Mason has a client in his portfolio who has a share of a NetJet. He called him and explained what happened with Dillon, asking if he could pay to “rent” his share of the Learjet for the flight out to Detroit; we would then take commercial flights back at the end of the week. The client graciously gave us his share and insisted we take it roundtrip at no cost to us.
Flying in a private jet is the ultimate luxury. If it were under better circumstances, I would’ve taken in the opulence of the experience. Instead, I sit in my chair and cry almost the entire flight. Sara eats the Dean & DeLuca Swedish Fish, and Cameron and Mason work on the scotch in the minibar and all the pretzels they can find. It’s somber, and we all feel for Dillon.
Our rental car is sitting at the base of the jet bridge, and we load up and head into Birmingham.
I text Dillon to let him know we’ve arrived. Hey, we’re here and staying at the Townsend. We’d love to see you. We’re going to find someplace to eat if you and anyone else would like to join us.
He replies, My favorite pizza place is Anthony’s and is within walking distance from your hotel. Can I meet you there in about two hours?
See you then.
Sharing the news with everyone, we agree on pizza for dinner. When Dillon walks in, he looks haggard. He sits next to me and holds my hand under the table. We enjoy a fantastic Chicago-style pizza, a wonderful thick crust with a layer of spicy tomato sauce. The pie we ordered has layers of meats, onions, olives, and a gooey layer of cheese, which we enjoy with a few too many beers. We avoid the elephant in the room and instead discuss the Detroit Tigers and their struggling season for over three hours.
When we move from the pizza joint to the hotel bar, Sara heads up to her room, and I join the guys drinking a club soda. They seem determined to drink themselves sloppy. I request of Dillon, “Please, grab a room here tonight or a cab back to your mom’s.”
He salutes me, and I head upstairs. After a while, I realize I can’t sleep, and my book isn’t grabbing my attention, so I dress in my workout clothes and head to the hotel gym, setting the elliptical for a forty-five-minute session.
I’m almost done when my phone rings—Dillon. “They don’t have any rooms. Can I stay with you?”
Without even thinking about it, I tell him, “Of course. I’m in room 412, but I’m in the gym finishing my workout. You can come grab the key, or I can get you in the bar in about ten minutes.”
“No problem. I’ll be waiting for you at the bar.”
I finish my workout and dry off a bit before I go in search of Dillon. He’s sitting in the corner of the bar all by himself. “Hey. You ready?”
He nods and follows me. I can tell he’s drunk, so I hold his hand and direct him toward my room as he slightly stumbles and sways a bit. I help him remove his pants, leaving his boxer shorts and a T-shirt on. Tucking him into bed, I’m able to talk him into two Advil and a big glass of water.
“I would’ve liked my dad to meet you. I told him about you before he died. He….” Dillon has passed out mid-sentence.
I tuck him in, take a shower, and then work a few hours before turning in myself. We’ve shared a bed multiple times but never did anything beyond cuddle. I get under the covers and shimmy up to him.
He holds me tightly and whispers, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
His comment makes me happy and content. I think the same of him. He’s my rock in every storm.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emerson
The wake is at the funeral home. It can be disconcerting if you aren’t Catholic and aren’t prepared to see the deceased laid out alongside people talking, drinking, and celebrating their life. Dillon comes from an Irish Catholic family, and it’s definitely an Irish wake—lots of Irish whiskey is flowing, and people are definitely having a good time. “To Liam!” can be heard over and over as people toast to him and drink their whiskey.
When the four of us wander into the room, people stop their conversations and stare. Cameron sings the Sesame Street song loud enough for the four of us to hear, “One of these things is not like the others” and Sara and I giggle. Mason leads us as we walk past Dillon’s dad, and I make the sign of the cross and place my hand on my heart while saying a small prayer.
I never met Dillon’s dad, but I’m crying as if I’d known him forever. I guess it’s because I know how hard this is for Dillon and his family. Standing at the end of the casket, Dillon, his mom, Siobhan, and her husband, Steven, are receiving guests. Mason speaks to each person, sharing sweet stories about Dillon and his dad. Sara is next and gives each of them a sincere hug, telling them how sorry she is for their loss.
My eyes are red-rimmed as I hug Dillon. I tell him, “Your dad was proud of you. I’m sorry.” He hugs me back, clearly too choked up to say anything. He’s a broken man. As I embrace Dillon’s mom and sister, I say, “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry I never had the chance to meet him. Dillon speaks fondly of his family. I know it’s a real loss.”
After Cameron goes through and, like Mason, shares funny stories about Dillon’s dad with each of them, none of us has dry eyes. His mother pulls us in for another hug and shares, “This means so much to Dillon, Siobhan, and me that you came from so far away. Thank you.”
There is Irish whiskey for everyone. Dillon’s uncle gives a toast to his brother in Gaelic which most of us don’t understand. We enjoy visiting and everyone telling beautiful stories. Dillon is by my side most of the time.
Everyone is somewhat drunk before dinner. Sara and I are drinking club soda and visiting with one another. “How are things with Henry?”
She gets teary. “We broke up a few weeks ago.”
I gently pat her arm. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Henry sounded promising.”
