by Jackie Lau
“There’s something else I’d rather do after the party.” I wink.
I need to be with him tonight. I need to show him just how much he means to me.
* * *
“We have to be quiet,” Josh whispers, “since my parents are down the hall.”
He presses me back against the door in his bedroom and kisses his way down my neck as he unbuttons my white shirt—which, unfortunately, has a cherry pie stain—and throws it to the floor. He hurriedly strips off the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath, along with my bra, and I can’t wait to get him naked, too. I tear off his Henley and push down his jeans.
“Sarah,” he gasps as I drop to my knees.
His cock is heavy between his legs, and with a few strokes, he’s rock hard, and I take him in my mouth.
I love having my mouth full of him, love the way he’s practically tearing out my hair, the desperate, hushed noises he’s making. I wrap one hand around the base, and I run my other hand up his strong thighs to his firm abs. His body is a masterpiece, but he’s so much more than a warm body in my bed at night.
He’s the man who fed me noodles and chocolate, made me a hot water bottle, and went to the store to buy pads for me when I had terrible menstrual cramps.
He’s the man who believes in me, and always will.
He helps me relax; he lets me be myself.
Everything is more with him.
I give him everything I have. The best fucking blowjob? Yes, I can do it.
Josh probably has no trouble finding women, but he chose me. I know I’m special to him. He makes me feel special every day.
I touch the pi pendant around my neck before I squeeze his dick and take him deep in my mouth. My inner muscles clench.
He growls. “I’m going to come if you keep that up.”
I release him, just long enough to say, “I want you to come in my mouth.” And then I suck him vigorously. He shoves his hands into my hair and tips his head back against the door, eyes shut.
This won’t be the only time tonight. I feel insatiable, and I think he does, too. We’re both on top of the world; the things we wanted so badly are happening for us. And we need to share it with each other.
He explodes in my mouth. I’ve never sucked a guy to completion before, but I relish the feel of his cum trickling down my throat. It’s crude, a contrast to the feelings I have for him, but with Josh, it feels right.
He slides to the floor and wraps his arms around me.
“We can’t have sex in the bed tonight,” he says.
“Why not?”
“It squeaks, and we’re not alone.”
He stands up, tosses a couple pillows from the bed onto the rug, and turns on the lamp on the bedside table.
I feel naughty, and it’s delightful.
Once we’re lying on the rug, pillows under our heads, Josh begins stroking between my legs, running his fingers over my entrance and playing with my clit. I buck my hips toward him, trying to get more, but he keeps up his slow and steady torture.
On and on he touches me, making me squirm even more. He presses kisses all over my face and neck and breasts, never stopping his ministrations between my legs. When he slides two fingers inside me and curls them upward, I gasp. A few more thrusts, and I’m coming for him.
“I need you,” I say.
He rolls on a condom and slides into me as I’m still shuddering.
“Shh,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
He makes love to me, utterly filthy and tender all at once. His strokes are slow and deep, and they make me feel things I didn’t even know I could feel. I would do anything for him, but I also know he’d never ask me to do something that would hurt my happiness, that would get in the way of my dreams.
He’s part of my dreams now, too.
We are joined, so intimately.
I nearly cry out his name when my orgasm overtakes me, but he covers my mouth with his hand, which somehow is pretty freaking hot. Then he replaces his hand with his mouth and kisses me as he stays motionless inside me. Slowly, he starts to move again, and I grab his ass as he buries himself deep inside me and comes again.
Afterward, he picks me up from the floor and puts me in bed, tucking the pillow under my head. “You were amazing tonight.” He strokes my cheek. “The party was amazing.”
I knew that, but pride still blooms in my chest at his words.
“I hope you got to eat some of the pie,” he says.
“I ate dinner before the party. Don’t want to eat while I’m catering.”
“You definitely deserve to have some now.”
He throws on a robe and heads downstairs. A few minutes later, he returns with a plate of cherry and pumpkin pie, flavors that don’t go together at all, but it looks perfect to me right now. He feeds me a piece of pumpkin pie, and I smile as I remember the first time we did this and I managed to stab him with a fork.
Maybe I shouldn’t smile at a memory that involved blood, but that’s when we had our first kiss and he took off his shirt, so in other ways it’s a happy memory.
And now, we’re sitting in bed after sex, feeding each other pie, and I’ll remember this fondly, too. I have so many lovely memories with Josh, and I haven’t known him all that long.
How did I think he would derail my life? The truth is the exact opposite.
He supports me. He helps me reach for what I want.
“I love you,” I say.
Chapter 23
Josh
Carefully, I set down my fork. “You...love me?”
“You don’t have to say it back,” Sarah says. “I know it’s fast, and I can wait for you to feel the same way about me. You care for me, and that’s enough.”
There’s a tremor in her voice. I suspect she’s never said these words to a man before, and yet she said them to me.
Actually, she said “I love you” on the night she had terrible cramps and I brought her chocolate, but she didn’t mean it the way she means it now.
