by Melinda Minx
“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes widening.
“This,” I say.
I turn around, facing my back to him. I grab his cock, which is now soaked white with my juices, and I slide back onto him.
His cock hits my g-spot—reminding me of that first time we slept together—but this time I’m in control. I slide up and down his shaft, adjusting my angle slowly with each movement. I finally get just the right spot, where each time I slide up and down, his cock rubs deliciously across my most sensitive spot.
And I reach down and begin to finger my clit, too. We’re running out of time, and I want to cum as hard as I can.
I mentally prepare myself to not make too much noise. I finger my clit faster and faster as I slide myself all along his cock, my g-spot beginning to throb.
My whole body trembles and convulses, and my eyes roll back involuntarily. I yelp, and stifle a moan.
I move faster. Always faster. The slapping sound is loud, but there’s no way to stop that. Instead, I bite my lip so hard I fear it might bleed, and holding in my ecstatic moans becomes almost painful.
My chest feels tight and my muscles all flex as I try to hold down the sounds.
I realize I’m holding my breath, and my face is turning red. I try to inhale, but a moan escapes me. It’s loud. I cover my mouth and stop riding Deacon.
The moment I stop moving, his fingers dig into my hips, and he thrusts furiously into me from below. I begin to move again, matching him, and holding my breath again.
I start to cum. My inner walls clench around him, and his stifled groans get louder, and then I feel his hot seed exploding up inside me.
I keep holding my breath, and the lack of oxygen gives me an intense headrush. My body twitches as I hold everything in. His thick cum starts to leak out of me, but I feel his cock still twitching deep inside me, filling me up even more, even as it seeps out.
The orgasm keeps building up, but it feels like it can’t escape yet. I have to breathe. I have to let go.
I do, and instead of moaning, I shout out two words. “Oh! Jessssuussssss!”
Everything hits me at once the moment I draw in breath, and I cum impossibly hard all over Deacon’s cock. He starts to laugh wildly as I squeeze and convulse. Even though he’s filled me up, he must be able to feel that intense wetness and pressure.
His cock twitches a few more times, and I realize I’m still fingering my clit, but it becomes so sensitive that I can’t even brush my finger against it any more.
I stop, and I raise myself up off his cock. I feel his seed start to gush out of me as soon as his dick pops out, and I collapse onto the bed beside him.
I feel him press his body up against me, his soaked cock pressing into the small of my back. He grabs my waist with one hand, and kisses the back of my neck.
“Rita,” he says.
I don’t have the strength to speak. I try to summon it, but nothing comes out. After a long moment, I finally mutter a weak, “Uh.”
“I think you just used the Lord’s name in vain,” he says. “And Elsie and Anna probably heard you.”
21
Deacon
When we got downstairs, Elsie looks at Rita awkwardly.
“Hey,” I say.
“Heyyyy,” Anna says, grinning.
“Did you fight again?” Elsie asks.
I laugh.
“No,” Rita says. “We didn’t fight.”
“It sounded like a fight,” Elsie says. “You shouted.”
“She was praying,” I say. I want to save Rita from embarrassment, and it’s the best thing I can think of. Elsie is not ready for the birds and the bees.
“Aren’t prayers quiet?” Elsie asks.
“Not always…” Rita says, blushing.
“Okay,” Elsie says. “I finished my homework, so can we play now?”
“Sure,” I say. “Pig?”
“Yeah!” she says. “I’ll get the basketball.”
We go outside. Between the house and the shop there’s an adjustable hoop and a small paved area. It’s not really even enough space for a half-court game. I’ve gotten good at adjusting the hoop between shots so that Elsie and I can play a “fair” game of pig. I have to move it six notches between us. She’s getting tall fast, and it will be five notches soon.
“Rita!” Elsie says. “You know the rules, right?”
“It’s horse, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Anna says. “Same rules as horse.”
“What’s horse?” Elsie asks.
“Pig,” I say. “But with more letters. Do you know how to spell horse?”