She tries to smile as if it’s a fact of life. “It was, but he failed to mention that he was married. Once I found out, I broke it off with him.”
With a hand on each of her shoulders, I look directly at her. “Sara, you’re beautiful, smart, and an amazing catch. You deserve a guy who is single and one hundred percent available to you. I know there is a great guy out there for you.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, she tells me, “I see why Dillon is in love with you.”
Surprised by such an out-of-context statement, I sputter, “He’s not in love with me. We’re just friends.”
She smiles at me with a twinkle in her eyes as she reaches for my hand. “He may not have admitted it to himself or to you, but he is in love with you. And you two belong together.”
Cameron walks up so I can’t continue the conversation, though I keep replaying it as I meet uncles, aunts, friends, and neighbors.
As I look around, I spot Dillon standing alone at the overflowing buffet table and walk over.
Trying to be funny, I ask, “Anything to eat around here?”
Turning, he smiles at me. “Just a little bit.”
I put my hand on his arm and squeeze. “What a beautiful tribute to your dad.”
“Thank you. He would’ve been embarrassed, but I liked it.”
I watch him pick at the food, not sure what to put on his plate. “You know, you have many of the traits they shared about your dad.”
Dillon blushes a beautiful shade of crimson. “I don’t know about that. My dad was pretty special.”
I point to a picture that was taken of his father at a similar age to Dillon now and whisper, “You look like him, too. He bragged about you to all his friends. He was proud of you and Siobhan.”
Turning to me, he looks around and asks, “Can I stay with you again tonight? I can’t sleep at my parents' house.”
“Of course. You can come home with us in our car, or you can take a cab over later. But promise me you won’t drive.”
He holds up three fingers like a Boy Scout. “I promise.”
As we leave, I hug Dillon goodbye and whisper in his ear, “I slipped my room key in your pocket.”
“I won’t be long.”
We drive back to the hotel and, not ready to go back to our rooms, we walk into the bar. The crowd this evening is young and hip, a combination of men and women in all shapes and sizes, dressed in dark suits as if they’re coming from a funeral, too. But the conversation is formal, a get-to-know-you-professionally kind of talking. Clearly a networking event. They seem to all be drinking wines and bottled beer.
Sara leans in. “Do you think if we told them who some of our investment clients were, we could be popular with this crowd?”
We all laugh because we know she’s right.
We find a table in the back corner, the waitress takes our order, and we make idle chitchat. Once our drinks arrive, the conversation naturally moves as if we’ve been friends forever.
Mason shares, “I’ve broken up with my girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” Sara and I say in unison.
“You know, I’m not. Look at the relationship Dillon’s parents have. That’s what I want.”
We all nod, understanding exactly what he means.
Cameron tells some funny stories an uncle shared about Dillon as a teenager. “Apparently his mom came home from something and he was in the shower with a girl. She walked in and demanded the girl leave, then waited for Dillon to get out of the shower.”
“You’re kidding,” Sara laughs.
“No, I’m not,” Cameron insists. “His uncle said that Dillon's mom then gave him a lecture for over an hour about safe sex.”
We hadn’t realized Dillon had walked up until he adds, “It was actually a lecture about her not wanting to be a grandmother before forty.”
We all laugh at that.
“Celeste was there today. I’m sure she wasn’t happy that story was being told.” He continues, “Following the incident, my mom went out and bought me a box of condoms. Let me assure you, using condoms your mom bought is ideal for safe sex.” Sensing our confusion, he explains, “I couldn’t use condoms my mom bought me. It meant I couldn’t have sex again until they all expired. It was too weird for me. And boy, was Celeste pissed!”
We all laughed so hard we were crying.
I ask the guys, “What would your parents do if they’d walked in on you taking a shower with your girlfriend?”
Cameron laughs and says, “I don’t think she would’ve bought me a box of condoms, that’s for sure.” Pausing for a few seconds, he continues, “I think she’d have yelled loud enough that three towns away could hear her.”
We look at Mason expectantly, and he shares, “My mom wouldn’t have liked it, but honestly, I didn’t have my first girlfriend until I was a freshman at Stanford.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Sara chimes in.
Mason turns and says, “Okay, what about you two?”
“I have four older brothers, so there is no way he would’ve gotten into the house, let alone the bathroom alone with me.” I tell him.
Chuckling, we all turn to Sara.
“I was living with a foster family at that point and they probably wouldn’t have cared,” she shares. “But don’t let that be a downer. My parents passed away when I was five, and I was moved from foster family to foster family. The one I had in high school still looks out for me today. They’re a wonderful older couple who could never have kids, and they were very open-minded.”
Cameron, clearly sensing Sara is uncomfortable, turns to Dillon and asks, “Hey, man, you staying here at the Townsend?”
“Yeah, I got a room last night. I can’t sleep at my mom’s. I can hear her crying in her room, and it kills me.”
“We were talking about what a great relationship your parents had,” I tell him. “It’s something we all want.”
Dillon puts his arm around me and gives me a hug. “Thanks. What they had was special.” We all sit there a moment, not sure what to say. “I guess I’m bringing the party down. What’s everyone going to do tomorrow morning? Sleep in?”
