Until December: Until Her/ Until Him

by Aurora Rose Reynolds

  “All right,” she whispers.

  “Is there a reason you’re not on birth control?” I ask gently, and her cheeks fill with color. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”

  “When I was on the pill, it made me feel wonky.” She shrugs. “I mean, I haven’t tried any of the new forms of birth control in the last few years, since there was no reason to, but that’s what the pill made me feel like, so I stopped taking it.”

  “No reason?”

  “Umm… I wasn’t having sex.” The pink at her cheeks spreads down her neck.

  “Right,” I mutter, happy it’s been years since she’s been with anyone, but annoyed someone else touched her at all.

  “Why do you look annoyed?” she asks, studying me, and my fingers flex around her hip.

  “I have never been the type of man to be jealous or possessive, but there is no denying I’m both of those things when it comes to you.”

  “Oh,” she says breathily, like she likes the idea of causing those feelings in me.

  “You like that?” I hold her more firmly against me, and my cock twitches behind my zipper.

  “Like what?”

  “That I’m feeling crazy when it comes to you?”

  “Kind of,” she admits.

  I tangle my fingers in her hair and position her just like I want her then lick across her full lips. Her mouth opens, and when her tongue touches mine, I lose control and turn her ass toward the counter, lifting her up and settling her on the edge. Her legs wrap around my hips, and when she pulls me against her, I groan and lean back to rip her shirt off over her head, doing the same with my own. Once I have her bra off, I cup her breasts and bend over her, taking one pink nipple into my mouth.

  “Gareth.”

  “You gotta be quiet,” I order, moving to her neglected breast, and her hands tangle in my hair, tugging hard. Wanting to feel how wet she is for me, I snap the button to her jeans open, tug down the zipper, and slip my hand into her panties. “You’re soaked, baby, and so fucking warm.” I slide two fingers inside her and she clenches around me. “You gonna come on my fingers?”

  “No,” she denies, shaking her head, and I pull back to look into her eyes.

  “It feels like you’re about to come.”

  “I need you.”

  “You want my cock?” I ask, thrusting harder and using my thumb to rub her clit.

  “Yes!” She starts to cry out, but I cut off the sound, covering her mouth with my own as she orgasms. While she’s still panting, I pull her off the counter and help her out of her jeans then turn her to face the vanity, leaning her over the cold surface. Once I have her positioned, I kick off my jeans and step up behind her.

  “Gareth,” she whispers as I take hold of her hip with one hand and use the other to wrap around my cock.

  I slide the head up and down her wet slit then freeze. Gritting my teeth, I grab my jeans then dig a condom out of my wallet. After putting it on, I don’t waste another second. I sink into her from behind, holding her eyes in the bathroom mirror.

  “Oh, God,” she cries, tossing her head back.

  “Shhh.” I trace her plump bottom lip with my thumb. “Don’t forget you gotta be quiet, baby.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she whimpers.

  “You can.” I slide out of her an inch then thrust my hips forward. When she looks at me in the mirror once more, my breath catches. Christ, I don’t know if I have ever seen anything more beautiful than her face when she’s on the verge of coming. “Spread your legs, tip your ass, and let me in deeper,” I order quietly, placing a kiss against her neck while sliding my hand down to her chest, cupping one breast while palming the cheek of her ass with my other hand.

  “Oh, God, don’t stop.”

  Her needy whimper just about pushes me over the edge. Knowing I’m about to lose it, I slide my hand from her ass to cup her between her legs. As soon as my fingers make contact with her clit, her back arches, sending me deeper. Her pussy begins to ripple around my cock as she comes, and I wish we were in my bed, where I could flip her to her back and plunge into her.

  “Christ.” I lean her farther over the counter, and she moans loudly as I grind hard, going as deep as I can. I move my hand from her breast to cover her mouth and feel her teeth sink into my palm, seeing stars as I follow her over the edge.

