And she’s right, for years I fucked whatever famous name popped out from Tyler’s list that would make me look good. Once I stopped, the media continued speculating and making up relationships from left to right. My name sold their junk and they didn’t care if they affected my personal life by making up those stories.
“So what’s this charity about?” she asked and reached for my cheek. “Don’t let that ruin the night, please. You’ll make me think this wasn’t a good idea.”
“You’ve improved a lot, missy.” I released her waist and took her hand off my cheek; kissing the palm and then the back. “I think I might like you more than yesterday. Who knows, at this pace I might fall in love with a beauty like you.”
“You’re a flirt, Brightmore,” she responded and her pleading brown eyes magically calmed my soul. “If you play your cards right, I might go out on a date with you, handsome.”
I winked at her. She was right, I shouldn’t let those seeds I sowed long ago bother me anymore. The past didn’t matter, the here and now did. I shed the rage I gathered after our encounter with that woman and offered to go to the silent auction section, however, Becca didn’t seem enthusiastic about any of the items on the tables. She only wondered how she could entice all the donors to give to our Foundation.
“You want to dance,” I murmured and she shivered, “or continue this absurd biding which isn’t entertaining you at all.”
I didn’t let her think about it, and I drew her into the ball room where they set up the dance floor. A waltz played, one we hadn’t danced in years; two, perhaps three. It didn’t matter how long ago, as usual, our bodies molded into each other and we swayed to the music.
“I love when we do this.” She relaxed in my arms, letting me lead without a fuss. We were making something beautiful happen with the harmony and the fusion that transpired with every note the orchestra played. “With you I always feel like a real princess.”
“You are a real princess.” Her cheeks turned a full blown red color. “You know, you’re the only person I ever dance with.” After the encounter with that model—whose name already escaped me—I needed to assure her that there was nobody else. Not even back then. Also, I could see her mind started to work those mind tricks that she was in the wrong place or…anything to escape. “Not once have I ever done this at this kind of venue, only when we’re traveling, and you know.”
“Why wouldn’t you, you’re a great dancer,” she said, then she surprised me. Instead of continuing with something along the lines of they are better than me, she brought up our first time. “You taught me how to dance, at Ty’s wedding. Remember? That’s the thing with you, Dan, you always make every moment special—magical.”
“Together we create the moment; make it magical.” I kiss her nose. “You responded better than we thought.” Her brow arched and her lips puckered. I knew she wasn’t asking for a kiss, she did it in annoyance. “Ty thought this was a bad idea, but I think you’re enjoying it.”
“Is this whole weekend a test, Daniel?” Full name thrown at my face, not exactly a rainbows and flowers kind of attitude. “Somehow I feel like you’re pushing my buttons for a reason.”
“No,” I said, and on queue the melody ended, I took her hand and we headed toward the exit. Perhaps I had broken a rule or two, like calling her babe one too many times during our date yesterday. A couple of times she became agitated, at the end she brushed them off and asked me not to do it again. Soon enough Nick was behind us and I spotted Nate outside with the car ready to go. “There’s no test, you’ve been dealing with your shit.” As we arrived at the car and Nick opened her door, I walked to the other side of the car and continued the conversation once we settled inside, “I’m dealing with mine. Maybe the test is for me, a way to make sure I can read you. Like right now, your senses are over saturated. Instead of complaining and asking to go home; your mind makes this funny recount to get upset at yourself.”
“Do I?” I nodded. ”Why the control?”
“Its’ like dancing.” I took her hands, kissing them both. “When you let me lead our life together is effortless. Think about it, Becca, once you’re ready to let me conduct we’ll take the next step, but only if you’re willing to do it. That doesn’t mean giving up being yourself, or not having an opinion. You’ll always chose the music, baby.”
She tilted her head, and kissed my jawline before our lips connected. As she finished that deep, fervent kiss, she said, “I love you with all my heart.”