Sara gets a text and excuses herself.
Mason shares, “Cameron and I are talking about heading over to the Ford Museum.”
Dillon nods his approval. “Great place for the car junkies in both of you.”
“Sara and I are thinking about wandering the zoo,” I tell him.
“I haven’t been to the zoo since I was a kid. It should be fun.”
“You’re welcome to join us. “
The guys order a round of drinks and I excuse myself. I need to go work out some of the stress I’m feeling. “Are we meeting for breakfast?”
“Sure, eight?” Mason asks.
“See you then. Mason, can you text Sara so she knows?” I ask.
He picks up his phone and types out a message. “Done.”
I head up to my room to change and grab my swimsuit for maybe doing a few laps. I’m not always a big fan of being indoors to work out, but the elliptical is usually decent. I program a cardio work out and set myself up for a “fat burning” session for twenty minutes. It’s challenging, and I soon feel much less anxiety and stress from this trip. To help cool off, I quickly change and swim laps for twenty more minutes. I should sleep well, at least.
Wrapping up in a large beach towel, I walk back to my room to find Dillon sitting on the bed, still dressed and watching Sports Center.
“You guys didn’t stay late,” I comment, removing my gym bag from my shoulder and shimmying out of my swimsuit out of his view. Brushing my wet hair, I put my water bottle on the side table.
He shakes his head. “Nah, the guys were pretty beat.”
Sitting next to him, I reach for his hand and he gives it to me. Rubbing my knuckles with his thumb, I tell him, “It was a nice wake.”
“Thanks.” With a big sigh of what seems like regret, he says, “I’m speaking at the funeral tomorrow.”
Trying to stay positive, I assure him, “I know you’ll do an incredible job.”
Looking me in the eyes, he implores, “Do you mind me staying here?
I shake my head. “Not at all. I sleep better with you lying next to me.”
We crawl into bed. Dillon is understandably upset, so I slide my arms around his neck and flatten myself against the front of him before tilting my head up and capturing his lips. Quickly our tongues are dancing. Desire rolls through me and he pulls me even closer, deepening the kiss as his body hardens. He untangles himself from me, not breaking eye contact. I watch him stand next to the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and then pushing his pants down. He’s standing in front of me in only a pair of colored boxers, the evidence of his desire so clearly displayed before me, making my fingers itch with want.
I slide my fingers across the hard bulge in the front of the soft cotton fabric, enjoying his shudder.
I gasp as his erection is finally revealed. It’s big, smooth, and beautiful, and my mouth is watering in anticipation.
He takes a step toward the bed and lets me stroke it up and down a few times, but when I move my lips toward it, he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long.”
I open my towel to reveal my naked body. Dillon visibly sucks in air, and my nipples harden into stiff beads from my desire. He kneels on the bed and spreads my legs wide, my hard nub is swollen with anticipation.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, taking a nipple in his mouth and licking, pulling, and twisting. I moan my appreciation.
His hands explore as he kisses down my taut stomach. When he reaches the top of my pussy, I grab the sides of his face and try to stop him. I’ve given plenty of blow jobs but never received much in return; I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Taking a deep sniff of my scent, he dips his face down between my legs and licks me from one end of my slit to the other, from top to bottom. His tongue drags across my hard clit, which is so swollen it almost feels like it’ll burst. He does it a few times before finally taking it between his lips and sucking it into his mouth. He runs his tongue back and forth across it quickly and I wrap my fingers in his hair, pressing his face into me so hard it’s a miracle h
e can breathe.
My breathing becomes labored, my hips moving involuntarily, and I fist the sheets around me. “I’m going to come!”
He inserts his fingers into my tight canal and thrusts them in and out while his tongue strums my clit. I moan my satisfaction, and even if only for a moment, he looks content.
He wipes his chin of my juices as his other hand reaches across to his wallet on the nightstand, retrieving a condom package. I watch as he rips it open with his teeth and rolls it on.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, not sure of what to expect. Dillon’s much bigger than I’ve ever had before.
He teases me, rubbing his hard cock over my throbbing clit before entering, moving slowly for a few seconds, giving me time to adjust to his size. Once I’m stretched comfortably around him, he begins to move faster, plunging in and out of me. The look of ecstasy on his face is almost as sexy as the feeling of him inside me.
Each stroke pulls out another level of pleasure until I’m sure I’m going to pass out. He’s moaning and panting as he picks up his pace, and I claw at his back, sure to be leaving scratch marks in my wake. I wrap my legs around his body, his hands everywhere as he slams into me repeatedly. He closes his eyes and lifts his chin as he locks in place above me, crying out loudly. I take control of our sex and work him as best I can from beneath him, needing to watch him come undone. He cries out again, and I come from the intense pressure mixed with the deliciously hot sound of him taking what he needs from me.
Limp with exhaustion, we lie here for a few minutes with Dillon resting against me. I run my fingers through his sweat-slicked hair and over his back. I can’t help but kiss the side of his face over and over again.
Our limbs are intertwined, our bodies as close as they can be, reassuring ourselves and each other as we fall asleep holding one another.
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 8