I’m touched, though I feel uneasy at the same time. I can’t help it.
It scares the crap out of me.
Do I love her back? Maybe I do. I’m not sure. I don’t really know what love is supposed to feel like, but yes, I do care for her very much, and I want to be with her whenever I can.
All sorts of strange feelings are swirling inside me, but I can’t tell Sarah, not now. Not when I’m naked in bed with her, a plate of pie between us.
Instead of speaking, I put the pie on the bedside table, and I pull her into my arms and kiss her. Gently, I stroke my tongue against hers; I show her how I feel rather than tell her, because I can’t figure out what to say. I hold her against me from behind, planting kisses on her neck and shoulders, and then I realize she’s fallen asleep.
She’s been up since five o’clock, baking pies for my party. She’s had a long week.
I pull the covers up to her chin, and I stare at her in the faint light of the lamp.
Today was a triumphant day for both of us.
However, it doesn’t feel triumphant anymore, not for me. My father actually acknowledged my presence and spoke to me, but it’s a bit anti-climactic to have everyday conversation with my dad after so long. Nothing seems meaningful enough.
And nothing changes the fact that he didn’t talk to me for almost two decades.
That’s my experience of love. My father, who should have loved me no matter what, refused to even say “hello” to me.
Here’s the thing. Love is not unconditional, and I will, at some point, screw up, and Sarah won’t love me anymore. I can’t bear the thought of seeing the disappointment on her face.
I’m not sure I want anything to do with love. It will ultimately lead to pain, and perhaps I had it right when I avoided all relationships for so long.
Except...
Next to me, Sarah is breathing rhythmically in her sleep. She’s curled up on her side, her hair going this way and that.
Being with her is pretty won
derful.
I just have trouble believing it can last.
* * *
I wake up when my alarm goes off at six. Sarah is already awake, and she’s looking at something on her phone.
“Morning,” I say, and she turns toward me.
I feel a little better now that I’ve slept, even if it was a fitful sleep.
A lot better now that I see she’s still naked and the blanket is pushed down below her breasts. The tips of her nipples are rosy, and the slopes of her breasts are enticing, and she’s got a seductive smile on her lips.
Fuck, I need to be inside her.
I need to push aside the uncomfortable thoughts I had last night; I need to lose myself in her body. Make her mine physically, even if I don’t know if it can be anything more.
I need her, and I don’t want to be gentle.
I curve my hand over her ass and bring her against me, kissing her desperately. She’s as enthusiastic as I am, and when I thrust my fingers inside her, she’s already wet, and I growl.
Quietly, of course, so as not to wake my parents.
“I want to be rough,” I say. “Is that okay?”
She nods, her lips parted. When her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, I nearly lose it. I pull her out of bed and bend her over, her hands gripping the quilt.
Then I roll on a condom and slam into her from behind.
I take her hard, one hand stroking her clit at a punishing pace. She feels amazing. Wet and tight, and she’s making these little gasps, just for me. I slow my pace when she shudders around my cock, but a minute later, I’m back to pounding her hard, taking all that I can get. I bite her shoulder and she cries out, muffling herself by pressing her face into the bed. That spurs me on. I grab her beautiful ass and slam into her a few more times before reaching my own release.
Limbs tangled, we collapse on the bed. I adore the feeling of her bare skin on mine. Not just when we have sex, but in the quieter moments afterward. I have her all to myself, this incredible woman who says she loves me. It seems too good to be true.
“I’ll leave soon,” she says.
No! I don’t want her to leave.
“I need to head to the bakery,” she continues, “and I’m sure you don’t want your parents to see me. Which is fine. I understand. I brought some clean clothes, just in case I ended up staying the night. I’ll have a shower, then get going.”
I nod.
When she heads to the en suite bathroom, I pad downstairs, thinking I’ll make her some coffee before she heads to work. Maybe she’ll be interested in some Lucky Charms, too.
But when I reach the kitchen, I can already smell coffee.
My father is sitting at the kitchen table, looking broodingly at a Hazelnut Tech mug.
When he sees me, he gets up to pour another cup of coffee, no milk or sugar. He doesn’t know how I like my coffee; he doesn’t know so many things about me.
“We need to talk,” I say, taking a seat across from him. This is the perfect time. It’s just the two of us, and that’s how I want to have this conversation.
He surprises me by saying, “I know. We do.”
I thought he’d try to avoid a serious conversation.
“You didn’t talk to me for seventeen years,” I say.
He nods.
“I know I was a difficult teenager. But seventeen years?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Your mother didn’t need the stress you were causing her.”
“I know.”
“Our friends were all immigrants, too, with big expectations for their kids.”
“And the so-called problems they had to deal with were their children getting a B on a test or deciding to major in English.”
He manages a small smile. “Yes. Something like that. And you were throwing away your future. Bringing shame to our family. Being a terrible influence on Melinda, who had always been a good girl.”
