Cinq A’ Sept

by Mj Fields

  Just then, Oliver sets two jumbo shrimp cocktails on the table in front of us.

  Joe nods a thank you to him then looks back at me.

  “But not mature men,” I state.

  A wide smile breaks out across his face, and he laughs loudly.

  I look up in shock to see Oliver turn back. Then I look around to see who else might be staring and realize everyone is. I cover my face and sink down in the chair.

  When I dare look up again, Oliver is gone and Joe is smiling at me.

  “He’s a good guy. A little rough around the edges, but he’s recently come back from seven years of active duty in the Marine Corps. He’s working on his people skills.”

  “And he thought hospitality was a good place to do that?”

  “Maisie thought so.” The way he says her name is with reverence.

  “So, did you meet him at her—”

  “Believe it or not, his family took in foster kids. His dad had a heavy hand. The second time I ‘fell’ down the stairs, I broke my arm. Oliver turned them in at the hospital and was taken out of his home. They were my last placement. Maisie helped him and I get emancipated.”

  A lump forms in my throat as tears fill my eyes.

  “I’ve tried to get you to understand that I really don’t feel there’s a difference between us that means a damn thing. Age and IQ are God-given. The emotional levels of anyone is self-developed through the difficult steps, paths, journeys we’ve taken in life. It’s how we execute them, not how many years we’ve walked them.” He sits back and waits for me to grasp what he just said.

  I nod, willing my un-spilled tears to stay that way, and reach over to take his hand.

  “Do you think maybe we could enjoy the evening and not worry about what the idiots around us are thinking?”

  I nod and force a smile. “Yes.”

  “Good, because that shrimp looks amazing.”

  He dips one into the cocktail sauce and holds it up to my mouth. I take a bite and savor it, and the way he watches my mouth. When I finish, I lick my lips.

  He leans forward, takes my hand, and places it over his hardening erection. “No one has ever made me feel like this, like you do. I could fuck you right now and not give a damn who sees me or what consequences come of it. You’re so fucking beautiful, Bridge, inside and out.”

  Turned on by his words and wanting him to know I feel no differently, I tell him, “If these shrimp weren’t so delicious, I’d take you in my mouth instead.”

  “I’ll throw them out into the ocean and starve if you’re seri—”

  I take the opportunity to push one of the shrimp into his mouth, and he groans as he chews it.

  Once he swallows it down, he gives me a cocky smirk. “I was going to order oysters, but I didn’t trust my self-control.”

  When Oliver sets drinks in front of us, I don’t look at him, partially because he frightens me. But I do notice Joe has water, and I have wine.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink alcohol. Why?”

  “Because he’s an ass when he does,” Oliver says before he turns and walks away.

  I look at Joe.

  “I really shouldn’t have told you that I knew him.” He shrugs. “But he’s right; I get a little bit more verbal.”

  “Aren’t you the one who told me not to blame the alcohol?” I smirk as I let him feed me another piece of shrimp.

  “Attractions heighten when drinking. I’d be under the table, eating you instead of feeding you shrimp cocktail. Possessiveness and being overly protective is also an emotion that is heightened when I drink. If I don’t drink, I can manage not to walk over and slap the shit out of the older … gentleman who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since we sat down, even though instinct drives me that way.”

  “As if.” I roll my eyes and look in the direction he is looking.

  Sure enough, there is an older man looking at me. When he lifts his rocks glass full of whiskey and winks, I turn away quickly and look at Joe.

  “And if I had a drink in me now, he’d be in deep shit. His own, of course. But the empty ball sack has some liquid courage in him and a ten-thousand-dollar watch on. He’d be standing in his own shit and believing it smelled like roses, because every motherfucker around him has made him feel like that since he was four years old and still sucking the tit of his wet nurse.”

  I cover my mouth and laugh.

  Joe holds his middle finger up at the man.

  Still laughing, I grab his hand and hold it down.

