Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  She whimpers and kisses me, caught up in the madness of the moment, too.

  “Don’t stop,” she pants. “Don’t stop. I’m gonna come again.”

  I press my forehead to hers, both of us damn near hyperventilating as I thrust over and over again, trying to think of anything that won’t make me come, but she feels too good, and I’m too fucking lost.

  “Oh, Pike,” she cries. “Right there. Yeah…”

  My muscles are burning, my head is spinning, but I don’t break pace, because if I fucking die right now, this is how I want to go out.

  “Ah,” she moans, her body tensing and her breathing shaking.

  She falls silent and then…she throws her head back and cries out. “Oh, God!”

  I kiss her hard, seeing her come again enough to send me over the edge. I thrust hard, squeezing my eyes shut and spilling, diving deep inside her again and again as the orgasm wracks through my body and exhaustion and euphoria set in at the same time.

  White hot heat streams from my thighs, and my cock pulses, and everything about her is heaven. Everything feels like it’s the first time.

  I come down, resting my elbows on either side of her head and smooth the hair away from her face.

  She gazes up at me, her face flushed and shiny with a light layer of sweat. “You didn’t kiss her, did you?” she asks softly.

  I chuckle under my breath. “And that’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

  She twists her lips in embarrassment, but she presses anyway, “You didn’t, right?”

  “No,” I tell her. “And she wouldn’t have spent the night. I was trying to forget about you and how much I wanted this, but it wouldn’t have happened. You were right. I wanted you.”

  I kiss her, surprised that even though I’ve come, I’m not done with her. I could stay here all night.

  “And that little shit from the block party?” I question her. “Nothing happened, right?”

  Her faint dimples grow deeper.

  “Jordan,” I warn, furrowing my brow.

  She laughs. “No,” she finally answers. “He doesn’t have your body,” she gives my cheek a peck, “or your tattoos,” she kisses my jaw, “or your mouth,” she kisses my lips, “and every word that comes out of it that gets under my skin and drives me crazy in all the best ways.”

  I sink into her, kissing her long and hard. The fucking damage is already done. I’ll feel guilty tomorrow.

  “One thing, though,” she says, pulling her mouth off mine to leave a trail of kisses across my cheek. “I know you have work tomorrow, and probably want to get to sleep, but I’m kind of hungry. Can we get some ice cream downstairs and then do it again before bed?”

  I drop my head into her shoulder, shaking with laughter.

  Anything you want, baby.

  I roll my neck under the hot spray, every muscle in my body tight and sore. I don’t really exercise, but I’m hardly ever sitting on my ass, so I thought I was in good shape. She shot that idea to shit last night, though. I can’t help but indulge in the fantasy of having her here every day, as many times a day as I want, just for the sake of my muscular health, of course.

  But I know I can’t. We did it again last night and then crashed, and as much as I want her even more this morning, now that I know what I’ve been missing, we can’t let this become normal. It’ll be painful enough when it ends.

  I shut off the water and step out of the shower, pulling my towel off the hook and drying my hair. The bathroom is dark, because I wanted to delude myself that nighttime still wasn’t over, but it’s just after five in the morning, and I have to be at work in an hour. When I see her again, it’ll be in the bright light of day, and I’ll have to face how I did something so fucking shitty last night.

  I finish drying off and wrap the towel around my waist before walking to the sink and brushing my teeth. And trying not to think about the hot, young woman still asleep in my bed in the other room.

  I mean, how wrong is what we’re doing? She’s single, I’m single. We’re both adults. Yeah, there’s the age difference, but it’s not unheard of.

  And I fucking liked her before I knew who she was. No one else was a factor in that. We’re not trying to hurt anyone.

  Stepping back into the bedroom, I look over at her in the bed. Asleep on her stomach, hugging one of my pillows under her head, and her hair fanned out behind her. She wears one of my T-shirts, and although I love her naked, I can’t complain. I love her in my clothes, too.

