by Leigh James
“But speaking of money,” said John, “your father left some for you. As I understand it, he had four other children, but he included you in his estate. You just have to take a blood test to prove paternity.”
“I believe that’s correct,” said Mr. Quinn. “We had a written contract, and his estate’s attorney was winding up his affairs. He contacted me after Eric died. That’s how I knew he’d passed. I did ask the attorney some questions and I found out that you were named as an heir. We had done enough research at the outset that Eric had at least your name and date of birth. So he’d gone ahead and included you in his estate. I explained to the attorney the situation, and he instructed me to have you contact him when you’re ready.”
I sat there, stunned. Not only was my father a real person, with a real name and curly hair, but he had looked for me. He had cared about what happened to me, and although it was a little too late, at least it was something.
“How did he know my mother?” I asked. “Do you know?”
“He told me that he had a daughter out of wedlock but he’d never had contact with her. He said that he’d had a brief affair with your mother while he was out on the West coast. He was married to one of his wives — he had several — back when he knew your mother. He said that he knew she had a child, but he’d never met you. I guess he sent her money on a regular basis but that she would never return his calls or have any sort of contact with him. It was his life’s great regret, that he never met you, never had a relationship with you. He felt extraordinarily guilty about it.”
“Well, now I know how she afforded all those extra drugs all the time,” I said shaking my head. “He was helping fund her lifestyle. That makes sense.”
“She never told you anything about him?” Asked John gently, rubbing my back. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“She probably didn’t have much to tell. She didn’t keep great track of all of her ‘boyfriends,’” I said, shaking my head at the thought. Sasha and I used to ask her about our dads, but the questions were never met with a very warm welcome. After a while, to keep her on an even keel, we’d simply stopped asking.
But then I remembered something. An image from our apartment in Eugene. My mother, ripping up a letter to shreds. She’d looked guilty when I asked her about it. “You don’t need to know,” she’d told me sharply. “It’s something that has nothing to do with you.”
But maybe it did. Maybe it really did.
I exhaled and shook my head to clear it. “Okay,” I said, sliding my pizza back over in front of me. “So, you’re the client,” I said, motioning to Mr. Quinn. “Sasha’s alive and okay. My father’s name is Eric Kingston, he had five children, including me, and he actually sent my mother child support on a regular basis. He’s recently deceased,” I said, taking a bite of pizza and continuing to talk though it, “and I’m one of his legal heirs.
“Do I have all that right?” I asked, my mouth half full.
“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Quinn, taking a sip of wine and putting more pizza on all of our plates. “And you definitely get to pick the movie tonight.”
* * *
I woke up early, extremely early, to the sun streaming through the guest bedroom window, onto my face. John was sound asleep beside me. He’d asked if I wanted to be alone, but I told him I’d been alone for long enough. As long as we were together, we were going to stay side by side.
I couldn’t tell you what I was feeling. It was such a wild mix. Anger and disappointment at my sister. As for my mother, I was inconsolable. How could she keep my father from me? How could she take away the one chance I had at normal? For the first time ever, I felt a rage towards her. It made me shudder.
My father. The thought of him flooded me with relief and regret. I’d never know him. But he had been real. He had been real and he’d cared about me.
I felt an overwhelming mix of love, gratitude, embarrassment and confusion for John and for his father. They knew so much, more than I’d known, and they’d decided to save me. I owed them too much.
I loved John too much. I looked at him now, lying with his arms down by his sides, his tanned, bare chest rising and falling rhythmically. How can I ever thank you for saving me? How can I ever repay you for letting me know the truth, from rescuing me from the din below, and helping me see the bigger picture?
I’d never be his equal. He was too big for me, larger than life, with ability and talent and perspective that far eclipsed mine. My love was beginning to feel like worship. I couldn’t explain or rationalize the powerful feelings of need and contentment that consumed me when he was near me.
Looking at him like this made me want to cry. I felt consumed by my need for him, my love for him. It was completely overpowering. I felt the need to touch him so I started lightly tracing a pattern on his chest. As soon as our skin connected, it was like someone lit a match; it was like I was on fire, burning, the flames licking me deliciously. I leaned over and started kissing his chest. He murmured. “John,” I said quietly. “John, wake up.” He opened his eyes slowly, a smile creeping over his waking face.
“Good morning, angel,” he said to me softly. I leaned over and kissed him.
He pushed me back gently and held up one finger. “Hold that thought,” he said. “You already brushed your teeth, and that’s not fair.” He slid out of bed, naked, and I saw his enormous erection; it was almost comical but for the sharp pang I felt in between my legs. It actually hurt, I wanted him so badly.
“Hurry,” I called. I could hear him in the bathroom, running water, probably brushing his teeth. I took the opportunity to get up and put on the bikini and fluff my hair; I had a very specific scenario in mind. I grabbed John’s bathing suit off the back of a chair. I knocked on the bathroom door and opened it a crack, handing his swim trunks through.