We took off from London right after the Ball and arrived in Maldives twelve hours later, instead of going to the beach, we headed to our suite. As we reached the bedroom, I kissed her, beginning from her head and tracing a line down her cheek, jaw, throat and collar bone; stopping right where her blouse covered those beautifully formed breasts I wanted to taste.
“Stop me, baby.” I lifted my gaze and thankfully, she brushed aside the hollow words with a smile. “You sure, I’ll wait an eternity.”
“I won’t.” She pulled the hem of my shirt and peeled it from my body. “Make love to me, Danny, I need you to love me.”
The memory of our first day on the island and the fact that it has been three hours since Miss Trent began to nap makes me walk toward the bed. I should convince her to create a decree where we set a minimum requirement of daily sex—five times? As I kneel on the bed and unbuttoned my shorts, Becca’s eyes lazily start to open.
“I want to cuddle,” she says with that throaty, freshly awake voice and pats my side of the bed. “We can do whatever you want after, right now snuggle next to me and give me another hour.”
I still shed my clothes before following her instructions, sixty minutes divided by ten would be enough time to cuddle, snuggle and convince her to let me make love to her—carte blanch, according to what she just said. Minus of course five minutes, because I can only keep myself from touching her for so long. I wrap my arm around her and snake my hand inside the t-shirt she’s wearing.
“Mmm, no panties, living dangerous, Becca?”
“One hour.”
“Foreplay will take me an hour, I give you my word.” She snarls and I rotate her in a way that she’s facing me. She opens her eyes and shakes her head. “But you still love me.”
I claim her mouth, and she parts for me, the welcome almost undoing me. Our tongues wrestle, dance and wrestle again. Her arms finally join the action, stroking my back, and then moving toward my chest. We separate and I take the opportunity to take the only piece of clothing that’s blocking my view… and my hands. Pulling her shirt with a couple of expert moves, her glistening, throbbing breasts are free.
“Hello, girls,” I say playfully before I capture one with my mouth and caress the other with one hand. A throaty moan follows as her back arches. “God Becca, you’re a goddess, baby,” I say before switching breasts. I like to think I’m fair with both of them. The small whimpers and the fact that her hands are getting desperate tell me she’s about to come, and I stop because I promised there would only be foreplay.
“Don’t stop,” she cries as she tries to catch her breath. “What would you do if I did the same, Brightmore?”
She won’t, it’s Becca, she can’t, I tell myself. However, she surprises me by kissing me hard, as if this is her show. Then, as she stops, she drags her lips over my cheek, to my jaw, my neck, sucking my flesh around the collar bone. That drives me to the edge, but I control myself. As she begins to lick, suck and touch my torso; my shaft is about to explode. Not only that, the vixen is now on top of me and suddenly she stops, staring at me with a hunger I’ve never seen. Becca was fine with sex before we broke up, at least, she was comfortable with me and enjoyed it, but last night, she let herself go, becoming part of the game and not only the receiving end.
As she smiles, she licks her top lip and then lowers her face to my chest, and makes her way down to my abs. I quiver as she approaches my stomach and keeps going down on me. Her fingers are lightly tracing my cock, then she lifts h
er gaze as if waiting for instructions or permission. I have no idea, but I’m internally begging for more… a firm touch, a lick… anything to…. Becca doesn’t let me finish thinking about the possibilities, damn she’s licking me like a frozen chocolate bar. Consuming me as if it melts in her mouth.
“Bex, I think I love you more, if that’s even possible,” I scream, as she sucks the tip of my cock and then takes me inside that luscious mouth of hers. “Faster.” It’s the only word I’m able to articulate as she swallows me in and out. The urge of releasing inside her mouth increases. I never thought sweet Becca Trent would ever be able to move from missionary position, and I didn’t mind. However, for the past twenty four hours, she’s been letting her hair down and showing me a part of herself I would never imagine existed. “I’m about to come, Bex, I need to be inside you, please.”
