by Linnea May
This may be for him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to get my own satisfaction out of it. I try to keep myself in place with one hand while the other reaches up to my center. He groans when he sees it, and for a moment I fear that he might slap it away and forbid me to come.
But luckily, he is not that mean tonight.
I start playing with myself as he continues to fuck me like a wild animal, pinching my nipples so hard that I will be reminded of this all day tomorrow. It doesn’t take long for me to come close to orgasm since I didn’t get my release earlier when I needed it.
Tonight, he is faster than me. Even through his wild thrusts, I can feel him throbbing inside of me as he finds his release and sends me over the edge with it. We moan and come in unison, our climaxes rolling over both of us in strong, unyielding waves.
Dazed and through half-open eyes, I can see his perfectly build upper body soaked in the moonlight and glistening with droplets of salty water.
Chapter Fifteen
“He cried?!” Lesley exclaims, her eyes widened in disbelief.
“You don’t have to yell it through the entire place!” I hush her, placing my index finger in front of my lips.
We are sitting in a Café in our neighborhood. It has been our place to hang out for all the years we have been living here. Now that I am spending so much time at Cedric’s place, and Lesley is busy with wedding planning, our visits have become a lot less frequent. In fact, it has probably been more than two months since we have been here together.
She slouches and grins at me apologetically. “Whoops, sorry.”
“Besides, after all what I have just told you, I’m kind of appalled that that’s the part you comment on…,” I add.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she admits. “It’s just… man, Cedric Crow crying. I can’t even imagine what that must look like.”
I frown at her. Even after all this time, there are still moments in which Lesley seems to forget that we are primarily talking about my boyfriend and not the famous author she has been admiring for years. Of course, for her he will always remain just that. She has only seen him a few times and still gets very excited before every meeting.
“It was terrible,” I say. “To see that. I’ve never seen him like that. This woman really gets to him.”
“Well, of course, she does,” Lesley argues. “She’s his mother! How would you feel if your own mother hated you this much?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s terrible. I have no idea how to help him.”
Lesley shrugs and takes a sip from her Cappuccino.
“I don’t think there is much you can do,” she says. “You said she’s been hospitalized?”
“Yeah. For years, actually.”
“So she’s crazy? Like seriously crazy?”
“I don’t know if that is the correct word for it, but I guess so. She’s weird, too. Her whole… aura is kind of… wrong.”
Lesley raises her eyebrows and gives me a funny look.
“Her aura?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
“I don’t know how else to describe it.” I try to explain. “You know that feeling when you’re standing close to someone, and you just feel… bad? Like the air around them is poison? I felt like that even before I knew who she was. There is just something about her…”
“And she never showed up again?” Lesley asks.
I shake my head. “Not so far no.”
It has been almost two weeks since my conversation with her. Cedric made a few phone calls since then and hired an extra security team to be on the premises 24/7, so there’s always at least one guy guarding the building’s entrance now. It’s still weird for me to walk by them knowing that they are only there because of me.
I figured that Cedric would contact his mother directly as well, but he never did. At least that is what he told me.
“I’ve cut her out of my life for a reason,” he said. “You’ve seen what she’s like. In the end, we might just have to wait until she does something again that is crazy enough to send her right back to the institution where she would still be if it were up to me.”
“Tough,” Lesley says when I tell her all that.
She lets a few moments pass before she gathers the courage to ask the question that has been bothering me as well.
“Do you think there’s something to it?”
She looks at me, worried, almost scared that she dared to ask the question.
But I cannot blame her. It has been nagging at me, too.
“No,” I say. “Well, I don’t think so. I hope not. I really don’t know.”
Lesley doesn’t say anything but just continues to look at me expectantly.
“I mean, she’s obviously not playing with a full deck,” I argue. “Now that I’ve met her, I can understand why Cedric cut her out of his life, mother or not. She’s crazy and evil. But you know… there’s just some things that I am not too sure about.”
“Like what?” Lesley presses.
“Like the fact that Cedric never talks about his former relationships,” I say. “We’ve talked about it a little bit, and you know how little I have to tell in that regard. I know he’s been with others before me, and he’s had girlfriends before me, even though he always kept them a secret-”
“Yep,” Lesley interrupts, nodding. “He has never mentioned anyone or been seen with anyone. In fact, I thought he might be gay and just didn’t dare to be open about it.”
I raise my left eyebrow and shake my head at her.
“What?” she says, raising her hands in defense. “You know I wouldn’t care if he was. I just found it odd that a man like him would remain single for so long.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “I just wonder why she would say all these things if there wasn’t something that would give her a reason to think these things about her son.”
“Didn’t he mention that she already hated him as a child?” Lesley interjects.
“Yes, but for different reasons,” I say. “Well, sort of different. She said he was just like his father-”
“Something she’s repeated when she talked to you.”