“Are we having coffee first?” he asked through the door, and there was a low, sexy growl in his voice that made me clench.
“Coffee after,” I called. “I need you. I need you more than I need coffee, and that’s saying something.” I laughed, trying to keep myself in line. All I really wanted was him out of that bathroom and into the pool, before his father came down for breakfast and the cleaning lady showed up.
He came out, shirtless and in his bathing suit, looking sexy as hell. He grabbed my hands and pushed my back up against the large bureau in the room. He pressed the length of his body up against mine and I gasped at the pressure of his erection. He put his lips against mine and parted them with his tongue, searching for mine. They touched briefly and an electric spark shot through my body; he pressed himself into me, and I grabbed his ass, trying to force him inside of me in spite of our bathing suits.
“Ha ha,” he laughed softly, pressing his cock up against me and then pulling it back, teasing me. “That’s my girl.” He stepped away from me and led me from the room. I checked the clock before we left: five am. We had a little time.
We hurried down the stairs. John turned off the alarm, hit the start button on the coffee maker, and led me out onto the stone patio. The sun was up over the ocean, beginning its ascent over the sky. The blue water of the pool shimmered invitingly. “My father won’t be up until six,” John said, wrapping his arms around me and covering my shoulders with kisses. “I would like to have both you and some coffee before then.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, and I rubbed his strong, broad shoulders rhythmically, wriggling my bikini-clad breasts against his bare chest. He lowered his powerful hands over the sides of my body, as if he was sculpting me. I leaned in and kissed him, crushing my breasts against him, and he moaned. He grabbed my ass and pulled me against him; I threw one leg up over his hip, trying to angle his penis inside me. Just the tip went in, with both his bathing suit and my bottoms covering it, but I still pulsed against him, willing him to enter me, needing to feel his full hardness inside me.
He grunted and stepped back, still holding me with one arm, and untied one side of my string bottom. It dropped to the g
round. He led me to the stairs of the pool, then, and walked me down; the cool water felt amazing against my naked skin. I shivered and clung to him. He picked me up and walked me farther into the pool, and I could feel the water swirling all around us, deliciously cool up against my heat. I wrapped my legs around his hips and balanced myself on top of his erection. I kissed him, hard, trying to press him into me again, and he moved us to the edge of the pool. He lifted me out of the water and sat me on the edge, delicately, and spread my legs apart; my nakedness was level with his face. I watched as he slowly undid his swim trunks and pulled them off underwater. He placed them next to me on the pool’s edge and gave me a wicked grin.
“Kiss me,” he said, and I leaned down and kissed him, my breathing coming and going roughly. He put his hand on my chest and then pushed back; then he leaned in and put his mouth on my clitoris, lightly. I leaned my head back and moaned. He continued to lick and kiss and suck down there; I was shuddering, shaking. I heard myself begging him to take me.
“John, please ... I need you,” I whimpered, while he bit and sucked and licked. My hips thrust upward and I moaned some more, begging, and he must not have been able to take it anymore. He put his hands on either side of me and lifted himself from the pool. I raised my head and through my hazy veil of lust I saw his perfect, naked, gleaming body with water rushing off of it. He pulled himself up further and entered me in one fluid motion, slamming into me. He kept at it, filling me, thrusting harder and harder. The world went topsy turvy as he continued to thrust into me, punishing me, again and again; the horizon tipped.
“Oh my god!” I heard myself yell. “OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!” I came then, hard and screaming; my body wracked with spasms around him and I grabbed his perfect, muscular ass as I clenched myself around him. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered, as my orgasm continued to shudder as he slammed into me.
“Don’t pull out,” I heard myself beg. “Don’t stop. I can’t take it.” He was in me so deep that it was like I’d never felt him before; my orgasm continued to shake me, pulling him in further and further inside me, my body stretching with pleasure that bordered on pain. John’s thrusts were becoming longer now, I could feel him on the edge. I cupped his ass lovingly and pulled him into me as deep as he could go. He leaned back then and looked at me, intensely; then he pressed down and kissed me, his tongue rubbing against mine, my back against the cold concrete of the pool deck.
“Mine,” he said, and he started to shudder. “All mine.” He thrust into me again, deeply, and I could feel his hot liquid heat explode inside me. “Ah!” He threw his head back, and I could see the cords stand out in his neck; his whole body went rigid. I could feel another orgasm rolling inside me, in response to his; I pushed him into and out of me again and again, while he moaned, and I exploded around him, screaming his name. He rested on me gently then, on the concrete, holding his full weight off my body so I didn’t get hurt by the rough stone.
He kissed the side of my face tenderly. “I’m pretty sure you just woke my dad up,” he said, grinning wickedly. I clapped my hands over my eyes, mortified. “And most of the neighbors.” He slowly slid out of me, chuckling, pleased with himself. I cried out softly when he left my body; I felt so empty. He got up and grabbed towels for us. He wrapped his around his waist and sauntered over, sexy as hell.
“Don’t give me that sexy look,” I said, grunting and sitting up. “I can’t take anymore sexy.”