As she releases me, I pull her toward me and kiss her deeply. “You’re amazing.” I flip her and end up on top of her, ready to reciprocate and eat her pussy, but before I act, I ask, “Do you want me to make you come first?”
There are no words, only her hand guiding my cock toward her entrance. I slide into the hot, sweet pleasure with ease. We both groan at the same time and we begin rocking against each other.
Her eyes are wide open glowing with a mix of love and lust; matching my feelings. As our bodies join at a fast pace, Becca entwines her fingers behind my head and pulls me toward her, taking my mouth with a kiss that finally joins us as we both lose control with ripping orgasms that make us both scream. I tighten my grip as I come back from the violent eruption, our hearts beating with the same intensity of the cyclone that overtook us only seconds ago.
“I love you, Becca Trent,” I’m finally able to speak. “That was…”
“You’re not just saying it to make me feel good about myself?”
“Nope.” I fondle her hair. “Special, unique, unexpected and let’s say it blew my mind.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Next time, we have a lifetime to practice.” I kiss the top of her head and rock her against my body. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Danny.” My chest swells with those words. She snuggles on my chest and closes her eyes. “Forever.”
Chapter 31
Becca and I discussed my father during the week after we arrived home from Maldives. We conclude, that even though I feel like I have closure, I have a few remaining questions lingering around my mind. Questions that need answers and the only way to get them is by calling him.
My fingers begin to dial the phone number Randy provided me with. After two rings a male voice on the other side of the receiver answers.
“Hello.” Paralyzed like a child I don’t know what to say. Shoving a contract in his face for him to sign isn’t the same as asking for a second rejection from him when he answers my questions. “Hello,” the voice repeats.
“Elijah Brightmore,” I say keeping my best business tone. “This is Daniel Brightmore.”
“Do you need any more signatures?” No. “Send your people, I’m sure you can find our new address.”
Hang up, my mind screams; but my hand doesn’t follow the order. My mouth though continues with the set of instructions I established before dialing. I have a systematic plan to get this right. “My call… is there a way we can talk?”
“We are talking,” Elijah states the obvious. “How can I help you?”
“Not over the phone,” I say, because the conversation involves my private life, and I need to see if my opponent is giving me a shitty story worthy of a fiction novel or the truth. “Name the day and time.”
“Daniel, in all honesty you shouldn’t bother,” he replies. “Your last visit left a sour taste, of course after what I did to you, I shouldn’t have expected a Hallmark encounter. However, springing a contract where you all but changed my surname in exchange for money hurt. Again, my fault partially—at least that’s what my wife says.”
Partially?
His wife, he couldn’t come up with that all by himself? “If you knew who I was, why not look for me?”
“Because you’d think I wanted your money.”
“It bothered you that I set up a trust fund,” my voice loses all control and the rough tone takes over. How dare he say that, when he threw a childish tantrum when I offered the money in the form of a trust fund—for his other two children. “Instead of—”
“No,” he interrupts, his raspy voice sounds close to mine. “It upset me that you tried to buy me. I was irate that you didn’t allow me to tell you my side of the story and ask for forgiveness.”
“You fucking abandoned me.” I stand up and my voice becomes deafening, my vocal cords have never worked at that volume. “A five year old left in the streets, alone like a stray.”
“Once the storm calmed, I realized my stupidity,” the breaking voice on the other side informs me. “But by then the five year old had turned twelve and the chances of facing charges for abandonment—”
“So you got yourself a family?”
“Joan,” he names his wife. “The woman has a little nightingale syndrome.” He chuckles. “She helped me get through my hell and we fell in love. We didn’t have much, and that included money for an attorney. Then you’d have become another mouth to feed. I’m not proud of my choices, twenty one and alone with a kid.”
My twenty one year old self would’ve taken care of the kid.
“Mom died when I turned fourteen. Dad turned to alcohol and forgot about us.” Not that I care. “Two years later, I met her—Muriel—she got pregnant and her parents kicked her out of her own home. I tried hard. What was I to do?”
