by Amy Brent
Part of me hoped to call his bluff, but I see now that I’ve made two mistakes in one night: coming here at all, and then giving in to the feeling that overcame me back in that living room.
No matter. The mistakes end now. As I jog down the stairs and get the rest of my things, I swear I hear him call after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t pause for a minute. If I do, the tears will come.
It’s probably just my hope playing a trick on me anyway. It’s my greatest hope trying to twist some misheard utterance into what it’s not.
It’s not real, I tell myself as I leave out the front door I will never walk through again. It’s not real.
That night, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling in a daze. My body feels raw, ripped open, weak, and fuzzy. It’s good and bad in ways I never expected.
When the first tear rolls down my cheek, I brush it away angrily and roll onto my side. Tomorrow I’ll think about what I’ve done.
Tomorrow arrives and I head down to the kitchen as soon as my eyes open. Give yourself no time to think about it—that’s how my dad said he dealt with the grief of Helena running away after he and my mom realized they weren’t going to find her and she wasn’t coming back.
So that’s what I’ll do now. Sure, I fucked up—I fucked up big time—but if I let the emotion bubbling in me fully overtake me, I may never get up again. At the very least, I’ll lose weeks of school to this despair.
I just fucked up all my romantic and professional hopes in one big dumb mistake.
As I locate the current fixation that will make me feel better—leftover chocolate pudding from a few days ago—I manage a grim smile. Yes, maybe one day I will think about what happened between Clayton and me last night, but not today.
I’ve just settled down at the kitchen table and dug my spoon into its chocolatey depths when my phone rings.
“Hello?” I say without looking at who it is.
It’s probably George. Her average for staying at her parents’ place before there’s another fight to end all fights is two nights.
“You didn’t come into work.”
I drop my spoon into my bowl, sending pudding sloshing over the edge.
“Stevie, you there?” Clayton says.
I stare at the dribbles of chocolate now sprayed on my T-shirt. The same T-shirt from last night that I never even managed to take off. Right now, I really just want to bury it in the trash.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“I know you said that thing about firing you last night,” Clayton says easily, as if referring to me saying I preferred lemonade over orange juice, “but I’m not sure I want to.”
Now the tears are welling up. They’re the tears I should’ve cried last night. The tears that have been waiting in me all the while. At least he’s on the other end of the line and can’t see them.
“Shit,” he says in a quiet voice. “You’re upset, aren’t you?”
Before I can answer, he says, “I know what I did last night was extremely selfish, okay? Just seeing you like that, and the way you kissed me… Is it bad that I want to see you again, see you more?”
As if changing tactics, he continues. “So you’ll come over today, right?”
A furious sneer curls my lips. So that’s the way Mr. Billionaire Single Dad thinks he can play it with me? I’m just at his dick’s beck and call?
The “no” that comes out of my mouth is loud and proud. It’s the first right thing I’ve done in the past twenty-four hours.
“Actually, screw that,” he says as if he didn’t even hear me. “Where are you? My mom’s taken Winston out for the morning. I’ll come to you.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t you dare.”
“See you in fifteen.”
I hang up—as if there’s any point in that. I’m screwed. I’m one hundred percent royally screwed.
Dazed, I glance at my still untouched pudding.
Last night, as much of a shock as it was, has nothing on today. Clayton Matthews wants to see me again and is coming here to do it?
Absentmindedly I twirl my spoon around in the pudding.
Maybe I don’t have to be so over the top about this. After all, didn’t I finally overcome the one thing I have always been ashamed about? No longer am I an embarrassingly old virgin. And I won’t die an old lady virgin either. And actually, the experience wasn’t as painful or as horrifying—or even as complicated—as I expected. With Clayton, things just…work. At least in that department.
A tantalizing smile curves the corners of my mouth. Maybe I don’t have to make a big deal out of this. Maybe I can just enjoy this for what it is: a learning experience. It’s the kind of thing you do when you’re in your early twenties and free to fuck up and do whatever you want.
After all, my parents are at work, so I can just go out and meet him. No harm, no foul. Right?
No sooner have I gotten to my closet and changed into a summer dress than the doorbell rings.
“Sorry,” Clayton says as soon as I open the door.
His gaze immediately plunges to the contours of my bright striped dress, following the flowing downlines.
“For what?” I ask.
“For this,” he says moments before his face is on mine.
Oh, shit.
Our lips twine while his hands stroke every part of me. As he pulls the shoulder of my dress down, it occurs to me that we won’t be leaving this house anytime soon.
When his lips move to start sucking on my neck, I pull away slightly. “How did you know I was alone?”
An irritated hunger flashes over his face. His lips snap for mine, like a dog denied a tasty bone.
“It’s a risk I was willing to take,” he says moments before his hand bring my lips to his.
We end up on the couch in the basement. His hands can’t seem to get enough of me. They stroke and slip over me as if he’s a genie rubbing a bottle. On the couch, he sits down and I straddle him, my kisses flowing downward.
I pause at his belt and look up. We exchange a long look.