  Completely spent, I drop my forehead to her shoulder and try to catch my breath as she attempts to do the same. Once my legs don’t feel so weak, I slide out of her warmth, turn her to face me, and gather her against my chest. “You okay?” I use my fingers under her chin to force her gaze up to me and study her.

  “Yeah.” She gives me a small, tired smile.

  “How about a shower?”

  “A shower sounds good,” she says, resting her body against mine while wrapping her arms around my waist. I hold her against me and walk to the shower, turning it on. Once the water is warm, I help her inside.

  “Are you asleep?” I ask, looking down at the top of her head, and she tips her head back toward me.

  “Maybe.” She smiles sleepily.

  “Let me get you washed up and into bed,” I say quietly, kissing her before grabbing the bar of soap from the cutout in the wall. Being quick, I wash her and me then shut off the water and get out.

  Still dripping wet, I grab a clean towel and hold it out for her, and she steps toward me. “Thanks,” she whispers as I wrap it around her.

  “Let me get you a shirt.” I reach for a towel for myself and place it around my hips. Going to my closet, I grab her a shirt and find a pair of boxers then help her into both. When she’s dressed, I lead her to my bed, and she doesn’t make a peep as I tuck her in. “What time do you need to be up?”

  “Normally, I get up at six, so probably five.” She yawns.

  “I’ll set my alarm.” I touch my lips to hers, and when I pull away, her eyes are closed. Shaking my head, I go back to my closet and drop the towel around my hips then slip on a pair of boxers before going out to check on the boys once more. Seeing they are still asleep, I set the house alarm, turn out the lights, and then head back to my room. When I open the door, I find December has moved to the middle of the bed and is now wrapped around my pillow. Smiling, I set an alarm on my phone, shut off the side lamp, and get into bed with her.

  “Gareth,” she calls as I tug my pillow from her hold and get into bed, dragging her closer.

  “Sleep, baby,” I order.

  “Okay,” she agrees, curling herself into a ball under my arm and falling back asleep. And with her in my arms, in my bed, under my roof, I sleep easy.

  _______________

  I stand on the opposite side of the island from the boys, watching the two of them scarf down the breakfast I made them like it’s a race to see who can finish first.

  “Done!” Mitchell proclaims himself the winner while chewing the sausage patty he shoved into his mouth whole.

  “Should I get you a trophy for your accomplishment?” I ask, and he grins at me as he slides off his stool with his plate to take it to the sink.

  “Dad,” Max calls, and the tone of his voice has me focusing on him. “I...” He presses his lips together then looks past me toward his brother, and I look over my shoulder at my oldest.

  “What is it?”

  “Max was wondering when we’d have another movie night with December,” Mitchell says, and I turn back to Max.

  “You want to hang with her again?” I question, setting my cup down. I didn’t ask him last night if he liked December. I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to say he did by questioning him.

  “She’s nice,” he says, ripping his toast into tiny bits, not looking at me. “I guess it would be cool to hang out with her again.”

  “I’m sure we can set something up. Maybe not a movie night, since you boys have school this week, but we can have dinner with her,” I tell him.

  He looks up and gives me a half smile. “Right on.”

  Feeling
relief, I dip my chin toward his plate. “If you’re finished, dump your plate in the dishwasher and get packed up. I’ll meet you and your brother in the driveway.”

  He gets up, taking his plate with him, and after he rinses it and drops it in the dishwasher, he leaves the kitchen, heading around the island and down the hall toward his bedroom.

  “He liked her a lot,” Mitchell says as I’m taking a sip of coffee, and I turn toward him, resting my hip on the counter, and lift my chin for him to continue. “He didn’t think he would, but he does, and now he’s worried about what will happen if you and her keep seeing each other and Mom shows up.”

  Shit. Their mom can be a handful on a good day, so I know his concern is valid. I also know I’ve been done with taking her shit for years, so if she shows and tries to stir up trouble, I won’t let it happen. “That’s not something you or your brother need to worry about.”

  “I know, but Max still thinks Mom is cool,” he says softly. “He doesn’t get that she’s nuts and that she’s only around when it’s good for her.”

