by Anna Martin
Pulling back just a little bit, he lightly scraped his teeth close to the base, making me fist my hand in his hair to pull him back only to thrust myself into his eager mouth once again. It was a tango we both knew well by now—a give and take we were well practiced in.
Reaching up, Chris cupped my ass and started massaging it to the rhythm he set with the back-and-forth sucking motion he’d adopted on my cock. He could tell when his man was close: I would start to lightly chew the corner of my lip. He ran his left hand up the back of my thigh and gently caressed just behind my scrotum while his right hand was busy furiously pumping his own dick.
“Chris…,” I warned, and he hummed, in pleasure or agreement, neither of us was sure.
I came first, shooting hard into Chris’s mouth and moaning in a deep, gravelly tone the entire time. True to form, the hand flying over his cock caused him to follow only moments later, swallowing my come as his own sprayed over the pale skin of his stomach.
Firstly making sure he’d licked off any remaining spunk, Chris sat back on his heels to look up at me from under sex-heady eyes, basking in the glow of being able to turn me on in that way. I leaned down and gently ran my fingers through his blond hair affectionately, my heart still pounding from the ferocity of my release.
He grabbed his shirt and wiped off his stomach, then climbed wearily up onto the bed, still naked, but he probably guessed I wouldn’t mind. I pulled on a pair of boxers, then slid into the other side of the bed and pulled my boy in close.
“Jesus, Chris, I can feel how hot your ass is.”
“Yeah, it is,” Chris mumbled sleepily.
“No.” I laughed softly. “I meant your skin is hot. Did I hurt you, baby?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “It feels nice. All zingy. Gimme a kiss.”
I obliged by laying my lips down on my lover’s shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”
“Love you too. Sleep with me.”
Chapter 9
SATURDAY afternoons had become “our” time, a natural extension of Friday nights, which Chris had claimed as well. My routine, once such a well-worn thing that I barely had to think about it, or even acknowledge its existence, warmed and flexed around him until he was completely incorporated into it. I taught him the pleasures of breakfast tea. One week he made me a “proper” American breakfast with eggs and bacon and blueberry pancakes. The next week it was my turn, and I made him a traditional Scottish fry-up.
The following week, we argued over whose was the best. Then agreed to disagree, and made toast. Toast was one of the few things we could readily agree on—he still grouched about the tea.
Saturday afternoons held less structure. We never showered until after breakfast, usually together, which most often led to some rather intimate groping-type activities. Since Chris tried to work as much as possible on the weekends, whether that was a gig with his band or freelancing, our Saturday nights together were slightly more limited.
Sundays, however, meant different things to the both of us. I had to go over my lectures for the week and make sure all of my notes were together so I could maintain my reputation as one of the best lecturers the university had to offer. Things like that were important to me.
Sometimes, though, I managed to get all of my shit together so that we had time to spend together on a Sunday afternoon as well. When the stars aligned like that, I’d text him, since he never seemed to want to answer his phone when I called, and figure out a time to pick him up.
Chris was waiting on the front steps of the house when I pulled up and beeped at him. Unsurprisingly, he was texting someone on his phone.
“Everything okay?” I asked him as he bounced over to the car and leaned in for a kiss.
“Yeah. Mm. You taste good. Do we have plans?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Why, do you have something you need to do?”
“Well, I’ve just been talking to Chloe. Apparently she’s finished all her homework for the weekend and is bored out of her fucking mind.”
“There are too many things wrong with that statement for me for to even begin to process,” I muttered, pulling away from the curb but heading out toward Luisa’s anyway. “How do you have Chloe’s phone number? Why are you texting her? Why on earth does she voluntarily want to spend the afternoon with me when she doesn’t have to?”
“She gave me her number the last time we saw her,” Chris said reasonably, winding down the window and turning up the stereo. I could never understand why he seemed to want to both freeze and deafen himself while he traveled. And me in the process. “She asks me sometimes how you are, what we’re doing, that kind of stuff. She wanted to come to a gig, but I said you probably wouldn’t be down with that.”
I cast my mind back to the breast-signing incident.
“I am certainly not.”
His tongue was lodged firmly in his cheek as he responded. “But I guessed going out for ice cream was probably okay.”
“The only ice cream place around here is in the mall.”
“Well, fancy that,” he said, mocking me, his voice dripping with pure innocence.
“Fine.” I sighed. “What time is she expecting us?”
“Whenever,” he said with a casual shrug.
I managed to catch up with him about what had happened during both our weeks, the time alone something that was surprisingly welcome, even if it was in a cold, noisy car. When we got to the house, I parked on Lu’s drive and blocked her in, because I could, and just caught sight of my daughter in her upstairs bedroom before she disappeared out of sight. The thought that maybe she was waiting for us, looking forward to spending time with Chris and I, was fairly alien to me. I’d spent too long thinking she hated me. Or resented me for leaving her and her mother alone at such a young age.