“You want me to teach you?” he asks, his eyes glittering.
I nod.
Clayton makes quick work of his khaki pants and silky briefs.
Now I’m face to face with my mission, a gloriously hard dick. It’s thick and completely erect.
“Lick it,” Clayton orders.
I put my head down obediently. As I run my tongue up and down, he relaxes into the couch.
His next order is to suck on the tip.
I cover my teeth with my lips and suck. As I do, a groan spills out of him.
“Now pump on the shaft,” he says, although in a different, less controlled voice.
As I do so, the weirdness of what I’m doing gradually rolls away. I get into a rhythm with my hand gliding up and down and my mouth bobbing, the two of them moving in tandem, and an even louder groan spills from Clayton’s lips. Oh yes. He is even harder than I imagined was possible.
When his leg starts shaking, I know I’m close.
I pick up my pace, bobbing and stroking with the last energy I have. I through my tongue into the mix, twining and twirling it around the soft slickness of his cock’s head.
It occurs to me that soon he’s going to spill into me and I have no idea what to do.
Nevertheless, I up my frenzied pace.
Soon, he’s groaning more than he isn’t and his legs are out, almost flailing.
“Fuck,” he says as he his dick twitches several times and shoots his hot load down my throat.
It doesn’t really taste like much, but it’s creamy. When I pull back, grinning at him, Clayton looks at me as if he can’t quite believe I’m real.
“I can’t believe that was your first time,” he says.
I hurry off to get him a Kleenex. As I clean him up, Clayton says, “You do live alone, right?”
I throw a cheeky grin his way.
“Nope. With my parents.” As his face goes white, I add, “Who luckily are at work.”
His eye
s lock on mine. “Like you should be.”
“What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is, I need a nanny for the rest of the day. Do you know any good nannies who are free?”
I can’t help but smile at that.
“I might know one.”
Chapter 5: Clayton
I arrive back at my place at the same time as my mom. She gets a glimpse of Stevie as she hurries inside to greet Winston.
I feel a strange twist of guilt and pride. It almost feels like I’m bringing a girl home to Mom, as ridiculous as it seems. What’s going on between Stevie and me—while I’m not sure what it is, I’m pretty sure what it’s not. It’s not anything serious. The twenty-one-year-old is a freak in bed, that’s for sure, but I can tell by the way she banters with me that she isn’t taking this seriously at all. It’s just a little fling to her, even if she was a virgin before it.
“Who’s that?” my mom says in a low voice.
“Oh, no one,” I say, unconcerned. “Just the new nanny I was telling you about. I picked her up to make things easier.”
Which technically isn’t a lie. I’ll tell my mom the truth soon, just not yet.
My mom nods hurriedly.
“Anyway, we just stopped by to get Winston’s boots. We’re going to the park and it’s horribly muddy.”
“Oh, are you?”
She nods.
“I’ll probably take him out for some Dairy Queen after. A little treat for the two of us.”
“Okay,” I say.
Already, my mind is buzzing with possibilities.
If my son is already being taken care of for most of the night, that means his nanny is free too. What kinds of things would I like to do with the nanny tonight?
“Just call me if you need anything,” I tell my mom before heading for the basement.
I want to see Stevie’s face when I break the news to her. Is she going to be as secretly pleased as I am?
As I’m going down, Stevie and Winston are coming up.
“I’m going to the park,” Winston informs me, giving me a hug. Then he adds, “Stevie is coming too.”
“Oh, is she?”
Stevie grins as she shrugs. “This little guy really gave me the elevator pitch. Turns out the park has slides, little deer you can pat, and even some good old benches.”
“Oh no, little Winston,” my mom says, grasping his hand protectively. “It’s just going to be bonding time with you and Grandma.”
Winston twists around and looks at Stevie, but I crouch down before he can protest.
“I know you really want to hang out with Stevie, little guy, but I promise, tomorrow you can have all the Stevie time you want. Okay?”
I turn to Stevie and she nods.
“Okay,” Winston says, clearly disappointed.
He only cheers up when both Stevie and I close in for a big, squishy hug.
Laughing, we separate.
After Winston runs ahead outside, Stevie goes to the bathroom. My mom pauses at the door.
“Clayton?”
There’s a strange look on her face, something between worry and fear.
“What is it?” I ask.
She strides up to me so that I’m the only one who can hear whatever she’s about to say.
“That babysitter of yours…” Her expression twists with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure she’s Helena’s sister.”
I stare at her, her words banging on the outside of my head. They just don’t compute.
“You’re wrong,” I say quickly. “Helena was estranged from her family. I don’t remember her ever mentioning she had a sister.”
My mom shakes her head with more certainty this time.
“I saw them one time together. I don’t remember when, and I don’t remember where. I just did,” she says firmly.
“You must be mistaken,” I say, more forcefully this time. “Stevie responded to an online ad for a babysitter. I’d know if she’s Helena’s sister.”
“I know what I saw,” my mom asserts, her blue eyes narrowing with conviction.