  I study my boy, wondering when he started to see things as they are. There was a time he saw his mom the same way Max sees her now, and a part of me wishes he still viewed her in that same light, that he didn’t know how selfish his mother is.

  “He doesn’t get it,” he adds.

  “Get what?”

  He shrugs. “Get that Mom doesn’t really care about us.”

  My throat gets tight, and I fight against the anger I feel threatening to take over. I never want my boys to feel unloved, and I have tried to make it so they never will, by giving them good people who they can count on. Unfortunately, I have never been able to control the impact their mother has on their lives any more than I can direct the sun from setting each evening. “Your mom is—”

  “A bitch.”

  My spine stiffens. “Language. I get that you’re upset with her, but do not ever disrespect her. She’s your mother. She loves you boys.”

  “If she did, she would be around.” His jaw ticks. “She’s not around unless it’s convenient, and when she is here, she’s always talking about where she’s going or what she plans on doing next. I’m not stupid; I know she only shows up to make sure we haven’t forgotten her. The thing is… I always forget her the moment she walks out the door, because she doesn’t matter.”

  Fuck, my throat gets tight. “I hate you feel that way.”

  “I hate that Max thinks she’s perfect, but I also know I won’t be able to change his mind about her. He has to learn that for himself.” He pulls in a breath. “I just….” He pauses to shake his head. “I was just thinking that if you and December did get together and Mom did come around, he’d see the difference, and maybe it wouldn’t be so hard on him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like… he could see what a mom is supposed to be like.”

  “Mitch—”

  “I know you’re going to say it’s too soon for that,” he cuts me off, holding up his hand toward me. “I just know that it would have been nice when I was his age to have a mom type person around, and maybe if December is that, it would be good for him.”

  I stare at my son, not sure I’m able to stomach what he’s saying. I have tried to keep what happened between his mom and me away from him, but nonetheless, it’s obviously seeped through. I hate that he’s had to witness it; worse, I hate that he’s now trying to protect his little brother from experiencing the same thing.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” he asks, looking older than he is. “I know you’ve put up with Mom for years because you wanted us to have her in our lives.”

  “You’re right. I want you boys to have your mom. Still, I’m sorry that you feel the way you do, and I don’t like that you’ve had to deal with things you shouldn’t have.” I close the distance between us and rest my hand around the side of his neck, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention. “I’m glad you’re trying to look out for your little brother, but this is something you don’t need to worry about.”

  “Okay.” He dips his chin.

  “Love you, kid.” I rest my forehead against the top of his head.

  “Love you too, Dad,” he whispers back, and even though I’ve heard that from him time and time again, I know it will never get old.

  “I’m proud of you.” I lower my voice. “I got this. Trust me to look out for you and your brother,” I say, and he nods.

  “Ready!” Max shouts, cutting into the moment, and I lean back grinning, wanting to ease the tension in the air.

  “You better go get packed up before your brother beats you to shotgun.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist suddenly, stunning me. And then before I can hug him back, he lets me go and rushes out of the kitchen, shouting “Shotgun!” as he rounds the island.

  “No fair!” Max yells.

  “Totally fair,” he counters, and even though I can’t see either of them from my vantage point, I know they’re in a scuffle, because I hear their grunts along with their shoes skidding on the hardwood.

  I think about stepping in but decide to let them fight it out, since neither of them are crying or yelling for me. I pick up my cup of coffee and down the rest of it in one gulp then take the empty mug to the dishwasher and drop it inside. I continue to listen to them as I shrug on my jacket, and when I round the island, I find Max with his arms spread wide, blocking the hall. “Can I have shotgun?” he pants, giving me a pleading look.

  “Your brother called it first, bud.”

  “He doesn’t even have his bag,” he points out.

  I glance at Mitchell. “Get your stuff.”

  “I would have already if he let me down the hall.”

  “Let your brother by,” I tell Max, surprised he was able to keep his brother back, when Mitchell has at least five inches and thirty pounds on him.

