I should slow down, I should be a better man, but I am not. My heart is about to gallop out of my chest. Each time I drive in and out of her, she holds me closer, wrapping her legs tighter around me like she doesn’t want me to be a single inch away from her.
I lower my hand to her pussy, and flick her clit. She whimpers, and I dip my lips to meet hers in a kiss that threatens to throw a grenade into my chest. Our tongues seek, tease, reverence each other. In tandem with that amount of passion, of want, I intensify the flicks on her clit, and soon, she puts her hand on my chest, wrenching her mouth from mine, her breath labored.
“Fuck, I…” she starts, but I don’t stop working her bud, until she trembles in my arms, sweat glistening her face and neck, her cheeks reddening. A long winded moan fills the air, and I watch her come, fascinated.
“God,” she says with a long exhale. Warmth radiates from her. “Wow.”
I can’t take it anymore, and with one plunge, I let go. My body jerks, blood runs thick and hot in my veins. I give her every drop of my load. Then, kiss her one more time, hoping to put in that kiss all the words trapped in my throat.
I’ve been waiting for her too even if I didn’t know it. For longer than twenty years. A fucking whole lot longer.
I washthe dishes from our late lunch. We didn’t sleep much at night, and our spontaneous plan to go on a hike in the morning went down the drain the second I saw her wearing shorts and kissed her.
A smile forms on my face.
So, yeah, we’ve been fucking all day.
I told her I’d do the dishes and she went to work on her tan and read a book on the terrace. I’ll join her soon.
I put the dish towel on the counter, and stretch to my full height. Ever since last night, I’ve never felt bigger. Happier. Tomorrow is my official birthday, and I’ve never felt as enthusiastic going into it. Could this be sustainable, though? I’ve dated younger women before, but never been this… foolish. And, shit, I’m enjoying feeling foolish for once.
My cell phone rings, and Alex’s face shows on my screen. I pick it up. I haven’t talked to him in a few days, besides a couple of text messages here and there. My son has never been a big phone person, and I blame his generation. They’d present school dissertations over texts and emojis if they could.
“Hey Dad,” he says, in a chipper voice. Though I detect a hint of anxiety, like he has something to ask me, and that acidy sensation curls in my gut. What has he done this time? In the year he’s worked for me, he stretched my patience by consistently showing up late, accidentally screwing up one of my best deals, and not knowing the company policies well enough.
“Hey Alex. What’s up?” I ask in a crisp voice, my guards going up. I love my son, but damn, he’s taking a long ass time learning his way around the company—and learning he needs to work twice as hard because he is my son, unlike what he expected when he proposed he work for me.
“Checking on you.”
I will myself to relax, and my shoulders drop a notch. I look in the direction of the terrace, and see Riley lying on the chaise lounge, wearing a long brimmed hat. “Having a great time.”
“Awesome. Hey, you know what happened to Riley from work? I stopped by her office but they said she’s on a personal leave. That something came up and she requested days off.”
I sigh into the phone. I’m not ready to tell Alex about Riley yet. He knows I’ve taken much younger women out, and doesn’t seem to have a problem with it besides the sporadic idiotic joke. But with Riley, it’s different. It’s more than a good time. “I don’t know… I don’t know how much she told human resources. I’m sure something came up. Can’t her assistant help you with whatever you need?”
“What happened?” I ask, an edge of impatience in my voice. Alex fucked up at work before, so there’s always that fear lurking in the back of my mind.
“Oh. Well, you know, Dad—”
“What happened, Alex?” I ask, my sympathy wearing thin. Did he get into some kind of trouble and need help sweeping it under a rug? If he’s screwed up big time, he’s gone from my company. I’m not about to let his indulged ass fuck up my legacy.
He clears his throat. “I was… dating Riley.”
Then it hit me.
I run my fingers down my face, frustration swelling in my chest.
Oh, shit. Alex is Riley’s ex-boyfriend. My own son.
Now it all makes sense—why she specifically chose me to sleep with when she could have picked anyone else for revenge. I was too taken aback by my own reactions to her to think straight. Now it’s obvious. I swallow a lump of frustration, and taste acid at the back of my throat.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Alex says. “But listen. We had an argument and she took off. I just want to make sure she’s okay, she hasn’t answered my text messages for days. I even tried calling, and you know I never call.”