  “Halle Berry, Kate Hudson, Sandra Bullock, Eva Mendes, Demi Moore, Robin Wright. What do they have in common?” he asks unexpectedly, holding up another piece of shrimp for me to bite.

  “They’re famous.” I smile and take the shrimp in my mouth.

  “They all dated younger men.”

  I hold my hand over my mouth as I chew then reply, “They’re famous women. And their relationships didn’t last.”

  “Sam Taylor, the director of Fifty Shades of Gray, is married to her actor husband who’s twenty-three years younger. They have two children. Geena Davis is fifteen years older than her husband. They have three kids. Allison Janney, twenty years difference; happily married.”

  Smiling, I hold up a shrimp and tell him, “Famous women.”

  Before he takes a bite, he smiles back. “Hugh Jackman and Deborra-Lee—she’s twelve years older than him. He’s famous.” He chomps down on the shrimp with a grin still on his face, while I try to come up with something intelligent and witty.

  “Well, he’s … Wolverine and Jean Valjean.”

  I’m not even sure he had time to chew the shrimp, but it’s gone when he adds, “And they adopted two kids.”

  “I agree it can work.” I sit back and smile. “But you’d have to be really strong to be able to withstand the judgement.”

  “Trump is twenty-four years older than his wife, and he’s never questioned. But France’s president married a woman as many years older and it’s whispered about and considered a taboo.”

  “Makes sense why people judge when—”

  “People can profess their love for dolphins and be less harshly judged than the rare and exotic”—he winks—“cougar.”

  I cover my ears and cringe. “That’s revolting.”

  He pulls my hands away from my ears. “Then I’ll never say it again.” He then leans in and presses his forehead against mine. “Age be damned, Bridge. This has been the best twenty-four hours of my entire fucking life.”

  “Yeah?” I whisper.

  His eyes shift between mine, searching, seeking, searing this image, this feeling, this memory into my head. “Yeah.”

  “This is the best time I’ve ever shared with a man in my entire life.”

  He leans back and looks up at the sky. “Give me tomorrow.” He pauses and looks at me. “I’ll make it an even better day.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m five years old. It’s getting cold. I’ve got my big coat on. I hear your laugh and look up, smiling at you. I run and run.”

  “Bridge,” he whispers as the song continues.

  “I’m awake … still. I just like hearing the song.”

  How could I not still be awake? He woke me up as promised—with his face buried between my legs.

  “Maybe you should consider the inquisition yesterday morning and how you’ll explain that your surroundings are different,” he says with a smirk in his voice.

  “Shoot!”

  I jump up and start to run from the room with my phone in my hand.

  “Maybe clothes, too?” He laughs.

  Sitting on the beach, I hit the FaceTime app to connect with her. When I see Natasha’s beautiful smile, I sigh. God, I miss her.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  I grin. “Bonne après-midi.”

  “Paris sucked, Mom.” She rolls her eyes.

  “What?” I gasp. “The pictures you sent were amazing. You looked happy.”

  She nibb
les on her lower lip and shrugs. “I mean, it was fun, but …”

  “But …?”

  She forces a smile. “It’s just …”

  “Natasha, it’s me. Come on; tell me what’s going on.” I try to appear calm, but it’s so hard accepting that my little girl is an ocean away and a legal adult.

  She leans into the phone. “I liked a boy. I thought he liked me. Come to find out, he likes Shana.”

  I hold my hand over my heart. “Your roommate?”

  She shrugs, nods, and rolls her eyes all at once.

  “There is someone out there for you, Natasha. He wasn’t the right one. God has bigger plans for you.”

  “My first Eiffel Tower trip, first kiss, dream … ruined.”

  We both laugh at the silliness of her comment, and then she leans in and looks at the screen.

  “Mom, is that a dog?”

  “Shit!” I not only hear Joe, but see him running toward me, chasing the dog. “Syphilluffagus, get your mangy ass back here!”

  When I feel something hit my back, then a yip, I jump, dropping the phone.

