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But closing her eyes.
“Open your eyes,” I said.
She blinked them open, but when I stroked her clit she shut them again. “No. Open your eyes.”
She did.
“Keep them open.”
It was more intimate than sex. Nearly uncomfortable, but she did it. And I made her come just the way she liked, pushing her right to the edge and then holding off, over and over again until she was frantic. Dripping sweat and crying my name.
Like nothing else mattered. The past. The lies. The future. Everything was gone for her, except me.
And then I let her come.
The second she was done, her body boneless and replete against the damp sheets, I eased away from her. Got myself out of the bed. Away from that cocoon and the temptation of her.
“Where are you going?” she asked, staring at the mess my dick was making in my underwear. I was hard and leaking precome all over myself. I reached down and tried to adjust myself, but my touch was almost too much.
It hurt. I was so hard and wanted her so much, it hurt.
“I need to get going.”
“Let me—” She reached for me and I felt that old urge, that deep, primordial instinct I had to step away. To be careful. To deny myself what I wanted so I wouldn’t get lost in it. So I wouldn’t be distracted from these things I needed to do. And in my hesitation, she got up on her knees on the bed in front of me and eased her hand into my underwear.
“Fuck. Ronnie,” I gasped. She curled me in her fist, licked the head of my dick, and all I could do was hold on to her shoulder. Too hard, probably. I was going to leave marks on her creamy skin. But I couldn’t stop myself.
Like an animal I thrust myself into her mouth and she moaned and cupped my ass in her hands and she took it.
She took everything. All of me.
And everything I was trying to prevent happened.
I was lost in her.
Ten minutes later, we were facing each other in bed and the wrinkle between her eyes appeared. I tried to smooth it down with my thumb but it didn’t work.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“I keep telling myself that my father…didn’t hurt me. That I didn’t have any lingering issues because of the way I was raised. Like, I look at Sabrina and Bea and, fuck, even Dylan, and I think, I’m so better off. But every once in a while, something happens, a feeling comes over me, and it’s not rational but it’s there.”
“What feeling?”
“You’re going to cheat. Like my father did—”
“No,” I said and shook my head. “I won’t. I’ll never cheat.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m not your father. And I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“The thought of you doing this with me and then going out and doing the same thing with another woman…I can’t…it’s devastating.”
“I know,” he said. “And I won’t. We weren’t even together for the last five years and I couldn’t have sex with another woman.”
I could see she didn’t believe me and I didn’t blame her. Between her father and our past, she was ripe for this shit.
“You want me to write it into the contract?”
That made her smile. “Sort of.”
“Then I will.”
“You must think I’m crazy.”
I shook my head, because I understood all too well the scars fathers left on their kids. For a moment, I thought about telling her about mine. The cottage. The stroke. Cupid. But there wasn’t a point to it. My father and Dale were two separate things, and my life with Ronnie was another separate thing, and there was no reason for them to ever touch. For her to ever know where I’d come from. Who I’d come from.
“You’re going to be late for work,” Ronnie said and looked at her watch.
Again, like I had since she took it back, I missed my watch. I hadn’t bought a replacement because I was hoping she’d change her mind.
“I know the boss,” I said.
But she was right, and I tore myself off that bed, feeling like it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Twenty minutes later, she looked over her shoulder at me on the stairs and smiled. She was damp and sweet smelling from the shower we’d taken and my dick twitched in appreciation.
Stop, I told myself.
Get it together, I told myself.
This…looseness I felt was dangerous. It was nebulous and risky. It was hard to control things when I felt out of control myself. And my life required constant control. There was too much at risk.
We turned the corner into the kitchen and Ronnie gasped, then shrieked, and took off running to hug the woman sitting on one of the stools at the dining counter drinking coffee.
