by L. B. Dunbar
“Touch yourself, darlin’. Get there again.”
“I can’t,” I whimpered as he jostled me. “I don’t...I mean…” He’d taken not only my breath but my words. He slowed enough to grip one of my hands with his free one and drag it to my core. He held my fingers there until I pressed against myself, lightly tickling until the tension built. I gasped at the sensation, and he increased the thrusting. Together, we climbed.
“Get there, darlin’. I’m too close.” He looked down at where I touched myself, and I followed his lead. Despite the dark night, I could see the outline of our joining. “That is fucking hot,” he said, and I giggled, losing a bit of my concentration, but the laughter clenched at him. He stilled, and the pulsing inside me set me off. I stroked myself as he spilled forth with tender thrusts. I came again, though not as strong as the first time.
My forehead fell to the top of his head, and we remained like this a moment.
“You are a wonder,” he whispered, and I pulled back.
“I’ve never…” My voice faded, and the corner of his mouth crooked. “I don’t touch myself,” I said, looking away, tickling my fingers over his abs. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I’m sensing there are a few things that you’ve never done before, and I’m happy to be the first, though I’m sorry it took you so long to discover those things.” He smiled broadly, and I smacked at his chest.
“It’s embarrassing to admit you’re the first to give me a double orgasm.”
His brows rose. “What the…well, we need to go for three.” An aftershock of him pulsing paused us both.
“What was that?” I shrieked, the sound echoing in the quiet night breeze. He chuckled, and I felt it inside me, which is where I wanted to bury his laughter, storing it for after I left. I didn’t want to think of parting from him. Not yet.
“Number three in my room,” he teased.
+ + +
Once back at his room, I excused myself for his bathroom. When I came out, I found him stripped and sprawled on his stomach across his bed. I admired his backside—two fine globes that would make ancient sculptors jealous. He rolled to face me and patted the space next to him, but something in his slightly opened nightstand caught my eye. Slipping the drawer open further, my eyes widened. Lifting up the fabric, I peered over at him. His eyes didn’t leave mine.
“What’s this?” In my hand, I held the black scarf I wore, and lost, by the pool the other day. Turning back to the drawer, I found the scarf I left behind when he first took me doggie style against his bed. Red polka-dot material filled my hand. Last was a yellow scarf, the one I’d forgotten after that first introduction by the pool. He didn’t respond, his eyes hooded with his silence. My brows pinched but he still didn’t speak, only patted the bed once again. Staring back at him, my mind raced. He wanted someone who admired him for who he was not what he was. Collecting my scarves seemed to be a small statement. Was it possible Tommy Carrigan liked me for me? Despite my earlier boldness, I wasn’t strong enough to ask that question.
“I shouldn’t spend the whole night,” I said instead, crawling over him to what seemed deemed as my side of the bed. He remained on his back, facing the ceiling, and we each lay with our thoughts for a second.
“You know that thing you did, when we were at Ivy’s?” he asked.
“What thing?” My brows furrowed, completely uncertain what he referenced.
“Where you kind of hugged me from the back?”
My lips curled at one corner. “Sure.”
“I liked that. I liked that a lot, beautiful.” His voice lowered as if he’d just admitted the world’s biggest secret. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, I pushed at him. He glanced at me, and I did it again, signaling for him to roll to his side, his back to me. When he did, I scratched up and down his spine a few minutes and then scooted closer to him, pressing as much of me into the back of him. He reached for the arm I wrapped over him and dragged it to the middle of his chest, flattening my palm under his. I kissed his back a few times and his shoulders relaxed. His breathing leveled, and he drifted off to sleep. Without asking him my question, I answered my own about my feelings for him.
I like you Tommy Carrigan the man, I quietly kissed into his skin. I like you a lot.
8
New Year. Orgasmic Goals.
I didn’t fall asleep, waiting until Tommy was deep at rest. Then I stood and dressed. I placed all my scarves back in his nightstand and reached for the bedside light when he gripped my wrist.
“I don’t like you sneaking out of my bed,” he said, his voice gravelly and gruff.
“Go back to sleep, baby. I need to get back to my room.” His sleepy body perched up on an elbow.
“That’s a first.” And he smiled slowly, groggily.
“What is?” I asked, still keeping my voice a whisper like I’d wake him.