  Walking over to her side of the bed, I pick up my watch off the bedside table—the one not toppled over on the other side—and fasten it to my wrist as I stare down at her.

  We’ve known each other less than a month, but I feel like she’s always been there. Like I was saving that side of the bed just for her.

  I don’t know if I love her, but I’ve never wanted anything or anyone this bad.

  Her foot peeks out from the sheet, and I smile at her pink toes. So very Jordan.

  She moans and turns her head, and I raise my eyes, seeing her turn over in her sleep, resting her hand on the pillow next to her face.

  The sheet is down at her waist, and the shirt has ridden up, showing a sliver of her stomach, and I let instinct take over. It’s still dark outside.

  The night doesn’t have to be over yet.

  Peeling down the sheet, I see her hot pink panties, and I don’t mind that she doesn’t sleep naked. It means I get to undress her.

  Gently pulling down her underwear, I climb over her, putting one knee between her legs and sliding her shirt up with one of my hands.

  I touch her and kiss her softly, moving across her cheek to her ear and back toward her mouth.

  “Good morning,” I whisper, nibbling at her.

  She moans again, arching to meet my lips which are trailing down her body, tasting her stomach, her hips, and back up to her breasts.

  “Isn’t it?” she says, joking.

  I chuckle.

  Reaching over to my nightstand, I dig out another condom and rip off my towel. “Just a quickie, okay?” I tease. “To get me through the day.”

  She moans again, stretching her arms above her head. “’Kay.”

  And I dive in.

  Several minutes later we’re both panting and sweaty again, and I need another shower, but I don’t have time.

  Fuck, that was good. Is it me or does she feel better in the morning?

  I look over at the clock. “I gotta go.”

  I don’t want to, though. How awful would it be if the boss calls in sick, so he can stay home and fuck his hot, little live-in all day?

  Reluctantly, I climb off her and walk to my dresser, pulling out some jeans and a T-shirt. “Do you have to work tonight?” I ask.

  She pulls the sheet back up over her and gazes at me sleepily. “Maybe.”

  I shake my head. Always playing games.

  “Maybe I’ll be home,” she explains, “or maybe you’ll have to find me.”

  I close the dresser drawer and open another, grabbing socks.

  I turn to her, fixing a stern look on my face. “I’ll be home at five. Be here,” I order her. And then I start to walk toward the door but turn and soften my voice, adding, “Please?”

  She grins and turns on her side, hugging my pillow under her again and looking at me with the sweetest eyes. “Miss me.”

  I do already.

  I leave, closing the door behind me and closing her bedroom door, too. Just in case Cole comes home, sees her empty bed, and starts to wonder where she is.

  Jogging down the stairs, I feel an urge to smile even as the guilt knots my stomach. I almost feel normal.

  But luckier than any guy I know. The girl of my dreams is in my bed right now, and I get to come home to her, too. She was right. I have everything I need under this roof.

  Except my son. This is his home, and he’s not here, and Jordan makes me forget him.

  For nineteen years, it was always him. Sacrificing to buil
d my business to be able to give him a good home and education, and either being scared of relationships after what I went through with Lindsay or losing relationships, because other women didn’t want to have to deal with the mother of my child for the rest of our lives. My life revolved around him, but no matter what I did, it all still went to shit. She twisted him up and used him against me, and he doesn’t know whom to trust.

  Letting myself be happy with a woman isn’t wrong, but that woman being Jordan is what could break whatever faith he has left in his parents. Why can’t I stop? Why does my heart hurt so much every time she smiles? Or chews on her thumbnail or stands on her tiptoes to reach something in the kitchen or fucking blinks, for Christ’s sake?

  I walk into the kitchen and pour coffee into my travel mug. I fasten the lid and grab my lunch out of the fridge, throwing in some extra chips, since I don’t have time for breakfast.

