.
“Well, we need a parent here. She’s underage and that house,” he pointed up where lights shone out of every single one of the many windows. “That house is full of booze and pot and teenagers.” He held up a tiny, glass pipe. “That kid is lucky to be alive.” He pointed to the boy who was on his back, getting his leg checked out.
I stared at Taylor, horrified. Mainly because I was officially out of my league. I had to call Trent. “I have to call your father.”
“No, please no.” She gripped my arm. Tears made her green eyes sparkle. “Oh God.” She dropped to her heels, hand over her eyes. The cop shot me a moderately sympathetic look and snapped his notebook shut.
“Better call him,” he said. I nodded, shivering in the cool night air. The EMTs had the injured boy on a gurney now. He moaned in pain as it rolled by me. I gripped Taylor’s arm and hauled her to her feet.
“What in the hell happened to him?”
“He was walking on the railing or something stupid.”
I glanced up, confirming what I recalled about the deck railing and its relative distance from the ground. “Fucking-A,” I muttered, gripping my phone and trying to get up the nerve to call Trent, which would of course reveal my own complicity in the basic wrongness of this whole scene.
Taylor was sniveling and shaking. Fury clouded my vision. The sheer stupidity of this whole thing made my head ache. I touched the quick dial and put the phone to my ear at the precise moment I remembered that he’d had minimal battery on the thing when I’d first talked to Taylor. When my call went straight to his voicemail, I closed my eyes and leaned against the flight of steps.
“What?” She yanked my phone from my hand. I snatched it back.
“Oh no you don’t,” I said, marching her up the steps where the cops were talking to the other girl and boy who both looked like they were about to throw up. If they hadn’t already. “You listen to me, young lady. You dragged me into this and now I have to tell your father that I lied to him to come up here and save your sorry ass.” I shook my finger in her face. She seemed moderately contrite. “Now, guess what? Your dad’s phone is dead so there’s only one other person you can call. I suggest you get her on the line, now.”
Nodding, she took her phone from her pocket, touched the screen and put it to her ear. “Mom? Mommy? I need you to come up here. I can’t get hold of Dad.”
I turned away from her, my face burning hot as I tried to imagine how any of this would end in any way that would possibly work in my favor. I got a whole lot of nothing. I watched as the ambulance doors slammed on the moaning deck-railing-walker and as the vehicle drove away, lights and sirens going full force. I sighed and slumped into one of the lounge chairs. Probably the one where I’d made love with Trent a few weekends ago.
I groaned and put my head on my knees and prayed like mad for a miracle.
Chapter Seventeen
Trent’s dreams were of soft sheets, pillowy clouds, fields of flowers that smelled like chocolate and cinnamon, and of the full, delicious lips of his new girlfriend.
His. Girlfriend. His. Melody.
He saw her, felt her, held her, made love to her over and over in his mind. He also smelled leather and candle wax, something else he couldn’t wait to try with her. She was staring at him through the cream-colored mask, her expressive brown eyes shining.
She was knocking on something, making a huge racket all of a sudden. He glanced around, trying to figure out where the loud banging noise was coming from. It was getting louder, breaking in to his pleasant, sexy dreams.
“Hey, open up, god damn it!”
His eyes opened. He rolled out of the bed and scrambled to his feet. After grabbing a pair of shorts, he stumbled out to the door and slid it open, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out where Melody was. “Sheila,” he said, shocked and more than a little dismayed at the sight of her. Every time he laid eyes on her, he was reminded of what a total fool he’d been for her, about her, with her.
“Well, it would seem as though your daughter managed to slip through your overprotective clutches, Trent.” She crossed her arms. Her green eyes shone with something way too close to I-told-you-so for his taste. He sighed and leaned against the doorframe.
“Speak English please. You woke me up.”
She glared at his bare chest, then into his eyes, her lips turning up in that smile that had once captivated him, and now made him want to put his fist through the wall. “Well?” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice. Taylor. Something was up with Taylor.
“Are you going to let me in?”
“No, I’m not. Tell me what’s going on.”
She sighed. “She’s up north, Trent. She threw a party or something at that fucking obnoxious cabin. Some kid fell off the deck. The cops need us there.”
“What in the hell?” He stepped back. “The cops? A party? Off the deck?” He knew he was babbling but none of it would compute.