“You call everyone else honey or baby, even that dumb ass Petty tonight, but not me. But now, you did.” He smiled like a kid ready to see Santa, and I swiped a hand over that prickly scruff that I liked so much then kissed him briefly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”
His hand reached for the nape of my neck so quickly it startled me and I was pulled to his mouth, returning for more than the brief kiss I’d just given him. With a full onslaught attack, my insides leapt to life. If he kept that up, he’d get that third orgasm out of me, but I decided it wasn’t a good idea. I wanted earlier to be about him, not me. I pulled back after a minute.
“I wanted a piece of you,” he whispered, his eyes lowering to the nightstand. “Creepy?”
“Flattering,” I replied, my lip curling with the hope he wanted to remember me as much as I would remember him.
“There’s a concert tomorrow. I want you to be there. I’ll send tickets for you and the kids,” he offered, sitting upright.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered, swiping at his nose, before he stood from the bed. My eyes questioned the movement.
“I’m walking you back to your room. But tomorrow, beautiful.” His wink was my warning, or better yet, my promise.
+ + +
When I returned to my room, I knocked on Masie and Caleb's closed door. Pressing it open, I found West and Masie asleep on Masie's bed. I should have woken him. I should have kicked him out, but they were dressed and he lay cradling my daughter to his chest. It looked innocent enough. All clothes on. On top of the bed. So, I left them wondering about Caleb to find him in my king size one.
“Hey.” I rustled his arm. “Hey, go to your own bed,” I teased. He rolled slightly, lifting his head from the pillow. “Masie and West are in there.”
“So?” I said, reminding myself they looked innocent.
“So, I'm not sleeping with West and Masie in the same room,” he said in mock horror.
“Well, I'm not sleeping with you,” I exclaimed. “Sofa city, babe.” I entered my bathroom, prepped for bed, and returned to find he hadn't left.
“Caleb,” I hissed. “Out!”
“Mom,” he whined. “I'll never fit on that couch.”
“Oh, my God.” I sighed, making a wall of pillows down the middle of the bed. I couldn't believe I was doing this, but I was drained from all that happened—the moment of truth, the wine, the sex. I was exhausted. Still, Caleb wasn't six years old; he was six-feet-three and twenty-two. As I lay down, my son's hand reached for mine. In a groggy voice he asked, “Did you make up with him?”
No, I shouted in my head. No, I am not discussing this with my son.
“Yeah,” I answered instead, smiling slowly to myself. Honestly, I could only hope Tommy understood my intentions tonight. I liked him, as Tommy Carrigan, I really, really did.
“He seems like a nice guy. How did you not know who he was?” Caleb chuckled, sleep deep in his laughter.
“I don't know.” I sighed. “I just didn’t, and yeah, he is a nice man.” Although that older woman at the pool suggested Tommy and the band were part of my family, Tommy h
ad actually made us feel like part of his. He'd welcomed us to dinner and treated us like we'd always been there. It was a warm-fuzzy feeling.
“You know it's okay to date him, right?”
“Oh, honey, we aren't dating. We're on vacation. I might never see him again.”
“Why would you say that?” Caleb asked, propping up and shifting as he continued to hold my hand.
“I just mean, we'll go our separate ways when this vacation is over. He's a busy man, a famous man. But our time together has been fun,” I added, my voice saddening at the reality. I wouldn't see him ever again after five more days, but being with Tommy had been exciting. “Why, what did you think I meant?"
“It's just…I don't know…” His voice faded. “You're okay, right?” The shift in his voice clued me to his concern. Cancer. Death. It's a hard discussion to have with your child, one especially hard for them to understand when they are away at college, living their first taste of independence. Caleb came home immediately when I learned the diagnosis. I sent him back to school, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
“I'm fine, honey. The doctors say that I'm all good.” For now, but I didn't add that. There was a chance the cancer could come back. Some day. But maybe not. That was the part I was holding onto—the maybe not.
“Well, you have my permission to date him. Just have fun, Mom.”
I chuckled.
“You know he asked me if he could take you to dinner, right?”
“No,” I laughed, “When?”
“The other night, when he met us in town. He texted me to ask if he could take you to dinner. He wanted my permission.” Caleb fell back on the bed, and I stared up at the ceiling.
“That was...very gentlemanly of him.” And sweet, I thought. Caleb grunted, falling back asleep almost instantly, like men can do. I rolled to my side, my back to him, with the wall of pillows in between us. Fifteen minutes later, I heard him leave my room, and a few moments after that I heard the front door click open and shut. I smiled, knowing Caleb had been the bad guy. He kicked West out.
+ + +
The next morning, I woke to a text. Good morning, darlin’. You look beautiful.
How would you know? I’m still in bed.