“Uh,” Elsie says. “H-o-r-s?”
“E,” I say. “H-o-r-s-e, those annoying silent e’s!”
“It would be funny if ‘pig’ had one,” Elsie says. “P-i-g-e!” She laughs. “Piggy!”
“Piggy is with a ‘y,’” I say. I look over to Rita and Anna. “Sometimes I think it’s a miracle any of us ever learned to spell or read. So many dumb rules.”
“I’ll go first!” Elsie shouts.
The hoop is already lowered down six notches, so she stands at the three-point line we’ve marked in chalk, and she throws the ball. It’s a kid-sized basketball, which is much easier for me to shoot. I have to go easy sometimes.
The ball hits the rim and bounces off.
“Crap!” Elsie shouts.
“Elsie,” I say, raising a finger.
“Santa said it!” she says. “He said I’m old enough to hear it.”
“Santiago,” I correct. “Santa is Santa. You don’t think Santiago is coming on Christmas to bring you presents, do you?”
“He’s gonna come down the chimney, eat all the cookies and milk, then diarrhea up our toilet!” she laughs wildly, and I grab the ball.
I pass the ball to Rita, and I go to raise the hoop.
“I’ll only raise it four notches,” I say. “If I’m adjusting the height for Elsie, I may as well adjust it for you, too.”
“You never do that for me!” Anna shouts.
I shrug. “Whatever. How many notches you want?”
“One less than you,” Anna says. “That’s more than fair.”
Rita stands directly under the basket—directly under it, a move you never do in basketball—she holds the ball up with both hands, and shoots the ball up into the basket from below. The net flies up the way it’s not supposed to go, and the basketball lands on the rim on the way down, then rolls off.
She fist pumps. “Now you have to do that, Deacon.”
Elsie laughs. “We never get to play like that! I want to try!”
“Because it’s against the rules!” I shout. “No way.”
“It’s pig, Deacon,” Anna says. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Fine,” I say. “But Rita, I know you were trying to get it to go back in from the top, not fall out like that.”
“How do you know that? I achieved exactly what I aimed to do.”
“Then call it next time. Any shot is legal, but you have to call it before you do it. For example, ‘I’m going to shoot from below, and make it roll off the rim and not go in again.’ Sound fair?”
“Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?” Rita asks, giggling.
She throws the ball to Anna.
Anna shoots, and it hits the rim, then bounces back down and bumps her head. “Ouch!”
Elsie laughs, but then looks sad. “That means I don’t get to do the fun shot!”
“What shot do you want to do?” I ask her. I roll the ball to Elsie, then lower the hoop.
“It’s your turn, Dad!”
“Rita’s right, the game is for fun, so if you want to do a cool shot, go for it!”
“Slam dunk,” she says.
“All right.” I reach over and lower the hoop two more notches.
“I’m not going to dribble,” Elsie says, clutching the ball.
That goes without saying, we play pig because she can’t dribble to save her life. It takes more
coordination to dribble and run than most first graders have.
“Go Elsie!” Anna shouts.
“El-sie, El-sie! Slam dunk!” Rita cheers.
Elsie runs forward, and she jumps a few inches off the ground. Since the basket is twice as big as the ball, the ball goes right in. It swipes the net, then hits the pavement.
“Slam dunk!” I shout.
Elsie puts both arms in the air, then looks up at me. “I kind of cheated. You had to lower the hoop a lot.”
I jack the hoop all the way up to regulation height. “Let’s try again then.”
Rita looks at me and laughs. “I don’t think Elsie can jump quite that high, Deacon.”
“Ignore the haters,” I say to Elsie, handing her the ball.
“Dad…” she says, looking all the way up at the hoop as if it was a skyscraper.
“Don’t drop the ball,” I say.
I grab Elsie and lift her up. Way up. I hold her up above my head, and she laughs and screams.
“I’m above the hoop!” she shouts.
“So you’re going to dunk it, okay?” I say, holding her up.