  The doorbell suddenly rings, and I turn, scowling. Who’s showing up this time of morning?

  Leaving everything on the counter, I walk to the front door and lean over, peering out the front window.

  And speak of the devil…

  My ex stands out there in nylon workout pants and a matching tank top. Her hair is up in a messy brown bun, but she has a full face of make-up on. She’s the only person I know who gets made-up to go to the gym.

  Of course, she probably only goes to meet guys.

  I pull open the door, trying to be quiet, so Jordan doesn’t stir.

  “What do you want?” I say, holding open the door.

  “Well, you’re nice,” she sneers, keeping her arms crossed over her chest. “Ever the asshole, huh?”

  And without waiting for an invitation, she walks in, pushing past my arm.

  “If you’re showing up at my door at five in the morning, it can’t be good,” I say, closing the door. “Are you drunk?”

  She walks into the kitchen, tosses her keys on my counter, and spins around, facing me. “Why is my son living at some random girl’s house and not with you?”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her fake concern which is just an excuse to be invasive. “He’s welcome to come home any time,” I explain, heading for the stool and grabbing my T-shirt. “He’s the one who left.”

  “Because you’re allowing Jordan to stay. Why?”

  I pull the garment over my head. “If you want to know what’s going on with Cole, ask Cole. As for who I rent out a room to, that’s none of your business.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair, having forgotten to style it. She’s quiet for a moment, and I don’t look at her as I pull my phone off the charger and stick it in my pocket.

  She steps up to my side and takes my chin, forcing me to face her.

  I jerk away. “What?”

  “You’re flushed.”

  “It’s warm out,” I retort.

  But underneath my skin, my blood warms and my heart pounds harder. I pick up my coffee, taking a sip to conceal my nervousness. The woman is a shark. She can smell blood across an ocean.

  “I know what you look like after you come,” she charges. “So, question is… Is it the sweet piece of teen ass upstairs or someone new?”

  I slam my mug down, glaring at her. “That’s enough.”

  Goddammit. I forgot how smart she is. I haven’t even left the house yet, and I can’t even get what I’m feeling by the one person I’ve run into. Awesome.

  Heading over to the table, I sit down and pull on my socks and boots and gather up everything I need for the day.

  “Cole quit his job at the plant,” she finally tells me. “Three days ago.”

  I look up, stopping what I’m doing. Three days?

  “Let me give you a tip,” she condescends. “Parenting didn’t stop when he turned eighteen and you no longer had to pay child support. He still needs you.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t take parenting lessons from a woman who got pregnant so she’d have a meal ticket for the rest of her life.” I turn to her, pinning her with my stare. “Maybe he quit, so he wouldn’t have to work for nothing, since you guilt him into giving you half of his paychecks.”

  She slaps me across the face, and my head jerks to the side.

  But I just laugh.

  Of course, I’m worried. He’s been out of work and hasn’t been home, but I’m not taking a lecture from her. She’s used him, and I’ve had enough of her bullshit.

  “That’s the reason you don’t let him come work for me, isn’t it?” I ask, not backing down. “Because in exchange, I was going to pay his bills and give him a stipend to make sure you didn’t get your hands on his whole damn salary. You only care about him when he comes bearing cash.” I gather up my shit and walk for the door, yanking it open. “You know who I’m really jealous of? All the men who got away before you trapped them with a kid. I’m not sorry I had Cole, but I am sorry it was with you. Get out.”

  I’m proud I kept my voice down and was able to muster some control, but I’m seething inside. She comes into my house, accusing me of being a bad parent, and then hits me. She’s not my wife and never has been. I have to put up with her, but not with everything.

  She stands there, looking almost amused, and finally walks up to me. “Yes,” she says, about to leave but turns and taunts me over her shoulder, “because your house is the only area of your life you can get me out of.”

  And then her eyes flash up my stairs and back to me, a sick smirk playing on her lips.