I knocked on the door but didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just letting myself in since I wasn’t sure if Lu and the baby were napping or if Chloe would bother answering the door. The house was full of activity, the TV blaring and a baby screaming from somewhere out the back. As I called out, a small purple ball of sparkly material threw itself down the hallway, screaming, “Uncle Chris!” and threw herself at my partner’s legs.
“Hey, Pumpkin Pie,” he said, catching her deftly and swinging her up onto his hip. “Don’t you look like the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen?”
Cassie beamed at him. Simply beamed.
“Do you intend to charm any and all females and children in my life?” I asked him as Lu stuck her head out of the kitchen door.
“Come in, come in,” she called. “Cassie, leave Chris alone and go play nicely.”
Pouting, Cassie turned to Chris for confirmation that she had to go. He shook his head at her and winked. Of course, since Chris spoiled her, she naturally loved him, and when I turned back to the pair, Cassie had a red lollypop in her mouth and an innocent expression on her face set to rival Chris’s.
“It’s sugar-free,” he whispered to me, as if that mattered or I cared.
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Chloe!” I yelled up the stairs.
“Coming, Dad, chillax,” she told me in a bored voice as she sauntered down the stairs. “Mom’s breastfeeding. I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.”
Both Chris and I cringed, and she smirked before pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. When Lu came out—both breasts covered, thank God—she looked more than slightly harassed.
“Thanks for coming by,” she said. “You wouldn’t mind stopping by the grocery store for me on your way back, would you?”
“Not at all,” I told her. “What do you need?”
She dug a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her jeans and handed it to me. “Thank you, darling, you’re a star. Couldn’t do it without you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You ready, Chlo?”
“Yup.”
“I wanna go with Uncle Chris,” Cassie whined, her big eyes filling with tears as she woun
d a lock of hair around her finger.
“Not today, sweetie,” Lu said, reaching to take her daughter from Chris’s arms.
“No!” Cassie shrieked.
I sensed both a storm and a tantrum brewing and looked to Chris for guidance.
He beat me to it. “Do you mind if we bring Cassie, Chlo?” he asked.
She shrugged. “If you’ve got a suicide wish, it’s not my place to stop you tying the rope.”
“Be nice to your sister,” I said, although the words came out just as bored as hers.
“Come on Cassie-Bean,” Chris said, bouncing the toddler. “Find some shoes and you can come with us.”
As Cassie ran up the stairs (the kid only seemed to have one speed), Lu leaned up on her tiptoes and took my face in her hands.
“You’re more than a star,” she said, overdoing the gratitude just a little bit. “You’re an angel. You’re a god. You’re a god of gods.”
“Don’t thank me. Chris is the one who gets to look after her.”
We managed to bungle Cassie’s car seat into the back of my car and expressed very, very strong opposition to taking Carter with us as well, then escaped before Lu could pawn off any other children on us.
“Are we going for ice cream?” Chloe asked as she helped Cassie tie the laces of her bright pink Converse sneakers.
There was a sick sort of gratification in knowing that I was going to load two thirds of Lu’s kids with sugar before I returned them to her.
“That was the plan,” Chris said brightly.
“The only ice cream place around here is at the mall,” Chloe said.
Chris snorted with laughter. “So I’d heard,” he said, taking my hand over the gear stick and lacing our fingers together.
Fortunately, there was a parking space right next to the main entrance to the mall, so I didn’t have to drive around in circles for ages looking for one. As soon as she was released from her car seat, Cassie attached herself to Chris and started talking a mile a minute about school and ballet and something from the TV.
I hung back a little bit and let them lead the way, and Chloe fell into step next to me.
“I didn’t know you and Chris had exchanged numbers,” I said lightly.
She shrugged. “Do you have a problem with it?”
“No.”
“Then why mention it?”
I sighed, feeling like I was almost at the point where attempting conversation with my teenage daughter was something best avoided until she turned twenty-one. Then she flicked her eyes at me and looked so bloody vulnerable in that moment that I forgave her.
It also made me realize that maybe she needed someone like Chris in her life. He wasn’t a parent or a parental figure, and he was old enough to have experienced the big wide world and young enough to know what a fucking horrible experience growing up could be. He was gay, so he knew about going through difficult shit, and had tattoos, which made him cool and relatable.
“I don’t mind,” I said as we passed what I was sure was the second Gap since we’d entered the building.
It was completely out of character for me to reach for her hand and take it in mine. I hadn’t held her hand while we were out since she was about eight. But she let me, and didn’t complain when I brushed my thumb reassuringly across the soft skin between knuckles and wrist.
Of course, the moment was quickly broken when Cassie spotted the bright pink sign for the ice cream parlor, escaped Chris’s control, and sprinted off toward it, forcing the rest of us to chase after her before she fell over or got abducted.
I got the impression that Luisa wanted her back.
Chris snagged the last booth for us, and Chloe made her sister sit on the inside to reduce her escape routes. I sat opposite the girls and risked leaning my arm along the back of the booth so that if Chris leaned back, it would be around his shoulders.
When a waitress came over, Chris immediately asked for crayons for Cassie, and my heart stuttered in my chest for him. He didn’t want children, and thank God, because neither did I, but if he could have this sort of relationship with Cassie and Chloe, and maybe his brother’s children as well it wouldn’t be such a huge waste.
