by L. D. Davis
I smacked his hand away and gave him a light shove and pulled the robe tighter against my body.
“None of your business, Mr. Alexander. What’s in the box?” I asked, rather warily.
There was a plain white box sitting at the center of our bed. It looked unassuming and innocent enough, but looks could be deceiving.
“Open it and see for yourself.”
“You know how I feel about boxes and the things that they may contain.”
“I am well aware, woman. Open it.”
I cocked an eyebrow, but I obediently reached for the box. I weighed it in my hands for a moment as I tried to guess what it could be. Finally, I gave up guessing and pulled the lid off and tossed it aside. Inside the box was a book. It was rectangular in shape and bound in black leather. “Things Remembered” was engraved in white cursive on the cover.
I glanced at Grant before opening the book to the first page. I looked down at the single picture with mild confusion. My parents were in the yard in front of the house I grew up in, the home my mother still occupied. My dad had one arm around my mom’s shoulders, the other arm over hers and his hand on me, the infant wrapped in a bright pink blanket and cradled in my mother’s arms. They were both smiling, smiling as if they were both going to burst with happiness.
“Where did you get this?” I asked Grant, not taking my eyes away from the photo.
“Your mom. She was reluctant to part with it, but she let me take it and a few others to make copies.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing this picture before, and I don’t remember ever seeing either of them look so happy.”
“I know. You don’t remember a lot of things, and some of the things that you do remember are…inconsistent with the facts. Even though we know the truth about some things, like Shari and your dad, I know that those memories still haunt you. I can see it in your eyes sometimes. You’ve watched the same nightmares play over and over in your mind for years. You’re not going to forget, but I don’t want you to forget this, either.” He touched the photo in the book.
I gave the picture one last look and then turned the page to an image of me as a toddler, laughing as my mother hugged me. Then there was a picture of my dad and me when I was about two. He was asleep on the couch and I was asleep on his chest. Me, around the age of four in a purple tutu, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. A picture of my cousins and me, making faces at the camera. A photo of me staring into the camera with a devious grin, as if I had just done something mischievous. Then there were pictures of Shari and me and more of me, Grant, and Shari together, and then just pictures of Grant and me.
There were photographs of nearly every stage of my life, with the final picture in the book being one of me, Grant, and the kids that had been taken only a couple weeks ago.
“I know you don’t remember all these pictures, but the important thing that I want you to remember, Mayson, is that you did have happy times. You were loved. We’re going to keep building new, happy memories, and we’re going to add them to this book until it’s bursting at the seams. Then we’ll get a new book and fill that one up, too. The things you remember are important and are a part of you, but so is everything in this book. One day, your memories aren’t going to make you sad. They’re going to make you smile.”
I wiped away a tear and kissed his cheek.
“They already do,” I whispered. “This is beautiful, Grant. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Baby Girl.”
“Well,” I said, standing up. “I’m more than ready to give you your gift now.”
He raised one eyebrow as he looked me over.
“Oh yeah? And what is that?”
Touching the tie that held my robe together, I dropped my voice low, and said, “Unwrap me and find out.”
Slowly, as he looked up into my eyes, he reached for the tie. He gave it a gentle tug, making it unravel easily. The robe fell open, revealing the new, black, sheer baby doll I had purchased earlier in the day.
Grant grinned like a kid who just got the one gift he had been begging for all year. Amazingly, it made me blush like a school girl. Only he had the power to make the blood rush to my cheeks like that.
He stood up, cupped my face in his big hands and kissed me so salaciously, that blood rushed to other parts of my body.
“Mmm, you taste like a ripe strawberry,” he murmured, as he moved his kisses to my neck. He groaned and added, “And you smell like strawberries and cream.”
He pushed the robe off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor before taking my hands and stepping backward to the bed. He sat down again but kept me at arm’s length so that he could look at me. His eyes seemed to take in every inch of me, right down to my pink frosted polished toes.
“You are stunning,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
He pulled me close so that I stood between his open legs. Without hesitation, his mouth took in a mesh covered nipple. We both groaned. He flicked it with his tongue and made it rise. Then he gently bit down, making me inhale sharply.
His hands moved under the fabric of the lingerie and touched my bare stomach. As he switched to the other nipple, his hands began to move and roam over my body. My stomach again, my lower back, my butt, and down to my thighs.
He stood up again and grasped the bottom of the baby doll. I automatically raised my arms and he pulled it off me and tossed it to the floor with my robe. I stood before him in only a black thong.
Grant kissed me again as his fingers found my nipples. I moaned into his mouth and pressed against him. My hands found his hips and the top of his boxers. I slipped my hands inside and found the firm globes of his manly ass and squeezed. He chuckled as he kissed me and I smiled.