“I didn’t pressure her.” I need him to understand that. “And if most of this is about Mom, she didn’t need the stress of you refusing to talk to me. Don’t you see how messed up this is? I was desperate for your approval, and there was nothing I could do to get it. Nothing.”
He sighs and glances down at his coffee, and when he looks up at me, there’s an expression on his face that I’ve never seen before.
“I was wrong,” he says.
Did I hear that right? Dad admitting the error of his ways seems as unlikely as him moving to Scotland and buying a Shetland pony farm.
And yet.
I wait for him to continue.
“I was wrong to do what I did, and then I was too proud to admit I’d been wrong.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone so long without talking to you. That’s on me. It seemed easier to continue that way than to have this conversation.” He gestures between us.
I blow out a breath. “So why now? What changed?”
“Your party. I knew it was all for me. The son I knew wouldn’t throw a Pi Day party just because.”
“To be fair, you don’t really know me anymore.”
“No, and that’s my fault.” He has a sip of coffee. “But when your mother told me about the party, and I realized how much effort you were going to...I couldn’t say no. I know you think I’m heartless, but—”
“I don’t think that.”
“So what do you think?”
I don’t know how to put it into words, so I say, “You’re my father, and nothing can change that, even if you pretended I didn’t exist.”
“I thought of you every day. I was desperate to hear news about you from your mother and sisters.”
“Yet you were too stubborn and proud to pick up the phone and call me yourself.”
“Yes. But you weren’t too proud to have a Pi Day party, with math joke napkins and pi tablecloths.”
“It’s not as out-of-character for me as you seem to think.”
“Perhaps, but I figured if you could set aside your pride, then I could, too. I also knew it would please your mother for us to finally visit you in Toronto.”
I pull out a wad of bills from my pocket. “You shouldn’t have paid for dim sum.”
He shakes his head. “I outsmarted you by getting to the restaurant an hour early. You should accept that.”
I chuckle. “You know I have lots of money.”
“Yes, look at this house, so unnecessary for one man!”
I could have gotten a swanky condo downtown, but I bought a house instead, and I won’t lie: it was partly because I thought a house would impress my parents more, and I didn’t think they’d appreciate having to drive to downtown Toronto and park in a garage.
“I named the company Hazelnut Tech because of you. Because you like hazelnuts.”
“Such a stupid reason.” He’s smiling, though.
“Many of the things I did...they were for you. I just wanted you to talk to me again. I wanted to make you proud.”
“I am proud.” He reaches across the table and taps my wrist, which is a lot of physical affection for him. “Though a company that designs apps for people with those silly smartphones? That’s not what I would have chosen.”
“I’m still a bit of a rebel. And you’ll get a smartphone soon enough, so you can look at Facebook when you’re in line at the grocery store.”
He looks horrified, and I smile.
We’re making progress. My father has said he’s proud of me, and that’s a lot of what has driven me for the past seventeen years. Making him proud. I never completely gave up on the hope that he’d change his mind, despite all the years of silence, and now, here we are.
I think of Sarah, who told me she loved me. Last night, it seemed impossible that she could stay with me, but now, the impossible seems possible.
“I forgive you,” I say to my father.
He nods in acknowledgement, and we sip our coffee in silence for a minute. It’s the most comfortable minute I’ve had with him in a long time.
“Josh, you ma
de coffee?” Sarah walks into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair slightly damp. “Just what I need.”
Dad frowns. “Who’s this? Wait, aren’t you the caterer?”
Sarah freezes.
Oh, crap.
When I saw my father here, I should have told Sarah. Should have figured out how to sneak her out of the house. But instead, the possibility of having a proper talk with my father made me forget everything else.
Dad stands up, knocking the table in the process, and turns to me, his face red. “I thought you had changed. But no, it’s just like before. You have a party, and you sleep with the caterer? While your parents are guests? Tacky.”
I cringe. “Dad, Sarah is my girlfriend.”
“No, you just say that now to save face!”’
“Josh is telling the truth,” Sarah says.
“Then why didn’t you introduce her as your girlfriend?” Dad demands. “That’s what you would have done if it was the truth.”
“You hadn’t spoken to me in seventeen years. Seventeen years. Introducing you to a girlfriend would have made things complicated. I planned to do it next time.”
Except now everything is unraveling in front of my eyes.
“How long have you been together?” Dad asks.
“A couple weeks.”
“Even if that’s true, she shouldn’t have been sleeping over. It’s not serious.”
“It’s serious.” I know I sound unsure. My doubts are coming back in full force.
“A few weeks is not serious.”
“Josh is an adult,” Sarah says to my father. “This is his business, not yours, and he can do what he wants. He treats me well, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m an adult, too, and I can decide not to speak to him again! He’s thirty-three years old, and he’s still making the same mistakes and getting carelessly involved with women.”
“Dad! I am not—”
“You are. You were careless with Melinda, and it hasn’t changed.”
It’s all slipping through my fingers. Seventeen years to get to the point where we could have a reasonable conversation, and now it’s gone.
God, why did Sarah have to walk in?