“Shh,” Chris said, squeezing my knee. “I can practically hear you thinking.”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said.
He nodded and turned back to his menu card. “What are you having, Cassie-Bean?”
“Strawberry,” she said with authority, selecting a blue crayon to color a gnome’s hair.
“Chloe? Before you say anything, I’ll tell you right now that if you try and order frozen yoghurt because you’re ‘watching your weight’, I’m going to get them to pour so much chocolate syrup on it that you’ll actually be sick.”
She smirked before answering him. “Mint choc chip sundae, please.”
“Good girl,” he said with enthusiasm. “Rob?”
“Chocolate and caramel sounds good.”
“It is,” Chloe said, surprising me by offering something to the conversation unprompted.
“That’s settled, then,” I said happily. “What about you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Chris said airily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for ice cream today.”
“What?” Cassie cried and slapped both her hands down on the table. “You have to have ice cream, Uncle Chris, it’s the law!”
He laughed and leaned into my side. “Okay. If it’s the law, then I’ll just eat your strawberry sundae, then, yes?”
“No,” she countered, sounding scandalized.
“But strawberry sounds so good.”
“Then have one of your own.” For a three-year-old, she was a surprisingly bossy, eloquent little madam.
“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Chris said. Then, to the waitress who had just appeared, “Two strawberry sundaes, one mint choc chip, and one chocolate and caramel.” His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Extra sprinkles on the strawberry ones, please.”
The waitress, an older lady with chin-length grey hair and a red hairband threaded through it, nodded and winked, joining the conspiracy, and collected our menu cards before leaving. I was quite happy to let Chris take charge of this particular excursion; he seemed to be able to easily juggle the attentions of all three people at the table with his limitless enthusiasm and energy, the sweet, childlike side of him shining through.
When our orders were delivered, I couldn’t help but laugh at the huge swirl of whipped cream on top of Chris’s dessert, covered in brightly colored sprinkles and a shiny red cherry. Cassie’s eyes looked just about ready to pop out of her head.
“Looks good,” Chloe said with a little smile in my direction. “Thanks.”
After the ice cream, we walked off some of the calories, letting the girls drag us from one store to another but buying very little. Chloe needed new sneakers for the cheerleading squad tryouts and let me buy them for her as a good luck charm. Cassie got a new tiara to match her dress.
“We have spent far too long doing girly things today,” Chris said as we loaded up the car to drop the girls back home.
“I’ve probably got a couple of ideas for some boys-only activities later on, if you like?” I returned, keeping my voice low. It served the dual purpose of making sure the girls didn’t hear me and being something akin to my bedroom voice.
Chris smirked.
“I’m sure we can think of something, Professor,” he said with his tongue lodged firmly in his cheek.
“You,” I said, opening his door and giving him a light smack on the ass as he climbed in, “are trouble.”
Chapter 10
I WAS mid-lecture when a phone beeped; I scowled and let it disrupt the flow of what I was saying to make a point, but didn’t comment at the time. It was only when it beeped with a reminder that I realized that the noise was coming from my own briefcase and not from my rather un-enraptured audience.
Since ignoring these things and pretending they didn’t happen is always the b
est policy, I continued on until the end of my lecture and physically crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t go off again.
It seemed to work, although I still didn’t dare to check the message until after the last of my students had filed out.
What are you doing on the weekend?
Despite the embarrassment, I smiled and sent him a quick message back. It wasn’t my weekend with Chloe so I was pretty much free. We made tentative plans for Saturday afternoon, which would undoubtedly spill over into Saturday night if I knew Chris well enough, so I ended up staying until nearly midnight on Friday to get all my work completed.
The arrival of my weekend was bright but bitterly cold, and I wished that there was a warm body next to me to wake up with. I thought about giving him a call and offering to take him out to breakfast, then thought better of it, then caved and sent him a text. I was trying so hard not to appear needy and/or desperate, but the man evoked both emotions so frequently I was afraid I was nothing but.
When he arrived to pick me up with a spare motorcycle helmet, I knew that this was the moment I had been dreading.
“Do you feel like being naughty?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.
“No,” I told him firmly. He only laughed.
“Come on, Rob. Live a little.”
I changed into jeans and a beat-up leather jacket to give me the minimum amount of protection if Chris managed to crash the bike. He wasn’t too impressed when I expressed my concerns.
“I’ve been riding since I was fifteen,” he said. “I’ve only ever crashed once, and then it wasn’t my fault.”
I gave him a dubious look.
“Honestly,” he said. “I’ll tell you later, after you’ve survived.”
“Thanks,” I told him. “You know how to just fill me with confidence.”
Still, I got a peck on the lips before he showed me how to adjust the helmet to fit me. It belonged to John, who had either a larger head than me or a lot more hair. I suspected the latter.
There was no point in asking him where he was taking me—he wouldn’t tell me, even if I begged. But it would be an understatement to say I was surprised at pulling up outside a tattoo parlor. Tattoo studio. Whatever they call them now.