“Take your shirt off,” I said against his mouth, my voice husky.
“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, grinning. Obligingly, he pulled his shirt off.
Although it had been four years and he was officially a middle-aged man, Grant still had an incredible body. In fact, I was certain that it was better, and that it got better all the time. His rock hard stomach and defined chest looked like it belonged to a guy half his age.
I returned the favor and gently bit down on his nipple. He laughed and groaned at the same time. I grinned up at him and put my hands flat against his chest.
“Lay down, husband,” I demanded, giving him a push.
He raised his eyebrows, and looked amused, but he did as I said, propping himself on his elbows so that he could watch me. The evidence of his arousal strained against the fabric of his underwear.
I again slipped my fingers into the fabric and slowly pulled them down, making his erection spring free. His boxers and then my panties joined the rest of the clothes on the floor.
“You took your panties off,” Grant said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t finished unwrapping you.”
“That’s too bad,” I said without any remorse at all.
I nudged at his legs, indicating that he should spread them. He looked at me quizzically but didn’t question me, trusting me implicitly. I climbed onto the bed and lay down between his legs, and my intent became apparent to him.
He swallowed hard and stared at me with his cock in my hand and so close to my mouth. When I licked the mushroom shaped, silky head, he let out a guttural, tortured groan. I gave him a maniacal grin and then took him into my mouth until he was pressed against the back of my throat.
Four years ago, fellatio wasn’t something that I could do without nightmares springing to life in my mind. Grant never asked for it and never complained, but I wanted to be able to do it for him. I didn’t want my past to hinder me and to hold me back. I didn’t want to give those men another win over me.
With time and Grant’s infinite patience, I was able to offer myself to him in that way. We were both surprised to find that I enjoyed giving him that kind of pleasure. I loved the anticipatory look on his face when he realized what was about to happen. I loved the way he th
rew his head back and groaned when my mouth made first contact. I savored his bucking hips and outcries, and his fingers in my hair when I sucked hard and fast and took him so deep that I gagged.
When I released him, I sat up on my knees, panting and grinning. Grant gave me no time to recover, though, and in three seconds flat, he had me on my back, my thighs spread wide. On the fourth second, he was pushing into me, burying himself in me in one hard stroke.
I cried out as he grunted. He captured my mouth and gave me a wild kiss with teeth and growling. He pinned one hand above my head, waited for a heartbeat for my reaction. When I groaned and tried to push my hips into his, he took that as consent and pinned down my other hand as well.
There were times that I didn’t want to be held like that, couldn’t be held like that. I always understood that Grant wasn’t trying to force me. I knew that it was about control, which wasn’t the same thing as doing something forcibly. There were times that some part of me rejected my own loss of control, and I’d decline with a small shake of my head. But then there were times when I wanted to let him have me any way he wanted me. I’d let him pin my arms above my head and do as he wished, whether it was hard, fast, and rough, or tender and slow and deep.
When my orgasm came, it knocked the wind out of my lungs and left me gasping and quaking beneath his body. My legs tightened around him and my hips rose off of the bed as I tried to take him deeper. The cresting moment was when Grant bent his head and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and biting almost to the point of pain. I found my breath again and a sensual cry tumbled out of my mouth.
Unable to hold on any longer, Grant groaned as he thrust into me. As his climax overtook him, his groan turned into a growl. He became an animal, with his growling and nipping at my mouth and tongue, as he marked me as his.
Later, as I lay encapsulated in his strong arms, and feeling his breath on my neck as he slept, I thought, “Yes. This…this is a perfect memory to add to my book.”
When I looked through the scrapbook with Grant, many memories began to stir in my mind, to awaken from a long slumber. My past came to me in small flashes, making me remember things I hadn’t thought about in too many years to count. My mom sitting with me in my bed and reading to me, the tickle of her hair on my face when she kissed me goodnight. My dad’s arms wrapped around my mom’s waist, his hands on her backside as he murmured something into her ear that made her laugh, and them believing that they were alone and unseen by their child that should have been asleep in her bed. I could hear Sharice’s laughter in my ears after I played the piano for her the first time. I recalled summers at the beach with my parents and my cousins and the first time I ever made love with Grant. So many memories that had been buried. So much proof that there had been happiness in my life, even when I was in a dark place.
Some of my worst memories, regardless of the facts surrounding them, will be with me always. I wouldn’t escape them even if I could because they are a part of me. They have had some role in making me the person that I am, which as it turns out, isn’t so bad after all.
When I felt Grant stirring and rising against me, I turned in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. He responded immediately, pressing against me and rubbing my back.
“Happy Anniversary,” I whispered on his lips.
“Happy Anniversary,” he whispered back.
We kissed and started a new memory.
The End