“Yeah!” she says. “Go, go!”
I walk her forward, and I put a bit of a spring in my step as we near the hoop. Elsie holds the ball up, and I get her right on the hoop. She slams the ball into the hoop, dunking it, and then I lower her down at an arc, as if she had jumped and was descending down.
“Boom!” I say, as her feet touch down to the ground. “A real slam dunk.”
She laughs. “It’s still kind of cheating, but maybe a little bit less cheating than before.”
“It’s not cheating!” Rita says. “In fact, I want to do it.”
Anna laughs. “You’re serious?”
“Very serious,” Rita says.
I sneak up behind her and grab Rita by the waist. I lift her up and duck down beneath her. I set her down on my shoulders. “Just like chicken.”
“Is chicken like pig and horse?” Elsie asks.
“No,” I say. “It’s a pool game that we can play next summer.”
“Hand me the ball,” Rita says.
Anna picks the ball up and holds it out for Rita to take.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yep!”
I move forward slowly, not wanting her to lose her grip and fall backward. When we reach the basket, she slams the ball onto the rim as hard as she can, but it hits the rim too hard, and it bounces up and out of her hands. It falls on the pavement, not having gone through the net at all.
Elsie laughs.
I set Rita down. “I guess it’s really not cheating; it still takes some skill.”
I smirk at her as she simmers.
“Let’s see you dunk it, Deacon,” Rita says, crossing her arms.
“Who is going to boost me?”
“You’re like six-foot five,” Anna says. “I don’t think you get a boost.”
“Fine,” I say.
I’ve dunked before, it’s just been a while. I grab the ball and start to dribble while standing still. I dribble while alternating between hands, and then I start to move back and forth, practicing my footwork. I weave the ball in between my legs, still not missing a beat.
“Like dunking the ball isn’t showing off enough already?” Rita asks. “Just do it!”
“This way,” I say, spinning the ball on my finger, “if I mess up the dunk, at least I did this other cool stuff first.”
“I disagree,” Rita says. “Now if you miss the dunk, you just look overly cocky.”
“Fine,” I say, throwing the ball back down and dribbling it without any flourishes.
I run forward, dribbling as I go. I stick my foot down and prep for the jump, and I grab the ball into one hand. Dunking with a kid’s basketball is a good deal easier than with a full-sized one.
I leap into the air, gaining as much air as I can. The hoop is about ten feet up, but my arms clear another two feet easily. As I reach the apex of my jump, I slam the ball down, grabbing hold of the rim.
The ball swishes against the net as it goes through, and—knowing that I didn’t fuck it up—I hang onto the rim just to rub salt into Rita’s wounds. I dangle off the rim, and Elsie laughs and claps.
I let go and drop onto the pavement, smiling up at them. Rita is trying to look annoyed, but I can see her smiling under that fake little pout. I walk up to her and pinch her cheeks. “It’s cool, you can say how impressed you are.”
“I’m sort of impressed,” she says, swatting my hand away.
“Sort of?” I ask. “Come on! That was a solid dunk!”
“I’m supposed to be impressed that you’re really tall?” she asks.
“Elsie can tell you,” I say, pointing to her, “that I worked hard increasing my vertical!”
“He jumps around like a bunny,” Elsie says.
“Impressive,” Rita says, grinning.
Two cars pull up near the driveway. One is a black SUV, the other is a police car.
“Did you have another brawl outside here while I was at work?” Anna asks.
“No,” I say, feeling my chest tighten. “I don’t know what the hell this is about.”
It can’t be about Earl and Ximena. I didn’t do anything illegal there, which means…
No! It can’t be that. The CPS didn’t see anything truly bad, it was just...
My worst fear comes true. I see the CPA agents Wood and Alfonso step out of the SUV. Then a uniformed cop steps out of the car.
“Why are they back?” Anna asks, her voice grief-stricken.
“Back?” Rita asks. “Who are they, and what’s going on?”