  I hear Natasha’s beautiful belly laugh as I give him a terrified look.

  He smiles. “Pardon me, Miss. My dog is blind as a bat but seems to still be drawn to beautiful things.”

  I narrow my eyes at him in warning.

  He smirks as he picks up the dog then my phone. “I think you dropped this.”

  Then he glances at the screen, and Natasha says, “Hi!”

  He smiles a dazzling smile at her and says, “Sorry to interrupt.” He hands me my phone. “Your sister?”

  I say, “daughter,” and Natasha laughs a, “yes” at the same time.

  I don’t know who to scold.

  He winks. “Enjoy the beach.” Then he walks away.

  I take a few breaths before sitting back down and looking at the phone.

  “Is he gone?” she whispers.

  I look back and nod.

  “He’s gorgeous, and he was flirting with you, Mom,” she whisper-yells.

  “Nonsense.”

  “Oh, my God, Mom, he most certainly was. And did I mention he was gorgeous!”

  “Shh …” I scowl at her, and she laughs. I try to bite back a smile, but I can’t.

  “It would be the perfect kiss on a beach with a stranger moment, Mom!”

  My daughter is a little obsessed with kissing. “That’s a Natasha thing. You’re the one with the lists of all the places you want to kiss a boy, not me.”

  “Well, I’m not checking off any on my list, so maybe you should take it over.”

  “Natasha, you’re beautiful, intelligent, and your day will come. I promise you. But don’t forget to be present. Don’t miss all the beauty surrounding you so you can check boxes on some list.”

  She takes a big, deep breath and nods. “I know.”

  Before I even have a chance to remind her that she saw the Eiffel Tower yesterday, something she has wanted to do since she saw it in a children’s book I read her, Madeline, she smiles and says, “I didn’t let it ruin the moment yesterday, Mom. I was being silly, in my feels for just a second. The Eiffel Tower was stunning and … and”—she laughs—“I checked it off my list with the perfect IG pictures as a bonus.”

  “The kiss will come,” I tell her.

  “I know. But while I’m waiting, feel free to live a little, too. Practice what you preach.” She giggles.

  “I’ll try.”

  She lets out a big belly laugh. “What did he call that … dog?”

  Walking inside his oasis, his back is to me. He’s in charcoal board shorts and nothing else. I look down at the gray, worn wooden floors at his bare feet.

  His feet are even sexy.

  “Shit,” he groans and jerks his hand back.

  Without thinking, I hurry to his side and grab his hand. “Where did you burn yourself?”

  He pushes his ring finger forward, and I bring it to my mouth and suck on it while I walk us to the sink and turn on the cold water. There, I pull the finger out of my mouth so I can see the burn and blow on it to cool it. When I look up, his eyes are dark, becoming heavy.

  “You okay?”

  Using his other hand, he points to his chest. His voice is deep and husky when he says, “I think I got burnt here, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Definitely,” he groans out as I lick his chest then blow on the spot.

  “And here.” He points to his abs.

  I lick and kiss them, too.

  “Here.” He points to his hip. He then grips the countertop when I look up at him after giving his imaginary burn the same attention.

  “Anywhere else?” I ask, looking down at his growing erection.

  He shrugs then rakes his teeth over his lower lip.

  I rub my hand over the growing bulge and clench my legs together.

  He bends down to kiss me, but I avoid his kiss, sinking to my knees and pulling his shorts down until his thick, perfect cock springs free. Then I wrap my hand around the base and stroke as I lick my lips.

  He sucks in a breath between his teeth as I lick the bead of pre-cum off his broad tip.

  “Jesus, Bridge,” he hisses. “Fucking tor—”

  I wrap my mouth around him and suck, making him forget to end the word.

  “Talented, fuck yes.” He thrusts his hips, causing me to gag a bit. When he pulls back, I use my free hand, the one not pumping his cock, to grab his ass and sink my nails in, stopping his retreat.