The other side of the story sounds like a whiney man with the maturity of a five year old child. Of course he would’ve had trouble taking care of me. Damn, I sound like an asshole. Compassion. That word keeps coming up every time I pass judgment.
“Have compassion, baby,” Becca told me recently. “A dictionary of emotions, that’s what you need. There’s always the other side of the story. You can’t come to a conclusion until you find out about them in detail.”
“Why abandon me?”
“I thought the government would take care of you,” he responds. “I lost my job, they kicked us out of the trailer and I had a hungry child in tow. You might not remember, but I told you that before I picked you up, I needed money. I needed to make a lot of money for you.”
Is that why I have this crazy obsession with making my mark and owning as much as I can?
“Not that I did.” He snorts. “Now you, Daniel Elijah Brightmore are a famous name.” A bitter part of me wants to fix the middle name. At least take away the part that made me his son, but Becca said once that the E made my name perfect. Do I care for perfection? No, I care about making her happy and granting all her wishes. “The system worked wonders with you.”
“No,” my response is clipped, no need to explain my life in detail to a stranger. “It’s always about money. The cycle; you have it, you’re unhappy, you don’t and you’re unhappy too. I guess your answer is as good as it gets.”
“Unless…” Then the line is silent and I wait. “I’d like it if we could get to know each other, you’re family, my first born. Of course, there’s no obligation. It’s not about the money.” Elijah laughs. “We both are old enough to understand things won’t result in a father-son bond, but why not try? A friendship, knowing you can call me when something good happens.”
The last sentence has a hint of anxiety mixed with it. Call him when something good happens. What happens to the all the bad? There’s no heartfelt apology or a let’s try something real. Before hanging up I tell him that I’d think about his offer. Then the memory of Richard Swanson comes to mind. He calls me as often as possible or emails, mostly to ask how I am. Like an asshole, I sent his calls to voicemail because my scheduled demanded it, but he had been a father.
Dialing another number, I sit back and relax looking at the eight by ten in front of me.
Damn that pretty face should be judging me, telling me I am close to scum for ignoring the two people that tried to be my parents for years. Instead, I know she would hug me and make the tightening feeling of sadness go away. “Dan?”
“Hey, Richard,” I answer. “Do you mind if I come and visit you this weekend?”
“This is your home boy,” he says with a pleasant tone. “Ophie would be happy to see you. Are you bringing the girl Buddy talks about all the time? Your girlfriend?”
Right on cue, Rusty walks inside my office and Becca is behind with a wide smile.
“Of course, I will,” I respond before hanging up the phone. “See you soon, Rich.
“Hey, my beautiful girlfriend,” I greet her and pull her to my lap when she reaches me. Becca brushes my lips and everything is well again. “I called him—my father.”
“Want to talk about it?” I nod and convey my entire conversation to her, without leaving any detail out—or what I think about it. “Would you come with me to visit Rich and Ophie?”
“Of course, with you I’ll go to the end of the world.” She sprinkles kisses around my face, and my fingers fiddle with the skirt of her dress. As I reach the hem they climb the soft skin of her thighs. “The door is open, Brightmore, and your assistant hasn’t left for the day yet. Let me take you home.” She springs out of my lap. “I’ll take care of you.” She licks her lips and heads toward the door. “See you at the elevator in five.”
“Vixen.”
Chapter 32
“We can stay home,” Becca says for the third, perhaps fourth time. As we spoke about my foster parents yesterday, I asked if she’d go with me to visit them. It’s important to me to rekindle my relationship with them and for them to meet my girl. She agreed, though after all this stalling I’m beginning to think she thought I was bluffing, or that we’d do the trip in a year or two. After all these years of knowing me, she should know better. Then again, this is also a new step into that family life I want to cultivate, her take about that not happening soon somehow makes sense. “Rusty is afraid of heights and planes.”
Next to You (Life) Page 18