  She walks out, and I remain still, everything I felt in my bedroom minutes ago completely gone. Cole is spiraling, and he needs me now more than ever.

  And Lindsay knows about Jordan. She may not know anything for sure, but her suspicions will be enough.

  She’ll tear Jordan apart. There’s no way I’m putting her through that.

  I just wish I could’ve had her for more than seven hours.

  Jordan

  I press the stones onto the step with my pick and grab the glue, squeezing it into the crevice to fasten the pieces to the model. I feel an urge to glance at the clock on the microwave again, but I refrain, knowing it hasn’t been more than two minutes since the last time I checked.

  It’s after six, and Pike is late. He’s hardly ever late.

  As the minutes go by, though, I feel my temper rise, because he hasn’t called, either, and he specifically asked me to be home. This isn’t like him, but it’s damn-well like every other guy I’ve known. I’m that girl they can treat like garbage and make wait, because I take it.

  For a while, anyway.

  The pizza I ordered, half pepperoni and half taco, was delivered an hour ago and is keeping warm in the oven, while my salad is in the fridge, staying chilled. The Lost Boys, continuing our 80’s horror movie marathon, is on the TV, ready to play, and I’m alone.

  Again.

  Okay. He could be in the middle of something, still at work. Understandable, and I’m an adult. I don’t need my hand held. He could’ve also been in an accident, but that’s extreme, and I don’t want to be that girl who calls, either. He’ll think I’m…getting attached or something.

  I glue the glass balls onto the bed of what will soon be the stream, letting the minutes tick away his chances as I sit there, wait, and get angrier.

  The day has been so great. I woke up sore but hardly even noticing, because the memories of last night had me blushing constantly. He was not out of practice at all, and I couldn’t stop smiling as I cleaned up the broken lamp and fixed the nightstand again.

  And cleaned the remnants of the A&W cup out of the washing machine from when I dumped the ice cream float in it last night. Thank God he didn’t find out about that or he’d change his opinion on whether or not I’m an adult.

  After tidying up the house, I really didn’t want to wash off his smell, but I desperately needed a shower. I cleaned myself up, and then I called Cam and borrowed her car to go get my paycheck at Grounders and run a few errands. I got sideways looks from my sister and Shel, both prob
ably wondering why I’m practically fucking skipping around everywhere, but I didn’t care.

  Because in a few hours, his eyes were going to be on me again, and I really love when his eyes are on me. Maybe we’d go swimming tonight or throw some pillows and blankets into the back of the truck to go make-out somewhere. Or maybe I’d pick a fight, so he’d bend me over the kitchen table for another spanking.

  Stupid. Fantasies and expectations that never measure up in reality. I should know better. Here I am, sitting here waiting for whenever he happens to show up, ready to be at his beck and call.

  After a while, I pick up my phone again, checking to see if I have any messages.

  Still nothing.

  I look at the time, and it’s nearly seven now. Two hours late.

  He’d know I was expecting him. If he didn’t call, then maybe something did happen.

  I dial him, about to feel either really pathetic if he’s not sitting in the ER right now or really bad about all my doubts if he is.

  The call goes to voicemail, though, and I hang up, hesitating only a moment before I get up and walk to the refrigerator, drawing my finger down Pike’s list of contacts. I see Dutch’s number and dial it, thinking of something to say that won’t make me seem desperate.

  The line rings three times before he answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Dutch,” I say quickly, adding some pep to my voice. “It’s Jordan. Sorry to bother you. I know Pike doesn’t always keep his phone on him and thought you would. I’m about to leave for work, and I lost my key to the house.” I lick my dry lips, my heart hammering. “Are you all about done at the site? I didn’t know when Pike would be home and didn’t want to just leave the door unlocked.”

  “Oh, we closed up shop two hours ago, honey,” he tells me. “I’m home already, and he went with the guys for a beer at Poor Red’s. I’m sure if you call him he’ll run home and lock up.”