Sheila stayed in the hallway, glaring at him. She glanced at her phone, then put it to her ear. “Tay?”
“Give me that fucking thing.” He grabbed the phone out of her hand. “Taylor? What the fuck? Where are you? What were you thinking?”
The girl was sobbing so much he could barely hear her.
“Cut the shit, god damn it. Talk to me.”
“I…I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m s-s-s-sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
He saw the note with his name on it and snatched it up, as he tried to formulate an answer to his beautiful, God-awful daughter. Knowing he had to own this, that he’d been the one to take his eye off the ball with her, he read through the note, then crumpled it in his hand. Wishing Melody was here, but knowing her mother was a priority for her and when she called, Melody went running, he tossed it in the trash.
“Put someone on the phone. An adult.” He was expecting it to be a policeman. But the voice he heard stopped him in his tracks.
“Trent? Honey?”
He put a hand on the kitchen counter to keep from keeling over. “What…are you doing there?”
“She…I…you were… Mierda.”
He closed his eyes. “A simple answer is all I require. Why are you there, and I’m here, staring at my ex-wife who has just informed me that Taylor threw a motherfucking party at my cabin and some kid is now in the hospital.” His vision was going wonky. The sound of his own heartbeat deafened him.
“She called. I answered it. It wasn’t…it wasn’t this bad then. She just needed a ride home—”
“A ride home. From fucking Petoskey?” He was yelling now. But he didn’t care.
“Well, yes. But…”
“Melody, just stop. Right there. I have to think. I have to get some clothes on. And, best of all, I have to drive all the way up there with the ex-Mrs. Hettinger.”
“Trent…I’m…”
“You had no business doing whatever it was you thought you were doing. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Without a doubt.”
“God damn it, Melody, don’t you dare get snippy with me.”
“I was only trying to help.”
“No, you lied to me so you could suck up to Taylor. And it backfired on you.” He held up a finger when Sheila held out her hand for her phone. “I have to go. I… We will be there in about three hours.”
“They’re taking all of them to the police station, so you should go there, not to the house.” Her voice was tight. He felt immediate regret for being so harsh. But fuck him to hell and back, this was beyond the pale. What in the name of all that as holy made her think doing any of this without telling him was a good idea?
“Melody…”
“No, no, you’re right. I have no business. None whatsoever. I’m going home now. Your daughter and her friends will be in police custody. The kid who fell only broke hi
s leg. Good luck.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but the line was dead.
“Fuck!” He clenched his fists on his knees for a few seconds.
“Where is my daughter, Trent?” she demanded as she caught the phone he tossed her.
“Our daughter is in police custody, Shelia. Hang on. Give me five minutes to get dressed.”
They were in his Jeep in seven minutes, pointed north. He did his best to ignore her all the way up, keeping the music cranked and providing her with enough monosyllabic answers to give her the hint that he wasn’t in the mood to chat. By the time he finally parked at the small police station, he’d ground his teeth so much his skull ached. He wanted to lay eyes on Melody. To reassure her that he didn’t mean to be a dick. But he’d blown that, big time.
He jumped down to the asphalt and ran to the front door, shoving it open and calling for Taylor, letting Sheila fend for herself.
“Can I help you?” A tall, unformed man stepped in front of him.
Trent pulled up short. “I’m Taylor Hettinger’s father. She’s here. The one with the…the house party?”
“Yes. This way.”
Sheila caught up with him. “I’m her mother.”
The officer opened a door, indicating they should head through it. Trent rubbed his temples, willing the headache away as he followed Sheila down the hallway. As they turned a corner, Trent pulled up short.
Taylor sat on a bench, her eyes red, her legs shaking. She was flanked by Tina—she of the not-terribly-observant mother—on one side. And Melody on the other. When she met his gaze him, his heart expanded at the sight of her beautiful brown eyes.
“Melody.”
She rose, lifting her chin. He saw the set of her jaw. Recognized the flash in her gaze. “I’ll leave this for you, now. I think my level of understanding of the situation has been exhausted.” She glanced back at Taylor. “Next time, think twice before lying to your parents.”
She walked up to him.
“Who’s this, Tay?” Sheila was beside the girl now, brushing her hair out of her face and glaring up at Melody.
“That’s Dad’s new…friend,” Taylor said, keeping her gaze on the floor.