“Yes. She also said that he’s a monster, incapable of love and only interested in destroying women’s lives.”
“Also nothing new,” Lesley says. “Sounds to me like she needs no reason for her crazy accusations. She just projects her hatred for his father onto him.”
I sigh. Maybe Lesley is right. She most likely is.
It angers me that this woman actually managed to make me doubt Cedric. He may be different than other men, and some would consider him cruel and too controlling in bed. But who is to say that there is any relation to him having an evil nature? He is nothing but sweet to me, even when he is causing me physical pain. Pain that I crave.
“But you know who would be a much better person to talk to about this?” Lesley notes.
I look at her questioning.
“Cedric,” she says. “I know he is Mr. Oh-so-mysterious, but you should certainly talk to him again. Especially if it worries you so much.”
“I am more worried about his mother doing something stupid right now,” I admit. “But you’re right. I should definitely do that.”
Lesley gives me a satisfactory nod. We both empty our hot drinks and get ready to leave.
“Kind of makes you appreciate your own mother a little more, doesn’t it?” she asks after we have left the Café.
“Mhm,” I reply.
Lesley doesn’t know that I haven’t talked to my mother in weeks and that I haven’t even told her about my relationship with Cedric yet.
Chapter Sixteen
I let it ring for so long that I almost give up and am just about to hang up again when my mother finally answers the phone.
“Hey, mom,” I greet her.
“Renee!” she gasps. “What happened? Are you okay?”
I sigh. One could say that her astonishment and worry is only justified as i
t has been a very long time since I have dialed my parent’s number and called them for no reason. They were always the ones ringing me up after not hearing from me in what they think to be too long.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Nothing to worry about. Everything is alright with me.”
My mother lets out a sigh of relief.
“Child, you scared me,” she says. “You never call unless it’s some kind of emergency.”
She pauses for a moment.
“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom!”
“Are you?!”
I feel like there is some kind of hope resonating in her voice, too.
“No, mother, I am not pregnant.”
“Oh, okay,” she says.
“Jeez, mom, can’t a daughter call her mother just because?”
“Yes, sure,” she admits. “But not my daughter. Well, you at least. Lina calls us every week. At least once.”
I let that sink in for a while. I know my younger sister is a better daughter than me in that regard. I am reminded of it every time I talk to my parents.
And they wonder why talking to them is so little fun for me.
Still, I know I am complaining about first world problems here.
“I know, I know,” I say. “Now I am. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, about what?” she asks. And, of course, her first guess hits the mark. “Have you met someone?”
I inhale deeply.
“Yes, indeed I have,” I reveal. “I met someone, and I’ve been with him for a few months now-”
“A few months?!” my mother exclaims. “Why am I just hearing about him now? What’s he like? What does he do for a living? What’s his name? Where did you mee-”
“Mom!” I interrupt her.
“Sorry,” she says, giggling like a little girl.
“His name is Cedric. He is a writer.”
“Oh,” she says.
I can imagine her face right now. The disappointment. A writer means that he must be some kind of artsy-dreamy-type, who doesn’t earn much money or none at all. Definitely not husband-material, if you ask my mother.
“A writer?” she asks. “That is very… unlike you.”
“Interesting way of putting it,” I reply. “But you might be right.”
“What does he… write?” she asks. “Like advertising and such? You mean he is a texter? Or a copywriter? Or what are those called?”
This is actually kind of fun.
“No, a writer,” I correct her. “He writes novels.”
“Oh,” she says again. “What kind of… novels?”
I smirk.
“Suspense, thriller. That sort of thing. You might have heard of him,” I say. “Cedric Crow.”
Silence. I can hear my mother breathing, processing what I just told her.
She might have heard of him, but it is obvious that she doesn’t follow him close enough to know about this new girlfriend he has been seen with lately. I am astonished that I never thought about my parents finding out this way. I have never been on TV with him, and there has only been a handful of smaller articles in some magazines that I am sure my parents would never buy. But still, there would have been so many chances for them to find about it this way.
Or Lina. I talk even less with my little sister than I do with my parents, but it suddenly strikes me as odd that she never found out about it.
Then again, my full name was never mentioned anywhere, and there were far more photos and presences of just Cedric than of the two of us. I am a nobody and even the gossipy kind of media only cared for me little enough to mention my existence. I have Cedric to thank for that, because he always made sure that my privacy was protected as good as possible.
Apparently, it worked well enough to leave my family in the dark.
“Now you’re messing with me,” my mother says eventually.
“Do you know him?” I ask. It is an honest question. Cedric may be famous, but my mother is not a reader of his genre, as far as I know.
“Of course, I know him!” she says, sounding offended. “I mean, I’ve never read any of his books - didn’t he just release a new one? - but, you know. He’s… are you messing with me?”