We stare each other down for a few seconds before my mom makes for the door. She throws a half-hearted smile at me as she turns away, her blond curls bobbing.
“See you later.”
“Bye,” I say.
I glare at the door for a few seconds before turning away. My mom and her crappy memory. Why did she have to go and intrude on an otherwise good day? I should know as well as anyone that Mom, as well-meaning as she is, has never been the greatest at remembering things. From misremembering my age to even mixing up my favorite color with my cousin’s, she’s never had a knack for recalling things. And yet, that was something she often admitted freely, so why was she so certain now?
I frown. Maybe she sensed the chemistry between Stevie and me and wanted to stop things. Well, she’s too late. Things have already gone much further than they should have.
“Hey.”
It’s Stevie, back from the bathroom. She’s wearing a nice dress, all flowy and peach. She must have changed into it after we fucked at her place. I didn’t notice before.
“So, I don’t really need your services in the nanny department. Sounds like my mom has plans with Winston that will take up most of the day,” I say.
As her face falls, I add, “But I have a better idea.”
She bites her lip, scratching at her neck.
“Oh yeah?”
I would say Stevie and I are thinking about the exact same things, but we aren’t. At least not completely.
“What do you say about a horse-drawn carriage?”
The sultry smile forming on Stevie’s lips dissolves into an uncertain pout.
“You’re joking.”
“Am I?”
Stevie cocks her head at me and says, more certain this time, “You’re screwing with me.”
“Okay,” I say, making for the door and grabbing my car keys on the way out. “Guess I’ll go on the horse-drawn carriage ride on my own since the girl I wanted to take out on a date rejected me.”
I’m at the door when she calls out, “Clayton!”
“Yes?”
She strides straight ahead and then pauses in that pushed-out hip position I love.
“It’s not really fair if you write this girl off before properly asking her.”
Catching her twinkling eye, I smirk.
“Stevie Pierce, would you do me the great and wonderful honor of accompanying me on a horse-drawn carriage ride?” I ask in my best posh British accent as I get down on one knee.
Stevie bursts out laughing.
“No.”
I gape at her for a minute before her mouth twitches with telltale mirth.
“Good,” I say, striding up and taking her by the hand. “There’s just one thing.”
Chapter 6: Stevie
That asshole.
Every few minutes, Clayton sneaks a glance around. Then, once he sees the coast is clear and the driver isn’t looking our way, he cops a feel of my bra-less breasts over my dress.
No bra. That was his “one thing” request for our horse-drawn carriage date. Even with my jean jacket partway over me, I feel horribly exposed. Being groped every few minutes doesn’t help matters either.
Clayton isn’t making this easy on me. Already, I feel my pleasure tingling between my legs while his hand rests casually on my thigh, which he caresses every time I forget how horny I am.
The horse-drawn carriage ride itself is nothing short of magical. The wood carriage is painted blue and gilded with gold trim. We see the city at just the right pace as we roll by leisurely. There are storefronts with colorful awnings and bustling, happy springtime people. It’s a busy city buzzing with productivity. Then there’s us, soaking it all in, drinking in sights like sips of wine.
Clayton lets me enjoy the sights and accompanying silence for a few minutes before he speaks. “So why horses?”
I scoff. “Is that even a question?”
I ge
sture at the brown and white mares ahead of us.
“I mean, just look at them. They’re really cool and majestic. They’re sensitive and penetrating. They’re the gentlest creatures I know, and the sweetest. The first time I got on a horse, it felt like coming home.”
“So why not work with them then?” Clayton asks, looking like he just might understand. “You told me you weren’t sure what you want to do. Why not that?”
“You make it sound so easy,” I say, my gaze still not on his. Already, the usual excuses are rushing to my mind. “First off, it’s not easy to run a horse farm. How much money would you even make? I don’t think it would be enough to live off of.”
“You think or you know?” Clayton says, grasping my hand.
“I liked you better when you just wanted to get into my pants,” I whisper, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Your wish is my command,” Clayton says, his hand snaking up my thigh.
“Clayton!” I squeal, squirming away.
He scooches over so that we’re right next to each other. Throwing his arms around me, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
A coil of unwilling pleasure clutches me. At that moment, of course, the horse-drawn carriage rolls to a halt. After thanking the man, Clayton grabs me by the hand.
“There’s something I want you to see.”
The something, as it turns out, is a limo a block or so away.
“You’re kidding me,” I say.
“You really want me to be kidding you today, huh?” Clayton says, giving me a light push inside and a spank on the butt.
“Maybe I just—”
All the words drop out of me, because Clayton’s fingers have swept as far up my dress as they can go. They are now at my underwear.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he says in a hoarse voice as he dips his fingers under them. Him sticking just one finger in sets me trembling.
My gaze travels to the partition that’s separating us from the driver.
“What about the…”
Clayton sweeps his hand over my lips as he whispers in my ear. “He’s on an extended break. We can do whatever we want.”
My hands fly for his dick. They know what they want well enough. He’s wonderfully hard.