  He growls as I suck harder, stroke faster, swallowing when he’s at the back of my throat.

  “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warns.

  With my mouth full of him, I suck hard as I pull back. Once he is out of my mouth, I look up and lick my lips. “Mmm …”

  “I’m not fucking ready yet,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “I see that as a challenge.” I smile, looking him directly into his eyes as I rub his head against my lips before opening wide and taking him as deep as I can, our eyes never leaving one another’s.

  His white-knuckle grip on the countertop he’s leaning against tightens as his whole body stiffens. “Fuck. Shit. No fucking teenager,” He snarls then reaches down, grabbing me under the arms and lifting me up. He cups my ass and picks me up, taking the three steps to the island.

  Before he sets me on it, he wipes the contents clean, sending everything crashing to the floor as he crashes his lips against mine. We are both inflamed with an undeniable and unexplainable desire for each other.

  He rips my panties. I grip his hair. He pushes me back. I pull him forward. And in one thrust, he’s inside me.

  “Fucking tight … Fucking wet … Fucking hot … Fucking perfect … Fucking mine,” he says as he fucks me through three orgasms before pulling out and coming on my belly.

  Panting, he pulls me up, wraps his arms around me, and holds me close enough against him that there is nothing between us, but his …

  “Um, Joe?”

  Still panting, he replies, “Yeah, beauty?”

  “We didn’t use a condom.”

  “If I apologize right now, it won’t be sincere. Best fucking experience of my life.” He kisses my neck. “Swear I’m clean.”

  I swallow back my concern. “I am, too.”

  He silently chuckles against my lips.

  “What?”

  “Thought you may have been pissed about Syphilluffagus.”

  “Wasn’t your fault.” I press my lips firmly against his.

  He steps back and brushes my hair out of my face. “She’s a beautiful girl, Bridge. Looks like her mother.”

  “And thankfully, she acts like me, too.”

  He smiles. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “And I her.”

  The way he looks at me is with the softest layer of chocolate I have yet to see. He leans in, nuzzles into my neck, and inhales a deep breath before quietly asking, “You’ll come back?”

  “Honestly, I wi
sh I didn’t even have to go.”

  “Family?”

  In keeping with the just graduating college theme, I tell him, “Yeah.”

  After a promise to be more careful so he doesn’t burn himself and a shower, I walk out of the bathroom in his bedroom to find he has laid out clothes for me. My own clothes and not the beachwear he provided.

  The dress is the one I would have chosen. A white and navy striped, strapless dress that hits just at the knees. Next to it, is a pair of flats and not the wedges I brought. Beside it is a white cardigan, which I never would have matched with the dress, yet it works. However, it’s not even cold enough to warrant a sweater.

  I see my phone on the nightstand and a text alert from Autumn. I hit the notification and read her message.

  Hope you’re feeling better and are ready to face today. Somehow, I ended up with your hat. Are you meeting me at the cottage?

  I reply: Yes, I’m feeling much better. I’ll meet you at the cottage in about an hour.

  I dry my hair, apply a light amount of makeup, and get dressed. It takes all of fifteen minutes.

  When I walk down the stairs, I see him standing next to two plates of food.

  “Did you happen to see a pair of white wedges?”

  He sighs. “How is it you make what is supposed to be a matriarchal dress look sexy?”

  “Maybe if I decide I’d like a heat stroke, I’ll actually wear this sweater.” I laugh, pulling it off.

  His eyes rake me from head to toe. He looks annoyed.

  “What?”

  Now he is basically pouting, making me wonder if he actually wants me to look old.

  “Joe?” I place my hands on my hips.

  “Please just keep it on.”

  “Oh, my gosh, you—”

  “I’m a man. I know what every other dickhead is thinking when he sees you.”

  I should be annoyed, but it truly feels good to be admired by him.

  “Did you change your mind about me coming back here?”

  “I’m holding your shoes hostage; do you really think I changed my mind?”