“Coffee,” John said. “Let’s go get coffee. Then it’s time to pack up.”
My heart skipped then and I shivered a little. It was go time. I wrapped the towel around me more tightly for warmth as I watched him walk away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It’s A Shame About Ray
I picked up the new aviator sunglasses John had given me and carefully put them into their case. I grabbed a box of tampons from under the sink and put them in my bag; I’d gotten my period, a fact I’d somewhat wistfully gotten notice of earlier. I brushed my wistfulness aside. I had other things to think about. I tossed my carry-on bag over my shoulder and took a final look around. It was empty; Sean had come and packed it all up and the suitcases had been moved up to the guest bedroom in the big house. I didn’t know what that meant, and I was trying not to think about it. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be back here, I thought.
I closed my mind down, not willing to think about it anymore, and concentrated on taking it step by step down the hallway. “Now you look like you’re walking through a minefield,” Matthew called out, his voice booming down the hall, making me jump. “Yesterday it was skipping, today it’s skulking,” he said, catching up to me. His own carryon bag was slung casually over his shoulder.
“You’re a hard girl to keep up with.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said, shrugging.
“For sure,” Matthew said, and patted me on the shoulder. We stepped outside and he put his sunglasses on. They were aviators, just like my new ones. We were going to look like a well-dressed band of bounty-hunters, I thought.
“See you on the bus, Liberty,” he said, and slapped me on the back. He headed off towards the garage.
I was heading up to the big house to say goodbye to Mr. Quinn. The thought gave me butterflies. Butterflies with heavy wings. I didn’t know when I’d see him again. I felt I owed him a great debt; he’d seen through what my father hadn’t been able to, and he’d done it out of the simple goodness of his heart.
“Liberty,” he said, when I walked through the front door into the kitchen. “I’d thought you’d gone already.”
“And not say goodbye?” I said, and I was mortified to feel my eyes fill up with tears. “To my ESPN buddy? No way,” I said, setting my bag down and going over to hug him. He held me tight for a moment and then released me. His eyes were moist too, and we both looked away from each other, embarrassed.
“I need you to promise you’re going to listen to my son,” he said, pouring himself a glass of water. “He knows how to keep you safe. For both of our sakes, and in this instance, I mean his and mine, I need you to promise. Neither one of us are going to forgive ourselves if something happens to you.”
“I promise,” I said, and nodded. “I don’t want to be any more trouble than I’ve already been. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Mr. Quinn said, looking at me fondly. It made my heart hurt. “And you haven’t been any trouble. Here’s the information about your father’s estate,” he said, putting a heavy cream envelope into my hand. “Contact the lawyer when you have time. Now, moving on … have you and John talked about your arrangements? After Ray has been secured?”
“No,” I said, looking down, blushing furiously. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.” He sighed and I continued to look down at my sneakers.
“John is very in the moment,” Mr. Quinn said, “and he’s out of practice with relationships. Woefully out of practice.” He chuckled. “I know for a fact, though, that he wants you to come back here. Would you consider it?”
Please, I can't hear this now, I thought. I made myself look up at him and smile. “We’ll figure it out. Thank you. For everything,” I said, and my voice choked up. “You saved me,” I managed to whisper. I grabbed my bag and gave him one last slightly unceremonious wave. I had to get outside, fast.
When I did, I burst into tears.
Get a grip, Liberty, I thought. I had to go onto the bus now, and face everyone else, and deal with Ray, and every other thing I had in front of me. It was no time to show weakness. Yet I had never felt weaker.
Your suitcases are up there, I thought, trying to comfort myself. And Mr. Quinn says John wants you to come back.
But then what? I thought. If I let myself just come back, what was I going to do here? I was a stripper. I came from nothing. I had no place in this world. Even if I did, I would have to make John reconsider his day job. I couldn’t live on the verge of a heart attack every day.
There was only one way I was ever coming back here,
I knew. The thought of what I had to do sent shivers down my spine.
Later, I thought, think about it later.
I sighed, wiping the tears off my face and squaring my shoulders. The bus. I had to get back on the bus. We were taking it to Providence, and getting on a flight there. We had a few stops and then we’d be in Eugene.
I didn’t know what we’d find there.
* * *
John and I did our best to act professionally on the bus and on the plane, i.e. we did not kiss, hold hands, or grope each other. We did, however, sit next to each other. I found myself holding my breath a lot; if I could smell him, my mouth would start watering, and then all hell would break loose.
It was after one a.m. when we arrived at EUG. I had been too wired to sleep, but now I was exhausted from the long flight. “We’ll take a cab to the place we’ve rented,” John said, gently patting my shoulder. “We’re almost there, now. You can get some sleep soon.”
Less than ten of us had flown out; Matthew, Sean, Corey and Ethan, along with Michael, the medic, and some guys that John said were observation specialists that I hadn’t really interacted with before. “They know where he is, or at least, where to look for him,” John had said, and I left it alone at that.