I laugh. “No, mom. I’m not. I am actually in his apartment right now.”
“Don’t mess with me! I am warning you, young lady!”
“I am not messing with y-”
“Honey!” my mom shrieks.
I know it’s directed at my father, but she always forgets to remove the speaker from her mouth when she yells for him while talking on the phone with someone else.
“Mom, I-”
“Have you ever heard of Cedric Crow?” she asks, still talking to my father.
I can hear my father mumbling in the background. “The author?”
“Yeah, our daughter claims that she’s dating him.”
I hear him laugh. “Good one!”
“Right?” my mom says. “Renee, really. Why would you joke about something like that? Did you just call to make fun of me?”
I roll my eyes again.
“No, mom,” I assure her. “I called because I wanted to tell you… you always wanted me to meet someone, didn’t you? Well, now I have.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I am actually glad you didn’t find out before I told you,” I add. “It has been mentioned in the media here and there…”
“You were on TV?” she asks.
“No, I didn’t say that. I-”
I stop abruptly as I hear the door behind me.
Cedric is home. He has spent his afternoon at the gym while I was out having coffee with Lesley.
I am using the phone in his kitchen sitting on one of the barstools. He approaches me looking exhausted with his wet, ruffled hair and a confused look on his face. Seeing me on the phone is equally surprising to him as it is to my parents.
“Renee?” my mother presses. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I assure her.
I look up at Cedric and silently form the words MY MOTHER with my lips, so he knows who I am talking to.
He raises his eyebrows and looks at me worriedly.
“Sorry darling, but I find it very hard to believe what you are telling me right now,” my mother continues. “I don’t think it’s funny to call your mother just to make fun of her like that. Are you drunk again? Is that it?”
I frown.
Drunk?
Again?
One stupid mistake as a teenager and my mother assumes that I have a drinking problem.
Cedric wanders over to the fridge to get something to drink, and as I watch him, I suddenly realize how easy it would be to put an end to my mother’s skepticism.
“No, mother, I am not drunk,” I say.
Cedric turns around to me looking amused.
I smile at him as I continue speaking: “I really am seeing Cedric Crow, believe it or not. He’s here actually. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Renee, what-”
I don’t hear the rest because I move the phone away from my ear, covering the speaker with my hand as I look at Cedric with pleading eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “My mother, she… Could you-”
“Sure,” he says, grinning at me.
He has no real way of knowing what is going on but still takes the phone out of my hand without hesitation.
“Mrs. Branson,” he says. “This is Cedric. It is so nice to finally meet you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hours later, we’re lounging in one of our favorite spots on the rooftop terrace: the hot tub. Now that winter is approaching, and the temperatures have become quite gruesome, to say the least, our visits up here have become less frequent. The hot water provides a nice contrast to the chilly air around us, but at times it has gotten so cold that I felt as if my ears were freezing while the rest of my body was warm and comfortable.
The
outside temperatures are comparably mild tonight, so when Cedric suggested having a little nightcap in the hot tub, I couldn’t resist.
I have even come to like whisky, after trying different kinds and brands he offered me. Cedric has a huge collection at his place, and I have teased him about his old-man-habit of indulging in the tiniest amount of fine whiskies almost every evening.
He couldn’t stand for that and convinced me to try a few myself. I didn’t like most of them but developed a taste for the sweeter kinds. As it turns out, I do have a thing for single malt scotch whiskies that have matured in sherry casks for a long time, which gives them a unique and sweet flavor. I never knew whisky could taste like that because most that I have tried before tasted like liquid cigars to me.
The sherry cask whisky works well with the hot water. I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time, and I can tell that the same goes for Cedric, who has his arm around me and is taking tiny sips from his drink while sighing with relief.
“So, that was a new one,” he says. “You calling your mother.”
“Yeah, I felt like it,” I reply. “I’m sorry to assault you like that just after you come home.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was fun talking to her; she seems to be a nice person,” he assures. “I can’t believe you never told your parents about us. I thought you had a good relationship with them.”
“Good, yes,” I agree. “But not close. They are not involved much in my life. But they are good people. Loving parents…”
I glance over at him. He notices but doesn’t return the look.
“I guess I just realized how lucky I am,” I add.
He squeezes me.
“I told you; you don’t have to worry about me. Or her,” he says. “She won’t show up again.”
“I’m not scared of your mother,” I interject. “It just saddens me… the whole thing.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry to have burdened you with this. I sure as hell tried not to.”
“I know,” I say. “But I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t do what?” he wants to know.
He turns around to me now, looking at me with honest worry. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and the warm water, and his hair is ruffled and wet again, sticking out in all directions. He looks so much younger this way but no less handsome.