Elsie tugs at my leg. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
“CPS,” I say. “Maybe…”
I can’t think of a single good ‘maybe,’ not when there’s a cop with them. That can mean only one thing. They’re taking my baby away.
Wood and Alfonso walk up with their hands in their pockets, frowning and avoiding eye contact with me.
The cop lingers behind them.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, just when they’re in earshot.
Alfonso holds up a sheet of paper. “This is an order from a judge. We don’t have a choice.”
I take a step forward, raising my arm, and I see the cop reach for his gun.
I step back again, holding up both hands. I focus on my breathing. I cannot risk making a scene here. I can’t look unhinged or unstable—that’s exactly what Michael and Sheryl want me to do. I won’t play into their hands.
“On what grounds?” I ask. I snatch the paper out of his hands. “This isn’t even signed by Judge Lawson. Who the hell is this?”
“Running a tattoo parlor that services known criminals out of your private residence,” Wood says, reading from a paper, “And providing overall poor supervision of your daughter in a way that places her in serious danger.”
“You’ve never left a pot on the stove too long?” I ask, “because that’s what we’re talking about, right? And letting a guy with stomach trouble use my toilet? You’re taking my daughter away over that?”
“You’ll have to save it for the hearing,” Alfonso says. “This is already decided.”
“I’m calling my lawyer,” I say, grabbing my phone and dialing Aidan. “Don’t touch my daughter until my legal representation is here.”
It’s unlikely to help, but I may be able to stall them. And just maybe Aidan can think of some loophole to stop this.
Wood and Alfonso give each other a look, then they wave the cop back. “We’ll wait.”
I see the cop pull out a phone.
“Who is he calling?” I ask.
“None of our business,” Wood says.
The cop shoots me a cocky look, and before I can get near him, he’s already hung up.
“Not calling anyone, sir,” he says, smiling.
I swallow my rage and step back. This is all too clean. The charges are bullshit, they are hoping I overreact and give them something to result
in real charges.
Aidan pulls up in front of my house in just over ten minutes—I offered him a lot to drop everything he was doing.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asks the CPS agents as he gets out of his car. “The date of the hearing isn’t even set yet, and you have no right to take custody—”
Alfonso shoves the papers into Aidan’s face. Aidan grabs them and reads. I wait, hoping he’ll laugh. That he’ll call them on their bullshit.
“How the hell did you get this? Why did a second judge intervene?”
Rita grabs my arm. “They can’t take her, can they?”
“They can,” Aidan says. “With this,” he shakes the paper. “But they shouldn’t have been able to get this, it’s insanely irregular.”
“Who is they?” Rita whispers.
Another car pulls up, and I point. “Them.”
Michael and Sheryl step out of the car, pretending to be confused. “What’s going on?”
“Like you don’t know,” I sneer.
Aidan grabs my arm. “Deacon, don’t.”
I bite my tongue, and stare them down stone-faced.
Elsie looks up at me, “Why are Grandma and Grandpa here?”
“Anna,” I say. “Take Elsie inside.”
“No,” Alfonso says. “You can’t.”
“You’re kidding me,” I snap. “You want her to be out here and hearing all this?”
“She can wait in our car,” Michael says.
“How did you even know to come here?” I ask, glaring at Michael, and the cop. Calling no one, my ass.
“Our lawyer contacted us,” Sheryl says.
“Dad, you promised,” Elsie says. “You promised I wouldn’t have to go with them.”
I stare Stacy’s parents down, rage burning within every cell of my body.
“Aidan,” I say. “Is there anything we can do?”
He looks over the papers. “Stacy’s parents are gaining temporary guardianship, and the hearing has been set and expedited—one week from now. The hearing will decide final custody.”
“So,” I say, “you’re going to traumatize my daughter, make her think she’s losing her dad for an entire week, only for me to win her back?”
“We’ll see about that,” Michael says. “It’s best that she’s safe from you as soon as possible.”
Safe from me. Safe...from me.