  “Fine.” Max steps aside, glaring at his brother before transferring the look to me and heading outside in a huff.

  With a short shake of my head, I grab my keys then walk out to the driveway, beeping the locks, and get in behind the wheel. Max gets into the back seat, grumbling about how unfair things are, and then as soon as Mitchell gets in, he announces that he’s calling shotgun for the ride home after school.

  I fight back laughter, wondering how December would hold up in this situation. She’d probably think it was as hilarious as I do and wouldn’t even bat a lash at the boys arguing. That thought gives me pause. Like Mitchell pointed out, it’s too soon to be thinking of December’s reaction to my boys’ everyday antics, but still, there’s no denying I want to see her reaction and intertwine her in our lives in all the ways she can be.

  Shit.

  Ten

  December

  HEARING SOMEONE SHOUTING, I pull my eyes off my students, who are all turned to face the door, and frown as I walk across the classroom. Not sure what is happening, I turn the handle and peek out into the hall, seeing Jetson—one of the fifth grade teachers—arguing loudly with the assistant principal, Gladys.

  “Lower your voice, Mr. Jetson, and please go to the principal’s office,” Gladys says, and he glares at her then storms off.

  “What was that about?” I look across the hallway at Tasha, another first grade teacher, and shrug. “Hopefully, he’s getting fired. He’s such a jerk,” she whispers, and I don’t agree even though she’s right. Mr. Jetson is not a teacher I would consider friendly, and I’ve overheard his students complaining more than once about how hard he is on them.

  When Gladys goes into his classroom, I step back, shutting the door and turning to face my kids, who all look nervous. “Everything is fine,” I assure them then look at the clock, seeing we have twenty minutes before the day will come to an end. “Since we don’t have much time left, how about we play Heads Up Seven Up until the bell rings?”

  At my suggestion, the tension in the room eases immediately and ea
ch and every one of their faces lights up with smiles. I pick seven kids at random then call out “Heads down, thumbs up.” All the kids still sitting in their desk lower their heads and close their eyes while the kids standing walk around, tapping thumbs at random. When the seven kids I chose go to the front of the class, I call, “Heads Up Seven Up,” and the kids all lift their heads. One by one, they try to guess who tapped them, and if they guess correctly, they trade places with that student.

  Five rounds later, the bell rings, and the kids quickly pack up, get in line at the door, and then greet their parents when they come in. Once they are all gone, I pick up the classroom and wipe things down with disinfectant. I gather my stuff from my desk, along with my planner and a stack of spelling tests I need to grade tonight. Normally, I set my weekly lesson plan on Sunday, but staying at Gareth’s last night threw me off my schedule, so I need to get it done this evening. I leave the school and start through the teacher’s parking lot toward my car. Digging through my bag for my keys, I don’t see the car racing toward me until a loud horn honks and tires skid across the gravel lot.

  “Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Jetson yells, rolling down his window, and I start to open my mouth to tell him to slow down, but before I can he peels off, causing dust to fill the air and tiny rocks to fly out around me.

  With my hands trembling and my heart beating wildly, I shake my head then glance both ways to make sure there aren’t any more cars coming before I rush to mine and get in. Once I have the door closed, I pull out my cell phone, and even though I don’t like being the kind of person to tell on someone, I know I need to call the principal to let her know what happened. Hopefully, she will tell Jetson he needs to slow down when he’s near the school, even if there aren’t normally kids in the teachers’ parking lot. I get off the phone with her a few minutes later after she assures me that she will have a talk with him, and by the time I put my car in Drive, I’m not shaking like I was. I go directly to the drug store, and when I arrive, my cell phone beeps telling me I have an incoming message.

  Dinner tonight?

  I stare at the simple text from Gareth then look through my windshield at the drug store I’m parked in front of and close my eyes. Last night with Gareth and his boys was perfect, and waking up this morning in his arms was something I could seriously get used to. That said, I’ve been thinking all day about what Mitchell said, about wanting a sister or more specifically I’ve been thinking about Gareth’s reaction to the statement.